CHAPTER XII.
SIGHTS IN MADRID.
After an early breakfast—early for Spain—the students were assembled in a large hall provided by the landlord; and Professor Mapps gave the usual lesson relating to the city they were visiting:—
“The population of Madrid has fallen off from about four hundred thousand to the neighborhood of three hundred thousand. The city was in existence in the tenth century, but was not of much account till the sixteenth, when Charles V. took up his residence here. Toledo was at that time the capital, as about every prominent city of Spain had been before. In 1560 Philip III. made Madrid the sole capital of the country; and it has held this distinction down to this day, though Philip II. tried to move it to Valladolid. It is twenty-two hundred feet above the level of the sea; and the cutting off of all the trees in the vicinity—and I may add in all Spain—has injuriously affected the climate. This region has been said to have but two seasons,—‘nine months of winter, and three months of hell.’ If it is very cold in winter, it is probably by comparison with the southern part of the peninsula. Like many other cities of Spain, Madrid has been captured by the English and the French.”
Though the professor had much more to say, we shall report only these few sentences. The students hastened out to see the city; and the surgeon took the captain and the first lieutenant under his wing, as usual. They went into the Puerta del Sol,—the Gate of the Sun. Most of the city in early days lay west of this point, so that its eastern gate was where the centre now is. As the sun first shone on this gate, it was called the gate of the sun. Though the gate is gone, the place where it was located still retains the name. It is nearly in the shape of an ellipse; and most of the principal streets radiate from it. It usually presents a very lively scene, by day or by night. It is always full of peddlers of matches, newspapers, lottery-tickets, and other merchandise.
“Where shall we go?” said the doctor.
“We will leave that to you,” replied Sheridan. “You know the ropes in this ship, and we don’t.”
“I think we will go first to the royal palace; and we had better take a berlina, as they call it here.”
“A berlina? Is it a pill?” asked Murray.
“No; it is a carriage,” laughed the doctor. “Do you see that one with a tin sign on the corner, with ‘se alquila’ painted on it? That means that the vehicle is not engaged.”
The berlina was called, and the party were driven down the Calla del Arenal to the palace. It is a magnificent building, one of the finest in Europe, towering far above every thing else in the city. It is the most sightly structure in Madrid. In front of it is the Plaza del Oriente, and in the rear are extensive gardens, reaching down to the Manzanares. On the right of it are the royal stables, and on the left is the royal armory.
“When I was in Madrid, in the time of the late queen, no one was admitted to the palace because some vandal tourists had damaged the frescos and marbles,” said Dr. Winstock. “But for the last year it has been opened. Your uniform and my passport will open the doors to us.”
“What has the uniform to do with it?” asked Murray.
“A uniform is generally respected in Europe; for it indicates that those who wear it hold some naval or military office.”
“We don’t hold any such office,” added Sheridan.
“But you are officers of a very respectable institution.”
As the doctor anticipated, admission was readily obtained; and the trio were conducted all over the palace, not excepting the apartments of the late queen. There is nothing especially noteworthy about it, for it was not unlike a score of other palaces the party had visited.
In the stables, the party saw the state coaches; but, as they had seen so many royal carriages, they were more interested in an American buggy because it looked like home. The doctor pointed out the old coach in which Crazy Jane carried about with her the body of her dead husband. The provisional government had sold off most of the horses and mules. In the yard is a bath for horses.
From the stables the trio went to the armory, which contains many objects of interest. The suits of armor are kept as clean and nice as they were when in use. Those worn by Charles V. and Philip II. were examined with much care; but there seemed to be no marks of any hard knocks on them. At the head of the room stands a figure of St. Ferdinand, dressed in regal robes, with a golden crown on the head and a sword in the hand, which is borne in solemn procession to the royal chapel by priests, on the 29th of May, and is kept there two weeks to receive the homage of the people.
In another room is a great variety of articles of historic interest, among which may be mentioned the steel writing-desk of Charles V., the armor he wore when he entered Tunis, his camp-stool and bed, and, above all, the steel armor, ornamented with gold, that was worn by Columbus. In the collection of swords were those of the principal kings, the great captain, and other heroes.
“There is the armor of Isabella, which she wore at the siege of Granada,” said the doctor.
“Did she fight?” asked Murray.
“No more than her husband. Both were sovereigns in their own right; and it was the fashion to wear these things.”
“Very likely she had this on when Columbus called to see her at Granada,” suggested Sheridan.
