Castilian Days John Hay MADRID AL FRESCO MADRID is a capital with malice aforethought. Usually the seat of government is established in some important town from the force of circumstances. Some cities have an attraction too powerful for the court to resist. There is no capital of England possible but London. Paris is the heart of France. Rome is the predestined capital of Italy in spite of the wandering flirtations its varying governments in different centuries have carried on with Ravenna, or Naples, or Florence. You can imagine no Residenz for Austria but the Kaiserstadt, -- the gemüthlich Wien. But there are other capitals where men have arranged things and consequently bungled them. The great Czar Peter slapped his imperial court down on the marshy shore of the Neva, where he could look westward into civilization and watch with the jealous eye of an intelligent barbarian the doings of his betters. Washington is another specimen of the cold-blooded handiwork of the capital builders. We shall think nothing less of the clarum et venerabile nomen of its founder if we admit he was human, and his wishing the seat of government nearer to Mount Vernon than Mount Washington sufficiently proves this. But Madrid more plainly than any other capital shows the traces of having been set down and properly brought up by the strong hand of a paternal government; and like children with whom the same regimen has been followed, it presents in its maturity a curious mixture of lawlessness and insipidity. Its greatness was thrust upon it by Philip II. Some premonitory symptoms of the dangerous honor that awaited it had been seen in preceding reigns.
Welcome message from author
This document is posted to help you gain knowledge. Please leave a comment to let me know what you think about it! Share it to your friends and learn new things together.
Transcript
CastilianDays
JohnHay
MADRIDALFRESCO
MADRID is a capital with malice aforethought. Usually the seat ofgovernment is established in some important town from the force ofcircumstances. Some cities have an attraction too powerful for the court toresist.ThereisnocapitalofEnglandpossiblebutLondon.ParisistheheartofFrance. Rome is the predestined capital of Italy in spite of the wanderingflirtationsitsvaryinggovernmentsindifferentcenturieshavecarriedonwithRavenna,orNaples,orFlorence.YoucanimaginenoResidenzforAustriabutthe Kaiserstadt, -- the gemüthlichWien. But there are other capitals wheremen have arranged things and consequently bungled them. The great CzarPeterslappedhisimperialcourtdownonthemarshyshoreoftheNeva,wherehecouldlookwestwardintocivilizationandwatchwiththejealouseyeofanintelligentbarbarianthedoingsofhisbetters.Washingtonisanotherspecimenofthecold-bloodedhandiworkofthecapitalbuilders.Weshallthinknothingless of the clarum et venerabile nomen of its founder if we admit he washuman,andhiswishingtheseatofgovernmentnearertoMountVernonthanMountWashingtonsufficientlyprovesthis.ButMadridmoreplainlythananyothercapitalshowsthetracesofhavingbeensetdownandproperlybroughtupbythestronghandofapaternalgovernment;andlikechildrenwithwhomthe same regimen has been followed, it presents in its maturity a curiousmixtureoflawlessnessandinsipidity.
ItsgreatnesswasthrustuponitbyPhilipII.Somepremonitorysymptomsofthe dangerous honor that awaited it had been seen in preceding reigns.
Ferdinand and Isabella occasionally set up their pilgrim tabernacle on thedeclivity that overhangs theManzanares.CharlesV. found the thin, fine aircomfortingtohisgoutyarticulations.ButPhilipII.madeithiscourt.ItseemshardtoconceivehowakingwhohadhischoiceofLisbon,withitsgloriousharborandunequalledcommunications;Seville,withitsdeliciousclimateandnatural beauty; and Salamanca and Toledo, with their wealth of tradition,splendor of architecture, and renown of learning, should have chosen thisbarrenmountainforhishome,andtheseatofhisempire.Butwhenweknowthismonkishkingwewonderno longer.HechoseMadridsimplybecause itwas cheerless and bare and of ophthalmic ugliness. The royal kill-joydelightedinhavingthedreariestcapitalonearth.AfterawhilethereseemedtohimtoomuchlifeandhumanityaboutMadrid,andhebuilt theEscorial, thegrandest ideal ofmajesty and ennui that theworld has ever seen. This vastmassofgranitehassomehowactedasananchorthathasheldthecapitalfastmooredatMadridthroughallsucceedingyears.
Itwasadrearyandsomewhatshabbycourtformanyreigns.ThegreatkingswhostartedtheAustriandynastyweretoobusyintheirworldconquesttopaymuch attention to beautifying Madrid, and their weak successors, sunk inignoble pleasures, had not energy enough to indulge the royal folly ofbuilding.WhentheBourbonscamedownfromFrancetherewasalittleflurryofconstructionunderPhilipV.,butheneverfinishedhispalace in thePlazadelOriente,andwassoonabsorbedinconstructinghiscastleincloud-landontheheightsofLaGranja.TheonlyrealrulertheBourbonsevergavetoSpainwasCharles III., and to himMadrid owes all that it has of architecture andcivicimprovement.Secondedbyhisableandliberalminister,CountAranda,whowaseducatedabroad,andsofreefromthetrammelsofSpanishignoranceand superstition, he rapidly changed the ignoble town into something like acity. The greater portion of the public buildings date from this active andbeneficentreign.ItwashewholaidoutthewalksandpromenadeswhichgivetoMadridalmostitsonlyoutwardattraction.ThePictureGallery,whichistheshrine of all pilgrims of taste, was built by him for a Museum of NaturalScience.Innearlyall thatastrangercarestosee,MadridisnotanoldercitythanBoston.
There is consequently no glory of tradition here. There are no cathedrals.Therearenoruins.ThereisnoneofthatmysteriousandhauntingmemorythatpeoplestheairwithspectresinquiettownslikeRavennaandNuremberg.Andthereislittleofthatvastmovementofhumanitythatpossessesandbewildersyou in San Francisco and New York. Madrid is larger than Chicago; butChicagoisagreatcityandMadridagreatvillage.ThepulsationsoflifeinthetwoplacesresembleeachothernomorethanthebeatingofDexter'sheartonthehome-stretchisliketherisingandfallingofanoozytideinamarshyinlet.
ThereisnothingindigenousinMadrid.Thereisnomarkedlocalcolor.ItisacityofCastile, butnot aCastilian city, likeToledo,whichgirds its gracefulwaistwiththegoldenTagus,orlikeSegovia,fastenedtoitsrockinhopelessshipwreck.
Butitisnotforthisreasondestituteofaninterestofitsown.ByreasonofitsexceptionalhistoryandcharacteritisthebestpointinSpaintostudySpanishlife.Ithasnodistinctivetraitsitself,butitisapatchworkofallSpain.EveryprovinceofthePeninsulasendsacontingenttoitspopulation.TheGallicianshewitswoodanddrawitswater;theAsturianwomennurseitsbabiesattheirdeep bosoms, and fill the promenades with their brilliant costumes; theValentianscarpetitshallsandquenchitsthirstwithorgeatofchufas;ineverystreetyoushallseetheredbonnetandsandalledfeetoftheCatalan;ineverycafé,theshavenfaceandrat-tailchignonoftheMajoofAndalusia.Ifithavenocharacterofitsown,itisamirrorwhereallthefacesofthePeninsulamaysometimesbeseen.ItislikethemockingbirdoftheWest,thathasnosongofitsown,andyetmakesthewoodsringwitheverynoteithaseverheard.
ThoughMadridgivesapictureinlittleofallSpain,itisnotallSpanish.Ithasalargeforeignpopulation.Notonlyitsimmediateneighbors,theFrench,arehereingreatnumbers,--conqueringsofartheirrepugnancetoemigration,andlivingasgaylyaspossible in themidstof traditionalhatred, --but therearealsomanyGermans and English in business here, and a few strayYankeeshavepitched their tents, to reinforce the teethof theDons, and to sell themploughsandsewing-machines.Itsrailroadshavewakedituptoanewlife,andtheRevolutionhassetfreethethoughtofitspeopletoanextentwhichwouldhavebeenhardlycrediblea fewyearsago. Its streets swarmwithnewsboysandstrangers,--theagenciesthataretobringitspeopleintothemovementoftheage.
It has a superb opera-house, which might as well be in Naples, for all thenationalcharacter ithas; thecourt theatre,wherenotawordofCas-tilian isever heard, nor a strain of Spanish music. Even cosmopolite Paris has hergrandoperasunginFrench,andeasy-goingViennainsiststhatDonJuanshallmakeloveinGerman.ThechampagnystrainsofOffenbachareheardineverytown of Spain oftener than the ballads of the country. InMadrid there aremorepilluelos who whistle Bu qui s'avance than the Hymn of Riego. TheCancanhastakenitsplaceontheboardsofeverystageinthecity,apparentlytostay;andtheexquisitejotaandcachuchaaregivingwaytothebestialitiesofthecasinocadet.ItisuselessperhapstofightagainstthathideousorgieofvulgarMenadswhichintheselateyearshassweptoverallnations,andstungthe looseworld into a tarantula dance from theGoldenHorn to theGoldenGate.Itmusthaveitsdayandgoout;andwhenithaspassed,perhapswemayseethatitwasnotsoutterlycauselessandirrationalasitseemed;butthat,asa
young American poet has impressively said, "Paris was proclaiming to theworldinitsomewhatofthepent-upfireandfuryofhernature,thebitternessof her heart, the fierceness of her protest against spiritual and politicalrepression.Itisanexecrationinrhythm,--adanceoffiends,whichParishasinventedtoexpressinlicensewhatshelacksinliberty."
ThisdilutedEuropean,ratherthanSpanish,spiritmaybeseeninmostoftheamusements of the politerworld ofMadrid.They have classical concerts inthecircusesandpopularmusicintheopenair.ThetheatresplaytranslationsofFrenchplays,whichareprettygoodwhentheyareinprose,andprettydismalwhen they are turned into verse, as ismore frequent, for the Spanishminddelights in the jingleofrhyme.ThefineoldSpanishdramaisvanishingdaybyday.ThemasterpiecesofLopeandCalderón,whichinspiredallsubsequentplaywriting in Europe, have sunk almost utterly into oblivion. The stage isfloodedwiththewashingsoftheBoulevards.Badasthetranslationsare,theimitations are worse. The original plays produced by the geniuses of theSpanishAcademy, forwhich theyarecrownedand sonnetedandpensioned,areofthekinduponwhichwearetoldthatgodsandmenandcolumnslookausterely.
This infection of foreign manners has completely gained and now controlswhat is called the best society ofMadrid. A soiree in this circle is like aneveninginthecorrespondinggradeofpositioninParisorPetersburgorNewYorkinallexternalcharacteristics.ThetoiletsarebyWorth;thebeautiesarecoiffed by the deft fingers of Parisian tiring-women; the men wear thepenitentialgarbofPoole;themusicisbyGounodandVerdi;Straussinspirestherushingwaltzes,andthemarriedpeoplewalkthroughthequadrillestothemeasuresofBlueBeardandFairHelen,sosuggestiveofconjugalrightsandduties.Asforthesuppers,thetrailoftheNeapolitanserpentisoverthemall.Honest eating is a lost art among the effete denizens of the Old World.Tantalizing ices, crisped shapes of baked nothing, arid sandwiches, and thefeeblestofsugarypunch,are theonlysupportsexhaustednaturereceivesfortheshockofthecotillon.IrememberthesternreplyofafriendofminewhenIasked him to go with me to a brilliant reception,--"No!Man liveth not bybiscuit-glace alone!" His heart was heavy for the steamed cherry-stones ofHarveyandthestewedterrapinofAugustin.
The speech of the gay world has almost ceased to be national. Every onespeaks French sufficiently for all social requirements. It is sometimes to bedoubted whether this constant use of a foreign language in official anddiplomaticcirclesisacauseoreffectofpaucityofideas.Itisimpossibleforanyonetouseanothertonguewiththeeaseandgracewithwhichhecouldusehisown.YouknowhowtiresomethemostcharmingforeignersarewhentheyspeakEnglish.A fetter-dance is alwaysmore curious thangraceful.Yet one
whohas nothing to say can say it better in a foreign language. If youmustspeaknothingbutphrases,Ollendorff'sareasgoodasanyone's.WherethereareadozenpeopleallspeakingFrenchequallybadly,eachoneimaginesthereis a certain elegance in the hackneyed forms. I know of no other way ofaccountingforthefactthatcleverpeopleseemstupidandstupidpeoplecleverwhentheyspeakFrench.Thisfacilelanguagethusbecomesthemissionaryofmental equality,--the principles of '89 applied to conversation. All men areequalbeforethephrase-book.
Butthisishypercriticalandungrateful.Wedonotgotoballstohearsermonsnor discuss the origin of matter. If the young grandees of Spain are ratherweakerintheparapetthanisallowedinthenineteenthcentury,iftheoldboysaremore frivolous than is becoming to age, and bothmore ignorant of theday's doings than is consistent with even their social responsibilities, incompensation the women of this circle are as pretty and amiable as it ispossible to be in a fallen world. The foreigner never forgets thosepiquant,mutines faces ofAndalusia and those dreamy eyes ofMalaga,--theblackmassesofMoorishhairandtheblondgloryofthosegracefulheadsthattrace their descent from Gothic demigods. They were not very learned norverywitty,buttheywereknowingenoughtotroublethesoundestsleep.Theirvoices could interpret the sublimest ideas of Mendelssohn. They knewsufficientlyof linesandcolors todress themselvescharminglyatsmallcost,andtheirlittlefeetwerewellenougheducatedtobearthemoverthepolishedfloor of a ball-room as lightly as swallows' wings. The flirting of theirintelligentfans,theflashingofthosequicksmileswhereeyes,teeth,andlipsalldid theirdazzlingduty,and thesatin twinklingof thoseneatboots in thewaltz,arehardertoforgetthanthingsbetterworthremembering.
Since the beginning of the Revolutionary regime there have been seriousschismsandheart-burningsin thegayworld.Thepeopleof theoldsituationassumed that the people of the new were rebels and traitors, and stoppedbreakingbreadwith them.But inspiteof this thepalaceand theministryofwarweregayenough,--forMadrid is acityofoffice-holders, and theWhiteHouseisalwayseasytofill,evenif twothirdsof theSenate isuncongenial.The principal fortress of the post was the palace of the spirituelle andhospitable lady whose society name is Duchess of Peñaranda, but who isbetterknownasthemotherof theEmpressof theFrench.Hersalonwastheweekly rendezvousof the irreconcilableadherentsof theHouseofBourbon,and the aristocratic beauty that gathered therewas toopowerful a seductioneven for the young and hopeful partisans of the powers that be. Therewasnothing exclusive about this elegant hospitality. Beauty and good mannershave always been a passport there. I have seen a proconsul of Prim talkingwithaCarlist leader,andafieryyoungdemocratdancingwithacountessof
Castile.
ButthereisanotherphaseofsocietyinMadridwhichisaltogetherpleasing,--farfromthedomainofpoliticsorpublicaffairs,wherethereisnopretensionor luxury or conspiracy,--the old-fashioned Tertulias of Spain. There isnowhereakindlierandmoreunaffectedsociableness.Theleadingfamiliesofeach little circle have one evening a week on which they remain at home.Nearly all their friends come in on that evening. There is conversation andmusic and dancing. The young girls gather together in little groups,--notconfinedunderthejealousguardoftheirmothersorchaperons,--andchatterofthemomentouseventsoftheweek--theirdresses,theirbeaux,andtheirbooks.Around these compact formations of loveliness skirmish light bodies of themale enemy, but rarely effect a lodgment. A word or a smile is momentlythrown out tomeet the advance; but the long, desperate battle of flirtation,which so often takes place in America in discreet corners and outlyingboudoirs, is never seen in thiswell-organized society.Themothers in Israelarerangedfortheeveningaroundthewallsincomfortablechairs,whichtheynever leave;andthecolonelsandgeneralsandchiefsofadministration,whoformthebulkofallMadridgatherings,aregravelysmokinginthelibraryorplaying interminable games of tresillon, seasoned with temperatedenunciationsofthefolliesofthetime.
Nothing can be more engaging than the tone of perfect ease and cordialcourtesy which pervades these family festivals. It is here that the Spanishcharacterisseeninitsmostattractivelight.NearlyeverybodyknowsFrench,but it is never spoken. The exquisite Castilian, softened by its gracefuldiminutivesintoarivaloftheItalianintendermelody,istheonlymediumofconversation; it is rare that a stranger' is seen, but if he is, he must learnSpanishorbeawetblanketforever.
Youwilloftenmeet,inpersonsofwealthanddistinction,aneasydegenerateaccentinSpanish,strangelyatvariancewiththeireleganceandculture.TheseareCreolesoftheAntilles,andtheyformoneofthemostvaluedandpopularelementsofsocietyinthecapital.Thereisagallantryanddashaboutthemen,andanintelligenceandindependenceaboutthewomen,thatdistinguishthemfromtheircousinsofthePeninsula.TheAmericanelementhasrecentlygrownveryprominentinthepoliticalandsocialworld.AdmiralTopeteisaMexican.Hiswife is one of the distinguishedCuban family ofArrieta.General PrimmarriedaMexicanheiress.ThemagnificentDuchessdelaTorre,wifeoftheRegentSerrano,isaCubanbornandbred.
InoneparticularMadridisuniqueamongcapitals,--ithasnosuburbs.Itliesina desolate table-land in the windy waste of New Castile; on the north thesnowy Guadarrama chills its breezes, and on every other side the tawny
landscapestretchesawayindwarfishhillsandshallowravinesbarrenofshrubortree,untildistancefusesthevaststeppesintoonedrabplain,whichmeltsinthe hazy verge of thewarm horizon. There are no villages sprinkled in theenvirons to lure the Madrileños out of their walls for a holiday. Thosedelicious picnics that break with such enchanting freshness and variety thesteadycourseof life inothercapitalscannothereexist.NoParisian loves labonnevillesomuchthathedoesnotcallthosethehappiestofdaysonwhichhedesertsherforarowatAsniéres,adonkey-rideatEnghien,orabird-likedinnerinthevastchestnutsofSceaux."ThereisonlyoneKaiserstadt,"singstheloyalKerlofVienna,butheshakesthedustoftheGrabenfromhisfeetonholidaymornings,andmakeshismerrypilgrimagetothelordlySchoen-brunnor the heartsome Dornbach, or the wooded eyry of the Kahlenberg. Whatwouldwhite-baitbeifnoteatenatGreenwich?Whatwouldlifebeinthegreatcitieswithouttheknowledgethatjustoutside,anhourawayfromthetoilanddust and struggle of this money-getting world, there are green fields, andwhispering forests, and verdurous nooks of breezy shadow by the side ofbrookswherethewhitepebblesshinethroughthemottledstream,--whereyoufindgreatpiedpan-siesunderyourhands,andcatchtheblackbeadyeyesoforioleswatchingyoufromthethickets,andthroughthelushleafageoveryouseepatchesof sky fleckedwith thinclouds that sail so lazilyyoucannotbesure if the blue or the white is moving? Existence without these luxurieswouldbeverymuchlikelifeinMadrid.
Yetitisnotsodismalasitmightseem.TheGrandeDuchesseofGerolstein,thecheeriestmoralistwhoeveroccupieda throne,announces justbefore thecurtainfalls,"Quandonn'apascequ'onaime,ilfautaimercequ'ona."Buthow much easier it is to love what you have when you never imaginedanythingbetter!ThebulkofthegoodpeopleofMadridhaveneverleft theirnatal city. If they have been, for their sins, some day to Val-lecas orCarabancheloranyotherofthedustyvillagesthatbakeandshiveronthearidplainsaroundthem,theygivefervidthanksonreturningalive,andneverwishtogoagain.Theyshudderwhentheyhearofthesummerexcursionsofotherpopulations,andcommiseratethemprofoundlyforlivinginaplacetheyaresoanxioustoleave.AlovelygirlofMadridoncesaidtomesheneverwishedtotravel,--somepeoplewhohadbeentoFrancepreferredParistoMadrid;asifthat were an inexplicable insanity by which their wanderings had beenpunished. The indolent incuriousness of the Spaniard accepts the utterisolationofhiscityasratheranadvantage.Itsaveshimthetroubleofmakinguphismindwheretogo.VamonosalPrado!or,asBrowningsays,--
"Let's to thePrado andmake themost of time."Thepeople ofMadrid takemore solid comfort in their promenade than any I know. This is one of theinestimable benefits conferred upon them by those wise and liberal free-
thinkersCharlesIII.andAranda.Theyknewhowimportanttothemoralandphysical health of the people a place of recreation was. They reduced thehideouswastelandontheeastsideofthecitytoabreathing-spaceforfuturegenerations,turningthemeadowintoapromenadeandthehillintotheBuenRetiro. The people growled terribly at the time, as they did at nearlyeverything this prematurely liberal government did for them.Thewise kingoncewittilysaid:"Mypeoplearelikebadchildrenthatkicktheshinsoftheirnursewhenevertheirfacesarewashed."
But theysoonbecamereconciledto theirPrado,--aname,bytheway,whichruns through several idioms,--in Paris they had a Pré-aux-clercs, theClerks'Meadow,andthegreatparkofViennaiscalledthePrater.Itwasoriginallythefavorite scene of duels, and the cherished trysting-place of lovers. But inmoderntimesitistoopopularforanysuchselfishuse.
The politeworld takes its stately promenade in thewinter afternoons in thenorthernprolongationoftherealPrado,calledintheofficialcourtierstyleLasdelicias de Isabel Segunda, but in common speech the Castilian Fountain,orCastellana, to save time. So perfect is the social discipline in these oldcountries that people who are not in society never walk in this longpromenade,which isopen toall theworld.Youshallsee there,anypleasantdaybeforetheCarnival,thearistocracyofthekingdom,thefastyounghopesof the nobility, the diplomatic body resident, and the flexible figures andgracefulbearingof thehigh-born ladiesofCastile.Here they take theair asfree from snobbish competition as the good society of Olympus, while ahundredpacesfarthersouth,justbeyondtheMint,theworldatlargetakesitsplebeianconstitutional.How long,withademocratic systemofgovernment,thispurelyconventionalrespectwillbepaidtoblue-nessofbloodcannotbeconjectured. Its existence a year after the Revolutionwas tome one of themostsingularofphenomena.
AfterEasterMondaytheCastellanaislefttoitsowndevicesforthesummer.With thewarm long days ofMay and June, the eveningwalk in the Salonbegins.Europeaffordsnoscenemoreoriginalandcharacteristic.Thewholecitymeets in this starlit drawing-room. It is a vast evening party al fresco,stretchingfromtheAlcalátotheCourseofSanGerónimo.Inthewidestreetbesideiteveryoneintownwhoownsacarriagemaybeseenmovinglazilyupand down, and apparently envying the gossiping strollers on foot.On threenightsintheweekthereismusicintheRetiroGarden,--notasinourfeverishwaybeginningsoearly thatyoumustsacrificeyourdinner toget there,andthenturningyououtdisconsolate in thatseductivehourwhichJohnPhoenixusedtocallthe"shankoftheevening,"butopeningsensiblyathalfpastnineand going leisurely forward until after midnight. The music is very good.SometimesArbancomesdownfromParistorecoverfromhiswinterfatigues
andbewitchtheSpainswithhiswizardbaton.
Inall thisvastcrowdnobodyis inahurry.Theyhaveallnightbefore them.Theystayedquietlyathomeinthestressofthenoontidewhenthesunbeamswere falling in the glowing streets like javelins,--they utilized some of thewastehoursof thebroiling afternoon in sleep, andare fresh asdaisiesnow.Thewomenarenothauntedbythethoughtoflordsandbabiesgrowlingandwailingathome.Theirlordsarebesidethem,thebabiesaresprawlinginthecleangravelbytheirchairs.LateinthesmallhoursIhaveseenthesefamilyparties in the promenade, the husband tranquilly smoking his hundredthcigarette,hisplacensuxordozinginherchair,onebabyasleepontheground,andanotherslumberinginherlap.
ThisMadridclimateisagallantone,andkindliertothewomenthanthemen.Theladiesarebuiltontheold-fashionedgenerousplan.LikeaSoutherntableintheoldtimes,theonlyfaultistooabundantplenty.Theymovealongwithasuperbdignityofcarriage thatBantingwould like tobanish fromtheworld,theirroundwhiteshouldersshininginthestarlight,theirfineheadselegantlydrapedinthecoquettishandalwaysgracefulmantilla.Butyouwouldlookinvain among themen ofMadrid for such fulness and liberality of structure.Theyarethin,eager,sinewyinappearance,--thoughit isthesparenessoftheTurk,notoftheAmerican.ItcomesfromtobaccoandtheGuadarramawinds.This still, fine, subtle air thatblows from thecraggypeaksover the treelessplateauseemstotakeallsuperfluousmoistureoutofthemenofMadrid.Butitis, like Benedick's wit, "a most manly air, it will not hurt a woman." Thistropicsummer-timebringsthehalcyondaysofthevagabondsofMadrid.Theyareatemperate,reasonablepeople,afterall,whentheyareletalone.Theydonotrequirethesavagestimulantsofourcolder-bloodedrace.Thefreshairisafeast.AsWaltWhitmansays,theyloafandinvitetheirsouls.Theyprovideforthe banquet only themost spiritual provender. Their dissipation is confinedprincipallytostarlightandzephyrs;thecoarserandwealthierspiritsindulgeinice,agraz,andmeringuesdissolved inwater.Theclimaxof their luxury isacool bed.Walking about the city at midnight, I have seen the fountains allsurrounded by luxurious vagabonds asleep or in revery, dozens of themstretched along the rim of the basins, in the spray of the splashing water,where the least start would plunge them in. But the dreams of these Latinbeggars are toopeaceful to trouble their slumber.They liemotionless, amidtheroarofwheelsand the trampofa thousandfeet, theirbed thesculpturedmarble,theircoveringthedeep,amethystinevault,warmandcherishingwithitsbreathofsummerwinds,brightwithitstroopingstars.TheProvidenceoftheworthlesswatchesandguardsthem!
ThechiefcommerceofthestreetsofMadridseemstobefireandwater,baneand antidote. It would be impossible for so many match-venders to live
anywhereelse,inacitytentimesthesizeofMadrid.Oneveryblockyouwillfindawanderingmerchantdolefullyannouncingpaperandphosphorus,--theonetoconstructcigarettesandtheothertolight them.Thematchesarelittlewaxen tapersveryneatlymadeandenclosed inpasteboardboxes,whicharesold for a cent and contain about a hundred fosforos. These boxes areornamentedwithportraitsofthepopularfavoritesoftheday,andaffordaveryfairtestoftheprogressanddeclineofparties.Thequeenhasdisappearedfromthemexcept incaricature, and thechivalrous faceofCastelarand theheavyBourbonmouth of Don Carlos are oftener seen than any others. AMadridsmokerofaverageindustrywilluseaboxaday.Theysmokemorecigarettesthancigars,and in theardorofconversationallow their fire togoouteveryminute. A young Austrian, who was watching a señorito light his wisp ofpaper for the fifth time,andmentallycomparing itwith thevolcanovolumeandkern-deutsch integrityofpurposeof themeerschaumsofhisnativeland,saidtome:"Whatcanyouexpectofapeoplewhotrifleinthatwaywiththeonlyworkoftheirlives?"
It is this habit of constant smoking thatmakes theMadrileños the thirstiestpeople in the world; so that, alternating with the cry of "Fire, lord-lings!Matches,chevaliers!"youhearcontinually thedroneso tempting toparchedthroats,"Water!whowantswater?freezingwater!colderthansnow!"Thisisthedaily songof theGallicianwhomarches along inhis irrigatingmission,withhisbrownblouse,hisshortbreeches,andpointedhat, like thatAladdinwearsinthecheapeditions;alittlevariedbytheValentianinhisparty-coloredmantle and his tow trousers, showing the bronzed leg from the knee to theblue-borderedsandals.Numerousastheyare,theyallseemtohaveenoughtodo.Theycarry theirscriptural-lookingwater-jarson theirbacks,andasmarttray of tin and burnished brass, with meringues and glasses, in front. Theglasses are of enormous but not extravagant proportions. These dropsicalIberianswilldrinkwaterasifitwerenostrongerthanbeer.Inthewinter-time,whilethecheerfulinvi-tationringsouttothesameeffect,--thatthebeverageis cold as the snow,--themerchant prudently carries a little pot of hotwateroveraspirit-lamptotakethechilloffforshiverycustomers.
Madrid is one of those cities where strangers fear the climate less thanresidents.NothingistoobadfortheCastiliantosayofhisnativeair.Beforeyou have been a day in the city some kind soul will warn you againsteverythingyouhavebeeninthehabitofdoingasleadingtosuddenandseveredeath in this subtle air.Youwill hear in adozendifferent tones the favoriteproverb,whichmaybetranslated,--
TheairofMadridisassharpasaknife,--
Itwillspareacandleandblowoutyourlife:--
andanotherwherethetruth,asinmanySpanishproverbs,issacrificedtotherhyme,sayingthat theclimateis tresmeses inviernoynueve infierno,--threemonthswinterandninemonthsTophet.AtthefirstcomingofthewinterfroststhegenuinesonofMadridgetsouthiscapa,thenationalfullroundcloak,andneverleavesitofftilllateinthehotspringdays.Theyhaveawayofthrowingone corner over the left shoulder, so that a bright strip of gay lining fallsoutward and pleasantly relieves the sombremonotony of the streets. In thiswaythefaceiscompletelycoveredbytheheavywoollenfolds,onlytheeyesbeingvisibleunderthesombrero.ThetrueSpaniardbreathesnoout-of-doorsair all winter except through his cloak, and they stare at strangers who goaboutwithuncoveredfacesenjoyingthebriskairasiftheywerelunatics.Butwhatmakesthecustomabsurdlyincongruousisthatthewomenhavenosuchterroroffreshair.Whilethehidalgogoessmotheredinhiswrappingshiswifeand daughter wear nothing on their necks and faces but their prettycomplexions, and the gallant breeze, grateful for this generous confidence,repaystheminroses.Ihavesometimesfanciedthat inthis landof traditionsthisdifferencemighthaveariseninthosedaysofadventurewhenthecavaliershadgoodreasonsforkeepingtheirfacesconcealed,whiletheseñoras,wearebound tobelieve,haveneverdoneanything forwhich theirownbeautywasnotthebestexcuse.
NearlyallthereisofinterestinMadridconsistsinthefacesandthelifeofitspeople. There is but one portion of the city which appeals to the tourist'sordinarysetofemotions.ThisistheoldMoors'quarter,--theintricatejumbleof streets and places on the western edge of the town, overlooking thebankrupt river. Here is St. Andrew's, the parish church where Isabella theCatholic and her pious husband used to offer their stiff and dutiful prayers.Behinditamarket-placeofthemostprimitivekindrunsprecipitatelydowntotheStreetof.Segovia,atsuchananglethatyouwondertheturnipsandcarrotscaneverbebroughttokeeptheirplacesontherockyslope.Ifyouwillwanderthrough the dark alleys and hilly streets of this quarter when twilight issoftening the tall tenement-houses toa softerpurpose,and thedoorwaysareallfullofgossipinggroups,andhereandthereinthelittlecourtsyoucanhearthetinklingofaguitarandthedroneofballads,andseetheidlersloungingbythe fountains, and everywhere against the purple sky the crosses of oldconvents, while the evening air is musical with slow chimes from the full-archedbelfries, itwillnotbehard to imagineyouare in theSpainyouhavereadanddreamedof.And,climbingoutof this labyrinthofslums,youpassunder thegloomygates that lead to thePlazaMayor.ThisoncemagnificentsquareisnowassqualidandforsakenasthePlaceRoyaleofParis,thoughitdatesfromaperiodcomparativelyrecent.Themindsoinstinctivelyrevoltsatthe contemplation of those orgies of priestly brutalitywhich havemade theverynameofthisplaceredolentwithafragranceofscorchedChristians,that
wenaturallyassignitanimmemorialantiquity.Butaglanceattheboobyfaceof Philip III. on his round-bellied charger in the centre of the square willremind us that this place was built at the same time the Mayflower'spassengers were laying the massive foundations of the great Republic. TheAutos-da-Fe,theplaysofLopedeVega,andthebull-fightswentonformanyyears with impartial frequency under the approving eyes of royalty, whichoccupied a convenient balcony in the Panadería, that overdressed buildingwith the two extinguisher towers. Down to a period disgracefully near us,thosebalconieswereoccupiedbythedull-eyed,pendulous-lippedtyrantswhohave sat on the throne of St. Ferdinand, while there in the spacious courtbelowthevariedsportswenton,--to-dayacomedyofMasterLope,to-morrowthegentleandjoyousslayingofbulls,andthenextday,withgreaterpompandceremony, with banners hung from the windows, and my lord the kingsurrounded by his women and his courtiers in their bravest gear, and theaugust presence of the chief priests and their idol in the form of wine andwafers,--thejudgmentandfierysentenceofthethinkingmenofSpain.
Let us remember as we leave this accursed spot that the old palace of theInquisition isnowtheMinistryofJustice,wherea liberal statesmanhas justdrawnupthebillofcivilmarriage;andthatintheconventoftheTrinitariansaSpanish Rationalist, the Minister of Fomento, is laboring to secularizeeducationinthePeninsula.Thereismuchcoilingandhissing,butthefangsoftheser-pentaremuchlesspromptandeffectivethanofold.
ThewideCalleMayorbringsyouinamomentoutofthesemouldyshadowsandintothebroadlightofnowadayswhichshinesinthePuertadelSol.Here,under the walls of the Ministry of the Interior, the quick, restless heart ofMadridbeatswiththenewlifeithaslatelyearned.Theflagsofthepavementhave been often stained with blood, but of blood shed in combat, in theassertion of individual freedom. Although the govern- ment holds thatfortress-palacewith a grasp of iron, it can exercise no control over the freespeechthatasserts itselfontheverysidewalkof thePrincipal.Ateverystepyouseenews-standsfilledwith thesharpcritical journalismofSpain,--oftenignorantandunjust,butgenerallycourteousinexpressionandindependentinthought. Every day at noon the northernmails bring hither the word of allEurope to the awaking Spanishmind, and within that massive building theconverging linesof the telegrapharewhisperingeveryhour theirpersuasivelessonsoftheworld'sessentialunity.
Themovement of life and growth is bearing the population gradually awayfromthatdarkmediaevalMadridoftheCatholickingsthroughthePuertadelSol to the airy heights beyond, and the new, fresh quarter built by thephilosopherBourbonCharlesIII. isbecomingthemost importantpartof thecity. I thinkwemaybepermitted tohope that the longreignofsavagefaith
and repression isbrokenat last, and that thisabusedandsufferingpeople isabouttoenterintoitsrightfulinheritanceofmodernfreedomandprogress.
SPANISHLIVINGANDDYING
NOWHEREisthesentimentofhomestrongerthaninSpain.Strangers,whoseideasof theSpanishcharacterhavebeengained from romanceandcomedy,areapttonotewithsomesurprisethestrengthandprevalenceofthedomesticaffections.Butamoment'sreflectionshowsusthatnothingismorenatural.Itis the result of all their history. The oldCeltic population had scarcely anyreligionbutthatofthefamily.TheGothsbroughtinthepureTeutonicregardfor woman and marriage. TheMoors were distinguished by the patriarchalstructureoftheirsoci-ety.TheSpaniardshavethuslearnedthelessonofhomein the school of history and tradition. The intense feeling of individuality,which so strongly marks the Spanish character, and which in the politicalworld is so fatal an element of strife and obstruction, favors this peculiardomesticity.TheCastilianissubmissivetohiskingandhispriest,haughtyandinflexiblewithhisequals.Buthisownhouseisarefugefromthecontestsofoutofdoors.Thereflexofabsoluteauthorityishereobserved,itistrue.TheSpanishfatherisabsolutekingandlordbyhisownhearthstone,buthisswayis so mild and so readily acquiesced in that it is hardly felt. The evils oftyranny are rarely seen but by him who resists it, and the Spanish familyseldomcallsfortheharshexerciseofparentalauthority.
This is therule.Idonotmeantosaytherearenoexceptions.Theprideandjealousy inherent in the racemake family quarrels,when they do arise, thebitterest and the fiercest in theworld. Ineverygradeof life thesevindictivefeudsamongkindredareseenfromtimetotime.Twiceatleastthestepsofthethrone have been splashedwith royal blood shed by a princely hand.Duelsbetween noble cousins and stabbing affrays between peasant brothers alikeattesttheunbendingsenseofpersonaldignitythatstillinfectsthispeople.
A lightwordbetweenhusbandsandwivessometimesgoesunexplained,andtheriftbetweenthemwidensthroughlife.Iknowsomehouseswherethewifeentersatonedoorandthehusbandatanother;whereiftheymeetonthestairs,theydonotsaluteeachother.Under thesameroof theyhave livedforyearsand have not spoken.Onewordwould heal all discord, and that wordwillneverbespokenbyeither.Theycannotbedivorced,--theChurchisinexorable.Theywillnot incur the scandalofapublic separation.So theypass livesoflonely isolation in adjoining apartments, both thinking rather better of eachotherandofthemselvesforthisdevilishpersistence.
Aninfractionofparentaldisciplineisneverforgiven.Iknewageneralwhosedaughterfellinlovewithhisadjutant,acleverandamiableyoungofficer.Hehadpositivelynoobjectiontothesuitor,butwassurprisedthatthereshouldbeanylove-makinginhishousewithouthisprevioussuggestion.Herefusedhisconsent,andtheyoungpeopleweremarriedwithoutit.Thefatherandson-in-lawwent off on a campaign, fought, andwerewounded in the same battle.Thegeneralwasaskedtorecommendhisson-in-lawforpromotion."Ihavenoson-in-law!""Imeanyourdaughter'shusband.""Ihavenodaughter.""Ireferto Lieutenant Don Fulano de Tal. He is a good officer. He distinguishedhimselfgreatly in therecentaffair.""Ah!otracosa!"saidthegrimfather-in-law. His hate could not overcome his sense of justice. The youth got hispromotion, but his general will not recognize him at the club. It is in themiddle and lower classes that themost perfect pictures of the true Spanishfamily are to be found. The aristocracy is more or less infected with thecontagion ofContinentalmanners andmorals.Youwill find there the usualproportionofwiveswhodespise their husbands, andmenwhoneglect theirwives, and children who do not honor their parents. The smartness ofAmerican"pickles"hasevenmadeitsappearanceamongthelittlecountessesofMadrid.A ladywaseatingan iceoneday,hungrilywatchedby thewideeyes of the infant heiress of the house. As the latter saw the last hopevanishing before the destroying spoon, she cried out, "Thou eatest all andgivestmenone,--maldita sea tualma!" (accursedbe thysoul).Thisdreadfulimprecationwasgreetedwithroarsoflaughterfromadmiringfriends,andtheprofanelittleinnocentwassmotheredinkissesandcream.
PassingatnoonbyanyofthesquaresorshadyplacesofMadrid,youwillseedozensof laboring-peopleat theirmeals.Theysiton theground,around thesteamingandsavorycocidothatformsthepeasantSpaniard'sunvarieddinner.The foundation is ofgarbanzos, the large chick-pea of the country, broughtoriginally to Europe by the Carthaginians,--the Roman cicer,which gave itsname to the greatest of the Latin orators.All other available vegetables arethrownin;ondaysofhighgalaapieceofmeatisadded,andsomeforehandedhousewivesattaintheclimaxofluxurybyflavoringthecompoundwithalinkofsausage.Themotherbringsthedinnerandhertawnybroodofnestlings.Ashadyspotisselectedforthefeast.Thefatherdipshiswoodenspoonfirstintothe vapory bowl, and mother and babes follow with grave decorum. Idleloungers passing these patriarchal groups, on their way to a vapid Frenchbreakfastatarestaurant,catchthefragranceoftheollaandthechatterofthefamily,andenvythedinnerofherbswithlove.
There isnopeople so frugal.WeoftenwonderhowaWashingtonclerkcanliveontwelvehundreddollars,butthiswouldbeluxuryinexpensiveMadrid.ItisoneofthedearestcapitalsinEurope.Foreignersareneverwearydecrying
its high prices for poor fare; but Castilians live in good houses, dresswell,receive their intimate friends, and hold their own with the best in thepromenade,upon incomes thatwould seempenury toanycountryparson inAmerica.Therearefewofthenobilitywhoretainthegreatfortunesofformerdays.Youcanalmost tellonyour fingers the taleof thegrandees inMadridwhocanlivewithoutcountingthecost.Thearmyandnavyarecrowdedwithgeneral officers whose political services have obliged their promotion. Thestateistoomuchimpoverishedtopayliberalsalaries,andyettherankoftheseofficersrequiresthemaintenanceofacertainsocialposition.Fewofthemaremenoffortune.Theresultisthatnecessityhastaughtthemtolivewelluponlittle,Iknewwidowswhowenteverywhereinsociety,whosedaughterswerealways charmingly dressed, who lived in a decent quarter of the town, andwhohadnoresourceswhateverbutahusband'spension.
ThebestproofofthecapacityofSpaniardstospreadalittlegoldoverasmuchspace as a goldbeater could is the enormous competition for publicemployment. Half the young men in Spain are candidates for places undergovernment ranging from $250 to $1000. Places of $1500 to $2000 areconsidered objects of legitimate ambition even to deputies and leadingpoliticians.Expressed in reals these sumshavea largeand satisfying sound.Fiftydollarsseemslittleenoughforamonth'swork,butathousandrealshasthelookofamostrespectablesalary.InPortugal,however,youcanhaveallthe delightful sensations of prodigality ata contemptible cost.You can pay,withoutseriousdamagetoyourpurse,fivethousandreisforyourbreakfast.
It is the smallness of incomes and the necessity of looking sharply to themeansoflifethatmakestheyoungpeopleofMadridsoprudentintheirloveaffairs. Iknowofnoplacewhereuglyheir-essesare suchbelles,andwhereyoungmenwith handsome incomes are so universally esteemed by allwhoknowthem.Thestarsonthesleevesofyoungofficersaremoreregardedthantheirdancing,and the redbeltofa fieldofficer isaswinning in theeyesofbeautyasacestusofVenus.A.subalternofferedhishandandhearttoablack-eyedgirlofCastile.Shesaidkindlybutfirmlythatthenightwastoocloudy."What,"saidthestupefiedlover,"theskyisfullofstars.""Iseebutone,"saidtheprudentbeauty,her fineeyes restingpensivelyuponhis cuff,whereoneloneluminaryindicatedhisrank.
This spirit is really one of forethought, and not avarice. People who haveenough for two almost always marry from inclination, and frequently takepartnersforlifewithoutapenny.
Ifmenwere never henpecked except by learnedwives, Spainwould be theplaceofallothersfor timidmentomarryin.Thegirlsarebright,vivacious,andnaturallyveryclever,buttheyhavescarcelyanyeducationwhatever.They
never know the difference between b and v. They throw themselves inorthographyentirelyuponyourbenevolence.TheyknowalittlemusicandalittleFrench,buttheyhavenevercrossed,eveninaschool-dayexcursion,theborderlineoftheologies.Theydonotevenreadnovels.Theyareregardedasinjurious,andcannotbetrustedtothedaughtersuntilmammahasreadthem.Mammaneverhastimetoreadthem,andsotheyarecondemnedbydefault.FernánCaballero, inoneofhersleepylittleromances,referstothisilliteratecharacter of the Spanish ladies, and says it is their chief charm,--that aChristian woman, in good society, ought not to know anything beyond hercookery-bookandhermissal.'Thereis-anoldproverbwhichcoarselyconveysthis idea:Amule thatwhinniesandawoman that talksLatinnevercome toanygood.
There is a contented acquiescence in this moral servitude among the fairSpaniardswhichwouldmaddenouragitatresses.(Seewhatwillbecomeofthelanguagewhenmalewordsarecrowdedoutofthedictionary!)
It must be the innocence which springs from ignorance that induces anoccasionalcoarsenessofexpressionwhichsurprisesyouintheconversationofthose lovely young girls. Theywill speakwith perfect freedom of the état-civilofayoungunmarriedmother.Amaidenoffifteensaidtome:"Imustgotoapartythiseveningdécolletée,andIhateit.Benignoisgettingoldenoughtomarry,andhewantstoseeallthegirlsinlowneckbeforehemakesuphismind." They all swear like troopers, without a thought of profanity. TheirmildestexpressionofsurpriseisJesusMaria!Theychangetheiroathswiththeseason.AtthefeastoftheImmaculateConception,thefavoriteoathisMariaPurissima.This isa timeofespecial interest toyounggirls. It isaperiodofcompulsoryconfession,--conscience-cleaning,astheycallit.Theyareallverypiousintheirway.Theyattendtotheirreligiousdutieswiththesameinterestwhichtheydisplayedafewyearsbeforeindressingandundressingtheirdolls,andwilldisplayafewyearslaterinputtingthelessonstheylearnedwiththeirdollstoamorepracticaluse.
Thevisibleconcretesymbolsandobservancesofreligionhavegreatinfluencewith them. They are fond of making vows in tight places and faithfullyobservingthemafterwards.Inanhour'swalkinthestreetsofMadridyouwillseeadozenladieswithaleatherstrapbuckledabouttheirslenderwaistsandhangingnearly to theground.Otherswearaknottedcordand tassels.Thesearewornasthefulfilmentofvows,orpenances.Iamafraidtheygiverisetomuch worldly conjecture on the part of idle youth as to what amiable sinsthese pretty penitents can have been guilty of. It is not prudent to ask anexplanation of the peculiar mercy, or remorse, which this purgatorial strapcommemorates. You will probably not enlarge your stock of knowledgefurtherthantolearnthattheladyinquestionconsidersyouagreatnuisance.
