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This Institution reserves the right to refuse to accept a copy order If, In Its judgement, fulfillment of the order would Involve violation of the copyright law. AUTHOR: DE AMICIS , EDMONDO TITLE: SPAIN PLACE: NEW YORK DATE: 1881 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT RTRT.IOGRAPHIC MICROFORM TARGET Master Negative # .."tkMLLL Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record Restrictions on Use: 946.01 Am522 I I ' t Aniicis, Edmondo do, lS-lG-1908. 3 p. I., 438 p. plates. 20"**, p946 .01 Cop7 in Barnard. J. Spain-Dcscr. & trav. u_ Cady. Will.d.nma W, tr o Library of Congress ^ DIM! ASl 4-2i!t;5S FILM SIZE: TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA LLr:^ __ REDUCTION RATIO: //V IMAGE PLACEMENT: lA ^ IB IIB DATE FILMED: 2^_2.-k_l^ INITIALS HLMEDBY: RESEARCH PUBLICATIONS. INC WOODBRIDGE BIBLIOGRAPHIC IRREGULARITIES MAIN ENTRY: Pf^**,A.^tra-. 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PUTNAM'S SONS 87 ft 29 WEST 23D STREET I88I UJ -T'f' .1 ,i il! 11,1,:. 1 1:: i'(;. % I I ^1 4 c u r u c r c p SPAIN BY EDMONDO DE AMICIS AUTHOR OF "STUDIES OF PARIS," " HOI.LANU," CONSTAlITINCrLE, II MOROCCO, ETC. TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN PY WILHELMINA W. CADY TRAKSLATOR OF *' STUDIES OF PARIS ^* G. NEW YORK P. PUTNAM'S SONS 27 & 29 WEST 23D STREET I88I Prtu of G, Pn Putnam's Sons Nrw York, \\ \ i 50891 Copyright by G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS i8di CONTENTS. CHAP. p^QB I BARCELONA ••••••• I II SARAGOSSA ••••••• 30 III BURGOS •••••••• 65 IV VALLADOLID •••••,. 93 V MADRID . . * . . , . . . Iio VI ARANJUEZ ••••••. 226 VII TOLEDO ...••••• 231 VIII CORDOVA . , . , , ^ , 261 IX SEVILLE •••••••. 294 X CADIZ ••••••♦, 334 XI MALAGA •••••... 348 XII GRANADA •••••», 355 XIII VALENCIA , , •••••• 421 APPENDIX ••••••• 437 li 1 ^,-:-.v-;^ tlST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGB PORT OF BARCELONA. j • BRIDGE AT SARAGOSSA • • • • BRIDGE, GATEWAY, AND CATHEDRAL OF BURGOS THE ROYAL PALACE, MADRID • • • ARANJUEZ ....•• TOLEDO • • • • • PRISON OF THE INQUISITION, CORDOVA • • GOLDEN TOWER, SEVILLE . • • THE GIRALDA, SEVILLE . . • • PORT, QUAY, AND CATHEDRAL, MALAGA • VIEW OF GRANADA • • • • • Frontispiece . 56 76 146 228 • 232 . 282 298 308 . 350 3B6 I / ^^ SPAIN. h 4i \ CHAPTER I. BARCELONA. 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 Ipthrowing 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 I not goini,^ away ! I will stay with you ! " Then 1 >i rushed down the stairs as if I were a burglar who \was beinc^ pursued. When I reached the street, it ' ,eemed as if between my home and me were al- ready sketched the waves of the sea and the heights .m>f the Pyrenees. Yet although I had been fever- ishly looking forward to that day for some time, I Vas not at all happy. At the corner of a street, on his wa^^l to the hospital, I met a medical friend of mine wfeom I had not seen for more than a month, and whf> asked : " Whiere are you going ? *' , , , ,, i. - To Spain," I replied. But he could hardly be- _^/i_* I- - ::rr I •J* W 1 SPAIN, lieve my statement, so little did my gloomy frown ing face seem to announce a pleasure trip. Al along the road from Turin to Genoa, I thought only of my mother, my empty room, my little library, and of the dear habits of my home life, to all of which I was saying farewell for many months. But on arriving at Genoa, the sight of the sea, the. gardens of the Acqua Sola and the company of AntOL Giulio Barili restored my usual calmness and gaiety. I remember that just as I was getting into the boat which was to take me to the steamer, a porter from the hotel handed me a letter containing only these words : i ** Sad news from Spain. The situation of an Ital- ian at Madrid, at the time of a struggle against the/ king, would be dangerous. Do you persist in go-/ ing ? Think well of it ! " -^g. I I sprang into the boat and away we win?. JustS^^ 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 botde of Xeres ! " " Bring me a guitar! an Andalusian hat ! a dag^ ger ! " Shortly after this I could only see their whit handkerchiefs and hear their last shouts ; I tried t reply, but my voice choked ; I began to laugh am passed my hand across my eyes. In a short time .^ 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^t was the French coast, the first \\ A BARCELONA. 3 Strip oTforeign land I had seen ; it is curious, I could ncft gaze at it enough ; a thousand vague -^Jl^^htsi passed through my mind and I said : *T!»^44 France, really France, and am I actually here ? " , At noon we began to see Marseilles. The first sight of a large maritime city produces a sort of be- wilderment which destroys the pleasure of surprise. I see, as if through a mist, an immense forest of ships ; a boatman who stretches out his hand to me, ad- dressing me in some incomprehensible jargon ; a custom-house guard who makes me pay, in virtue 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 cf 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 y 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 BARCELONA, \\\\ ■ i 4 SPAIN, wounded at Magenta. They began recounting anecdotes of Genoa, Turin, Milan, asking me about a thousand things, and describing the life they lead in Africa. One began on the pope. "Aha!" I said to myself, but he went further than I, for he said that we ought to have tranclit le ncetid de la ques- tion, and gone to the bottom of the matter without giving any thought to the peasantry. Meanwhile, as we approached the Pyrenees, I amused myself by observing the progressive change in the pronuncia- tion of the travellers who entered the carriage, and in noting how the French language died, if I may so express myself, into the Spanish tongue, to feel the approach of Spain ; until reaching Perpignan and rushing into a diligence, I heard the first biienos dias and bueft vidje, 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. X Alas! I had dreamed for so long a time of the crossing of the Pyrenees, and I was obliged to make the passage by night. Before we had reached the foot of the first mountains it was perfecdy dark. Through long, long hours, between sleeping and waking, I saw nothing but a litde 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 i and I heard nothing save the measured tread of the S ies, and the whistling of a dreadful wind, which ^er 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 I Quelle horrible null 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 travellinof on busi- ness. " No, sir," I replied. " I am travelling for pleas- ure ; and you, if 1 may be permitted to ask? " ''I," he replied with the utmost gravity, *' am travellinof 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 morninof we reached the frontier. Eslamos en Espaha, cried a voice ; the diligence stopped, the American and I jumped out again, and walked with much curiosity into a little \ } O SPAIN, tavern to see the first sons of Spain between ng walls of their own house. We found a half doza ' 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 chm'izo, a species of sausage stuffed with pepper, which burned the stomach, a bottle of sweet wine and a little hard bread. \ I **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 rciiunidoy (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 rcp2iblua?io!' 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 ll i BARCELONA, 7 ime to time the reading was interrupted, and some jolitical discussion arose, which I could not under- [tand, as they were speaking Catalan, but the gist )f which I could gather, however, by the aid of the lewspaper which I had heard read. Well, I must ;ay that in all those circles there breathed a republi- :an 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 Ibrow and deep voice — after having talked for some time to a group of silent listeners, turned toward rne, Iwhom he had mistaken, from my incorrect Castilian pronunciation, for a Frenchman, and said with much fsolemnity : " I will tell you one thing, caballero!*' "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 shorriy thereafter, as we were going away, she added with graceful simplicity : ''He pleases me !" It was still night when we reached Gerona, where King Amadeus, received, as it is said, with much en- thusiasm, placed a st9ne 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. < 1 jik > 8 SPAIN, ( Sleep ! It was the first time I had seen the sur rise in Spain : how could I sleep ? I placed myseli 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, litde 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 everythino-,— 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 litde valleys, surrounded by hills of graceful form, with < t \\ vw. \\ V V * \ BARCELONA, 9 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 cigai'rito were visible ; and they looked like gentlemen who were coming out of a theatre. I Not alone on account of the shawl, but from the way in wiiich 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 tliem 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. •l/f I A l^ 'I \ lO SPAIN. 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 alonor the route one sees lonof 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 } " BARCELONA, 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 finish doing a thing) corresponds with the French expression — venir de la fair e. 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 Italian do you speak, my friend ? " He was slightly disconcerted, but I afterward learned that at Barcelona there are a great number of hotel waiters, cafe 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 litde difference between your language and ours!" I 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 nuir which the crossing of the Pyrenees had left upon me, before I dashed out of the hotel i .rC. ~/^ 12 SPAIN, BARCELONA, 13 \\ 9 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, lon^ streets, regular squares, shops, theatres, great superb cates, and a continuous coming and goino- of peo- ple, carriages and carts from the shores ol" 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 Ramb/a, shaded by two rows of trees, crosses nearly the entire city irom 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, almost 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, rfse villas, little palaces, and factories, which dispute the ground, josde 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- 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 H SPAIN, r tl 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 mfantry of Europe. Even to-day the Spanish Infan- try have the reputation of being the most indefatio-a- 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 ^^^j ^^^^ ^'^^^^ ^^ *^ ^^^''^" 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, filao-rees 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 litde windows opening around the sanctuary. Iradition 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. 15 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 litde 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 batde 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 litde galley, with all its oars, built in imitadon 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 Testaments. In the cloister, in the church, in the litde 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 visiting the cathedral, no other \ i6 m I SPAIN. great monuments of interest remain to be seen In the Square of the Constitution are two palaces called Lasa dela D?putacion and Casa Consisiorial, the first ot 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 Lasa de la Diputacion there is a rich Gothic facade of the Chapel of St. George. 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 Faradise, which are lost in the midst of modern 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, cafes, 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, irom 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 BARCELONA. 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 which IS written the name of the person buried; where no one is buried, the niche bears the written word, Propiedad, 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, litrie altars, pictures, embroideries, artificial flowers, and, not infrequendy, 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 saw them in the distance placing the ladder and raising the coffin, so I passed 18 SPAIN, BARCELONA, 19 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 : Qtierida ! (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 of 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 with 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 on every side columns, shafts, enormous tombs, and marble chapels overloaded with sculpture, surmounted by bold figures of archangels, which raise their arms to Heaven, pyramids, groups of statues, and monu- ments, large as houses, which overtop the highest trees. Between the monuments are bushes, gratings, and flower beds, and at the entrance, between this and the other cemetery, there is a superb marble 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 garden, 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 cafe is indeed a leap ; but in travelling one must needs take even longer ones. The cafes of Barcelona, like almost all the cafes of Spain, consist of an immense saloon, orna- mented with great mirrors, and as many tables as It will hold, of which, by the way, one rarely re- mains empty even for a single half hour during the day In the evening they are so crowded that one is often forced to wait quite a time in order to pro- cure even a litde place 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 cafes, from twilio-jit until midnight, is heard the dull, continuous, deV 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 delicious in Spain, served, as a rule, in little cups ; it is thick as juniper preserve, and hot / m 1 20 SPAIN, \ \- enough to burn one's throat. One of these h'ttle 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 bollo and the other I made my studies of the Catalan charac- ter, talking Avith all the Don Ftdanos (a name as sa- cred in Spain as Tizio with us) who 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. I did not say a word, because he was shaving me, and a resentment of my national pride mio-ht 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, caballero, 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 France 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 if there 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, BARCELONA, 25 / II ; ,11 ' 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 Ivric Italian poetry, of which he was a passionate admirer. 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 of 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 effeminate, that Spain did not need to write down her poetic inspirations on the ruled Imes of any one. But Boscan remained firm. Gar- cilaso de la Vega, the valorous cavalier, a friend of his, who afterward received the glorious tide 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, I 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 litde 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 Veo-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 M 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-mots, that profusion of proverbs, subde 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, 27 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 dius 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 with 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 eood Barcelonians ouo^ht 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 I li 28 SPAIN. BARCELONA, 29 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 77te a metallic whip!" The following morning before sunrise, I started for Saragossa, and, to tell the truth, not without a feelmg 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 floi^ de las bellas ciudades 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 city from the litde 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 strano-ers, country of the valiant, farewell !"— and I added'^sor- rowfully : - Here is the first leaf torn from the rose-colored book of travel I Thus everything \ 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'] f SARAGOSSA, 31 CHAPTER II. SARAGQSSA. 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 jumper ; broken here and there by immense grottoes and frightful chasms, and scattered with her- mitages which are seen on the airy cf-ags and in the deep gorges. In the opening of the mountain, between the two principal peaks, rises the old Con- vent of the Benedictines, where Ignatius Loyola 30 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 fete 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 ; Uiey 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 litde 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 aeck ; 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 I 32 SPAIN. SARAGOSSA. 33 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 : I ''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 -—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 litde Catalan to begin a conversation, a wretched whisde and then a disagreeable cry : ''Olesa!" 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 litde friend : "A pleasant walk!" I cried, and he, detaching each syllable, replied : -A— 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- 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 alternate succession of cultivated plains, gende slopes and picturesque litde valleys, covered with groves and crowned by old casdes as far as the village of Cervera. Here one begins to see great 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 beaudful 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 jusdce : " 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 W f i 34 SPAIA\ 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 tlie 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 SAKAGOSSA. 35 common during the War of the Independence 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 tlie 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 hreast 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 abifity, 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. Arrjagon, 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 f i 36 SPAIN. SARAGOSSA, 37 I* the train stops, no other voice is to be heard than that of some old troubadour who twano-s 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 \o 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 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 feelincT of admiration. What constancv ! — 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 Saraeossa. 