The day's entertainment had been good. Eight bulls and fourteen horses killed, and a chulo slightly wounded: what could any one desire more? Each bull-fight must bring in about twenty or twenty-five thousand francs,[5] which are given by the queen to the principal hospital, where the wounded torreros are treated with every possible attention. A priest and a surgeon are always waiting in a room at the Plaza de Toros, ready to administer spiritual or corporal assistance as the case may be. Formerly, and I believe it is the case at present as well, a mass used to be said for the combatants during the fight. You see that nothing is neglected, and that the impressarios take every precaution. As soon as the last bull is killed, every one leaps into the arena, and discusses on the way home the merit of the different suertes or cogidas which have struck him as most worthy of notice. And what, you will ask, are the women like? for that is the first question put to a traveller. I own, frankly, that I have not the slightest idea. I have a vague notion that there were some very pretty ones near me, but I will not positively assert the fact.
Let us proceed to the Prado, in order to clear up this important point.
CHAPTER VII.
MADRID—continued.
The Prado—The Mantilla and Fan—The Spanish Type—Water-Merchants; Coffee-houses of Madrid—Newspapers—The Politicians of the Puerta del Sol—Post-Office—The Houses of Madrid—Tertullias; Spanish Society—The Teatro del Principe—The Queen's Palace; the Palace of the Cortes, and the Monument of the Dos de Mayo—The Armeria and El Buen Retiro.
Whenever Madrid is mentioned, the first objects that the word suggests to our minds are the Prado and La Puerta del Sol. Since then our inclination leads us to do so, let us now proceed to the Prado, as it is the hour of the evening promenade. The Prado consists of a number of alleys and cross-alleys, with a road in the middle for carriages. It is shaded by stunted pollards, whose roots are in connexion with a little basin lined with brick, into which the water is conveyed by small canals at the hours appointed for watering; without this precaution the trees would soon be devoured by the dust, and shrivelled up by the sun. The promenade commences at the Convent d'Atocha, passing by the gate of that name, as well as by the Puerta d'Alcala, and terminating at the gate of the Franciscan Friars. The fashionable world, however, frequents only the space bounded by the fountain of Cybele and the fountain of Neptune, from the Puerta d'Alcala to the Carrera de San Jeronimo. Within this space there is a large plot of ground called the saloon, surrounded by chairs, like the principal walk in the gardens of the Tuileries. Near the saloon there is a cross-walk which bears the name of Paris. It is the Boulevard de Gand of Madrid, and the rendezvous of the fashionable world. The fashionable world, however, is not, as a general rule, particularly distinguished by a taste for the picturesque, and in this instance it has selected the most dusty, the least shady, and the least convenient part of the whole promenade. The crowd is so great in this narrow space, confined between the saloon and the carriage-way, that you frequently find it a difficult task to put your hand into your pocket and take out your handkerchief. You must "lock up" and follow the stream as you would in the tail at the doors of a theatre (that is to say, as you would have done when there were tails at the doors of a theatre). The only possible reason there could have been for choosing this spot, is that you can see and salute the persons who are passing in their carriages (it always looks well for a foot-passenger to salute a carriage). The equipages are not very brilliant. Most of them are drawn by mules, whose long, blackish coat, large belly, and pointed ears, produce a most ungraceful effect; they resemble the mourning coaches which follow a hearse. The carriage of the queen herself has but a very simple and tradesman-like appearance. Any Englishman, with the slightest pretensions to being considered a millionaire, would most certainly look down upon it with contempt; there are, doubtless, some exceptions, but they are rare. The splendid Andalusian horses, however, on which the young fashionables of Madrid prance about, are charming. It is impossible to behold anything more elegant, more noble, and more graceful than an Andalusian stallion, with its plaited mane, long, thick tail reaching to the ground, trappings ornamented with red tufts, stately head, sparkling eye, and neck swelling out like a pigeon's breast. I saw one ridden by a lady, of the colour of a Bengal rose (the horse and not the lady), frosted over with silver, and of the most marvellous beauty. What a difference there is between these noble beasts who have preserved all their splendid primitive form, and those locomotive machines made of muscles and bones, called English racers, which have nothing of the horse left about them, save four legs and a backbone on which to place a jockey!
LADIES ON THE PRADO.