Thegracefulladywho,inascendingthethroneofFrance,hasnotceasedtobeathoroughSpaniard,stillpreservestheseprettyweaknessesofheryouth.Shevowedachapeltoherpatronsaintifherfirstbornwasaman-child,andpaidit.She has hung a vestal lamp in theChurch ofNótreDame desVictoires, inpursuanceof avowshekeeps rigidly secret.She is a firmbeliever in relicsalso, and keeps a choice assortment on hand in the Tuileries for suddenemergencies.WhenoldBaciocchi laynearhisdeath,wornoutbyahorriblenervousdisorderwhichwouldnotlethimsleep,theempresstoldthedoctors,withgreatmystery,thatshewouldcurehim.Afterafewpreliminarymasses,she came into his room and hung on his bedpost a little gold-embroideredsachetcontaining(iftheevidenceofholymenistobebelieved)afewthreadsoftheswaddling-clothesofJohntheBaptist.Hersimplechildlikefaithwrungthelastgrimsmilefromthetorturedlipsofthedyingcourtier.
The very names of the Spanish women are a constant reminder of theirworship.Theyareallnamedoutofthecalendarofsaintsandvirginmartyrs.AlargemajorityarechristenedMary;butasthissacrednamebymuchusehaslost all distinctivemeaning, some attribute, some especial invocation of theVirgin,isalwayscoupledwithit.ThenamesofDolores,Mercedes,Milagros,recall Our Lady of the Sorrows, of the Gifts, of the Miracles. I knew ahoydenish little gypsy who bore the tearful name of Lagrimas. The mostappropriate name I heard for these large-eyed, soft-voiced beauties wasPeligros,OurLadyofDangers.Whocouldresistthecomfortingassuranceof"Consuelo"?"Blessed,"saysmyLordLytton,"iswomanwhoconsoles."Whatan image ofmaiden purity goeswith the nameofNieves, theVirgin of theSnows!FromasinglecotillonofCastiliangirlsyoucanconstruct thewholehistory of Our Lady; Conception, Annunciation, Sorrows, Solitude,Assumption. As young ladies are never called by their family names, butalways by their baptismal appellations, you cannot pass an evening in aSpanish tertulia without being reminded of every stage in the life of theImmaculateMother,fromBethlehemtoCalvaryandbeyond.
The common use of sacred words is universal in Catholic countries, butnowheresostrikingasinSpain.ThereisalittlesolemnityintheFrenchadieu.But the Spaniard says adiós instead of "good-morning." No letter closeswithout the prayer, "God guard yourGracemany years!" They say a judgeannounces toamurdererhis sentenceofdeathwith the sacramentalwishoflengthofdays.There issomethinga littleshocking toaYankeemind in thelabel of LachrymaChristi; but in LaMancha they call fritters theGrace ofGod.
The piety of the Spanish women does not prevent them from seeing somethingsclearlyenoughwiththeirbrighteyes.OneofthemostbigotedwomeninSpainrecentlysaid:"Ihesitatetoletmychildgotoconfession.Thepriests
askyounggirlssuchinfamousquestions,thatmycheeksburnwhenIthinkofthem, after all theseyears." I stoodoneChristmasEve in the coldmidnightwind,waitingforthechurchdoorstoopenforthenightmass,thefamousmisadel gallo. On the steps beside me sat a decent old woman with her twodaughters.Atlastsheroseandsaid,"Girls,itisnousewaitinganylonger.Thepriestswon'tleavetheirhousekeepersthiscoldnighttosaveanybody'ssoul."Inthesetwocases,takenfromthetwoextremesoftheCatholicsociety,therewasnodisrespectfortheChurchorforreligion.Boththesewomenbelievedwithablindfaith.Buttheycouldnothelpseeinghowuncleanwerethehandsthatdispensedthebreadoflife.
Therespectshown to thepriesthoodasabody ismarvellous, inviewof theprofligate livesofmany.Thegeneralprogressof theagehas forcedmostofthe dissolute priests into hypocrisy. But their cynical immorality is still thebane of many families. And it needs but a glance at the vile manual ofconfession,calledtheGoldenKey,theauthorofwhichisthetoowellknownPadreClaret,confessortothequeen,toseethesystematicmoralpoisoningtheminds of Spanish women must undergo who pay due attention to what iscalled their religiousduties. Ifaconfessorobeys the injunctionsof thishighecclesiastical authority, his fair penitents will have nothing to learn from adiligentperusalofFaublasorCasanova. Itwould,however,beunjust to thepriesthood to consider them all as corrupt as royal chaplains. It requires acombinationofconventandpalacelifetoproducethesefinishedspecimensofmitredinfamy.
It is to be regretted that the Spanish women are kept in such systematicignorance. They have a quicker andmore active intelligence than themen.With a fair degree of education, much might be hoped from them in theintellectualdevelopmentofthecountry.Insociety,youwillatoncebestruckwiththesuperiorityofthewomentotheirhusbandsandbrothersinclevernessand appreciation. Among small tradesmen, the wife always comes to therescue of her slow spousewhen she sees himbefogged in a bargain. In thefields,youaskapeasantsomequestionaboutyourjourney.Hewillhesitate,andstammer,andendwith,"Quiensabe?"buthiswifewillanswerwithglibcompletenessallyouwanttoknow.Icanimaginenocauseforthis,unlessitbethatthemencloudtheirbrainsalldaywiththefumesoftobacco,andthewomendonot.
Thepersonalityofthewomanisnotsoentirelymergedinthatofthehusbandasamongus.Sheretainsherownbaptismalandfamilynamethroughlife.IfMiss Matilda Smith marries Mr. Jonathan Jones, all vestige of the formergentlebeingvanishesatoncefromtheearth,andMrs.JonathanJonesaloneremains.ButinSpainshewouldbecomeMrs.MatildaSmithdeJones,andhereldest-bornwouldbecalledDonJuanJonesySmith.Youaskthenameofa
married lady in society, and you hear as often her own name as that of herhusband.
Evenamongtitledpeople,thefamilynameseemsmorehighlyvaluedthanthetitulardesignation.EverybodyknowsNarvaez,buthowfewhaveheardoftheDukeofValencia!TheRegentSerranohasanameknownandhonoredovertheworld,butmostpeoplemustthinktwicebeforetheyremembertheDukedelaTorre.JuanPrimisbetterknownthantheMarquesdelosCastillejoseverwill be. It is perhaps due to the prodigality with which titles have beenscattered in late years that the older titles are more regarded than the new,although of inferior grade. Thus Prim calls himself almost invariably theCondedeReus,thoughhisgrandeeshipcamewithhisinvestitureasmarquis.
There is something quite noticeable about this easy way of treating one'sname.Weareaccustomedtothinkamancanhavebutonename,andcansignit but in one way. Lord Derby can no more call himself Mr. Stanley thanPresidentGrantcansignabillasU.Simpson.YetboththesesignatureswouldbeperfectlyvalidaccordingtoSpanishanalogy.TheMarquisofSantaMartasignshimselfGuzman;theMarquisofAlbaidausesnosignaturebutOrense;both of these gentlemen being Republican deputies. I have seen GeneralPrim's name signed officially, Conde de Reus, Marques de los Castillejos,Prim, J. Prim, JuanPrim, and JeanPrim, changing the style as often as thehumorstrikeshim.
Their forms of courtesy are, however, invariable. You can never visit aSpaniard without his informing you that you are in your own house. If,walkingwithhim,youpasshisresidence,heasksyoutoenteryourhouseandunfatigueyourselfamoment.IfyouhappenuponanySpaniard,ofwhateverclass,atthehourofrepast,healwaysoffersyouhisdinner;ifyoudecline,itmustbewithpolitewishesforhisdigestion.With theSpaniards,nonews isgood news; it is therefore civil to ask a Spaniard if his lady-wife goes onwithoutnovelty,and toexpressyourprofoundgratificationonbeingassuredthatshedoes.TheirformsofhospitalityareevidentlyMoorish,derivedfromthegenuineopenhandandopententofthechildrenofthedesert;nownothingisleftofthembutgraveanddecorouswords.Intheoldtimes,onewhowouldhaverefusedsuchofferswouldhavebeenheldachurl;nowonewhowouldacceptthemwouldberegardedasaboor.
ThereisstillsomethingprimitiveabouttheSpanishservants.Aflavoroftheoldromancesandtheoldcomedystillhangsaboutthem.TheyarechattyandconfidentialtoadegreethatappallsastiffandformalEnglishmanoftheuppermiddleclass.TheBritishservantisachillyandstatuesqueimageofpropriety.TheFrench is an intelligent and sympathizing friend.You canmakeof himwhatyoulike.ButtheItalian,andstillmoretheSpaniard,isasgayasachild,
and as incapable of intentional disrespect. The Castilian grandee does notregardhisdignityasindangerfromamoment'schatwithawaiter.Hehasnoconception of that ferocious decorum we Anglo-Saxons require from ourmanservantsandourmaidservants.TheSpanishservantseemstoregarditaspart of his duty to keep your spirits gently excited while you dine by thegossipoftheday.Hejoinsalsoinyourdiscussions,whethertheytouchlightlyonthepoliticsofthehourorplungeprofoundlyintothedepthsofphilosophicresearch.He laughs at yourwit, and swings his napkinwith convulsions ofmirthatyourgoodstories.He tellsyou thehistoryofhis lifewhileyouarebreakingyouregg,andlaysthestoryofhislovesbeforeyouwithyourcoffee.Yet he is not intrusive. He will chatter on without waiting for a reply, andwhenyouare tiredofhimyoucanshuthimoffwithaword.Thereare fewSpanishservantssouninterestingbut thatyoucanfind in themfromtimetotime some sparksof that ineffable lightwhich shines forever inSanchoandFigaro.
The traditions of subordination, which are the result of long centuries oftyranny, have prevented the development of that feeling of independenceamong the lower orders, which in a freer race finds its expression in illmannersanddiscourtesytosuperiors.IknewagentlemanintheWestwhosecircumstanceshadforcedhimtobecomeawaiterinabackwoodsrestaurant.He bore a deadly grudge at the profession that kept him from starving, andasserted his unconquered nobility of soul by scowling at his customers andswearingattheviandshedispensed.Irememberthedeepsenseofwrongwithwhichhewouldgrowl,"Twobuckwheats,begawd!"Youseenothingof thisdefiantspiritinSpanishservants.Theyareheartilygladtofindemployment,and ask no higher good-fortune than to serve acceptably. As to drawingcomparisonsbetweenthemselvesandtheirmasters, theyneverseemtothinkthey belong to the same race. I saw a pretty grisette once stop to look at ashow-window where there was a lay-figure completely covered with allmanneroftrusses.Shegazedatitlongandearnestly,evidentlythinkingitwassomenewfashionjustintroducedintothegayworld.Atlastshetrippedawaywithall thegraceofherunfettered limbs, saying, "If the fine ladieshave towearallthosemachines,IamgladIamnotmadelikethem."
Whether it be from theirmore regular and active lives, or from their beingunable to pay for medical attendance, the poorer classes suffer less fromsickness than theirbetters.AnordinarySpaniard is sickbutonce inhis life,and that once is enough,--'twill serve.The traditions of the old satirewhichrepresentedthedoctoranddeathasalwayshuntingincouplesstillsurviveinSpain.Itistakenassoentirelyamatterofcoursethatapatientmustdiethatthelawofthelandimposedaheavyfineuponphysicianswhodidnotbringapriestontheirsecondvisit.Hislaborofexhortationandconfessionwasrarely
wasted. There were few sufferers who recovered from the shock of thatsolemn ceremony in their chambers. Medical science still labors in Spainunder the ban of ostracism, imposed in the days when all research wasimpiety. The Inquisition clamored for the blood of Vesalius, who hadcommitted the crime of a demonstration in anatomy. He was forced into apilgrimage of expiation, and died on the way to Palestine. The Church hasalways looked with a jealous eye upon the inquirers, the innovators. Whytheseprobes,theselancets,thesemultifariousdrugs,whentheobjectinviewcouldbesomuchmoreeasilyobtainedbythejudiciousapplicationofmassesandprayers?
Soithascomeabout that thedoctor isaPariah,andmiraclesflourishinthePeninsula.At every considerable shrineyouwill see thewalls coveredwithwaxen models of feet, legs, hands, and arms secured by the miraculousinterposition of the genius loci, and scores of little crutches attesting themarvelloushourwhentheybecameuseless.Eachshrine,likeamineralspring,hasitsownespecialvirtue.ASantiagomedalwasbetterthanquinineforague.St.Veronica's handkerchief is sovereign for sore eyes.A bone of St.Maginsupersedestheuseofmercury.Afinger-nailofSanFrutoscuredatSegoviaacase of congenital idiocy. TheVirgin ofOña acted as a vermifuge on royalinfantas,andhergirdleatTortosasmoothstheirpassageintothisworld.Inthisageofunfaithrelicshavelostmuchoftheirpower.Theyturnouttheirscoreorsoofmiracleseveryfeast-day,itistrue,butarenolongercapableofthetoursde force of earlier days. Cardinal de Retz saw with his eyes a man whosewoodenlegswereturnedtocaperingfleshandbloodbytheimageofthePillarof Saragossa. But this was in the good old times before newspapers andtelegraphshadcometodispelthetwilightofbelief.
Now, it isexcessivelyprobable thatneitherdoctornorpriestcandomuchifthe patient is hit in earnest. He soon succumbs, and is laid out in his bestclothes in an improvised chapel and duly sped on his way. The custom ofburying the dead in the gown and cowl of monks has greatly passed intodisuse. The mortal relics are treated with growing contempt, as thesuperstitionsofthepeoplegraduallylosetheirconcretecharacter.ThesoulistheimportantmatterwhichtheChurchnowlooksto.Sothecoldclayiscartedoff to the cemetery with small ceremony. Even the coffins of the rich arejammedawayintoreceptaclestoosmallforthem,andhastilyplasteredoutofsight. The poor are carried off on trestles and huddled into their namelessgraves,withoutfollowingorblessing.ChildrenareburiedwithsomeregardtotheoldOrientalcustoms.Thecoffinisofsomegayandcheerfulcolor,pinkorblue, and is carried open to the grave by four of the dead child's youngcompanions,afifthwalkingbehindwiththeribbonedcoffin-lid.Ihaveoftenseen these touching little parties moving through the bustling streets, the
peaceful small faceasleepunder theopen sky,deckedwith the fading rosesandwithering lilies. Inallwell-to-do families thehouseofdeath isdesertedimmediately after the funeral. The stricken ones retire to some otherhabitation,andtherepasseightdaysinstrictandinviolableseclusion.Ontheninthdaythegreatmassesforthereposeofthesoulofthedepartedaresaidintheparishchurch,andallthefriendsofthefamilyareexpectedtobepresent.Thesemasses are themost important and expensive incident of the funeral.Theycostfromtwohundredtoonethousanddollars,accordingtothestrengthand fervor of the orisons employed. They are repeated several years on theanniversaryofthedecease,andaffordamostsureandnourishingrevenuetothe Church. They are founded upon those feelings inseparable from everyhumanheart,vanityandaffection.Ourdeadfriendsmustbeaswellprayedforas those of others, andwho knows but that theymay be in deadly need ofprayers!Toshortentheirfierypenancebyonehour,whowouldnotfastforaweek?On theseanniversaries ablack-borderedadvertisement appears in thenewspapers, headed by the sign of the cross and the Requiescat in Pace,announcing that on this day twelvemonthsDonFulano deTal passed fromearth garnished with the holy sacraments, that all the masses this daycelebrated in such and such churches will be applied to the benefit of hisspirit'srepose,andthatallChristianfriendsareherebyrequestedtocommendhissoulthisdayuntoGod.Theseefforts,iftheydothedeadnogood,atleastdothelivingnoharm.
Aluxuryofgrief,inthosewhocanaffordit,consistsinshuttingupthehousewhereadeathhastakenplaceandneversufferingittobeopenedagain.Ioncesaw a beautiful house andwide garden thus abandoned in one of themostfashionablestreetsofMadrid. I inquiredabout it, and found itwas formerlytheresidenceoftheDukeof------.Hiswifehaddiedtheremanyyearsbefore,andsincethatdaynotadoornorawindowhadbeenopened.Thegardengateswereredandroughwithrust.Grassgrewtallandrankinthegravelledwalks.A thick lush undergrowth had overrun the flower-beds and the lawns. Theblinds were rotting over the darkened windows. Luxuriant vines clamberedover all the mossy doors. The stucco was peeling from the walls inunwholesomeblotches.Wildbirdssangalldayinthesafesolitude.Therewassomethingimpressive in thisspotofmouldandsilence, lying theresogreenandimplacable in theveryheartofagreatandnoisycity.ThedukelivedinParis,leadingtherattlinglifeofamanoftheworld.HeneverwouldsellorletthatMadridhouse.Perhapsinhisheartalso,thatbatteredthoroughfarewornbythepatteringbootsofMa-bineandtheBois,andtheQuartierBreda,therewasagreenspotsacredtomemoryandsilence,wherenofootfallshouldeverlight,wherenolivingvoiceshouldeverbeheard,shutoutfromtheworldandits cares and its pleasures,where through the gloom of dead days he couldcatchaglimpseofawhitehand,aflashofadarkeye,therustleofatrailing
robe, and feel sweeping over him the old magic of love's young dream,softeninghisfancytotenderregretandhiseyestoahappymist--
"LikethatwhichkepttheheartofEdengreenBeforetheusefultroubleoftherain."
INFLUENCEOFTRADITIONINSPANISHLIFE
INTELLIGENTSpaniardswithwhom I have conversedonpoliticalmattershaveoftenexclaimed,"Ah,youAmericansarehappy!youhavenotraditions."Thephrasewasatfirstapuzzlingone.WeAmericansareapttothinkwehavetraditions,--a rather clearlymarked line of precedents.And it is hard to seehowapeopleshouldbehappierwithoutthem.Itisnotanywhereconsideredamisfortunetohavehadagrandfather,Ibelieve,andsomeverygoodfolkstakeaninnocentprideinthatverynaturalfact.Itwasnoteasytocon-ceivewhythepossessionofaglorioushistoryofmanycenturiesshouldberegardedasadrawback. But a closer observation of Spanish life and thought reveals thecuriousandhurtfuleffectoftraditionuponeveryphaseofexistence.
In the commonest events of every day youwill find the flavor of past ageslingeringinpettyannoyances.Theinsecurityofthemiddleageshasleftasalegacytoourtimesacomplicatedsystemofobstaclestoamangettingintohisownhouse at night. I lived in apleasanthouseon thePrado,with aminutegardeninfront,andanirongateandrailing.Thisgatewasshutandlockedbythe night watchman of the quarter at midnight,--so conscientiously that heusuallyhadeverythingsnugbyhalfpasteleven.Asthesamemanhadchargeof a dozen ormore houses, it was scarcely reasonable to expect him to bealwaysatyourowngatewhenyouarrived.ButbyasingularfatalityIthinknoman ever found him in sight at any hour.He is always opening someothergate or shutting someother door, or settling the affairs of the nationwith afriend in the next block, or carrying on a chronic courtship at the lattice ofsomeolive-cheekedsoubrettearoundthecorner.Bethatasitmay,nooneeverfoundhimonhand;andthereisnothingtodobuttositdownonthecurbstoneandliftupyourvoiceandshriekforhimuntilhecomes.Attwoo'clockofamorninginJanuarytheexerciseisnotimprovingtothelarynxorthetemper.Thereisatraditionintheverynameofthisworthy.HeiscalledtheSereno,because a century or so ago he used to call the hour and the state of theweather,andastheskyisalmostalwayscloudlesshere,hegotthenameoftheSereno, as the quail is called BobWhite, frommuch iteration. The Serenoopens your gate and the door of your house.When you come to your ownflooryoumustring,andyourservanttakesacarefulsurveyofyouthrougha
latticed peep-hole before he will let you in. Youmay positively forbid thiseverydayintheyear,buttheforceofhabitistoostrongintheSpanishmindtosufferamendment.
This absurd customcomes evidentlydown froma timeof great lawlessnessand license, when no houses were secure without these precautions, whenpeople rarely stirred from their doors after nightfall, and when a door wasnever opened to a stranger.Now,whenno suchdangers exist, the annoyingandsenselesshabitstillremains,becausenoonedreamsofchanginganythingwhichtheirfathersthoughtproper.ThreehundredthousandpeopleinMadridsubmit year after year to this nightly cross, and I have never heard a voiceraisedinprotest,norevenindefenceofthecustom.
Thereisoftenabitternessofoppositiontoevidentimprovementwhichishardtoexplain.Inthelastcentury,whentheeminentnaturalistBowleswentdowntotheAlmadénsilver-mines,byappointmentofthegovernment,toseewhatwasthecauseoftheirexhaustion,hefoundthattheyhadbeenworkedentirelyin perpendicular shafts instead of following the direction of the veins. Heperfectedaplanforworkingtheminthissimpleandreasonableway,andnoearthlypowercouldmaketheSpanishminersobeyhisorders.Therewasnoprecedent for this newprocess, and theywouldnot touch it.Theypreferredstarvationratherthanoffendthememoryoftheirfathersbyachange.Atlastthey had to be dismissed and a full force imported from Germany, underwhosehandstheminesbecameinstantlyenormouslyproductive.
I once asked a very intelligent English contractor why he used nowheelbarrows in his work. He had some hundreds of stalwart navviesemployedcarryingdirtinsmallwickerbasketstoanembankment.Hesaidthemenwouldnotusethem.Somesaiditbroketheirbacks.Othersdiscoveredacapitalwayofamusing themselvesbyputting thebarrowontheirheadsandwhirling thewheelas rapidlyaspossiblewith theirhands.Thiswasagamewhichnevergrewstale.Thecontractorgaveupindespair,andwentbacktothebaskets.Butitisintheofficialregionsthattraditionismostpowerful.Inthe budget of 1870 therewas a curious chapter called "Charges of Justice."Thisconsistedofacollectionofarticlesappropriatinglargesumsofmoneyforthe payment of feudal taxes to the great aristocracy of the kingdom as acompensation for long extinct seigniories. The Duke of Rivas got thirteenhundred dollars for carrying the mail to Victoria. The Duke of San CarlosdrawstenthousanddollarsforcarryingtheroyalcorrespondencetotheIndies.Ofcoursethisserviceceasedtobelongtothesefamiliessomecenturiesago,butthesalaryisstillpaid.TheDukeofAlmodovariswellpaidforsupplyingthebatonofofficetotheAlguazilofCordova.TheDukeofOsuna--oneofthegreatest grandees of the kingdom, a gentleman who has the right to wearseventeenhatsinthepresenceoftheQueen--receivesfiftythousanddollarsa
yearforimaginaryfeudalservices.TheCountofAltamira,who,ashisnameindicates,isagentlemanofhighviews,receivesasasalveforthesuppressionof his fief thirty thousand dollars a year. In consideration of this sum hesurrenders,whileitispunctuallypaid,theprivilegeofhanginghisneighbors.
When thebudgetwasdiscussed, aRepublicanmembergently criticised thischapter; but his amendment for an investigation of these charges wasindignantlyrejected.HewasaccusedofashockingwantofEspañolismo.Hewas thought to have no feeling in his heart for the glories of Spain. Therespectability of the Chamber could find but one word injurious enough toexpress their contempt for so shamelessaproposition; they said itwas littlebetter than socialism. The "charges" were all voted. Spain, tottering on theperilous verge of bankruptcy, her schoolmasters not paid for months, hersinkingfundplundered,hercreditgoneoutofsight,borrowingeverycentshespendsatthirtypercent.,isproudoftheprivilegeofpayingintothehandsofherrichestandmostuselessclassthisgratuityoftwelvemillionrealssimplybecausetheyaredescendedfromtherobberchiefsofthedarkerages.Thereisa curious little comedy played by the family ofMedina Celi at every newcoronationofakingofSpain.Thedukeclaims tobe the rightfulheir to thethrone.HeisdescendedfromPrinceFerdinand,who,dyingbeforehisfather,DonAlonsoX., left his babies exposed to the cruel kindness of their uncleSancho,who,tosavethemthetroublesofthethrone,assumedithimselfandtransmittedittohischildren,--allthissomehalfdozencenturiesago.Ateverycoronation the duke formally protests; an athletic and sinister-looking courtheadsman comes down to his palace in the Carrera San Gerónimo, and bythreatsofimmediatedecapitationinducestheduketosignapaperabdicatinghisrightstothethroneofalltheSpains.ThedukeeatstheBourbonleekwithinwardprofanity, and feels thathehasdoneamostcleverandproper thing.Thisperformance is apparentlyhisonlyobject andmission in life.Thisonesacrifice to tradition is what he is born for. The most important part of aSpaniard's signature is the rubrica or flourish with which it closes. Themonarch'shandissettopublicactsexclusivelybythisparafe.Thisevidentlydates from the timewhennonebutpriests couldwrite. InMadrid themule-teamsaredriventandemthroughthewidestreets,becausethiswasnecessaryintheageswhenthestreetswerenarrow.
Thereisevenashowofargumentsometimestojustifyanadherencetothingsastheyare.Aboutacenturyagotherewasaneffortmadebypeoplewhohadlivedabroad,andsobecomeconsciousofthepossessionofnoses,tohavethestreetsofMadridcleaned.Thepropositionwasatfirstreceivedwithapatheticcontempt, but when the innovators persevered they met the earnest andsuccessful opposition of all classes. The Cas-tilian savans gravely reportedthattheairofMadrid,whichblewdownfromthesnowyGuadarra-mas,was
so thin and piercing that it absolutely needed the gentle corrective of theordure-heapstomakeitfitforhumanlungs.
ThereisnonationinEuropeinwhichsolittlewashingisdone.IdonotthinkitisbecausetheSpaniardsdonotwanttobeneat.Theyare,onthewhole,thebest-dressed people on the Continent. The hate of ablutions descends fromthosecenturiesofwarfarewith theMoors.Theheathenswashed themselvesdaily; therefore a Christian should not. The monks, who were too lazy tobathe, taught their followers tobe filthybypreceptandexample.Waterwasnevertobeappliedexternallyexceptinbaptism.Itwasatreacherouselement,anddallyingwithithadgottenBathshebaandSusannaintonoendoftrouble.So when the cleanly infidels were driven out of Granada, the pious andhydrophobicCardinalXimenezpersuaded theCatholicsovereigns todestroythe abomination of baths they left behind. Until very recently the Spanishmindhasbeenunable to separateacertain ideaof immorality frombathing.WhenMadameDaunoy,oneofthesprightliestofobservers,visitedthecourtofPhilip IV., she found itwas considered shocking among the ladies of thebest society towash the face and hands.Once or twice aweek theywouldglazetheirprettyvisageswiththewhiteofanegg.Oflateyearsthisprejudicehasgivenwaysomewhat;butithaslastedlongerthananymonumentinSpain.
These,however,arebuttrivialmanifestationsofthatpoweroftraditionwhichholdstheSpanishintellect imprisonedasinaviceof iron.Thewholelifeofthe nation is fatally influenced by this blind reverence for things that havebeen. It may be said that by force of tradition Christian morality has beendrivenfromindividuallifebyreligion,andhonestyhasbeensupplantedasarule of public conduct by honor,--a wretched substitute in either case, andirreconcilablyatwarwiththespiritoftheage.
The growth of this double fanaticism is easily explained; it is the result ofcenturies of religious wars. From the hour when Pelayo, the first of theAsturiankings,successfullymetandrepulsedthehithertovictoriousMoorsinhisrockyfortressofCovadonga,tothedaywhenBoabdiltheUnluckysawforthe last time through streaming tears the vermilion towers of Alhambracrownedwiththebannerofthecross,therewasnotayearofpeaceinSpain.No other nation has had such an experience. Seven centuries of constantwarfare,with three thousand battles; this is the startling epitomeof SpanishhistoryfromtheMahometanconquesttothereignofFerdinandandIsabella.Inthisvastwartherewaslaidthefoundationofthenationalcharacterofto-day.EvenbeforetheconqueringMoslemcrossedfromAfrica,Spainwasthemost deeply religious country inEurope; and by this Imean the country inwhichtheChurchwasmostpowerfulinitsrelationswiththeState.WhentheCouncilofToledo,in633,receivedthekingofCastile,hefellonhisfaceatthe feet of thebishopsbeforeventuring to address them.When thehosts of
Islamhadoverspread thePeninsula,and the last remnantofChristianityhadtakenrefuge in the inaccessiblehillsof thenorthwest, the richestpossessionthey carried into these inviolate fastnesses was a chest of relics,--knuckle-bonesofapostlesandsplintersoftruecrosses,inwhichtheytrustedmorethaninmortalarms.TheChurchhadthusafavorablematerialtoworkuponintheyearsof struggle that followed.Thecircumstancesall lent themselves to thescheme of spiritual domination. The fight was for the cross against thecrescent; the symbol of the quarrelwas visible and tangible. The Spaniardswere poor and ignorant and credulous. The priestswere enough superior toleadandguide them,andnotso farabove themas tobeoutof the reachoftheir sympathiesand their love.Theymarchedwith them.They shared theirtoilsanddangers.Theystimulatedtheirhateoftheenemy.TheytaughtthemthattheircruelangerwastheholywrathofGod.Theyheldthekeysofeternalwealorwoe,andrewardedsubserviencetothepriestlypowerwithpromisesof everlasting felicity; while the least symptom of rebellion in thought oractionwaspunishedwithswiftdeathandthedoomofendlessflames.Therewasnothing in theChurchwhich the fightingSpaniardcould recognizeasareproachtohimself.Itwasasbitter,asbrave,asfierce,andrevengefulashe.His credulity regarded it as divine, and worthy of blind adoration, and hisheartwentouttoitwiththesympathyofperfectlove.
Inthesecenturiesofwartherewasnocommerce,nomanufactures,nosettledindustry of importance among the Spaniards. There was consequently nowealth,noneof that comfortandeasewhich is thenatural elementofdoubtand discussion. Science did not exist. The little learning of the time wasexclusivelyinthehandsofthepriesthood.Iffromtimetotimeanintelligentspiritstruggledagainstthechainofunquestioningbigotrythatboundhim,hewasrigorouslysilencedbypromptandbloodypunishment.Thereseemed tobenoneedofdiscussion,noneedofinculcationofdoctrine.Theseriousworkofthetimewasthewarwiththeinfidel.Theclergymanagedeverything.Thequestion,"WhatshallIdotobesaved?"neverenteredintothosesimpleandignorantminds.TheChurchwouldtakecareofthosewhodidherbidding.
Thusitwasthatinthehammeringofthosestrugglingagesthenationbecamewelded together in one compact mass of unquestioning, unreasoning faith,whichtheChurchcouldmanageatitsowngoodpleasure.
ItwasalsointhesetimesthatSpanishhonortookitsrise.Thissentimentissonearly connectedwith that of personal loyalty that theymaybe regarded asphasesofthesamemonarchicalspirit.Theruleofhonorasdistinguishedfromhonestyandvirtue is themostprominentcharacteristicofmonarchy,andforthat reason the political theorists from the time of Montesquieu havepronounced in favor of the monarchy as a more practicable form ofgovernment than the republic, as requiring a less perfect and delicate
machinery,menofhonorbeing farmorecommon thanmenofvirtue.As inSpain,owingtospecialconditions,monarchyattainedthemostperfectgrowthanddevelopmentwhichtheworldhasseen,thesentimentofhonor,asaruleofpersonalandpoliticalaction,hastherereacheditsmostexaggeratedform.Iuse this word, of course, in its restricted meaning of an intense sense ofpersonal dignity, and readiness to sacrifice for this all considerations ofinterestandmorality.
Thisphaseof theSpanishcharacter isprobablyderived in itsgermfromtheGothic bloodof their ancestors.Their intense self-assertionhas been, in theNorthernraces,modifiedby theprogressof intelligenceandtherestraintsofmunicipallawintoaspiritofsturdyself-respectandadisinclinationtosubmitto wrong. The Goths of Spain have unfortunately never gone through thiscivilizing process. Their endless wars never gave an opportunity for thedevelopmentofthepurelycivicvirtuesofrespectandobediencetolaw.Thepeopleatlargeweretoowretched,tooharriedbyconstantcomingandgoingofthewavesofwar,todomorethanlive,inashiftless,hand-to-mouthway,from the proceeds of their flocks and herds. There were no cities ofimportancewithintheSpanishlines.Therewasnoopportunityforthegrowthof the true burgher spirit. There was no law to speak of in all these yearsexcept the twin despotism of the Church and the king. If there had beendissidencebetween themitmighthavebeenbetter for thepeople.Butup tolateyears therehasneverbeen aquarrel between the clergy and the crown.Theirinterestsweresoidentifiedthatthedualtyrannywasstrongerthanevenasingleonecouldhavebeen.ThecrownalwayslendingtotheChurchwhennecessary the arm of flesh, and the Church giving to the despotism of thesceptre thesanctionofspiritualauthority,anabsolutepowerwasestablishedoverbodyandsoul.
The spirit of individual independence inseparable from Gothic blood beingthus forced out of its natural channels of freedomof thought andmunicipalliberty,itremainedinthecavaliersofthearmyofSpaininthesamebarbarousformwhichithadheldintheNorthernforests,--aphysicalself-esteemandareadinesstofightontheslightestprovocation.ThisdidnotinterferewiththedesignsoftheChurchandwasratherausefulengineagainstitsenemies.Theabsolutepowerofthecrownkeptthespiritoffeudalarroganceincheckwhilethepressureofacom-mondangerexisted.TheclosecohesionwhichwassonecessaryincampandChurchpreventedthetendencytodisintegration,whilethe right of life and death was freely exercised by the great lords on theirdistant estates without interference. The predominating power of the crownwas too great and too absolute to result in the establishment of any fixedprincipleof obedience to law.Theunionof crozier and sceptrehadbeen, ifanything,toosuccessful.Thekingwassofarabovethenobilitythattherewas
novirtue in obeyinghim.His commissionwasdivine, andhewasnomoreconfined by human laws than the stars and the comets. The obedience theyowed and paid him was not respect to law. It partook of the character ofreligiousworship,and leftuntouchedanduntamed in theirsavagehearts theinstinctofresistancetoallearthlyclaimsofauthority.
Suchwas theconditionof thepublic spiritofSpainat thebeginningof thatwonderfulseriesofreignsfromFerdinandandIsabellatotheirgreat-grandsonPhilipII.,whichinlessthanacenturyraisedSpaintothesummitofgreatnessand built up a realm on which the sun never set. All the events of theseprodigious reigns contributed to increase and intensify the national traits towhichwehavereferred.ThediscoveryofAmericafloodedEuropewithgold,and making the better class of Spaniards the richest people in the worldnaturallyheightenedtheirprideandarrogance.Thelongandeventfulreligiouswars of Charles V. and Philip II. gave employment and distinction tothousandsoffamilieswhosevanitywasnursedbytheroyalfavor,andwhoseferociousself-willwasfedandpamperedbythebloodofhereticsandthespoilofrebels.
Thenationalqualitiesofsuperstitionandpridemadethewholecavalierclassawieldyandeffectiveweaponinthehandsofthemonarch,andtheusehemadeofthemreactedupontheseverytraits,intensifyingandaffirmingthem.
Soterriblewasthisabsolutecommandofthespiritualandphysicalforcesofthe kingdom possessed by the monarchs of that day, that when theReformationflashedout,abeaconinthenorthernskyofpoliticalandreligiousfreedom to theworld, its light could not penetrate into Spain. Therewas amomentary struggle there, it is true.But so apatheticwas the popularmindthattheefforttobringitintosympathywiththevastmovementoftheagewashopeless from thebeginning.Theaxeand the fagotmade rapidworkof theheresy.AfteronlytenyearsofburningsandbeheadingsPhilipII.couldboastthatnotahereticlivedinhisborders.
Crazed by his success and his unquestioned omnipotence at home, anddrunkenwiththedeliriousdreamthatGod'swrathwasbreathingthroughhimuponarevoltedworld,heessayedtocrushheresythroughoutEurope;andinthismad and awful crimehis people undoubtingly secondedhim. In this hefailed,thestarsintheircoursesfightingagainsthim,theGodthathisworshipslanderedtakingsidesagainsthim.Buthistoryrecordswhatriversofbloodheshed in the long and desperate fight, and how lovingly and adoringly hispeoplesustainedhim.Hekilled,incoldblood,somefortythousandharmlesspeoplefortheirfaith,besidesthevastlygreaternumberwhoseliveshetookinbattle.
Yet this horrible monster, who is blackened with every crime at which
humanityshudders,whohadnograceofmanhood,notouchofhumanity,nogleamof sympathywhich could redeem the gloomy picture of his raveninglife,wasbe-lovedandworshippedasfewmenhavebeensincetheworldhasstood. The common people mourned him at his death with genuine unpaidsobsandtears.Theywillweepevenyetatthestoryofhisedifyingdeath,--thismonkishvampirebreathinghislastwithhiseyesfixedonthecrossofthemildNazarene,andtormentedwithimpishdoubtsastowhetherhehaddrunkbloodenoughtofithimforthecompanyofthejust!
Hissuccessorsrapidlyfooledawaythestupendousempirethathadfilledthesixteenthcenturywith itsglory.Spain sank from thepositionof rulerof theworldandqueenoftheseastotheplaceofasecond-ratepower,byreasonofthe weakening power of superstition and bad government, and because thepeopleandthechieftainshadneverlearnedthelessonoflaw.
The clergy lost no tittle of their power. They went on, gayly roasting theirhereticsanddevouringthesubstanceofthepeople,moreprosperousthaneverin those days of national decadence. Philip III. gave up the governmententirelytotheDukeofLerma,whoformedanalliancewiththeChurch,andtheyledtogetherajoyouslife.InthesucceedingreigntheChurchhadbecomesuchagnawingcanceruponthestatethattheservileCorteshadtheplucktoprotestagainstitsinroads.Therewerein1626ninethousandmonasteriesformen, besides nunneries. There were thirty-two thousand Dominican andFranciscanfriars.InthedioceseofSevillealonetherewerefourteenthousandchaplains.Therewasapanic in the land.Everyonewas rushing toget intoholy orders. The Church had all the bread. Men must be monks orstarve.Zelusdomustuaecome-ditme,writestheBritishambassador,detailingthesefacts.
Wemustrememberthatthiswastheagewhenthevastmodernmovementofinquiry and investigation was beginning. Bacon was laying in England thefoundations of philosophy, casting with his prophetic intelligence thehoroscopeofunbornsciences.Descarteswasopeningnewvistasofthoughttotheworld.ButinSpain,whilethegreatestnamesofherliteratureoccuratthistime, they aimed at no higher object than to amuse their betters. CervanteswroteQuixote,buthediedinamonk'shood;andLopedeVegawasafamiliarof the Inquisition. The sad story of the mind of Spain in this momentousperiodmaybewritteninoneword,--everybodybelievedandnobodyinquired.
Thecountrysankfastintofamineandanarchy.ThemadnessofthemonksandthefollyofthekingexpelledtheMoorsin1609,andthelossofamillionofthebestmechanicsandfarmersofSpainstruck thenationwitha torpor likethat of death. In 1650 Sir Edward Hyde wrote that "affairs were in hugedisorder."Peoplemurderedeachotherforaloafofbread.Themarineperished
forwant of sailors. In the stricken landnothing flourishedbut the rabble ofmonksandtheroyalauthority.
Thisisthecuriousfact.TheChurchandtheCrownhadbroughtthemtothismisery, yet better than their lives the Spaniards loved the Church and theCrown.Awordagainsteitherwouldhavecostanymanhislifeinthosedays.Theoldalliancestillhungtogetherfirmly.TheChurchbulliedanddragoonedthekinginprivate,butitvaluedhisdespoticpowertoohighlyevertoslightitin public. There was something superhuman about the faith and venerationwithwhichthepeople,andthearistocracyaswell,regardedthepersonoftheking.Therewas somewhat of gloomy and ferocious dignity about Philip II.whichmighteasilybringacourtiertohisknees;buthowcanweaccountfortheequalreverencethatwaspaidtotheninnyPhilipIII.,thedebauchedtriflerPhilipIV.,andthedrivellingidiotCharlesII.?
Yet all of these were invested with the same attributes of the divine. Theirhands,likethoseofMidas,hadthegiftofmakinganythingtheytouchedtooprecious for mortal use. A horse they had mounted could never be riddenagain.Awomantheyhadlovedmustenteranunnerywhentheyweretiredofher.
WhenBuckinghamcamedowntoSpainwithCharlesofEngland,theConde-DuqueofOlivareswasshockedandscandalizedattherelationofconfidentialfriendshipthatexistedbetweentheprinceandtheduke.TheworldneversawaproudermanthanOlivares.HispicturebyVelazquezhangssidebysidewiththatofhisroyalmasterinMadrid.Youseeataglancethatthecount-dukeisthe better man physically, mentally, morally. But he never dreamed it. Hethoughtinhisinmostheartthatthebestthingabouthimwasthefavoroftheworthlessfribblewhomhegoverned.Throughall thevicissitudesofSpanishhistory the forceof thesemarried superstitions--reverence for theChurch asdistinguishedfromthefearofGod,andreverenceforthekingasdistinguishedfromrespectforlaw--havebeentherulingcharacteristicsoftheSpanishmind.Among the fatal effects of this has been the extinctionof rational piety andrationalpatriotism.IfamanwasnotagoodCatholichewasprettysuretobeanatheist.Ifhedidnothonorthekinghewasanoutlaw.ThewretchedstoryofSpanishdissensionsbeyondseas,andthelossofthevastAmericanempire,is distinctly traceable to the exaggerated sentiment of personal honor,unrestrainedby the absolute authorityof the crown. It seems impossible forthe Spaniard of history and tradition to obey anything out of his sight. TheAmerican provinces have been lost one by one through petty quarrels andcolonial rivalries.At the firstword of dispute their notion of honor obligesthem to fly to arms, and when blood has been shed reconciliation isimpossible. Soweak is the principle of territorial loyalty, thatwhenever thePeninsulagovernmentfindsitnecessarytooverrulesomeviolenceofitsown
soldiers, these find no difficulty in marching over to the insurrection, orraisingafreshrebellionoftheirown.SolittleprogresshastherebeeninSpainfrom the middle ages to to-day in true political science, that we see suchbutchersasCaballeroandValmasedarepeatingto-daythecrimesandfolliesofCortes and PamfiloNarvaez, of Pizarro andAlmagro, and the revolt of thebloodthirstyvolunteersoftheHavanaisonlyaquestionoftime.
Itistruethatinlateryearstherehasbeenthebeginningofabettersystemofthought and discussion in Spain. But the old tradition still holds its owngallantlyinChurchandstate.Nowhereintheworldaretheformsofreligionsorigidlyobserved,andthepreceptsofChristianmoralitylessregarded.Themost facile beauties inMadrid are severe asMinervas onHoly Thursday. Ihaveseenadozenfastmenatthedoorofagambling-housefallontheirkneesin thedustas theHostpassedbyin thestreet.Yet thefairwerenolessfrailandtheseñoritoswerenolessprofligatefor thisunfeignedreverencefor theoutsideofthecupandplatter.
In the domain of politics there is still the lamentable disproportion betweenhonor andhonesty.Ahigh functionary cares nothing if thewholeSalon delPrado talksofhispilferings,buthewill riskhis life inan instant ifyoucallhimnogentleman.Theword"honor"isstillusedinalllegislativeassemblies,even in England and America. But the idea has gone by the board in alldemocracies,andthewordmeansnomorethanthechamberlain'sswordorthespeaker's mace. The only criterion which the statesman of the nineteenthcentury applies to public acts is that of expediency and legality. The firstquestion is, "Is it lawful?" the second, "Does it pay?" Both of these arequestions of fact, and as such susceptible of discussion and proof. Thequestionofhonorandreligioncarriesusatonce into therealmofsentimentwherenodemonstrationispossible.Butthisiswhereeveryquestionisplantedfrom the beginning in Spanish politics. Every public matter presents itselfunderthisform:"Is itconsistentwithSpanishhonor?"and"Will itbetotheadvantage of the Roman Catholic Apostolic Church?" Now, nothing isconsistentwithSpanishhonorwhichdoesnotrecognizetheSpainofto-dayasidenticalwiththeSpainofthesixteenthcentury,andthebankruptgovernmentofMadridasequalinauthoritytotheworld-wideautocracyofCharlesV.AndnothingisthoughttobetotheadvantageoftheChurchwhichdoesnottendtotheconcubinageof thespiritualand temporalpower,and to themuzzlingofspeechandthedruggingofthemindtosleep.
Let any proposition bemadewhich touches this traditional susceptibility ofrace, no matter how sensible or profitable it may be, and you hear in theCortes and the press, and, louder than all, among the idle cavaliers ofthecafés,thewildestdenunciationsofthetreasonthatwouldconsenttolookat things as they are. Themenwho have ventured to support the common-
senseviewarespeedilystormedintosilenceortimidself-defence.TheswordofGuzmanisbrandishedintheChambers,thenameofPelayoisinvoked,thememory of theCid is awakened, and the proposition goes out in a blaze ofpatriotic pyrotechnics, to the intense satisfaction of the unthinking and thegriefof the judicious.The señoritosgoback to the seriousbusinessof theirlives--coffeeandcigarettes--withagenuineglowofprideinacountrywhichiscapableofthenobleself-sacrificeofcuttingoffitsnosetospitesomebodyelse's face. But I repeat, the most favorable sign of the times is that thistyrannyoftraditionislosingitspower.Agreatdealwasdonebythesingleactof drivingout thequeen.Thiswas a blowat superstitionwhichgave to thewhole body politic a most salutary shock. Never before in Spain had arevolution been directed at the throne. Before it was always an obnoxiousministry that was to be driven out. The monarch remained; and the exiledoutlawofto-daymightbepremierto-morrow.ButthefallofNovalichesattheBridgeofAlcoleadecidedthefatenotonlyoftheministrybutofthedynasty;andwhileGeneralConchawaswaitingforthetraintoleaveMadrid,IsabelofBourbonandDivineRightwerepassingthePyrenees.