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 Ouirinal, but having informed him that I did not interest my- self in politics, he became reassured and talked with fnllest confidence. We fell upon literature. I It 17 .3 38 SPAIN. 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, althoueh 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 -^^ 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, SARAGOSSA, 41 1 lit of sandal with black ribbons crossed over the instep ; and still this artistic variety of dress bore tlie 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 sim.ple 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, handkerchieis 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. Litde by litde 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 somethino- peculiar in their faces. To the gravity of the in^ 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 Arraofonese blood. The streets of Saragossa have a gloomy aspect, always sad, as I had pictured them to myself before seeing them. Aside from the CosOy 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 itsjown 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 1 exclaimed : *'This place seems made for a battle," and 1 looked around as if some thins: were lackinor, — a barricade, the loopholes and cannons. I felt once more all the emotions which the narrations of the horrible siege II It I r 9i 42 SPAIN. SARAGOSSA, 43 {> ■ I* ll» I 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 min(! l)lew into the air a company of the regiment from Valencia. In that corner died General Lacostc, struck by a ball in the forehead. Here are \\\c. 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, und(!r a shower of balls, grape- shot and stones. Here are the s(|uares and narrow blind alleys, where were fought horrible battles hand to hand, with blows of the bayonet and dagger. scythes and bites ; the Ixirricadcd hou:$es defendeil 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 A-uesira Sc^ora di Pilar, the terrible madonna from whom protection and cour- age were sought by the sijualid crowd of soldiers, citizens and women before they went to die on the bulwarks. The people of Saragossa have preserved for her their old fanaticism, and venerate her with a peculiar feeling of amorous terror, v/hich 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 ilucshold. for a confused rcawakeninij of infantile terrors, whit^h few churches in the world have such a power of arousing in the hearts of the coldest and strongest as this one seems to jx^ssess. The first stone of Niicstra Scft^ra dd Pihr was iaiil. 1686. in a place where there rose a chapel erected by St. James as a receptacle for the miracu- lous im.ige of the Virgin^ which is still there. It is a building with a rectanjjular foundation, surmounted by eleven cupola.s covered with N'ariegaied tiles, which give it a graceful Moorish air. the walls un- adorned and dark in color. Enter. It is a huge church. dark» b;ire and cold, divided into three naves, surrounded by niori^ 44 SPAIN. SARAGOSSA. 45 ,;, -a. it 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 offerinnrs 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 rusde 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. prayini>-, 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 make me utter such a shriek as was never before heard upon earth, so that I might be freed forever 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 hold's 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 pesda 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 Senora 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. ,i'^ I I r t V' 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 Nitcstra Scfiora 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 Niicstra Sciiora ? 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 w^ho has ever been able to impose upon Nuestra Sefiora, 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- mache 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 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 litde 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 fire, ^\i\d\ Mar-^ tinez de la Rosa, an exile at London, recalls with such deep sighs among the beauties of the north. 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 Nuestra Sciiora del Pilar, . The Greco-Roman facade, although of majestic proportions, and the high, light tower do not prepare one in 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 were hidden from me ; I saw nothing but a few rays of pale light, broken here and there by the columns and arches. Then, litde by litde, 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 by 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- lllil I t , 48 SPAIN. SARAGOSSA, 49 \ 1 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 offer 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 word with a burst of joy. I was attacked with just such a feeling 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. It 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 I -■ so SPAIN. SARAGOSSA. 51 ; 1;" 'I* ■I the intoxicated, no crushing and crowding disturbed one. From time to time, one felt a Hght 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 I 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 affairs 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 tvith the ugliest mati in towUy 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 with 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 — I'll 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 yoiis, and my friend, 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-Hke 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 die 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 ? " 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 t 52 SPAIN, SARAGOSSA. S3 t\w. 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, gens 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, eesticulatinof with the letter in one hand and the shears in the other, amid the uncontrollable lauofhter 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. " 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 abulwark 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 Veg-a 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 resorted 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 trjithj^^ . * See Appendix for original. ili % 54 SPAIN, SARAGOSSA, 55 §. 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 Co7istitucio7i, 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 litde student's cafe 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. which is one of the most curious monuments of 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 was raised in 1 304 ; 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 and Moorish. In order to gain an entrance, I was obliged to go and ask permission of some employe 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 " 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 !" u 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. It /^ a magnificent view. Saragossa can be seen at a glance ; the great street of the Coso: the promenade of St. Engracia; the suburbs, and just below, so that it 56 SPAIN. m seems as if one could touch them, the colored cupolas oi NuestraSefwra 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 eravitv of its course ; and the Huerba, and the bridges and heights, which recall so many bloody encounters and desperate assaults. ■ J'l^ custodian read on my face the thouo-hts which were passing through my mind, and as if pur- suing a conversation which I had already be<^un 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 nien 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 ,t (a scaffold had been raised on pur- pose m each square) he would have been f-xemted • 1V"£ AU-^'^r '^^ barricades, in the fire, un-' helds S"\°^ 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 long-er any hope, we had to lay down our arms. But the defenders of Saragossa sLrendered < ifi o o < < t/3 H o Q .^r S6 SPAIJV. \\ seems as if one could touch them, the colored cupolas oi Ni,cs/mScnora del Pilar ; a trifle beyond, the bold tower of El Sco ,- farther away the famous Ebro which wmds around the city in a majestic curve ; and the broad valley enamoured (as Cervantes says) of the clearness of Its waters and the ffravitv of its^ course; and the Huerba, and the brid.4 and heights, which recall so many bloody encounters and desperate assaults. . The custodian read on my face the thou-dus which were passing throunrh my mind, and as if pur- suing a conversation which I had already be-un 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 yeld 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 gatlier tiie wounded or bury the dead ; the ruins of the houses were covered with putrefied bodies which poisoned tlie air ; a third of the city buildings were destroyed; yet no one spoke of surrendering; and if any one had spoken of it (a scaftold had been raised on pur- pose in each square) he would have been pvomted • we wished to die on the barricades, in the fir^ un der the debris of our walls, rather than bi j' o"; heads, iut when Palafox found himself a Z point of death when it was known that the French had conquered in other directions, and tint there was no onger any hope, we had to lav down our arms. But the defenders of Saragossa surren'lL?ed r < cn c« O O < < in H < U O P f* PS 03 I t SARAGOSSA, 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 171 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 fanaticism, or war-like mania of peas- ants weary of the tiresome 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 pride. They did not die poitr cet iddal de graitdcttr 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! * * * The sun was 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 SPAIN, 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 instandy 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 differendy. 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, sifie qua non, for the prosperity of the new govern- ment, the shooting of Serrano, Sagasta, and Zorilla, in order to convince them that one caimot joke with the Spa7iish 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 ? " 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, Figueras, 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 1 ' 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 ? " ** 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, knew as much Latin as a professor, rather than one of those light-headed queens who had no head (( (( 6o SPAIN, SARAGOSSA. 6l . 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 bpain. 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 litde more reserve the proud sons of Arragon, who in the nineteenth century wrote with their own blood the most glorious pao-e in the history of Spain. The name of Sarraor, 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- hcan audacity. The king arrived, toward evening, at the railway station, whither the representatives of 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 Sararassa, 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 was 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 gov^ernment 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 Sarragcssan 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 In 62 SPAIN, SARAGOSSA. 63 the sacred aspirations of the majority of this o-reat people whom you have come to know Jhe7i, perhaps, you will be adorned 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 repcblic will owe to you her complete hap- piness ! " y 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- rocs 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 enterino- the Cosoy 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! Shordy 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 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 ! I 64 SPAIN. t ifl it It was toward midnig-ht when I went to a masked ball at a theatre of medium size on the Coso, a shorL 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 of them stately and handsome, dressed in an old Ar- ragonese costume, tighdy encircled, cheek to cheek, as if one wished to catch the other's breath, rosy 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 III. BURGOS. 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 batde, 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 acqueduct at Alcanadre, and the remains of an Arab bridge at Logrono, 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 65 66 SPAIN. BURGO. 67 3 IU-, ? 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 of 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,\nd 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 casdes, 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. I 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 kino-, ridiculous things about the ministers, and rage against our army ; all founded on the rumor, then cu'rrent, 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 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 1808 ; 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 litde 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 s 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 cafe 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 * * ^J^ ^nd 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 I 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 car-abineros 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 ; \hefrc7Ueri20Sy 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 cimbinos, 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 interniazio^iale, so- cialists without the internazionale. Sixteen parties in all. These sixteen are subdivided aijain. 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 Hke 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- •o SPAIN. BURGOS. 71 lern ; those who desire a union with Portiio-al ; then you would have thirty parties. If you wish to b^ 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 litde 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- lummated that one could have counted all their pomts, indentations, and projections as if it were daylight. *' We are at Pancorbo," said my neighbor ; "look on to that height ; there stood a terrible castle which the French destroyed in 181 3. We are at Briviesca ; look : here John I of Castile assembled the General States, who accorded the tide 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 would 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 setded 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 with 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, overcrrown children, who came and went with arm- fuls of 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 r' 72 SPAIN. BURGOS. n 1: i.i 11 \% 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 ; they 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 go 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 Beairiz, 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 : caballeror* 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* 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 whicli 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 SPAIN. BURGOS, /> % f whimsical masker. Having taken two or three turns, I came out on a large square called P/aza Maym^ or Plaza de la Co7istitticio7t, 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 Iniparcial, caballero ? " "No." *' Do you want a ticket for the Madrid lottery .? " " No, indeed." ** Would you like some smuggled cirars ? " " 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 of the Cid ; and these, those of Ximenes, his wife." I took the shin bone of one and a rib of the other 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, Nzmez Rastira, Calvoque Laintts. 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 than 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- 76 SPAIN, m mg 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 t[ie 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 fagade 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 the 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 t\yo sharp bell towers, covered" from bas:^ 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 facade, 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 fagade, to the furthest pomt of the exterior spires, taking in little by little O O OS t3 PQ \u O •J < Pi P » < Q < < H •< O (d O P 76 SPAIN, M ing and lauq-hing at me, as if to say, '' Who is that idiot? " Findinor myseH' cau(^ht so suddenly, I was rather cHsconcerted, 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 m\' 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 tlie 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 basj 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 facade, 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 Vagade, to the furthest point of the exterior spires, taking in little by little in O O P3 o Pi O ti] H <: u Q < < < o u o Pi n BURGOS, 77 all that harmonious lightness of line and color, one experiences a delicious sensation like hearing a strain o{ 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 ini- 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 and 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 revivifying 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 yoor heart takes pleasure in that breathless admiration, as if all those lines issued from your own brain, inspired in the act of looking at them with your eyes ; then you are seized suddenly, as if with fright, by a feeling of sad- 78 SPAIN, k^ ness that there is not time enough in which to con template, intellect with which to understand, and memory to retam 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 mto 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 m one grand and lovely design, the first sio-ht 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 BURGOS, 79 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 ba's- 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 Castiie 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- \A 8o SPAIN, Buncos. 8i 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 reverend and dear to the whole v/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 ! 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 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 1 The sacristan approached me, and murmured in my ear, as if he were revealing a secret : " Do you wish to see the Christ f " " 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 S2 SPAIN. BURGOS. S3 !ll M hair, eyebrows, lashes, and beard ; the hair streaked with blood, the chest, lejOfs, 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 cofTer 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 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 Theophile 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 same place K «4 SPAIN. BURGOS. 