CHAPTER X.
THE ESCURIAL AND PHILIP II.
Before the train stopped, the students obtained a fair view of the Escurial, which is a vast pile of buildings, located in the most desolate place to be found even in Spain. The village is hardly less solemn and gloomy than the tremendous structure that towers above. The students breakfasted at the two fondas in the place; and then Mr. Mapps, as usual, had something to say to them:—
“The Escurial, or El Escorial as it is called in Spanish, is a monastery, palace, and church. The name is derived from scoriæ, the refuse of iron-lore after it is smelted; and there were iron-mines in this vicinity. The full name of the building is ‘El Real Sitio de San Lorenzo el Real del Escorial,’ or, literally, ‘The Royal Seat of St. Lawrence, the Royal, of the Escurial.’ It was built by Philip II. in commemoration of the battle of St. Quentin, in 1557, won by the arms of Philip, though he was not present at the battle. He had made a vow, that, if the saint gave him the victory, he would build the most magnificent monastery in the world in his honor. St. Lawrence was kind enough to accommodate him with the victory; and this remarkable pile of buildings was the result. Philip redeemed his vow, and even did more than this; for, in recognition of the fact that the saint was martyred on a gridiron, he built this monastery in the form of that useful cooking implement. As you see, the structure is in the form of a square; and, within it, seventeen ranges of buildings cross each other at right angles. The towers at each corner are two hundred feet high; and the grand dome in the centre is three hundred and twenty feet high.
“The total length of the building is seven hundred and forty feet, by five hundred and eighty feet wide. It was begun in 1563, when Philip laid the corner-stone with his own hands; and was completed twenty-one years later. It cost, in money of our time, fifteen millions of dollars. It has four thousand windows; though you may see that most of them are rather small. The church, which is properly the chapel of the monastery, is three hundred and seventy-five feet long, and contains forty chapels. The high altar is ninety feet high, and fifty feet wide, and is composed of jasper. Directly under it is the royal tomb, in which are laid the remains of all the sovereigns of Spain from Charles V. to the present time. The Spaniards regard the Escurial as the eighth wonder of the world. It is grand, solemn, and gloomy, like Philip who built it. In the mountain, a mile and a half from the Escurial, is a seat built of granite, which Philip used to occupy while watching the progress of the work.”
The students separated, dividing into parties to suit themselves. All the available guides were engaged for them; and in a few minutes the interior of the church presented a scene that would have astonished the gloomy Philip if he could have stepped out of his shelf below to look at it, for a hundred young Americans—from the land that Columbus gave to Castile and Leon—was an unusual sight within its cold and deserted walls.
“I suppose you have read the lives of Charles V. and Philip II.,” said Dr. Winstock, as he entered the great building with his young friends.
Both of them had read Robertson and Prescott and Irving; and it was because they were generally well read up that the doctor liked to be with them.
“It isn’t of much use for any one who has not read the life of Philip II. to come here: at least, he would be in the dark all the time,” added the doctor.
“I have seen it stated that Charles V. and his mother, Crazy Jane, both wanted a convent built which should contain a burial-place for the royal family,” said Sheridan.
“That is true. All of them were very pious, and inclined to dwell in convents. Charles V. showed his taste at his abdication by retiring to Yuste,” replied the surgeon.
“The architecture of the building is very plain.”
“Yes,—simple, massive, and grand.”
“Like Philip, as Professor Mapps said.”
“It took him two years to find a suitable spot for the building,” said the doctor.
“I don’t think he could have found a worse one,” laughed Murray.
“But he found just the one he wanted; and he did not select it to suit you and me. Look off at those mountains on the north,—the Guadarramas. They tower above Philip’s mausoleum, but they do not belittle it. The region is rough but grand: it is desolate; but that makes it more solemn and impressive. It is a monastery and a tomb that he built, not a pleasure-house.”
“But he made a royal residence of it,” suggested Murray.
“For the same reason that his father chose to end his days in a monastery. Philip would be a wild fanatic in our day; but he is to be judged by his own time. He was really a king and a monk, as much one as the other. When we go into the room where he died, and where he spent the last days of his life, and recall some of his history there, we shall understand him better. I don’t admire his character, but I am disposed to do justice to him.”
The party entered the church, called in Spanish templo: it is three hundred and twenty feet long, and it is the same to the top of the cupola.
