Don Alfonso took his bride at once from the Royal Palace at Madrid to the Palace of La Granja (the Grange or farm-house) behind the Guadarrama Mountains, in Castile, for their honeymoon. This palace is situated on a slightly pinnacled hill four thousand feet above the level of the sea, a veritable “Castle in the Air.” La Granja is surrounded by lovely woods, a garden which includes some three hundred and sixty acres, probably the finest in Spain, and even Versailles cannot boast of more numerous or lovelier fountains than this charming country residence. The laying out of the gardens alone cost eight millions of dollars. It is easy to understand why King Alfonso selected this spot for the honeymoon; it is the one spot in Spain, above all others, where royal lovers might hope to find seclusion amidst bowers of foliage musical with birds, and where they might hope to wipe from their recollection the vivid memories of the tragic scene of their wedding day.
Spain is one of the richest of countries in regard to the number of its palaces. Until the reign of Philip II, the Kings of Spain did not maintain any one permanent Royal residence, but journeyed from region to region, maintaining a Palace in practically every district of the country, and, as a result of this custom much of the history of Spain is to be found and embodied and crystallised in the various Castles which are inherited by the Royal family of to-day. There is the Alcazar at Seville, which is associated with Pedro the Cruel. There is the Retiro, built to divert the attention of Philip IV from the decay and backsliding of his country; the Escorial in which the gloomy and melancholy Philip II has perpetuated his own memory in stone; and La Granja, which marks the bitterness and humiliation of Cristina before Garca and his rude soldiery; and Miramar at San Sebastian, in which a widowed Queen secluded herself to mourn the loss of her kingly spouse! Time was indeed when, within comparatively easy distance of Madrid, there were no less than thirty-five Royal residences; to-day only five of these, however, are still kept up, but throughout the rest of the country are many other Palaces.
It would be indeed a delightful task to write an entire book on the palaces of the Kings of Spain. El Pardo, Aranjuez, Miramar, El Escorial, El Alcazar and the Royal Palace of Madrid, but even then it would indeed be difficult to describe in words the beauty and the wondrous maze and labyrinths of woodland and garden; the galleries of tapestry and painting; the statutes; the armory; the varied treasures which they all contain. George Borrow, who early made familiar to the English-speaking world the wondrous beauties and treasure houses of all Spain, waxed most eloquent over the palace of Alcazar at Seville. “Cold, cold must be the heart,” exclaimed Borrow at the Alcazar, “which can remain insensible to the beauties of this magic scene. Often have I shed tears of rapture whilst I beheld it and listened to the thrush and the nightingale piping forth their melodious songs in the woods and inhaled the breeze laden with the perfume of the thousand orange gardens of Seville.” La Granja, however, remains the favourite abiding place of all the present Royal family, hallowed by the sweet memories of honeymoon days.
Each summer the Royal family have returned to La Granja for two months. Here as nowhere else the Queen leads a life of charming simplicity, a life almost like that she was accustomed to in England. Here the King and Queen have but little company. They walk and ride and drive together. The King is a keen sportsman and while he shoots, the Queen goes a-fishing. Trout are abundant in the streams that come dashing down from the higher mountains and she is adept at landing the speckled beauties—only she will not bait her own hooks!
A golf course has been laid out and at this game the Queen excels her royal spouse. As a matter of fact polo is more to the King’s taste and to La Granja he always takes the best of his string of forty polo ponies. Here it may be truly said the King and Queen are idyllically happy. Free from the ceremony of political and social circles they are the boy and girl sweethearts once more. They go through country lanes hand in hand and follow woodland paths unescorted. As La Granja was their haven of quiet after their turbulent wedding day, so has it since been their harbour of peace and happiness away from the harassing cares of sovereignty.
Queen Victoria Eugenie had been only a few days in the country which was henceforth to be her own, when she had made great progress in the winning of the nation. Her sympathy for the condemned man, her poise and self-command in the face of shock and danger had all a tremendous influence in prejudicing people in her favour. If possible, a yet more difficult task now confronted her; for she faced the daily scrutiny of court and people.
One of the earliest duties which she had to perform was to attend a bull fight. The Spanish people could never give absolute allegiance to a sovereign who did not in some measure share their joy and enthusiasm in this national and tradition-honoured sport. So to a bull fight went the Queen. Simple English girl that she was, with fine sensibilities and delicate feelings, we can well appreciate her horror at it all. When the moment had arrived for the signal to be given from the Royal Box for the fight to begin all eyes were turned expectantly toward the King, but it was the young Queen who fluttered the white scarf. When the crowd saw this, they rose like one man, frantically cheering their Queen. It was distinctly a popular thing to do.
Ordinarily, six bulls are despatched at a single fight, but before death, each bull generally kills one to three horses besides horribly goring others and sometimes injuring one or more of the men. That a bull fight is not a pleasant thing to watch, I know, for I have seen several. At one which I attended on the Day of Ascension (bull fights are always held on Sundays and religious fête days) the killing of the six bulls was accompanied by the outright killing of eleven horses and the maiming of four others, while one man was tossed high in the air by a bull and two others hurt by their horses falling on them. The fourteen thousand spectators were delirious with delight and called it “a good bull fight.”
The young Queen remained in the Royal Box throughout the correda and thus concluded her initiation into Queenship.
The year following the marriage sped to a happy close. The Queen grew increasingly popular. As the months went on, the shock of the wedding day drifted into a hideous memory, and the hearty enthusiasm of the Spanish people melted the somewhat austere bearing which was native to her and she began to return the cordial greetings of the people everywhere she went. Nowhere on earth—not