8i ill ¥. 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 prolono-ed struggle, he killed three of them with his swo'rd ; but his strength was giving out, and he was on the pomt of being devoured by the others. At that moment he heard the discharge of a gun, 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 king'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, who 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 gende 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 ! " 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. BURGOS. 87 m\ w i On turning a corner, I found myself before a shop which made me shudder. There are some Hke 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 ceilmg, one above the other like baskets of fruit, some covered with an embroidered veil, others with flovvers, 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 n? great haste, while thinking he was going to buy his break- fast, mistaking the door, would stumble in among the biers— a mistake litde 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 havanaj, which are sold in separate shops, there are no other cigars than those oUres ciiartos (a trifle less than three sous), shaped like our Roman cigars, a httle 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 parroquianos, on paying something extra, have given them the selected cigars ; the most re- 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 lickmg ; 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 v 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 real, which equals a trifle more than our five sous ; four reales make a peseta, five pesetas a dtiro, 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 cuartos, 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 eio-ht 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- \ / ss SPA /AT. BURGOS, 89 ^ir I I w^ mams of the Cid ; house of the Cid ; monument of the Cid An old man. majestically enveloped in his mande 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 PKT '"„^?"c^ style, simple and graceful, raised by Philip II, ,n honor of Ferdinand Gonzales, in the Tl S'^'r' " " ^'^' ^'^^'■^ s'o°d the house in which the famous captain was born. A litde further on one finds the monument of the Cid. erected in 1784. It is a pilaster of stone, resting on a pedestal m masonry, and surmounted by a heraldic shield, with this mscription : " On this spot rose the house t^fli '".^^f y^^' '°'^' ^°'^'''.?o Diaz de Vivar, cal ed the Cid campcador, 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 • 1 his IS the great Cid. whose beard no one dared touch during h,s 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 few uttered a cry and fell to the ground half dead • the Sfnl V ''"'^ '"°*'""''^' '^^^^-^ '^'^^ r^i-d. and. re- gaining his consciousness, related the miracle ; then Se hS i?^^'^ '^IP"^ ^"^ '^^ that he still held the hilt of his sword in a menacing manner. God 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 I 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 be had taken no part in the killing of his brother, Don Sancho." I beeeed him to tell me the whole storv. " 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 : IJill! 90 SPAIN, BURGOS, 91 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 kin^ 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 some supernatural virtues, and that it was much talked of on all sides, and gave rise to so many extravagant tales that the Hishop. I )on Fray Pascual was obliged to havr it tak(Mi away, as It created a perilous rivalry between the door and the high altar. The guide said nothing more, but if one were to collect all the traditions about the Cid which are current in Spain, \\\cvv. would be enough to fill three good-sized volum(\s. No legendary war- rior was ever dearer to his people than this terrible Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar. Poetry has made iiim 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 th<: 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 people ; it poured, and a high wind was blowing, so that I only found several groups of boys, workmen, 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 group 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 Past/nim of Tt-ja. Everyone was Uilking a diflferent language: some English, others Porltiguesc. French, and Spanish ; and others still, an unheard-of mixlun?: of all four, to which were added words, sounds, and cadences of I know not what dialect. Ycl ihey un- derstood each other, and talked together with 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 Utaving Okl Castile, the cradle of the Spanish monarchy. 1 should like to have J^^en Soria* built on the ruins of the ancient Numantia; Se- govia, with its immense Roman ae nothing worth seeing in those four cities ; that the guided>ook exagger- ated their im|X>rtancc ; that fame makes much out of little ; and that it was far better to see little than 92 SPAIN-, i m\ much, provided that h'ttle was well seen and remem- bered ; to:rether with other good reasons, which vicr^ orously corresponded with the results of my calcula- tions and the aims of my hypocrisy. So I left Burgos without having seen anythincr but monuments, guides, and soldiers ; because the Castilian women, frightened by the rain, had not dared venture on their litde 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. k^&j CHAPTER IV. VALLADOLID. 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 sec, 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 inlial)itants ; it seemed to me that it must be an elegant, gay, and studious city, and I could not picture to myself its streets without si^eing Gongora pass here, Cervantes tliere, Leonardo dc 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 Ixmquct 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 thai 93 94 SPAIN. VALLADOLID, 95 i iS^9 "^V f ir 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 nothinc^ 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 eveninp-s after fete days will only be the beginning of another series o\ 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. TyJ^l^^Ki}^"^ ^^^""^^^ ^'''^"' ^^^ beautiful days of rnillip 111! The population, which counted for- merly one hundred thousand souls, is now reduced to a htde 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 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 fact, 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 litde 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 direcriy in front of him, ** lo que es que destruye al hombre f " I stopped and listened. " Tres muchos y Ires pocos: Mucho hablarypoco saber ; muchogastar y poco tener ; mucho presumir y nada valer / " (" Three muches and three littles destroy man : Much talking and litde knowing ; much spending and litde keeping ; much presuming and litrie worth.") 96 SPAIN. VALLADOLID. 97 f w^m i It seemed to me that I could distinguish a ^reat 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, thouo-h there is nothing peculiar in their faces and colorino-,_and the dress does not differ at all from that of our com- TxT "^Tfvf. ^•'I "^'^''- ^^ '^^^ J^^t ^" the square at Valladohd 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 czgarrito ; and it is quite I laughable to see some of these hardy, bearded men ' going around with that microscopic little thino- in their mouths, half hidden by their whiskers ; They smoke It dihgendy to the last shred of tobacco, until they have nothing but a dying spark on the under ip ; yet this they hold on to (as if it were a drop of liquor), until the ashes fall, with the air of one mak- mg a sacrifice. I remarked something else, too which I noticed afterward also— throughout my en- tire stay in Spain, I never heard any whisdino-l From the Plaza Mayor, I betook myself lo 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 mqre like that of a cemetery than the sight of an abandoned casde,— just because there exists there in all its force (more so than in any other place) the contrast between the recollections to which it gives rise and the condition to which it is actually reduced. Oh, superb corteges of plumed cavaliers, oh, splendid banquets, oh, feverish enjoy- 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 floor. 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 Valladolid received the title of city ; " You knawy sir, Philip the second, son of Charles the fifth, father of . . . ." '* / know, I know,'' 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 fagade 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 : '* Oh, sir! — oh, sir! How fond I am of you! " 98 SPAIN. VALLADOLID. 99 This 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 litde 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 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 litde personage, and a curiosity, not less lively, forced me to look\t 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 ICX) SPAIN, VALLADOLID. lOI iW'lf fl ljlllti 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 usted la ma?io ! " To which he replied : ''Buenos dias ! '' 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- m%^ zmiles!' 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 diat 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 l3eg 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- lOO SPAIN. \% VALLADOLID. lOI 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 vtano ! " To which he replied : ''Buenos dias I '' 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- 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- lOJ SPAIN, VALLADOLID, 103 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 feehng her courage"^ return, had made an effort with the hidden hand, and, barinc^ the breast, held apart the baby's lips with he'r forefinger and thumb, while she said with ten- derness : '' Hda aqiei*' (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 Jose Zorilla was born. 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 Jose 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 Zorillai 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 Tenorio, 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 fete. 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 : 102 SPAIN, VALLADOLID, 103 1 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 he'r forefinger and thumb, while she said with ten- derness : '' Hda aqiii"' (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 litde way beyond, the one in which Don Jose Zorilla was born. 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 Jose 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 Jtian Tenorio, 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 fete. 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 : I04 SPAIN, VALLADOLID. 105 " 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- tided La Pasio7iaria, which is a trifle long, but full of affection and a melancholy which encliants you. I cannot think of it without my eyes filling with tears ; for I see those two young lovers, Auro^ra and Felix, in a deserted campagna, at sunset, as they move away from each other in different directions, turnmg now and then, saluting each other and never tiring of looking at one another. They are verses which the Spanish call aso?iantes, 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- mancero, 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 mterior. 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 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- ^1 n I io6 SPAIN, VALLADOLID. U ! (•I r 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 startled. 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, ofticers, 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 formed outside, because it was so sad and ugly ; 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 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 pidc-book, may be a proof of constancy, but it is baleful to one who is travelling with the object of narratmg afterward this impression of the objects seen. Since one cannot retain everythin^r, it is bet- ter not to confuse the distinct recollecdon 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 ivhich one has tried to do too much. • \" r'lr'r ^"^ ^"-^^ ^^"^ 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 th(^ littK^ doors slipped around the columns, and <,did(:d here and there, flying from the importunate hands of the pursuers enveloped in their ample cloaks ; and a crowd of boys raced around the sciuarc., filling the air with their cries, and evctrywhcrre there were groups of ^^/;,r//,.r^^, in which one heard from time to time the names of Serrano. Sagasta. and Ama- deus, alternating with the words jmiicia. libniiut traicion, honra de Espafia. and the like. I entered an immense cafe filled with students, and there sat- ished as a choice ivriter would say, the natural talent of eating and drinking. Hut 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 tliem.-a most natural thing to do in Spain, where one is alwax^s sure of receiving a courteous answer. The two students approached, and the usual discussion fol- VALLADOUD, 109 lowed, 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, caballcrosy so pleasandy 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 dehiFe^nieavia (railway guide) or the Corre- spondencia EspaTlola, thinking of his family, friends, and distant country, you offered him, with amiable spontaneity, a cioavrito, and, taking part in a con- versation wliich l)n)ke up the tniin of sad thotights. left him calm and cheerful ; I thank you. Oh. cabal- Icros, so pleasantly r(Mnembcre' lime I hear you accused of ferocious souU and savage customs by your most civilized European brothers, I will rise and defend you with the imi)etuosity of an Andalu- sian and the tenacity of a Catalan, as long as 1 have voice enough left 10 cry : ** Long live hospi- tality ! " A few hours aftcnvard I found myself in the car- riage of a train going to Madrid, and the whistle for de[>arture had scarcely ceased, when I struck my forehead in sign of despair. Alas ! it was late ; and at Valtadolid I had forgotten to visit the room where Christopher CoUimlnis died! II I MADRID. Ill CHAPTER V. MADRID. IT was day when one of my neighbors cried in my ear : *' Caballero I " ** 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 degra7iit 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 eighth 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 ! " no Then he began enumerating the great things which I would see. '' What promenades ! What cafes ! 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 !''' lir t 112 SPAIN, MADRID. open, like ten torrents, ten great streets, and from every street comes a continuous, noisy wave ol! 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 lakel 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. Some 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- glmg 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 n3 east, and ends in an immense plain, that extends all along the side of the city, and contains gardens, f walks, squares, theatres, bull-circuses, triumphal arches, museums, small palaces, and fountains. I jump into a carriage and say to the coachman : '' Viicla I " 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 huespedes (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. MADRID. IIi; Florence, and Naples, and had retained throughout life a grateful and affectionate recollection of Italy, She, too, quite naturally, evinced a lively sj^mpathy ' for our country, and displayed it every day by beino- 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- 1 concerted by them ; I comprehended very litde, 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 gr'eat difficulty of easy languages, which is, that it is not permissable to talk them badly, because it is not in- 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, propre, mortiiaire, delice, without running the risk of letting propria, 7nortuario, delicia escape one, than the words propio, morhwrio, 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 speak* 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, \ ii6 SPAIN, MADRID, 117 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 Andalusia. 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, reluctandy reconciles himself to this conclusion ! Passing from the tongue to the palate, a litde good- will is needful in order to habituate one's 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. This 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, among other things, of sweets. Then comes their puchcro, 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. ^\\^ puchcro is, in regard to the culinary art, what an antliology 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, ve^'-etables and ham ; under it, over it, and in all the interstices are 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 gendeman 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 botde of Val de Peiias ought to satisfy any one. I say nothing of the oranges, Malaga grapes, asparagus, artichokes, and every species of fruits and vegetables, which everyone 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 chorizos, which, as they them- selves say, Icvantan 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 ii8 SPAIN. MADRID, 119 hotel tables d' bote 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 daq-gers, 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 atartos 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 Pnei^ta 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 diat 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, and weave the scandalous gossip of the city. Upon the side-walks, which are wide enough to allow four carriacres to pass in a row, one has to force his way with 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- men'ts 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 1% I I20 SPAIN, MADRID, 121 II 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 larcre 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 ike the French ; the women of the middle class still wear the mantilla, but the old satin shoes, th^peinela and bright colors,— the national costume in a word has disappeared. They are still, however, the same litde 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 Casctne are to Florence Ihe Prado, properly speaking, is a very broad ave- nue not very long, flanked by minor avenues, vvhich extends to the east of the city, at one side of the famous garden of the Buen rctiro. and 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- 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 Prado, 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 Pnido 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 litdc 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 myrde, flanked and interrupted by gardens and groves, in which rise statues and foun- tains, and mysterious paths intersect each other. On fete 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 122 SPAIN. MADRID, \2\ gardens are crowded with thousands of bovs • the orchestras of the day theatres are playing ; 0:1 every side one hears the murmur of fountains, the rusth'ne 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 Pucrta del Sol nothing IS to be seen but a seaof heads, ploughed by a line of carriages as far as the eye can reach. ,,^^^^^.S^^^^^P^omenades, theatres, and spectacles Madrid IS, without doubt, one of the first cities of he world. Beside the Opera House, which is very arge and rich ; beside the theatre for comedy, the r u'^u'''^^^^^^''''''^^^^^'^"^ 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, yaudcvillcs?Ar^v,\n^. room theatres, and those with boxes and ealleriel large and small, aristocratic and plebeian, for every purse for every taste, and for all hours of the nicrht 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- ^inments, beginning from mid-day until nearly dawn The opera, of which the Spanish people are very iond IS alvv-ays superb, not only during the Carnival but throughout all seasons. While I was at Madrid Fncci sang at the theatre of the Zarz2icla and Stagno at he Hippodrome, each supported by fine artists ex- cellent orchestras and magnificent properties. The most celebrated singers in the world make every effort 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 forg-ot- ten : On the anniversaries of Lopez de la Vega, Cal- deron, Moreto, Tirso de Molina, Alarcon, Francesco 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, ix,, the zainde, 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 SPAIN. MADRID. 