“The interior is so well proportioned that you do not get an adequate idea of the size of it,” said the doctor. “Consider that you could put almost any church in our own country into this one, and have plenty of room for its spire under that dome. It is severely plain; but I think it is grand and impressive. The high altar, which I believe the professor did not make as large as it really is, is very rich in marbles and precious stones, and cost about two hundred thousand dollars.”
“That’s enough to build twenty comfortable country churches at home,” added Murray. “And this whole building cost money enough to build fifteen thousand handsome churches in any country. Of course there are plenty of beggars in Spain.”
“That is the republican view of the matter,” replied Dr. Winstock. “But the builder of this mighty fabric believed he was serving God acceptably in rearing it; and we must judge him by his motive, and consider the age in which he lived. Observe, as Mr Ford says in his hand-book, that the pantheon, or crypt where the kings are buried, is just under the steps of the high altar: it was so planned by Philip, that the host, when it was elevated, might be above the royal dead. Now we will go into the relicario.”
“I think I have seen about relics enough to last me the rest of my lifetime,” said Sheridan.
“You need not see them if you do not wish to do so,” laughed the surgeon. “This is a tolerably free country just now, and you can do as you please.”
But the captain followed his party.
“The French carried away vast quantities of the treasures of the church when they were engaged in conquering the country. But they left the bones of the saints, which the pious regard as the real treasures. Among other things stolen was a statue presented by the people of Messina to Philip III., weighing two hundred pounds, of solid silver, and holding in its hand a gold vessel weighing twenty-six pounds; besides forty-seven of the richest vases, and a heavy crown set with rubies and other precious stones,” continued Dr. Winstock, consulting a guide-book he carried in his hand. “This book says there are 7,421 relics here now, among which are ten whole bodies, 144 heads, 306 whole legs and arms; here is one of the real bars of the gridiron on which St. Lawrence was martyred, with portions of the broiled flesh upon it; and there is one of his feet, with a piece of coal sticking between the toes.”
“But where did they get that bar of the gridiron?” asked Murray earnestly. “St. Lawrence was broiled in the third century.”
“I don’t know,” replied the doctor. “You must not ask me any questions of that kind, for I cannot answer them.”
The party returned to the church again; and the surgeon called the attention of his companions to the oratorios, one on each side of the altar, which are small rooms for the use of the royal persons when they attend the mass.
“The one on the left is the one used by Philip II.,” added the doctor. “You see the latticed window through which he looked at the priest. Next to it is his cabinet, where he worked and where he died. We shall visit them from the palace.”
After looking at the choir, and examining the bishop’s throne, the party with a dozen others visited the pantheon, or royal tomb. The descent is by a flight of marble steps, and the walls are also of the same material. At the second landing are two doors, that on the left leading to the “pantheon de los infantes,” which is the tomb of those queens who were not mothers of sovereigns of Spain, and of princes who did not sit on the throne. There are sixty bodies here, including Don Carlos, the son of Philip, Don John of Austria, who asked to be buried here as the proper reward for his services, and other persons whose names are known to history.
After looking at these interesting relics of mortality, the tourists descended to the pantheon, which is a heathenish name to apply to a Christian burial-place erected by one so pious as Philip II. It is octagonal in form, forty-six feet in diameter and thirty-eight feet high. It is built entirely of marble and jasper. It contains an altar of the same stone, where mass is sometimes celebrated. These mortuary chapels were not built by Philip II., who made only plain vaults; but by Philip III. and Philip IV., who did not inherit the taste for simplicity of their predecessor on the throne. Around the tomb are twenty-six niches, all of them made after the same pattern, each containing a sarcophagus, in most of which is the body of a king or queen. On the right of the altar are the kings, and on the left the queens. All of them are labelled with the name of the occupant, as “Carlos V.,” “Filipe II.,” “Fernando VII.,” &c.
“Can it be possible that we see the coffins of Charles V. and Philip II.?” said Sheridan, who was very much impressed by the sight before him.
“There is no doubt of it,” replied the doctor.
“I can hardly believe that the body of Philip II. is in that case,” added the captain. “I see no reason to doubt the fact; but it seems so very strange that I should be looking at the coffin of that cold and cruel king who lived before our country was settled, and of whom I have read so much.”
“I think before you leave Spain you will see something that will impress you even more than this.”
“What is it?”
“I will not mention it yet; for it is better not to anticipate these things. All the kings of Spain from Charles V. are buried here, except Philip V. and Ferdinand VI.”
“What an odd way they have here of spelling Charles and Philip!” said Murray. “These names don’t look quite natural to me.”
