Why Charles V. should have made his capital on the spot now occupied by Madrid it is difficult to understand—though writers suppose a half a dozen reasons—except that it is the geographical centre of Spain. Eight or nine hundred years ago it was a fortified outpost of Toledo, "imperial" Toledo. It is hemmed in on all sides by arid plains, and has an adjacent river, so-called, but which in America would be known as a dry gulch. If there is any special benefit to be derived from a waterless river, we have yet to learn its character. Like the Arno at Florence, it is troubled with a chronic thirst; in short, the Manzanares has the form of a river without the circulation. In the days of Charles II. its dry bed was turned into a sort of race-course and drive-way, but since the completion of the Prado it has been abandoned for even this purpose. Though Madrid is situated between two and three thousand feet above the level of the sea, it does not seem to possess the advantages usually following such a position, the climate being scorchingly hot in summer and piercingly cold in winter. Thus, in point of climate and location, the Spanish capital seems to be a mistake.
As Madrid was built when the age of cathedrals had passed, it has none within its borders, though there is no lack of modern churches; but it is a large and fine city, with some four hundred thousand inhabitants. It is not noticeable, like Genoa, Rome, and Florence, for palaces and ancient monuments; but it is well laid out; the streets are broad and nicely paved; while numerous squares ornament the city, filled with attractive shrubbery, fountains, and statues. Among the latter we recall those of Murillo, Philip III., Cervantes, Lopez de Vega, Philip V., Calderon, and others. The finest statue in the city, to our taste, is that of Philip IV., representing the monarch as on horseback, the animal in a prancing position,—a wonderfully life-like bronze, designed by Velasquez and cast by Pietro Tacca at Florence. It forms the centre of the Plaza del Oriente, directly in front of the royal palace, from which it is separated, however, by a broad thoroughfare. According to history, Galileo showed how the true balance of the horse could be sustained in its remarkable position, the whole weight of rider and animal resting on the hind legs. On the Prado, the grand public drive of the citizens, there are fine marble statues and groups, combined with fountains, representative of Neptune, Apollo, and Cybele.
The Puerto del Sol is the Place del 'Opera of Madrid, always full of sparkle, life, and color, radiating from which there are a dozen large streets with two or three broad boulevards. Here all the lines of tramways meet and diverge, and the congregated fashionable idlers of the town hold high carnival daily and nightly. Our windows overlooked the Puerto del Sol (the Gate of the Sun), where the whirl of carriages, the rush of pedestrians, the passing of military bands with marching regiments, equestrians; priests decked out in church paraphernalia, preceded by smoking incense, burning candles, etc., bound to some death-bed; itinerant peddlers, and news-vendors, each hastening on some individual purpose, made the plaza a scene of incessant movement from early morning until midnight. Like Paris and Vienna, Madrid does not seem to awake until evening, and the tide of life becomes the most active under the glare of gas-lights which are as numerous at midnight as the fireflies that float over a sugar plantation. The fine shops surrounding this brilliant square, which is the real geographical heart of Madrid, are more Parisian than Spanish. The large plate-glass windows present a tempting array of jewelry, laces, silver-ware and rich fancy goods, in a style and of a quality that would do no discredit to the Rue de la Paix or the Boulevard des Italiens. Indeed, it is mostly French people who keep these shops, and there is a manifest tendency of the upper classes to adopt French manners, customs, and language. Paris serves as a model to Madrid in all matters relating to fashionable life. There is a large fountain and mammoth basin of water in the centre of the square, a stream being forced to a height of fifty or sixty feet, in a graceful column, night and day, the effect of which is heightened by the brilliant array of gas-lights. The sidewalks are here at least forty feet wide, upon which, in business hours, many merchants are accustomed to meet for the discussing of affairs, and to gossip before the several hotels which front on the plaza.
Speaking of the fountain in the Puerto del Sol recalls the fact that the citizens owe it to the energy and skill of foreign engineers that they enjoy the luxury of an ample supply of good water; and foreign engineers are doing or have done the same thing for other Spanish cities, though, in fact, only restoring the ancient supplies first constructed by the quick-witted Moors, and wantonly permitted to crumble into ruin by the Spaniards. They are not sufficiently enterprising or progressive to originate any such scheme for the public good. They even dislike the railroads, though they are compelled to use them; dislike them because they force them to observe punctuality, the native instinct being of the Chinese school, retrospective and retrograding. Everything is exotic in Madrid; nothing is produced in or near the city which its daily consumption demands. Strawberries, butter, cheese, fruits, meats, each comes from some special region far away to this human hive located in the desert. The city adds to its other drawbacks that of being very unwholesome as a residence, and would die out from natural causes if its population were not constantly renewed from the several provinces. There is a native proverb to the effect that so subtle is the air of Madrid, it kills a man but does not put out a candle. Why it is so unhealthy a place, especially for strangers, it is impossible to say. The same extreme difference between the sunshine and the shade is here realized which one experiences at Nice, Mentone, and Naples. The air seemed pure and clear enough during our two weeks' stay, but every one admitted its very unwholesome character. When the breeze swept down from the snowy Guadarrama, it cut like a knife, but that was a condition of temperature which one could guard against, not an atmospheric impurity. If Madrid were surrounded by and ornamented with trees, like Wiesbaden or Baden-Baden, it might prove a favorable sanitary measure, besides adding so much to its beauty. In Paris, Rome, or Venice, fires are not common in domestic living rooms, except in extremes of weather; but at Madrid, if the day is cool and damp, the cheerful, warmth-diffusing fire is lighted and regarded as a necessity.
