Due West: or, Round the World in Ten Months

CHAPTER XII

Granada to Cordova. – An Antique City. – The Guadalquivir. – Old Roman Bridge. – The Grand Mosque-Cathedral of Cordova. – Court of Orange-Trees. – Army of Beggars. – From Cordova to Madrid. – Local Characteristics of the Capital. – The Gate of the Sun. – The King and Queen in Public. – The Royal Palace. – Spanish Ladies and Gentlemen. – The Fan. – The Picture-Gallery of Madrid. – National Sport of the Bull-Fight. – Cowardice! – Interesting Visit to the City of Toledo. – The Escurial.

The journey from Granada to Cordova covers a distance of about a hundred and twenty-five miles, and passes through a comparatively well-cultivated and interesting country, where the vine, the orange, and the lemon, together with the universal olive, are abundant and thrifty. The oil extracted from the latter product forms a large source of profit to the southern and middle provinces of Spain. The road, soon after starting, lay through a succession of valleys and lofty hills, rendering the construction of many tunnels and viaducts necessary. Occasionally we came out of one of these tunnels upon a broad prairie-like plain, where flocks of goats, sheep, and horned cattle, tended by herdsmen, were struggling to get a scanty subsistence from very unpromising fields. Not infrequently there came into view a pretty white hamlet of a score of dwellings, dominated by a rude castellated structure, and a square-towered church surmounted by a cross. Here and there were crumbling strongholds, monuments of the days when the Moors held sway over the land.

At last we reached Cordova, where it seemed that something untoward must surely happen, as we were driven through the narrow, deserted, cobble-stoned streets in a hotel omnibus, the hubs of the wheels scraping the stone buildings on either side alternately. Nobody but Moors would have constructed such lanes and called them streets, though doubtless they aimed to exclude the intense heat of the sun's rays. The neatly white-washed houses, like those in Havana, have the lower windows all barred with iron, as if they were so many prisons, and fitted to keep people in or out, as the occupants might desire. Looking about us curiously it was natural to recall the slumber of Rip Van Winkle, and to wonder seriously if the place was destined ever to wake up. How any shops afford their proprietors a subsistence here is a marvel. The few to be seen had but one shutter down, the rest being rusty with disuse. There were a plenty of broad-brimmed hats with priests under them, a sure crop in Spain, but scarcely a citizen was to be seen, or aught else to be noticed, except a few rusty towers and antique fountains. Everything seemed impregnated with decay, more desolate than an actual ruin, because of its moth-eaten vitality, which left nothing to hope for. Plainly the only life in Cordova is that imported by curious travelers from abroad, who make pilgrimages hither to see its few historic monuments, and to behold a Herculaneum above ground.

We looked about us for specimens of the famous breed of Cordova horses, of whom poets have sung and kings were covetous. There were a few animals to be seen with fine manes and tails, with arching necks and lustrous coats, but their forms would not compare with some neglected creatures whose blood showed through dirt and hard usage, at the Slave Market in Tangier. There may have been noble ancestors to these Cordova animals a thousand years ago, but they must have been crossed with mongrel races too many times to show good traces to-day.

This is one of the most ancient cities in the country, having been the capital of Moorish Spain a thousand years ago. The walls which still surround it are flanked by octagonal and square towers of Saracenic origin. From the ninth to the twelfth century it boasted a million inhabitants, and we read of its public library which contained six hundred thousand volumes. The present population cannot exceed forty or fifty thousand. Is it possible that this was once the largest city in the western world, – once the centre of European civilization? So at least history informs us. Not even one foundation of its three hundred mosques can be found to-day. Seneca and Lucan were born here before the time of Christ, and the guide rehearsed with voluble facility some other high-sounding names of historic fame who were natives of the place, but who were quite unfamiliar to us. When we pointed, however, to the broad, pale-yellow river crossed by the old Roman bridge, and asked its name, he replied: "The Guadalquivir," and the name rang softly on the ear like a strain of half-forgotten music. The old stone bridge, with its broad, irregular arches, was an object of much interest, and is, undoubtedly, with its two flanking towers, the oldest visible object in Cordova, though it was an important city in Cæsar's time. The bridge is about the sixteenth of a mile in length, and after two thousand years of battling with the elements is firm and substantial still. Romans, Moors, and Spaniards have fiercely battled at its entrances, the tide of victory and of defeat sweeping again and again across its roadway, which has many times been made slippery with human blood. How often has it witnessed royal pageants, ecclesiastical parades, murderous personal conflicts, and how often been the rendezvous of lovers and of whispering groups of conspirators. Here have been enacted many vivid scenes in the long line of centuries. What a volume might that old bridge furnish of history and of romance! During our brief stay this spot was a favorite resort, usually supplementing our visits to the cathedral, which is near at hand. Leaning over its stone barriers, we watched the rapid stream which doubtless flows on just as it has done for twenty centuries. Palaces temples, towers, and shrines crumble, nations rise and fall, but the Guadalquivir still flows on. Just below the bridge, perhaps fifty yards away, are the ruins of an ancient Moorish grist-mill of stone, forming a strikingly picturesque object, in its shattered condition, amid the foaming rapids.