“Carlos Quinto is the Spanish for Charles Fifth; and Ferdinand Seventh is Fernando Septimo, as you see on the urn. But our way of writing these things is as odd to the Spaniards as theirs is to us. The late queen and her father, when they came to the Escurial, used to hear mass at midnight in this tomb.”
“That was cheerful,” added Sheridan.
“They had a fancy for that sort of thing. Maria Louisa, Philip’s wife, scratched her name on one of these marble cases with her scissors.”
The party in the pantheon returned to the church to make room for another company to visit it. Dr. Winstock and his friends ascended the grand staircase, and from the top of the building obtained a fine view of the surrounding country, which at this season was as desolate and forbidding as possible. After this they took a survey of the monastery, most of which has the aspect of a barrack. They looked with interest at some of the portraits among the pictures, especially at those of Philip and Charles V. In the library they glanced at the old manuscripts, and at the catalogue in which some of Philip’s handwriting was pointed out to them.
They next went to the palace, which is certainly a mean abode for a king, though it was improved and adorned by some of the builder’s successors. Philip asked only a cell in the house he had erected and consecrated to God; and so he made the palace very simple and plain. Some of the long and narrow rooms are adorned with tapestries on the walls; but there is nothing in the palace to detain the visitor beyond a few minutes, except the apartments of Philip II. They are two small rooms, hardly more than six feet wide. One of them is Philip’s cabinet, where he worked on affairs of state; and the other is the oratory, where he knelt at the little latticed window which commanded a view of the priests at the high altar of the church. The old table at which he wrote, the chair in which he sat, and the footstool on which he placed his gouty leg, are still there. The doctor, who had been here before, pointed them out to the students.
“It almost seems as though he had just left the place,” said Sheridan. “I don’t see how a great king could be content to spend his time in such a gloomy den as this.”
“It was his own fancy, and he made his own nest to suit himself,” replied the doctor. “He was writing at that table when the loss of the invincible armada was announced to him. It is said he did not move a muscle, though he had wasted eighteen years of his life and a hundred million ducats upon the fleet and the scheme. He was kneeling at the window when Don John of Austria came in great haste to tell him of the victory of Lepanto; but he was not allowed to see the king till the latter had finished his devotions.”
“He was a cool old fellow,” added Murray.
“When he was near the end, he caused himself to be carried in a litter all over the wonderful building he had erected, that he might take a last look at the work of his hands,” continued the doctor. “He was finally brought to this place, where he received extreme unction; and, having taken leave of his family, he died, grasping the crucifix which his father had held in his last moments.”
The party passed out of the buildings, and gave some time to the gardens and grounds of the Escurial. There are some trees, a few of them the spindling and ghostly-looking Lombardy poplars; but, beyond the immediate vicinity of the “eighth wonder,” the country is desolate and wild, without a tree to vary the monotony of the scene. The doctor led the way down the hill to the Casita del Principe, which is a sort of miniature palace, built for Charles IV. when he was a boy. It is a pretty toy, containing thirty-three rooms, all of them of reduced size, and with furniture on the same scale. It contains some fine pictures and other works of art.
The tourists dined, and devoted the rest of the day to wandering about in the vicinity of the village. Some of them walked up to the Silla del Rey, or king’s chair, where Philip overlooked the work on the Escurial. At five o’clock the ship’s company took the slow train, and arrived at Madrid at half-past seven, using up two hours and a half in going thirty-two miles.
“I am sorry it is too dark for you to see the country,” said the doctor, after the train started.
“Why, sir, is it very fine?” asked Sheridan.
“On the contrary, it is, I think, the most desolate region on the face of the globe; with hardly a village, not a tree, nothing but rocks to be seen. It reminds me of some parts of Maine and New Hampshire, where they have to sharpen the sheep’s noses to enable them to feed among the rocks. The people are miserable and half savage; and it is said that many of them are clothed in sheepskins, and live in burrows in the ground, for the want of houses; but I never saw any thing of this kind, though I know that some of the gypsys in the South dwell in caves in the sides of the hills. Agriculture is at the lowest ebb, though Spain produces vast quantities of the most excellent qualities of grain. Like a portion of our own country, the numerous valleys are very fertile, though in the summer the streams of this part of Spain are all dried up. The gypsys camp in the bed of the Manzanares, at Madrid. Alexandre Dumas and his son went to a bull-fight at the capital. The son was faint, as you may be, and a glass of water was brought to him. After taking a swallow, he handed the rest to the waiter, saying, ‘Portez cela au Manzanares: cela lui fera plaisir.’ (Carry that to the Manzanares: it will give it pleasure).”