The king and queen of Spain passed through the Puerto del Sol in an open carriage nearly every afternoon during our stay, attended by half a dozen outriders, and drawn by four superb horses; for Alfonso's royal stable, as we can testify, is justly celebrated. The king rides with his hat in his hand in response to the ceaseless recognitions of respect by the people, who, however, never cheer him, and yet he appears to be fairly popular with the masses. He has seemed thus far to follow rather than to lead public sentiment, perhaps realizing the precarious nature of his seat upon the throne; remembering that the nation has a rather erratic manner of changing its rulers when displeased with them. He is quite youthful in appearance. The queen, though by no means handsome, has a pleasing face, and is represented to be of a very amiable character. It will be remembered that his first wife, Mercedes, died while yet a bride, at the age of eighteen, much regretted and much beloved. Alfonso has, in a few public instances, shown a progressive and enlightened spirit; but were he to permit himself to be demonstrative in this direction, he would not be supported either by his councillors or the public, who are imbued with the true Castilian dormancy even in this nineteenth century. He has undertaken, out of his private purse, to restore many decaying monuments of the country, and is noticeably spending money freely for this purpose, not only in Cordova, but also at Toledo, Madrid, and Burgos.
On the occasions when the king and queen drove out, the royal carriage was generally attended by a second, in which was ex-empress Isabella, at the time on a visit to the royal palace, though she makes her home at present in Paris. She is fat, dowdy, and vulgar in appearance, with features indicative of sensuousness and indulgence in coarse appetites. The last time we saw her was in the Puerto del Sol, as she rode in a carriage behind the royal vehicle, with a lady companion by her side, to whom she was talking very earnestly, accompanying her words with the most energetic and emphatic gesticulation of the right forefinger. The more we heard of this woman, the less we could respect her; and yet we were told by intelligent natives that she is to-day very popular in Madrid, much more so than in other parts of the country. If this is true, it is only a reflection upon the moral instincts of the people themselves. The royal palace is located upon a slightly rising site, and is so isolated as to give full effect to its fine architecture and excellent general design. It is the only building of a remarkable character, architecturally, in the city; which, for a European capital, is in this respect very ordinary and plain. The Madrid palace is undoubtedly the largest and finest in Europe, and belongs to the Tuscan style. It cost between five and six millions of dollars a hundred years ago. The base is granite, but the upper portion is built of a fine white stone, closely resembling marble. The royal family being at home, as well as the ex-queen being there, we could not visit the palace, but were told of its interior magnificence, by those familiar with it. It contains a rich chapel, library, and theatre, with a remarkably beautiful collection of tapestries. The throne room is said to be gorgeous and its ornaments of lavish cost. In the absence of the royal occupants, strangers are admitted under proper auspices.
The Prado is to Madrid what the Champs Elysées and the Bois de Boulogne are to Paris,—a splendid avenue, through the centre of which runs a continuous walk and garden, with elaborate stone fountains, somewhat similar to the Unter den Linden of Berlin, or Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, save that it is more extensive than either. The Prado nearly joins the Public Garden on the borders of the city, in which there are also fine carriage drives, roadways for equestrians, many delightful shaded walks, and paths lined with flowers, myrtles, groves, and sweet-leaved hedges, intermingled with fountains, lakes, arbors, refreshment houses, etc. On Sundays and fête days these grounds are thronged with citizens and their families for out-door enjoyment, riding, and driving. Here also several military bands are distributed, adding to the accumulated attractions. There is a certain dignity and appearance of refinement observable among the gentlemen one meets on the Prado and in the streets, but we look in vain for the traditional sombrero, which has been superseded by the conventional stove-pipe hat; while the graceful Spanish cloak has given way to the stiff European body overcoat. The Spanish ladies, with their large black eyes and dark olive complexions, are generally quite handsome, but they rouge, and powder, and paint their faces in a lavish manner. Indeed, they seem to go further in this direction than do the Parisians, obviously penciling eyes and eyebrows,—an addition which their brunette complexion requires least of all. With the public actress this resort is admissible, where effects are necessary to be produced for distant spectators in large audiences; but in daily life even custom does not rob it of its inevitable aspect of vulgarity. True, all nations resort to such artifices, more or less, especially in southern Europe. The Chinese ladies carry the practice of painting their faces so far as to amount to caricature; and if the Japanese ladies do not so generally follow the example, they do blacken their teeth, which one must confess is more objectionable still. In these faithful notes it must be admitted that even the Japanese ladies paint cheeks and lips with such a tinge of vermilion as is thought to be becoming, and enamel their faces and necks. This, however, it must be remembered is before marriage. After that relationship has taken place, as has before been intimated, it becomes the ridiculous practice of every Japanese wife to render herself as unattractive as possible, forgetting that she is thus liable to become as disagreeable in the eyes of her husband as in those of other people.