AlthoughthemoralpoweroftheChurchisstillsogreat,theincorporationoffreedomofworshipintheconstitutionof1869hasbeenfollowedbyareallyremarkabledevelopmentoffreedomofthought.Thepropositionwasregardedbysomewithhorrorandbyotherswithcontempt.OneofthemostenlightenedstatesmeninSpainoncesaidtome,"Theprovisionforfreedomofworshipintheconstitutionisamereabstractproposition,--itcanneverhaveanypracticalvalue except for foreigners. I cannot conceive of a Spaniard being anythingbut a Catholic." And so powerful was this impression in the minds of thedeputies that the article only accords freedom of worship to foreigners inSpain,andadds,hypothetically,thatifanySpaniardsshouldprofessanyotherreligion than theCatholic, theyareentitled to thesamelibertyasforeigners.The Inquisitionhasbeendeadhalf a century,butyoucan seehow itsghoststill haunts the officialmind of Spain. It is touching to see how the brokenlinksofthechainofsuperstitionstillhangabouteventhosewhoimaginetheyaredefyingit.AsintheirChristianburials,followingunwittinglytheexampleofthehatedMoors,theybearthecorpsewithuncoveredfacetothegrave,andfollowitwiththefuneraltorchoftheRomans,sotheformulaoftheChurchclingseventothemummeryoftheatheists.NotlongagoinMadridamanandwomanwhobelongedtosomefantasticorderwhichrejectedreligionandlawhadachildborntotheminthecourseofthings,anddeterminedthatitshouldbegin life free from the taint of superstition. It should not be christened, itshouldbenamed,intheNameofReason.Buttheycouldnotbreakloosefromtheideaofbaptism.Theypouredabottleofwaterontheshiveringnapeofthepoorlittleneophyte,anditsfraillifewentoutinitsfirstwheezingweek.
ButinspiteofallthisaspiritofreligiousinquiryisgrowingupinSpain,andtheChurchseesitandcannotpreventit.ItwatchestheliberalnewspapersandtheProtestantprayer-meetingsmuchastheoldgiantinBunyan'sdreamglaredatthepassingpilgrims,mumblingandmutteringtoothlesscurses.Itlooksasifthedeadsleepofuniformityof thoughtwere tobebrokenat last,andSpainweretoenterthehealthfulandvivifyingatmosphereofcontroversy.
Symptoms of a similar change may be seen in the world of politics. TheRepublican party is only a year or two old, but what a vigorous and noisyinfant it is!With all its faults and errors, it seems to have the promise of asturdyandwholesomefuture. It refuses tobeboundby thememoriesof thepast,butkeepsitseyesfixedonthebrighterpossibilitiestocome.Itsjournals,undeterred by the sword ofGuzmanor the honor of all theCaballeros,--themenonhorseback,--areadvo-eatingsuchsensiblemeasuresas justiceto theAntilles,andthesaleofoutlyingproperty,whichcostsmorethanitproduces.EmilioCastelar,castingbehindhimalltherestraintsoftradition,announcesashisideaofliberty"therightofallcitizenstoobeynothingbutthelaw."Thereis no sounder doctrine than this preached in Manchester or Boston. If theSpanishpeoplecanbebroughttoseethatGodisgreaterthantheChurch,andthatthelawisabovetheking,thedayoffinaldeliveranceisathand.
TAUROMACHY
THE bull-fight is the national festival of Spain. The rigidBritons have hadtheirflingatitformanyyears.TheeffeminatebadaudofParishasdeclaimedagainstitsbarbarity.EventhearistocracyofSpainhasbeguntosuspectitofvulgarityand towithdraw from thearena the lightof itsnoblecountenance.But the Spanish people still hold it to their hearts and refuse to beweanedfromit.
"AsPanemetCircenseswas thecryAmong theRomanpopulaceofold,SoPanyTorosisthecryinSpain."
Itisatraditionwhichhaspassedintotheirnationalexistence.Theyreceiveditfrom nowhere. They have transmitted it nowhither except to their owncolonies.Inlateyearsanefforthasbeenmadetotransplantit,butwithsmallsuccess.Therewere a fewbull-fights four years ago atHavre.Therewas asensation of curiosity which soon died away. This year in London theexperimentwastried,butwashootedoutofexistence,tothegreatdispleasureof the Spanish journals, who said the ferocious Islanders would doubtlessgreatlypreferbaitingtodeathahalfdozenIrishserfsfromtheestateofLordFritters,--a gentle diversion inwhichwe are led to believe theBritish peers
passtheirleisurehours.
Itisthismonopolyofthebull-fightwhichsoendearsittotheSpanishheart.Itis to them conclusive proof of the vast superiority of both the human andtaurinespeciesinSpain.Theeminenttorero,PepeIllo,said:"Theloveofbullsis inherent inman,especially in theSpaniard, amongwhichgloriouspeopletherehavebeenbull-fights ever sincebullswere, because," addsPepe,withthatmodestywhich forms so charming a trait of the Iberian character, "theSpanishmenareasmuchmorebravethanallothermen,astheSpanishbullismoresavageandvaliantthanallotherbulls."Thesportpermeatesthenationallife.Ihaveseenitwovenintothetapestryofpalaces,andrudelystampedonthehandkerchiefofthepeasant.Itisthefavoritegameofchildreninthestreet.Loyal Spain was thrilled with joy recently on reading in its PariscorrespondencethatwhentheexiledPrinceofAsturiaswentforahalf-holidaytovisithisimperialcomradeattheTuileries,theurchinshadagameof"toro"on the terrace, admirably conducted by the little Bourbon and followed upwithgreatspiritbythelittleMontijo-Bonaparte.
The bull-fight has not always enjoyed the royal favor. Isabel the Catholicwouldfainhaveabolishedbathingandbull-fightingtogether.TheSpaniards,who willingly gave up their ablutions, stood stoutly by their bulls, and theenergeticqueenwasbaffled.AgainwhentheBourbonscameinwithPhilipV.,thecourtiersturneduptheirthinnosesatthecoarsediversion,andinducedthekingtoabolishit.Itwouldnotstayabolished,however,andPhilip'ssuccessorbuilt the present coliseum in expiation.The spectacle has, nevertheless, lostmuchofitsearlysplendorbythehammeringoftime.Formerlythegayestandbravest gentlemenof the court,mountedon thebest horses in thekingdom,wentintothearenaanddefiedthebullinthenamesoftheirlady-loves.Nowthebullisbaitedandslainbyhiredartists,andthehorsestheymountarethesorriesthacksthateverwenttotheknacker.
OneofthemostbrilliantshowsofthekindthatwaseverputuponthescenewastheFestivalofBullsgivenbyPhilipIV.inhonorofCharlesI.,
"When theStuartcamefromfar,Ledbyhis love'ssweetpain,ToMary, theguidingstarThatshoneintheheavenofSpain."
AndthememoryofthatdazzlingoccasionwasrenewedbyFerdinandVII.intheyearofhisdeath,whenhecalleduponhissubjectstoswearallegiancetohis baby Isabel. This festival took place in the PlazaMayor. The king andcourt occupied the same balconies which Charles and his royal friend andmodel had filled two centuries before. The championswere poor nobles, ofgoodbloodbutscantysubstance,whofoughtforgloryandpensions,andhadquadrilles of well-trained bull-fighters at their stirrups to prevent the farcefrombecomingtragedy.Theroyal lifeofIsabelofBourbonwasinaugurated
bythespilledbloodofonehundredbullssaveone.Thegoryprophecyofthatday has beenwell sustained. Not one year has passed since then free frombloodshedinhercause.
Buttheseextraordinaryattractionsarenotnecessarytomakeafestivalofbullsthe most seductive of all pleasures to a Spaniard. On any pleasant Sundayafternoon,fromEastertoAllSouls,youhaveonlytogointothestreettoseethatthereissomegreatexcitementfusingthepopulaceintoonelivingmassofsympathy.Allfacesareturnedoneway,allmindsarefilledwithonepurpose.FromthePuertadelSoldownthewideAlcaláavastcrowdwinds,solidasaglacier and bright as a kaleidoscope. From the grandee in his blazonedcarriage to the manóla in her calico gown, there is no class unrepresented.Many a red hand grasps the magic ticket which is to open the realm ofenchantment to-day,andwhichrepresentsshortcommonsforaweekbefore.Thepawnbrokers'shopshavebeenveryanimatedforthefewprecedingdays.Thereisnothingtooprecioustobepartedwithforthesakeofthebulls.Manyofthesesmartgirlshavemadetheultimatesacrificeforthatcovetedscrapofpaper.Theywould leaveone theirmother's crosswith the childrenof Israelrather than not go. It is no cheap entertainment. The worst places in thebroiling sun cost twenty cents, four reals; and the boxes are sold usually atfifteen dollars. These prices are necessary to cover the heavy expenses ofbulls,horses,andgladiators.
Thewaytothebull-ringisoneofindescribableanimation.Thecabmendrivefuriously this day their broken-kneed nags, who will soon be found on thehorns of the bulls, for this is the natural death of theMadrid cab-horse; theomnibusteamsdashgaylyalongwiththeirshrillchimeofbells;therearetherude jests of clowns and the high voices of excited girls; thewater-vendersdroning their tempting cry, "Cool as the snow!" the sellers of fans and themerchants of gingerbread picking up their harvests in the hot and hungrycrowd.
ThePlazadeTorosstandsjustoutsidethemonumentalgateoftheAlcalá.Itisa low, squat,prison-likecircusof stone, stuccoedandwhitewashed,withnopretence of ornament or architectural effect. There is no nonsensewhateveraboutit.Itisbuiltforthekillingofbullsandfornootherpurpose.Aroundit,onadayofbattle,youwillfindencampedgreatarmiesofthelowerclassofMadrileños,who, being at financial ebb-tide, cannot pay to go in. But theycomeallthesame,tobeintheenchantedneighborhood,toheartheshoutsandroarsofthefavoredoneswithin,andtoseizeanypossibleoccasionforgettingin. Who knows? A caballero may come out and give them his check. AnEnglishladymaybecomedisgustedandgohome,takingawaynumerouslordswhoseplaceswillbevacant.Theskymayfall,andtheymaycatchfourreals'worthoflarks.Itisworthtakingthechances.
Onedoesnotsoonforgetthefirstsightofthefullcoliseum.Inthecentreisthesanded arena, surrounded by a high barrier. Around this rises the gradedsuccession of stone benches for the people; then numbered seats for theconnoisseurs; and above a row of boxes extending around the circle. Thebuildingholds,whenfull,somefourteenthousandpersons;andthereisrarelyanyvacantspace.FormyselfIcansaythatwhatIvainlystrovetoimagineinthecoliseumatRome,andinthemoresolemnsolitudeoftheamphitheatresofCapuaandPompeii,cameupbeforemewiththevividnessoflifeonenteringthebull-ringofMadrid.This,andnoneother,wastheclassicarena.Thiswasthecrowdthatsatexpectant,underthebluesky,inthehotglareoftheSouth,whilethedoomedcaptivesofDaciaorthesectariesofJudeacommendedtheirsoulstothegodsoftheDanube,ortheCrucifiedofGalilee.Halfthesandlayin the blinding sun.Half the seatswere illuminated by the fierce light. Theotherhalfwasinshadow,andthedarkcrescentcreptslowlyalltheafternoonacrossthearenaasthesundeclinedinthewest.
It ishard toconceiveamorebrilliantscene.Thewomenputon theirgayestfineryforthisoccasion.Inthewarmlight,everybitofcolorflashesout,everycombinationfallsnaturallyintoitsplace.IamafraidtheluxurianceofhuesinthedressofthefairIberianswouldbeconsideredshockinginBroadway,butin the vast frame and broad light of the Plaza the effectwas very brilliant.Thousandsofparty-coloredpaperfansaresoldatthering.Thefavoritecolorsarethenationalredandyellow,andtheflutteringofthesebroad,brightdisksofcolorisdazzlinglyattractive.Thereisagayetyofconversation,aquickfireofrepartee,shoutsofrecognitionandsalutation,whichaltogethermakeupabewildering confusion.Theweary youngwater-men scream their snow-coldrefreshment.Theorange-menwalkwiththeirgold-freightedbasketsalongthebarrier,andthrowtheirorangeswiththemostmarvellousskillandcertaintytopeople in distant boxes or benches. They never miss their mark. They willthrow over the heads of a thousand people a dozen oranges into theoutstretchedhandsofcustomers,soswiftlythatitseemslikeonelineofgoldfromthedealertothebuyer.
Atlengththeblastofatrumpetannouncestheclearingofthering.Theidlerswhohavebeenlounginginthearenaaresweptoutbythealguaciles,andthehumofconversationgivesway toanexpectantsilence.When the last loaferhasreluctantlyretired,thegreatgateisthrownopen,andtheprocessionofthetorerosenters.Theyadvanceinaglitteringline:firstthemarshalsoftheday,thenthepicadorsonhorseback,thenthematadorsonfootsurroundedeachbyhis quadrille of chulos. They walk towards the box which holds the cityfathers, under whose patronage the show is given, and formally salute theauthority.Thisisallveryclassic,also,recallingtheAveCaesar,morituri,etc.,of thegladiators. It lacks,however, thesolemnityof theRomansalute, from
thosesplendidfellowswhowouldneverallleavethearenaalive.Abullfighterissometimeskilled,itistrue,butthepercentageofdeadlydangerisscarcelyenough tomake a spectator's heart beat as the bedizened procession comesflashingbyinthesun.
Themunicipalauthoritythrowsthebowingalguacilakey,whichhecatchesinhis hat, or is hissed if he misses it.With this he unlocks the door throughwhich the bull is to enter, and then scampers off with undignified hastethrough theoppositeentrance.There isabugle flourish, thedoor fliesopen,and the bull rushes out, blind with the staring light, furious with rage,trembling in every limb. This is the most intense moment of the day. Thegloriousbruteisthetargetoftwelvethousandpairsofeyes.Thereisasilenceasofdeath,while everyonewaits to seehis firstmovement.He isdoomedfrom the beginning; the curtain has risen on a three-act tragedy,whichwillsurelyendwithhisdeath,buttheincidentswhicharetofilltheintervalareallunknown.Themindsandeyesofallthatvastassemblyknownothingforthetimebutthemovementsofthatbrute.Hestandsforaninstantrecoveringhissenses.Hehasbeenshotsuddenlyoutofthedarknessintothatdazzlinglight.He sees around him a sight such as he never confronted before,--a wall oflivingfaceslitupbythousandsofstaringeyes.Hedoesnotdwelllonguponthis,however; inhisprideandangerheseesanearerenemy.Thehorsemenhave taken position near the gate, where they sit motionless as burlesquestatues, their long ashen spears, iron-tipped, in rest, their wretched nagsstanding blindfolded,with trembling knees, and necks like dromedaries, notdreamingof theirnearfate.Thebullrushes,withasnort,at thenearestone.Thepicadorholdsfirmly,plantinghisspear-pointintheshoulderofthebrute.Sometimes the bull flinches at this sharp and sudden punishment, and thepicador,byasuddenturntotheleft,getsawayunhurt.Thenthereisapplauseforthetoreroandhissesforthebull.Someindignantamateursgosofarastocallhimcow,andtoinformhimthatheisthesonofhismother.Butoftenerherushesin,notcaringforthespear,andwithonetossofhissharphornstumbleshorse and rider in one heap against the barrier and upon the sand. Thecapeadores,thecloak-bearers,comeflutteringaroundanddivertthebullfromhis prostrate victims. The picador is lifted to his feet,--his iron armor notpermittinghimtorisewithouthelp,--andthehorseisrapidlyscannedtoseeifhis wounds are immediately mortal. If not, the picador mounts again, andprovokes the bull to another rush.A horsewill usually endure two or threeattacksbeforedying.Sometimesasingleblowfrominfrontpiercestheheart,and the blood spouts forth in a cataract. In this case the picador hastilydismounts,andthebridleandsaddlearestrippedinaninstantfromthedyingbrute.Ifabullisenergeticandrapidinexecution,hewillclearthearenainafewmoments.Herushesatonehorseafteranother,tearsthemopenwithhisterrible "spears" ("horns" is aword never used in the ring), and sends them
madlygallopingoverthearena,tramplingouttheirgushingbowelsastheyfly.Theassistantswatchtheiropportunity,fromtimetotime,totakethewoundedhorses out of the ring, plug up their gaping rents with tow, and sew themroughlyupforanothersally.It is incredible toseewhat thesepoorcreatureswill endure,--carrying their riders at a lumberinggallopover the ring,whentheir thin sides seem empty of entrails. Sometimes the bull comes upon thedead body of a horse he has killed. The smell of blood and the unmovinghelplessness of the victim excite him to the highest pitch. He gores andtramples the carcass, and tosses it in the air with evident enjoyment, untildiverted by some living tormentor. You will occasionally see a picadornervous and anxious about his personal safety. They are ignorant andsuperstitious,andsubjecttopresentiments;theyoftengointotheringwiththeimpressionthattheirlasthourhascome.Ifonetakescounselofhisfearsandavoids the shockof combat, thehard-hearted crowd immediatelydiscover itandrainmaledictionsonhishead.Isawapicadoronceentertheringaspaleasdeath.Hekeptcarefullyoutofthewayofthebullforafewminutes.Thesharp-eyedSpaniardsnoticedit,andcommencedshouting,"Craven!Hewantsto live forever!" They threw orange-skins at him, and at last, their ragevanquishingtheireconomy,theypeltedhimwithoranges.Hispallorgavewayto a flush of shame and anger. He attacked the bull so awkwardly that theanimal,killinghishorse,threwhimalsowithgreatviolence.Hishatflewoff,his baldhead struck thehard soil.He lay there as onedead, andwasborneawaylifeless.Thismollifiedtheindignantpeople,andtheydesistedfromtheirabuse.
Acowardlybullismuchmoredangerousthanacourageousone,wholowershishead,shutshiseyes,andgoesblindlyateverythinghesees.Thelastrefugeofabullintroubleistoleapthebarrier,whereheproducesalivelymomentamongthewater-carriersandorange-boysandstage-carpenters.Ioncesawabull,whohaddoneverylittleexecutioninthearena,leapthebarriersuddenlyand toss an unfortunate carpenter from the gangway sheer into the ring.Hepickedhimselfup, laughed, salutedhis friends, rana littledistanceand fell,and was carried out dying. Fatal accidents are rarely mentioned in thenewspapers,anditisconsiderednotquitegoodformtotalkaboutthem.
When thebull haskilled enoughhorses, the first act of theplay terminates.But this is an exceedingly delicatematter for the authorities to decide. Theaudience will not endure any economy in this respect. If the bull isenterprisingand"voluntary,"hemusthaveasmanyhorsesashecandisposeof.OnedayinMadridthebullsoperatedwithsuchactivitythatthesupplyofhorseswasexhaustedbeforethecloseoftheshow,andthecontractorsrushedout inapanicandboughtahalfdozenscrewsfromthenearestcab-stand. Ifthepresidentordersoutthehorsesbeforetheirtime,hewillhearremarksby
nomeanscomplimentaryfromtheausteregroundlings.
The second act is the play of the banderilleros, the flag-men. They arebeautifullydressedandsuperblybuiltfellows,principallyfromAndalusia,gotuppreciselylikeFigarointheopera.Theirsisthemostdelicateandgracefuloperationofthebull-fight.Theytakeapairofbarbeddarts,withlittlebannersflutteringattheirends,andprovokethebulltorushatthem.Attheinstanthereachesthem,whenitseemsnothingcansavethem,theystepasideandplantthe banderillas in the neck of the bull. If the bull has been cowardly andsluggish, and the spectators have called for "fire," darts are used filledwithdetonating powder at the base, which explode in the flesh of the bull. Hedancesandskipslikeakidoracoltinhisagony,whichisverydivertingtotheSpanish mind. A prettier conceit is that of confining small birds in papercages, which come apart when the banderilla is planted, and set the littleflutteringcaptivesfree.Deckingthebullwiththesetorturingornamentsisthelaststagein theapprenticeshipof thechulo,beforeherises to thedignityofmatador,orkiller.Thematadors themselveson specialoccasions think itnoderogation from their dignity to act as banderilleros. But they usuallyaccompanytheactwithsomeexaggerationofdifficultythatreapsforthemaharvestofapplause.Frascuelositsinachairandplantstheirritatingbannerets.Lagartijolayshishandkerchiefonthegroundandstandsuponitwhilehecoifsthebull.Aperformancewhichneverfails tobringdownthehouseisfor thetorerotoawaittherushofthebull,andwhenthebellowingmonstercomesathimwithwinkingeyesandloweredhead,toputhisslipperedfootbetweenthehorns,andvaultlightlyoverhisback.
These chulos exhibit the most wonderful skill and address in evading theassaultofthebull.Theycanalmostalwaystrickhimbywavingtheircloaksalittleoutofthelineoftheirflight.Sometimes,however,thebullrunsstraightattheman,disregardingtheflag,andifthedistanceisgreattothebarrierthedanger is imminent; for swift as thesemenare, thebullsare swifter.Once Isawthebullstrikethetoreroattheinstanthevaultedoverthebarrier.Hefellsprawlingsomedistancetheotherside,safe,butterriblybruisedandstunned.As soon as he could collect himself he sprang into the arena again, lookingvery seedy; and the crowd roared, "Saved bymiracle." I could but think ofBasilio, who, when the many cried, "A miracle," answered, "Industria!Industria!"But these bullfighters are all very pious, and glad to curry favorwiththesaintsbyattributingeverysuccess to their intervention.Thefamousmatador,PacoMontes,ferventlybelievedinanamulethecarried,andintheinvocationofOurLordoftheTrueCross.Hecalleduponthisspecialnameineverytightplace,andwhileotherpeopletalkedofhisluckhestoutlyaffirmeditwashisfaiththatsavedhim;oftenhesaidhesawtheveritablepictureofthePassioncomingdownbetweenhimandthebull,inanswertohisprayers.At
every bull-ring there is a little chapel in the refreshment-roomwhere thesedevoutruffianscantossoffaprayerortwointheintervalsofwork.Apriestisalwaysathandwithaconsecratedwafer,tovisathetorero'spassportwhohastostartsuddenlyforParadise. It isnotexactly regular,but theringhasbuiltmany churches and endowed many chapels, and must not be too rigidlyregarded. In many places the chief boxes are reserved for the clergy, andprayersarehurriedthroughanhourearlieronthedayofcombat.
Thefinalactisthedeathofthebull.Itmustcomeatlast.Hisexploitsintheearlypartofhiscareeraffordtotheamateursomeindicationofthemannerinwhichhewillmeethisend.Ifheisagenerous,courageousbrute,withmoreheartthanbrains,hewilldiegallantlyandbeeasilykilled.Butifhehasshownreflection,forethought,andthatsavingqualityoftheoppressed,suspicion,thematadorhasaseriousworkbeforehim.Thebullisalwaysregardedfromthisobjective standpoint. The more power of reason the brute has, the worseopiniontheSpaniardhasofhim.Astupidcreaturewhorushesblindlyontheswordofthematadorisananimalafterhisownheart.Butiftherebeoneintowhose brute brain some glimmer of the awful truth has come,--and thissometimeshappens,--ifhefeelsthesolemnquestionatissuebetweenhimandhisenemy,ifheeyesthemanandnottheflag,ifherefusestobefooledbythewavinglure,butkeepsallhisstrengthandallhisfacultiesforhisowndefence,thesouloftheSpaniardrisesupinhateandloathing.Hecallsonthematadortokillhimanyway. Ifhewillnot rushat the flag, thecrowdshouts for thedemi-lune;andthenoblebruteishoughedfrombehind,andyoursoulgrowssickwith shameofhumannature, at thehellishgleewithwhich theywatchhimhobblingonhisseveredlegs.
Thisseldomhappens.Thefinalactisusuallyanadmirablestudyofcoolnessand skill against brute force.When the banderillas are all planted, and thebugles sound for the third time, the matador, the espada, the sword, stepsforwardwithamodestconsciousnessofdistinguishedmerit,andmakesabriefspeechtothecorregidor,offeringinhonorof thegoodcityofMadridtokillthe bull. He turns on his heel, throws his hat by a dexterous back-handedmovementover thebarrier,andadvances,swordandcape inhand, towherehisnobleenemyawaitshim.Thebullappearstorecognizeamoreseriousfoethananyhehasencountered.Hestopsshortandeyesthenewcomercuriously.Itisalwaysanimpressivepicture:thetortured,maddenedanimal,whosethinflanksarepalpitatingwithhishotbreath,hiscoatoneshiningmassofbloodfrom the darts and the spear-thrusts, his massive neck still decked as inmockerywiththeflutteringflags,hisfineheadandmuzzleseemingsharpenedbythehour's terribleexperience,hisformidablehornscrimsonedwithonset;infrontofthisfierybulkofforceandcourage,theslight,sinewyframeofthekiller,whoseonlyreliance isonhiscoolnessandhis intellect. Ineversawa
matadorcomecarelesslytohiswork.Heisusuallypaleandalert.Hestudiesthebull for amomentwith all his eyes.Hewaves theblood-red engaño, orlure,beforehisface.Ifthebullrushesatitwithhiseyesshut,theworkiseasy.Hehasonlytoselecthisownstrokeandmakeit.Butifthebullisjealousandsly,itrequiresthemostcarefulmanagementtokillhim.Thedispositionofthebull is developed by a few rapid passes of the red flag. This must not becontinued too long: the tension of the nerves of the auditory will not beartrifling.Irememberonedaythecrowdwasarousedtofurybyabuglerfromtheadjoiningbarracksplayingretreatat themomentofdecision.Allatoncethematadorseizesthefavorableinstant.Hepoiseshisswordasthebullrushesuponhim.Thepoint enters justbetween the left shoulder and the spine; thelong blade glides in up to the hilt. The bull reels and staggers and dies.Sometimesthematadorseversthevertebrae.Theeffectislikemagic.Helaysthe point of his sword between the bull's horns, as lightly as a lady whotoucheshercavalierwithherfan,andhefallsdeadasastone.
If the blow is a clean, well-delivered one, the enthusiasm of the people isunbounded. Their approval comes up in a thunderous shout of "Well done!Valiente! Viva!" A brown shower of cigars rains on the sand. The victorgathersthemup:theyfillhishands,hispockets,hishat.Hegivesthemtohisfriends,andthearomaticshowercontinues.Hundredsofhatsareflungintothering. He picks them up and shies them back to their shouting owners.Sometimes a dollar is mingled with the flying compliments; but theenthusiasmof theSpaniardrarelycarrieshimsofaras that.For tenminutesafteragoodestocada,thematadoristhemostpopularmaninSpain.
But the trumpets sound again, the door of the Toril flies open, another bullcomesrushingout,andthepresentinterestquenchesthepast.Theplaybeginsagain,withitssamenessofpurposeanditsinfinitevarietyofincident.
Itisnotquiteaccuratetosay,asisoftensaid,thatthebull-fighterrunsnorisk.ElTato,thefirstswordofSpain,losthislegin1869,andhislifewassavedbythe coolness and courage of Lagartijo, who succeeded him in thechampionship, andwhowas terriblywounded in the foot the next summer.Arjona killed a bull in the same year, which tossed and ruptured him afterreceivinghis death-blow.Pepe Illo died in harness, on the sand.Everyyearpicadors,chulos,andsuchsmalldeerarekilled,withoutgossip.ImustcopytheinscriptionontheswordwhichTatopresentedtoLagartijo,asaspecimenoftauromachianliterature:--
"If, as philosophers say, gratitude is the tribute of noble souls, accept, dearLagartijo, this present; preserve it as a sacred relic, for it symbolizes thememory of my glories, and is at the same time the mute witness of mymisfortune.WithitIkilledmylastbullnamedPeregrino,bredbyD.Vicente
Martínez,fourthofthefightofthe7thJune,1869,inwhichactIreceivedthewoundwhichhascausedtheamputationofmyrightleg.ThewillofmancandonothingagainstthedesignsofProvidence.Nothingbutresignationislefttothyaffectionatefriend,AntonioSánchez[Tato]." It is inconsiderationof themingled skill and danger of the trade, that such enormous fees are paid theprincipal performers. The leading swordsmen receive about three hundreddollarsforeachperformance,andtheyareeagerlydisputedbythedirectionofallthearenasofSpain.Inspiteoftheselargewages,theyarerarelyrich.Theyareaswastefulandimprovidentasgamblers.Tato,whenhelosthis leg, losthismeansofsubsistence,andhiscomradesorganizedoneor twobenefits tokeephimfromwant.Cucharesdied in theHavana,and leftnoprovisionforhisfamily.
There is a curious naíveté in the play-bill of a bull-fight, the onlyconscientious public document I have seen in Spain. You know howwe ofNorthernbloodexaggeratetheattractionsofallsortsofshows,trustingtothemagnanimity of the audience. "He warn't nothing like so little as that,"confessesMr.Magsman, "butwhere 's your dwarfwhat is?" There are fewwho have the moral courage to demand their money back because theycounted but thirty-nine thieves when the bills promised forty. But themanagement of the Madrid bull-ring knows its public too well to promisemore than it is sureofperforming. It announces sixbulls, andpositivelynomore. Itsays therewillbenouseofbloodhounds. Itpromises twopicadors,with three others in reserve, and warns the public that if all five becomeinutilized in the combat, nomorewill be issued.With so fair a preliminarystatement,whatcrowd,howeverinflammable,couldmobthemanagement?
Some industrious and ascetic statistician has visited Spain and interestedhimselfinthebullring.Herearesomeoftheresultsofhisresearches.In1864thenumberofplacesinallthetaurineestablishmentsofSpainwas509,283,ofwhich246,813belongedtothecities,and262,470tothecountry.
In theyear1864, therewere427bull-fights,ofwhich294 tookplace in thecities,and133inthecountrytowns.Thereceiptsofninety-eightbullringsin1864 reached the enormous sum of two hundred and seventeen and a halfmillionsofreals(nearly$11,000,000).The427bull-fightswhichtookplaceinSpainduringtheyear1864causedthedeathof2989ofthesefineanimals,andabout 7473 horses,--somethingmore than half the number of the cavalry ofSpain. These wasted victims could have ploughed three hundred thousandhectaresofland,whichwouldhaveproducedamillionandahalfhectolitresofgrain,wortheightymillionsof reals; all thiswithoutcounting thecostofthe slaughtered cattle, worth say seven or eight millions, at a moderatecalculation.
ThusfartheArithmeticMan;towhomrespondsthetauromachianaficionado:That thebulkof this incomegoes topurposesofcharity; thatwere therenobull-fights,bullsofgoodracewouldceasetobebred;thatnobodyeversawahorse in a bull-ring that could plough a furrow of a hundred yardswithoutgivingup theghost; that thenerve,dexterity,andknowledgeofbrutenaturegainedinthearenaisagoodthingtohaveinthecountry;that,inshort,itisourwayofamusingourselves,and ifyoudon't like ityoucangohomeandcultivateprize-fighters,orkilltwo-year-oldcoltsontheracecourse,ormurderjockeys in hurdle-races, or break your own necks in steeple-chases, or insearchofwilderexcitement thickenyourbloodwithbeerorburnyoursoulsoutwithwhiskey.
And this isallwegetbyourwell-meanteffort toconvinceSpaniardsof thebrutalityofbullfights.MustChicagobevirtuousbeforeIcanobjecttoMadridale,andsaythatitscakesareundulygingered?
Yeteven thosewhomost stoutlydefend thebull-fight feel that itsgloryhasdepartedand that ithasentered into theeraof fulldecadence. Iwas talkingone evening with a Castilian gentleman, one of those who cling withmostpersistencetothenationaltraditions,andheconfessedthatthenobleartwaswounded to death. "I do not refer, asmany do, to the change from the oldtimes, when gentlemen fought on their own horses in the ring. That wasnonsense, and could not survive the time of Cervantes. Life is too short tolearn bull-fighting. A grandee of Spain, if he knows anything else, wouldmake a sorry torero.The good times of the art aremoremodern. I saw theshort day of the glory of the ring when I was a boy. There was a race ofgladiatorsthen,suchastheworldwillneverseeagain,--mightyfightersbeforetheking.PepeIlloandCostillares,RomeroandPacoMontes,--theworlddoesnot contain the stuff tomake their counterparts. Theywere serious, earnestmen. They would have let their right arms wither before they would havecourted the applause of the mob by killing a bull outside of the severetraditions.Compare themwith themen of to-day,with yourRafaelMolina,who allows himself to be gored, playing with a heifer; with your frivolousboys like Frascuelo. I have seen the ring convulsed with laughter as thatbuffoon strutted across the arena, flirting his muleta as a manóla does herskirts, thebewilderedbullnotknowingwhat tomakeofit. ItwasenoughtomakeIlloturninhisbloodygrave.
"Why,myyoungfriend,Irememberwhenbullswereadignifiedandseriousmatter; when we kept account of their progress from their pasture to thecapital.Wehadaccountsoftheirconditionbycouriersandcarrier-pigeons.Onthe day when they appeared it was a high festival in the court. All thesombreros in Spain were there, the ladies in national dress with whitemantillas. The young queen always in her palco (mayGod guard her). The
fightersofthatdaywerehighpriestsofart;therewassomethingofvenerationintheregardthatwaspaidthem.Duchessesthrewthembouquetswithbillets-doux.Gossipandnewspapershavedestroyedtheromanceofcommonlife.
"TheonlypleasureItakeinthePlazadeTorosnowisatnight.Thecustodiansknowme and letmemoon about in the dark.When all that is ignoble andmeanhasfadedawaywiththedaylight, itseemstometheghostsof theoldtime come back upon the sands. I can fancy the patter of light hoofs, theglancingofspectralhorns.IcanimaginetheagiletreadofRomero,thedeadlythrustofMontes,thewhisperoflong-vanishedapplause,andtheclappingofghostly hands. I am growing too old for such skylarking, and I sometimescomeawaywithacoldinmyhead.Butyouwillneverseeabull-fightyoucanenjoyas Ido thesevisionary festivals,wherememory is thecorregidor, andwheretheonlyspectatorsarethestarsandI."
RED-LETTERDAYS
NO people embrace more readily than the Spaniards the opportunity ofspendingadaywithoutwork.Their frequentholidaysarearelicof thedayswhentheChurchstoodbetweenthepeopleandtheirtaskmasters,andfastenedmorefirmlyitsholdupontheheartsoftheignorantandoverworkedmasses,bybecomingatoncethefountainofsalvationinthenextworld,andofrestinthis.Thegovernmentratherencouragedthisgrowthofplay-days,astheItalianBourbons used to foster mendicancy, by way of keeping the people asunthrifty as possible. Lazzaroni are so much more easily managed thanburghers!ItisonlytheholydaysthataresuccessfullycelebratedinSpain.Thestate has tried of late years to consecrate to idle parade a few revolutionarydates, but they have no vigorous national life. They grow feebler andmorecolorlessyearbyyear,becausetheyhavenodepthofearth.
The most considerable of these national festivals is the 2d of May, whichcommemorates the slaughter of patriots in the streets of Madrid byMurat.This is a political holiday which appeals more strongly to the nationalcharacter of the Spaniards than any other. The mingled pride of race andignorant hate of everything foreign which constitutes that singular passioncalled Spanish patriotism, or Españolismo, is fully called into play by therecollectionsoftheterriblescenesoftheirwarofindependence,whichdroveout a foreign king, and brought back into Spain a native despot infinitelymeanerandmoreinjurious.Itisanimpressivestudyinnationalcharacterandthought,thisself-satisfactionofevenliberalSpaniardsatthereflectionthat,byavastandsupremeeffortofthenation,aftercountlesssacrificesandwiththe
aidofcoalescedEurope,theyexchangedJosephBonaparteforFerdinandVII.andtheInquisition.ButthevictimsoftheDosdeMayofellfighting.Daoiz,Velarde, and Ruiz were bayoneted at their guns, scorning surrender. ThealcaldeofMostoles,apettyvillageofCastile,calledonSpaintoriseagainstthe tyrant. And Spain obeyed the summons of this cross-roads justice. Thecontemptofprobabilities, theQuixotismof thesesuccessivedemonstrations,endearthemtotheSpanishheart.
Every2dofMaythecityofMadridgivesupthedaytofuneralhonorstothedeadof1808.Thecitygovernment,attendedbyitsMaceros,intheirgorgeousrobesofgoldandscarlet,withsilvermacesandlongwhiteplumes;thepublicinstitutions of all grades, with invalids and veterans and charity children; alargedetachmentof thearmyandnavy,--formavastprocessionat theTownHall,and,headedbytheSupremeGovernment,marchtoslowmusicthroughthePuertadelSolandthespaciousAlcalástreettothegraniteobeliskinthePradowhichmarkstheresting-placeofthepatriotdead.Isawtheregentofthekingdom, surrounded by his cabinet, sauntering all a summer's afternoonunderablazingsunoverthedustymilethatseparatesthemonumentfromtheAyuntamiento.TheSpaniardsarehopelessly inefficient in thesematters.Thepeople always fill the line of march, and a rivulet of procession meandersfeebly through a wilderness of mob. It is fortunate that the crowd is moreentertainingthantheshow.
TheChurchhasaveryindifferentpartinthisceremonial.Itdoesnothingmorethan celebrate a mass in the shade of the dark cypresses in the Place ofLoyalty, and then leaves the field clear to the secular power.But this is theonly purely civic ceremony I ever saw in Spain. TheChurch is lord of theholidaysfortherestoftheyear.
InthemiddleofMaycomesthefeastoftheploughboypatronofMadrid,--SanIsidro. He was a true Madrileño in tastes, and spent his time lying in thesummershadeorbaskinginthewintersunshine,seeingvisions,whileangelscamedownfromheavenanddidhisfarmchoresforhim.Theangelsarelessamiable nowadays, but every true child ofMadrid reveres the example andenviesthesuccessoftheSanIsidromethodofdoingbusiness.Intheprocessofyearsthislazylouthasbecomeagreatsaint,andhisboneshavedonemoreextensiveandremarkablemiracle-workthananyequalamountofphosphateinex- istence. In desperate cases of sufficient rank the doctors throw up thespongeand send for Isidro's urn, and thedrugginghavingceased, thenoblepatient frequently recovers,andmuchhonorandprofitcomes thereby to theshrine of the saint. There is something of the toady in Isidro's composition.Youneverhearofhiscuringanyoneof less thanprincelyrank.Ireadinanold chronicle of Madrid, that once when Queen Isabel the Catholic washuntinginthehillsthatoverlooktheManzanares,nearwhatisnowtheoldest
andquaintestquarterofthecapital,shekilledabearofgreatsizeandferocity;and doubtless thinking itmight not be considered lady-like to have done itunassisted, shegaveSan Isidro thecreditof the luckyblowandbuilthimanice new chapel for it near the Church of San Andrés. If there are anydoubters, let themgoandseethechapel,asIdid.WhenthealliedarmiesoftheChristiankingsofSpainwereseekingforapassagethroughthehillstothePlains of Tolosa, a shepherd appeared and led them straight to victory andendless fame. After the battle, which broke the Moorish power forever inCentralSpain,insteadoflookingfortheshepherdandpayinghimhandsomelyforhistimelyscout-service,theyfounditmorepiousandeconomicaltosayitwasSanIsidroinpersonwhohadkindlymadehimselffleshforthisoccasion.BythegreataltarintheCathedralofToledostandsidebysidethestatuesofAlonsoVIIL, theChristian commander, andSan Isidrobrazenly swelling inthe shepherd garb of that unknown guide who led Alonso and his chivalrythroughthetangleddefilesoftheSierraMorena.
His fete is the Derby Day of Madrid. The whole town goes out to hisHermitageonthefurtherbanksoftheManzanares,andspendsadayortwoofthesoftspringweatherinnoisyfrolic.Thelittlechurchstandsonabarebrownhill,andallaboutitisanimprovisedvillageconsistinghalfofrestaurantsandthe other half of toyshops. The principal traffic is in a pretty sort of glasswhistlewhichformsthestemofanartificialrose,worninthebutton-holeintheintervalsoftooting,andlittleearthenpig-bells,whoseringingscaresawaythelightning.Thereisbutonedutyofthedaytoflavorallitspleasures.Thefaithfulmustgointotheoratory,payapenny,andkissaglass-coveredrelicofthesaintwhichtheattendantecclesiasticholdsinhishand.Thebellsarerungviolentlyuntilthechurchisfull;thenthedoorsareshutandthekissingbegins.They are very expeditious about it.Theworshippers dropon their knees byplatoons before the railing. The long-robed relic-keeper puts the precioustrinketrapidlytotheirlips;anacolytefollowswithasaucerforthecash.Theglassgrowshumidwithmanybreaths.Thepriestwipesitwithadirtynapkinfrom time to time. Themultitude advances, kisses, pays, and retires, till allhavetheirblessing;thenthedoorsareopenedandtheyallpassout,--thebellsringing furiously for another detachment. The pleasures of the day are likethose of all fairs and publicmerrymaking.Working-people come to be idle,andidlepeoplecometohavesomethingtodo.Thereismucheatingandlittledrinking.Themilk-stallsarebusier than thewine-shops.Thepeoplearegayandjolly,butverydecentandcleanandorderly.TotheeastoftheHermitage,over and beyond the green cool valley, the city rises on its rocky hills, itsspiresshininginthecloudlessblue.BelowontheemeraldmeadowstherearethetentsandwagonsofthosewhohavecomefromadistancetotheRomería.The sound of guitars and the drone of peasant songs come up the hill, andgroupsofmenareleapinginthewildbarbaricdancesofIberia.Thesceneis
ofanotherdayandtime.TheCeltishere,lordoftheland.Youcanseethesesame faces at Donnybrook Fair. These large-mouthed, short-nosed, rosy-cheekedpeasant-girlsarecalledDoloresandCatalina,buttheymightbecalledBridget andKathleen.These strapping fellows,with long simian upper lips,withbrownleggingsandpatched,mud-coloredovercoats,whoareleapingandswinging their cudgels in that Pyrrhic round are as good Tipperary boys asevermobbed an agent or pounded, twenty to one, a landlord to death. Thesameunquestioning,ferventfaith,thesamesuperficialgood-nature,thesamefacilitytobeamused,andatbottomthesamecowardlyandcruelblood-thirst.What is thismysterious lawof racewhich is stronger than time, or varyingclimates,orchanginginstitutions?Whichiscause,andwhichiseffect,raceorreligion?
ThegreatChurchholidayoftheyearisCorpusChristi.OnthisdaytheHostiscarriedinsolemnprocessionthroughtheprincipalstreets,attendedbythehighofficersof state, severalbattalionsofeacharmof theservice in freshbrightuniforms, and a vast array of ecclesiastics in the most gorgeous stoles andchasubles their vestiary contains. Thewindows along the line ofmarch aregaylydeckedwith flagsand tapestry.Work isabsolutely suspended,and theentire population dons its holiday garb. The Puerta del Sol--at this seasonblazingwithrelentlesslight--iscrowdedwithpatientMadrileñosintheirbestclothes,thebrown-cheekedmaidenswithflowingsilksasinaball-room,andwith no protection against the ardent sky but the fluttering fan they hold intheir ungloved hands.As everything is behind time in this easy-going land,therearetwoorthreehoursofbroilinggossipontheglowingpavementbeforetheSacredPresenceisannouncedbytheringingofsilverbells.Asthesuperbstructure of filigree gold goes by, amovement of reverentworship vibratesthroughthecrowd.Forgetfulofsilksandbroadclothandgossip, theyfallontheir knees in one party-coloredmass, and, bowing their heads and beatingtheir breasts, theymutter their mechanical prayers. There are thinkingmenwhosaytheseshowsarenecessary;thattheLatinmindmustseewithbodilyeyes the thing it worships, or theworshipwill fade away from its heart. Iftherewerenocathedralsandmasses, theysay, therewouldbenoreligion; ifthere were no king, there would be no law. But we should not accept toohurriedly this ethnological theory of necessity, which would reject allprinciplesofprogressandpositivegood,andcondemnhalfthehumanracetoperpetualchildhood.TherewasatimewhenweAnglo-Saxonsbuiltcathedralsand worshipped the king. Look at Salisbury and Lincoln and Ely; read thehistory of the growth of parliaments. There is nothing more beautifullysensuous than the religious spirit that presided over those master works ofEnglish Gothic; there is nothing in life more abject than the relics of theEnglish loveand fearofprinces.But the steadygrowthofcenturieshas leftnothing but the outworn shell of the old religion and the old loyalty. The
churchesandthecastlesstillexist.Thenameofthekingstillisextantintheconstitution. They remain as objects of taste and tradition, hallowed by athousandmemoriesofearlierdays,but,thanksbetoGodwhohasgivenusthevictory,theEnglishraceisnowincapableofmakinganewcathedraloranewking. Let us not in our safe egotism deny to others the possibility of a likeimprovement.