We visited a museum of antiquities, but it was in a dark, inappropriate building, gloomy and cobwebby, smothered in dust and obscurity; so out of the way, indeed, that it was difficult to find, and our guide was obliged to inquire where the institution was! The traveler may conscientiously omit a visit to the blind alley which contains the Museum of Antiquities at Cordova. The guide, by the way, we found much more intent upon selling us Spanish lace than anxious to impart desirable local information. To be a good guide, as Izaak Walton says of anglers and poets, a man must be born so.

The one great and nearly unrivaled interest of Cordova is its cathedral, an architectural wonder, erected some sixteen centuries since, and hallowed by age and historical associations. Beautiful are its still remaining thousand and one interior supporting columns, composed of porphyry, jasper, granite, alabaster, verd-antique, and marble of various colors. Think of that vandal Charles V. destroying two hundred of them: he who was capable of tearing down a portion of the Alhambra to make room for his barrack of a palace! Each of the columns upholds a small pilaster, and between them is a horse-shoe arch, no two columns being precisely alike, – as they came from Greece, Rome, Constantinople, Damascus, Africa, and some are said to have come from the Temple at Jerusalem, as also from Pæstum and Cumæ. All the then known world was put under contribution to furnish this wonderful temple. The great mosque was changed into a cathedral after the expulsion of the Arabs; but a large portion of the interior is untouched, and remains as it was when the caliphs worshiped here. We felt oppressed by a sensation of gloom wandering amid the dark forest of pillars. It is, and always will be, a mosque, as characteristic and typical as the most marked shrine in the East. The Holy of Holies, as sacred to the Spanish Arabians as Mecca to those of the East, has been preserved intact, and is by far the most interesting portion of the structure. Here all the original lace-like ornamentation is entirely undisturbed, and looks as though it were a hall taken bodily out of the Alhambra. The Moslem pilgrims from far and near came to this spot, and walked seven times round it, the marble pavement being visibly worn by the bare knees of devout Mussulmans.

Just outside of this large alcove, which is very similar to a side chapel in a modern cathedral, there was pointed out to us the finest piece of mosaic in the world. It originally came from Constantinople, and was the gift of the Emperor Romanus II. It contains, in accordance with the Moslem faith, no representation of any living thing; but is perfection in its graceful vines, leaves, and scroll work. The deep glowing colors, crimson and green dominating, are as bright to-day as when it first came, perhaps two thousand years ago, from the artist's hand. It recalled the contemporary productions exhumed at Pompeii, and now to be seen in the Museum at Naples. These latter however, as we remember them, are neither so large nor so choice as this masterpiece in the Cordova Mosque. The cathedral, as a whole, has been pronounced by experienced travelers to be the greatest architectural curiosity in Europe. It is a strange conglomerate and jumble of incongruities, half-Christian, half-Saracenic, reminding one strongly of the Church of St. Mark at Venice, – having, like that remarkable structure, borrowed many of its columns and ornaments from the far East. Inside and out it is gloomy, massive, and frowning, forming the most remarkable link between the remote past and the present existing in Spain. It appears to be nearly as large upon the ground as St. Peter's at Rome, and contains fifty separate chapels within its capacious walls. It has, in its passage through the several dynasties of Roman, Moorish, and Spanish rule, received distinctive architectural marks from each. Its large, cool court of orange-trees, centuries old; its battlemented wall and huge gateway; its famous fountains and its mingled palms and tall cypresses, all combine to perfect a picture suggestive of the dead and buried races connected with its history.

This famous court-yard is of scarcely less interest than the interior of the great Cathedral-Mosque itself. It has at each end a colonnade of marble pillars supporting circular arches, and the grounds are broad and spacious. Here a battalion of professional beggars were drawn up in battle array as we entered, numbering fifty or sixty of both sexes, and of all ages. The poor creatures formed both a pitiable and a picturesque group, composed of the lame, the halt, and the blind. On the greensward just back of them, under the shade of the dark-leaved orange-trees, played troops of careless children, who had been sent here by their parents to beg, but had forgotten their vocation. Sitting on the stone bench, which surrounds the outside walls of the mosque, were little groups of hale and hearty men, playing cards and smoking; while others, stretched at full length upon the ground, slept just where the dancing sunlight pierced the leaves and branches of the trees and mottled their faces with its shimmering rays. Idleness is the general business of Cordova. What a strange, weird aspect the deep shades assumed beneath the graceful palms and slender cypresses. The Babel of pleading tongues from the beggars, the merry voices of the laughing children, the angry dispute of some card players, and the cool business-like aspect of the priests shuffling about the corridors, while a little confusing was still impressive.