The Spanish lady, like her Japanese sister, is a great devotee to the fan, and neither are ever seen abroad in full dress without this conspicuous accompaniment. The importance of this article of female requirement is fully recognized at Madrid, where many stores are devoted solely to its manufacture and sale; while artists give much time and genius to their elaborate ornamentation, the prices ranging from a few shillings to ten doubloons. The indispensable veil, covering more or less head, neck, and face, would prove but a poor substitute for the dainty French bonnet on the Parisian boulevards; but in Castilian atmosphere it is as appropriate and becoming as the florid-colored plumage of birds in the tropics. There is a certain harmony between the dark, smooth skin, the glossy raven hair, the long, dark lashes, the blue veins of the temples, and the national head-dress of the Spanish ladies, which gratifies the artistic eye. Ah! if the mind in those lovely women were but as noble as their faces! Unfortunately, perhaps, their very beauty makes their defects the more conspicuous. Ermine must be spotless.
In her splendid art collection of the Museo, the city has a treasure only equaled by the Louvre at Paris and the galleries at Florence. To artists, it is the one attraction of Madrid, and is principally composed of works by the Spanish masters, though also containing many other gems. Here we find forty-four examples of Murillo, sixty-four from Velasquez, sixty by Rubens, twenty-five from Paul Veronese, thirty-four from Tintoretto, and many from Andrea del Sarto, Titian, Vandyke, Goya, Ribera, and others of similar artistic fame, in such profusion as to be a constant source of surprise to the stranger. Here one is sure to meet, daily, intelligent Americans, French, Italians, and English, but very rarely Spaniards. It is believed that Murillo appears at his best in this collection. Being a native of Seville, he is in a measure seen at home; and artists declare that his work shows more of light, power, and expression here than anywhere outside of the Museo. So we go to Antwerp to appreciate Rubens, though we find him so ably and fully represented elsewhere. Velasquez cannot be fairly judged outside the Madrid gallery. He also was at home here, and his paintings are not only the most numerous, but are decidedly his best. The arrangement of the pictures of the Museo is severely criticised; some of the best are hung too high, while those one does not care to study, or scarcely to see at all, have been accorded the best lines in the gallery. There seems to be no system observed; the hangings are frequently altered, and the printed catalogue is thus rendered of very little use. The building itself is a large and admirable structure, well adapted to the purpose, quite worthy to contain the choice art treasures beneath its roof. When the French were masters in Spain they proved to be terrible iconoclasts, leaving marks of their devastation nearly everywhere in one form or another. Not content with stealing many unequaled works of art of priceless value, they often wantonly destroyed what it was impossible to carry away. In the tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella, at Granada, it will be remembered they pried open the royal coffins in search of treasure. At Seville they broke open the coffin of Murillo, and scattered his ashes to the wind. Marshal Soult treated the ashes of Cervantes in a similar manner. War desecrates all things, human and divine; but sometimes becomes a Nemesis, dispensing poetical justice, as when Waterloo caused the return to Spain of a portion of her despoiled art-treasures.
The bull-fight is very properly called the national sport of Spain, and, we are sorry to add, is typical of the natural cruelty of her people. It was the opening exhibition of the season which was advertised to take place during the first week of our stay in the city, and it was announced for Sunday afternoon, the day usually selected for these occasions; but as it proved to be rainy it was postponed to the following Thursday. The bull-ring of the capital is said to contain seating capacity for eighteen thousand persons; and yet such was the demand for tickets of admission, that it was a work of some hours to procure them at all, and only consummated finally at a considerable premium. Our seats were near to those of the royal party, consisting of the king, queen, and ex-queen Isabella, with a number of ladies and gentlemen of the household. The easy and graceful manners of the queen were in strong contrast to the arrogant and vulgar style of Isabella, whose character is so dark a stain upon Spanish royalty. Every seat of the large circular theatre was occupied. Open to the sky, it was not unlike what the Coliseum of Rome must have been in its glory, and held an audience, we should judge, of over seventeen thousand. Nearly all classes were represented, for a Spaniard must be poor indeed who cannot find a dollar to pay his way into the bull-ring. The better seats were occupied by ladies and gentlemen, the lower priced ones by the masses,—both sexes being fully represented in each class of seats. Those located on the east and southerly sides are covered to protect the grandees, while the masses sitting in the sun hold fans or paper screens before their eyes.