ThissummerymonthofJuneisrichinsaints.Thegreatapostles,John,Peter,andPaul,havetheiranniversariesonitsclosingdays,andtheshortestnightsof theyear aregivenup to the riotous eatingof fritters in their honor. I amafraidthattheprogressofluxuryandloveofeasehaswroughtachangeintheobservance of these festivals. The feast of midsummer night is called theVerbenaofSt.John,whichindicatesthatitwasformerlyamorningsolemnity,as thevervaincouldnotbehuntedbytheyouthsandmaidensofSpainwithanysuccessordecorumatmidnight.Butoflateyearsitmaybethatthisusefuland fragrant herb has disappeared from the tawnyhills ofCastile. It is surethat midsummer has grown too warm for any field work. So that theMadrileñosmaybepardonedforspendingthedaynapping,andswarmingintothe breezy Prado in the light of moon and stars and gas. The Prado isordinarilythepromenadeofthebetterclasses,buteverySpanishfamilyhasitsJohn, Paul, and Peter, and the crowded barrios of Toledo and the Peñue-laspourout their raggedhordes to thepopular festival.Thescenehasastrangegypsy wildness. From the round point of Atocha to where Cybele, thronedamongspoutingwaters,drivessouthwardherspankingteamofmarblelions,the park is filled with the merry roysterers. At short intervals are the busygroupsoffrittermerchants;over thecracklingfireagreatcaldronofboilingoil;besideitamightybowlofdough.Thebuñolero,withtheswiftprecisionofmachinery, dips his hand into the bowl andmakes a delicate ring of thetoughdough,whichhethrowsintothebubblingcaldron.Itremainsbutafewseconds,andhisgrimyacolytepicksitoutwithalongwireandthrowsitonthetrayforsale.Theyareeatenwarm,thedroningcrycontinuallysounding,"Buñuelos! Calientitos!" There must be millions of these oily daintiesconsumedoneverynightof theVerbena.For themoregenteel revellers, theDon Juans, Pedros, and Pablos of the better sort, there are improvisedrestaurantsbuiltofpineplanksaftersunsetandgonebeforesunrise.But thegreaternumberareboughtandeatenby the loiteringcrowdfromthe trayofthe fritterman. It is like a vast gitano-camp. The hurrying crowd which isgoing nowhere, the blazing fires, the cries of the venders, the songs of themajos under the great trees of the Paseo, the purposeless hurly-burly, andabove,thesteamoftheboilingoilandthedustraisedbythemyriadfeet,formtogetherastrikingandvividpicture.Thecityismorethanusuallyquiet.ThestiroflifeislocalizedinthePrado.Theonlybusymenintownarethosewhostand by the seething oil-pots and manufacture the brittle forage of the
browsingherds.Itisajealousbusiness,andrequirestheundividedattentionofitsprofessors.Thene sutorultracrepidam of Spanish proverb is "Buñolerohaz tus buñuelos,"--Fritterman, mind thy fritters. With the long days andcoolerairsoftheautumnbeginthedifferentfairs.Thesearerelicsofthetimesof tyranny and exclusive privilege, when for a few days each year, by theintervention of the Church, or as a reward for civic service, full liberty ofbarterandsalewasallowedtoallcitizens.Thiscustom,moreorlessmodified,maybefound inmostcitiesofEurope.TheboulevardsofParisswarmwithlittleboothsatChristmas-time,whichbeginandendtheirlawlesscommerciallifewithin theweek.InVienna, inLeipsic,andothercities, thesamewaste-weir of irregular trade is periodic- ally opened.These fairs begin inMadridwith the autumnal equinox, and continue for someweeks in October. TheydisappearfromtheAlcalátobreakoutwithrenewedvirulenceintheavenueofAtocha,andgirdlethecityatlastwithabeltofbooths.Whiletheylasttheygivegreatanimationandspirittothestreetlifeofthetown.Youcanscarcelymakeyourwayamong theheapsofgaudy shawls andhandkerchiefs, cheaplacesandillegitimatejewels,thatcumberthepavement.WhentheJewsweredrivenoutofSpain,theyleftbehindthetruegeniusofbargaining.
Anut-brownmaidisattractedbyabrilliantredandyellowscarf.Sheasksthesleepymerchantnoddingbeforehiswares,"Whatisthisragworth?"
Heanswerswithprofoundindifference,"Tenreals."
"Hombre!Areyoudreamingorcrazy?"Shedropsthecovetedneck-gear,andmoveson,apparentlyhorror-stricken.
Thechapmancallsherbackperemptorily."Don'tberash!Thescarf isworthtwenty reals,but for thesakeofSantisimaMaria Ioffered it toyou forhalfprice.Verywell!Youarenot suited.Whatwillyougive?""Caramba!AmIbuyerandselleraswell?Thethingisworththreereals;moreisarobbery."
"Jesus!Maria!José!andallthefamily!GothouwithGod!Wecannottrade.SoonerthansellforlessthaneightrealsIwillraisethecoverofmybrains!Gothou!Itiseightofthemorning,andstillthoudreamest."
Shelaysdownthescarfreluctantly,saying,"Five?"
Buttheoutragedmercersnortsscornfully,"Eightismylastword!Goto!"
She moves away, thinking how well that scarf would look in the ApolloGardens,andcastsoverhershoulderaParthianglanceandbid,"Six!"
"Takeit!Itismadness,butIcannotwastemytimeinbargaining."
Bothcongratulatethemselvesontheoperation.Hewouldhavetakenfive,andshewouldhavegiven seven.How tradewould suffer ifwehadwindows in
ourbreasts!
ThefirstdaysofNovemberareconsecratedtoallthesaints,andtothesoulsofalltheblesseddead.TheyareobservedinSpainwithgreatsolemnity;butasthecemeteriesaregenerallyof thedreariest character,bare,bleak, andmostforbiddingundertheashyskyofthelateautumn,thedaysaredeprivedofthatexquisite sentiment that pervades them in countrieswhere the graves of thedead are beautiful. There is nothing more touching than these offerings ofmemoryyouseeeveryyearinMontParnasseandPere-la-Chaise.Apartfromallbeliefs,thereisamysteriousinfluenceforgoodexerteduponthelivingbythememoryofthebeloveddead.Onallheartsnotutterlycorrupt,thethoughtsthat come by the graves of the departed fall like dew from heaven, andquickenintolifepurerandhigherresolves.
InSpain,wherethereisnothingbutdesolationingraveyards,thechurchesarecrowdedinstead,andthebereavedsurvivorscommendtoGodtheirdepartedfriendsandtheirownstrickenheartsinthedimandperfumedaislesoftemplesmadewith hands.A taint of gloom thus rests upon the recollection and theprayer,fardifferentfromtheconsolationthatcomeswiththefreeairandthesunshine,andtheinfinitebluevault,whereNatureconspireswithrevelationtocomfortandcherishandconsole.
ChristmasapparentlycomesinSpainonnoothermissionthanthatreferredtointheoldEnglishcouplet,"bringinggoodcheer."TheSpaniardsarethemostfrugal of people, but during the days that precede theirNocheBuena, theirGood Night, they seem to be given up as completely to cares of thecommissariatasthemosteupepticofGermans.Swarmsofturkeysaredrivenin from the surrounding country, and taken about the streets by their rusticherdsmen,making the roadsgaywith their scarletwattles, andwaking ruralmemoriesbytheirvociferousgobbling.Thegreatmarket-placeoftheseasonis the PlazaMayor. The ever-fruitful provinces of the South are laid undercontribution, and the result is a wasteful show of tropical luxuriance thatseemsmostincongruousunderthewintrysky.Therearemountainsoforangesanddates,brownhillocksofnutsofeverykind,storeofeveryproductofthisversatile soil. The air is filled with nutty and fruity fragrance. Under theancientarcadesarethestallsofthebutchers,richwiththemuttonofCastile,the hams of Estremadura, and the hero-nourishing bull-beef of Andalusianpastures.
Atnightthetownisgivenuptoharmlessracket.NowherehasthetraditionoftheLatinSaturnaliabeen fittedwith less change into theChristiancalendar.Men, women, and children of the proletariat--the unemancipated slaves ofnecessity--gooutthisnighttocheattheirmiserywithnoisyfrolic.Theownerofatambourineistheequalofapeer;theproprietorofaguitaristhecaptain
of his hundred. They troop through the dim city with discordant revel andsong.Theyhavelittleideaofmusic.Everyonesingsandsingsill.Everyonedances, without grace or measure. Their music is a modulated howl of theEast. Their dancing is the savage leaping of barbarians.There is no lack ofcouplets, religious, political, or amatory. I heard one ragged womanwith abrownbabyatherbreastgoshriekingthroughtheStreetoftheMagdalen,--
"Thisis theeveofChristmas,Nosleepfromnowtillmorn,TheVirginis intravail,Attwelvewillthechildbeborn!"
Behind her stumped a crippled beggar, who croaked in a voice rough withfrostandaguardientehisdeepdisillusionanddistrustofthegreat:--
"ThisistheeveofChristmas,Butwhatisthattome?Weareruledbythievesandrobbers,Asitwasandwillalwaysbe."Nextcomesashoutingbandoftheyouth of Spain, strapping boyswith bushy locks, crisp and black almost toblueness, and gay young girls with flexible forms and dark Arab eyes thatshinewithaphosphorescentlightintheshadows.Theytrooponwithclackingcastinets.Thechallengeofthemozosringsoutonthefrostyair,--
"ThisistheeveofChristmas,Letusdrinkandloveourfill!"
Andthesaucyantiphonofgirlishvoicesresponds,--
"Amanmaybebeardedandgray,Butawomancanfoolhimstill!"
TheChristmasandNew-Year'sholidayscontinueforafortnight,endingwiththeEpiphany.OntheeveoftheDayoftheKingsacuriousfarceisperformedby bands of the lowest orders of the people, which demonstrates theapparentlyendlessnaiveteoftheirclass.Ineverycoterieofwater-carriers,ormozosdecordel,therewillbeonefoundinnocentenoughtobelievethattheMagiarecomingtoMadridthatnight,andthataproperrespecttotheirrankrequiresthattheymustbemetatthecitygate.Toperceivethecomingoftheirfeet,beautifuluponthemountains,aladderisnecessary,andthepoorvictimofthecomedyisloadedwiththisindispensable"property."Heisdraggedbyhisgaycompanions,whonevertireoftheexquisitewitoftheirjest,fromonegatetoanother,untilsuspicionsupplantsfaithinthemindoftheneophyte,andthefarceisover.
In the burgher society of Castile this night is devoted to a very differentceremony. Each little social circle comes together in a house agreed upon.Theytakemottoesofgildedpaperandwriteoneachthenameofsomeoneofthecompany.Thenamesoftheladiesarethrownintooneurn,andthoseofthecavaliersintoanother,andtheyaredrawnoutbypairs.Thesecouplesarethuscondemnedbyfortunetointimacyduringtheyear.Thegentlemanisalwaystobe at the orders of the dame and to serve her faithfully in every knightly
fashion.Hehasallthedutiesandnoneoftheprivilegesofalover,unlessitbethejoyofthose"whostandandwait."Therelationisverylikethatwhichsoastonished M. de Gramont in his visit to Piedmont, where the cavalier ofserviceneverlefthismistressinpublicandneverapproachedherinprivate.
The trueCarnival survives in its naive purity only in Spain. It has faded inRome into a romp-ing day of clown's play. In Paris it is littlemore than abusier season fordrearyandprofessionalvice.Elsewhereallover theworldtheCarnivalgayetiesareconfinedtothesalon.ButinMadridthewholecity,from grandee to cordwainer, goes with childlike earnestness into theenjoyment of the hour. The Corso begins in the Prado on the last SundaybeforeLent,and lasts fourdays.Fromnoon tonight thegreatdrive is filledwith a double line of carriages two miles long, and between them are thelandaus of the favored hundreds who have the privilege of driving up anddownfreefromthelawoftheroad.Thisrightisacquiredbythepaymentoftendollarsadaytocitycharities,andproducessomefifteenthousanddollarseveryCarnival.InthesecarriagesallthesocietyofMadridmaybeseen;andonfoot,dartinginandoutamongthehoofsofthehorses,aretheyoungmenofCastileineveryconceivablevarietyofabsurdandfantasticdisguise.ThereareofcoursepiratesandIndiansandTurks,monks,prophets,andkings,butthe favorite costumes seem to be theDevil and theEnglishman. SometimestheYankeeisattempted,withindifferentsuccess.Hewearsaribbon-wreathedItalian bandit's hat, an embroidered jacket, slashed buckskin trousers, and awide crimson belt,--a dress you would at once recognize as universal inBoston.
Most of themaskers know by name at least the occupants of the carriages.Thereisalwaysroomforamaskinacoach.Theyleapin,swarmingoverthebackor thesides,andin theirshrillmonotonousscreamtheymakethemoststartling revelations of the inmost secrets of your soul. There is alwayssomethingimpressiveinthetalkofanunknownvoice,butespeciallyisthissoin Madrid, where every one scorns his own business, and devotes himselfrigorouslytohisneighbor's.Theseshriekingyoungmonksanddevilkinsoftensurpriseahalf-formedthought in theheartofafairCastiliananddrag itoutinto day and derision. No one has the right to be offended. Duchesses arecalledTu! Isabel!bychin-dimpledschool-boys,and theproudestbeauties inSpainacceptbonbonsfromplebeianhands.Itistrue,mostofthemaskersareofthebetterclass.Someofthecostumesareveryrichandexpensive,ofsatinand velvet heavy with gold. I have seen a distinguished diplomatist in theguise of a gigantic canary-bird, hopping briskly about in the mud withbedraggledtail-feathers,shriekingwell-bredsarcasmswithhisyellowbeak.
ThecharmoftheMadridCarnivalisthis,thatitisrespectedandbelievedin.Thebestand fairestpass theday in theCorso,andgallantyounggentlemen
think it worth while to dress elaborately for a few hours of harmless andspirituelle intrigue. A society that enjoys a holiday so thoroughly hassomethinginitbetterthantheblasecynicismofmorecivilizedcapitals.Theseyoung fellows talk like the lovers of the old romances. I have never heardprettierperiodsofdevotionthanfromsomegentlesavage,stretchedoutonthefrontseatofalandauunderthepeeringeyesofhislady,safeinhisdisguise,ifnotself-betrayed,pouringouthisyoungsoulinpassionatepraiseandprayer;around them the laughter and the cries, the cracking of whips, the roll ofwheels, thepresenceofcountless thousands,andyet these twoyoungheartsaloneunder thepalewinter sky.The restof theContinenthasoutgrown thetrueCarnival.Itispleasanttoseethisgayrelicofsimplertimes,whenyouthwas young. No one here is too "swell" for it. Youmay find a duke in thedisguise of a chimney-sweep, or a butcher-boy in the dress of a Crusader.There are none so great that their dignity would suffer by a day's recklessfoolery,andtherearenonesopoorthattheycannottakethepriceofadinnertobuyamaskandcheattheirmiserybyminglingforatimewiththeirbettersinthewildlicenseoftheCarnival.
Thewinter'sgayetydieshard.AshWednesdayisadayofloudmerrimentandis devoted to a popular ceremony called the Burial of the Sardine. A vastthrongofworkingmencarrywithgreatpompalinkofsausagetothebankofthe Manzanares and inter it there with great solemnity. On the followingSaturday, after three days of death, theCarnival has a resurrection, and themaddest,wildestballoftheyeartakesplaceattheopera.ThenthesackclothandashesofLentcomedowningoodearnestand the townmournsover itsscarletsins.ItusedtobeveryfashionableforthegenteelChristianstorepairduring this seasonofmortification to theChurchofSanGines, and scourgethemselves lustily in its subterranean chambers. A still more strikingdemonstrationwasforgentlemeninlovetolashthemselvesonthesidewalkswhere passed the ladies of their thoughts. If the blood from the scourgessprinkledthemas theysailedby, itwasthoughtanattentionnofemaleheartcould withstand. But these wholesome customs have decayed of lateunbelievingyears.
TheLentenpietyincreaseswiththelengtheningdays.ItreachesitsclimaxonHolyThursday.OnthisdayallSpaingoestochurch:itisoneoftheobligatorydays.Themoreyougo,thebetterforyou;sothegoodpeoplespendthewholedayfromdawntoduskroamingfromonechurchtoanother,andinvestinganAveandaPater-Nosterineach.Thisfillseverystreetofthecitywiththepiouscrowd.Nocarriagesarepermitted.A silence like thatofVenice fallson therattling capital.With three hundred thousand people in the street, the townseemsstill.In1870,afree-thinkingcabmandaredtodriveuptheCalleAlcalá.He was dragged from his box and beaten half to death by the chastened
mourners, who yelled as they kicked and cuffed him, "Que bruto! He willwakeourJesus."
On Good Friday the gloom deepens. No colors are worn that day by theorthodox.Theseñorasappearon thestreet in funeralgarb. I sawagroupoffastyouthscomeoutofthejockeyclub,blackfromhattoboots,withjetstudsandsleeve-buttons.Thegayestandprettiestladiessitwithinthechurchdoorsandbegintheholynameofcharity,andearnlargesumsforthepoor.Therearehourly services in the churches, passionate sermons fromall thepulpits.The streets are free from the painted haunters of the pavement. The wholepeopletastetheluxuryofasentimentalsorrow.
Yet in these heavy days it is not the Redeemerwhose sufferings and deathmost nearly touch the hearts of the faithful. It is Santísima Maria who isworshipped most. It is the Dolorous Mother who moves them to tears oftenderness.ThepresidingdeityofthesefinaldaysofmeditationisOurLadyofSolitude.
But at last the days ofmourning are accomplished.The expiation for sin isfinished.Thegraveisvanquished,deathisswallowedupinvictory.Mancanturnfromthegriefthatisnaturaltothejoythatiseternal.Fromeverysteeplethebellsflingouttheirhappyclangoringladtidingsofgreatjoy.Thestreetsare flooded oncemore with eagermultitudes, gay as in wedding garments.Christ has arisen!Theheathenmythof the awak-eningof nature blends theold traditionwith thenewgospel.Thevernal breezes sweep the skies cleanandblue.Birdsarepairinginthebuddingtrees.Thestreamsleapdownfromthemeltingsnowofthehills.Thebrownturftakesatintofverdure.Throughthevastframeofthingsrunsaquickshudderofteemingpower.Intheheartofman love andwillmingle into hope.Hail to the new life and the ever-newreligion!Hailtotheresurrectionmorning!
ANHOURWITHTHEPAINTERS
ASageneralthingitiswelltodistrustaSpaniard'ssuperlatives.Hewilltellyouthathispeoplearethemostamiableintheworld,butyouwilldowelltocarry your revolver into the interior. He will say there are no wines worthdrinkingbuttheSpanish,butyouwillscarcelyforswearClicquotandYquemon the mere faith of his assertion. A distinguished general once gravelyassuredmethattherewasnoliteratureintheworldatalltobecomparedwiththe productions of the Castilian mind. All others, he said, were but paleimitations of Spanish master-work. Now, though you may be shocked atlearning such unfavorable facts of 'Shakespeare andGoethe andHugo, you
will hardly condemn them to an Auto da fe, on the testimony even of agrandeeofSpain.
But when a Spaniard assures you that the picture-gallery of Madrid is thefinest in theworld,youmaybelievehimwithout reserve.Heprobablydoesnotknowwhatheistalkingabout.HemayneverhavecrossedthePyrenees.Hehasnodreamof thegloriesofDresden,orFlorence,or theLouvre. It isevenpossiblethathehasnotseenthematchlesscollectionheisboastingof.HecrownsitwithasweepingsuperlativesimplybecauseitisSpanish.Butthestatementisneverthelesstrue.
The reason of this is found in that gigantic and overshadowing fact whichseemstobeanexplanationofeverythinginSpain,--thepowerandthetyrannyoftheHouseofAustria.TheperiodofthevastincreaseofSpanishdominioncoincided with that of the meridian glory of Italian art. The conquest ofGranadawas finished as the divine childRaphael began tomeddlewith hisfather'sbrushesandpallets,andbeforehisshortlifeendedCharles,BurgessofGhent,wasemperorandking.Thedominionshegovernedandtransmittedtohis son embraced Spain, the Netherlands, Franche-Comté, the Milanese,Naples,andSicily; that is tosay, thoseregionswhereart in thatageandthenextattained its supremedevelopment.Hewasalso lordof theNewWorld,whoseinexhaustibleminespouredintothelapofEuropeaconstantstreamofgold.Hencecametherichesandtheleisurenecessarytoart.
Charles V., as well as his great contemporary and rival, Francis I., was amunificentprotectorofart.Hebrought fromItalyandAntwerp someof themostperfectproductsoftheirimmortalmasters.Hewasthefriendandpatronof Titian, and when, weary of the world and its vanities, he retired to thelonelymonasteryofYustetospendindevoutcontemplationtheeveningofhisdays, themost precious solace of his solitudewas that noble canvas of thegreatVenetian,whereCharles andPhilip are borne, in penitential guise andgarb,onluminouscloudsintothevisiblegloryoftheMostHigh.
These two great kings made a good use of their unbounded opportunities.Spain became illuminated with the glowing canvases of the incom-parableItalians.TheopeningupoftheNewWorldbeyondseas,themeteoriccareerofEuropeanandAfricanconquestinwhichtheemperorhadwonsomuchlandandglory,hadgivenanawakeningshocktotheintelligentyouthofSpain,andsent them forth in every avenue of enterprise. This jealously patriotic race,which had remained locked up by themountains and the seas for centuries,started suddenly out, seeking adventures over the earth. Themind of Spainseemedsuddenlytohavebrightenedanddevelopedlikethatofhergreatking,who, in his first tourney at Val-ladolid, wrote with proudsluggishnessNondum--notyet--onhismaidenshield,andafewyearslaterin
his youngmaturity adopted the legend of arrogant hope and promise,--PlusUltra.TherewereseentwoemigrationsoftheyoungmenofSpain,eastwardand westward. The latter went for gold and material conquest into theAmericanwilds;andtheformer,ledbythesacredloveofart,tothatlandofbeautyandwonder,then,now,andalwaysthespiritualshrineofallpeoples,--Italy.
A brilliant young army went out from Spain on this new crusade of thebeautiful. From the plains of Castile and the hills of Navarre went, amongothers, Berruguete, Becerra, and the marvellous deaf-mute Navarrete. Theluxurious city of Valentía sent Juan de Juanes and Ribalta. Luis de VargaswentoutfromSeville,andfromCordovathescholar,artist,andthinker,PaulofCéspedes. The schools ofRome andVenice and Florencewere throngedwitheagerpilgrims,speakinganalienLatinandfilledwithachildlikewonderandappreciation.
In that stirring age the emigration was not all in one direction. ManydistinguishedforeignerscamedowntoSpain,toprofitbythenewloveofartin the Peninsula. It was Philip of Burgundy who carved, with Berruguete,thosemiraclesofskillandpatienceweadmireto-dayinthechoirofToledo.PeterofChampagnepaintedatSevillethegrandaltar-piecethatsocomfortedthe eyes and the soul of Murillo. The wild Greek bedouin, GeorgeTheotocopouli, built theMozarabic chapel and filled the walls of conventswithhisweirdghost-faces.Moor,orMoro,camefromtheLowCountries,andtheCarduccibrothersfromItaly,toseektheirfortunesinMadrid.Torrigiani,afterbreakingMichaelAngelo'snoseinFlorence,fledtoGranada,anddiedinaprisonoftheInquisitionforsmashingthefaceofaVirginwhichagrandeeofSpainwantedtostealfromhim.
These immigrations, and the refluent tide of Spanish students from Italy,foundedthevariousschoolsofValentia,Toledo,Seville,andMadrid.Madridsoon absorbed the school of Toledo, and the attraction of Seville was toopowerful for Valentia. The Andalusian school counts among its earlyillustrationsVargas, Roelas, theCastillos,Herrera, Pacheco, andMoya, andamong its latergloriesVelazquez,AlonzoCano,Zurbaran, andMurillo, lastandgreatestofthemightyline.TheschoolofMadridbeginswithBerrugueteand Na-varrete, the Italians Caxes, Rizi, and others, who are followed bySánchezCoello,Pantoja,Collantes.ThencomesthegreatinvaderVelazquez,followedbyhisretainersParejaandCarreño,andabsorbsthewholelifeoftheschool.ClaudioCoellomakesagoodfightagainsttherapiddecadence.LucaGiordanocomesrattlinginfromNapleswithhiswhitewash-brush,paintingamile a minute, and classic art is ended in Spain with the brief andconscientiousworkofRaphaelMengs.
There is therefore littledistinctionof schools inSpain.Murillo, thegloryofSeville,studiedinMadrid,andthemightyAndalusian,Velazquez,performedhisenormouslife'sworkinthecapitalofCastile.
It nowneedsbutoneword to showhow theMuseumofMadridbecame sorich inmasterpieces.During the long and brilliant reigns of CharlesV. andPhilipII.,whenarthadarrivedatitsapogeeinItaly,andwasjustbeginningitssplendidcareer inSpain, thesepowerfulmonarchshad the lion'sshareofallthebestworkthatwasdoneintheworld.Therewasnoartistsogreatbuthewas honored by the commands of these lords of the twoworlds. They thusformed in their various palaces, pleasure-houses, and cloisters a pricelesscollectionofpicturesproducedinthedawnoftheSpanishandthetriumphanthey-day of Italian genius. Their frivolous successors lost provinces andkingdoms,honorandprestige,but theynever lost theirroyalprerogativenortheirtasteforthearts.Theyconsoledthemselvesfortheslingsandarrowsofoutrageousfortunebythedelightsofsensuallife,andimaginedtheypreservedsomedistantlikenesstotheirgreatforerunnersbyencouragingandprotectingVelazquezandLopedeVegaandotherintellectualgiantsofthatdecayingage.Sowhile,astheresultofavicioussystemofkinglyandspiritualthraldom,theintellectofSpainwasforcedawayfromitslegitimatechannelsofthoughtandaction,undertheshadowoftheroyalprerogative,whichsurvivedthegenuinepower of the older kings, art flourished and bloomed, unsuspected andunpersecutedbythecowardjealousyofcourtierandmonk.
The palace and the convent divided the product of those marvellous days.Amidall thepovertyofthefailingstate, itwasstill thekingandclergywhowerebestabletoappropriatetheworksofgenius.Thismayhavecontributedtothedecayofart.Theimmortalcanvasespassedintooblivioninthesalonsofpalacesandthecellsofmonasteries.Hadtheybeenscatteredoverthelandandseenbythepeople,theymighthavekeptalivethesparkthatkindledtheircreators. But exclusiveness is inevitably followed by barrenness.When thegreat race of Spanish artists ended, thesematchlessworkswere kept in thesafeobscurityofpalacesandreligiousestablishments.Historywasworkinginthe interests of thisMuseum. The pictures were held by the clenched deadhandoftheChurchandthethrone.Theycouldnotbesoldordistributed.Theymadethedarkplacesluminous,patientlybidingtheirtime.
Itwas longenoughcoming,and itwasadespicablehand thatbrought themintothelight.FerdinandVII.thoughthispalacewouldlookfresherifthewallswere covered with French paper, and so packed all the pictures off to theemptybuildingon thePrado,whichhisgrandfatherhadbuilt foramuseum.Assoonas thegloriouscollectionwasexposed to thegazeof theworld, itsincontestable merit was at once recognized. Especially were the works ofVelazquez, hitherto almost an unknown name in Europe, admired and
appreciated.Ferdinand,findinghehaddoneacleverthingunawares,begantoput on airs and poser for a patron of art. The gallery was still furtherimmensely enriched on the exclaustration of themonasteries, by the hiddentreasures of the Escorial, and other spoils of mortmain. And now, as acollectionofmasterpieces,ithasnoequalintheworld.
A few figures will prove this. It contains more than two thousand picturesalreadycatalogued,--allofthemworthaplaceonthewalls.Amongthesethereare tenbyRaphael, forty-threebyTitian, thirty-fourbyTintoret, twenty-fiveby Paul Veronese. Rubens has the enormous contingent of sixty-four. OfTeniers, whose works are sold for fabulous sums for the square inch, thisextraordinary museum possesses no less than sixty finished pictures,--theLouvreconsidersitselfrichwithfourteen.Somuchforafewoftheforeigners.AmongtheSpaniardsthethreegreatestnamescouldalonefillagallery.Therearesixty-fiveVelazquez,forty-sixMurillos,andfifty-eightRiberas.Comparethesefigureswiththoseofanyothergalleryinexistence,andyouwillatoncerecognizethehopelesssuperiorityofthiscollection.Itisnotonlythegreatestcollection in the world, but the greatest that can ever bemade until this isbrokenup.
Butwithallthismassofwealthitisnotacomplete,nor,properlyspeaking,arepresentative museum. You cannot trace upon its walls the slow, gropingprogress of art towards perfection. It contains few of what the book-loverscall incunabula. Spanish art sprang out full-armed from themature brain ofRome. Juan de Juanes came back from Italy a great artist. The schools ofSpain were budded on a full-bearing tree. Charles and Philip boughtmasterpieces,andcaredJittleforthecrudeeffortsoftheawkwardpencilsofthe necessary men who came before Raphael. There is not a Perugino inMadrid.There isnothingByzantine,no traceofRenaissance;nothingof thepatientworkoftheearlyFlemings,--theartofFlanderscomesblazinginwiththefullsplendorofRubensandVanDyck.Andevenamongthemasters,therepresentationismostunequal.AmongthewildernessofTitiansandTintoretsyoufindbuttwoDomenichinosandtwoCorreggios.EveninSpanishartthegalleryisfarfromcomplete.ThereisalmostnothingofsuchgenuinepaintersasZurbaranandHerrera.
But recognizing all this, there is, in this glorious temple, enough to fill theleastenthusiasticloverofartwithdelightandadorationforweeksandmonthstogether.Ifoneknewhewastobeblindinayear,liketheyoungmusicianinAuerbach'sexquisiteromance,Iknowofnoplaceintheworldwherehecouldgarnerupsopreciousastoreofmemoriesforthedaysofdarkness,memoriesthat would haunt the soul with so divine a light of consolation, as in thatgracefulPalaceofthePrado.Itwouldbeahopelesstasktoattempttoreviewwith any detail the gems of this collection. My memory is filled with the
countlesscanvasesthatadornthetengreathalls.IfIrefertomynotebookIamequally discouraged by the number I have marked for special notice. Themasterpiecesaresimplyinnumerable.Iwillsayawordofeachroom,andsogiveuptheunequalcontest.
AsyouentertheMuseumfromthenorth,youareinawidesturdy-columnedvestibule,hungwithsplashypicturesofLucaGiordano.Toyour right is theroom devoted to the Spanish school; to the left, the Italian. In front is thegrandgallerywhere the greatestworks of both schools are collected. In theSpanish saloon there is an indefinable air of severity and gloom. It is lessperfectly lighted than some others, and there is something forbidding in thegeneral tone of the room. There are prim portraits of queens and princes,monksincontemplation,andholypeopleinantresvastanddesertsidle.Mostvisitorscomeinfromasenseofduty,lookhurriedlyabout,andgooutwithaconscienceatease;infact,thereisadimsuggestionofthefagotandtherackaboutmanyoftheSpanishmasters.AtoneendofthisgallerythePrometheusofRiberaagonizeschainedtohisrock.Hisgiganticlimbsareflungaboutinthe fury of immortal pain. A vulture, almost lost in the blackness of theshadows, is tugging at his vitals. His brow is convulsedwith the pride andanguishofademigod.Itisapictureofhorriblepower.Oppositehangsoneofthe fewZurbaransof thegallery,--also agloomyand terriblework.Amonkkneelsinshadowswhich,bythemasterlychiaroscuroofthisasceticartist,aremade to look darker than blackness. Before him in a luminous nimbus thatburns its way through the dark, is the image of the crucified Saviour, headdownwards.Soremarkableisthevigorofthedrawingandthepoweroflightinthispicturethatyoucanimagineyouseetheresplendentcrucifixsuddenlythrustintotheshadowbythestronghandsofinvisiblespirits,andswayedforamomentonlybeforethedazzledeyesoftheecstaticsolitary.
Butafteryouhavemadefriendswith this roomitwillputoff its forbiddingaspect, and youwill find it hath a stern look but a gentle heart. It has twolovely little landscapes by Murillo, showing how universal was thatwholesome genius.Also one of the largest landscapes ofVelazquez,which,whenyoustandnearit,seemsaconfusedmassofbrowndaubs,butsteppingbackafewyardsbecomesamostperfectviewoftheentrancetoaroyalpark.Thewidegateswingsonitspivotbeforeyoureyes.Acourtcortegemovesin,--thelong,darkalleystretchesoffformilesdirectlyinfront,withoutanytrickoflinesorcurves;theartisthaspaintedtheshadedair.Totheleftapatchofstillwaterreflectsthedarkwood,andabovethereisadistantandtranquilsky.HadVelazqueznotdonesuchvastlygreaterthings,hisfewlandscapeswouldalonehavewonhimfameenough.Hehasinthisroomalargenumberofroyalportraits,--one especially worth attention, of Philip III. The scene is by theshore,--a cool foreground of sandy beach,--a blue-gray stretch of rippled
water,andbeyond,alowpromontorybetweenthecurlingwavesandthecirrusclouds.Thekingmountsamagnificentgrayhorse,withamaneandtail likethe broken rush of a cascade. The keeping iswonderful; a fresh sea breezeblowsoutof thecanvas.Abrilliantbitofcolor is throwninto thered,gold-fringedscarfof thehorseman,flutteringbackwardoverhisshoulder.Yet theface of the king is, as it should be, the principal point of the picture,--thesmall-eyed, heavy-mouthed, red-lipped, fair, self-satisfied face of theseAustrian despots. It is a handsomer face thanmost of Velazquez, as it wasprobably painted from memory and lenient tradition. For Philip III. wasgathered to his fathers in the Escorial before Velazquez came up fromAndalusiatoseekhisfortuneatthecourt.ThefirstworkhedidinMadridwastopaint theportrait of theking,which sopleasedhismajesty thathehad itrepeatedadnauseam.Youseehimservedupineveryforminthisgallery,--onfoot,onhorseback,infullarmor,inashooting-jacket,atpicnics,andactuallyonhiskneesathisprayers!Wewonder ifVelazquezevergrew tiredof thatvacantfacewithitscontentedsmirk,orifinthatloyalagethesmileofroyaltywasnotalwaysthesunshineofthecourt?
ThereisamostinstructivestudyoffacesintheportraitsoftheAustrianline.FirstcomesCharlesV., theFirstofSpain,paintedbyTitianatAugsburg,onhorseback,inthearmorheworeatMuhl-berg,hislonglanceinrest,hisvisorupovertheeager,powerfulface,--theeyeandbeakofaneagle,thejawofabull-dog, the faceofaborn ruler, amanofprey.Andyet in theconverginglinesabouttheeyes,intheprematuregrayhair, inthenervous,irritablelips,you can see the promise of early decay, of an age thatwill be the spoil ofsuperstition and bigotry. It is the face of a man who could make himselfemperorandhermit.Inhisson,PhilipII.,thesoldierdiesoutandthebigotisintensified.InthefineportraitbyPantoja,ofPhilipinhisage,thereisscarcelyanytraceofthefresh,fairyouththatTitianpaintedasAdonis.Itisthefaceofa living corpse; of a ghastly pallor, heightened by the dull black of hismourningsuit,whereallpassionandfeelinghavediedoutofthelividlipsandthe icy eyes.Beside him hangs the portrait of his rickety, feebly passionateson,theunfortunateDonCarlos.Theforeheadoftheyoungprinceisnarrowandill-formed;theAustrianchinisexaggeratedonedegreemore;helooksapictureof fitful impulse.Hisbrother,Philip III.,wehave just seen, fair andinane,--amonsterofcruelty,whoburnedJewsandbanishedMoors,notfrommalice,butpurelyfromvacuityofspirit;hisheadbroadenslikeapine-applefromtheblondcresttotheplumpjowls.EveryoneknowstheheadofPhilipIV.,--he was fortunate in being the friend of Velazquez,--the high, narrowbrow,thelong,weakface,theyellow,curledmustache,thethick,redlips,andthe ever lengthening Hapsburg chin. But the line of Austria ends with theutmost limitofcaricature in the faceofCharles theBewitched!Carreñohasgivenusanadmirableportraitofthisunfortunate,--theforeheadcavedinlike
thehatof adrunkard, the red-liddedeyes staringvacantly, a long, thinnoseabsurdas aCarnivaldisguise, anenormousmouthwhichhecouldnot shut,theunder-jawprojectedsoprodigiously,--afaceincapableofanyemotionbutfear.Andyetingazingatthisidioticmaskyouareremindedofanotherfaceyouhavesomewhereseen,andarestartledtorememberitistheresolutefaceof the warrior and statesman, the king of men, the Kaiser Karl. Yes, thispitiablebeingwasthedescendantofthegreatemperor,andforthatsufficientreason,althoughhewasanimpotentandshiveringidiot,althoughhecouldnotsleepwithouta friar inhisbed tokeep thedevilsaway, for thirty-fiveyearsthisscarecrowruledoverSpain,anddyingmadeawillwhoseaccomplishmentbathed the Peninsula in blood. It must be confessed this institution ofmonarchyisaluxurythatmustbepaidfor.Wedidnotintendtotalkofpoliticsinthisroom,butthatlineofroyaleffigieswastootempting.Beforewego,letus look at a beautiful Magdalen in penitence, by an unknown artist of theschool of Murillo. She stands near the entrance of her cave, in a listeningattitude.Thebrightout-of-doorlightfallsonherbareshoulderandgivesthefaintest touch of gold to her dishevelled brown hair. She casts her eyesupward, the large melting eyes of Andalusia; a chastened sorrow, throughwhichatremblinghopeisshining,softensthesomewhatworldlybeautyofherexquisite and sensitive face. Through the mouth of the cave we catch aglimpse of sunnymountain solitude, and in the rosy air that always travelswithSpanishangelsabandofcelestialserenadersisplaying.Itisacharmingcomposition,withoutanydepthofsentimentorespecialmasteryoftreatment,butevidentlypaintedbyacleverartistinhisyouth,andthisMagdalenistheportrait of the ladyof his dreams.NoneofMurillo's pupils butTobar couldhave painted it, and themanner is precisely the same as that of his DivinaPastora.
AcrossthehallisthegalleryconsecratedtoItalianartists.Therearenotmanypicturesof the first rankhere.Theyhavebeen reserved for thegreatcentralgallery,wherewe are going.Butwhile here,wemust notice especially twogloriousworksofTintoret,--thesamesubjectdifferentlytreated,--theDeathofHolofernes. Both are placed higher than they should be, considering theirincontestablemerit.Afulllightisneededtodojusticetothatmagnificenceofcolor which is the pride of Venice. There are two remarkable pictures ofGiordano,--oneintheRomanstyle,whichwouldnotbeunworthyofthegreatSanzio himself, a Holy Family, drawn and colored with that scrupulouscorrectnesswhichseemssoimpossibleintheordinaryproductsofthisProteangenius; and just opposite, an apotheosis ofRubens, surroundedbyhis usual"properties"offatangelsandgenii,whichcouldbereadilysoldanywhereasaspecimenoftheestimatewhichtheunabashedFlemingplaceduponhimself.ItismarvellousthatanymanshouldsomasterthehabitandthethoughtoftwoartistssowidelyapartasRaphaelandRubens,astoproducejustsuchpictures
as they would have painted upon the same themes. The halls and darkcorridorsoftheMuseumarefilledwithGiordano'scanvases.Inlessthantenyears' residence in Spain he covered the walls of dozens of churches andpalaces with his fatally facile work. There are more than three hundredpictures recorded as executed by him in that time. They are far from beingwithout merit. There is a singular slap-dash vigor about his drawing. Hiscoloring,exceptwhenheisimitatingsomeearliermaster,isusuallythinandpoor.Itisdifficulttorepressanemotionofregretinlookingathislaboriousyet useless life. With great talents, with indefatigable industry, he delugedEuropewithpaintingsthatnoonecaresfor,andpassedintohistorysimplyasLucaFaPresto,--LukeWork-Fast.
Itisnotbymereactivitythatgreatthingsaredoneinart.Inthegreatgallerywenowenterweseethedeathlessworkofthemenwhowroughtinfaith.Thisis thegrandest roominChristendom.It isabout threehundredandfifty feetlong and thirty-five broad and high. It is beautifully lighted from above. Itsgreatlengthisbrokenhereandtherebyvasesandstatues,soplacedbetweendoors as nowhere to embarrass the view.Thenorthern half of the gallery isSpanish,andthesouthernhalfItalian.Halfwaydown,adoortotheleftopensinto an oval chamber, devoted to an eclectic set of masterpieces of everyschool and age. The gallery ends in a circular roomof French andGermanpictures, on either side of which there are two great halls of Dutch andFlemish.OnthegroundfloortherearesomehundredsmoreFlemishandahallofsculpture.
The first pictures you see to your left are by the early masters of Spain,--Morales,calledinSpaintheDivine,whoseworksarenowextremelyrare,theMuseumpossessingonlythreeorfour,long,fleshlessfacesandstifffiguresofChristsandMarys,--andJuandeJuanes,thefounderoftheValentianschool,whobroughtbackfromItalythelessonsofRaphael'sstudio,thatfirmnessofdesign and brilliancy of color, and whose genuine merit has survived allvicissitudesofchangingtaste.HehashereasuperbLastSupperandaspiritedseries of pictures illustrating themartyrdom of Stephen. There is perhaps alittletoomuchelaborationofdetail,evenfortheRomans.Stephen'srobesareunnecessarily new, and the groundwhere he is stoned is profusely coveredwithconvenientroundmissilesthesizeofViennarolls,soexactlysuitedtothepurpose that it looksas ifProvidencesidedwith thepersecutors.Butwhatawonderfulvari-etyandtruthinthefacesandtheattitudesofthegroups!Whatmasteryofdrawing,andwhathonestintegrityofcolorafteralltheseages!Itisreported of Juanes that he always confessed and prayed before venturing totakeuphispencilstotouchthefeaturesofthesaintsandSavioursthatshineonhiscanvas.Hisconscientiousfervorhasitsreward.
AcrosstheroomaretheMurillos.Hungtogetheraretwopictures,notoflarge
dimensions,butofexquisiteperfection,whichwillserveasfairillustrationsoftheworkofhisyouthandhis age; the frio and thevaporosomanner. In theformer manner is this charming picture of Rebecca at theWell; a gracefulcomposition,correctandsomewhatseveredrawing,thegreatestsharpnessandclearness of outline. In theMartyrdom of St. Andrew the drawing and thecomposition are no less absolutely perfect, but there hangs over the wholepicturealuminoushazeofstrangenessandmystery.Alightthatneverwasonseaor landbathes thedistanthillsandbattlements, touchesthespearsof thelegionaries, and shines in full gloryon theecstatic faceof the aged saint. Itdoesnotseemapartofthescene.Youseethepicturethroughit.AstepfurtheronthereisaHolyFamily,whichseemstometheultimateeffortoftheearlymanner.AJewishcarpenterholdshisfair-hairedchildbetweenhisknees.Theurchinholdsupabirdtoattracttheattentionofalittlewhitedogonthefloor.The mother, a dark-haired peasant woman, looks on the scene with quietamusement. The picture is absolutely perfect in detail. It seems to betheconsigneamongcriticstosayitlacks"style."TheysayitisafamilysceneinJudaea,voilátout.Ofcourse,anditisthatverytruthandnaturethatmakesthis picture so fascinating. The Word was made flesh, and not aphosphorescent apparition; and Murillo knew what he was about when hepaintedthisviewoftheinteriorofSt.Joseph'sshop.Whatabsurdpresumptionto accuse this great thinker of a deficiency of ideality, in face of these twogloriousMarys of theConception that fill the roomwith light andmajesty!They hang side by side, so alike and yet so distinct in character. One is awomaninknowledgeandagoddessofpurity; theother,absolute innocence,startled by the stupendous revelation and exalted by the vaguelycomprehended glory of the future. It is before this picture that the visitoralwayslingers longest.Thefaceis thepurestexpressionofgirlishlovelinesspossible to art. The Virgin floats upborne by rosy clouds, flocks of pinkcherubsflutteratherfeetwavingpalm-branches.Thegoldenairisthickwithsuggestionsofdimcelestialfaces,butnothingmarstheimposingsolitudeoftheQueenofHeaven,shrinedalone,thronedintheluminousazure.SurelynomaneverunderstoodorinterpretedlikethisgrandAndalusianthepowerthattheworshipofwomanexertsonthereligionsoftheworld.Allthepassionatelove that has been poured out in all the ages at the feet of Ashtaroth andArtemisandAphroditeandFreyafoundvisibleformandcoloratlastonthatimmortalcanvaswhere,withhisfervorofreligionandthefullstrengthofhisvirile devotion to beauty, he created, for the adoration of thosewho shouldfollowhim,thistypeoftheperfectFeminine,--
"Thee! standing loveliest in the open heaven!AveMaria! onlyHeaven andThee!"
TherearesomedozensmoreofMurilloherealmostequallyremarkable,butI
cannot stop tomake an unmeaning catalogue of them. There is a charmingGypsyFortune-teller,whosewheedlingvoiceandsmilewerecaughtandfixedinsomehappymomentinSeville;anAdorationoftheShepherds,wonderfulinitshappycombinationofrigidtruthwiththewarmestglowofpoetry;twoAnnunciations,richwiththeradiancethatstreamsthroughtherentveiloftheinnermostheaven,--lightspaintedboldlyupon lights, theWhiteDovesailingoutofthedazzlingbackgroundofcelestialeffulgence,--amiracleandmysteryoftheologyrepeatedbyamiracleandmysteryofart.