“Good for Dumas, fils!” exclaimed Murray.
“There is a prejudice against trees in Spain. The peasants will not plant them, or suffer them to grow, except those that bear fruit; because they afford habitations for the birds which eat up their grain. Timber and wood for fuel are therefore very scarce and very dear in this part of the country. But this region was not always so barren and desolate as it is now. In the wars with the Moors, both armies began by cutting down the trees and burning the villages. More of this desolation, however, was caused by a very remarkable privilege, called the mesta, granted to certain of the nobility. It gave them the right of pasturage over vast territories, including the Castiles, Estremadura, and La Mancha. It came to be a legal right, and permitted immense flocks of sheep to roam across the country twice a year, in the spring and autumn. In the time of Philip II., the wandering flocks of sheep were estimated at from seven to eight millions. They devoured every thing before them in the shape of grass and shrubs. This privilege was not abolished till 1825.”
“I should think Philip and the rest of the kings who lived at the Escurial would have had a nice time in going to and from the capital,” said Sheridan. “He did not have a palace-car on the railroad in those days.”
“After Philip’s day they did not live there a great deal of the time, not so much because it was inconvenient as because it was a gloomy and cheerless place. They used to make it a rule to spend six weeks of the year there; though the last of the sovereigns did not live there at all, I believe. But they had good roads and good carriages for their time. The Spaniards do not make many roads; but what they do make are first-class. I am sorry we do not go to Segovia, though there is not much there except the cathedral and the Roman aqueduct, which is a fine specimen. But you have seen plenty of these things. Six miles from Segovia is La Granja, or the Grange, which is sometimes called the palace of San Ildefonso. It is a real sitio, or royal residence, built by Philip V. It is a summer retreat, in the midst of pine forests four thousand feet above the sea-level. We went through Valladolid in the night. Columbus died there, you remember; and Philip II. was born there; but there is nothing of great interest to be seen in the city.”
When the train arrived at Madrid, a lot of small omnibuses, holding about eight persons each, were waiting for the company; and they were driven to the Puerta del Sol, where the principal hotels are located. Half of the party went to the Grand Hotel de Paris, and the other half to the Hotel de los Principes. Dr. Winstock and his protégés were quartered at the former.
On shore no distinction was made between officers and seamen, and no better rooms were given to the former than to the latter. As two students occupied one wide bed, they were allowed to pair off for this purpose. It so happened that the captain and the first lieutenant had one of the worst rooms in the house. After they had gone up two pairs of stairs, a sign on the wall informed them that they had reached the first story; and four more brought them to the seven-by-nine chamber, with a brick floor, which they were to occupy. The furniture was very meagre.
In Spain hotels charge by the day, the price being regulated by the size and location of the room. Such as that we have just described was thirty-five reales. A good sized inside room, two flights nearer the earth, was fifty reales, with an increase of five reales for an outside room looking into the street. The table was the same for all the guests. The price per day varies from thirty to sixty reales in Spain, forty being the most common rate at the best hotels out of Madrid. From two to four reales a day is charged for attendance, and one or two for candles. Two dollars a day is therefore about the average rate. Only two meals a day are served for this price,—a breakfast at ten or eleven, and dinner at six.
It is the fashion in Spain, for an individual or company to conduct several hotels in different cities. The Fallola brothers run the grand Hotel de Paris in Madrid, the ones with the same name in Seville and in Cadiz, and the Hotel Suiza in Cordova; and they are the highest-priced hotels on the peninsula, and doubtless the best. The company that manages the Hotel de Los Principes in Madrid also have the Rizzi in Cordova, the Londres in Seville, the Cadiz in Cadiz, and the Siete Suelos in Granada, in which the prices are more moderate. The Hotel Washington Irving at Granada, and the Alameda in Malaga, are under the same management, and charge forty-four and forty reales a day respectively, besides service and lights. Though Spain is said to be an expensive country to live in, these prices in 1870 were only about half those charged in the United States.
Railroad fares are about two cents and a half a mile, second class; and about a third higher, first class. A one-horse carriage for two costs forty cents an hour in Madrid; and for four persons, two horses, fifty cents. A very handsome carriage, with driver and footman in livery, may be had for five dollars a day.
After supper the students walked about the Puerta del Sol, and took their first view of the capital of Spain.