125 Sature in A ^-^ ^V P^P"'^-- = the dramatic iterature, m a word, is still to-day, as was the case m former times, the richest and most diffuse here is, too, a great rage for the Zarztcela. which IS usually represented in the theatre to which it gives Its name, and is a composition something between comedy and melodrama, between the operl and Vaudcvde, with a pleasing alternation of prSe comir.T' "^ ""•"•^'°" ""f ^°"^^' ^f t"^^ serious'^and comic , a composition exclusively Spanish in char- red/. . ""?' ^"'^'•t^'"!"g- In othir theatres they represent political comedies intermingled with sona and prose in the style of Scalvini's review satiVical farces are the subjects of the day,-a specie's Taut sacramentalcs, .vith scenes from^he paLion of JesS Chnst. during Holy Week ; and ba^ls, silly dances and pantomimes of every description. At the small hea res three or four representations are given Z rno he evening, from one hour to another, and the spectators change at every representation In t ie famous Capcllanes theatre they dance every evenb ' ot the year a can- can, scandalous beyond the most obscene imagination, and there gather the fast you nc aimed wJ"'"' '", libertines%vith wrinkled 'noS, armed with spectacles, eye-glasses, opera---• of Ribera, crushes me .V. ^iep/ien, of Joanes ; the CViarlcs V, of Titian fulminates the Condc duque Olivares, of Velasquez ' hLle^^lUr '^-f'"'"' °' Raphael,' casts tS^^he shade all the pictures around it ; the Drunkards of Iv thT?:* ^'""r\ "'■''^- t -fl««-n of bacchant Ian joy the faces of the neighboring saints and princes ?oes Ti °^f throws Van Dyck, Paul Veronese out que ed SCe ?i; "^^ ^°y" '^'"^ ^^^^--^^^ = the con- wW 1 ^"' '7'^"^^ "PO" their inferiors ; else- h fsin frt^P"""^? '■" '^f"' •^"••"- their conquerors. It IS, in fact, a rivalry of miracles of art, in the s™ted° bf r thr^" 'T'r ^°"' ^'•^'"'^'- ^'ke a flam: stirred by a thousand breezes, and your heart ex- pands^ in a feeling of pride for the p^wer of hum^. 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, I 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 foDjnd 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. tf L'f ' 136 SPAIN. MADRID. 137 There are several of his pictures in the Madrid ing all the family of Charles IV; but the two into Z^ • IT ^". ''\' '^"' ^'•^ '' "^^ F^^^^h 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 m the act of firing ; in the other are horses, with their veins cut, and horsemen dragged from ^eir saddles, stabbed, trodden upon, and^lacerated What faces ! what attitudes ! one seems to hear the .™^ if^"^ ""^ ^'^^^ ^"""'"?' ^he veritable scene could not cause more horror. Goya must have painted those pictures with his eyes glarincr 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- figures of saints, life-size ; a massacre of St. Bar- Prnrr' '^"'^!"»"F "^^'^y figures, and a colossal Prometheus, chained to a rock. Other pictures of his are to be found in other galleries, at the Escurial, 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- ino- ; they are carcasses that seem to have been dragged from the bier, bearing on their faces the imprtnt 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 soul, which reveals, with sublime suffering, sublime aspirations, and the secret flashes, aiid wmie^ise 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 ; one looks at them, IS chilled to the heart, but the heart keeps on beat- ino- ; Ribera never loved. Yet in passing through ^3^ SPAIN, MADRID, 139 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- Spk ^'^^' ^^^"^ ^•'^"^^ '^ 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 goin^ through a deserted street, passing a cemetery, ov climbing an unknown staircase. 'J here are several of them at which one cannot look ; a hermit, quite nude who IS stretched on the ground, and seems a skeleton with skin ; an old saint, to whom the ^^^f^t ^^f'^^'^'f^ ^he 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 horribll tW V PV, ^T^\ ^"1 '"^ ^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ible than that of Philip II. In the gallery at Madrid he rep- deSr' '^'''''^ ^^''^^' ^'d ^g^' suffering, and 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, kincrs warriors, martyrs, and deities ; all living and spealc-' ing, in novel and bold attitudes, with serene faces and a smile on their lips, full of frankness and vi^or Ihere is a large portrait of Count Dukede Olivares on horseback, the celebrated picture de las Meninas^ 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 I i I40 SPAIN. MADRID. 141 have lived through ,t. Thus the persona^res In the fr enT' ^^/^'^^^"^^ "tingle in the crowd of the friends and acquaintances (absent and present W our entire hfe. and present themselves to our mfnds and hold converse with us, without our even re membenng that we have seen them painted Now- let us talk of Murillo in the gentlest tone of voice that IS possible. In art Velasqu^ez is an eal tt" latter" 'h^''' ^' "'"'^^ ^^^ '— -"^ aXre had t"d ^l rX 7a ^'j-^H '"^^" '^}' '^ ^^c. 7 '^u, ^ P'^'^"* inspiration ; and vet his most admirable pictures breathe an pJr ^f ^ i ! swfeetne<;c wK.vi, • • "'^''"'e an air oi modest t ? ff°5 ''!; "fusion full of vivacity and Srac? hand,, so „||„„y, 3|i h,. and aerial in apTea^tT a3V.« wid,',f/^„,^:x';r„f 'RiC'tht r^- n.on,ous transparency of Titian, and the brillian; Vivacity of Rubens. Spain gave him the name of the Painter of the Co7icepczons , 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 was a desire, a limitless aspiration toward faith, a hope which gave me glimpses of a nobler, richer, more beautiful life than I had hitherto led ; it was a new feeling of prayerfulness, a desire to love, to do good, to suffer for 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 Virgin to read, The Crucifixion of Christ, the An- nunciation, the Adoration of the Shepherds, the Holy Family, the Virgin of the Rosary, and the infant Jesus, 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 \ I \ \ 142 SPAIN. MADRID. H3 •;f ■ from their lips. Murillo is a saint to them ; thev utter his name with a smile, as if to sav • " He h/ longs to us ! " and in doing so look at you as if to impose an act of reverence upon you. The art;<;f« do not all hold the same opiniL re^^arding t mTbu they love him above every one else, and do no t?nn m" ^.fP^r^^'"? t'^'f J°ve from their admira- tion. Murillo IS not only a great painter, but has 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 js once found in his canvases, is borne ^fn one's hear^ throughout life, with a feeling of gratitude and rdigious devotion He is one of tfose 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 fannot have disappeared forever, they are still in some pbce ; that their life has only been like a flash ofTn extinguishable light, which must appear once more l^lf i ' ^P'^"^°'-/o the eyes of mortals ! One may cterltdetrSs^ ''''''' °' ^ancy .--but they ar^ After the works of these four great masters, one may admire the pictures of Joanes, an artist hor oughly Itahan in style, whose correct drawing and nobihty of character made him worthy of th? title Not! a^ri'1\'-"°,-rt' °^*^^ Spanish Raphael PMot mart, but m hfe, he resembled Fra An^elico (whose studio was an oratory where he fasted and did penance), and he, too, before beginning work went to take the communion. Then there are! hlSc-' tures of Alonzo Cano ; those of Pacheco (Murilk^ master); those of Pareja, a slave of Velasquez of Navarrate the Mute ; of Menendez, a great flower- painter ; of Herrera, Coello, Carbajal, Collantes, and Rizi. There is Httle 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 FomentOy and in other private gal- leries. It would require months and months to see every thing well ; and would it not take the same length of time to describe them, 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 AlcaM into the square of the Piierta 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 of finding one's self in a country 144 SPAIN, MADRID, 145 where the only person one knows is the kln^. One has dmost the desire to rush after him, cryinl • Your majesty! it is I. I have come.'' ^ ' his f^he^"" h''^' ^^"''''1^ t' ^^^''^ ^he habits of flu "^"'"'^ ^^ 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, traversincr the citv on foot accompanied only by an aide-de-cfmp ^Z^ crzados (maid-servants) on returning home quite breathless with their full baskets, related to ?hS oasTed ""^^^^^^^?at they had met him, that he had and the ""^Z' '^^V'^'y '^^^^ '^^^^ ^^^^hed him, and the republican house-keepers would say • Asi debe^ kacer; and the Carlists, 4ith a grimace, mlj muring : Que clase derey f (What kind of a k ng s he !) or, as I once heard : He is determined fhat some one shall shoot him ! On returning to t nor o'f M.Tr^J'^' ^^P^^^^-^^n-al and th^e gover nor of Madrid, who, in accordance with an old cus- tom, were obliged to present themselves to the kine every day to ask him if he had no order to gfve tf the army or the police Then followed the minis- S aI'T '""^".^ '5"^ ^" ^"^^ ^ ^^^k in coun- WK t "^ ^-eceived one of them every dav When the minister had taken his departur^e, th^e audience began Don Amadeus gave an audience of one hour at least, and sometimes two, every day 1 he demands were innumerable, and the object of the demands easy to imagine : assistance, pension c\"vte"' privileges, and crosses; the^fing Je' The queen too, received, although not every day, on account of the uncertain state of her health!^ AU the works of benevolence fell to her lot She re 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 litde 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 SPAIN. on account of the.r 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 hfe Not even the court ladies knew that she welt 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 nothi^f that distinguished her as queen, not even on the days when the court dinners were given. Queen citH? :T a ^''^' """^'^ "'^h the arms of L,astile, a diadem, ornaments, and the insienia of royalty ; Dona Victoria, nothing. She gelZ- £ fnT V."""'^ '\'^' ^^'^'■^ °f the Spanish riS'tto thJ ^ "'"Pu"^"y '''^''^ announced the right to the crown much more effectively than splen- dor and pomp would have done. But Spanish Void pe?so"naf 7 '° '" "'? ,*''^ simplicity, ^for all^hlr personal expenses and those of her children and wu '^""'^ P^'"^ '^'t*^ ^^' o^" money When the Bourbons were reigning, the entire oal ace was occupied The king liv^d iS'the poJl Sn^n SthenSr'l K^ ^^"^'■"°^ *^ Orient r Isabella. in the part which looks on one side into the Square of the Orient, and, on the other, into the Square of ttt^nr ' '^°"^P-!;- -- i" the part 'opposite that of the queen ; and the princes each had an apartment toward the Garden del Moro A? the time King Amadeus resided there, a great portion of the immense edifice remained ^mpi rfe had onj. three small rooms,-a study, a deeping-room ind dressing-room. The sleeping-room opened 06 Q < u < 1-1 < < o X H ..•■'■.!*VV^- s I 146 SPAIN. on account of thcrsocal position. It was difficult to obtam any knowledge of the queen's private ac of benevolence because she was not accustomed to mention them to any one. Little was known also of her habits, because she did everything withou ostentation and with a reserve which would h^vc ' appeared almost excessive even in a lady in private .fe 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 hern,,ghb„,. In her dress there was nothing? that d.stmgu,shed her as queen, not even on the days when the court dinners were given. Oueen Castile' T'y f ^"''"^ '""^^'^ ^^''^'^^'- -^« of Castilt. a diadem, ornaments, and the insi-nia of royalty ; Dona Victoria, nothing. She -enei- ally dressed herself in the colors of the SpanSi rii't to' 1 "'"^ " "'"'^""'>' ^^■'^■■^h announced ^he right to the crown much more effectively than splen- dor and pomp would have done. But Spanish^d had no lung to do with this simplicity for all C personal expenses and those of her children and maids were paid ^^■^^\^ her own money. V\' hen the Bourbons were reignincr, the entire ml ace was occupied. The king li^^ed in the ^ZTL the left toward the Square of the Orient! Isab Ih "f tt S-f ^f ■'^^'-•^^- °- --^'e into the Sq^a^' of the O, lent, and, on the other, into the Square of 1 a;^rth?' ' "^-^'^y;^ ■•" the part Opposite tl.at of the queen ; and the princes each had an apartment toward the Garden del Moro. A^ the time King Amadeus resided there, a great port on of the immense edifice remained ^mly H^e S onjy threesmall rooms,-a study, a helping-room and dressing-room. The sleeping-room "opened \ < M U <: •J <; •J < > o K MADRID. H7 upon a loner 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 palace 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. He used to take many notes, and often consulted with the queen, especially when it was a question of making peace between the min- isters, or of soothing the different opinions of the heads of the parties. He read a great number of magazines of every kind, anonymous 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 SPAIN. MADRID. 149 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 ol* 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 ?ourao-e 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\hat vague and flippant style which is customary to those who know nothing beyond a few tides and names. She had studied most thoroughly the Spanish language, and spoke it like her own. The history, literaturc, 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 grum.bled, the Bourbon party said : "She is not our queen;" but all of them nourished a profound feelin':^ of respect for her. 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 limidess freedom regarding him. Under the safeguard of the appellative of Savoyard, for- eigner, young courder, 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 7tgly in face and profle ; 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 feh for him if not the enthusiasm of the Stcfani Telegraphic Age^icy^^l 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 ISO SPAIN, MADRID, ISI 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 seeino- that others did not do it either, and they could no^ 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 wronor ! 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 tlieir aid spontaneously, and these never render it, even by force. The voUntarios 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 batallions already assembled. The first was a batallion of veterans, men in the fifties, and not a few of them very old, dressed in black, wearing the cap ^ la Ros, with galloons above galloons, crosses above crosses, as neat and gleaming as the scholars of an academy, and m 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 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 vivandleres 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 .1 y% / : \ m 152 SPAIN, MADRID. 153 i gloves of a 1 the colors of the rainbow, sabres swords, small swords, large swords, pistols, and re- volvers ; a mixture, in fine, of all kinds cf 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 Ido not remember whether there were twelve or lourteen battalions ; each one choosing its own uni- form, was obliged to appear as different as possible Irom the others. They were commanded by the byndic, who also wore a fantastic uniform. At the hour fixed, a sudden rushing backward and forward 01 the officers of the staff, and a noisy blast of the trumpets announced the arrival of the kino- Don Amadeus, in fact, arrived on horseback from the ^^"ri-^ 1^' ^^7^^^ ^'^'^''^^ ^^ captain-general, with high boots, white breeches, and full-dress uni- form. Behind him was a body of generals, aides- de-camp scarlet-hveried servants, lanciers, cuiras- siers, and guards. After he had passed the entire Jine 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 kin^ ^€!>^t/-i^0^ MADRID. 157 \ 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 thejgbtr-and where stand th e servants of the rirriiSL .^rilerarpenterq 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 w^ho are allowed to break throucrh 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 laree enouMi 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 ' -J -, 158 SPAIN. MADRID, 159 the Tortl, 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 havin body, and the man plants the bandcrillas 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 capcadorcs with a terrible fury ; in a moment all have sprung into the walk ; the arena is empty ; the wild beast,\vith 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 f the spectators fill the air with cries. " Forward ! courage ! " The other banderillero advances, plants his arrow, then a third, dicn once more the first. That day ei(>-ht 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 Htde 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 M' 1 66 SPAIN. MADRID, 167 .1^ 4'i flW ' ^i^Bi took a leap passing over him and falling on the other side, throwing the pole between the le'^s 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 bandcrilleros have hnished : now comes the espada's 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 in one hand his sword and the imdda, which is a piece of red stuff attached to a little stick, enters the arena, presents himself before the royal box, raises his cap, and consecrates to the king, in pronouncing some poetical phrase, the bull which he is goin' ^"'•'" fr°- ^'- boxes oi the arena, all around, a white billowy stratum under which the crowd almost disappears^ and tTn thousand voices cry : " Fuego ! 