Even when you have exhausted theMurillos of theMuseum you have notreachedhishighestachievements incoloranddesign.Youwill find these intheAcademyofSanFernando,--theDreamoftheRomanGentleman,andtheFounding of the Church of St. Mary the Greater; and the powerfulcompositionofSt.ElizabethofHungary, inherhospitalwork. In thefirst,anobleRoman and hiswife have suddenly fallen asleep in their chairs in anelegantapartment.Their slumber ispaintedwithcurious felicity,--you loweryourvoiceforfearofwakingthem.Ontheleftofthepictureistheirdream:theVirgincomesinahaloofgoldencloudsanddesignatesthespotwhereherchurch is to be built. In the next picture the happy couple kneel before thepope and expose their high commission, and outside a brilliant processionmovestotheceremonyofthelayingofthecorner-stone.TheSt.Elizabethisatriumph of genius over a most terribly repulsive subject. The wounds andsores of the beggars are paintedwith unshrinking fidelity, but every vulgardetail is redeemed by the beauty andmajesty of thewhole. I think in thesepictures ofMurillo the lastword of Spanish artwas reached.Therewas nofurtherprogresspossible in life, even forhim. "Otherheights inother lives,Godwilling."
ReturningtotheMuseumandtoVelazquez,wefindourselvesinfrontofhisgreatest historical work, the Surrender of Breda. This is probably the mostutterlyunaffectedhistoricalpaintinginexistence.Thereispositivelynostagebusinessaboutit.OntherightistheSpanishstaff,ontheleftthedeputationofthevanquishedFlemings. In thecentre thegreatSpinolaaccepts thekeysofthecityfromthegovernor;hisattitudeandfacearefullofdignitysoftenedbygenerousandaffablegrace.HelayshishandupontheshoulderoftheFlemishgeneral,andyoucanseeheispayinghimsomechivalrouscomplimentonthegallantfighthehaslost.Ifyoureyeswanderthroughtheopenspacebetweenthetwoescorts,youseeawonderfulwidespreadlandscapeintheNetherlands,whichwould form a fine picture if the figures allwere gone.Opposite thisgreat work is another which artists consider greater,--Las Meninas. WhenLucaGiordanocamefromItalyheinquiredforthispicture,andsaidonseeingit,"Thisisthetheologyofpainting."Ifourtheologywerewhatitshouldbe,and cannot be, absolute and unquestionable truth, Luca the Quick-worker
wouldhavebeen right.Velazquezwaspainting theportrait of a stupid littleinfantawhentheideacametohimofperpetuatingthescenejustasitwas.Weknowhowwehavewishedtobesureoftheexactaccessoriesofpastevents.Themodernragefortheatricallocalcolorisanillustrationofthisdesire.Thegreatartist,whomusthavehonoredhisart,determinedtogivetofutureagesanexactpictureofoneinstantofhisgloriouslife.Itisnottoomuchtosayhehas done this.He stands before his easel, his pencils in his hand. The littleprincessisstifflyposinginthecentre.Herlittlemaidsaregroupedabouther.Twohideousdwarfson the rightare teasinganobledogwho is toodrowsyandmagnanimoustogrowl.Inthebackgroundat theendofa longgalleryagentlemanisopeningadoortothegarden.Thepresenceofroyaltyisindicatedbythereflectionof thefacesof thekingandqueeninasmallmirror,whereyouwouldexpecttoseeyourown.Thelongeryoulookuponthismarvellouspainting,thelesspossibledoesitseemthatitismerelytheplacingofcoloroncanvaswhichcauses thisperfect illusion. Itdoesnot seempossible thatyouare looking at a plane surface.There is a stratumof air before, behind, andbeside these figures.You couldwalk on that floor and see how the artist isgettingonwiththeportrait.Thereisspaceandlightinthispicture,asinanyroom.Everyobjectisdetached,asinthecommonmiracleofthestereoscope.If art consist inmaking a fleetingmoment immortal, if theTrue is a higheridealthantheBeautiful,thenitwillbehardtofindagreaterpaintingthanthis.Itisutterlywithoutbeauty;itstoneisacoldolivegreen-gray;thereisnotoneredeeming grace or charm about it except the noble figure of Velazquezhimself,--yetinitsausterefidelitytotruthitstandsincomparableintheworld.ItgainedVelazquezhisgreatesttriumph.Youseeonhisbreastasprawl-ingred cross, painted evidently by an unskilful hand. This was the graciousanswermadebyPhilipIV.whentheartistaskedhimifanythingwaswantingtothepicture.Thisdecoration,daubedbytheroyalhand,wastheaccoladeoftheknighthoodofSantiago,--anhonorbeyondthedreamsofanartistof thatday. It may be considered the highest compliment ever paid to a painter,excepttheonepaidbyCourbettohimself,whenherefusedtobedecoratedbytheManofDecember.
Among Velazquez's most admirable studies of life is his picture of theBorrachos. A group of rustic roysterers are admitting a neophyte into thedrunkenconfrérie.Hekneelstoreceiveacrownofivyfromthehandsoftheking of the revel.A group of older tipplers are filling their cups, or eyeingtheir brimming glasses, with tipsy, mock-serious glances. There has neverbeen a chapterwrittenwhich so clearly shows the drunkard's nature as thisvulgar anacreontic.A thousandmenhavepainteddrunken frolics, but neverone with such distinct spiritual insight as this. Tome the finest product ofJordaens'geniusishisBohnenKoenigintheBelvedere,butthereyouseeonlythe incidents of themad revel; every one is shouting or singing orweeping
withmaudlingleeortears.ButinthissceneoftheBorrachosthereisnothingscenicorforced.Thesetopershavecometogethertodrink,fortheloveofthewine,--the fun is secondary. This wonderful reserve of Velazquez is clearlyseen in his conception of the king of the rouse.He is a youngman,with aheavy, dull, somewhat serious face, fat rather than bloated, rather pale thanflushed.Heisnakedtothewaisttoshowtheplumpwhitearmsandshouldersand the satiny skin of the voluptuary; one of those men whose heads andwhose stomachs are too loyal ever to give themKatzenjammer or remorse.The others are of the commoner type of haunters of wine-shops,--with redeyes and coarse hides and grizzled matted hair,--but every man of theminexorablytrue,andapredestinedsot.
WemustbreakawayfromVelazquez,passingbyhismarvellousportraitsofkingsanddwarfs, saintsandpoodles,--amongwhomthere isadwarfof twocenturiesago,whoistoolikeTomThumbtoserveforhistwinbrother,--andaportraitofAesop,which is a flashof intuition, an epitomeof all the fables.BeforeleavingtheSpaniardswemustlookatthemostpleasingofallRibera'sworks,--theLadder-DreamofJacob.Thepatriarch liesstretchedon theopenplain in thedeep sleepof theweary.To the right inabroad shaftofcloudygoldtheangelsareascendinganddescending.ThepictureisremarkableforitsminglingthemeritsofRibera'sfirstandsecondmanner.ItisaCaravaggioinitsstrengthandbreadthoflightandshade,andaCorreggioinitsdelicacyofsentimentandrefinedbeautyofcoloring.HewasnotoftensofortunateinhisParmese efforts. They are usually marked by a timidity and an attempt atprettinessinconceivableinthehaughtyandimpulsivemasteroftheNeapolitanschool.
OfthethreegreatSpaniards,Riberaistheleastsympathetic.Heoftendisplaysa tumultuouspowerandenergy towhichhiscalmerrivalsarestrangers.ButyoumissinhimthatsteadydevotiontotruthwhichdistinguishesVelazquez,andthatspiritualliftwhichennoblesMurillo.Thedifference,Iconceive,liesin themoral character of the three.Riberawas a great artist, and theotherswerenoblemen.RiberapassedayouthofstruggleandhungerandtoilamongtheartistsofRome,--astrangerandpennilessinthemagnificentcity,--pickingupcrusts inthestreetandsketchingonquietcurbstones,withnofriend,andnonamebutthatofSpagnoletto,--thelittleSpaniard.Suddenlyrisingtofame,hebrokeloosefromhisRomanassociationsandfledtoNaples,wherehesoonbecame the wealthiest and the most arrogant artist of his time. He heldcontinually at his orders a faction of bravi who drove from Naples, withthreatsandinsultsandviolence,everyartistofeminencewhodaredvisitthecity.Car-racci andGuidoonly saved their livesby flight, and theblamelessandgiftedDomenichino,itissaid,wasfoullymurderedbyhisorder.Itisnotto such a heart as this that is given the ineffable raptures ofMurillo or the
positive revelations of Velazquez. These great souls were above cruelty orjealousy.Velazquezneverknewthestormsofadversity.Safelyanchoredintheroyalfavor,hepassedhisuneventfullifeinthecalmofhisbelovedwork.ButhishandandhomewerealwaysopentothestrugglingartistsofSpain.HewasthebenefactorofAlonzoCano;andwhenMurillocameuptoMadrid,wearyand footsore with his long tramp from Andalusia, sustained by an innateconsciousnessofpower,allonfirewithapictureofVanDyckhehadseeninSeville, the rich and honored painter of the court received with generouskindness the shabby young wanderer, clothed him, and taught him, andwatchedwithnobledelight the first flightsof theyoungeaglewhose strongwingwas so soon to cleave the empyrean.AndwhenMurillowent back toSeville he paid his debt by doing as much for others. These magnanimousheartswerefitcompanyforthesaintstheydrew.
Wehavelingeredsolongwiththenativeartistsweshallhavelittletosayoftherest.TherearetenfineRaphaels,butitisneedlesstospeakofthem.Theyhavebeenendlesslyreproduced.Raphaelisknownandjudgedbytheworld.Aftersomecenturiesofdiscussionthescornersandthecriticsaredumb.AllmenhavelearnedthehabitofAlbani,who,inafrivolousandunappreciativeage,alwaysuncoveredhisheadatthenameofRaphaelSanzio.Welookathispreciousworkwith amingled feelingofgratitude forwhatwehave, andofrebelliouswonder that lives likehis andShelley's shouldbe extinguished intheirgloriousdawn,whilekingsandcountrygentlemenliveahundredyears.What boundless possibilities of bright achievement these two divine youthsowed us in the forty yearsmore they should have lived! Raphael's greatestpicturesinMadridaretheSpasimodiSicilia,andtheHolyFamily,calledLaPerla. The former has a singular history. It was painted for a convent inPalermo,shipwreckedontheway,andthrownashoreonthegulfofGenoa.ItwasagainsenttoSicily,broughttoSpainbytheViceroyofNaples,stolenbyNapoleon,andinPariswassubjectedtoabrilliantlysuccessfuloperationfortransferring the layerofpaint fromtheworm-eatenwood tocanvas. ItcamebacktoSpainwithotherstolengoodsfromtheLouvre.LaPerlawasboughtbyPhilipIV.atthesaleofCharlesI.'seffectsafterhisdecapitation.PhilipwasfondofCharles,butcouldnotresistthetemptationtoprofitbyhisdeath.Thispicturewastherichestofthebooty.Itis,ofallthefacesoftheVirginextant,themostperfectlybeautifulandoneoftheleastspiritual.
There isanother fineMadonna,commonlycalledLaVirgendelPez, fromafishwhichyoungTobitholds inhishand. It is rather tawny incolor,as if ithadbeenpaintedonapineboardandthewoodhadasserteditselffrombelow.It is a charming picture,with all the great Roman's inevitable perfection ofdesign;butitisincomprehensiblethatcritics,M.Viardotamongthem,shouldcallitthefirstinrankofRaphael'sVirginsinGlory.Therearenonewhichcan
dispute that titlewithOur Lady of San Sisto, unearthly and supernatural inbeautyandmajesty.
TheschoolofFlorenceisrepresentedbyacharmingMonaLisaofLeonardodaVinci,almostidenticalwiththatoftheLouvre;andsixadmirablepicturesofAndreadelSarto.Buttheonewhichmostattractsandholdsallthosewhoregard the Faultless Painter with sympathy, and who admiring his geniusregrethiserrors,isaportraitofhiswifeLucreziaFede,whosename,aFrenchwriterhassaid, isadoubleepigram.ItwasthiscapriciousandwilfulbeautywhomadepoorAndreabreakhiswordandembezzlethemoneyKingFrancishadgivenhim to spend forworksof art.Yet thisdangerous face ishisbestexcuse,--thefaceofaman-snarer,subtleandpassionateandcruelinitsblindselfishness,andyetsobeautifulthatanymanmightyieldtoitagainstthecryofhisownwarningconscience.Browningmusthaveseenitbeforehewrote,inhispatheticpoem,--
"Letmy hands frame your face in your hair's gold,You beautiful Lucrezia,thataremine!"
Nowhere,awayfromtheAdriatic,istheVenetianschoolsorichlyrepresentedasinMadrid.CharlesandPhilipwerethemostmunificentfriendsandpatronsofTitian,and theRoyalMuseumcountsamong its treasures inconsequencethe enormous number of forty-three pictures by the wonderful centenarian.Amongthesearetwouponwhichhesetgreatvalue,--aLastSupper,whichhasunfortunatelymoulderedtoruininthehumidrefectoryoftheEscorial,equalinmeritanddestinywiththatofLeonardo;andtheGloria,orapotheosisoftheimperialfamily,which,afterthedeathofCharles,wasbroughtfromYustetotheEscorial, and thence came to swell the treasures of theMuseum. It is agrandandmasterlywork.ThevigorousgeniusofTitianhasgrappledwiththeessentialdifficultiesofasubjectthattremblesonthebalanceofridiculousandsublime, and has come out triumphant. TheFather and the Son sit on high.TheOperatingSpirithoversabovethem.TheVirgininrobesofazurestandsin the blaze of the Presence. The celestial army is ranged around.Below, alittle lower than theangels,areCharlesandPhilipwith theirwives,on theirknees, with white cowls and clasped hands,--Charles in his premature age,withworn face andgrizzledbeard; andPhilip in his youthof unwholesomefairness, with red lips and pink eyelids, such as Titian painted him in theAdonis.Theforegroundisfilledwithprophetsandsaintsofthefirstdignity,and a kneeling woman, whose face is not visible, but whose attitude anddraperyaredrawnwith thesinuousandundulatinggraceof thathandwhichcould not fail. Every figure is turned to the enthroned Deity, touched withineffablelight.Theartisthaspaintedheaven,andisnotabsurd.Inthatageofsubstantialfaithsuchachievementswerepossible.
TherearetwoVenusesbyTitianverylikethatofDresden,buttheheadshavenot thesamedignity;andaDanaéwhich isa replicaof theViennaone.HisSalome bearing the Head of John the Baptist is one of the finestimpersonationsoftheprideoflifeconceivable.Sounapproachablearethesoftlightsandtonesontheperfectarmsandshouldersofthefull-bodiedmaiden,thatTintoretonedayexclaimedindespairbeforeit,"Thatfellowpaintswithgroundflesh."
ThisgallerypossessesoneofthelastworksofTitian,--theBattleofLepanto,whichwasfoughtwhentheartistwasninety-fouryearsofage.Itisacourtlyallegory,--KingPhilipholdshis little son inhis arms, a courier angelbringsthe news of victory, and to the infant a palm-branch and the scrollMajoratibi.Outsideyou see the smokeand flashof anavalbattle, andamalignantandtur-banedTurkliesboundonthefloor.Itwouldseemincrediblethatthisenormouscanvasshouldhavebeenexecutedatsuchanage,didwenotknowthat when the pest cut themightymaster off in his hundredth year he wasbusilyatworkuponaDescentfromtheCross,whichPalmatheElderfinishedonhiskneesanddedicated toGod:QuodTitianus inchoatumreliquitPalmareverenterabsolvitDeoquedicavitopus.
The vast representation of Titian rather injures Veronese and Tintoret.OppositetheGloriaofYustehangsthesketchofthatstupendousParadiseofTintoret,whichwe see in thePalaceof theDoges,--thebiggest picture everpainted by mortal, thirty feet high and seventy-four long. The sketch wassecuredbyVelazquezinhistourthroughItaly.ThemostcharmingpictureofVeroneseisaVenusandAdonis,whichisfinerthanthatofTitian,--aclassicand most exquisite idyl of love and sleep, cool shadow and golden-siftedsunshine.Hismost considerablework in thegallery is aChrist teaching theDoctors, magnificent in arrangement, severely correct in drawing, and of amostvividanddramaticinterest.
WepassthroughacircularvaultedchambertoreachtheFlemishrooms.ThereisachoicethoughscantycollectionoftheGermanandFrenchschools.AlbertDürerhasanAdamandEve, andapricelessportraitofhimself asperfectlypreservedasifitwerepaintedyesterday.Hewearsacuriousandpicturesquecostume,--stripedblack-and-white,--agraceful tasselledcapof thesame.ThepictureissufficientlylikethestatueatNuremberg;alongSouth-Germanface,blue-eyed and thin, fair-whiskered,with that expression of quiet confidenceyouwouldexpectinthemanwhosaidoneday,withadmirablecandor,whenpeoplewere praising a picture of his, "It could not be better done." In thiscircular room are four great Claudes, two of which, Sunrise and Sunset,otherwisecalledtheEmbar-cationofSta.Paula,andTobitandtheAngel,areinhisbestandrichestmanner.Itisinconceivabletous,whograduatemenbyahigh-schoolstandard,thattheserefinedandmostelegantworkscouldhave
beenproducedbyamansoimperfectlyeducatedasClaudeLorrain.
There remain the pictures of the Dutch and the Flemings. It is due to thecauses we have mentioned in the beginning that neither in Antwerp norDresdennorParisistheresuchwealthandprofusionoftheNetherlandsartasinthismountain-guardedcornerofWesternEurope.Ishallhavebutawordtosay of these three vast rooms, for Rubens and Van Dyck and Teniers areknown to every one. The first has here a representation so complete that ifEurope were sunk by a cataclysm from the Baltic to the Pyrenees everyessential characteristic of the great Fleming could still be studied in thisgallery.WiththeexceptionofhisDescentfromtheCrossintheCathedralatAntwerp,paintedinamomentoffullinspirationthatnevercomestwiceinalife,everythinghehasdoneelsewheremaybematchedinMadrid.Hislargestpicture here is an Adoration of the Kings, an overpowering exhibition ofwastefulluxurianceofcolorandfougueofcomposition.TothelefttheVirginstandsleaningwithqueenlymajestyovertheeffulgentChild.Fromthispointthelightflashesoutoverthekneelingmagi,thegorgeouslyrobedattendants,the prodigality of velvet and jewels and gold, to fade into the lovely clear-obscureofastarrynightpeopledwithdimcamelsandcattle.Ontheextremerightisamostgracefulandgallantportraitoftheartistonhorseback.Wehaveanother fine self-portraiture in the Garden of Love,--a group of lords andladies in a delicious pleasance where the greatest seigneur is Peter PaulRubensandthefinestladyisHelenForman.Thesetrueartistshadtopaintformoneysomany ignoble faces that theycouldnotbeblamedfor taking theirrevengeinpaintingsometimestheirownnobleheads.VanDyckneverdrewaprofile so faultless in manly beauty as his own which we see on the samecanvaswiththatofhisfriendtheEarlofBristol.Lookatthetwofacessidebyside,andsaywhetherGodorthekingcanmakethebetternobleman.
AmongthosemythologicalsubjectsinwhichRubensdelighted,thebestherearehisPerseusandAndromeda,wheretheyoungherocomesglori-ouslyinabrand-newsuitofMilanesearmor,whilethelovelyprincess,inacostumethatnevergrowsold-fashioned,consistingofsunshineandgoldenhair,awaitshimand deliverance in beautiful resignation; a Judgment of Paris, the ThreeGraces,--both prodigies of his strawberries-and-cream color; and a curioussuckling ofHercules, which is the prototype or adumbration of the ecstaticvisionofSt.Bernard.HehasalsoacopyofTitian'sAdamandEve,inanout-of-the-way place downstairs, which should be hung beside the original, toshowthedifferenceofhandlingofthetwomastercolorists.
Especially happy is this Museum in its Van Dycks. Besides thoseincomparable portraits of LadyOxford, of Liberti theOrganist ofAntwerp,and others better than the best of any otherman, there are a few large andelaboratecompositionssuchasIhaveneverseenelsewhere.Theprincipalone
istheCaptureofChristbyNightintheGardenofGethsemane,whichhasallthe strength ofRubens,with amore refined studyof attitudes and a greaterdelicacyoftoneandtouch.AnotheristheCrowningwithThorns,--althoughofless dimensions, of profound significance in expression, and a flowing andmarrowysoftnessofexecution.Youcannotsurvey theworkofVanDyck inthiscollection,sofullofdeepsuggestion,showinganintellectsovividandsorefined,amasteryofprocessessothoroughandsointelligent,withouttheoldwonderofwhathewouldhavedoneinthatripeagewhenTitianandMurilloand Shakespeare wrought their best and fullest, and the old regret for thedead,--asEdgarPoesings,thedoublydeadinthattheydiedsoyoung.Wearetemptedtolifttheveilthathidestheunknown,atleastwiththefurtivehandofconjecture; to imagine a field of unquenched activitywhere the early dead,free from the clogs and trammels of the lower world, may follow out theimpulsesoftheirdivinernature,--whereAndreahasnowife,andRaphaelandVanDycknodisease,--whereKeatsandShelleyhavealleternityfortheirloftyrhyme,--whereEllsworthandKoernerandtheLowellboyscanturntheiralertandathleticintelligencetosomethingbetterthanwar.
ACASTLEINTHEAIR
IHAVEsometimesthoughtthatasymptomofthedecayoftruekinghoodinmodern times is the love of monarchs for solitude. In the early days whenmonarchywasarealpowertoanswerarealwant,thekinghadnoneedtohidehimself.Hewasthestrongest,themostknowing,themostcunning.Hemovedamong men their acknowledged chief. He guided and controlled them. Henever losthisdignitybydailyuse.Hecould steal ahorse likeDiomede,hecouldmendhisownbreecheslikeDagobert,andnevertarnishthelustreofthecrown by it.But in later times the throne has become an anachronism.Thewearerofacrownhasdonenothingtogainitbutgivehimselfthetroubletobe born.He has no claim to the reverence or respect ofmen.Yet he insistsuponit,andreceivessomeshowofit.Hislifeismainlypassedinkeepingupthis battle for a lost dignity and worship. He is given up to shams andceremonies.
To a life like this there is something embarrassing in the movement andactivityofagreat city.Thekingcannot join in itwithouta lossofprestige.Beingoutsideofit,heisvexedandhumiliatedbyit.Theemptyformsbecomenauseousinthemidstofthishonestandwholesomerealityofout-of-doors.
Hencethenecessityofthesequietretreatsintheforests,inthewater-guardedislands, in thecloud-girdledmountains.Here theworld isnot seenorheard.
Herethekingmaylivewithsuchapproachtonatureashisfalseanddeformededucationwill allow.He is surroundedbynothingbut theworldof servantsandcourtiers,anditrequireslittleeffortoftheimaginationtoconsiderhimselfchiefandlord.ItwasthisspiritwhichinthedecayingripenessoftheBourbondynastydrovetheLouisfromParistoVersaillesandfromVersaillestoMarly.Millionswerewastedtobuildthevastmonumentofroyalfatuity,andwhenitwasdonetheGrandMonarquefounditnecessarytoflyfromtimetotimetotheshamsolitudeandmockretirementhehadbuiltanhouraway.
WhenPhilipV.camedownfromFrancetohissplendidexileonthethroneofSpain,hesoonweariedoftheinterminableceremoniesoftheCas-tiliancourt,and finding one day, while hunting, a pleasant farm on the territory of theSegovianmonks, flourishing in awrinkle of theGuadarramaMountains, heboughtit,andrearedthePalaceofLaGranja.It isonlykingswhocanbuildtheir castles in the air of palpable stones and mortar. This lordly pleasure-house stands four thousand feet above the sea level. On this commandingheight,inthissavageAlpineloneliness,inthemidstofasceneryoncewildlybeautiful,butnowshornandshavenintoasmuglikenessofaFrenchgarden,Philippassedallthelateryearsofhisgloomyandingloriouslife.Ithasbeeneversinceamosttemptingsummer-housetoalltheBourbons.WhenthesuniscalciningtheplainsofCastile,andthestreetsofMadridarewhitewiththehot lightofmidsummer, thispalace in theclouds isascoolandshadowyasspring twilights.Andbesides, as allpublicbusiness is transacted inMadrid,andLaGranjaisaday'sjourneyaway,itistoomuchtroubletosendacourierevery day for the royal signature,--or, rather, rubric, for royalty in Spain isabovehandwriting,andgivesitsmajesticapprovalwithaflourishofthepen,--sothateverythingwaitsaweekorso,andmuchbusinessgoesfinallyundone;andthisisthehighesttriumphofSpanishindustryandskill.
Wehadsomeformalbusinesswiththecourtoftheregent,andwerenotsorrytolearnthathishighnesswouldnotreturntothecapitalforsomeweeks,andthatconsequently,followingtheprecedentofacertainprophet,wemustgotothemountain.
We found at the Estación del Norte the state railway carriage of her latemajesty,--abrilliantcreationofyellowsatinandprofusegilding,abovidoironwheels,--nottoofullofadistinguishedcompany.SomeoftheleadingmenofNewSpain, oneor twoministers,were there, andwepassedapleasant twohours on the road in thatmost seductive of all human occupations,--talkingpolitics.
Itisremarkablethatwheneveranationisremodellingitsinternalstructure,thesubject most generally discussed is the constitutional system of the UnitedStates.Therepublicansusuallyadoptitsolid.Themonarchistsstudyitwitha
jealousinterest.IfellintoconversationwithSeñor------,oneofthebestmindsinSpain, an enlightened though conservative statesman.He said: "It is hardforEuropetoadoptasettledbeliefaboutyou.Americaisalandofwonders,ofcontradictions.Onepartycallsyoursystemfreedom,anotheranarchy.Inalllegislative assemblies of Europe, republicans and absolutists alike drawarguments from America. But what cannot be denied are the effects, theresults.Theseareevident,somethingvastandgrandiose,alifeandmovementtowhichtheOldWorldisstranger."HeafterwardsreferredwithgreatinteresttotheimaginaryimperialistmovementinAmerica,andraisedhiseyebrowsinpolite incredulity when I assured him there was as much danger of SpainbecomingMohammedanasofAmericabecomingimperialist.
We stopped at the little station of Villalba, in themidst of thewide browntable-landthatstretchesfromMadridtotheEscorial.AtVillalbawefoundtheinevitable swarm of beggars, who always know by the sure instinct ofwretchednesswhereaharvestofcuartosistobeachieved.IhaveoftenpassedVillalba and have seen nothing but the station-master and thewater-vender.But to-day, because there were a half dozen excellencies on the train, theentire mendicant force of the district was on parade. They could not haveknownthesegentlemenwerecoming; theymusthavescentedpennies in theair.
Awaiting us at the rear of the station were three enormous lumberingdiligences, each furnishedwith nine superbmules,--four pairs and a leader.Theywereloadedwithgaudytrappings,andtheirshinycoats,andbacksshorninto graceful arabesques, showed that they did not belong to the working-classes, but enjoyed the gentlemanly leisure of official station. The driversworeasmartpostilionuniformandtheroyalcrownontheircaps.
We threw some handfuls of copper and bronze among the picturesquemendicants.Theygathered themupwithgraveCastiliandecorum, and said,"Godwill repayyourgraces."Thepostilionscracked theirwhips, themulesshooktheirbellsgayly,theheavywagonsstartedoffatafullgallop,andthebeggarssaid,"MayyourgracesgowithGod!"
ItwastheendofJuly,andtheskywasblueandcloudless.Thefine,softlightof theafternoonwasfallingon the tawnyslopesand theclose-reapedfields.The harvest was over. In the fields on either side theywere threshing theirgrain, not as in the outside world, with the whirring of loud and swiftmachinery,nor evenwith the active and lively swingingof flails; but in theopenair,under thewarmsky, thecattlewere lazily treadingout thecornonthebareground,tobewinnowedbythewanderingwind.NochangefromthetimeofSolomon.Throughaninfinityofages,eversincecornandcattlewere,the Iberian farmer in this very spot haddrivenhis beastsoverhis crop, and
neverdreamedofabetterwayofdoingthework.
NotonlydoestheSpaniardnotseekforimprovements,heutterlydespisesandrejects them. The poorer classes especially, who would find an enormousadvantageinincreasedproduction,lighteningtheirhardlotbyagreaterplentyof themeans of life, regard every introduction of improvedmachinery as ablow at the rights of labor.Whenmany years ago aDutch vintner went toValdepeñasandsogreatlyimprovedthemanufactureofthatexcellentbutill-made wine that its price immediately rose in the Madrid market, he wasmobbed and plundered by his ignorant neighbors, because, as they said, hewaslaboringtomakewinedearer. IneveryattemptwhichhasbeenmadetomanufactureimprovedmachineryinSpain,thegreatestcarehastobetakentoprevent the workmen from maliciously damaging the works, which theyimaginearetotakethebreadfromthemouthsoftheirchildren.
Sostrongisthisfeelingineverydepartmentofnationallife,thatthemayoralwho drove our spanking nine-in-hand received with very ill humor oursuggestionthatthetimecouldbegreatlyshortenedbyaFellrailroadoverthehillstoLaGranja."Whatwouldbecomeofnosotros?"heasked.Anditreallywould seem a pity to annihilate so much picturesqueness and color at thebiddingofmereutility.AgaylyembroideredAndalusianjacket,brightscarletsilkwaistcoat,--a richwide belt, intowhich his long knife, the navaja, wasjauntily thrust,--buckskin breeches,withValentian stockings,which, as theyare open at the bottom, have been aptly likened to a Spaniard's purse,--andshoesmadeofMurcianmatting,composedhisnattyoutfit.Byhissideontheboxsatthezagal,hisassistant,whoseespecialfunctionseemedtobetoswearat thecattle. Ihaveheard someeloquent imprecation inmyday. "Ourarmyswore terribly" at Hilton Head. The objuration of the boatmen of theMississippiisveryvigorousandracy.ButIhaveneverassistedatasessionofprofanity so loud, so energetic, so original as thatwithwhich thisCastilianpostilionregaledus.Thewonderfulconsistencyandperseverancewithwhichtherolewassustainedwasworthyofamuchbettercause.
Hebeganbyyellinginacoarse,stridentvoice,"Arre!arre!"(Getup!)withaviciousemphasisonthefinalsyllable.ThisisoneoftheMoorishwordsthathaveremainedfixedlikefossilsinthelanguageoftheconquerors.Itsconstantuse in the mouths of muleteers has given them the name of arrieros. Thisgeneraladmonitionbeingaddressedtotheteamatlarge,thezagaldescendedtodetails,andproceededtovilipendthegallopingbeastsseparately,beginningwiththeleader.Heinformedhim,stillinthiswild,jerkingscream,thathewasadog,thathismother'scharacterwasfarfromthatofCaesar'swife,andthatifmorespeedwasnotexhibitedonthisdowngrade,hewouldbeforcedtoresorttoextrememeasures.Atthementionofawhip,thetallmalemulewholedtheteamdashedgallantlyoff,andthediligencewassoonenvelopedinacloudof
dust. This seemed to excite our gay charioteer to the highest degree. Hescreamed lustily at his mules, addressing each personally by its name."Andaluza,arre!ThouofArragon,go!Bewarethescourge,Manchega!"andeveryanimalacknowledgedthespecialattentionbyshakingitsearsandbellsandwhiskingitsshaventail,asthediligencerolledfuriouslyoverthedulldrabplain.
Forthreehourstheironlungsofthemuleteerknewnorestorpause.Severaltimesinthejourneywestoppedatapost-stationtochangeourcattle,butthesame brazen throat sufficed for all the threatening and encouragement thatkept them at the top of their speed.Beforewe arrived at our journey's end,however,hewashoarseasa raven,andkeptonehandpressed tohis jaw toreinforcetheexhaustedmusclesofspeech.
Whenthewideanddustyplainwaspassed,webeganbyaslowandwindingascent the passage of the Guadarrama. The road is an excellent one, andalthough so seldom used,--a fewmonths only in the year,--it is kept in themost perfect repair. It is exclusively a summer road, being in the winterimpassablewithsnow.Itaffordsateveryturnthemostcharmingcompositionsofmountain andwooded valley. At intervals we passed amounted guardiacivil,whosatasmotionlessinhissaddleasanequestrianstatue,andsalutedasthecoachesrattledby.Andonceortwiceinaquietnookbytheroadsidewecame upon the lonely cross that marked the spot where a man had beenmurdered.
Itwasnearlysunsetwhenwearrivedatthesummitofthepass.Wehaltedtoaskforaglassofwaterat thehutofagray-hairedwomanon themountain-top.Itwasgivenandreceivedasalwaysinthispiouscountry,inthenameofGod.Aswedescended,themulesseemedtohavegainednewvigorfromtheprospectofaneasystretchoffací-lisdescensus,andthezagalemployedwhatwas left of his voice inprovoking them to speedby insulting remarksupontheirlineage.Thequicktwilightfellasweenteredavastforestofpinesthatclothedthemountain-side.TheenormoustreeslookedinthedimeveninglightliketheformsoftheAnakim,maimedwithlightningbutstilldefyingheaven.Years of battle with the mountain winds had twisted them into everyconceivableshapeofwrithinganddistorteddeformity.Ineversawtrees thatso nearly conveyed the idea of being the visible prison of tortured dryads.Their trunks, white and glistening with oozing resin, added to the ghostlyimpressiontheycreatedintheuncertainandfailinglight.
Wereachedthevalleyandrattledbyasleepyvillage,whereweweregreetedbyachorusofoutragedcurswhosebeauty-sleepwehaddisturbed,andthenbegantheslowascentofthehillwhereSt.Ildefonsostands.Wehadnotgonefarwhenweheardapatteringofhoofsandaringingofsabrescomingdown
theroadtomeetus.Thediligencestopped,andtheIntroducerofAmbassadorsjumped to the ground and announced, "El Regente del Reino!" It was theregent,thecourteousandamiableMarshalSerrano,whohadriddenoutfromthe palace towelcomehis guests, andwho, after hasty salutations, gallopedbacktoLaGranja,wherewesoonarrived.
Wewereassignedtheapartmentsusuallygiventothepapalnuncio,andsleptwithanepiscopalpeaceofmind. In themorning,aswewerewalkingaboutthe gardens, we saw looking from the palace window one of the mostaccomplished gentlemen and diplomatists of the new regime.He descendedand did the honors of the place. The system of gardens and fountains isenormous. It is evidentlymodelleduponVersailles,but thecopy is inmanyrespectsfinerthantheoriginal.Thepeculiarityofthesite,whileofferinggreatdifficulties,atthesametimeenhancesthetriumphofsuccess.Thisisagardentaughttobloomuponabarrenmountain-side.Theearthinwhichthesetreesareplantedwasbroughtfromthosedimplainsinthedistanceonthebacksofmenandmules.Thepipesthatsupplytheseinnumerablefountainswerelaidonthebarerocksandthesoilwasthrownoverthem.Everytreewasguardedandwatchedlikeababy.Therewasprobablyneveragardenthatgrewundersuchcircumstances,--buttheresultissuperb.Thefountainsarefedbyavastreservoir in themountain, and thewater they throw into the bright air is asclear asmorning dew.Every alley and avenue is a vista that ends in a vastpicture of shaggy hills or far-off plains,--while behind the royal gardenstowersthelordlypeakofthePeñalara,thrusteightthousandfeetintothethinblueether.
Thepalacehasitsshareofhistory.ItwitnessedtheabdicationoftheuxoriousbigotPhilipV.in1724,andhisresumptionofthecrownthenextyearattheinstance of his proud and turbulent Parmesan wife. His bones rest in thechurchhere,ashehatedtheAustrianlinetoointenselytosharewiththemthegorgeous crypt of the Escorial. His wife, Elizabeth Farnese, lies under thesame gravestone with him, as if unwilling to forego even in death thattremendous influencewhichhervigorousvitalityhad always exercisedoverhiswavering and sensual nature. "Das Ewig-Weibliche"masters and guideshimstill.
Thisretreatintheautumnof1832wasthesceneofaprodigiousexhibitionofcourageandenergyonthepartofanotherItalianwoman,DoñaLouisaCarlotadeBorbon.FerdinandVIL,hismindweakenedbyillness,andinfluencedbyhisministers,hadproclaimedhisbrotherDonCarlosheirtothethrone,totheexclusionofhisowninfantdaughter.Hiswife,QueenChristine,brokendownby the long conflict, had givenway in despair. But her sister,Doña LouisaCarlota, heard of the news in the south of Spain, and, leaving her babiesatCadiz(twolittleurchins,oneofwhomwastobekingconsort,andtheother
wastofallbyhiscousinMontpensier'shandinthefieldofCarabanchel),shepostedwithoutamoment'spauseforrestorsleepovermountainsandplainsfrom the sea to La Granja. She fought with the lackeys and the ministerstwenty-fourhoursbeforeshecouldseehersisterthequeen.HavingbreathedintoChristineherowninvinciblespirit,theysucceeded,afterendlesspains,inreachingtheking.Obstinateastheweakoftenare,herefusedatfirsttolistentothem;butbytheirwomanlywiles,theirItalianpolicy,theirmagneticforce,theyat last broughthim to revokehisdecree in favorofDonCarlos and torecognizetherightofhisdaughtertothecrown.Then,terribleinhertriumph,DoñaLouisaCarlotasentfortheMinisterCalomarde,overwhelmedhimwiththecoarsestandmostfuriousabuse,and,unabletoconfinehervictoriousrageand hate to words alone, she slapped the astounded minister in the face.Calomarde, trembling with rage, bowed and said, "A white hand cannotoffend."
Thereisnothingstrongerthanawoman'sweakness,orweakerthanawoman'sstrength.
A few years later, when Ferdinand was in his grave, and the baby Isabelreigned under the regency of Christine, a movement in favor of theconstitutionof 1812burst out,where revolutions generally do, in the south,and spread rapidly over the contiguous provinces. The infection gained thetroopsoftheroyalguardatLaGranja,andtheysurroundedthepalacebawlingfortheconstitution.Theregentess,withaproudrelianceuponherownpower,orderedthemtosendadeputationtoherapartment.Adozenofthemutineerscamein,anddemandedtheconstitution.
"Whatisthat?"askedthequeen.
Theylookedateachotherandcudgelledtheirbrains.Theyhadneverthoughtofthatbefore.
"Caramba!"said they."Wedon'tknow.Theysay it isagood thing,andwillraiseourpayandmakesaltcheaper."Theirpoliticaleconomywassomewhatflimsy,but theyhadthebayonets,andthequeenwascompelledtogivewayandproclaimtheconstitution.
Imust add one trifling reminiscencemore of LaGranja,which has also itslittlemoral.Afriendofmine,acolonelofengineers,inthesummerbeforetherevolution,wasstandingbeforethepalacewithsomeofficers,whenamean-lookingcurranpast.
"Whatanuglydog!"saidthecolonel.
"Hush!"repliedanother,withanawe-struckface."ThatisthedogofhisroyalhighnessthePrinceofAsturias."
Thecolonelunfortunatelyhadalogicalmind,andfailedtoseethatownershiphadanybearingonapurelyaestheticquestion.Hedefinedhisposition."Idonot think thedog is uglybecausehebelongs to theprince. I onlymean theprincehasanuglydog."
Thewindowjustabovethemslammed,andanotherofficercameupandsaidthat theAdversarywas topay."THEQUEENwasat thewindowandheardeverywordyousaid."
Anhourafterthecolonelreceivedanorderfromthecommandantoftheplace,revokinghis leave of absence andordering him to duty inMadrid. It is notverysurprisingthatthisofficerwasattheBridgeofAlcolea.
At noon the day grew dark with clouds, and the black storm-wreath camedownoverthemountains.Aterrificfireofartilleryresoundedforahalf-hourin the craggy peaks about us, and a driving shower passed over palace andgardens.Thenthesuncameoutagain,thepleasure-groundswerefresherandgreenerthanever,andthevisitorsthrongedinthecourtofthepalacetoseethefountains inplay.Theregent led thewayonfoot.Thegeneral followed inapony phaeton, and ministers, adjutants, and the population of the districttroopedalonginaparty-coloredmass.
Itwasagoodafternoon'sworktovisitallthefountains.Theyaretwenty-sixinnumber, strewn over the undulating grounds. Peoplewho visit Paris usuallyconsideradayofGrandesEauxatVersailles the lastwordof thisspeciesofcostly trifling.But thewatersatVersaillesbearnocomparisonwith thoseofLaGranja.Thesenseisfatiguedandbewilderedherewiththeirmagnificenceand infinite variety. The vast reservoir in the bosom of themountain, filledwiththepurestwater,givesapossibilityofmoresuperbeffectsthanhavebeenattainedanywhereelseintheworld.TheFountainoftheWindsisone,wherea vastmass ofwater springs into the air from the foot of a great cavernousrock;thereisasuccessionofexquisitecascadescalledtheRace-Course,filledwithgracefulstatuary;acolossalgroupofApolloslayingthePython,whoinhisdeathagonybleedsatorrentofwater;theBasketofFlowers,whichthrowsup a system of forty jets; the great single jet called Fame,which leaps onehundredandthirtyfeetintotheair,aNiagarareversed;andthecrowninggloryof the garden, the Baths of Diana, an immense stage scene in marble andbronze,crowdedwithnymphsandhunting-parties,wildbeastsandbirds,andeverywherethewildestluxurianceofspoutingwaters.Weweretoldthatitwasoneoftheroyalcapricesofarecenttenantofthepalacetoemulateherchasteprototypeofthesilverbowbychoosingthisartisticbasinforherablutions,asufficient number of civil guards being posted to prevent the approach ofCastilianActaeons.Fordaptlyremarksoftheseextravagantfollies:"Theyokeofbuildingkingsisgrievous,andespeciallywhen,asSt.SimonsaidofLouis
XIV.andhisVersailles,'IIseplutátyranniserlanature.'"
As thebiliousPhilippausedbefore thismassofsculpturedextravagance,helookedatitamomentwithevidentpleasure.Thenhethoughtofthebill,andwhined,"Thouhastamusedmethreeminutesandhastcostmethreemillions."
TodoPhilipjustice,hedidnotallowthebills totroublehimmuch.Hediedowingforty-fivemillionpiastres,whichhisdutifulsonrefusedtopay.Whenyou deal with Bourbons, it is well to remember the Spanish proverb, "Asparrowinthehandisbetterthanabustardonthewing."
Wewastedanhour inwalking through thepalace. It is, likeallpalaces, toofine and dreary to describe.Miles of drawing-rooms and boudoirs, with aninfinityoftapestryandgiltchairs,alltheapartmentshauntedbythedemonofennui. All idea of comfort is sacrificed to costly glitter and flimsymagnificence.Somefinepaintingswerepininginexileonthedesolatewalls.TheylookedhomesickfortheMuseum,wheretheycouldbeseenofmen.
Thenextmorningwedrovedownthemountainandovertherollingplaintothe fineold cityofSegovia. Inpointof antiquity andhistoric inter- est it isinferior to no town in Spain. It has lost its ancient importance as a seat ofgovernment and a mart of commerce. Its population is now not more thaneleven thousand. Its manufactures have gone to decay. Its woollen works,which once employed fourteen thousand persons and produced annuallytwenty-fivethousandpiecesofcloth,nowsustainasicklyexistenceandturnoutnotmorethantwohundredpiecesyearly.Itsmint,whichoncespreadoverSpainaDanaeanshowerofouncesanddollars,isnowreducedtothehumbleoffice of striking copper cuartos. More than two centuries ago this declinebegan.Boisel,whowastherein1669,speaksofthecityas"presquedesertetfort pauvre."Hementions as amark of the general unthrift that the day hearrivedtherewasnobreadintownuntiltwoo'clockintheafternoon,"andnoonewasastonishedatit."
Yeteven in itspovertyand rags ithas theairofa town thathas seenbetterdays.Traditionsays itwasfoundedbyHercules. Itwasan importantcityoftheRomanEmpire, andagreatcapital in thedaysof theArabmonarchy. Itwas the court of the star-gazing King Alonso the Wise. Through a dozencenturiesitwastheflowerofthemoun-tainsofCastile.Eachsucceedingageandracebeautifiedandembellishedit,andeach,departing,leftthetraceofitspassageintheabidinggraniteofitsmonuments.TheRomansleftthegloriousaqueduct,thatworkofdemigodswhoscornedtomentionitintheirhistories;its mediaeval bishops bequeathed to later times their ideas of ecclesiasticalarchitecture;andtheArabsthescienceoffortificationandtheindustrialarts.
Itsveryruinanddecaymakesitonlymoreprecioustothetraveller.Thereare
herenoneofthemodernandcommonplaceevidencesoflifeandactivitythatshocktheartisticsenseinothertowns.Allisold,moribund,andpicturesque.It lies here in the heart of the Guadarramas, lost and forgotten by thecivilizationoftheage,mutteringinitsseniledreamofthegloriesofanolderworld.Ithasnotvitalityenoughtoattractarailroad,andsoisonlyreachedbyalongandtiresomejourneybydiligence.Itssolitudeisrarelyintrudeduponbytheimpertinentcurious,andtheredbackofMurrayisarareapparitioninitswindingstreets.
Yet those who come are richly repaid. One does not quickly forget theimpressionproducedbythefirstviewofthevastaqueduct,asyoudriveintothe town from La Granja. It comes upon you in an instant,--the two greatranges of superimposed arches, over one hundred feet high, spanning theravine-likesuburbfromtheouterhillstotheAlcázar.Youraiseyoureyesfromthemarket-place,with its dickering crowd, from the old and squalid housesclusteredlikeshotrubbishatthefootofthechasm,tothisgrandandsoaringwonderofutilitarianarchitecture,withsomethingofafancythatitwasnevermade, that it has stood there since the morning of the world. It has thelightnessand thestrength, theabsenceofornamentand theessentialbeauty,thevastnessandtheperfection,ofaworkofnature.
