The first picture represents the "Dream" of the Roman patrician and his wife, in which he sees the Blessed Virgin in the heavens, pointing out the spot where the church shall be built—upon which spot the snow will fall in August. In the companion picture, the founder and his wife are kneeling before the pope relating the vision, while in the dim distance is seen a procession advancing to the appointed place.
Coming from the Museo, we go to see the palace of the Duke of Medina Coeli, one of the richest nobles of Spain and one of the highest in rank. A regal establishment, with a greater air of comfort than prevails in most palaces. Gardens and picture-galleries, a theatre, suites of magnificent rooms—one in rose-colored satin, with walls hung in gray silk.
Thursday, Oct. 22.
Set out for Toledo; pass the palace of "Aranjuez," the St. Cloud of Spain, as la Grandja, built by Philip V., is its Versailles. We mistake our way, and are left on the plains of la Mancha in a miserable "posada," or rather a "venta," (the lower grade of inn,) where we remain all day with nothing visible save one of Don Quixote's windmills, which we are sorely tempted to battle with after the fashion of that redoubtable hero. How truly it has been said of this sterile-looking country, the "old Castile of la Mancha," by a witty traveller—" the country is brown, the man is brown, his jacket, his mantle, his wife, his stew, his mule, his house—all partake of the color of the saffron, which is profusely cultivated, and which enters into the composition of his food as well as his complexion."
At length we are cheered by the arrival of a lovely Spanish woman and her daughter, who are returning from their estate near by, and come, like ourselves, to wait the train for Madrid.
The daughter had been educated in the Sacré Coeur Convent near Madrid. Spoke French well. She told us in her lively way that, though these plains looked so brown and desert-like, they brought good crops and "put money in the pocket," and that back from the roads were fine plantations of olive and vine.
Saturday, Oct. 24.
Some Spanish friends come to show us some of the hospitals and other great charities of Madrid, which numbers forty in all. First, to the general hospital, attended by the Sisters of Charity—a city in itself, where are over eighteen hundred sick poor. It covers an immense extent of ground, and, like all Spanish hospitals, has shady courts, and gardens, and corridors running around the courts. All was clean and comfortable, the sisters tenderly feeding the sick children and old people, and reading or praying beside the beds.
From this we go to the most interesting of all, called the "Maison de la Providence," supported by the ladies of rank in Madrid, and under the care of the French Sisters of Charity, who wear the familiar "cornette." Here, besides enfants trouvés and orphans, they have (or had) six hundred poor children, taken out of the streets. Many of these are kept for the day, the parents seeking them at night: all of them are taught gratuitously. We were shown a room in which forty of the smallest (not one over two years) had been put to bed for the noonday sleep, perfect little cherubs, side by side, on the tiniest and whitest of beds, with fringed curtains above them. The sister opened the window-shutters to give us a look at this lovely picture; and the light woke many of them, who sat up rubbing their bright eyes, and looking with wonder at the strangers, but not one cried. In one corner were great basins and towels showing why the faces were so clean and rosy.