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 banderillas al alcalde. Fit ego al alcalde I " The aironv 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, utterin:^ 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 infrequendy 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 cail him a brute, a coward, an in- famous creature, wish his death, and, if they had iti 172 SPA/JV. MADRW. ^7Z him in their hands, they would strangle him liivc a dog. At other times the bull, wounded mortaliv staggers a Httle before falling, slowly withdraws Irom the spot where he was struck to ^ro and die in peace m a quiet corner ; all the ioreivs follow him slowl)- count his steps, and measure the progress of his hnal agony ; a profound silence accompanies his lact moments, and his death has somethin- "p-t" 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 ?" f.lZ r^^ ''"' meanwhile the spectators rise, the out of he h;I"'"P °"i'° their chairs, the ladies lean out of the boxes, and in a moment the whole circus !nto% £1";. ^'^-.^he group of young men break into a laugh ; their neighbors, in order not to appear hke fools do the same, and the lauo-hter extends in J\ r Sometimes, a stranger, who sees the spreads like lightning, every one rises, every one Kien? ^ " ^ '^ •^"°"' P^''^^" ^ho salutes his friend on the opposite side of the theatre in a voice vvhich ,s like a clap of thunder. That Vrea^ crowd ,s stirred in a few moments by a thouS conflicting emotions; it passes from terror to enthu MAD J? ID. 175 siasm, from enthusiasm to pity, from pity to anger, from anger to joy, astonishment, and incontrollable 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 ; litde by litde 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 o-lancino- 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 Alcala ; thousands of carriages are waiting in the vicinity of the building ; 1/6 SPAIN. MADRID, for an hour, from every direction in which one look, nothing .s to be seen but a crowd, as far as the et can reach and all quiet. Their emotions have ex .s'tot he"; f '■ ^y '""^ ^°""^ °f their footstep,; IS to be heard, and it seems as if the multitnd. derhes all the noisy joy of a short time before I first Ze^T-r^ T'"^ °"^ °f ^'^^t circus for' the head wh'i^f fl^^^ '''■^"-^'^ ^"°"^h to stand ; my head whirled hke a top. my ears buzzed ; I saw bulls horns on every side, with blood-sho eves shor'est?o':'l'h ' ''^^ ^'^^"'"^ «f ^"-^- I took £ shortest road home, and as soon as I reached there I umped into bed and fell into a heavy sleep. The . following morning the landlady came In great haste " Well ? how did you like it. Were you amused > Are you going again } What do you say toTt"" ' ' I do not know," I replied. "It seems as if 1 had been dreaming ; I will talk to you of it later I must think it over." ^Saturday came, the day before the second bull- ;; ^/^ ..P" ?°'"S: ?" asked the landlady. Wo! I responded, thinking of somethinsr else went out passed through th"e street of llcl^^' found myself without being aware of it, before ?he ofTeo;;:"/'' '^f^'^ ^T/^^^ = ^^ere was a crowd oi people , 1 said to myself. " Shall I go ?— Yes ?— No ? in'th?'shade "nf" t ''""^"''^ asked a boy ; '^ a seat And I replied, *' Here '" But in order to understand thoroughly the nature 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 Cid Cam- pcador 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 g^reat ardor to this exercise ; at all the solemn festivals there were bull- fights, and to the nobility alone was conceded the honor of ficrhtinof ; kinofs 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 other 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 horrilied 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 ornamented ; 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, Madrid. 179 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 mulda. a'nd 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, Jerez, 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 m 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 ; %ut 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 cry out against Spanish bar- barity. It is not only during the summer that the bull- fights are held, nor is 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 litrie spirit, and toreros \\\\o 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. Litde 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 entertaining. When the toreros have killed the to7^os de mucrie, 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 toril, 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 N \ i8o SPAIN, MADRID. i8i 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 turnino- suddenly, hits some one, knocks him down, throws him mto the air, or raises him on his horns ; at times he overturns a half dozen, and bull and liian disappear in a cloud of dust, arid the spectator fears for an instant that some one has been killed Not the slighest danger of it. The intrepid cape- adores, with bruised bones and dusty faces, shru^r their shoulders and begin again. Nor is this the finest episode of the winter s spectacle. Sometimes, instead of the toreros, the torcras (women) confront the bull ; women who are dressed like tight-rope dancers, with faces, before which, not the"" ano-els, but Lucifer himself would ^ " Make a shield for his eyes with his wings. *• The ptcadoras 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 vttdeta, like the most intrepid matador of the stronger sex ; all the ciiadrilla accompanied by a body of c/udos 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 ot one of the bandcrillcra, and so tore the shirt of another, that she was left in the middle of the arena with scarcely clothing enough to cover her decendv. After the women, the wild animals. At different / 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 foucrht with the lion, the tiger, the leopard, and con- quered them all. Also in a combat, of a few years ago, the tiger and the lion 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 Rccolctos, 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 lion, 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 cafes of Madrid, and is saluted in the streets with a low bow by persons of taste. The illustrious espada, like Frascuelo, Lagar- I82 / So ^""^J f ayet^"o, earn the delightful sum of ten ^u^,^ francs a year, own villas^ and houses jg of crXnT"on'^r"''"'f''^'''f ^"P^'-'^'y-^l^^"^ '°ads Travel Hk-e n • "':;^''^'^ ^"^ ^■'^^^ d-'esses, travel ,ke princes, and smoke Havana cfcrars Their dress, outside the circus, is very curious h consists of an Orsini hat of black velvet Td-h reach the trousers, waistcoat open to the waist xvhich displays a very hne white shirt, no cravlt a sash of red or blue silk around the hins a nitr .f breeches fitting the legs like the stocKn'.s 'o the balet dancers, a pair of morocco shoes ornamen ed with embroidery, a httle braid of hair hanging dovvn rings, trinkets, in fact, an entire jewelrv establish rnent on their persons. Many of 'them \::^^l^, horses, some carriages, and when they are not fighmg they are always wandering around ?he Jetos, with their wives or sweethearts who are superbly dressed, and regard them with amoro"; ^ . !; K u""' "'''"'-'"• '^^^•^^ and gestures are more noted by the people than those of the commanTer^ of the army or the ministers of State. Toreros Z comedy, /.r.... ,„ ballads, toreros in pictures, X".^" ans with t7 "'?^°"'V ^'-'^^"^^ representing torerol, tans with the portraits of /^r^r^j, handkerchiefs with fi^ uresof, ..,,,, are to be seen overand overagai^l and th. Pr*^"'""? of ^^.r.is the most'lucrative and the most honored one to which the coura<.eous sons of the people can aspire. Manv, in facT'dedi cate themselves to it. But very few 'are successful • he majority of them remain mediocre clZdtres ' few reach the point of being ^aWmW of noTe. MADRID, i83 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 crutclfes, 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, Lai^artijo was hurt, and three amateur capeadores were killed in one village. There is scarcely a torero who has not shed some blood in the arena. Before leaving Madrid I wished to talk with the celebrated Frascuelo, the prince of the espadas, the idol of the people of Madrid, the glory of the art. A Genoese, the captain of a ship, who knew him, took it upon himself to make the presentation. We set- ded the day and met in the imperial cafe 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 cafe, 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, i84 SPAIN. wL*a?trar.e^^lnt^-?„l^ \^.-" ,? -verse. say that he had Tt theleart f^ 7^^^ .one would a flv He ;« a ,J ine Heart to stick a pm throucrh and the ^^^^^^tt^^^Z^rr^l: T 7^ Jim a thousand questions abouT his art a 'd h; S'^ he .spoke in monosyllables so th. I u^'^ 'i*^ ' draw him out word bv worrl .h u ^^^.obHg^ed to tions. He reXd to H- '°"^ "" ""^ ' °^ ^"^'- glance at hiXt I a kedZ Tr ."'? " '"^^-^ wounded ; he touched hkt t ^"^ l^^ ^^^'^ ^een and said • "Here her. h """^^'i"?' shoulder, chest. the time wiSl^'^simpL?; ^f"! S'' ^H^"^^ f which theVeS^oi't^^ £^ ^Z:T one of those cio-ar^ frr^r^ A/r-i "^"§^ "^^^ "^/^ / the Italian." cos\uTe" c^e'd^'witr ' m' "T ^" -^-colored hand wa; sTalned'whM' ^'"'^^''^^>^' ^"'^ «- uLorthy^oTfxriLy;:^,:-^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ they not a spectacle which r^ ns thi hear?^' "V for an honest onini'nnf a^ u . ^^^^^' Now MADRID. 185 to confess fhat 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 Elurope 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 cclel)rate 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 sta'tioned 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 carriaq^es of the Senate and Cortes, as large as triumphal chariots, gilded down to the wheek, lined with velvet and silk, overloaded with fringes and bows, and drawn by superb, plumed 1 86 SPAIN, MADRID, 187 horses. The windows of all the houses were orna- mented with tapestries and flowers ; all the popula- tion of Madrid was in motion. I saw the procession pass throuq^h the street Al- . 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 knees, swords, bows, cordons, clasps, and trinkets ; then more vol- unteers, infantry soldiers, the artillery, and people. All walked with slow, measured pace, the bands 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 carrrages, 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, m 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 ^ i / . 1 88 SPAIN. 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 lo ward 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 garden 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 thine to be seen at Madrid arc the cock fights. I read one day in the Cnrc^ndcncia tlic follow- ing announcement : ** E?i la funcion que s£ cdehrara VMuatUi en el circo de Gallos dc Rccoldos, luihrh. enire otras. di>s pdeas en las que Jig^urardn galios dc bs eonaddos aficionados Francisco CahUran y Don Jost Ditz, por lo qne se cspcra serii viuy aniniada la diversion^ The spectacle began at noon, and I attended it. I was struck by the origioalily and grace of the the- atre. It resembles a Kiosk on the hillside of a gar- den ; but it is large enougli CO hold nearly one thou- sand people. The form is p<.Tfeclly cylindrical. In the centre rises a species of circular box, rather more than three hands high, covered with a ween carpet, and enclosed by a railing the height of those of Ixil- conies ; it is the Ixiltlerield 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-tablc» runs a row of arm- chairs, and behind these, a little higher a second; igo SPAIAT. both covered with red cloth. On several of the for- mer IS written in large letters : Presidatte—Secre- fr't^K f^'^'c ^'^'^' °^ 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 heatre 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 to vvitness 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' Ihere 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 *aces, 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 (^alderon, the famous picador, was there) with their red sashes around their waists ; students, bear- '^Lly f^^ ^^? ''^""^^ °f ^ "'^ht passed at gambling ; cock merchants, elegant young men, old gentlemen amateurs, dressed in black, With black gloves and large cravats. These surround the caee tarther on are rari uanies, 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 MADRID, 191 gentlemen, toreros, shopkeepers, and comedians, all of whom know each 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 pla'cing 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 Andaliisian 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 192 SPAW. MADRID. 193 P the chest up ; they had no crest, a small head, and a pair of eyes which revealed their warlike character 1 he spectators look at them without a word. The aficionados (amateurs) in those few moments judcre 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 iust this uncertainty which gives life to the affair ; sud- denly the silence is broken by a burst of shouts : for the left one / Done! Three crowns for the dark ZJn /^^^^^'T'" M the gray one.' Una onza {eighty lire) for the little one ! Done I etc riiey 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 beginmng. One is turned in one direction, the other in another ; they crow, stretching out their " WK TT^ *''^ 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 t^em A ^^'\: 'Y^'''^ " '^'^"^ °f '■^^^hers around Jhem;.l "''•^'■'' ^'°^' "^^y ^top, and plant themselves opposite each other, with their necks ZTTt^ ^"'^ ?"'[ ^'^^^'^^ "^^^ly t«"-hing. look mg fixedly at each other, and quite motionless, as if they wished to poison one another with their eves which the assaults succeed each other without any 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 one ! Done ! Done I 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 clawings 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, rises, 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 \ i 194 SPAIN. mAdrid. 195 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 sprine • 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 tugitive, 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 tnis . A little of its sanguinary rage takes posses- sion of you : that cowardly cruelty awakens in you a mama for revenge ; you would gladly strangle it with your hands, or crush it with your feet. The con- quered cock, all covered with blood, featherless 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. 1 hose who are betting grow more excited and shout louder They can no longer bet on the strucr- gle. so they bet on the 4gony : Five crawms that it does not make three more at- tacks / Ikrce crmvns that it docs not make five ! Four crowns that it docs not make two ! Done ' Done ' At this point I heard a voice which made me shudder : Es ciego (it is blind). 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, drasfofed like two rags ; it seemed impossible that, in such a state, it could live and move, for it no lonrer 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 head ! Two ci^awns that it does raise it ! Three crowns that it raises it twice I 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 vS made another slight movement, =" was hit S 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 ^ood fi.hV Good cocks! Bad cocks f They\re n,orl^ Lhng , you do not understand it, sir / Good! Bad ' ' Be seated, gentlemen ! shouted the president • all sat down and another fight be Jehoshaphat, Ezekiel Uavid, Solomon, Joshua, and Manasseh. The court yard is paved, scattered with bunches of damp turf The walks look like rocks cut in points ; eC^ the fantastic appearance of a titanic edifice, hewn earth a^l^h'^T- rf"^ '^^^l '^ ^^^^^ ^^e sh'ocks 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.' 1 he interior of the church is sad and bare. Four enormous pi asters of gray granite support the ceH .ng. frescoed by Luca Giordano ; beside the hSh dtar, sculptured and gilded in the Spanth style In the mter-columns of the two royal oratories one sees two groups of bronze statues kneeling wi^hthel hands c asped, toward the altar. On the riVht Charles V, the Empress Isabella, and several prfn cesses ; on the left. Philip II, with his wives Over the door of the church, thirty feet from the Vound at the end of the principal nave, rises the choir, ^th Sen'ln aT' '" '" ^°""^^'^" ^'>''^' -"-p" " wnich 1 hihp II occupied. He received throucrh that seTn"" W t'h: n"' r^T"^ ""'^^^^?^^' -'^hout being seen by the priests who were chanting in the choir This church which, in comparison ^v^th the endre budding, seems very small, is nevertheless one of the 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 white marble, by Benvenuto Cellini, bearing the inscription, BenvenuUis Zelinus, civis Florejilinus 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 tothevastness, 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 seemg 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 Santa forma 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 enterino- the sacristy one is apt to mistake the picture for a mir- ror which IS reflecting a religious service beincr per- formed at that moment in a neighboring "room. Then the i lusion 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 rul^ies, diamonds, amethysts, and crarnets set in the form of rays that dazzle one'^ eyes" l^rom 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 licrht penetrated. Above this door one reads the follow- ing inscription in gilt bronze letters : MADRID. !03 ** 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 Cai^sars, desired this final resting-place for himself and his lineage ; Philip II, the most prudent of kings, de- sio-ned it ; Philip IIL 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 ill, 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. N 204 SPAIN. MADRID. 