ItisoneofthosegiganticworksofTrajan,socommoninthatmagnificentagethatRomanauthorsdonotalludetoit.Itwasbuilttobringthecoolmountainwater of the Sierra Fonfria a distance of nine miles through the hills, thegulches,andthepineforestsofValsain,andovertheopenplaintothethirstycityofSegovia.TheaqueductproperrunsfromtheoldtowerofCaserónthreethousandfeettothereservoirwherethewaterdepositsitssandandsediment,and thence begins the series of one hundred and nineteen arches, whichtraverse three thousand feetmoreandpass thevalley, the arrabal, and reachthecitadel.Itiscomposedofgreatblocksofgranite,soperfectlyframedandfittedthatnotaparticleofmortarorcementisemployedintheconstruction.
Thewonderof theworkisnotsomuchin itsvastnessor itsbeautyas in itstremendous solidity and duration. A portion of it had been cut away bybarbarousarmiesduringthefifteenthcentury,andinthereignofIsabellatheCatholicthemonk-architectoftheParral,JuanEscovedo,thegreatestbuilderofhisday inSpain, repaired it.These repairshave themselves twiceneededrepairing since then. Marshal Ney, when he came to this portion of themonument,exclaimed,"Herebeginstheworkofmen'shands."
ThetrueSegovianwouldhootatyouifyouassignedanymortalpaternitytotheaqueduct.HecallsittheDevil'sBridge,andtellsyouthisstory.TheEvilOnewasinlovewithaprettygirloftheuppertown,andfullofprotestationsofdevotion.ThefairSegovianlistenedtohimoneevening,whenherplump
arms achedwith thework of bringingwater from the ravine, and promisedeyes of favor if his Infernal Majesty would build an aqueduct to her doorbeforemorning.Heworkedallnight,liketheDevil,andthemaiden,openingherblackeyesatsunrise,sawhimputtingthelaststoneinthelastarch,asthefirst ray of the sun lighted on his shining tail. The Church, we think veryunfairly, decided that he had failed, and released the coquettish contractorfromherpromise;anditissaidtheDevilhasnevertrustedaSego-vianoutofhissightagain.
The bartizaned keep of the Moorish Alcázar is perched on the westernpromontory of the city that guards the meeting of the streams Eresma andClamores.Ithasbeeninthechangesofthewarringtimesapalace,afortress,aprison (where our friend--everybody's friend--Gil Blas was once confined),andof lateyears a collegeof artillery. Inoneof its roomsAlonso theWisestudiedtheheavensmorethanwasgoodforhisorthodoxy,andfromoneofitswindowsa ladyof thecourtoncedroppeda royalbaby,of thebadbloodofTrasta-mara.HenryofTrastamarawillseemmorerealifweconnecthimwithfiction. He was the son of "La Favorita," who will outlast all legitimateprincesses,inthedeathlessmusicofDonizetti.
Drivingthroughathrongofbeggarsthaten-cumberedthecarriagewheelsasgrasshopperssometimesdothelocomotivesonaWesternrailway,wecametothefineGothicCathedral,builtbyGildeOntañon,fatherandson,intheearlypartof the sixteenth century. It is adelight to the eyes; the richharmoniouscolorofthestone,thesymmetryofproportion,theprofuseopulenceandgravefinish of the details. It was built in that happy era of architecture when abuilderoftasteandculturehadallthepastofGothicartathisdisposition,andbefore the degrading influence of the Jesuits appeared in the churches ofEurope.WithintheCathedralisremarkablyairyandgracefulineffect.Amostjudicioususehasbeenmadeof the exquisite salmon-coloredmarblesof thecountryinthegreataltarandthepavement.
Weweremetbycivilecclesiasticsof thefoundationandshownthebeautiesandthewondersoftheplace.Amongmuchthatisworthless,thereisoneveryimpressiveDescent from theCross by Juande Juni, ofwhich that excellentMr.Madozsays"itisworthytorankwiththebestmasterpiecesofRaphaelor--Mengs;"as ifoneshouldsayofapoet thathewasequal toShakespeareorSouthey.Wewalkedthroughthecloistersandlookedatthetombs.Afloodofwarm light poured through the graceful arches and lit up the trees in thegarden and set the birds to singing, and made these cloisters pleasanter torememberthantheyusuallyare.Ourattendantpriest toldus,withanearnestcredulity that was very touching, the story ofMaria del Salto,Mary of theLeap,whosehistorywasstaringatusfromthewall.ShewasaJewish lady,whose husband had doubts of her discretion, and so threw her from a local
Tarpeian rock. As she fell she invoked the Virgin, and came down easily,sustained,asyouseeinthepicture,byherfaithandherpetticoats.
Aswepartedfromthegoodfathersandenteredourcarriagesatthedoorofthechurch, the swarm of mendicants had become an army. The word haddoubtlessgonethroughthecityoftheoutlandishmenwhohadgoneintotheCathedralwithwholecoats,andtheresultwasaleveeenmasseoftheneedy.Everycointhatwasthrowntothembutincreasedtheclamor,asitconfirmedthemintheirideaoftheboundlesswealthandmunificenceofthegivers.WerecalledtheprofoundthoughtofEmerson,"Iftherichwereonlyasrichasthepoorthinkthem!"Atlastwedrovedesperatelyawaythroughtheraggedandscreamingthrong.WepassedbytheformerhomeoftheJeronomitemonksoftheParral,whichwasoncecalledanearthlyparadise, and in lateryearshasbeenapenforswine;pastcrumblingconventsandruinedchurches;past thecharmingRomanesqueSanMillan,girdledwithitsround-archedcloisters;thegranitepalaceofhisReverencetheBishopofSegovia,andtheeleganttowerof St. Esteban, where the Roman is dying and the Gothic is dawning; andeverystepoftherouteisastudyandajoytotheantiquarian.
Butthoughenrichedbyalltheselegaciesofanimmemorialpast,thereseemsno hope, no future for Segovia. It is as dead as the cities of the Plain. Itsspindleshaverustedintosilence.Itsgaycompanyisgone.Itsstreetsaretoolargeforthepopulation,andyettheyswarmwithbeggars.Ihadoftenhearditcompared in outline to a ship,--the sunrise astern and the prow pointingwestward,--andaswedroveawaythatdayandIlookedbacktotherecedingtown,itseemedtomelikeagrandhulkofsomerichlyladengalleon,agroundontherockthatholdsit,alone,abandonedtoitsfateamongthebarrenbillowsof the tumbling ridges, its crew tired out with struggling and apathetic indespair,mockedbythefinestairandtheclearestsunshinethatevershone,andgazingalwaysforwardtothenewworldandthenewtimeshiddenintherosysunset,whichtheyshallneversee.
THECITYOFTHEVISIGOTHS
EMILIOCASTELARsaidtomeoneday,"Toledoisthemostremarkablecityin Spain. You will find there three strata of glories,--Gothic, Arab, andCastilian,--andanuppercrustofbeggarsandsilence."
Iwentthereinthepleasantesttimeoftheyear,thefirstdaysofJune.Theearlyharvestwasinprogress,andthesunnyroadranthroughgoldenfieldswhichwere enlivened by the reapers gathering in their grain with shining sickles.ThebordersoftheTagusweresocoolandfreshthatitwashardtobelieveone
wasinthearidlandofCastile.FromMadridtoAranjuezyoumeettheusuallandscapesofdunhillocksandpale-bluevegetation,suchasareonlyseeninnature in Central Spain, and only seen in art on the matchless canvas ofVelazquez.ButfromthetimeyoucrossthetawnyfloodoftheTagusjustnorthofAranjuez, thevalley isgladdenedby itswatersall thewayto thePrimateCity.
I amglad I amnotwriting a guide-book, anddonot feel any responsibilityrestinguponmeofadvisingthegentlereadertostopatAranjuezortogobyontheotherside.Thereisamostamiableandpraiseworthyclassoftravellerswhofeelacertainmoralnecessity impelling themtovisiteveryroyalabodewithintheirreach.Theyalwaysseepreciselythesamethings,--somethousandofgiltchairs,somefadedtapestryandmarvelloussatinupholstery,aroominporcelain,andaroominimitationofsomeotherroomsomewhereelse,andapictureortwobythatworthyandtediousyoungman,RaphaelMengs.IknewI would see all these things at Aranjuez, and so contented myself withadmiring its pretty site, its stone-cornered brick facade, its high-shoulderedFrench roof, and its general air of the Place Royale, from the outside. Thegardensareverypleasant,andlonelyenoughforthemostphilosophicstroller.A clever Spanishwriter says of them, "They are sombre as the thoughts ofPhilip II., mysterious and gallant as the pleasures of Philip IV." To arevolutionarymind,itisacertainpleasuretorememberthatthiswasthesceneoftheemeutethatdroveCharlesIV.fromhisthrone,andthePrinceofPeacefromhisqueen'sboudoir.FerdinandVII., theturbulentandrestlessPrinceofAsturias, reaped the immediate profit of his father's abdication; but the twoworthlesscreaturessooncalledinNapoleontodecidethesquabble,whichhedid in his leonine way by taking the crown away from both of them andhandingitoverforsafe-keepingtohislieutenantbrotherJoseph.Honoramongthieves!--a silly proverb, as one readily sees if he falls into their hands, orreadsthehistoryofkings.
IfToledohadbeenbuilt,bysomecapriceofenlightenedpower,especiallyforashowcity,itcouldnotbefinerineffect.Indetail,itisonevastmuseum.Inensemble, it stands majestic on its hills, with its long lines of palaces andconvents terraced around the rocky slope, and on the height the soaringsteeplesofa swarmofchurchespiercing theblue,and thehugecubeof theAlcázar crowning the topmost crest, and domineering the scene. Themagnificentzigzagroadwhich leadsup thesteephillsidefromthebridgeofAlcántara gives an indefinable impression, as of the lordly ramp of somefortressofimpossibleextent.
Thisroadisnew,andinperfectcondition.Butdonotimagineyoucanjudgethe city by the approaches. When your carriage has mounted the hill andpassedtheeveningpromenadeoftheTo-ledans,thequainttriangularPlace,--I
had nearly called it Square,--"waking laughter in indolent reviewers," theZocodover, you are lost in the dae-dalian windings of the true streets ofToledo,whereyoucantouchthewallsoneitherside,andwheretwocarriagescouldnomorepasseachotherthantwolocomotivescouldsaluteandgobyonthe same track. This interesting experiment, which is so common in ourfavored land, could never be tried in Toledo, as I believe there is only oneturnoutinthecity,aminuteomnibuswithstripedlinenhangingsatthesides,driven by a young Castilian whose love of money is the root of muchdiscussionwhenyoupayhisbill. It isamostremarkableestablishment.Thehorsescancheerfullydotheirmileinfifteenortwentyminutes,buttheymakemorerowaboutitthanahigh-pressureMississippisteamer;andthecrazylittletrapisnoisierinproportiontoitssizethananythingIhaveeverseen,exceptperhapsanIndianatree-toad.Ifyoumakeanexcursionoutsidethewalls,theomnibus,noiseandall,isinevitable;letitcome.Butinsidethecityyoumustwalk;theslowerthebetter,foreverydoorisastudy.
It ishard toconceive that thiswasonceagreatcapitalwithapopulationoftwohundredthousandsouls.Youcaneasilywalkfromoneendofthecitytothe other in less than half an hour, and the houses that remain seemcomfortablyfilledbyeighteenthousandinhabitants.Butinthisnarrowspaceonceswarmedthatenormousandbusymultitude.Thecitywaswalledaboutbypowerfulstoneramparts,whichyetstandinalltheirmassyperfection.Sothere couldhavebeenno suburbs.This great aggregationof humanity livedand toiledon thecrestsand in thewrinklesof thesevenhillswesee to-day.HowimportantweretheindustriesoftheearlierdayswecanguessfromthesinglefactthatJohnofPadilla,whenheroseindefenceofmunicipallibertyinthe timeofCharlesV.,drewinonedayfromthe teemingworkshops twentythousandfightingmen.HemettheusualfateofallSpanishpatriots,shamefulandcrueldeath.Hispalacewasrazedtotheground.Successivegovernments,inshiftingfever-fitsofliberalismandabsolutism,havesetupandpulleddownhis statue. But his memory is loved and honored, and the example of thisnoblestofthecomunerosimpressespowerfullyto-daytheardentyoungmindsofthenewSpain.
Your first walk is of course to the Cathedral, the Primate Church of thekingdom.Besides itsecclesiastical importance, it iswellworthyofnotice initself.ItisoneofthepurestspecimensofGothicarchitectureinexistence,andis kept in an admirable state of preservation. Its situation is not the mostfavorable.Itisapproachedbyanetworkofdescendingstreets,allnarrowandwinding,asstreetswerealwaysbuiltunder theintelligentruleof theMoors.Theypreferredtobecoolinsummerandshelteredinwinter,ratherthantolayoutgreatdesertsofboulevards, thehauntsofsunstrokeandpneumonia.Thesite of theCathedralwas chosen from strategic reasons bySt.Eugene,who
built therehisfirstEpiscopalChurch.TheMoorsmadeamosqueofitwhenthey conqueredCastile, and the fastidious piety of St. Ferdinandwould notpermithimtoworshipinashrinethusprofaned.Hetoredowntheoldchurchandlaid,in1227,thefoundationsofthismagnificentstructure,whichwastwocenturiesafterhisdeathinbuilding.Thereis,however,greatunityofpurposeand execution in this Cathedral, due doubtless to the fact that the architectPérezgavefiftyyearsofhislonglifetothesuperintendenceoftheearlywork.Insideandoutsideitismarkedbyagraveandharmoniousmajesty.Thegreatwestern facade is enrichedwith three splendid portals,--the side ones calledthedoorsofHellandJudgment;andthecentralabeautifulogivalarchdividedinto two smaller ones, and adorned with a lavish profusion of delicatelysculptured figures of saints and prophets; on the chaste and severe corniceabove, a group of spirited busts represents the Last Supper. There are fiveotherdoorstothetemple,ofwhichthedooroftheLionsisthefinest,andjustbesideitaheavyIonicporticointhemostdetestabletasteindicatesthefeelingandculturethatsurvivedinthereignofCharlesIV.Tothenorthofthewestfacaderisesthemassivetower.Itisnotamongthetallestintheworld,beingthree hundred and twenty-four feet high, but is very symmetrical andimpressive.Inthepreservationofitspyramidalpurposeitisscarcelyinferiorto that most consummate work, the tower of St. Stephen's in Vienna. It iscomposedofthreesuperimposedstructures,graduallydiminishinginsolidityandmassiveness from the squarebase to thehigh-springingoctagonal spire,garlandedwiththornycrowns.ItisbalancedatthesouthendofthefacadebytheprettycupolaandlanternoftheMozarabicChapel,theworkoftheGreekTheotocopouli.
ButwesoongrowtiredofthehotglareofJune,andpassinamomentintothecool twilight vastness of the interior, refreshing to body and soul. Five finenaves,witheighty-fourpillarsformedeachofsixteengracefulcolumns,--theentireedificemeasuringfourhundredfeet in lengthand twohundredfeet inbreadth,--a grand and shadowy temple grove of marble and granite. At alltimes the light is of anunearthly softness andpurity, tonedby the exquisitewindows and rosaces. But as evening draws on, you should linger till thesacristan grows peremptory, to watch the gorgeous glow of the westernsunlight on the blazing roses of the portals, and themarvellous playof richshadows and faint gray lights in the eastern chapels,where the grand aislessweep in theirperfect curves around thehighaltar.A singular effect is herecreatedbythegildedorganpipesthrustouthorizontallyfromthechoir.Whenthe powerful choral anthems of the church peal out over the kneelingmultitude, it requires little fancy to imagine them the golden trumpets ofconcealedarchangels,whowouldbequiteathomeinthatincomparablechoir.
IfoneshouldspeakofallthenoteworthythingsyoumeetinthisCathedral,he
wouldfindhimselfindangeroffollowinginthefootstepsofMr.Parro,whowroteahandbookofToledo,inwhichsevenhundredandforty-fivepagesaredevoted to a hasty sketch of the basilica. For five hundred years enormouswealthandfanaticalpietyhaveworkedtogetherandinrivalrytobeautifythisspot.TheboundlessrichesoftheChurchandtheboundlesssuperstitionofthelaityhave left their traceshere ineverygeneration informsofmagnificenceand beauty. Each of the chapels—and there are twenty-one of them--is aseparate masterpiece in its way. The finest are those of Santiago and St.Ildefonso,--the former built by the famous Constable Alvaro de Luna as aburial-place forhimself and family, andwhereheandhiswife lie in storiedmarble;andtheothercommemoratingthatcelebratedvisitoftheVirgintothebishop,whichisthefavoritethemeoftheartistsandecclesiasticalgossipsofSpain.
Therewasprobablyneveramorningcallwhichgaverisetosomuchtalk.Itwas not the first time the Virgin had come to Toledo. This was always afavorite excursionofhers.Shehadcome from time to time, escortedbySt.Peter,St.Paul,andSt.James.Butonthemorninginquestion,whichwasnotlongafterBishopIldefonsohadwrittenhisclevertreatise,"DeVirginitateStaeMariae," theQueenofHeavencamedown tomatinprayers, and, taking thebishop'sseat, listened to thesermonwithgreatedification.After serviceshepresentedhimwithanicenewchasuble,ashisownwasgettingrathershabby,made of "cloth of heaven," in token of her appreciation of his spiritedpamphletinherdefence.ThischasublestillexistsinachestinAsturias.Ifyouopenthechest,youwillnotseeit;butthisonlyprovesthetruthofthemiracle,forthechroniclerssaythesacredvestmentisinvisibletomortaleyes.
Butwehaveanotherandmorepalpableproofofthetruthofthehistory.Theslab of marble on which the feet of the celestial visitor alighted is stillpreserved in theCathedral in a tidy chapel built on thevery spotwhere theavatar tookplace.Theslab isenclosed in red jasperandguardedbyan irongrating, and above it these words of the Psalmist are engraved in thestone,Adorabimusinlocoubisteteruntpedesejus.
This story is cut inmarble and carved in wood and drawn upon brass andpainteduponcanvas,inathousandshapesandformsalloverSpain.YouseeintheMuseumatMadridapicturebyMurillodevotedtothisidlefancyofacunningordreamingpriest.Thesubjectwasunworthyofthepainter,andtheresult is what might have been expected,--a picture of trivial andmundanebeauty,withouttheleastsuggestionofspirituality.
But therecanbenodoubtof theserious,solemnearnestnesswithwhich theworthyCastiliansfromthatdaytothisbelievetheromance.Theycameupingroupsandfamilies,touchingtheirfingerstothesacredslabandkissingthem
reverentiallywithmutteredprayers.Afatherwouldtakethefirstkisshimself,andpasshisconsecratedfingeraroundamonghisawe-struckbabes,whoweretoo brief to reach to the grating. Even the aged verger who showed us theshrine, who was so frail and so old that we thought he might be a ghostescapedfromsomeofthemediaevaltombsintheneighborhood,neverpassedthatprettywhite-and-goldchapelwithoutstickinginhisthumbandpullingoutablessing.
Afewfeetfromthisworship-wornstone,acircledrawnononeofthemarbleflagsmarksthespotwhereSantaLeocadiaalsoappearedtothissamefavoredIldefonso and made her compliments on his pamphlet.Was ever author sohappyinhissubjectandhisgentlereaders?Thegoodbishopevidentlythoughtthestoryofthissecondapparitionmightbeconsideredratheraheavydraughtonthecredulityofhisflock,sohewhippedoutaconvenientknifeandcutoffa piece of her saint-ship's veil, which clinched the narrative and struckdoubtersdumb.Thatgreatkingandcrazyrelic-hunter,PhilipII.,sawthisragin his time with profound emotion,--this tiger heart, who could order themurderofathousandinnocentbeingswithoutapang.
There is another chapel in this Cathedral which preaches forever its silentcondemnationofSpanishbigotrytodeafears.ThisistheMozarabicChapel,sacredtothecelebrationoftheearlyChristianriteofSpain.Duringthethreecenturies of Moorish domination the enlightened and magnanimousconquerorsguaranteedtothoseChristianswhoremainedwithintheirlinesthefreeexerciseofalltheirrights,includingperfectfreedomofworship.SothatsidebysidethemosqueandthechurchworshippedGodeachinitsownwaywithout fear or wrong. But when Alonso VI. recaptured the city in theeleventh century, hewished to establish uniformity ofworship, and forbadetheuseoftheancientliturgyinToledo.ThatwhichtheheathenhadrespectedtheCatholicoutraged.ThegreatCardinalXimenezrestoredtheprimitiveriteanddevotedthischarmingchapeltoitsservice.HowillareturnwasmadeforMoorish tolerancewe see in the infernal treatment they afterwards receivedfrom king and Church. They made them choose between conversion anddeath.They embracedChristianity to save their lives. Then the priests said,"Perhapsthisconversionisnotgenuine!Letussendtheheathenawayoutofoursight."OnemillionofthebestcitizensofSpainwerethustornfromtheirhomes and landed starving on thewildAfrican coast. And TeDeumsweresunginthechurchesforthistriumphofCatholicunity.FromthathourSpainhasneverprospered.Itseemsasifshewerelyingeversinceunderthecurseofthesebreakinghearts.
Passing by a world of artistic beauties which never tire the eyes, but soonwouldtirethechroniclerandreader,steppingoverthebroadbronzeslabinthefloorwhichcovers thedustof thehaughtyprimatePortoCarrero,butwhich
bears neither name nor date, only this inscription of arrogant humility,HICJACETPULVISCINISETNIHIL,wewalk into theverdurousandcheerfulGothiccloisters.TheyoccupythesiteoftheancientJewishmarkets,andthezealousprelateTenorio,cousintothegreatlady'smanDonJuan,couldthinkofnobetterwayofacquiring theground than thatof stirringup themob toburn the houses of the heretics. A fresco that adorns the gate explains themeansemployed,addinginsult totheoldinjury.It isapictureofabeautifulchild hangingupon a cross; a fiendish-looking Jew, on a ladder besidehim,holdsinhishandthechild'sheart,whichhehasjusttakenfromhisbleedingbreast;heholdsthedrippingknifeinhisteeth.Thisbrutalmythwasusedforcenturies with great effect by the priesthood upon the mob whenever theywantedaJew'smoneyorhisblood.Evento-daytheoldpoisonhasnotlostitspower.ThisverymorningIheardundermywindowloudandshrillvoices.Ilookedoutandsawagroupofbrownandraggedwomen,withbabiesintheirarms,discussingthenewsfromMadrid.TheProtestants,theysaid,hadbeguntostealCatholicchildren.Theytalkedthemselvesintoafury.Theirelf-lockshung about their fierce black eyes. The sinews of their lean necks workedtensely in their voluble rage. Had they seen our mild missionary at thatmoment,whomallmenrespectandallchildreninstinctivelylove,theywouldhave torn him in pieces in theirMaenad fury, andwould have thought theyweredoingtheirdutyasmothersandCatholics.
ThisabsurdanddevilishchargewasseriouslymadeinaMadridjournal, theorganoftheMod-erates,andcausedgreatfermentationforseveraldays,streetrows, and debates in the Cortes, before the excitement died away. Lastsummer, in theoldMurcian townofLorca, anEnglishgentleman,whohadbeenseveralweeksintheplace,wasattackedandnearlykilledbyamob,whoinsisted that hewas engaged in the business of stealing children, and usingtheir spinalmarrow for lubricating telegraphwires!What a picture of blindandsavage ignorance isherepresented! It remindsusof that sadandpitiful"blood-bath revolt" of Paris, where the wretched mob rose against thewretchedtyrantLouisXV.,accusinghimofbathinginthebloodofchildrentorestorehisownwastedandcorruptedenergies.
Toledoisacitywhereyoushouldeschewguidesandtrustimplicitlytochanceinyourwanderings.Youcanneverbe lost; the town is sosmall thata shortwalkalwaysbringsyoutotheriverorthewall,andthereyoucantakeanewdeparture.Ifyoudonotknowwhereyouaregoing,youhaveeverymomentthedelightofsomeunforeseenpleasure.ThereisnotastreetinToledothatisnot rich in treasures of architecture,--hovels that once were marvels ofbuilding, balconies of curiously wrought iron, great doors with sculpturedpostsandlintels,withgracefullyfinishedhinges,andstuddedwithhugenailswhose fanciful heads are as large as billiard balls. Some of these are still
handsomeresidences,butmosthavefallenintoneglectandabandonment.YoumayfindabeggarinstalledintheruinedpalaceofaMoorishprince,acobbleratworkinthepleasure-houseofaCastilianconqueror.Thegracefulcarvingsaremutilatedanddestroyed,thedelicatearabesquesaresmotheredandhiddenunderatriplecoatofwhitewash.ThemostbeautifulMoorishhouseinthecity,theso-calledTallerdelMoro,wherethegrimgovernorofHuescainvitedfourhundredinfluentialgentlemenoftheprovincetoapoliticaldinner,andcutoffalltheirheadsastheyentered(ifwemaybelievethechronicle,whichwedonot), isnowemptyand rapidlygoing to ruin.Theexquisitepanellingof thewalls, theendlesslyvaried stuccowork that seems tohavebeenwroughtbythedeftfingersofingeniousfairies,isshockinglybrokenandmarred.Giganticcacti look into the windows from the outer court. A gay pomegranate-treeflings its scarletblossoms inon the ruined floor.Rude littlebirdshavebuilttheir nests in the beautiful fretted rafters, and flutter in and out as busy asbrokers. But of all the feasting and loving and plotting these lovely wallsbeheld in that strange age that seems like fable now,--the vivid, intelligent,scientific, tolerant age of theMoors,--even thememory has perished utterlyandforever.
Westrolledawayaimlesslyfromthisbeautifuldesolation,andsooncameoutuponthebrightandairyPaseodelTransito.Theafternoonsunshinelaywarmon the dull brown suburb, but a breezeblew freshly through the dark river-gorge, and we sat upon the stone benches bordering the bluff and gaveourselvesuptothescene.TotherightweretheruinsoftheRomanbridgeandtheMoorishmills;tothelefttheairyarchofSanMartin'sbridgespannedtheboundingtorrent,andfarbeyondstretchedthevastexpanseofthegreenvalleyrefreshedbytheriver,androllinginrankwavesofverduretothebluehillsofGuadalupe.Below us on the slippery rocks that lay at the foot of the sheercliffs, some luxurious fishermen reclined, idlywatching their idle lines.Thehillsstretchedaway,raggedandrocky,dottedwithsolitarytowersandvillas.A squad of beggars rapidly gathered, attracted by the gracious faces of LasSeñoras.Beggingseemsalmost theonly regular industryofToledo.Besidestheseriousprofessionals,whoarerealartistsinstudiedmiseryandingeniousdeformity,all thechildren in townoccasionally leave theirmarblesand theirleap-frogtoturnanhonestpennybyamateurmendicancy.
Achorusofpiteouswhineswentup.ButLaSeñorawasfirm.Shecheckedtheready hands of the juveniles. "Children should not be encouraged to pursuethiswretchedlife.Weshouldgiveonlytoblindmen,becausehereisagreatandevidentaffliction;and tooldwomen,because they lookso lonelyabouttheboots."Theexpositionwassosubtleandlogicalthatitadmittednoreply.Theoldwomenandtheblindmenshuffledawaywith theirpennies,andwebegantochaffthesturdyandrosychildren.
ASpanishbeggarcanbearanythingbutbanter.Heisakeenphysiognomist,andselectshisvictimswithunerringacumen.Ifyoustormorscowlathim,heknowsheismakingyouuncomfortable,andhangsonlikeaburr.Butifyoulaughathim,withgoodhumor,he isdisarmed.Afriendofminereduced toconfusiononeofthemostunabashedmendicantsinCastilebyreplyingtohiswhiningpetition,politelyandwithabeamingsmile,"No,thankyou.Inevereat them." The beggar is far from considering his employment a degradingone.ItisrecognizedbytheChurch,andtheobligationofthisformofcharityespeciallyinculcated.TheaverageSpaniardregardsitasasortoftaxtobeasreadilysatisfiedasatoll-fee.Hewilloftenstopandgiveabeggaracent,andwaitforthechangeinmaravedises.Oneday,attherailwaystation,amuscularrogue approachedme andbegged for alms. I offeredhimmy sac-de-nuit tocarry a block or two. He drew himself up proudly and said, "I beg yourpardon,sir;IamnoGallician."Anoldwomancameupwithabasketonherarm."Canitbepossibleinthisfarcountry,"saidLaSeñora,"orarethese--yes,theyare,deliberatepeanuts."Withapennyweboughtunlimitedquantitiesofthis levelling edible, and with them the devoted adherence of the agedmerchant.Sheimmediatelytookchargeofoureducation.WemustseeSantaMaria la Blanca,--it was a beautiful thing; sowas the Transito.Didwe seethosemenandwomengrubbing in thehillside?Theywerediggingbones tosellatthestation.Wheredidthebonescomefrom?Quiensabe?Thosedust-heaps have been there since KingWamba. Come, we must go and see theChurchesofMarybeforeitgrewdark.Andthezealousoldcreaturemarchedawaywith us to the synagogue built by Samuel Ben Levi, treasurer to thatcrownedpanther,PetertheCruel.ThisablefinancierbuiltthisfinetempletotheGodofhisfathersoutofhisownpurse.Hewasmurderedforhismoneybyhisungratefullord,andhissynagoguestolenbytheChurch.ItnowbelongstotheorderofCala-trava.
Buttheotherandoldersynagogue,nowcalledSantaMarialaBlanca,ismuchmore interesting. Itstands in thesamequarter, thesuburbformerlyoccupiedby the industriousand thrivingHebrewsof theMiddleAgesuntil thestupidzealoftheCatholickingsdrovethemoutofSpain.Thesynagoguewasbuiltin the ninth century under the enlightened domination of theMoors.At theslaughter of the Jews in 1405 it became a church. It has passed throughvarying fortunes since then, having been hospital, hermitage, stable, andwarehouse; but it is nowunder the careof theprovin-cial committeeof art,and is somewhat decently restored. Its architecture is altogetherMoorish. Ithas three aisles with thick octagonal columns supporting heavy horseshoearches.Thespandrelsarecuriouslyadornedwithrichcircularstuccofigures.The soil you tread is sacred, for it was brought from Zion long before theCrusades; thecedarraftersaboveyoupreserve thememoryand theodorsofLebanon.
A little fartherwest, on a finehill overlooking the river, in themidst of theruined palaces of the early kings, stands the beautiful votive church of SanJuan de los Reyes. It was built by Ferdinand and Isabella, before theColumbus days, to commemorate a victory over their neighbors thePortuguese.Duringaprolongedabsenceoftheking,thepiousqueen,wishingto prepare him a pleasant surprise, instead of embroidering a pair ofimpracticableslippersasa faithfulyoungwifewoulddonowadays, finishedthis exquisite church by setting at work upon it some regiments of stone-cutters andbuilders. It is notdifficult to imagine thebeautyof the structurethatgreetedthekingonhiswelcomehome.Forevennow,afterthestormsoffourcenturieshavebeatenuponit,andthemalignanthandsofinvadingarmieshaveusedtheirutmostmaliceagainstit,itisstillawon-drouslyperfectworkoftheGothicinspiration.
We sat on the terrace benches to enjoy the light and graceful lines of thebuilding, thedelicatelyornatedoor, theuniquedraperyof ironchainswhichthefreedChristianshungherewhendeliveredfromthehandsoftheMoors.Alovely child,with pensive blue eyes fringedwith long lashes, and the slowsweet smileofaMadonna, satnearusandsang toa soft,monotonousairawar-song of the Carlists. Her beauty soon attracted the artistic eyes of LaSeñora,andwelearnedshewasnamedFrancisca,andherbabybrother,whoseflaxen head lay heavily on her shoulder,was called JesusMary. She asked,Wouldweliketogointothechurch?Sheknewthesacristanandwouldgoforhim. She ran away like a fawn, the tow head of little Jesus tumblingdangerouslyabout.Shereappearedinamoment;shehaddisposedofminiño,as she called it, and had found the sacristan. This personage was ratherdisappointing.A sacristan shouldbeagedandmouldy, clothed inblackof adecentshabbiness.ThiswasaToledanswell inavelvetshooting-jacket,andyellow peg-top trousers. How- ever, he had the wit to confine himself toturningkeys,andsowegraduallyrecoveredfromtheshockoftheshooting-jacket.
The church forms one great nave, divided into four vaults enriched withwonderfulstonelace-work.Asuperbfriezesurroundstheentirenave,bearingin greatGothic letters an inscription narrating the foundation of the church.Everywhere thearmsofCastileandArragon,and theweddedciphersof theCatholickings.Statuesofheraldsstartunexpectedlyoutfromthefaceofthepillars. Fine as the church is,we cannot linger here long. The glory of SanJuanisitscloisters.Itmaychallengetheworldtoshowanythingsofineinthelatest bloom and last development of Gothic art. One of the galleries is inruins,--asadwitnessofthebrutalityofarmies.Butthethreeothersareenoughto show howmuch of beautywas possible in that final age of pureGothicbuilding.Thearchesbearadoublegarlandofleaves,offlowers,andoffruits,
andamongthemarerampingandwrithingandplayingeveryfigureofbirdorbeastormonsterthatmanhasseenorpoetimagined.Therearenotwoarchesalike,andyetamostbeautifulharmonypervadesthemall.Insometheleavesareinprofile,inothersdelicatelyspreaduponthegracefulcolumnsandeveryvein displayed. I saw one window where a stone monkey sat reading hisprayers,gownedandcowled,--anoddcapriceofthetiredsculptor.Thereisinthisinfinitevarietyofdetailadelightthatendsinsomethinglikefatigue.YoucannothelpfeelingthatthiswasnaturallyandlogicallytheendofGothicart.Ithadrunitscourse.Therewasnothingleftbutthisfeverishquestofvariety.It was in danger, after having gained such divine heights of invention, ofdegeneratingintoprettinessesandaffectation.
But how marvellously fine it was at last! One must see it, as in theseunequalledcloisters,halfruined,silent,anddeserted,bearingwithsomethingof conscious dignity the blows of time and the ruder wrongs of men, toappreciatefullyitsproudsuperioritytoalltheaccidentsofchangingtasteandmodifiedculture.It isonly the truestart thatcanbear that test.ThefanesofPaestumwillalwaysbemorebeautifuleventhanthemagicalshoreonwhichthey stand. The Parthenon, fixed like a battered coronet on the brow of theAcropolis,willalwaysbetheloveliestsightthatGreececanoffertothosewhocome sailing in from the blue Aegean. It is scarcely possible to imagine aconditionofthoughtorfeelinginwhichthesemaster-worksshallseemquaintor old-fashioned. They appeal, now and always, with that calm power ofperfection,totheheartandeyesofeverymanbornofwoman.
The cloisters enclose a little garden just enough neglected to allow the lushdark ivy, thepassionflowers, and the spreadingoleanders to do their best inbeautifying the place, as men have done their worst in marring it. Theclambering vines seem trying to hide the scars of their hardly less perfectcopies.Everyarchisadornedwithasoftanddeliciousdraperyofleavesandtendrils; the fair and outraged child of art is cherished and caressed by thegraciousandbountifulhandsofMotherNature.
Aswecameaway, littleFranciscapluckedoneof the five-pointed leavesofthepassion-flowersandgaveittoLaSeñora,sayingreverentially,"ThisistheHandofOurBlessedLord!"
The sunwas throned, red as a bacchanal king, upon the purple hills, aswedescendedtherockydeclivityandcrossedthebridgeofSt.Martin.OurlittleToledan maid came with us, talking and singing incessantly, like a sweet-voicedstarling.Werestedonthefarthersideandlookedbackatthetoweringcity, glorious in the sunset, its spires aflame, its long lines of palace andconventclearinthelevelrays,itsruinssoftenedinthegatheringshadows,thelofty bridge hanging transfigured over the glowing river. Before us the
crumblingwallsandturretsoftheGothickingsrandownfromtheblufftothewater-side,itsterraceoverlookingthebathswhere,forhiswoe,DonRodericksawCount Julian's daughter under the same inflammatory circumstances asthoseinwhich,fromaJudaeanhousetop,DonDavidbeheldCaptainUriah'swife.Thereisagreatdealofhumannatureabroadintheworldinallages.
LittleFranciscakeptonchattering."ThatisSt.Martin'sbridge.Agirljumpedintothewaterlastyear.Shewasnotalady.Shewasinservice.Shewastiredoflivingbecauseshewasinlove.Theyfoundherthreeweeksafterwards;but,SantísimaMaria!shewasgoodfornothingthen."
Ourlittlemaidwastooyoungtohavesympathyforkingsorservantgirlswhodie for love. She was a pretty picture as she sat there, her blue eyes andMadonnaface turned to therosywest,singing inhersweetchild'svoiceherfiercelittlesongofseditionandwar:--
"Arribalosvalientes!Abajotiranía!ProntollegaraeldiaDelaRestauracion.
Carlistasácaballo!SoldadosenCampaña!VivaelReydeEspaña,DonCarlosdeBorbon!"
IcannotenumeratethechurchesofToledo,--youfindthemineverystreetandby-way. In the palmy days of the absolute theocracy this narrow spacecontained more than a hundred churches and chapels. The province wasgnawed by the cancer of sixteen monasteries of monks and twice as manyconvents of nuns, all crowded within these city walls. Fully one half thegroundofthecitywascoveredbyreligiousbuildingsandmortmainproperty.Inthatage,whenmoneymeanttentimeswhatitsignifiesnow,therent-rolloftheChurchinToledowasfortymillionsofreals.Thereareevenyetportionsof the town where you find nothing but churches and convents. The grassgrowsgreeninthesilentstreets.Youhearnothingbutthechimeofbellsandthe faint echoes of masses. You see on every side bolted doors and barredwindows,and,glidingoverthemossypavements,thestealthy-stepping,long-robedpriests.
I will only mention two more churches, and both of these converts fromheathendom;bothofthemdedicatedtoSanCristo,forinthedemocracyofthecalendartheSaviourismerelyasaint,andreducedtotheleveloftherest.Oneis the old pretorian temple of the Romans, which was converted by KingSizebutointoaChristianchurchintheseventhcentury.Itisacuriousstructure
in brick andmortar,with an apsis and an odd arrangement of round archessunken in the outer wall and still deeper pointed ones. It is famed as theresting-place of Saints Ildefonso and Leocadia, whomwe havemet before.Thestatueofthelatterstandsoverthedoorgracefulandpensiveenoughforaheathenmuse.The littlecloisters leading to thechurchareburialvaults.Ononesidelie thecanonicaldeadandontheother thelaity,withbrightmarbletablets and gilt inscriptions. In the court outside I noticed a flat stonemarkedOssua-rium. The sacristan told me this covered the pit where thenamelessdeadreposed,andwhenthegenteelpeopleinthegiltmarblevaultsneglected to pay their annual rent, they were taken out and tumbled in tomoulderwiththecommonclay.
This SanCristo de laVega, St. Christ of the Plain, stands on thewide flatbelow the town,where you find the greater portion of the Roman remains.Heaps of crumbling composite stretched in an oval form over the meadowmarkthesiteofthegreatcircus.GreenturfandfieldsofwavinggrainoccupythegroundwhereonceaLatincitystood.TheRomansbuiltontheplain.TheGoths, following their instinct of isolation, fixed their dwellingon the steepandruggedrock.TherapidTagusgirdlingthecitylikeahorseshoeleftonlythedeclivitytothewesttobedefended,andtheruinsofKingWamba'swallshowwithwhat jealous care thatworkwasdone.But theMoors, after theycapturedthecity,apparentlydidlittleforitsdefence.Agreatsuburbgrewupin the course of ages outside the wall, and when the Christians recapturedToledo in 1085, the first care ofAlonsoVI.was to build anotherwall, thistimenearer thefootof thehill, takinginsideall theaccretionof theseyears.From thatday to this thatwallhasheldToledo.Thecityhasnever reached,perhapswillneverreach,thebaseofthesteeprockonwhichitstands.
WhenKingAlonso stormed the city, his first thought, in thebusyhalfhourthat follows victory, was to find some convenient place to say his prayers.ChanceledhimtoabeautifullittleMoorishmosqueororatorynearthesuperbPuerta del Sol.He entered, gave thanks, and hung up his shield as a votiveoffering. This is theChurch of SanCristo de la Luz. The shield ofAlonsohangstheredefyingtimeforeightcenturies,--agoldencrossonaredfield,--and theexquisiteoratory,notmuch larger thanachild's toy-house, is to-dayone of the most charming specimens ofMoorish art in Spain. Four squarepillarssupporttheroof,whichisdividedintofiveequal"half-orange"domes,eachdifferent fromtheothersandeachequally fascinating in itsunexpectedsimplicity and grace.You cannot avoid a feeling of personal kindliness andrespectfortherefinedandgenialspiritwholeftthiselegantlegacytoanalienraceandahostilecreed.
TheMilitary College of Santa Cruz is one of themost precious specimensextantofthosesomewhatconfusedbutbeautifulresultsofthetransitionfrom
floridGothic to theRenaissance.Theplateresque is young andmodest, andseeks to please in this splendid monument by allying the innovating formswith the traditionsofa schooloutgrown.There is anexquisiteand touchingreminiscenceoftheGothicinthesuperbportalandthematchlessgroupoftheInventionoftheCross.All thisfinefacadeisbythattrueandgenuineartist,EnriquedeEgas,thesamewhocarvedthegrandGateoftheLions,forwhichmaythegateofparadisebeopentohim.
Theinnercourtissurroundedbytwostoriesofairyarcades,supportedbyslimCorinthiancolumns.InonecorneristhemostelaboratestaircaseinSpain.AlltheeleganceandfancyofArabandRenaissancearthavebeenlavisheduponthismasterlywork.
Santa Cruzwas built for a hospital by that haughty CardinalMendoza, theTertius Rex of Ferdinand and Isabella. It is now occupied by the militaryschool,which receives six hundred cadets.They are under the charge of aninspector-generalandanumerousstaffofprofessors.Theypay fortycentsaday for their board. The instruction is gratuitous and comprehends acurriculumalmostidenticalwiththatofWestPoint.Itoccupies,however,onlythreeyears.
ThemostconsiderableRenaissancestructureinToledoistheRoyalAlcázar.Itcovers with its vast bulk the highest hilltop in the city. From the earliestantiquity this spot has been occupied by a royal palace or fortress. But thepresentstructurewasbuiltbyCharlesV.andcompletedbyHerreraforPhilipII.Itsnorthandsouthfacadesareveryfine.TheAlcázarseemstohavebeenmarkedbyfate.ThePortugueseburneditinthelastcentury,andCharlesIII.restoreditjustintimefortheFrenchtodestroyitanew.Itsindestructiblewallsaloneremain.Now,aftermanyyearsofruinousneglect, thegovernmenthasbeguntheworkofrestoration.Thevastquadrangleisonemassofscaffoldingandplasterdust.Thegrandstaircaseisalmostfinishedagain.InthecourseofafewyearswemayexpecttoseetheAlcázarinastateworthyofitsnameandhistory.Wewould hope itmight never again shelter a king. They have hadtheir day there. Their line goes back so far into the mists of time that itsbeginningeludesourutmostsearch.TheRomandroveouttheunnamedchiefsofIberia.Thefair-hairedGothdispossessedtheItalian.TheBerberdestroyedtheGothicmonarchy.Castile andLeón fought theirwaydown inchby inchthrough three centuries from Covadonga to Toledo, halfway in time andterritorytoGranadaandtheMidlandSea.Andsincethenhowmanyroyalfeethavetroddenthisbreezycrest,--SanchosandHenrysandFerdinands,--thelinebrokennowandthenbyausurpinguncleorafratricidebrother,--ared-handedbastard ofTrastamara, a star-gazingAlonso, a plotting and prayingCharles,and,afterPhilip,thedwindlingscionsofAustriaandthenullitiesofBourbon.This height has known as well the rustle of the trailing robes of queens,--
Berenguela,Isabel theCatholic,andJuana,--CrazyJane.ItwastheprisonofthewidowofPhilipIV.andmotherofCharlesII.Whatwonderifherlifeleftmuch to be desired? With such a husband and such a son, she had nomemoriesnorhopes.
Thekingshavehadalongdayhere.Theydidsomegoodintheirtime.Buttheworldhasoutgrownthem,andthepeople,hereaselsewhere,iscomingofage.ThisAlcázarisbuiltmorestronglythananydynasty.Itwillmakeagloriousschool-housewhen the repairs are finished and the Republic is established,andthenmaybothlastforever!