“I don’t know about that. I fancy she did not wear it in the house, but only when she presented herself before the army,” replied the doctor.
The party spent a long time in this building, so interested were the young men in viewing these memorials of the past grandeur of Spain. After dinner they went to the naval museum, which is near the armory. It contains a great number of naval relics, models of historic vessels, captured flags, and similar mementos of the past. The chart of Columbus was particularly interesting to the students from the New World. There are several historical paintings, representing scenes in the lives of Cortes, Pizarro, and De Soto. A portrait of Columbus is flanked on each side by those of the sovereigns who patronized him.
“This is a beautiful day,” said Dr. Winstock, as they left the museum. “They call it very cold here, when the mercury falls below the freezing point. It does not often get below twenty-four, and seldom so low as that. I think the glass to-day is as high as fifty-five.”
“I call it a warm day for winter,” added Sheridan.
“But the air of this city is very subtle. It will kill a man, the Spaniards say, when it will not blow out a candle. I think we had better take a berlina, and ride over to the Prado. The day is so fine that we may possibly see some of the summer glories of the place.”
“What are they?” asked Murray.
“To me they are the people who walk there; but of course the place is the pleasantest when the trees and shrubs are in foliage.”
A berlina was called, and the party drove through the Calle Mayor, the Puerta del Sol, and the Calle de Alcala, which form a continuous street, the broadest and finest in Madrid, from the palace to the Prado, which are on opposite sides of the city. A continuation of this street forms one end of the Prado; and another of the Calle de Atocha, a broad avenue reaching from the Plaza Mayor, near the palace, forms the other end. These are the two widest streets of Madrid. The Calle de Alcala is wide enough to be called a boulevard, and contains some of the finest buildings in the city.
“That must be the bull-ring,” said Sheridan, as the party came in sight of an immense circular building. “I have read that it will hold twelve thousand people.”
“Some say sixteen thousand; but I think it would not take long to count all it would hold above ten thousand. Philip V. did not like bull-fights, and he tried to do away with them; but the spectacle is the national sport, and the king made himself very unpopular by attempting to abolish it. As a stroke of policy, to regain his popularity, he built this Plaza de Toros. It is what you see; but it is open to the weather in the middle; and all bull-fights are held, ‘Si el tiempo no lo impide’ (if the weather does not prevent it). This is the Puerta de Alcala,” continued the doctor, pointing to a triumphal arch about seventy feet high, built by Charles III. “The gardens on the right are the ‘Buen Retiro,’ pleasant retreat. Now we will turn, and go through the Prado, though all this open space is often called by this name.”
“But what is the ‘pleasant retreat’?”
“It is a sort of park and garden, not very attractive at that, with a pond, a menagerie, and an observatory. It is not worth the trouble of a visit,” added the doctor, as he directed the driver to turn the berlina.
“I have often seen a picture of that statue,” said Sheridan, as they passed a piece of sculpture representing a female seated on a chariot drawn by lions.
“That is the Cybele.”
“Wife of Saturn, and mother of the gods,” replied Sheridan.
“This is the Salon del Prado” continued the doctor, as the carriage turned to the left into an avenue two hundred feet wide. “There are plenty of people here, and I think we had better get out and walk, if you are not too tired; for you want to see the people.”
The berlina was dismissed, and the party joined the throng of Madrileños. Dr. Winstock called the attention of his young friends to three ladies who were approaching them. They wore the mantilla, which is a long black lace veil, worn as a head-dress, but falling in graceful folds below the hips. The ladies—except the high class, fashionable people—wear no bonnets. The mantilla is a national costume, and the fan is a national institution among them. They manage the latter, as well as the former, with peculiar grace; and it has even been said that they flirt with it, being able to express their sentiments by its aid.
“But these ladies are not half so pretty as I supposed the Spanish women were,” said Murray.
“That only proves that you supposed they were handsomer than they are,” laughed Sheridan.
“They are not so handsome here as in Cadiz and Seville, I grant,” added the doctor; “but still I think they are not bad looking.”
“I will agree to that,” replied Murray. “They are good-looking women, and that’s all you can say of them.”
“Probably you have got some extravagant ideas about Spanish girls from the novels you have read,” laughed the doctor; “and it is not likely that your ideal beauty will be realized, even in Cadiz and Seville. Here is the Dos de Mayo.”