205 " Light it ! " I cried. whit *'"''°^>" &^\.e a Ion? and lugubrious laugh. repHed :'"" ' '''' ''"'" °'"" '^^^'"S P^''^^"' ^"^ " Look ! '■ I looked ; a very faint ray of light, falling throucrh to ZZZ T ■ '\ '^"''"^' ^'°"^ ^he wall alS to the floor, illummed scarcely enough to make them v.s.ble. some of the tombs of the queens, and looked hkea moonbeam, and the bas-reliefs and bronzS on the tombs gleamed in that ray of sSnge Hght as ,f they were dnppmg with water. In that mo men perceived for the first time the odor of Zt S d in'i'"' '"' ^^'^"'1^ ■■- -- '-• I pen those riaid b'T^'"^ '°"' 't°'^ '""^b-^' a"^' «aw all those ngid bodies. I searched for a means of escane above the ceiling, found myself alone in dv cS rinthsTf tie ''"'"' ^"\^°^* "^^-'^ '" ^'- X rinths of the convent ; then recovered myself in n thTtlrf of °r/°"'^' ^"' ''''' "^^^ ' -'"y -as in the heart of that monstrous edifice, in the deeo est portion, in the coldest corner, in the most over" whelming recess. I seemed to myself prisoner" we;:t;"v; Jl^rf "".^ °f ^--t- as if ev^ryt^hirg were gravitating toward me, crushing me on a'n sides and closing the exit to me. I tlfought o? the sky, the country, the open air, as I would have '; Sir," said the custodian, solemnly, to me before ^omg out, as he pointed to the tomb^of Charles V laS h,m"'^h''°'' " • ^T- J"^^ ^' ^^ -^« when hey laid liim there, with his eyes still open so that he seems alive and about to'speak. Who lives will 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 any one of my readers has read Z' 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 strcet 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 SPAIN. MADRID, 207 convent of the Escurial. Pass through a loner sub ^e^TlL^X'^^' 'V^'"''! ''^^' y^^ -n tout the walls u^th your elbows, low enough almost to hit theceihng with your head, and as damp as a submanne grotto ; you reach the end, turn, and you are m another corridor. You go on, come ^o doors, look, and other corridors stretch a vay 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 Sn^^ ^P' ^""a ^'"' \' "^ '""^^^ ' then you hear k 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 hicrh walls which IS gloomy, overgrown with weeds, andl u mined by a faint light, which seems to fall fr^m 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 ^mpty 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 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 are 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 yourself: *' Where am 1 ? " You see a strange light, 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 everything 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, would take flight At E ^ouCoT' ^'°"' ^^^ enter a roon.. go' to thetinTwTnd"^ JutfS"' thr;/erit'^ r""^^"^'-- "-":: 'na' ■pardo1,s "'^ ''"^^^^"^ ^^^^ -ho loves and What a long breath one draws at that window > res^nVt^d f ' ^°" T^ '^^ ^^^^^"^ ^'hich ocZy a maT£ sadTC""^ ""' very simple ; though t7ey keTpinrwiA theVdfe^^^^^ KT''''' ^"^ ^"^ '" graceful fountains'lacV^ne sI'^unT/rt^r SsSd°'w7h"^^^^^^^^^^ ^^P-^^^^"^ ^'^^ royalliJS wif i/4\ rt rs^;r;hrn? cii window they seem to be woven of plush andTelvet eye nas been removed, one's thoughts return tn h and rest there with a very keen pleasure ^e^ered' by a sort of sweet sadne<;<; Tn o tempered .:« ■ ^n'tli" *{V^ ""^^ K W= cnaries 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 cafes, and the great noisy street of the 2IO SPAIN. MADRID. 211 Alcala ! Upon entering the house I made such a noise that the maid, who was a good and simple GaHician, ran to her mistress, quite breathless, and " 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 Ihere 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, Hoves 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 rrrace Iheynot 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 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 sublimes, 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 ! J \ 212 SPAIN. MADRID, 213 I 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 1^1 y Margall, a venerable old man, who terrifies one with gloomy prophecies ; a Collantes. an inde- latigable 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 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- 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 cafe 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 1^ 214 SPAIN. MADRID. 215 it' years of fatigue. At that moment even his ene mies feel p,ty for his condition. He rles Sves a glance around him, and says • ^ ^ "Senores!" cle"r'ind M? ' '^'V°"'-a^\'-et"rns, his mind grows disaDne': t/'^^^^T-' 't' ^°''^^^' the tribunes, aisappear , he sees nothmg but his gestures hears i"rSrtile" t:""h^f r"' ^^^'^ Jou^ht'b 'tX irresistible flame which burns within him and the IS beautiful to hear him say these things • claims"" \IK\Ta- *''" ^""^ °f *^ ™°"^'" he ex- f haTe never'sle.^^^'"^ ^^^^'^ ^"' ^°-^"- -^ich 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' Wm present "s'ffi "'^ '"^'^ ^^^ regulations has "he H ^ • t^.^ '^'"'^ ^he picture of his republic clothed m white and crowned with roses and /£ they too. find it beautiful. Castelar is master of the Assembly ; he thunders, lightens sin^s raL« de tairfort'r t'T^'. ' }^ ^^^^^ n o;m ^f "''""'^ °^ enthusiasm, ends amid fn a whir 'P^sT' '"t^T "^^^ ^^"'^ ^is head fessor nf I, . •' 'I '*"' ^^"^""^ Castelar. pro- fessor of history in the university, a very fruitful mafes fi^ftv'tho'"' V^' '^''^''^^ ^ PublLl^wf^o makes hfty thousand francs a year in the American newspapers an academician unanimously elected bj the Academta Espanola, pointed out in the streets. 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 ! " r i. u 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 niidst of a nimbus of flowers, (J i 2l6 SPAIN, MADRID, lets fall the gem of a thought; and nothing remains and the echo of a soft murmur in the ear Mean wh,le. one hears in the street thecries of the oeonle" tenacious from lengthy works : in vain dols some &ar:^Unfrerarx™jScrorti^ prlHT,rr*vr>ii^z-is-~ l^rt iL " '^ •""?^^ °f z"oXr 'p^riSrof KtrTh-elSs-cS tSr);': IT^f^, «Vn?o, r>oii^^ "T" vjucuci, a writer or compnie*^ a'SiJS' Ardt'2"iirss-° <^^'^"*°' called Fernandez y cLalesaL ^?' "•^''u"'' vf„rr':-,-v2;:V„7e:;i;-;t;yl!n^^ » kave allegory. Spanish literatErcTalmtf in fhe Mme condition as ours ; there is a body of illL,, ."""gre™ ili^p-rltiirns**,- ''"''''■ »"» ^at'td .<«etir, a"„Try-ha-i-St-7aS,ara„'!l 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 French 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- trine, a more exquisite delicacy, and a greater con- formity to the true aim of the theatre, which is to / 2l8 SPAIN. MADRID. 219 fli InTL '• ^""^ t""°^'^ *^ '^^^rt and mind. In all literary works, then, as in the theatre,-ro- mances popular songs, poems, and history, there is always Imng and dominating, the feeling which per-' meates Spanish literature more profoundly, perhaps han any other European literature, from the E lync attempts of Berceo to the vigorous warlike hymns of Quintana,-that of nationalpride 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 thevlfth: ? '""> ?t '"'^^^' '^^"bt 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- cent y 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 I who. believfng 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- 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 caf- r.u/*'.r •^1"^'.'''^ b^^^^^ ^ho asks"^ alms of you, eves at d.';: ^""^' T^u'T^ °"^ ^^^hes from thei Cortes lid T'^^K^^f'f ^' ^'^'"P "• Ferdinand Cortes and Don John of Austria, as if they were he- roes of their time, and they had seen them enter die city in triumph the day before. The name of Es- paiia is pronounced in the tone with which the Ro- mans in the most glorious times of the repubHc 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 heroes, 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 SPA/Af. MADRID. 221 quered in their own country; one ought to hav- heard .n what a tone they spoke of German ° when there was a rumor that Emperor William walre sdved to uphold the cause of the Duke de lost! ^fx^'^'^'c'^, T ^°"''* "^^^^ 'f they had to fi<.ht a new War of Independence, perhaps they would Vght time ^tl .'"r^ '°"^ °"^ they developed at that time , 1 808 IS the 93 of Spam ; it is the date which every Spaniard keeps before his eyes wrht^n in boys and the children who are just beginning to talk ; It IS the war cry of the nation. ti^fl TnP"'^^*^^ ''^^^ '" their writers and ar- tists 1 he beggar, instead of saying Espana, says writer.-n^!]^'""'''//^'' '''''''''y 'f ^--'"'^'^-- No writer m the vvorld ever enjoyed such popularitv among his people as the author of Don Quix'^te I from The P '''"" '' "°^" P^"^^"^ "°'- ^shepherd, co.Tt nf vT"'"' '° th\^ierra Nevada, from the coast of Valencia to the hills of the Estremadura, not VrJv '-."ff ^"^f *^"^d ^bout Cervantes, would not reply with a smile : He is the immortal author of Don Quixote. bpain IS perhaps the country where they most frequently celebrate the anniversaries of ^rea writers ; from Juan de Mena to Espronceda ; e^very one has his solemn day, on which a tribute of son^ and flowers is laid on his tomb. In the squares, in the cafes, in the railway carria,^es, 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 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 thin^ftiie 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 dj ^pr^portioDateliL the oudines. ^ot hav- ino-\ad for a long time any immediate participation in^he 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 1 860 ; but the great war of the Crimea, that of 1869, and that of 1866. Of the batdes, 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 Cariists. The depudes, in the conversation- room of the Cortes, exclaimed emphadcally : Ah ! Spanish blood I Some went as far as to say that if an army of three hundred thousand Spaniards had been placed in the posidon of the French in 1870, they would have marched straight to Beriin. And 222 SPAIN. MADRID. 223 I!' certainly one cannot doubt Spanish valor, which gave so many proofs of itself; but is it permilsible o suppose that one can draw any comparison be tween routed Carlists and Prussians gathered in army corps ; between soldiers of Europe^ to go fu 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 sfde with great disparity in arms and discipline ? Ind aJ they talk of wars so they speak of every thincr else "so Th°evr7'°P'^ ^'°"^' ''"* '^"'^■-'-d P---' wrTt;r J t7 r ^'^t'-^^agant praises upon their Tave ne'ver L /"^"J^^-^f A^^^- whose names have never been heard out of Spain ; the epithets S'Thtf '• "''™^.' -d marv'ellou's are cCe cK kV .f u "^ ^P^"^^ ^"d "-eceives without the ^.ghtest doubt as to the security. One would say atl er E int' '' ^"'^ J"^^? ^'^'^ ^^ing of its ow^ rather like an American people than an European na- tion ; and that instead of being separated from Eu- hTan'iJhnf"""'" '' '^ ?^'^^^ by - --" -d that an isthmus joins it to America. Otherwise how closely they resemble us! To fta!v th P'7'' '"J^ P""^'"^^' '^^^^ "ke being in dstn's 7J^T ^'"'"'^ "^^"^^ *h^y S-^- their de- cisions , they do not censure, but condemn ; any subject ,s sufficient for a judgment, and any sic^n or mdication suffices for the fSrming of an a^rc^ment This minister ? He is a rascal. That one ? H?L a traitor. That other one .^ He is a hypocrite t£v are all a quagmire of thieves ; one has had the trees Sed oFth r '' ^'■""•'■r^ ^°'^= ^he other has car- emotied th' ''^T'^K^^^ ^^e Escunal ; a third has sTul for . h^ Ta t ''^'^ ' ^ ^°"«h has sold his soul for a bag of doubloons. They have no longer 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 discouragement, so that one hears on every side such expressions as these : Poor Spain ! Unhappy country ! Unf ordi- 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 honra 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., qiie^ besa sus manos, 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 ihlS^Vi 1 people, it is impossible to remain a month at Mad- \ \ riSwithout making a hundred friends, even without I 224 SPAIN, MADRID, 22$ seeking them Fancy to yourself how many vou could make by seeking them. This was myc£ I cannot say all were real friends, but I had so manv acquamtances, that it did not seem like beLfn ^ s range city. It is very easy to obtain acceS to the illustnous men and, therefore, it is not necessarv as IS the case elsewhere, to have a quantity ofle?' ers and messages from friends, in order to each 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 fierv men w.th wh.te hair, but with the eyes and vSces of youths of twenty; devoted to poetry, music and pamtmg ; gay full of gestures, and with a fre h and sonorous laugh. How many of them I saw grow pa"e weep, and spnng to their feet, as if touched bfan electric spark, and showing all their soul in tLTr gleammg eyes, when reading the verses of Quintana dntCs'T'^H ^h^^y-^hful souls ! WC^Z hearinrfh : ^uT "'""'' ^ ^" "^^^ ('" ^^eing and heanng them) belongmg to this poor Latin race of wh.ch we now say so many disagreeable thinis and how much I was cheered in thinking that we that^ltZ';.^'' '''''^r '" *^ ^^'"^ nfould,and that although we may become accustomed, little bv httle, to envymg the character of others, we sha 1 Afte^m: T''/" '""'"^ °- °-" -dividuaty I ^tl^ A '•'T "''^^ '"^"ths' sojourn in Madrid I was obliged to leave, in order not to be overtaken remember that beautiful morning in May when I gri:d'seeTnd?r'''n'">' ^-Madrid.'' Heft to go and see Andalusia, the prom sed land of travel lers. the fantastic Andalusia^ of which I had soTeli 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 \ had dreamed it ! Perhaps I shall never see again my good landlady, nor the litrie girl of Senor Saavedra, nor the sweet, calm face of Guerra, nor my friends of the Cafe 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! Farcr well, my litrie room in the street of Alduana! It seems as if a heart-string were snapping, and I feel the necessity of hiding my face. m 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 Arrae^on and Old Castile. Ihere are vast, dry, and yellowish plains, in which It seems as if the earth, on being rapped on, ou^lu to resound like a vault, or cnimble like the crust of a cnsp tart ; and a few miserable villages of the same color as the soil, which look as if ihcy mitrht Ignite like a pile of withered leaves, should one apply a match to the corner of a house. After an hours travel, my shoulders sought the back of the carriage, my elbow a resting-place, my head reclined m my hand, and I fell into a profound dose, like a member of Leopardi's y]/enrfo d' yhcoUazione. 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 mv 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 travellere a litde fright. In those days they talked of the ap- pearance of a band of Orlists in the vicinity of Aranjuez : the huntsmen (pretending to be the ad- 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 litde 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 shrubl>ery, traversed in every di- rection by broad avenues, scattered with little coun- try houses and huts enwreathcd in verdure. Here and there were fountains playing, shady nooks, flowery fields, vineyards, small pathways, and a greenness, a freshness, a si>ring-timc 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 da>'sago 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 majesity of their sovereigns. I was just on that s<|uare where, on tlie 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 i| 228 SPAIIf. monarchy. I instantly sought with my eyes for the, wmdows 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 knows that I'hilip 11 had It constructed by the celebrated archi- tect Herrera. and that nearly all the succeedinor kin^s embellished it, and resided there during the summir season. I entered ; the interior is superb ; there is a huge room for the reception of the ambassadors, a beautiful Chinese cabinet of Charles III, 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 war- dens. Anticipation is realized. The gardenl" 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 kines 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 < < / I 228 SPAIN. 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 knows that Phihp II had It constructed by the celebrated archi- tect Herrera, and that nearly all the succeedino- kino-s embellished it, and resided there during the summir season. I entered ; the interior is superb ; there is a huge room for the reception of the ambassadors, a beautiful Chinese cabinet of Charles III, 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 crar- dens. Anticipation is realized. The gardenl" 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 kincrs must appear like terrace flower-beds or stable-yards There are avenues, as far as the eye can reach. Hanked by immensely high trees, whose branches mterlace (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 u < < 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 mvsterious 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 of Spain. Here are to be found the little secret rooms whose ceilings one can touch with his hand, the billiard-room of Charles IV, his cue, the cushions embroidered by the queen's owk hand, the musical clocks which enlivened the idle hours of the children, the little steps, the small windows which retain a hundred traditions of princely caprices ; and, finally, 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 m a day of good-humor almost, as if to temper with a gay picture the gloomy melancholy of the Escurial. In returning from that litde palace to the great royal i a 230 SPAIN. U f 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 roarn 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. f» 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 Thou- sand and One Nights. CHAPTER VII. TOLEDO. 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 exclamation ., of surprise. , , . 1 u Toledo rises on a steep and rocky height, at the foot of which the Tagus 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- 231 ll N 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 batde- ments, and opened here and there by great breaches, behind which appear the imprisoned houses ; as you climb higher and higher, the city seems to shnnk back and hide itself. Half way up the as- cent, you reach the Puerta del Sol, a gem of Ara- 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 you find other walls and ruins, and finally reach the 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 dnver. The coachman began to laugh and replied : ** Because there is no broader street." "Oh! is all Toledo built like this?" I asked again. " Yes, it IS all built like this," he replied. " It is impossible ! " I exclaimed. o Q O H 2^2 SPA/AT. 