Spanish Life in Town and Country

by L. Higgin; Eugène E. Street

CHAPTER VI

THE COURT

During the reign of Don Alfonso XII., except during the interval when the melancholy death of his first beloved Queen, Mercédes, plunged King, Court, and people into mourning, Madrid was gayer than perhaps it has ever been. No one loved amusement better than the young King, who was only seventeen when the military pronunciamiento of Martinez Campo called him to the throne from which his mother had been driven seven years previously. He had taken his people, and indeed all the world, by storm, for from the first moment he had shown all the qualities which make a ruler popular, and Spain has never had a young monarch of so much promise. He had the royal gift of memory, and an extraordinary facility in speaking foreign languages; it was said that the Russian and the Turkish envoys were the only ones with whom he was unable to converse as freely in their languages as in his own. He was an excellent speaker, always knew the right thing to say, the best thing to do to gain the hearts of his people, and to make himself agreeable to all parties and all nationalities alike. He was the first King of Spain to address his people de usted in place of de tu, a mark of respect which they were not slow to appreciate; he was a modern, in that he would go out alone, either on foot or riding, allowed applause in his presence at the theatres, unknown before, and himself would salute those he knew from his box. He gave audience to all who asked, was an early riser, devoted to business when it had to be performed, was an enthusiast in all military matters, and, perhaps better than all in the eyes of his people, he was devoted to the bull-ring. Extremely active, resolute, firm, fond of all kinds of active sports, such as hunting and shooting, equally fond of society, picnics, dances, and all kinds of entertainments, he seemed destined to become the idol of his people, and to lead his beloved country back to its place in Europe. His death, when only twenty-seven, changed all this. Queen Maria Cristina has been a model wife, widow, mother, and Regent. She was devoted to her husband, and though it was said at first to be a political marriage, contracted to please the people, it was undoubtedly a happy one. The Queen has scarcely taken more part in public life during her sad widowhood than Queen Victoria did. She has devoted herself to her public duties as Regent and to the education and care of her children.

Alfonso XIII., born a king after his father's death, has always been rather a delicate boy; his mother has determined that his health and his education shall be the first and chief care of her life, and nothing turns her from this purpose. If she has never been exactly popular, she has at least the unbounded respect and admiration of the people. She does not love the "bulls," and, therefore, she is not Española enough to awaken enthusiasm; she keeps the boy King too much out of sight, so that his people scarcely know him, even in Madrid; but this is the very utmost that anyone has to say against her, while all shades of politicians, even to declared Republicans, speak of her with respect and with real admiration of her qualities of heart and mind.

All Court gaieties are, however, at an end. Once a year or so a ball at the palace, a formal dinner, or reception, when it cannot be avoided—that is all, and for the rest the Queen is rarely seen except at religious ceremonies or state functions, and the King, never. He is supposed to take his amusements and exercise in the Casa de Campo, and rarely crosses Madrid.

Numerous stories used to be told of his precocity as a child, and of his smart sayings; sometimes of his generosity and sympathy with the poor and suffering. Now one is told he is somewhat of a pickle, but fables about royalty may always be received with more than a grain of salt. One of the stories told of him, which ought to be true, since it has the ring of childhood about it, is well known. When a small boy, his Austrian governess, of whom he was very fond, reproved him for using his knife in place of a fork. "Gentlemen never do so," she said. "But I am a King," he replied. "Kings, still less, eat with their knives," said the governess. "This King does," was the composed reply of the child.

The etiquette of the Spanish Court, although it was much modified by Alfonso XII., is still very formal. A perfectly infinite number of mayordomos, caballerizos, gentiles hombres de casa y boca, ujieres, alabarderos, monteros, aides-de-camp, Grandes de España de servicio, ladies-in-waiting, lackeys, servants, and attendants of every possible description abound. A man going to an audience with royalty uncovers as he enters the Palace. First, he will find the alabardero de servicio placed at the entrance of the vestibule; farther on, more alabarderos. Whenever a Grande de España, a prelate, a grand cross, or a title of Castile passes, these guards strike the marble floor with their arms—a noise which may well cause the uninitiated to start. Three halls are used for grouping, according to their rank, those who are about to be presented: first, the saleta, where ordinary people—all the world, in fact—wait; next, the cámara, for those who have titles or wear the grand cross; third, the antecámara, reserved for the Grandes of Spain, and gentiles hombres en ejercio. The Grandes of Spain, chamberlains of the King, share between them the service of his Majesty. They are called in rotation, one day's notice being given before they are expected to attend in the Palace. In the ante-chamber of the King there is always the Grande in waiting, the lady-in-waiting on the Queen, two aides-de-camp, and a gentil hombre del interior (the last must not be confounded with the gentiles hombres en ejercicio, who have the right to enter the ante-chamber). There are, of course, equerries (caballerizos) who attend, as ours do, on horseback, when the King or Queen goes out; but the most essentially Spanish attendants are the Monteros de Espinosa, who have the exclusive right to watch while Royalty sleeps. These attendants must all be born in Espinosa; it is an hereditary honour, and the wives of the existing Monteros are careful to go to Espinosa when they expect an addition to their family, as no one not actually born there can hold the office. At the present time this guard is recruited from captains or lieutenants on the retired list.

In the ante-chamber of each member of the Royal Family two of these take their place at eleven o'clock; they never speak, never sit down, but pass the whole night pacing the room, crossing each other as they go, until morning relieves them from what must be rather a trying watch. At eleven o'clock each evening there is a solemn procession of servants and officials in imposing uniforms down the grand staircase of the Palace; every door is closed and locked by a gentleman wearing an antique costume and a three-cornered hat, and having an enormous bunch of keys. From that time the Palace remains under the exclusive charge of the Monteros de Espinosa. Although this is the official programme, it is to be hoped the hour is not a fixed one. It would be a little cruel to put the Royal Family to bed so early, without regard to their feelings; especially as Madrid is essentially a city of late hours, and the various members of it would have to scamper away from opera, or in fact any entertainment, as if some malignant fairy were wanting to cast a spell at the witching hour of midnight. There are some curious superstitions, however, about being abroad when the clocks strike twelve, which we must suppose do not now affect the Madrileño.