Onemorningatsunrise,IcrossedtheancientbridgeofAlcántara,andclimbedthesteephilleastoftherivertotheruinedcastleofSanCervantes,perchedonahigh,boldrock,whichguardstheriverandoverlooksthevalley.Nearasitistothecity,itstandsentirelyalone.Theinstinctofaggregationissopowerfulinthispeoplethattheoldtownshavenoenvirons,nohousessprinkledintheoutlying country, likemodern cities. Every onemust be huddled inside thewalls.Ifasolitaryhouse,likethiscastle,isbuiltwithout,itmustbeinitselfanimpregnablefortress.Thisfineoldruin,inobediencetothisinstinctofjealousdistrust,hasbutoneentrance,andthatsonarrowthatSirJohnFalstaffwouldhavebeenembarrassed toaccept itshospitalities. In theshadeof thebrokenwalls,grass-grownandgaywithscatteredpoppies, I lookedatToledo, freshand clear in the earlyday.On the extreme right lay thenew spick-and-spanbull-ring, then the great hospice and Chapel of St. John the Baptist, theConvent of the Immaculate Conception, and next, the Latin cross of theChapel of SantaCruz,whose beautiful fagade lay soft in shadow; the hugearrogantbulkoftheAlcázarloomedsquarelybeforeme,hidinghalftheview;totheleftglitteredtheslenderspireoftheCathedral,holdingupinthepureairthatemblemofaugustresignation,thetriplecrownofthorns;thenacrowdofcupolas,endingatlastneartheriver-bankswiththesharpangularmassofSanCristóbal.The fieldofvisionwas filledwithchurchesandchapels,with thepalaces of the king and themonk. Behindme thewaste landswent rollingawayuntilledtothebrownToledomountains.Below,thevigorouscurrentoftheTagusbrawledoveritsrockybed,andthedistantvalleyshowedinitsdeeprichgreenwhatvitalitytherewasinthosewatersiftheywereonlyused.
Aquiet,asofaplague-strickencity,layonToledo.Afewmuleswoundupthesplendid roads with baskets of vegetables. A few listless fishermen werepreparing their lines. The chimes of sleepy bells floated softly out on themorningair.Theyseemedliketherequiemofmunicipallifeandactivityslaincenturiesagobythecrozierandthecrown.
ThankHeaven, that double despotism iswounded to death.AsChesterfieldpredicted,beforethefirstmutteringofthethundersof'89,"thetradesofking
and priest have lost half their value." With the decay of this unrighteouspower,thefalse,unwholesomeactivityitfosteredhasalsodisappeared.Theremust be years of toil and leanness, years perhaps of struggle and misery,before thenewgenuine life of thepeople springsup frombeneath thedeadandwithered rubbishof temporalandspiritual tyranny.Freedom isanangelwhoseblessingisgainedbywrestling.
THEESCORIAL
THEonlybattleinwhichPhilipII.waseverengagedwasthatofSt.Quentin,andtheonlyparthetookinthatmemorablefightwastolistentothethunderof the captains and the shouting afar off, and pray with great unction andfervortovarioussaintsofhisacquaintanceandparticularlytoSt.LawrenceoftheGridiron,who,beingthecelestialofficeroftheday,wassupposedtohaveunlimited authority, and to whom he was therefore profuse in vows.WhileEgmont and his stout Flemingswere capturing theConstableMontmorencyandcuttinghisarmyinpieces,thisyoungandchivalrousmonarchwasbeatinghisbreastandpatteringhispanic-strickenprayers.Assoonasthevictorywaswon, however, he lost his nervousness, and divided the entire credit of itbetweenhimselfandhissaints.Hehadhispicturepaintedinfullarmor,asheappearedthatday,andsentittohisdotingspouse,BloodyMaryofEngland.He even thought he had gained glory enough, and while his father, theemperor-monk,was fiercely asking themessengerwhobrought the newsofvictorytoYuste,"IsmysonatParis?"theprudentPhilipwasmakingatreatyofpeace,bywhichhissonDonCarloswastomarrythePrincessElizabethofFrance.ButMaryobligingly died at thismoment, and the strickenwidowerthought heneeded consolationmore thanhis boy, and somarried theprettyprincesshimself.
He alwayspridedhimself greatly on thebattle ofSt.Quentin, andprobablysoon came to believe he had done yeoman service there. The childlikecredulityofthepeopleisagreattemptationtokings.Itisverylikelythatafterthecoup-d'étatofDecember,thetremblingpuppetwhohadsatshiveringoverhisfireinthepalaceoftheElyséewhileMornyandFleuryandSt.Arnaudandthe rest of the cool gamblerswere playing their last desperate stake on thatfatal night, really persuaded himself that theworkwas his, and thathe hadsavedsociety.That the flyshould imaginehe ismoving thecoach isnaturalenough; but that the horses, and the wooden lumbering machine, and thepassengers should take it for granted that the light gilded insect is carryingthemall,--thereisthetruemiracle.
Wemust confess to a special fancy for Philip II.Hewas so true a king, sovain,sosuperstitious,someanandcruel,itisprobablesogreatakingneverlived.Nothingcouldbemore royal than thewayhedistributedhisgratitudefor the victory on St. Lawrence's day. To Count Egmont, whose splendidcourageandloyaltygainedhimthebattle,hegaveignominyanddeathonthescaffold;andtoexhibitagratitudetoamythwhichhewastoomeantofeeltoaman,hebuilttoSanLorenzothatstupendousmassofgranitewhichisto-daythevisibledemonstrationofthemightandtheweaknessofPhilipandhisage.
HecalledittheMonasteryofSanLorenzoelReal,butthenomenclatureofthegreathasnoauthoritywiththepeople.Itwasbuiltonasiteoncecoveredwithcinder-heaps from a long abandoned iron-mine, and so it was called incommonspeech theEscorial.The royal seatofSan Ildefonsocangain fromthegeneralpublicnohighernamethanLaGranja,theFarm.ThegreatpalaceofCatharinedeMedici, thehomeof threedynasties, issimply theTuileries,theTile-fields.Youcannotmakepeoplecall theWhiteHouse theExecutiveMansion.AmerchantnamedPittibuiltapalaceinFlorence,andthoughkingsandgranddukeshaveinhabiteditsince,itisstillthePitti.Thereisnothingsodemocratic as language. You may alter a name by trick when force isunavailing. A noble lord in Segovia, following the custom of the good oldtimes,oncemurderedaJew,andstolehishouse.Itwasaprettyresidence,butthe skeleton in his closet was that the stupid commons would not call itanythingbut"theJew'shouse."Hekilledafewofthemforit,butthatdidnotserve.Atlast,byadviceofhisconfessor,hehadthefacadeornamentedwithprojectingknobsofstucco,andtheworkwasdone.Itiscalledtothisday"theknobbyhouse."
TheconscienceofPhilipdidnotpermitalongdelayintheaccomplishmentofhisvow.CharlesV.hadchargedhiminhiswilltobuildamausoleumforthekingsoftheAustrianrace.Heboundthetwoobligationsinone,andaddedathirddestinationtotheenormouspilehecontemplated.Itshouldbeapalaceaswellasamonasteryandaroyalcharnel-house.HechosethemostappropriatespotinSpainfortheerectionofthemostcheerlessmonumentinexistence.HehadfixedhiscapitalatMadridbecauseitwasthedreariesttowninSpain,andtoenvelophimselfinastillprofounderdesolation,hebuilttheEscorialoutofsight of the city, on a bleak, bare hillside, swept by the glacial gales of theGuadarrama,parchedbytheverticalsunsofsummer,andcursedatallseasonswith the curse of barrenness. Before it towers the great chain ofmountainsseparatingOldandNewCastile.Behind it thechilledwinds sweepdown tothe Madrid plateau, over rocky hillocks and involved ravines,--a scene inwhichprobablynomanevertookpleasureexcepttheroyalreclusewhochoseitforhishome.
JohnBaptistofToledolaidthecorner-stoneonanAprildayof1563,andin
the autumnof1584 JohnofHerrera lookedupon the finishedwork, sovastand so gloomy that it lay like an incubus upon the breast of earth. It is aparallelogram measuring from north to south seven hundred and forty-fourfeet,andfivehundredandeightyfeetfromeasttowest.Itisbuilt,byorderofthe fantastic bigot, in the form of St. Lawrence's gridiron, the courtsrepresentingtheintersticesofthebars,andthetowersatthecornersstickinghelpless in theair like the legsof thesupine implement. It iscomposedofaclean gray granite, chiefly in theDoric order,with a severity of facade thatdegeneratesintopoverty,anddefraudsthebuildingoftheeffectitsgreatbulkmerits. The sheer monotonous walls are pierced with eleven thousandwindows, which, though really large enough for the rooms, seem on thatstupendous surface to shrink into musketry loopholes. In the centre of theparallelogram stands the great church, surmounted by its soaring dome.Allaroundtheprincipalbuildingisstretchedacircumscribinglineofconvents,inthesamestyleofdolefulyellowish-grayuniformity,soendless inextent thattheinmatesmighteasilydespairofanyworldbeyondthem.
Thereare fewscenes in theworldsodepressingas thatwhichgreetsyouasyouenterintothewidecourtbeforethechurch,calledElTemplo.Youareshutfinally in by these iron-graywalls.Theoutside dayhas givenyouup.Yourfeetsliponthedampflags.Anunhealthyfungustingesthehumidcornerswitha pallid green.You look in vain for any trace of human sympathy in thoseblankwallsandthatseverefacade.Thereisadismalattemptinthatdirectioninthegildedgarmentsandthepaintedfacesofthecolossalprophetsandkingsthatareperchedabovetheloftydoors.Buttheydonotcomfortyou;theyaretinselledstones,notstatues.
Enteringthevestibuleofthechurch,andlookingup,youobservewithasortof horror that the ceiling is ofmassive granite and flat. The sacristan has astorythatwhenPhilipsawthisceiling,whichformsthefloorofthehighchoir,he remonstrated against it as too audacious, and insisted on a strong pillarbeingbuilttosupportit.Thearchitectcomplied,butwhenPhilipcametoseetheimprovementheburstintolamentation,astheenormouscolumndestroyedthe effect of the great altar.The canny architect,whohad built the pillar ofpasteboard,removeditwithatouch,andhismajestywascomforted.Walkingforwardtotheedgeofthisshadowyvestibule,yourecognizetheskillandtastewhichpresidedatthisuniqueandintelligentarrangementofthechoir.Ifleft,as usual, in the body of the church, it would have seriously impaired thatsolemnandsimplegrandeurwhichdistinguishesthisaboveallothertemples.There is nothing to break the effect of the three great naves, divided byimmense square-clustered columns, and surmounted by the vast dome thatriseswith all the easymajesty of amountainmore than three hundred feetfromthedecentblackandwhitepavement.Iknowofnothingsosimpleandso
imposingas this royalchapel,builtpurely for thegloryofGodandwithnothought of mercy or consolation for human infirmity. The frescos of LucaGiordanoshowtheattemptofalateranddegenerateagetoenlivenwithformandcolor the sombredignityof this faultlesspile.But there is something intheblueandvaporypictureswhichshowsthateventheunabashedLucawasnotfreefromtheimpressiveinfluenceoftheEscorial.
Aflightofveinedmarblestepsleadstothebeautifulretableofthehighaltar.The screen, over ninety feet high, cost theMilanese Trezzo seven years oflabor. The pictures illustrative of the life of our Lord are by Tibaldi andZuccaro. The gilt bronze tabernacle of Trezzo andHerrera,which has beenlikenedwiththedoorsoftheBaptisteryofFlorenceasworthytofigureinthearchitectureofheaven,nolongerexists.Itfurnishedahalfhour'samusementto thesoldiersofFrance.Oneithersideof thehighaltarare theoratoriesoftheroyalfamily,andabovethemarethekneelingeffigiesofCharles,withhiswife,daughter,andsisters,andPhilipwithhissuccessiveharemofwives.Oneof the few luxuries this fierce bigot allowed himself was that of a newwidowhoodevery fewyears.There are fortyother altarswithpicturesgoodandbad.Thebestarebythewonderfuldeaf-mute,Navarrete,ofLogroño,andbySánchezCoello,thefavoriteofPhilip.
Totherightofthehighaltarinthetranseptyouwillfind,ifyourtastes,unlikeMissRider-hood's,runinabonydirection,themostremarkableReliquaryintheworld.With theexceptionperhapsofCuvier,Philipcouldseemore inabonethananymanwhoeverlived.Inhislonglifeofosseousenthusiasmhecollectedseventhousandfourhundredandtwenty-onegenuinerelics,--wholeskeletons,oddshins, teeth, toe-nails, andskullsofmartyrs,--sometimesbyamiracle of special grace getting duplicate skeletons of the same saint. Theprime jewels of this royal collection are the grilled bones of San Lorenzohimself,bearingdimtracesofhissacredgridiron.
The sacristanwill showyoualso the retableof themiraculouswafer,whichbled when trampled on by Protestant heels at Gorcum in 1525. This hasalways been one of the chief treasures of the Spanish crown. The devil-hauntedidiotCharlesII.madeasortofidolofit,buildingitthissuperbaltar,consecrated "in this miracle of earth to the miracle of heaven." When theatheistFrenchmensacked theEscorialandstripped itof silverandgold, thepiousmonksthoughtmostofhidingthiswonderfulwafer,andwhenthestormpassedby,theboobyFerdinandVII.restoreditwithmuchburningofcandles,swingingofcensers,andchimingofbells.Worthlessasit is,ithasdoneonegoodworkintheworld.Itinspiredthealtar-pictureofClaudioCoello,thelastbestworkofthelastofthegreatschoolofSpanishpainters.HefinisheditjustbeforehediedofshameandgriefatseeingGiordano,thenimbleNeapolitan,emptyinghis
bucketsofpaintontheceilingofthegrandstaircase,whereSt.Lawrenceandanarmyofmartyrsgosailingwithafairwindintoglory.
ThegreatdaysofartintheEscorialaregone.Onceineverynookandcorneritconcealedtreasuresofbeautythattheworldhadnearlyforgotten.ThePerlaofRaphaelhunginthedarksacristy.TheCenaofTitiandroppedtopiecesintherefectory.TheGloria,whichhadsunkintoeclipseonthedeathofCharlesV.,washiddenhereamongunappreciativemonks.Butonthesecularizationofthemonasteries, thesesuperbcanvaseswent toswell therichesof theRoyalMuseum. There are still enough left here, however, to vindicate the ancientfameofthecollection.TheyareperhapsmoreimpressiveintheirbeautyandlonelinessthaniftheywereprankingamongtheirkininthegloriousgalleriesandperfectlightofthatenchantedpalaceofCharlesIII.TheinexhaustibleoldmanofCadorahasthePrayeronMountOlivet,anEcceHomo,anAdorationof the Magi. Velazquez one of his rare scriptural pieces, Jacob and hisChildren. Tintoretto is rather injured at the Museo by the number andimportance of his pictures left in this monkish twilight; among them is alovelyEsther, andamasterlyPresentationofChrist to thePeople.PlentyofGiordanosandBassanosandoneortwobyElGreco,withhisweirdplague-strickenfaces,allchalkandcharcoal.Asenseofdutywill takeyou into thecryptwherethedeadkingsaresleepinginbrass.Thismausoleum,orderedbythegreatCharles,wasslowinfinishing.Allofhislinehadahandinitdownto Philip IV., who completed it and gathered in the poor relics of royalmortalityfrommanygraves.ThekeyofthevaultisthestonewheretheprieststandswhenheelevatestheHostinthetempleabove.Thevaultisagracefuloctagon about forty feet high,with nearly the same diameter; the flickeringlightofyour torches shows twenty-six sarcophagi, someoccupiedandsomeempty, filling the niches of the polished marble. On the right sleep thesovereigns, on the left their consorts. There is a coffin for Doña Isabel deBourbon among the kings, and one for her amiable and lady-like husbandamongthequeens.Theywerenotlovelyintheirlives,andintheirdeathstheyshall be divided. The quaint old church-mouse who showed me the cryptcalledmyattentiontothecoffinwhereMariaLouisa,wifeofCharlesIV.,--theladywhosogallantlybestridesherwar-horse,intheuniformofacolonel,inGoya's picture,--coming down those slippery steps with the sure footing offeverishinsanity,duringasevereillness,scratchedLuisawiththepointofherscissorsandmarkedthesarcophagusforherown.Alltherewasgoodofherisinterredwithherbones.Herfrailtiesliveoninscandalizedhistory.
Twice,itissaid,thecoffinoftheemperorhasbeenopenedbycurioushands,--byPhilipIV.,whofoundthecorpseofhisgreatancestorintact,andobservedto the courtier at his elbow, "An honest body,DonLuis!" and again by theMinistersofStateandFomentointhespringof1870,whostartedbackaghast
when thecoffin-lidwas liftedanddisclosed thegrim faceof theBurgessofGhent,justasTitianpaintedhim,--thekeen,boldfaceofaworld-stealer.
IdonotknowifPhilip'sfuneralurnwaseveropened.Hestayedabovegroundtoolongasitwas,anditisprobablethatpeoplehavenevercaredtolookuponhisfaceagain.Allthatwashumanhaddiedoutofhimyearsbeforehisactualdemise, and death seemed not to consider it worth while to carry off avampire. Go into the little apartment where his last days were passed; awooden table and book-shelf, one arm-chair and two stools--the oneupholsteredwithclothforwinter,theotherwithtinforsummer--onwhichherestedhisgoutyleg,andalowchairforasecretary,--thiswasallthefurniturehe used. The rooms are not larger than cupboards, low and dark. The littleoratorywherehediedlooksoutuponthehighaltaroftheTemple.Inalivingdeath,asifbyanawfulanticipationofthecommonlotitwasordainedthatinthe fleshheshouldknowcorruption,he laywaitinghissummonshourly forfifty-threedays.Whattremendousdoubtsandfearsmusthaveassailedhiminthatendlessagony!HehaddonemorefortheChurchthananylivingman.Hewastheauthorofthatsublimeutteranceofuncalculatingbigotry,"Betternotreignthanreignoverheretics."Hehadpursuederrorwithfireandsword.Hehad peopled limbowithmyriads of rash thinkers. He had impoverished hiskingdom inCatholicwars.Yet all this had not sufficed.He lay there like alepersmittenbythehandoftheGodhehadsozealouslyserved.Eveninhismind therewasnopeace.Heheld inhisclenchedhandhis father's crucifix,whichCharleshadheldinhisexultantdeathatYuste.Yetinhiswakinghourshewasneverfreefromthehorriblesuggestionthathehadnotdoneenoughforsalvation.Hewouldstartinhorrorfromasleepthatwaspeopledwithshapesfromtorment.Humanitywasavengedatlast.
SopowerfulistheinfluenceofagreatpersonalitythatintheEscorialyoucanthink of no one but Philip II. He lived here only fourteen years, but everycorridor and cloister seems to preserve the souvenir of his sombre andimperiousgenius.Fortwoandahalfcenturieshisfeeblesuccessorshavetrodthesegranitehalls;but theyflit throughyourmindpaleandunsubstantialasdreams. The only tradition they preserved of their great descent was theirmagnificenceandtheirbigotry.Therehasneverbeenoneutteranceoflibertyor free thought inspired by this haunted ground. The king has always beenabsolutehere,andthemonkhasbeentheconscience-keeperoftheking.Thewhole life of theEscorial has been unwholesomely pervaded by a flavor ofholywaterandburialvaults.Therewasenoughoftherepressiveinflu-enceofthatsavageSpanishpietytospoilthefreshnessandvigorofanaturallife,butnot enough to lead the court and the courtiers to a moral walk andconversation. It was as profligate a court in reality, with all its masses andmonks,asthegayandatheistcircleoftheRegentofOrleans.EvenPhilip,the
InquisitorKing,didnotconfinehisroyalfavortohisseriesofwives.AmorerecklessandprofligateyoungprodigalthanDonCarlos,thehopeofSpainandRome,itwouldbehardtofindto-dayatMabilleorCremorne.Buthewasadeeply religious lad for all that, and asked absolution from his confessorsbeforeattempting toput inpracticehis intentionofkillinghis father.Philip,forewarned,shuthimupuntilhedied,inanedifyingframeofmind,andthencalmlysuperintendedthefuneralarrangementsfromawindowofthepalace.Thesameminglingofviceandsuperstitionisseeninthelesseninglinedowntoourday.ThelasttruekingoftheoldschoolwasPhilipIV.Amidtheruinsof his tumbling kingdom he lived royally here among his priests and hispaintersandhis ladies.Therewasone jealousexigencyofSpanishetiquettethatmadehis favor fatal.Theobjectofhisadoration,whenhiserrant fancystrayed to another,must go into a convent and nevermore be seen of lessermen. Madame Daunoy, who lodged at court, heard one night an augustfootstepinthehallandakinglyraponthebolteddoorofaladyofhonor.Butwearehappytosaysheheardalsothespiritedreplyfromwithin,"MayyourgracegowithGod!Idonotwishtobeanun!"
There is little in these frivolous lives that is worth knowing,--the longinglorious reigns of the dwindlingAustrians and the parody of greater daysplayed by the scions ofBourbon, relieved for a few creditable years by theheroicstruggleofCharlesIII.againstthehopelessdecadence.Youmaywalkforanhourthroughthedismallineofdrawing-roomsinthecheerlesspalacethat forms the gridiron's handle, and not a spirit is evoked from memoryamongallthetapestryandpanellingandgilding.
Theonlycheerful roomin thisgranitewilderness is the library, still ingoodandcarefulkeeping.A long,beautiful room, twohundredfeetofbookcases,and tasteful frescos byTibaldi andCarducho, representing themarch of theliberalsciences.Mostoftheolderfoliosareboundinvellum,withtheirgildededges,onwhichthetitleisstamped,turnedtothefront.Apreciouscollectionof old books and oldermanuscripts, useless to the world as the hoard of amiser.AlongthewallarehungtheportraitsoftheEscorialkingsandbuilders.The hall is furnished with marble and porphyry tables, and elaborate glasscasesdisplaysomeofthecuriositiesofthelibrary,--acopyoftheGospelsthatbelonged to the Emperor Conrad, the Suabian Kurz; a richly illuminatedApocalypse; a gorgeous missal of Charles V.; a Greek Bible, which oncebelongedtoMrs.Phoebus'sancestorCantacuzene;PersianandChinesesacredbooks; and a Koran, which is said to be the one captured by Don Juan atLepanto.Mr.Fordsaysitisspurious;Mr.Madozsaysitisgenuine.TheladieswithwhomIhadthehappinesstovisitthelibraryinclinedtothelatteropinionfor twovery good reasons,--the book is a very pretty one, andMr.Madoz'shead is much balder than Mr. Ford's. Wandering aimlessly through the
frescoedcloistersand looking inatall theopendoors,overeachofwhichacunning little gridiron is inlaid in thewoodwork,weheard the startling andunexpectedsoundofboyishvoicesandlaughter.Weap-proachedthesceneofsuchagreeable tumult, and found the theatreof themonastery fullofyoungstudents rehearsing a play for the coming holidays. A clever-looking priestwasdirectingthedrama,andonejuvenileThespiswasdenouncingtyrantsanddying for his country in hexameters of a shrill treble. His friends wereapplauding more than was necessary or kind, and flourishing their woodenswords with much ferocity of action. All that is left of the once extensiveestablishment of themonastery is a boys' school, where some two hundredyouths are trained in the humanities, and a college where an almost equalnumberareeducatedforthepriesthood.
SodepressingistheeffectoftheEscorial'sgloomanditsmemories,thatwhenyou issueat last from itsmassivedoors, the trimand terracedgardens seemgay and heartsome, and the bleakwild scene is full of comfort. For here atleast there is light andair andboundless space.Youhaveemerged from thetwilightofthepastintothepresentday.TheskyaboveyoubendsoverParisandCheyenne.BythislightDarwiniswriting,andthemerchantsaremeetingintheChicagoBoardofTrade.JustbelowyouwindstherailwaywhichwilltakeyouintwohourstoMadrid,--tothecityofPhilipII.,wherethenineteenthcentury has arrived; where there are five Protestant churches and fifteenhundred evangelical communicants. Our young crusader, Professor Knapp,holds night schools and day schools and prayer meetings, with an activedevotion, a practical andAmerican fervor, that is leavening a great lumpofapathy and death. These Anglo-Saxonmissionaries have a larger andmoretolerantspiritofpropagandathanhasbeenhithertoseen.Theycandifferaboutthebestshapeforthecupandtheplatter,buttheyusewhattheyfindtotheirhand.Theyaregivingatangibledirectionandpurposetothevagueimpulseofreform that was stirring, before they came, in many devout hearts. A littlewhilelongerofthisstateoffreedomandinquiry,andtheshockofcontroversywillcome,andSpainwillbebroughttolife.
Alreadythesignsarefullofpromise.Theancientbarriersofsuperstitionhavealreadygivenwayinmanyplaces.AProtestantcannotonlyliveinSpain,but,whatwasonceamoreimportantmatter,hecandieandbeburiedthere.Thisisoneoftheconquestsoftherevolution.SodelicatehasbeenthesusceptibilityoftheSpanishmindinregardtothepollutionofitssoilbyhereticcorpsesthatevenCharles I. ofEngland,whenhe came a-wooing toSpain, could hardlygainpermissiontoburyhispagebynightinthegardenoftheembassy;andinlaterdaysthePrussianMinisterwascompelledtosmugglehisdeadchildoutofthekingdomamonghisluggagetogiveitChristianburial.EvensincethedaysofSeptembertheclergyhasfoughtmanfullyagainstgivingsepultureto
Protestants;butRivero,alcaldeofMadridandpresidentoftheCortes,wasnotinclined to waste time in dialectics, and sent a police force to protect thehereticfuneralsandtoarrestanypriestwhodisturbedthem.Thereisfreedomof speech and printing. The humorous journals are full of blasphemouscaricaturesthatwouldbeimpossibleoutofaCatholiccountry,forsuperstitionandblasphemyalwaysrunincouples.ItwastheDukedeGuise,commandingthe pope's army at Civitella, who cried in his rage at a rain which favoredAlva,"GodhasturnedSpaniard;"likeQuashee,whoburnshisfetishwhentheweather is foul. The liberal Spanish papers overflowed with wit at theproclamationofinfallibility.Theyannouncedthathisholinesswasnowgoingintothelotterybusinesswithbrilliantprospectsofsuccess;thathecouldnowtellwhatFatherManterolahaddonewiththethirtythousanddollars'worthofbullshesoldlastyearandpunctuallyneglectstoaccountfor,andotherlevitiesofthesort,whichseemedgreatlyrelished,andwhichwouldhaveburnedthefacetiousauthortwocenturiesbefore,andfinedandimprisonedhimbeforethefight at Alcolea. The minister having charge of the public instruction haspromised to present a law for the prohibition of dogmatic doctrine in thenationalschools.Thelawofcivilregistryandcivilmarriage,afteradesperatestruggleintheCortes,hasgoneintooperationwithgeneralassent.Thereisalargepartywhichactivelyfavorstheentireseparationofthespiritualfromthetemporal power, making religion voluntary, and free, and breaking its longconcubinagewiththecrown.Theoldsuperstition,itistrue,stillhangslikeamalarial fogoverSpain.But it is invadedbyflashesandraysofprogress. Itcannotresistmuchlongerthesunshineofthistolerantage.
Farupthemountain-side,intheshadeofaclusterofchestnuts,isarudeblockof stone, called the "King'sChair,"wherePhilip used to sit in silent revery,watchingasfromaneyrytheprogressoftheenormousworkbelow.Ifyougothere,youwillseethesamesceneuponwhichhisbasiliskglancereposed,--inachangedworld,the.sameunchangingscene,--thestrickenwaste,theshaggyhorrorofthemountains,thefixedplainwrinkledlikeafrozensea,andinthecentreoftheperfectpicturethevastchillbulkofthatgranitepile,risingcold,colorless, and stupendous, as if carved from an iceberg by the hand ofNortherngnomes.Itisthepalaceofvanishedroyalty,thetempleofareligionwhichisdead.Therearekingsandpriestsstill,andwillbeformanycomingyears.Butneveragaincanapowerexistwhichshallrear tothegloryof thesceptreandthecowlamonumentlikethis.Itisapageofhistorydeservingtobewellpondered,foritneverwillberepeated.TheworldwhichPhilipruledfromthefootof theGuadarramahaspassedaway.Anewheavenandanewearth came in with the thunders of 1776 and 1789. There will be nomorePyramids, no more Versailles, no more Escoriáis. The unpublished fiat hasgone forth that man is worth more than the glory of princes. The betterreligion of the future has no need of these massive dungeon-temples of
superstitionandfear.Yetthereisastoreofpreciousteachingsinthismassofstone. It is one of the results of thatmysterious law towhich the genius ofhistoryhassubjectedthecapricesofkings,totheendthatwemightnotbeleftwithout awitness of the past for ourwarning and example,--the lawwhichinducesajudgedandsentenceddynastytobuildforposteritysomemonumentofitspower,whichhastensandcommemoratesitsruin.ByvirtueofthislawwereadontheplainsofEgypttheprideandthefallofthePharaohs.BeforethefagadeofVersaillesweseeataglancethegrandeuroftheCapetiankingsandthenecessityoftheRevolution.Andthemostvividpictureofthatfierceandgloomyreligionofthesixteenthcentury,compoundedofabasealloyofworship for an absolute king and a vengeful God, is to be found in thiscolossalhermitageintheflintyheartofthemountainsofCastile.
AMIRACLEPLAY
IN the windy month of March a sudden gloom falls upon Madrid,--thereactionafterthefoliegaietéoftheCarnival.ThetheatresareattheirgayestinFebruaryuntilPrinceCarnivalandhisjollytrainassaultthetown,andconvertthe temples of the drama into ball-rooms. They have not yet arrived at thewonderful expedition and despatch observed in Paris, where a half hour isenoughtoconvertthegrandoperaintothemaskedball.Theinventionofthisprocess of flooring the orchestra flush with the stage and making a vastdancing-halloutofbothisduetoaningeniouscourtieroftheregency,bearingthegreatnameofDeBouillon,whogotmuchcreditandapensionby it. InMadrid they take the afternoon leisurely to the transformation, and theevening's performance is of course sacrificed. So the sock and buskin, notbeing adapted to the cancan, yielded with February, and the theatres wereclosedfinallyonAshWednesday.
GoingbythepleasantlittletheatreofLopedeRueda,intheCalleBarquillo,Isaw the office-doors open, the posters up, and an unmistakable air ofanimationamongtheloungerswhomarkwithasealsopeculiartheentranceof places of amusement. Struck by this apparent levity in the midst of thegeneralmortification, Iwent over to look at the bills and found the subjectannounced serious enough for the most Lenten entertainment,--Los SieteDoloresdeMaria,--TheSevenSorrowsofMary,--theoldmediaevalMiracleoftheLifeoftheSaviour.
ThiswasbringingsuddenlyhometomethefactthatIwasreallyinaCatholiccountry.IhadneverthoughtofgoingtoAmmergau,andso,whenreadingoftheseshows,Ihadentertainednomorehopeofseeingonethanofassistingat
an auto-da-fé or awitch-burning. Iwent to the box-office to buy seats.Buttheywereall sold.Theforestallershadswept theboard. Iwasneverable todetermine whether I most pitied or despised these pests of the theatre.Whenever a popular play is presented, a dozen ragged and garlic-odorousvagabondsgoearlyinthedayandbuyasmanyofthebestplacesastheycanpayfor.Theyhangaboutthedoorofthetheatreallday,andgenerallymanagetodisposeoftheirpurchasesatanadvance.Butithappensveryoftenthattheyare disappointed; that the play does not draw, or that the evening threatensrain,andtheSpaniardisdevotedtohishat.Hewouldkeepoutofarevolutionifitrained.Sothat,atthepleasanthourwhentheorchestraaregivingthelasttweak to the key of their fiddles, you may see these woebegone wretchesrushingdistractedlyfromthePiamontetotheAlcalá,offeringtheirticketsatapricewhichfallsrapidlyfromdoubletoeven,andtumblesheadlongtohalf-price at the first note of the opening overture. When I see the forestallerluxuriously basking at the office-door in thewarm sunshine, and scornfullyrefusing to treat for less than twice the treasurer's figures, I feel a dividedindignationagainstthenuisanceandthemanagementthatpermitsit.ButwhenintheeveningImeethimhaggardandfeverish,hawkinghisunsoldplacesindesperatepanicon thesidewalk, Icannotbut remember thatprobablyahalfdozendirtyandtawnydescendantsofPelayowilleatnobeansto-morrowforthoseunfortunatetickets,andmywrathmelts,andIbuyhiscrumpledpapers,moistwiththesweatofanxiety,andaddaslightpropina,whichIfearwillbespentinaguardientetocalmhisshatterednerves.
Thisdaytheskylookedthreatening,andmyshabbyhidalgolistenedtoreason,andsoldmemyplacesattheirpriceandapetitverre.
As we entered in the evening the play had just begun. The scene was theinterior of the Temple at Jerusalem, rather well done,--two ranges ofsuperimposed porphyry columns with a good effect of oblique perspective,which is very common in the Spanish theatres. St. Simeon, in a dresssuspiciously resembling that of themodern bishop,was talkingwith a fieryyoung Hebrewwho turns out to be Demás, the Penitent Thief, and who isdestinedtoplayaverynoticeablepartintheevening'sentertainment.Hehasreceivedsomeslightfromthegovernmentauthoritiesanddoesnotproposetosubmittoit.Theagedandcooler-bloodedSimeonadviseshimtodonothingrash.Hereat theveryoutset is amost characteristicSpanish touch.YouareexpectedtobeinterestedinDemás,andtheonlycrimewhichcouldappealtothe sympathies of a Castilian crowd would be one committed at thepromptingsofinjureddignity.
Thereisasoft,gentlestrainofmusicplayedpianissimobytheorchestra,and,surroundedbyachorusofmothersandmaidens,theVirginMotherenterswiththeDivineChild inherarms.TheMadonnaisastrappingyounggirlnamed
Gutiérrez, a very clever actress; and the Child has been bought in theneighboring toy-shop, a most palpable and cynical wax-doll. The doll ishandedtoSimeon,andthesolemnceremonyofthePresentationisperformedto fineand thoughtfulmusic.St. Josephhascome in sheepishlyby the flieswith his inseparable staff crowned with a garland of lilies, which remainmiraculouslyfreshduringthirtyyearsorso,andkneelsatthealtar,onthesideoppositetoMissGutiérrez.
Asthemusicceases,Simeonstartsasfromatranceandpredictsinafewrapidcouplets the sufferings and the crucifixion of the child. Mary fallsoverwhelmed into the arms of her attendants, and Simeon exclaims, "Mostblessedandmostunfortunateamongwomen! thyheart is tobepiercedwithSeven Sorrows, and this is the first." Demás rushes in and announces themassacreoftheinnocents,concludingwiththeappropriatereflection,"Perishthekings!alwaysthemurderersofthepeople."Thissentimentissomuchtothetasteofthegaminsoftheparaísothattheyvociferouslydemandanencore;buttheRomansoldierscomeinandcommencethepleasingtaskofproddingthedollsinthearmsofthechorus.
ThenextactistheFlightintoEgypt.Thecurtainrisesonarockyravinewithatinsel torrent in thebackgroundandagroupof robberson thestage.Gestas,theimpenitentthief,standssulkyandgluminacorner,fingeringhisdaggerasyoumightbe surehewould, and informinghimself in agrowling soliloquythathisheartisconsumedwithenvyandhatebecauseheisnotcaptain.Thecaptain, one Issachar, comes in, a superbly handsome young fellow, namedMario,tomythinkingthefirstcomedianinSpain,dressedinaflashysuitofleopardhides,andannouncesthearrivalofastranger.EntersDemás,whosayshe hates theworld andwould fain drink its foul blood.He ismadepolitelywelcome.No! hewill be captain or nothing. Issachar laughs scornfully andsaysheisinthewayofthatmodestaspiration.ButDemásspeedilyputshimoutofthewaywithanAlbaceteknife,andbecomescaptain,totheprofounddisgustoftheimpenitentGestas,whoexclaims,justastheprofanevillainsdonowadaysoneverywell-conductedstage,"Damnation!foiledagain!"
Therobberspickuptheiridolizedleaderandpitchhimintothetinseltorrent.This is also extremely satisfactory to the wide-awake young Arabs of thecock-loft. The bandits disperse, and Demás indulges in some fifty lines ofrhymedreflections,whichareinterruptedbytheapproachoftheHolyFamily,hotly pursued by the soldiery of Herod. They stop under a sycamore tree,whichinstantly,byveryclevermachinery,bendsdownitsspreadingbranchesandmiraculouslyhidesthemfromthebloodthirstylegionaries.Thesepasson,andDemásleadsthesaintlytriobyasecretpassoverthetorrent,--theMotherandChildmounted upon an ass andSt. Joseph trudging on behindwith hislily-deckedstaff,lookingallasiftheywereonashortleaveofabsencefrom
Correggio'spicture-frame.
Demás comes back, calls up hismerrymen, and has a battle-royal with theenraged legionaries, which puts the critics of the gallery into a frenzy ofdelightandassuresthesuccessofthespectacle.Thecurtainfallsinagustofapplause, is stormed up again, Demás comes forward and makes a neatspeech,announcing theauthor.Quesalga! roar thegods,--"Trothimout!"Ashabbyyoungcripplehobbles to the front, leaninguponacrutch,hissallowface flushedwithahecticglowofprideandpleasure.Healsomakesaglibspeech,--Ihavenever seenaSpaniardwhocouldnot,--disclaimingall creditforhimself,but lauding thesublimityof theactingand theperfectionof thescene-painting,andsayingthatthememoryofthisunmeritedapplausewillbeforeverengraveduponhishumbleheart.
Act third, the Lost Child, or Christ in the Temple. The scene is before theTempleon a festival day, plentyof chorus-girls,music, and flowers.DemásandtheimpenitentGestasandBarabbas,who,Iwaspleasedtosee,wasafterallaverygoodsortoffellow,withnomoremalicethanyouorI,weredowninthecityonasortoflark,theirleopardskinsleftinthemountainsandtheirdaggers hid under the natty costume of the Judaean dandy of the period.DemásandGestashaveaquarrel,inwhichGestasisratherroughlyhandled,and goes off growling like every villain, qui se respecte,--"I will have r-revenge." Barabbas proposes to go around to the cider-cellars, but Demásconfides tohim thathe is enslavedbyadreamof a child,who said tohim,"Followme--toParadise;" that he had comedown to Jerusalem to seek andfindthemysteriousinfantofhisvision.ThejovialBarabbasseemsimperfectlyimpressedbythesetranscendentalfancies,andatthismomentMarycomesindressedlikeaMadonnaofGuidoReni,andsoonafterSt.Josephandhisstaff.Theyaskeachotherwhere is theChild,--asceneofalarmandbustle,whichends by the door of the Temple flying open and discovering, shrined inineffablelight,Jesusteachingthedoctors.
In the fourth act, Demás meets a beautiful woman by the city gate, in theloose, graceful dress of the Hetairai, and the most wonderful luxuriance ofblack curls I have ever seen falling in dense masses to her knees. After aconversation of amorous banter, he gives her a golden chain, which sheassumes, well pleased, and gives him her name, La Magdalena. A motleycrowdofstreetloafershererusheduponthescene,andIamsuretherewasnooneofNorthernbloodinthetheatrethatdidnotshudderforaninstantatthestartlingapparitionthatformedthecentralfigureofthegroup.TheworldhaslongagoagreeduponatypicalfaceandfigurefortheSaviourofmen;ithasbeenrepeatedonmyriadsofcanvasesandreproducedinthousandsofstatues,till there is scarcely aman living that does not have the same image of theRedeemer in his mind.Well, that image walked quietly upon the stage, so
perfect in make-up that you longed for some error to break the terriblevraisemblance.Iwasreallyrelievedwhentheaugustappearancespoke,andIrecognizedthevoiceofayoungactornamedMorales,acleverlightcomedianoftheBressanttype.
TheMagdaleneissoonconvertedbythepreachingof theNazareneProphet,andthesceneclosesbythetriumphantentryintoJerusalemamidthewavingof palm-branches, the strewing of flowers, and "sonorous metal blowingmartial sounds." The pathetic and sublime lament, "Jerusalem! Jerusalem!thouthatkillesttheprophets!"wasdeliveredwithgreat'feelingandpower.
Thenextactbringsusbeforethejudgment-seatofPontiusPilate.Thisactisalmost solelyhorrible.TheMagdalene in her garbof penitence comes in tobegthereleaseofJesusofNazareth.Pontius,whoisrepresentedasagallantoldgentleman,sayshecanrefusenothingtoalady.Theprisonerisdraggedinby two ferocious ruffians, who beat and buffet him with absurd andexaggerated violence. There is nothing more hideous than the awfulconcretenessofthisshow,--thenakedhelplessnessoftheprisoner,hishorrible,cringing, overdone humility, the coarse kicking and cuffing of the deputysheriffs.TheProphetisstrippedandscourgedatthepillaruntilhedropsfromexhaustion.HeisdraggedanewbeforePilateandexamined,buthisonlywordis, "Thouhast said."The scene lasts nearly anhour.The theatrewas full ofsobbingwomenandchildren.AteveryfreshbrutalityIcouldheartheweepingspectators say, "Pobre Jesus!" "How wicked they are!" The bulk of theaudiencewasofpeoplewhodonotoftengototheatres.Theylookedupontherevolting scene as a real and living fact. One hard-featured man near meclenched his fists and cursed the cruel guards.A pale, delicate-featured girlwhowas leaning out of her box, with her brown eyes, dilated with horror,fixed upon the scene, suddenly shrieked as a Roman soldier struck theunresistingSaviour,andfellbackfaintinginthearmsofherfriends.
TheNazareneProphetwascondemnedat last.Gestasgivesevidenceagainsthim,andalsodeliversDemástothelaw,butishimselfdenounced,andsharestheirsentence.Thecrowdhowledwithexultation,andPilatewashedhishandsinimpotentrageandremorse.Thecurtaincamedownleavingtheuncultivatedportionof the audience in the frameofmind inwhich their ancestors a fewcenturies earlierwouldhavegone from the theatredetermined to serveGodandrelievetheirfeelingsbykillingthefirstJewtheycouldfind.Thediversionwasallthebetter,becausesafer,iftheyhappenedtothegoodluckofmeetingaHebrewwomanorchild.
The Calle de Amargura--the Street of Bitterness--was the next scene. Firstcamealongpro-cessionofofficialRomans,--lictorsandswordsmen,andtheheralds announcing the day's business. Demás appears, dragged along with
viciousjerkstoexecution.TheSaviourfollows,andfallsundertheweightofthecrossbeforethefootlights.Anotherlonganddrearyscenetakesplace,ofbrutalities from theRoman soldiers, the ringleaderofwhom is a sanguinaryAndalusian ingeniously encased in a tin barrel, a hundred lines of rhymedsorrow from theMadonna, and amost curious sceneof theWandering Jew.Thisworthy,who in defiance of tradition is called Samuel, is sitting in hisdoorwaywatchingtheshow,whenthesufferingChristbegspermissiontorestamomentonhis threshold.Hesayschurlishly,Anda!--"Begone!""Iwillgo,but thou shalt go forever until I come." The Jew's feet begin to twitchconvulsively,asifpulledfromunderhim.Hestrugglesforamoment,andatlastiscarriedoffbyhislegs,whicharemovedlikethoseofthewalkingdollswiththeGreeknames.Thisoddtradition,soutterlyincontradictionwiththepicture theScripturesgiveusof themeekdignitywithwhich theRedeemerforgaveallpersonalinjuries,hastakenasingularholdupontheimaginationsof all peoples.Under varying names,---Ahasuerus, Salathiel, le Juif Errant,derewigeJude,--hisstoryis thedelightandedificationofmanylands;andIhavemetsomeworthypeoplewhostoutlyinsistedthattheyhadreaditintheBible.
The sinister processionmoves on.The audience,which had been somewhatcheered by the prompt and picturesque punishment inflicted upon theinhospitable Samuel, was still further exhilarated by the spectacle of theimpenitent traitorGestas, staggering under an enormous cross, his eyes andteethglaringwithabjectfear,withanathleticRomanhalinghimuptoCalvarywithanewhempenhalter.
A long intermission followed, devoted to putting babies to sleep,--for therewerehundredsof them,wide-eyedandstrong-lunged,--to smoking thehastycigarette,todiscussingthenextcombinationofPrimorthelastscandalinthegayworld.Thecarpenterswerebusybehindthescenesbuildingthemountain.Whenthecurtainrose,itwasworthwaitingfor.Itwasanadmirablescene.Agenuine Spanish mountain, great humpy undulations of rock and sand,gigantic cacti for all vegetation, a lurid sky behind, but not over-colored.Agroup of Roman soldiers in the foreground, in the rear the hill, and theexecutioners busily employed in nailing the three victims to their crosses.Demáswas fastened first; thenGestas,who,when undressed for execution,wasasuperbmodelofayouthfulHercules.Butthethirdcrossstilllayontheground; the hammering and disputing and coming and going were horriblylifelikeandreal.
Atlastthevictimissecurelynailedtothewood,andthecrossisslowlyandclumsilyliftedandfallswithashockintoitssocket.Thesoldiershuzza., thefiendinthetinbarrelandanotherinatinhatcomedowntothefootlightsandthrowdicefortheraiment."Caramba!cursemyluck!"saysourfriendinthe
tincase,andtheotherwalksoffwiththevestment.
ThePassionbegins,andlastsaninterminabletime.Thegroupingisadmirable,every shifting of the crowd in the foreground produces a new and finishedpicture,withalwaysthesamebackgroundofthethreehighcrossesandtheiragonizing burdens against that lurid sky. The impenitent Gestas curses anddies;thepenitentDemásbelievesandreceiveseternalrest.TheHolyWomencomeinandgroupthemselvesinpicturesquedespairatthefootofthecross.Theawfuldramagoesonwithnodetailomitted,--thethirstthespongedippedinvinegar, thecryofdesolation, thespear-thrust, thegivingupof theghost.The stage-lights are lowered. A thick darkness--of crape--comes down overthesky.Horrorfallsontheimpiousmultitude,andthesceneisdesertedsavebythefaithful.