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 walf^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 seems to shrink back and hide itself. Half way up the as- cent, you reach the Piicr/a del Sol, a gem of Ara- 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 you find other walls and ruins, and finally reach the first houses of the city. What a city ! At the first moment my breath was taken away. The carriage had passed throui^h 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." "Oh! is all Toledo built like this.?" I asked again. *' Yes, it is all built like this," he replied. " It is impossible ! " I exclaimed. o c o I I tivW < 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. smiHngly : ,, ** Where are you going, caballero? *'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 the house." " For what reason ? " ' " The reason is this." he replied, pointing toward a wall, to which was fastened 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 make on a slate to use up their chalk, and annoy their teacher. " No matter," I said ; *' I wish to go alone ; and if I am lost, some 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. TOLEDO, 235 y. *l M n 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 litde 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! 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 litde column, and farther on a bit of sculpture. Toledo is an em- porium for art treasures ; whenever the walls peel a litde, 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, TOLEDO, 237 there, all the design of the cancelled picture, and ^en the illusion is complete ; you see the crreat Toledo of the middle ages, and forget the soluude 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 leorends 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-Iikc. and prison-like air Very well, you have dreamed of Toledo. The first thing to sec. after havinjr taken a gen- eral view of the city, \% the cathedraf. which is very justly considered one of the most beautiful in the world. The history of this cathedral, accordin*' to popular tradition, goes Ixick to the times of the Apos. tie 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 .Sim Fer- dinando, and terminated after two hundred and fifty years of almost continuous labor. 'Die external ap- pearance of this immense church is neither rich nor beautiful, like that of the Cathedral of Runros. In front of the fagade is a small square, and ic is'thc only point from which one can take in with a glance a large portion of the edifice ; all around it runs a street, from which, no matter how much one may twist his neck, nothing can be seen but the high boundary wall that encloses the church like a fortress. The fagade has three great doors, called Pardoft, Inferno, and Judice ; 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 raintew;. 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 Linces ; 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 l)OW as if rendering it homage, llie variegated light and the clear color of the stone give the church the air of sulxhurd joy that tempers the melancholy aspect of tlie Gothic architecture, without Liking 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 alx>ut him, breathes again, and feels life returning. The high altar, should one vnsh to cxamme it minutelv» 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 llie corners, rise above K / 238 SPAIN. TOLEDO. 239 the architraves, wind around the niches, support one another, accumulate, and hide themselves pre sentmg on every side a thousand profiles, croups' foreshortenings, gildings, colors, and every variety'^^f artificial lightness, so that they present all tocrether an appearance full of majesty and grace. In'fron of the high altar is the choir, divided into three row ot 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 n 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 gieantic missa s, and two immense organs (one in front of the altar), from which it seems as if a torrent of sound sufificient 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 obstmate of the race. When one of them has made t£. ^' .7'"^ '''^'i^'^" \? '■'' P^^^ the day with him, the matter is settled. You may shrug your shoul- wlth^'f "f '• ^"'''^•' ^'?^' '"* '^'•" g^t °"t 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 this implacable human pieuvre, which. like that 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 I ■ i m SPAIN. TOLEDO, 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 : " Qiiando la reina del cielo Puso los pies en el siielo 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; *;erves 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 it. I put a pacta 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 srndW gratification ; and I entered the dining-room to eat a cutlet» or chuUia, 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 vague indications of the fact arc to be found in the chronicles of that period. This building stands on a height in the cenir:^ 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 apr>earance of a fortress. Before the fa<^ade 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 witli 248 SPAII^, 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, quilt?ngs, 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 build- ing after a fire. • ^ At a short distance from San yuan de hs Reyes, there is another monument worthy of being seen ; a curious record of the Judiac epoch ; the synagogue now designated by the name of Santi Maria Blanca- One enters a neglected garden, knocks at the door of a wretched-looking house, the door opens .... and one experiences a plea.<^ant feeling of surprise, and beholds a vision of the East, the smlden revela- tion of another relii^ion and another world. Ther^ 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 inscri]>tions ; the light which falls from alx)ve making every thing white. The synagogue was changed by the Arabs into a moscjue, and the mosque was transformed by the Christians into a church ; so that it is really not one of tJicse three things at present, though it preserves the character of ihc 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 litrie streets, we reached it. I put a pcceta 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 small gratification ; and I entered the dining-room to eat a cutlet, or chuUta, as the Spanish call it, a name which would make people turn up their noses in some provinces of Italy. Towanl 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, whicli existed in the eighth ccntur>% although only very vague indications of the (act are to be found in the chronicles of that perioysterious chamber, ordered i. .^^e-^pTSed-'lS T;*,; ,1^^! upon which some prm!^ a I. ^ """"^d canvas, uSder .he. .re^.l^riptn^: "l^rSil! TOLEDO, 255 strayed 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 fortres 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 hanos de la Cava, w^as 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. ^ u.% I ' / 256 SPAIN, H It was the promenade hour; the principal street which IS scarcely wide enough to admit of the pas- sage of a carnage, was full of people. There may have been some hundreds of^ersons, but tS seemed to be a great crowd. It was growing dark .the shops were dosing, and a few li|hts began to shme here and there I went to dinl. and lift the house immediately afterward, in order not to lose the spectacle of the promenade. It was night • there was no other illumination than the hVht 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 that m this whole city there is not one soul who knows me ; that if I were to fall dead at this mo Poorer 7"h "°' ^^ ^ ^°^ ^ho would say ; 1 oor fellow ! He was a good creature ! '" I saw gay youths fathers of families, with their children rlTMitt e".?°" "'"k"^"^^ ^« b^ ---) -^h a dear httle thing in their arms, going by ; every one had a companion ; they were all kugLg and talking, and they passed without even giving me a glance How sad I was! How happy I^slTould coTe to"" '' ' ,^y-' t "^^^^'^ - - poLman had come to say : - I think I know you, sir ! " '• It is bLTat t!.! r l'^'"""^^'- •■ ^ ^'^^^ never before been at Toledo ; but never mind ; don't vo away • stay here ; we will talk a litde while, for I af alone' '= r\t^\'r^^ moment I remembered that at Mad- rid a letter of introduction had been given me for a gentleman in Toledo ; I rushed to th'^e hotekgot it and had some one take me immediately to his house t^ousf: o"'"."'' ^' ^°'"^' ^"d '■----d me '0"'-" leously. On hearing my name uttered, I experi- TOLEDO. 257 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 1 should have acquired after a month's sojourn 4*11 d C* The city is poor, or more than poor, it is dead ; AT /'!? P?P'^ ^^^^ abandoned it to go and live at Madrid ; the men of genius have followed the lead ot the rich ; there is no commerce ; the manufac- ture of Toledo blades (the only industry which Hour- ishes) provides maintenance for some hundreds of families, but it is not sufificient 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 Castihan 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 worship ; and they are proud to enumerate among their great men the gentle Garcilaso de la Vega, the reformer of Spanish ■I 4 fi \ r:. ft 111 ' 258 SPAIN, TOLEDO. 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 o'f 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 consummg itself litde 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 midnio-ht The moon was shining ; and on moonlight nio-hts 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 committino- a buro-- 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 youno- girls I might have imagined that I should hear t1ie sounds ot guitars, the clashing of swords, and the cries of dying people. Nothing pi 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 exacdy 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- 259 ceiving any holes in my body, a circumstance cer- tainly rather consoling. The following morning I visited the hospital of the ban Cruz; the church of Nuestra Seilora del Jransito, an ancient synagogue ; the remains of an amphitheatre and of a naumachy of the time of the Romans; and the famous manufactory of arms where I purchased a beautiful dagger with silvered handle and arabesqued blade, that I 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 shoutina ? 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 wlio thinks he is living in the time of the War of the Independence; there is the Insane Asylum." I f III 260 SPAIN. He pointed out the asylum, on a 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 VIII. CORDOVA. ON reaching Castillejo I was obliged to wait un- til midnight for the train for Andalusia ; 1 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 whisde, 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 humming arias of Zarzuela. Neverthe- less, I 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 : ** Dairaers / " *' Daggers ? In heaven's name ! For whom ?* Before I saw who had shouted, a long sharp blade 261 2^2 SPAIN, CORDOVA. 263 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 lauo-h. 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 m my pocket, thinking that it would be quite use- ful to me in Italy in setding any questions with my publishers. The vender must have had fifty of them m 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." ;*0 blessed Spain!" I exclaimed, as I thought, with disgust, of our barbarous laws which prohibit the innocent amusement of a litde 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 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 w^eakness 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 black, sparkling, and exhilarating (and i- £64 SPAIN, fmrn'^r^ TT'l^^^^ ^''^'^ P^™^'^^ ^^ the Stranger from the North the copious libations to which he is CnTr T a\ """^''i^ ^"^ fi"^">^ ^^^^hed Santa tnX. f ^^^^'^;,^ 7^"^g^ fenious for its manufac- tories of ;^^z;^y^^ (knives and razors), near which the road begins to ascend gradually toward the moun- l.f?if ^"" ^^^ "^^?' ^"^^ ^^"^^^ ^"^ children had wL ''^'"^^^^ ^'"'^ peasants, officers, and toreros, who were going to Seville, had taken their places rhere 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 shawk nf ?i; ^'^^' 'ombr^ros of the picadores. the tTa t A S^ypsies, the manias of Catalans, the loledo blades hung on the walls, and capes sashes and trinkets of all the colors of a harlequfn. ' 1 he train moved on among the rocks of the Sierra STZtlT^""! 'T'^i'f "^^ ^^"^y ^f 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 fric^ht- ful precipices, which present a confusion of strange CORDOVA, 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 to 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, CORDOVA, 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 VIII, King of Castile, gained the celebrated victory de las 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 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 tliemselves 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 i 268 SPAIN, and records andTh';'" ''f^'''' ^^^''^'- '"^Piration .l,r c- \V ^ ^"^ poetry sunjr on the slones nf the Sierra Morena flew from Ivr^ t^ i ^f the valleve nf tK^ r- ^^ ^° 'y^- as far as pn rimages. The beautiful, powerful, and wise Cor dova crowned with three thousand villac^es proudlv raised her white minarets in the midt? nf^^ ^ groves, and spread around the v;.llT, i ^^"^^ atmosphere of joy and glory' ^ " ^°^"P^"ous ^ear here and there ; I still health: ^^ seTf TcT nage which ,s rolling off; then all is mlt It J^ niKlday. the sky is very clear, and the air^ uffocaiU Serj"^ Ir^l = '^ '^ ^he opening of a Sj as sm^aius'tk: ^^^^s^^::^]:--- f tsris^l^"^ ^"^^; ■•?4r;ith^st; onl I T. "^ ^''''""^' ^^^ roofs so low th-lt Ss^::t^y thiS \t sts rut^rl• ^-^ '^^ one and hear neither stepTor W. ' ty ^my? self "This must be an abandoned street I " and^L anoher one. in which the houses are white th^ windows closed, and there is nothing but silence and solitude around me. .' Why, where\m l' '^"'^^.S myself. I go on ; the street which is s^ nrrovv th.^ a carnage could not pass, begins to wind on tit nght and the left I see other deserted! reeiswM^ .ivid .ha. even .He reflet^n't t*4,T,|i» ,» - 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. 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 the 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- I 270 SPAIN. I tered chairs, work-tables, pictures, and vases of flowers I run to another door ; there is another patto, with Its walls covered with ivy, and a number look't't .° h "f i'"'' statues, busk and urnf ook in at a third door ; here is another patio, with Its walls worked in mosaics, a palm in the c;nTe door' aSr t^Tf\f ^''•"""^ ^ ^^°P ^^ ^ "" "h tts a second /^- *'u' I ^"°*'^^'' ^^^^'^ule, after tn is a second paho, in which one sees other statues columns, and fountains. All these rooms an? "ar dens are so neat and clean that one could pass'his hand over the walls and on the ground wi Kleav mg a trace ; and they are fresh, fragrant, and 1 ehted by an uncertain light, which increlses their bf a^tv and mysterious appearance. ^^ On I go, at random, from street to street A<; T walk, my curiosity increases, and I quicSmy pace It seems impossible that a whole city can be Hke omiULr'"'' °f ^^"-bling across sL.e house or coming into some street that will remind me of other cities, and disturb my beautiful dream. But 10 the mXio'uf^ At ^'"^ V''"5 '!,--". lovel°'a„d mysterious. At every hundred steps I reach a deserted square, in which I stop and ho d my breath from time to time there appears a cross-road anTnot a living soul is to be seen ; every thing is whUe At each d^n ''rf ^' '"^ ^"^"'^^ ••^'^^ - -" -dS: 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 n^r fume: here the odor of roses, there" of oranges fre t'air" anS'^vl, '?K ""•'^ ^^'^ ^^^'^^^ ^ -hil of tresh air, and with the air a subdued sound of mg of birds. It IS a sweet and varied harmony thft CORDOVA, 271 Without disturbing the silence of the streets, soothes the ear Hke 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 litde 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 2^2 t SPAIN, I III' .he c„„.n,c.i„„ of t^:Z y^SISltT^ ".fE US erect a mosque," he said " whth ^i ^ those of Bagdad^D^mascus and Je^ saleTn andTh:: fh« ru • ^ , "^ ''^San the work with areat zeal • dation f '" t'"' ^'■°"^'^^ ^he stones fo? he foul' dat,on from the rums of the destroyed church Abdurrahman worked, himself, one hour each dav' The mosque, m the space of a few year^' was bunf: 'she? ;P^nd " f." ^"'^^^^^^^ AbduLhman embd-' frabesqiL'and °?;.rr""^^^ ^^^ ^^^ beautifS slender columns ^^"^ wmdows, supported by of rJaster 7 t nVr^ '°T'? ^^ ^ ^'''■p^^ '^t'-atum nireS n ^""^n around that boundary wall is a n ce httle walk to take after dinner; by this one can jud?e of the size of the building. ^ '''"' The prmcipal door of the boundary is at the west see thr,„KrS i' l '' *^' ' *°"l<' ''"^'^•"'v in a rardln fir^ ■ ^ "'°"''"=' """^ ' '"""'I myself and closed on .hlfcuS^'side' by7h7 gat. s:i,w o^fe^rx 5f */■' ^*" *- -=^ me oi the Arabs, the fountain for their ablu- CORDOVA, ^75 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 the 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, d ■f 274 SPAIN, M 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 latterplaced above the former, and both of them in the shape of a horseshoe ; so that, in im- agining the columns to be the trunks of so manv trees, the arches represent the branches, and the simihtude of the. mosque to a forest is complete. Ihe 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 windows 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 lite, which bears away your imagination to the delight of that paradise, full of love and voluptuous- ness, where the blessed, seated under the shade of iealy 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 vircrins ' 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 sicrht of the mosque, and cause you a sweet momentary in- toxication, which leaves in your heart an indescrib- able sort of melancholy ! A brief tumult of the mind and a spark of fire rushes through your veins, —such is the first sensation one experiences upon en-* taring the cathedral of Cordova. We began to wander from aisle to aisle, observ- 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, Gaul, 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 out to which, according to tradition, a Christian was chained for many years, and during this time, he scratched with his nails a cross in the stone that the guides show with great veneration. We reached the Maksura, which is the most com- plete and marvellous work of Arabian art in the tenth century. In front of it are contiguous chapels, with roofs formed ot 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 mihrab, 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 276 SPAIN, CORDOVA, 277 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, minutiee of design and coloring! of a delicacy, grace, and perfection sufficient to drive the most patient painter distracted. It is impossi- 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 ao-ain, looking here and there on the walls, at theVa- 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 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 I H' 273 SPAIN, CORDOVA, 279 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- tided, The Poetry a7id Art of the Arabs in Spain and Sicily, gdiw^ 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 sclani 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 fnuc- 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 the tribune by the 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 call for all able-bodied men to descend into the batde field against the Christians The multitude listen with silent devotion to the discourse (woven from the heads of the Koran), which begms like this i '' 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 world. *'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 ? • 1 • u ** Believe me : the gates of paradise stand in the shadow of the sword. r r- j " He who dies in batde for the cause of God, washes with the blood he sheds all the stains of his sins. ^^ 280 SPAIN. CORDOVA. 