Wanderings in Spain

by Théophile Gautier

The environs of Madrid are dull, bare, and scorched up, though less stony on this side than on the side leading to Guadarrama. The country, which is rather uneven than hilly, presents, everywhere, the same uniform appearance, only broken by a few villages, all dust and chalk, scattered here and there throughout the general aridity, and which would not be remarked, were it not for the square tower of their churches. Spires are rarely met with in Spain, the square tower being the usual form of steeple. Where two roads meet, suspicious-looking crosses stretch forth their sinister arms; from time to time, carts drawn by oxen pass by, with the carter asleep under his cloak; and peasants on horseback, with a fierce expression of countenance, and their carbines at the saddle-bows. In the middle of the day the sky is of the colour of melting lead, and the ground of a dusty grey, interspersed with mica, to which the greatest distance hardly imparts a bluish tint. Not a single cluster of trees, not a shrub, not a drop of water in the bed of dried-up torrents is to be seen; nothing, in fact, is there to relieve the eye, or to gratify the imagination. In order to find a little shelter from the burning rays of the sun, you must follow the narrow line of scanty blue shade afforded by the walls. We were, it is true, in the middle of July, which is not exactly the time of year for cool travelling in Spain; but it is our opinion that countries ought to be visited in their most characteristic seasons. Spain in summer, and Russia in winter.

We met with nothing worthy of any particular notice, until we came to the royal residence (sitio real) of Aranjuez. Aranjuez is a brick mansion with stone facings, presenting a white and red appearance, and has high slate roofs, pavilions, and weathercocks, which call to mind the style of architecture employed under Henri IV. and Louis XIII.; the palace of Fontainebleau, or the houses in the Place Royale at Paris. The Tagus, which is crossed by a suspension-bridge, keeps vegetation fresh there, much to the admiration of the Spaniards, and allows the trees of the north to grow to full maturity. At Aranjuez are seen elms, ash-trees, birch-trees, and aspens, which are as great curiosities there as Indian fig-trees, aloes, and palms would appear in France. They pointed out to us a gallery built on purpose to enable Godoy, the famous Prince of Peace, to pass from his house to the castle. On leaving the village, we observed to our left the Plaza de Toros, which is of a decided monumental appearance.

While the mules were being changed, we ran to the market to lay in a stock of oranges and to take ices, or rather lemon snow batter, at one of those refreshment shops which are met with in the open air, and which are as common in Spain as wine-shops are in France. Instead of drinking pots of bad wine and goes of brandy, the peasants and market-women take a bebida helada, which does not cost more, and which does not, at all events, get into their heads to besot their intellects. The absence of drunkenness renders the people of the lower class much superior to the corresponding class in those countries of ours, which we fancy to be civilized.

The name of Aranjuez, which is composed of two words, ara and Jovis, tells us pretty plainly that this edifice is built on the site of an ancient temple of Jupiter. We had not time to visit the interior of it, but this we do not regret, for all palaces are alike. Such, too, is the case with courtiers; originality is to be met with but among the people, and the rabble only appear to have preserved the privilege of being poetical.

The scenery from Aranjuez to Ocaña is picturesque, without, however, being very remarkable. Hills of graceful form, well developed by the light, rise on each side of the route, and when the eddies of dust in which the diligence is running, like a god wrapped up in his cloud, are cleared away by a favourable breath of air, they present you with a very pleasant sight. The roads, though badly kept, are in pretty good order, thanks to this wonderful climate, where it hardly ever rains, and to the scarcity of vehicles, nearly all the carrying being done by beasts of burden only.

We were to sup and sleep at Ocaña, in order to wait for the correo real, so that by joining ourselves to it we might profit by its escort, for we were about to enter La Mancha, infested at that time by the bands of Palillos, Polichinelle, and other honest people with whom a meeting would prove far from agreeable. We stopped at an hotel of decent appearance, before which was a patio with columns, and, over this patio, a superb tendido, of which the cloth, now double, now single, formed designs and symmetrical figures by its different shades of transparency. The name of the maker, with his address at Barcelona, was written on it by this means very legibly. Myrtles, pomegranates, and jasmines, planted in red clay pots, enlivened and perfumed this sort of inner court, in which reigned a clear, subdued kind of twilight full of mystery. The patio is a delightful invention; it affords greater coolness and more space than a room; you can walk about there, read, be alone or mix with others. It is a neuter ground where people meet, and where, without undergoing the tediousness of formal visits and introductions, they end by becoming known to one another and by forming acquaintance; and when, as at Granada or at Seville, the patio possesses a jet of water or a fountain, nothing can be more delightful, especially in a country where the thermometer always indicates a Senegambian heat.

While waiting for our repast, we went to take a siesta: this is a habit which you are compelled to follow in Spain, for the heat from two to five o'clock is such as no Parisian can form an idea of. The pavement burns, the iron knockers on the doors grow red-hot, a shower of fire seems to be falling from the sky; the corn bursts from its spikes, the ground cracks like over-heated porcelain, the grass-hoppers make their corselets grate with more vivacity than ever, and the little air which fans your face seems to be blown forth by the brazen mouth of a large furnace; the shops are closed, and all the gold in the world would not induce a tradesman to sell you the slightest article. In the streets are to be seen dogs and Frenchmen only, according to the popular saying, which is far from flattering for us. The guides refuse to take you to the most insignificant monument, even though you offer them Havannah cigars or a ticket for a bull-fight, two most seductive things for a Spanish cicerone. The only thing you can do is to sleep like the rest, and you very soon make up your mind to do so; for what else can you do in the midst of a nation fast asleep!

Our rooms, which were whitewashed, were scrupulously clean. The insects of which we had heard such awful descriptions did not yet make their appearance, and our sleep was troubled by no thousand-footed nightmare.

At five o'clock, we rose to go and take a turn while waiting for supper. Ocaña is not rich in monumental buildings, and its best title to celebrity is the desperate attack made by Spanish troops on a French redout during the war of invasion. The redout was taken, but nearly the whole of the Spanish battalion was killed. Each hero was interred on the spot where he fell. The ranks were so well kept, in spite of a deluge of grape, that they can still be traced by the regularity of the graves. Diamante has written a piece called "The Hercules of Ocaña," produced, no doubt, for some athletic champion of prodigious strength, like the Goliath of the Olympic Circus. Our presence at Ocaña called this circumstance to our memory.