“Who’s she?” asked Murray, looking rather vacantly at a granite obelisk in the middle of an enclosed garden.
“It is not a woman,” replied the doctor.
“Excuse me; I think you said a dose of something,” added Murray.
“That monument has the name of ‘El Dos de Mayo,’ which means ‘the second of May.’ It commemorates a battle fought on this spot in 1808 by the peasants, headed by three artillerymen, and the French. The ground enclosed is called ‘The Field of Loyalty.’”
“What is this long building ahead?” inquired Sheridan.
“That’s the Royal Museum, which contains the richest collection of paintings in Europe.”
“Isn’t that putting it pretty strong, after what we have seen in Italy and Germany?” asked Sheridan.
“I don’t say the largest or the best-arranged collection in Europe, but the richest. It has more of the old masters, of the best and most valuable pictures in the world, than any other museum. We will go there to-morrow, and you can judge for yourselves.”
“Of course we are competent to do that,” added Murray with a laugh.
“We haven’t been to any churches yet, doctor,” said Sheridan.
“There are many churches in Madrid, but none of any great interest. The city has no cathedral.”
“I am thankful for that!” exclaimed Murray. “I have seen churches enough, though of course I shall go to the great cathedrals when we come to them.”
“You will be spared in Madrid. Philip II. was asked to erect one; but he would appropriate only a small sum for the purpose, because he did not wish any church to rival that of the Escurial.”
“I am grateful to him,” added Murray.
“The Atocha church contains an image which is among the most venerated in Spain. It works miracles, and was carved by St. Luke.”
“Another job by St. Luke!” exclaimed Murray.
“That is hardly respectful to an image whose magnificent dress and rich jewels would build half a score of cheap churches.”
“Are there any theatres in Madrid, doctor?” asked Murray.
“Of course there are; half a dozen of them. The principal is the Royal Theatre, near the palace, where the performance is Italian opera. It is large enough to hold two thousand; but there is nothing Spanish about it. If you want to see the Spanish theatre you must go to some of the smaller ones. As you don’t understand Spanish, I think you will not enjoy it.”
“I want to see the customs of the country.”
“The only custom you will see will be smoking; and you can see that anywhere, except in the churches, where alone, I believe, it is not permitted. Everybody smokes, even the women and children. I have seen a youngster not more than five years old struggling with a cigarillo; and I suppose it made him sick before he got through with it; at least, I hope it did, for the nausea is nature’s protest against the practice.”
“But do the ladies smoke?”
“Not in public; but in private many of them do. I have seen some very pretty girls smoking in Spain.”
“I don’t remember that I have seen a man drunk in Spain,” said Sheridan.
“Probably you have not; I never did. The Spaniards are very temperate.”
This long talk brought the party back to the hotel just at dark. The next day was Sunday; but many of the students visited the churches, though most of them were willing to make it a day of rest, in the strictest sense of the word. On Monday morning, as the museum did not open till one o’clock, the doctor and his protégés took a berlina, and rode out to the palace of the Marquis of Salamanca, where they were permitted to explore this elegant residence without restraint. In one of the apartments they saw a large picture of the Landing of the Pilgrims, by a Spanish artist; and it was certainly a strange subject. Connected with the palace is a museum of antiquities quite extensive for a private individual to own. The Pompeian rooms contain a vast quantity of articles from the buried city.
“Who is this Marquis of Salamanca?” asked Sheridan, as they started on their return.
“He is a Spanish nobleman, a grandee of Spain I suppose, who is somewhat noted as a financier. He has invested some money in railroads in the United States. The town of Salamanca, at the junction of the Erie and Great Western, in Western New York, was named after him,” replied Dr. Winstock.
“I have been through the place,” added Sheridan.
“This is not a very luxurious neighborhood,” said Murray, when they came to one of those villages of poor people, of which there were several just outside of the city.
“Generally in Europe the rich are very rich, and the poor are very poor. Though the rich are not as rich in Spain as in some other countries, there is no exception to the rule in its application to the poor. These hovels are even worse than the homes of the poor in Russia. Wouldn’t you like to look into one of them?”
“Would it be considered rude for us to do so?” asked Sheridan.
“Not at all. These people are not so sensitive as poor folks in America; but, if they are hurt by our curiosity, a couple of reales will repair all the damages.”
“Is this a château en Espagne?” said Murray. “I have read about such things, but I never saw one before.”