281 " 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 o-q 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, idolater's, 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 congrep-ation : '' Ask of God !"— and prays in silence. All the faithful, touching the ground with their foreheads, follow his example. The mubaliges 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. 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 ! How 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 Dore 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 oi 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 mantillay 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 'I' 282 SPAIN. CORDOVA, 28 patios; the pairs of lovers holding sweet converse in dark corners; the girls, for the most part, at the windows, with their hands carelessly hanging outside the gratings ; and the young men near^ the wall, in sentimental attitudes, their eyes on the alert, but not sufficiently 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 fountains, sighs, the laughter of children and mysterious rustlings. The following morning, still 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 military col- umns, inscriptions in honor of the emperors, the remains of statues and bas-reliefs, six old gatcrs ; a large bridge over the Guadalquiver, of tlie time of Octavius Augustus, and reconstructed by the Arabs; ruins of towers and walls; houses which b(!long('.d to the Caliphs, and still retain thc! subterranean columns and arches of the bathing-rooms. In fact, on every side thereare 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 hucsfycdcs, Almuerzos y comidas r 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 a patio. It was a miserable /rt://^, without marble or foundations, but as white as snow and as fresh as a garden. Not (i <( seeing either table or chair, I 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 most beautiful of all l>eautiful Andalusian women, nul alone of those seen at Cor- dova, but oi all those which I afterward saw at Seville. Cadiz, and Granada. She was an over- whelming sort of girk who would make one take flight or commit any kind of a dcviUry ; and had one of those faces wliich made Guiscppc Barelli cry: ** Oh i)oor me!" when he was iravellinjf in Spain. She stood motionless for a few moments, with her eyes fastened upon me, as if to say : '" Ad- mire me;" then turned toward thc kitchen and called: " Aunt, inakc! haste ! " which gave me thc opportu- nity of thanking her in an embarassed way, and her the pretext of approaching mc. and replying : ** Oh. not at all," with such a lovely voice that I was forced to offer her a chair, which she accepted. She wa*^ a girl in the tweenies, tall, stniighl as a palm. dark, and with two great eyes full of sweetness, and so moist ami glistening that they seemed to have just been shedding tears. Her hair was very bUick and he^iyy. and she wore a rose in her br.iids. She lookeil like one of the Ar:ibi;m virgins of Uie Usras tribe, who made people die from love, ♦ "j 284 SPAIN, CORDOVA, 285 She began the conversation herself. " 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, m 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 he'^ 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 amon^r 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 : * Senorita, you are the most—' " Salada ! " (exclaimed the girl, covering her face with 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, cudets, chorizo (sausage), and oranges, and the girl continued the conversation. *' You are an Italian, sir ; have you seen the pope ? " " 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 ? " ** 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 zgg and very stale sausage, I was obliged to \\\ /\ 2S6 SPAIN. see her draw nearer and nearer, perhaps without bein^ aware of it, in order to hear better ; to draw so nea? 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 tog^ether 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! Senorita! " 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 bom 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 a mosque to extinguish it .? Pardon me, but will you kindly move a litde 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 ? " CORDOVA, 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. ** Why.'* " 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 litde velvet hat. A torero^ in facL I gave a start as if I felt two bandcriltas dc fufgo planted in my neck. '* Ah, I see how matters stand," I said to mj'Sclf, and I fancy any one would have done so. The girl, slightly embarrassed, made the presentation : •*This is an Italian who is jXtssing through Cor- dova," then she added, hastily, '* and who wishes lo know what time the train starts for Seville." The torero s who had scowled at llie sight of me, became reassured, told mc the hour of departure, seated himself, and entered amicably into conversa- tion with me. I asked him the news of the lasi corrida at Cordova, for he was a hatuitrillero, and he related all the day s doing minutely. The girl, meanwhile, was gathering flowers from the vases in the paiuK When my breakfast was ended, I efl'ered a glass of Malaga wine to the torero, drank to the successful i)I.'inting of all his future Ifaudcrilhs, paid my bill (three perieias, with the beautiful eyes in- .1 !ti m 288 SPAIN. CORDOVA, 289 eluded, be it understood), and then becoming quite bold, and wishinor to dissipate even the shadow of a suspicion in the soul of my formidable rival, I said to the crjrl : " Senorita! No one ever denies any thing 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 voung man asked. * *' O Heavens, no ! We have none yet." " 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. Senorita, will you tell me your name that I can say good-by ? " ** Consuelo." , " God be with you, Consuelo ! " " God go with you, Senor Italian© ! " There are no noteworthy Arabian monuments to be seen around Cordova. Yet at one time, superb edifices were scattered all through the valley. Three miles from the city, on the north, on the slope of a hill, rose Medina Az-Zahra, " \}ci^ flour- 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 with 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- ful 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." 290 SPAIN. 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 ingeniorum parents, might write at every corner of her streets the name of an artist or illustrious sarvant born within her walls ; and, let it be said to her honor, she has remembered them all with maternal gratitude. You find there the litrie 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 Gene7^al Chronicle of Spain, begun by Florian de Ocampo ; the street of Paul Cespedes, painter, architect, sculptor, archeolo- gist, author of a didactic poem, The 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 vuelo Alzdndose, estendi6 las alas tanto, Que puesto encima el estrellado cielo Una parte alcanz6 del fuego santo ; Con que tornando enriquecido al suelo • See Appendix for translation. CORDOVA. 291 Con nueva maravilla y nuevo espanto, Dio vida con eternos resplandores A marmoles, a broncos, k colores. I O mas que mortal liombre ! I Angel divino O cual te momare ? No luimano cierto Es tu ser, que del cerco empirco vino Al estilo y pincel vida y concierto : Tu mostraste a los hombres el camino Por mil edades escondido, incierto De la reina 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 The Labyrinth, 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 poem. 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. 292 SPAIN. CORDOVA. 293 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- 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, v/hich 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 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 Zoriila),and a gay conversation ended and 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," \ i ' II SEVILLE. 295 CHAPTER IX. SEVILLE. THE journey from Cordova to Seville arouses none of that surprise 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 Casde of Almodovar, standing on a very high rock, which dominates an immense space round about it. At Hornachuelos, there is another old casde 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 of kitchen- 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 litde 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 294 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 muUion 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 slighdy 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 beaudful, though inconvenient, adapts itself admirably to the slender figures of those men who much prefer being beauufully 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 widi 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 tlieir white teeth. 296 SPAIN. 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 he the ruins of Italica. The train sped a ong, 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 ^^""1^ ^^"^ '^' "^^""^^ "^"'^^ ^^^^ uttered since my chndhood 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 bevilians, and the bell tower which I see is the Oiralda! 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 ! how beautiful life is ! . ." I arrived at a hotel, tossed my valise into a patio, and began roaming about the city. I seemed to see Cordova enlarged, beautified, and enriched ; the streets are broader, the houses higher, and t\i^ patios more spacious ; but the general aspect of the city is the same. There is the same spodess whiteness, that intricate network of small streets, the diffused odor of oranges, the lovely air of mysterv, that oriental appearance which awakens in the heart a SEVILLE. 297 very sweet feeling of melancholy, and in the mind a thousand fancies, desires, and visions of a distant world, 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 nymphs, among the grapevines and rose bushes. Passing 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 Oro. This noted tower, called the Golden one, received its name either from the fact that it held the gold \ 298 SPAIN, 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 river. 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, oaks, cypres- ses, willows, poplars, and other northern trees, which the Andalusians admire as we should admire the palms and aloes in the fields of Piedmont and Lom- bardy. A great bridge crosses the river and leads to the suburb of Triana, from which one sees the first houses on the opposite bank. A long row of ships, goletas (a species of light boat), and barks extend along the river ; and between the Torre del 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 > S5 (d O -J O o 298 SPAIN. 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 batdements, and washed by the river. Tradition narrates that this tower was constructed by the Romans, and that the most beautiful favorite ot 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, oaks, cypres- ses, willows, poplars, and other northern trees, w^hich the Andalusians admire as we should admire the palms and aloes in the fields of Piedmont and Lom- bardy. A great bridge crosses the river and leads to the suburb of Triana, from which one sees the first houses on the opposite bank. A long row^ of ships, goletas (a species of light boat), and barks extend along the river ; and between the Torre del Oro and the duke's palace there is a continual com- ing and going of boats. The sun w^as setting. A crowd of ladies sw^armed through the avenues, troops ofw'orkmen passed the bridge, the work on the ships increased, a band hidden among the trees was pla\'ing, the river was rose color, the air w^as filled with the perfume of flowers, and the sky seemed all aflame. I ^ reentered the city and enjoyed the sight of Seville at night. T\\^ 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 ot the fountain glisten > :5 a o o SEVILLE. 299 Mm 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 young men moving through the crowd with gay shouts ; people saluting each other and talking from window to street ; and on all sides a quickened pace, a bustle, laughter, and a carnival- like gaiety. Seville was nothing but an immense garden, in which a crowd filled with youth and love was revelling. These moments are sad ones for a straneer. 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. SEVILLE. 301 i 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 Consul 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 frio-htens 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 irTmy own room with the intention of going to bed. Worse and worse ! 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- 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 were 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, give tin colossal mouvement d'tpaules, swell my throat, and increase my voice, little 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 40 1. '' 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 fagade 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 thorouo-h 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 are 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 thino- 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 cherubims, 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 trem_endous silence in which Leopardi's 304 SPAIN, SE VILLE. 305 thoughts were drowned. It is a feeh'ng 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 of the infinite. ^ As it is the most varied cathedral in Spain (be- cause Gothic, Germanic, Graeco-Roman, Arabian, and what is vulgarly termed //rtiZ-^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 fifty 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 fetes 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 ^^/^^^, which takes place every evening at twilio-ht, for eight consecutive days, after the festivaf 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. 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 I / 3o6 SPAIN. SEVILLE. 307 4i 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 ati 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 oftbr thee the treas- 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 me r 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- mertto homo quia pulvis es, intoned the Te Deumy 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 3o8 SPAIN, SEVILLE, 309 have preached. In the space covered by this court, which is very large, rose the ancient mosque that is beh'eved 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 edo-e 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 Mahammed 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 ^ies 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 recendy 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 litde Moorish mullion windows, scattered here and there at random, and furnished with small balconies that produce a pretty effect. On the floor, upon which the variegated roof for- merly rested, 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. 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 in one broad turn. Here the Torre del Oro mirrors its graceful form in the blue waters of the river, there the Alcazar raises its austere towers, farther away the Montpensier gardens thrust above the roofs of the buildings an immense mass of verdure. The glance penetrates the bull- circus, into the gardens of the squares, the 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 villao^es 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 3IO SPAIAT, SEVILLE. 3" :-rf' .'I !i precious manuscripts, one among which is attributed to Alfonso the Wise, entitled The Book of the 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 th'e Medea of Seneca, which says : Ve7iie7it ^annis scecula seris, qtcibiis oceamis vinctda rerum laxet, ct ingens fateat tellus. In the volume of Seneca, which is also in the Columbian Library, near the passao-e quoted, is an annotation by the son Ferdinaiid, 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 fraq-ment to carry away with me as something sacred. Chris- topher Columbus ! I have seen his writing ! Have 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 01 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 « 312 SPAIN. SEVILLE, 313 Alcazar was restored by order of the king Don Pe- 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 amazement. 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 gleamincr 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 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 1368, 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 : " CaballerOy 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 " 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 SPAIN. SEVILLE. 315 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 mande 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- hng 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 litde 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 lo\ et/ cupola that is sculptured, painted, and embroidtred with an inimitable grace and fabu- 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 sword, so I seized thy neck, which was whiter and softer 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 3^^ SPAIN, SEVILLE, 317 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 enterino- 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 laudi at the end of the garden ; turned, and saw a youn^r man leaning against a wall, who w-; lookin