Theclosingactopenswithafineeffectofmoonandstars."Quelindaluna!"sighedayoungwomanbesideme,dryinghertears,comfortedbythebeautyofthescene.Thecentralcrossisbathedinthefullsplendorthatisdeniedtheothers.JosephofAbarimathea(asheisherecalled)comesinwithladdersandwinding-sheets, and the deadChrist is taken from the cross.TheDescent ismanagedwith singular skill andgenuineartistic feeling.Theprincipalactor,whohasbeensuspendedforanhourinamostpainfulandconstrainedposture,hasacorpse-likerigidityandnumbness.Thereisonemomentwhenyoucanalmost imagine yourself in Antwerp, looking at that sublimest work ofRubens.TheEntombmentends,andthelasttableauisoftheMaterDolorosaintheSolitude.Ihaverarelyseenaneffectsosimple,andyetsostriking,--thedarkenedstage, thesoftenedmoonlight, thenowHolyRoodspectralandtallagainstthestarrysky,andtheDolorousMother,aloneinhersublimesorrow,asshewillbeworshippedandreveredforcomingaeons.
Acuriousobservationismadebyallforeigners,oftheabsenceoftheapostlesfrom the drama. They appear from time to time, but merely assupernumeraries.Onewould think that thecharacterofJudaswasespeciallyfittedfordramaticuse.Ispokeofthistoafriend,andhesaidthatformerlythefalseapostlewasintroducedintheplay,butthatthesightofhimsofiredtheSpanish heart that not only his life, but the success of the piece wasendangered. This reminds one of Mr. A. Ward's account of a high-handedoutrageat"Utiky,"whereayounggentlemanofgoodfamilystoveinthewaxhead of "Jewdas Iscarrit," characterizing him at the same time as a "pew-serlanimouscuss."
"ToseetheseMysteries in theirglory,"continuedmyfriend,"youshouldgointo the small towns in the provinces, uncontaminated with railroads orunbelief.TheretheylastseveraldaysThestageisthetown,theTemplescenetakesplaceinthechurch,theJudgmentatthecityhall,andtheprocessionof
theViaCrucismovesthroughalltheprincipalstreets.Theleadingrolesarenojoke,--carryingfiftykilosofwoodoverthemudandcobble-stonesforhalfaday.TheJudasorGestasmustbepaiddoubleforthekicksandcuffshegetsfromtender-heartedspectators,--thecursesheacceptswillinglyasatributetohisdramaticability.Hisproudestboast in theeveningisQueríanmatarme,--'Theywantedtokillme!'Ioncesawtheheroofthedramastopbeforeawine-shop, sweating like rain, and positively swear by the life of the Devil, hewouldnotcarryhisgallowsastepfartherunlesshehadadrink.Theybroughthim a bottle of Valdepeñas, and he drained it before resuming his way toGolgotha.Someofuslaughedthoughtlessly,andnarrowlyescapedtheknivesoftheorthodoxruffianswhofollowedtheprocession."
The most striking fact in this species of exhibition is the evident andunquestioning faith of the audience. To all foreigners the show is at firstshockingandthentedious;tothegoodpeopleofMadriditisasermon,fullofabsolute truth and vivid reality. The class of persons who attend thesespectacles isverydifferentfromthatwhichyoufindat theRoyalTheatreortheComicOpera.Theyaresober,seriousbourgeois,whomindtheirshopsandgotomassregularly,andwhocometothetheatreonlyinLent,whenthegayworldstaysaway.TheywouldnotdreamofsuchanindiscretionasreadingtheBible.Theirdoctrinaleducationconsistsoftheircatechism,thesermonsofthecuras, and the traditions of the Church. The miracle of St. Veronica, who,wipingthebrowoftheSaviourintheStreetofBitterness,findshisportraitonherhandkerchief, is to themas realandreverendas if itwererelatedby theevangelist.Thespiritofinquirywhichhasbrokensomanyidols,andopenedsuchnewvistasofthoughtforthemindsofalltheworld,isasyetastrangertoSpain. It is theblindand fatalboastof even thebestofSpaniards that theircountry isaunit in religious faith.NuncasedisputóenEspaña,--"Therehasnever been any discussion in Spain,"--exclaims proudly an eminent Spanishwriter.Spectacleslikethatwhichwehavejustseenwereoneoftheelementswhich in a barbarous and unenlightened age contributed strongly to theconsolidationof that unthinking and ardent faithwhichhas fused thenationintoonetorpidandhomogeneousmassofsuperstition.Nobettermeanscouldhavebeendevisedforthepurpose.LeavingoutofviewthesublimeteachingsofthelargeandtolerantmoralityofJesus,theclergymadehispersonalitythesoleobjectofworshipandreverence.Bydwellingalmostexclusivelyuponthestoryofhissufferings,theyexcitedtheemotionalnatureoftheignorant,andleft their intellects untouched and dormant. They aimed to arouse theirsympathies,andwhenthatwasdone, to turntheirnaturalresentmentagainstthosewhom theChurch considered dangerous. To the inflamed and excitedworshippers,ahereticwastheenemyofthecrucifiedSaviour,aJewwashismurderer,aMoorwashisreviler.AProtestantworetotheirbloodshoteyesthesemblanceofthetorturerwhohadmockedandscourgedthemeekRedeemer,
whohad crownedhisguilelessheadwith thorns,whohadpierced and slainhim.Therack,thegibbet,andthestakewerenotenoughtoglutthepioushatethispriestlytrickeryin-spired.Itwasnotenoughthatthedoubter'slifeshouldgoout in theblazeof the crackling fagots,but itmustbe loaded in eternitywiththecursesofthefaithful.
IstherenotfoodforearnestthoughtinthefactthatfaithinChrist,whichledthe Puritans across the sea to found the purest social and political systemwhichthewitofmanhasyetevolvedfromthetangledproblemsoftime,hasdragged thisgreatSpanishpeopledown toadepthofhopelessapathy, fromwhichitmaytakelongyearsofcivil tumult toraisethem?Maywenotfindtheexplanationof this strangephenomenon in thecontrastofCatholicunitywith Protestant diversity? "Thou that killest the prophets!"--the system towhichthisapostrophecanbeappliedisdoomed.Anditmatterslittlewhotheprophetsmaybe.
THECRADLEANDTHEGRAVEOFCERVANTES
INRembrandtPeale'spictureoftheCourtofDeathacadaverousshapeliesforjudgmentat thefootof thethrone, touchingateitherextremitythewatersofLethe. There is something similar in the history of the greatest of Spanishwriters.Nomanknew, formore thanacenturyafter thedeathofCervantes,theplaceofhisbirthandburial.AboutahundredyearsagotheinvestigationsofRiosandPellicerestablishedtheclaimofAlcaládeHenarestobehisnativecity; and last year the researches of the Spanish Academy have provedconclusivelythatheisburiedintheConventoftheTrinitariansinMadrid.Buttheprecisespotwherehewasborn isonly indicatedbyvague tradition;andtheshadowyconjecturethathassolonghallowedthechapelandcloistersoftheCalleCantarranashasneversettleduponanyoneslaboftheirpavement.
It is, however, only the beginning and the end of this most chivalrous andgenialapparitionofthesixteenthcenturythatisconcealedfromourview.Weknow where he was christened and where he died. So that there aresufficientlyauthenticshrinesinAlcaláandMadridtosatisfythemostscepticalpilgrims.
IwenttoAlcaláonesummerday,whenthebarefieldswerebrownanddryintheirafter-harvestnudity,andthehillsthatborderedthewindingHenaresweredrabinthelightandpurpleintheshadow.FromadistancethetownisoneofthemostimposinginCastile.It liesinthemidstofavastplainbythegreenwater-side, and the land approach is fortified by a most impressive wallemphasizedbysturdysquare towersandflankingbastions.Butasyoucome
nearer you see thiswall is a tradition. It is almost in ruins. The crenellatedtowersaregoodfornothingbuttosketch.Ashortwalkfromthestationbringsyoutothegate,whichiswelldefendedbyagangofpicturesquebeggars,whoareoldenoughtohavesatforMurillo,andrevoltinglypitiableenoughtobemillionairesbythistime,ifCastilianshadthecowardlyhabitofspongingoutdisagreeableimpressionswithpennies.Atthefirstchargewerushedinpanicintoatobacco-shopandfilledourpocketswithmaravedís,andthereafterfacedtheraggedbattalionwithcalm.
It isa fine,handsome,and terribly lonesome town. Its streetsarewide,wellbuilt,andsilentvasavenuesinagraveyard.Oneveryhandtherearetallandstatelychurches,afewpalaces,andsometwodozengreatmonasteriesturningtheir long walls, pierced with jealous grated windows, to the grass-grownstreets.Inmanyquartersthereisnosignoflife,nohumanhabitationsamongthesemoroseandnowemptybarracksofamonkisharmy.Someofthemhavebeenturnedintomilitarycasernes,andthebrightredandblueuniformsoftheSpanish officers and troopers now brighten the cloisters that used to seenothinggayerthanthegownsofcord-girdledfriars.Alargegarrisonisalwayskepthere.Theconventsareconvenientforlodgingmenandhorses.Thefieldsin the vicinity produce great store of grain and alfalfa,--food for beast andrider. It is near enough to the capital to use the garrison on any suddenemergency,suchasfrequentlyhappensinPeninsularpolitics.
The railroad that runs by Alcalá has not brought with it any taint of thenineteenthcentury.Thearmy isacorrupting influence,butnotmodern.Thevicethatfollowsthetrailofarmies,orsprouts,fungus-like,aboutthewallsofbarracks, isasoldaswar,andlinksthepresent,withitsstruggleforabetterlife,totheoldmediaevalworldofwrong.Thesetrimfellowsinloosetrousersand embroidered jackets are the same race that fought and drank andmadeprompt love in Italy and Flanders and butchered theAztecs in the name ofreligion three hundred years ago. They have laid off their helmets andhauberks,andusetheBerdanrifleinsteadoftheRomanspear.Buttheyarethesamecareless,idle,dissolutebread-wastersnowasthen.
The townhasnotchanged in the least. Ithasonlyshrunka little.You thinksometimes itmustbeavacation,and thatyouwillcomeagainwhenpeoplereturn. The little you see of the people is very attractive. Passing along thedesolate streets, you glance in at an open door and see a most delightfulcabinetpictureofdomesticlife.Allthedoorsinthehouseareopen.Youcansee through the entry, the front room, into the cool court beyond, gaywitholeanders and vines, where a group of women half dressed are sewing andspinningandcheeringtheirsoulswithgossip.Ifyouenterunderpretenceofasking a question, you will be received with grave courtesy, your doubtssolved, and they will bid you go with God, with the quaint frankness of
patriarchaltimes.
Theydonotseemtohavebeenspoiledbyovermuchtravel.SuchimpressiveandOrientalcourtesycouldnothavesurvivedthetramplingfeetofthegreatarmy of tourists. On our pilgrim-way to the cradle of Cervantes we camesuddenly upon the superb facade of the university. This is one of themostexquisite compositions of plateresque in ' existence. The entire front of thecentralbodyof thebuilding iscoveredwith richand tastefulornamentation.Over the great door is an enormous escutcheon of the arms of Austria,supportedbytwofinelycarvedstatues,--ontheonesideanearlynudewarrior,ontheothertheNewWorldasafeather-cladIndianwoman.Stillabovethisafine,boldgroupof statuary, representing,with that reverentnaiveteof earlyart,God the Father in thework of creation. Surrounding thewhole front aswithaframe,andreachingtothegroundoneitherside,iscarvedtheknottedcord of the Franciscan monks. No description can convey the charmingimpressiongivenbytheharmonyofproportionandthelovingfinishofdetaileverywhereseeninthisbeautifullypreservedfagade.Whilewewereadmiringitanofficercameoutoftheadjoiningcuartelandwalkedbyuswithjinglingspurs. I askedhim ifonecouldgo inside.He shruggedhis shoulderswithaQuien sabe? indicating a doubt as profound as if I had asked himwhetherchignonswereworn in themoon.He had never thought of anything inside.Therewasnowinenorprettygirlsthere.Whyshouldonewanttogoin?Weentered the cool vestibule, and were ascending the stairs to the first court,when a porter came out of his lodge and inquired our errand. We werewanderingbarbarianswithaneye to thepicturesque,andwould fainsee theuniversity,ifitwerenotunlawful.Hereplied,inahushedandscholastictoneofvoice,andwithasuccessionofconfidentialwinksthatwouldhaveinspiredconfidence in theheartofaTalleyrand, that ifour lordshipswouldgivehimourcardshehadnodoubthecouldobtain the requiredpermission from therector.He showed us into a dim, claustral-looking anteroom, inwhich, as Iwastoldbymyfriend,whotriflesinlostmomentswiththeintegralcalculus,therewereseventy-twochairsandonemicroscopictable.Thewallwasdeckedwith portraits of the youth of the college, all from the same artist, whoprobablywentmadfromtheattempttomakefiftybeardlessfaceslookunlikeeach other.We sat for some timemourning over his failure, until the dooropened, and not the porter, but the rector himself, a most courteous andpolishedgentlemanintheblackrobeandthree-corneredhatofhisorder,cameinandgraciouslyplacedhimselfandtheuniversityatourdisposition.Wehadreasontocongratulateourselvesuponthisgoodfortune.Heshoweduseverynookandcornerof thevast edifice,where thepresent and thepast elbowedeachotherateveryturn:heretheboys'gymnasium,therethetombofValles;here the new patent cocks of thewater-pipes, and there the tri-lingual patiowhere Alonso Sánchez lectured in Arabic, Greek, and Chaldean, doubtless
makingachoicehashofthethree;theairyandgracefulparaninfo,orhallofdegrees, a masterpiece of Moresque architecture, with a gorgeous panelledroof, a richprofusionofplaster arabesques, and,horrescoreferens, thewallscovered with a bright French paper. Our good rector groaned at thisabomination,butsaid theGaulshad tornaway thegloriouscarvedpanellingforfirewoodinthewarof1808,andthecollegewastoopoortorestoreit.Hisrighteous indignation waxed hot again when we came to the beautifulsculpturedpulpitofthechapel,whereallthedelicatedetailsaredegradedbyathickcoatingofwhitewash,whichinsomeplaceshasfallenawayandshowsthegildingofthetimeoftheCatholickings.
There is in thischapelapictureof theVirginappearingto thegreatcardinalwhomwecallXimenezandtheSpaniardsCisneros,whichispreciousfortworeasons.TheportraitofXimenezwaspaintedfromlifebythenamelessartist,who,itissaid,camefromFranceforthepurpose,andthefaceoftheVirginisaportraitof Isabella theCatholic. It isagoodwholesome face, suchasyouwouldexpect.Butthethin,powerfulprofileofXimenezisverystriking,withhisredhairandfloridtint,hiscurvedbeak,andlong,nervouslips.HelooksnotunlikethatsuperbportraitRaphaelhasleftofCardinalMedici.
This university is fragrantwith the good fame ofXimenez. In the principalcourt there isa finemedallionof the illustrious founderandprotector,ashedelightedtobedrawn,withaswordinonehandandacrucifixintheother,--twinbrotheringeniusandfortuneofthesoldier-priestofFrance,theCardinal-DukeRichelieu.Onhisgorgeous sarcophagusyou read thearrogant epitaphwithwhichherevengedhimselfforthelittlenessofkingsandcourtiers:--
"Praetextamjunxisacco,galeamquegalero,Frater,dux,praesul,cardineusquepater. Quin, virtute mea junctum est diadema cucullo, Dum mihi regnantipatuitGesperia."
Byahappychanceourvisitwasmadeinaholidaytime,andthestudentswereallaway.Itwasbetterthatthereshouldbeperfectsolitudeandsilenceaswewalked through the noble system of buildings and strove to re-create thestudentworldofCervantes's time.Thechroniclewhichmentions thevisitofFrancisI.toAlcalá,whenaprisonerinSpain,sayshewasreceivedbyeleventhousandstudents.ThiswasonlytwentyyearsbeforethebirthofCervantes.Theworldwill never see again so brilliant a throng of ingenuous youth asgathered together in the great university towns in those years of vivid andimpassioned greed for letters that followed the revival of learning. Theromance of Oxford or Heidelberg or Harvard is tame compared with thatelectriclifeofanew-bornworldthatwroughtandflourishedinPadua,Paris,and Alcalá. Walking with my long-robed scholarly guide through the still,shadowy courts, under Renaissance arches andMoorish roofs, hearing him
talking with enthusiasm of the glories of the past and never a word of theeventsofthepresent,inhispure,strong,gutturalCastilian,nolivingthinginviewbutanoccasionalFranciscanglidingunder thegracefularcades, itwasnotdifficulttoimaginethescenesoftheintenseyounglifewhichfilledthesenoblehallsinthatfreshdayofaspirationandhope,whenthisSpanishsunlightfell on the marble and the granite bright and sharp from the chisel of thebuilder, and thegreatXimenez lookedproudlyonhisperfectwork and sawthatitwasgood.
The twilight of superstition still hung heavily over Europe. But this wasneverthelessthebreakingofdawn,theheraldofthefullerdayofinvestigationandinquiry.
ItwasintothisrosymorningofthemodernworldthatCervanteswasusheredintheseasonofthefallingleavesof1547.Hewasborntoalifeofpovertyandstruggleandanimmortalityoffame.Hisowncitydidnotknowhimwhilehelived, and now is only known through him. Pilgrims often come from overdistant seas to breathe for one day the air that filled his baby lungs, and tomuseamongthescenesthatshapedhisearliestthoughts.
WestrolledawayfromtheuniversitythroughthestilllanesandsquarestotheCalleMayor, theonlythoroughfareofthetownthatyetretainssomevestigeoftraffic.Itisafine,longstreetborderedbystonearcades,withinwhicharethe shops, and without which in the pleasant afternoon are the rosy andcontemplative shopkeepers. It would seem a pity to disturb their dreamyreposebyofferingtotrade;andinjusticetoCastiliantasteandfeelingImustsaythatnobodydoesit.Halfwaydownthestreetasidealleyrunstotheright,calledCalledeCervantes,andintothisweturnedtofindthebirthplaceoftheromancer. On one sidewas a line of squalid, quaint, gabled houses, on theotheralonggardenwall.Wewalkedundertheshadowofthelatterandstaredat the house-fronts, looking for an inscription we had heard of.We saw insunnydoorwaysmothersoilingintoobediencethestiffhorse-tailhairoftheirdaughters.Bythegratedwindowswecaughtglimpsesof theblackeyesandnut-brown cheeks ofmaidens at their needles.Butwe sawnothing to showwhich of thesemansions had been honored by tradition as the residence ofRoderickCervantes.
Abriskandpractical-lookingmanwentpastus.
Iaskedhimwherewasthehouseofthepoet.Hesmiledinasuperiorsortofway,andpointedtothewallabovemyhead:"Thereisnosuchhouse.Somepeoplethinkitoncestoodhere,andtheyhaveplacedthatstoneinthegarden-wall to mark the spot. I believe what I see. It is all child's play anyhow,whether true or false. There is better work to be done now than to honorCervantes.Hefoughtforabigotking,anddiedinamonk'shood."
"YouthinklightlyofagloryofCastile."
"IfwecouldforgetallthegloriesofCastileitwouldbebetterforus."
"Puedeser,"Iassented."Manythanks.MayyourgracegowithGod!"
"Health and fraternity!" he answered, and moved away with a step full ofenergy and dissent. He entered a door under an inscription, "FederalRepublicanClub."
Go your ways, I thought, radical brother. You are not so courteous nor solearnedastherector.ButthisPeninsulahasneedofmenlikeyou.Theagesofbeliefhavedone theirwork forgoodand ill.Letushave someyearsof thespirit thatdenies,andasksforproofs.Thepowerof themonkisbroken,buttheworkisnotyetdone.Theconventshavebeenturnedintobarracks,whichisno improvement.The ringingof spurs in thestreetsofAlcalá isnobetterthan the rustling of the sandalled friars. If this Republican party of yourscannotdosomethingtofreeSpainfromthetriplecurseofcrown,crozier,andsabre,thenSpainisindolefulcase.Theyareatlastdivided,andthefirsttwohavebeensorelyweakenedindetail.Thelastshouldbetheeasiestwork.
Thescornofmyradicalfrienddidnotpreventmycopyingthemodesttabletonthewall:--
"HerewasbornMigueldeCervantesSaavedra,authorofDonQuixote.Byhisfameandhisgeniushebelongstothecivilizedworld;byhiscradletoAlcaládeHenares."
There is no doubt of the truth of the latter part of this inscription. EightSpanishtownshaveclaimedtohavegivenbirthtoCervantes,thusbeatingtheblindScianbyone town;everyone that can showon its church records thebaptism of a child so called hasmade its claim.YetAlcalá,who spells hisnamewrong,callinghimCarvantes,iscertainlyintheright,asthenamesofhis father,mother, brothers, and sisters are also given in its records, and alldoubt is now removed from the matter by the discovery of Cervantes'smanuscript statement of his captivity in Algiers and his petition foremploymentinAmerica,inbothofwhichhestyleshimself"NaturaldeAlcaládeHenares."
Havingexaminedtheevidence,weconsideredourselves justlyentitled toalltheusualemotionsinvisitingthechurchoftheparish,SantaMarialaMayor.Itwasevening,andfromadozenbelfriesintheneighborhoodcamethesoftdreamychimeofsilver-throatedbells.Inthelittlesquareinfrontofthechurcha few families sat in silence on the massive stone benches. A few beggarshurried by, too intent upon getting home to supper to beg. A rural and atwilight repose lay on everything.Only in the air, rosywith the level light,
flewoutandgreetedeachotherthosemusicalvoicesofthebellsrichwiththememoriesofallthedaysofAlcalá.Thechurchwasnotopen,butwefollowedasacristanin,andheseemedtoofeeble-mindedtoforbid.Itisaprettychurch,not large nor imposing, with a look of cosy comfort about it. Through thedarkness the high altar loomed before us, dimly lighted by a few candleswhere thesacristansweresettingup thepropertiesfor thegrandmassof themorrow,--OurLadyoftheSnows.Therewasmuchtalkandhotdiscussionasto the placing of the boards and the draperies, and the image of Our Ladyseemed unmoved by words unsuited to her presence. We know that everyvibrationofairmakesitsownimpressionontheworldofmatter.Sothatthecursesofthesacristansattheirwork,theprayersofpenitentsatthealtar,thewailingofbreakingheartsbowedonthepavementthroughmanyyears,areallrecordedmysteriously,intheserockywalls.Thischurchistheillegiblehistoryof the parish. But of all its ringing of bells, and swinging of censers, anddroningofpsalms,andputtingonandoffofgoodly raiment, theonly showthat consecrates it for theworld's pilgrimage is that humble procession thatcameonthegthdayofOctober,intheyearofGrace1547,tobaptizeRoderickCervantes'syoungestchild.Therecouldnotbeanhumblerchristening. JuanPardo--John Gray--was the sponsor, and the witnesses were "Bal-tazarVázquez, the sacristan, and Iwhobaptizedhimand signedwithmyname,"saysMr.BachelorSerrano,whoneverdreamedhewas stumbling into famewhen he touched that pink face with the holy water and called the childMiguel.ItismyprofoundconvictionthatJuanPardobroughtthebabyhimselftothechurchandtookithomeagain,screamingwrathfully;Neighbor'Pardofeeling a little sheepish and mentally resolving never to do another good-naturedactionaslongashelived.
Asfortheneophyte,hecouldnotbeblamedforscreamingandkickingagainstthenewexistencehewasentering,iftheinstinctofgeniusgavehimanyhintofit.BetweenthefontofSt.Mary'sandthebieratSt.Ildefonso'stherewasscarcelyanhourofjoywaitinghiminhislonglife,exceptthatwhichcomesfromnobleandearnestwork.
Hisyouthwaspassedintheshabbyprivationofapoorgentleman'shouse;hisearly talents attracted the attention of my Lord Aquaviva, the papal legate,who tookhimback toRome inhis service;but thehigh-spiritedyouthsoonlefttheingloriouseaseofthecardinal'shousetoenlistasaprivatesoldierinthe sea-war against the Turk. He fought bravely at Lepanto, where he wasthree timeswoundedandhis left handcrippled.Goinghome forpromotion,loadedwith praise and kind letters from the generous bastard,Don Juan ofAustria,thetruesonoftheEmperorCharlesandprettyBarbaraBlumberg,hewascapturedwithhisbrotherbytheMoors,andpassedfivemiserableyearsinslavery, never for one instant submitting to his lot, butwearying his hostile
fate with constant struggles. He headed a dozen attempts at flight orinsurrection, and yet his thrifty ownerswould not kill him. They thought aman who bore letters from a prince, and who continued cock of his walkthroughyearsofservitude,wouldonedaybringa roundransom.At last thetardydayofhisredemptioncame,butnotfromthecold-heartedtyranthehadsonobly served.Thematterwaspresented tohimbyCervantes's comrades,buthewoulddonothing.SothatDonRodericksoldhisestateandhissisterssacrificedtheirdowrytobuythefreedomofthecaptivebrothers.
TheycamebacktoSpainstillyoungenoughtobefondofglory,andsimple-heartedenoughtobelieveinthejusticeofthegreat.TheyimmediatelyjoinedthearmyandservedinthewarwithPortugal.Theelderbrothermadehiswayand got some little promotion, butMiguel gotmarried and discharged, andwroteversesandplays,andtookasmallofficeinSeville,andmovedwiththeCourttoValladolid;andkepthisaccountsbadly,andwastoohonesttosteal,andsogotintojail,andgreweveryyearpoorerandwittierandbetter;hewasa public amanuensis, a business agent, a sub-tax-gatherer,--anything to keephis lean larder garnishedwith scant ammunition against thewolf hunger. Inthese few lines you have the pitiful story of the life of the greatest ofSpaniards,uptohisreturntoMadridin1606,whenhewasnearlysixtyyearsold.
Fromthispointhishistorybecomesclearerandmoreconnecteduptothetimeof his death. He lived in the new-built suburb, erected on the site of thegardensoftheDukeofLerma,firstministerandfavoriteofPhilipIII.Itwasaquarter much affected by artists and men of letters, and equally so byecclesiastics.Thenamesof thestreets indicate the traditionsofpietyandartthat still hallow the neighborhood. Jesus Street leads you into the street ofLope deVega.Quevedo and SaintAugustine run side by side. In the sameneighborhoodare thestreetscalledCervantes,SaintMary,andSaintJoseph,andjustroundthecorneraretheMagdalenandtheLove-of-God.Theactorsandartistsofthatdaywerepiousanddevoutmadcaps.Theydidnotaboundinmorality, but they had of religion enough and to spare.Many of themweremembers of religious orders, and it is this factwhich has procured us suchaccuraterecordsoftheirhistory.Alltheeventsinthedailylifeofthereligiousestablishments were carefully recorded, and the manuscript archives of theconvents and brotherhoods of that period are rich in materials for thebiographer.
There was a special reason for the sudden rise of religious brotherhoodsamongthelaity.ThegreatschismofEnglandhadbeenfullycompletedunderElizabeth.ThedevoutheartofSpainwasburstingunderthiswrong,andtheycould thinkofnowaytoavenge it.Theywouldfainhaveroasted thewholehereticalisland,butthememoryoftheArmadawasfreshinmen'sminds,and
thegreatPhilipwasdead.TherewerenotenoughhereticsinSpaintomakeitworthwhiletowastetimeinhuntingthem.PhilipcouldsayasNarvaez,onhisdeath-bed,saidtohisconfessorwhourgedhimtoforgivehisenemies,"Blessyourheart,Ihavenone.Ihavekilledthemall."Toeasetheirpioushearts,theyformedconfraternitiesalloverSpain,fortheworshipoftheHost.Theycalledthemselves "Unworthy Slaves of theMostHoly Sacrament." These grew atonce very popular in all classes. Artisans rushed in, and wasted half theirworking days in processions and meetings. The severe Suarez de FigueroaspeakssavagelyofthecrowdofNarcissusesandpetitsmaitres(awordwhichisdeliciousinitsSpanishdressofpeti-metres)whoenteredthecongregationssimplytoflutterabouttheprocessionsinbraveraiment,tobeadmiredofthemultitude.But therewere othermore seriousmembers,--the politicianswhojoinedtostandwellwiththebigotcourt,andthedevoutbelieverswhofoundcomfort and edification in worship. Of this latter class was Miguel deCervantesSaavedra,whojoinedthebrotherhoodinthestreetoftheOlivarin1609.Hewasnowsixty-twoyearsold,andsomewhat infirm,--a time,ashesaid,when aman's salvation is no joke. From this period to the day of hisdeath he seemed to be laboring, after the fashion of the age, to fortify hisstandingintheotherworld.HeadoptedthehabitoftheFranciscansinAlcaláin 1613, and formally professed in the Third Order in 1616, three weeksbeforehisdeath.
Therearethosewhofindthemirthandfunofhislaterworkssoinconsistentwiththeseasceticprofessions,thattheyhavebeenledtobelieveCervantesabitofahypocrite.Butwecannotagreewithsuch.Literaturewasatthattimeadiversionofthegreat,andthechiefaimofthewriterwastoamuse.Thebestopinion of scholars now is that Rabelais, whose genius illustrated thepreceding century, was a man of serious and severe life, whose gaulishcrudenessofstyleandbrilliantwithavebeen thecauseofall the fables thatdistorthispersonalhistory.
NoonecanreadattentivelyeventheQuixotewithoutseeinghowpowerfulaninfluencewasexertedbyhisreligionevenuponthenobleandkindlysoulofCervantes.Hewasablindbigotandadevotedroyalist, likeall therest.Themean neglect of the Court never caused his stanch loyalty to swerve. TheexpulsionoftheMoors,thecrowningcrimeandmadnessofthereignofPhilipIII., found in him a hearty advocate and defender. Non facit monachumcucullus,--it was not his hood and girdle that made him a monk; he wasthoroughly saturatedwith their spiritbeforeheput themon.Buthewas thenoblestcourtierandthekindliestbigotthateverflatteredorpersecuted.
In1610,theCountofLemos,whohadinhisgrandanddistantwaypatronizedthepoet,wasappointedViceroyofNaples,andtookwithhimtohiskingdomabrilliant followingofSpanishwitsandscholars.Herefused thepetitionof
the greatest of them all, however, and to soften the blow gave him a smallpension,whichhecontinuedduringtherestofCervantes'slife.Itwasamerepittance,abonethrowntoanoldhound,buthetookitandgnaweditwithagratitudemoregenerousthanthegift.Fromthistimeforthallhisworkswerededicated to theLordofLemos, and they formagarlandmorebrilliant andenduring than thecrownof theSpains.Onlykindwords todisguised fairieshaveeverbeensomunificentlyrepaid,asthisyoungnoble'spensiontotheoldgenius.
It certainly eased somewhat his declining years. Relieving him from thenecessityofearninghisdailycrust,itgavehimleisuretocompleteandbringout in rapid succession the works which havemade him immortal. He hadpublishedthefirstpartofDonQuixoteinthemidstofhishungrypovertyatValladolidin1605.Hewasthenfifty-eight,andallhisworksthatsurviveareposterior to thatdate.Hebuilthismonument fromthegroundup, inhisoldage. The Persiles and Sigis-munda, the Exemplary Novels, and that mostmasterlyandperfectwork, theSecondPartofQuix-ote,werewrittenby theflickeringglimmerofalifeburntout.
Itwouldbeincorrecttoinferthatthescantydoleofhispatronsustainedhimincomfort.Nothingmoreclearlyproveshisstraitenedcircumstancesthanhisfrequentchangeoflodgings.Oldmendonotmovefortheloveofvariety.Wehave traced him through six streets in the last four years of his life. But atouchingfactisthattheyareall inthesamequarter.It isunderstoodthathisnaturaldaughterandonlychild,IsabeldeSaavedra,enteredtheConventoftheTrinitarian nuns in the street of Cantarranas--Singing Frogs--at some dateunknown. All the shifting and changing which Cervantes made in theseembarrassedyearsarewithinasmallhalf-circle,whosecentreishisgraveandthecellofhischild.Heflutteredaboutthatlittleconventlikeagauntoldeagleaboutthecagethatguardshiscallowyoung.
LikeAlbertDuerer,likeRaphaelandVanDyck,hepaintedhisownportraitatthistimewithaforceandvigoroftouchwhichleaveslittletotheimagination.As few people ever read the Exemplary Novels,--more is the pity,--I willtranslate thispassagefromthePrologue:--"Hewhomyouseetherewith theaquiline face, chestnut hair, a smooth and open brow, merry eyes, a nosecurvedbutwellproportioned,abeardofsilverwhichtwentyyearsagowasofgold, longmustaches,asmallmouth,not toofullof teeth,seeinghehasbutsix,andtheseinbadcondition,aformofmiddleheight,alivelycolor,ratherfairthanbrown,somewhatround-shoulderedandnottoolightonhisfeet;thisisthefaceoftheauthorofGalateaandofDonQuixotedelaMancha,ofhimwhomadetheVoyagetoParnassus,andotherworkswhicharestrayingaboutwithout thenameof theowner:he iscommonlycalledMigueldeCervantesSaavedra."
There were, after all, compensations in this evening of life. As long as hisdropsy would let him, he climbed the hilly street of the Olivar to say hisprayers in the little oratory.He passedmany a cheerful hour of gossipwithMother Francisca Romero, the independent superior of the TrinitarianConvent,untilthetimewhentheSupremeCouncil,jealousofthefreedomofthe good lady's life, walled up the door which led from her house to herconventandcutherofffromhernuns.HesometimesdroppedintothestudiosofCarduchoandCaxes,andoneofthemmadeasketchofhimonefortunateday.Hewasfriendswithmanyoftheeasy-goingBohemianswhoswarmedinthequarter,--CristóbaldeMesa,Quevedo,andMendoza,whosewritings,DonMiguelsays,aredistinguishedbytheabsenceofallthatwouldbringa"blushtothecheekofayoungperson,"--
"Porgraves,puros,castosyexcelentes."
In the same street where Cervantes lived and died,the great Lope de Vegapassedhisedifyingoldage.Thisphenomenonofincrediblefecundityisoneofthemysteriesofthattime.Fewmenoflettershaveeverwonsomarvellousasuccess in their own lives, few have been so little read after death. Theinscription on Lope's house records that he is the author of two thousandcomediesandtwenty-onemillionofverses.MakingallpossibledeductionsforSpanishexaggeration,itmuststillbeadmittedthathisactivityandfertilityofgeniuswereprodigious.Inthosedaysaplaywasrarelyactedmorethantwoor three times, andhewrotenearlyall thatwereproduced inSpain.Hehaddriven all competitors from the scene. Cervantes, when he published hiscollection of plays, admitted the impossibility of getting a hearing in thetheatre while this "monster of nature" existed. There was a courteousacquaintancebetween the twogreatpoets.Theysometimeswrotesonnets toeachother,andoftenmetinthesameoratories.ButagrandseigneurlikeFreyLopecouldnotaffordtobeintimatewithashabbygeniuslikebrotherMiguel.In his inmost heart he thoughtDonQuixote rather low, andwonderedwhatpeoplecouldseeinit.Cervantes,recognizingthegreatgiftsofDeVega,and,generouslygivinghimhis fullmeedofpraise, sawwithclearer insight thanany man of his time that this deluge of prodigal and facile genius woulddesolateratherthanfructifythedramaofSpain.Whatacontrastincharacteranddestinybetweenourdilapidatedpoetandhisbrilliantneighboracrosstheway!Theonerich,magnificent,thepoetofprincesandaprinceamongpoets,the "Phoenix of Spanish Genius," in whose ashes there is no flame ofresurrection;theother,houndedthroughlifebyunmercifuldisaster,andusingthe brief respite of age to achieve an enduring renown; the one, with histwentymillionsofverses,hasagreatnameinthehistoryofliterature;buttheother,withhisvolumeyoucancarryinyourpocket,hascausedtheworldtocalltheCastiliantonguethelanguageofCervantes.Wewillnotdecidewhich
lot is themoreenviable.But itseemsapoetmustchoose.WehavethehighauthorityofSanchoforsaying,--
"ParadarytenerSesohamenester."
Heisabrightboywhocaneathiscakeandhaveit.
In some incidents of the closing scenes of thesememorable lives there is acuriousparallelism.LopedeVegaandCervantes livedanddied in thesamestreet,nowcalledtheCalledeCervantes,andwereburiedinthesameconventof the street now called Calle de Lope de Vega. In this convent each hadplacedabeloveddaughter,thefruitofanearlyandunlawfulpassion.IsabeldeSaavedra,thechildofsinandpoverty,wassoignorantshecouldnotsignhername;while Lope's daughter, the lovely and giftedMarcela deCarpió,wasrich in the genius of her father and the beauty of hermother, the high-bornMaria de Lujan. Cervantes's child glided from obscurity to oblivion no oneknew when, and the name she assumed with her spiritual vows is lost totradition.But themystic espousals of the sisterMarceladeSanFelix to theeldestsonofGod--theaudaciousphraseisofthefatherandpriestFreyLope--werecelebratedwithprincelypompand luxury;grandeesofSpainwerehersponsors;thestreetswereinvadedwithcarriagesfromthepalace,theversesofthedramatistwere sung in the serviceby theCourt tenorFlorian, called the"CanaryofHeaven;"andtheeventcelebratedinendlessrhymesbythegenteelpoetsoftheperiod.
Rarely has a lovelier sacrifice been offered on the altar of superstition. Thefather,whohadbeenmarriedtwicebeforeheenteredthepriesthood,andwhohadseenthefollyoferrantloveswithoutnumber,twittersinthemostinnocentwayabout thebeautyandthecharmofhischild,withoutonethoughtof thecrimeofquenchinginthegloomofthecloisterthelightofthatrichyounglife.After the lapseofmore than twocenturiesweknowbetter thanhewhat theworldlostbythatlifelongimprisonment.TheMarquisofMo-lins,directoroftheSpanishAcademy,wasshownbytheladiesoftheconventinthisyearof1870 a volume ofmanuscript poems from the hand of SorMarcela, whichprovehertohavebeenoneofthemostvigorousandoriginalpoetsofthetime.They are chiefly mystical and ecstatic, and full of the refined and spiritualvoluptuousnessofadevoutyoungheartwhosepulsationshadneverlearnedtobeat for earthly objects. M. de Molins is preparing a volume of thesemanuscripts; but I am glad to present one of the seguidillas here, as anillustrationofthetenderandardentfantasiesofvirginalpassionthisChristianSapphoembroidereduponthethemeofherwastedprayers:--
LetthemsaytomyLoverThathereIlie!Thethingofhispleasure,HisslaveamI.SaythatIseekhim
Onlyforlove,AndwelcomearetorturesMypassiontoprove.LovegivinggiftsIssuspiciousandcold;Ihaveall,myBeloved,WhentheeIhold.HopeanddevotionThegoodmaygain,IambutworthyOfpassionandpain.SonobleaLordNoneservesinvain,--
ForthepayofmyloveIsmylove'ssweetpain.Ilovethee,tolovethee,NomoreIdesire,ByfaithisnourishedMylove'sstrongfire.IkissthyhandsWhenIfeeltheirblows,IntheplaceofcaressesThougivestmewoes.ButinthychastisingIsjoyandpeace,OMasterandLove,Letthyblowsnotcease!Thybeauty,Beloved,Withscornisrife!ButIknowthatthoulovestme,Betterthanlife.Andbecausethoulovestme,Loverofmine,DeathcanbutmakemeUtterlythine!IdiewithlongingThyfacetosee;Ah!sweetistheanguishOfdeathtome!
Thisisalongdigression,butitwillbeforgivenbythosewhofeelhowmuchofbeautifulandpatheticthereisinthememoryofthismutenightingaledyingwithherpassionatemusicallunheardinthesilenceandshadows.ItistomethemostpurelypoeticassociationthatclingsaboutthegraveofCervantes.
This vein of mysticism in religion has been made popular by the recentcanonizationofSaintTheresa,theecstaticnunofAvila.Intheceremoniesthatcelebratedthiseventtherewerethreeprizesawardedforodestothenewsaint.LopedeVegawas chairmanof the committee of award, andCervanteswasone of the competitors. The prizes itmust be admittedwere very tempting:first, a silverpitcher; second, eightyardsof camlet; and third, a pair of silkstockings.WehopeCervantes'spoemwasnot thebest.Wewouldratherseehimcarryhome the stuff for anewcloakandpourpoint,or even thoseveryattractivesilkstockingsforhisshrunkshank,thanthatsilverpitcherwhichhewastooCastilianevertoturntoanysensibleuse.Thepoemsarepublishedinacompendiumofthetime,withoutindicatingthesuccessfulones;andthatofCervantes contained these lines,whichwould seemhazardous in this colderage,butwhichthenweregreatlyadmired:--
"Breakingallboltsandbars,ComestheDivineOne,sailingfromthestars,
Fullinthysighttodwell:Andthosewhoseekhim,shorteningtheroad,
Cometothyblestabode,Andfindhiminthyheartorinthycell."
Theanti-climaxisthepoet's,andnotmine.
Heknewhewasnearinghisend,butworkeddesperately to retrieve the lostyearsofhisyouth,andleavetheworldsometestimonyofhispowers.Hewasable to finish and publish the Second Part of Quixote, and to give the lasttouches of the file to his favorite work, the long pondered and cherishedPersiles. This, he assuresCountLemos,will be either the best or theworstworkeverproducedbymortalman,andhequicklyaddsthatitwillnotbetheworst.Theterriblediseasegainsuponhim,layingitscoldhandonhisheart.He feels the pulsations growing slower, but bates no jot of his cheerfulphilosophy. "Withone foot in the stirrup,"hewritesa last farewellofnoblegratitude to the viceroy ofNaples.Hemakes hiswill, commanding that hisbodybelaidintheConventoftheTrinitarians.HehadfixedhisdepartureforSunday, the17thofApril,butwaited sixdays forShakespeare, and the twogreatestsoulsofthatagewentintotheunknowntogether,onthe23dofApril,1616.
TheburialofCervanteswasashumbleashischristening.Hisbierwasborneontheshouldersoffourbrethrenofhisorder.Theupperhalfofthecoffin-lidwas open and displayed the sharpened features to the fewwho cared to seethem:hisrighthandgraspedacrucifixwiththegripofasoldier.BehindthegratingwasasobbingnunwhosenameintheworldwasIsabeldeSaavedra.Buttherewasnosceniceffortordisplay,suchasafewyearslaterinthatsamespotwitnessedthelayingawayofthemortalpartofVega-Carpio.ThisisthelastofCervantesuponearth.Hehadfoughtagoodfight.Alonglifehadbeen
devotedtohiscountry'sservice.Inhisyouthhehadpouredouthisblood,anddraggedthechainsofcaptivity.InhisagehehadaccomplishedaworkwhichfoldsinwithSpanishfametheorboftheworld.Buthewaslaidinhisgravelikeapauper, and the spotwherehe laywasquickly forgotten.At thatveryhouravastmultitudewasassistingatwhat thepolishedacademiciancallsa"more solemn ceremony," the bearing of the Virgin of the Atocha to theConventofSanDomingoelReal,toseeifperadventurepleasedbytheairing,shewouldsendraintotheparchingfields.
Theworldspeedilydidjusticetohisname.Evenbeforehisdeathithadbegun.ThegentlemenoftheFrenchembassywhocametoMadridin1615toarrangetheroyalmarriagesaskedthechaplainoftheArchbishopofToledoinhisfirstvisit many questions of Miguel Cervantes. The chaplain happened to be afriend of the poet, and so replied, "I know him. He is old, a soldier, agentleman, and poor." At which they wondered greatly. But after a while,whenthewholecivilizedworldhadtrans-latedandknewtheQuixotebyheart,the Spaniards began to be proud of the genius they had neglected anddespised.Theyquotewith a certain fatuity the eulogyofMontesquieu,whosaysitistheonlybooktheyhave;"aproposition"whichNavarreteconsiders"inexact,"andweagreewithNavarrete.Hehaswrittenagoodbookhimself.The Spaniards have very frankly accepted the judgment of the world, andalthoughtheydonotreadCervantesmuch,theyadmirehimgreatly,andtalkabout himmore than is amusing.TheSpanishAcademyhas set up a prettymuraltabletonthefacadeoftheconventwhichsheltersthetiredbonesoftheunluckyimmortal,enjoyingnowtheirfirstandonlyrepose.InthePlazaoftheCortesafinebronzestatuestandsfacingthePrado,catchingonhischiselledcurls and forehead the first rays of morning that leap over the hill of theRetiro.Itisawell-poised,energetic,chivalrousfigure,andMr.Ger-monddeLavignehas criticised it as havingmoreof the sabreur than the savant.Theobjectiondoesnot seemwell founded. It is not pleasant for theworld tobecontinually reminded of itsmeannesses.We do notwant to seeCervantes'sdays of poverty and struggle eternized in statues.We know that he alwayslookedbackwithfondnessonhiscampaigningdays,andeveninhisdecrepitagehecalledhimselfasoldier.Iftherewereanyperiodinthattroubledhistorythatcouldbecalledhappy,surelyitwasthetimewhenhehadyouthandvalorand hope as the companions of his toil. It would have been a preciousconsolationtohischeerlessagetodreamthathecouldstandinbronze,aswehopehemaystandforcenturies,intheun-changingbloomofmanhood,withthecloakandswordofagentlemanandsoldier,bathinghisOlympianbrowforever in the light of all themornings, and gazing, at evening, at the rosyreflexflushingtheeast,--thememoryofthedayandthepromiseofthedawn.
Related Documents