“Châteaux en Espagne are castles in the air,—things unreal and unsubstantial; and, so far as the idea of comfort is concerned, this is a château en Espagne. When we were in Ireland, an old woman ran out of a far worse shanty than this, and, calling it an Irish castle, begged for money. In the same sense we may call this a Spanish castle.”
The carriage was stopped, and the party alighted.
“You see, the people live out-doors, even in the winter,” said the doctor. “The door of this house is wide open, and you can look in.”
The proprietor of the establishment stood near the door. He wore his cloak with as much style as though he had been an hidalgo. Under this garment his clothes were ragged and dirty; and he wore a pair of spatterdashes, most of the buttons of which were wanting, and it was only at a pinch that they staid on his ankles. His wife and four children stopped their work, or their play, as the case was, and gazed at the unwonted visitors.
“Buenos dias, caballero,” said the doctor, as politely as though he had been saluting a grandee.
The man replied no less politely.
“May we look into your house?” asked the doctor.
“Esta muy a la disposicion de usted,” replied the caballero (it is entirely at your disposal).
This is a cosa de España. If you speak of any thing a Spaniard has, he makes you a present of it, be it his house or his horse, or any thing else; but you are not expected to avail yourself of his generosity. It would be as impolite to take him at his word as it would be for him not to place it “at your disposal.”
The house was of one story, and had but one door and one window, the latter very small indeed. The floor was of cobble-stones bedded in the mud. The little window was nothing but a hole; there was no glass in it; and the doctor said, that, when the weather was bad, the occupants had to close the door, and put a shutter over the window, so that they had no light. The interior was divided into two rooms, one containing a bed. Every thing was as simple as possible. The roof of the shanty was covered with tile which looked like broken flower-pots. In front, for use in the summer, was an attempt at a veranda, with vines running up the posts.
The doctor gave the smallest of the children a peseta, and bade the man a stately adieu, which was answered with dignity enough for an ambassador. The party drove off, glad to have seen the interior of a Spanish house.
“Why did you give the money to the child instead of the father?” asked Sheridan.
“I suppose your experience in other parts of Europe would not help you to believe it, but the average Spaniard who is not a professional beggar is too proud to receive money for any small favor,” replied the doctor. “I have had a peseta indignantly refused by a man who had rendered me a small service. This is as strange as it is true, though, when you come to ride on a diligencia, you will find that driver, postilion, and zagal will do their best to get a gratuity out of you. I speak only of the Spaniard who does you a favor, and not those with whom you deal; but, as a general rule, the people are too proud to cheat you.”
“They are very odd sort of people,” added Murray. “There is one shovelling with his cloak on.”
“Not an unusual sight. I have seen a man ploughing in the field with his cloak on, and that on a rather warm day. You notice here that the houses are not scattered as they are with us; but even these shanties are built in villages,” continued the doctor.
“I noticed that the houses were all in villages in all the country we have come through since we left Barcelona,” said Murray.
“Can you explain the reason?”
“I do not see any reason except that is the fashion of the country.”
“There is a better reason than that. In early days the people had to live in villages in order to be able to defend themselves from enemies. In Spain the custom never changes, if isolated houses are even safe at the present time.”
“What is that sheet of paper hanging on the balcony for?” asked Murray. “There is another; and now I can see half a dozen of them.” The berlina was within a short distance of the Puerta del Sol.
“A sheet of white paper in the middle of the balcony signifies that the people have rooms to let; if at the corner, they take boarders.”
The party arrived at the hotel in season for dinner; and, when it was over, they hastened to the Museo, or picture-gallery. The building is very long, and of no particular architectural effect. It has ten apartments on the principal floor, in which are placed the gems of the collection. In the centre of the edifice is a very long room which contains the burden of the paintings. There are over two thousand of them, and they are the property of the Crown. Among them are sixty-two by Rubens, fifty-three by Teniers, ten by Raphael, forty-six by Murillo, sixty-four by Velasquez, twenty-two by Van Dyck, forty-three by Titian, thirty-four by Tintoretto, twenty-five by Paul Veronese, and hundreds by other masters hardly less celebrated.
The doctor’s party spent three hours among these pictures, and they went to the museum for the same time the next day; for they could better appreciate these gems than most of the students, many of whom were not willing to use a single hour in looking at them. Our party visited the public buildings, and took many rides and walks in the city and its vicinity, which we have not the space to report. On Wednesday morning the ship’s company started for Toledo.