The best dwelling-houses in Cordova are built upon the Moorish model; that is, they have a central court or garden, visible from the street entrance, which is adorned with trees, flowers, and fountains, usually guarded by an iron gate and an inner glass door. The domestic life of the family centres here, where in summer a broad canvas is drawn over the top, and the meals are taken underneath in the open air. We saw, late in March, orange and lemon-trees blooming in these areas, as well as Bengal monthly and common white roses, tea-roses, verbenas, tiger-lilies, carnations, and scarlet geraniums. Neither the palm nor the orange will grow without shelter in this part of Spain, – the north winds being too cold and piercing, – except by artificial culture. Spain is almost a treeless country, her immense olive orchards serving but partially to redeem the barren aspect of the southern and middle districts. In the orange court of the Grand Mosque, the lofty old Moorish wall forms a protecting screen. The Alameda of Cordova must be quite denuded of foliage in winter, exposed as it is to the north winds and frosty nights. It is a short but very broad thoroughfare, with a tree-lined promenade through its centre, like that at Malaga, but it seemed singularly out of place in a city so utterly void of life and animation.

Spain is a country of beggars, but in this ancient town one is actually beset by them. Travelers, stopping at the same hotel with us, abbreviated their stay in the city on account of this great annoyance. As far as one can judge, these people have no pressing reason for begging. It has become a habit, and strangers are importuned as a matter of course. Cannot the priests do something to mitigate this great evil? In Spain evidence is not lacking to show that the Roman Catholic faith inspires deep religious sentiment, but without religious principle. The more blindly ignorant the masses of the people are, the greater is the influence of the priesthood. Not one of the famous Spanish cathedrals but has within its vaults so-called sacred treasures of great amount, in gold and silver plate and other material, the intrinsic value of which in each instance large, being aggregated, would furnish a sum nearly large enough to liquidate the national debt. At Toledo, for instance, the mantle called the Robe of the Virgin is covered with precious stones, so large and choice that its value has been estimated at a million of Spanish dollars; and this is but one item of value stored in that rich church. So at Malaga, Seville, Cordova, and Burgos, not to name other places of which we can speak with less personal knowledge, each is a small Golconda of riches, yet the common people starve. A horde of priests, altogether out of proportion to the necessities of the case from any point of view, are kept up, the most useless of non-producers, and whence comes their support but from this very poverty-burdened mass of the common people? When Philip II. was told of the destruction of the great Spanish Armada, which had cost a hundred million ducats, he only said: "I thank God for having given me the means of bearing such a loss without embarrassment, and power to fit out another fleet of equal size!" And yet there were starving millions in Spain at that time as there are to-day.

From Cordova to Madrid is nearly three hundred miles, the first half of which distance we passed over in the daytime, lightening the journey by enjoyment of the pleasing scenery and local peculiarities. Though it was quite early in the spring, still the fields were verdant and full of promise. More than once a gypsy camp was passed by the side of some cross-road, presenting the usual domestic group, mingled with animals, covered carts, lazy men stretched on the greensward, and busy women cooking the evening meal. Long strings of mules, with wide-spread panniers, came winding across the plain, sometimes in charge of a woman clad in gaudy colors, while her lazy husband thrummed a guitar, lying across one of the mules. Towards evening groups of peasants, male and female, with farming tools in their hands, were seen wending their steps towards some hamlet after the day's labor. Arched stone bridges, old and moss-grown, came into view, spanning small water-courses, on their way from the mountains to join more pretentious streams. Elevated spots often showed the ruins of the old stone towers, once a part of some feudal stronghold, but the eye sought in vain for well-wooded slopes or thrifty groves; and yet, strange to say, the song-birds which we had missed further south, in Andalusia and at Granada, put in an appearance as we came north, cheering us with their soft trilling notes in the amber sunshine that radiated about the small railroad stations. Some of these depots were rendered attractive and pretty by nicely arranged flower-beds and a few trees, imparting a home-like appearance. The ever-varying scenery kept mind and eyes busy, until by and by Night dropped her mantle over the face of nature, and with the darkness came a cool and nipping air. Then followed two hundred miles of tedious night travel, with no convenience for sleeping, except such as one could obtain sitting bolt upright, so that when daylight and Madrid arrived together, we were ready to welcome them both.

Why Charles V. should have made his capital on the spot now occupied by Madrid it is difficult to understand – though writers suppose a half a dozen reasons – except that it is the geographical centre of Spain. Eight or nine hundred years ago it was a fortified outpost of Toledo, "imperial" Toledo. It is hemmed in on all sides by arid plains, and has an adjacent river, so-called, but which in America would be known as a dry gulch. If there is any special benefit to be derived from a waterless river, we have yet to learn its character. Like the Arno at Florence, it is troubled with a chronic thirst; in short, the Manzanares has the form of a river without the circulation. In the days of Charles II. its dry bed was turned into a sort of race-course and drive-way, but since the completion of the Prado it has been abandoned for even this purpose. Though Madrid is situated between two and three thousand feet above the level of the sea, it does not seem to possess the advantages usually following such a position, the climate being scorchingly hot in summer and piercingly cold in winter. Thus, in point of climate and location, the Spanish capital seems to be a mistake.

As Madrid was built when the age of cathedrals had passed, it has none within its borders, though there is no lack of modern churches; but it is a large and fine city, with some four hundred thousand inhabitants. It is not noticeable, like Genoa, Rome, and Florence, for palaces and ancient monuments; but it is well laid out; the streets are broad and nicely paved; while numerous squares ornament the city, filled with attractive shrubbery, fountains, and statues. Among the latter we recall those of Murillo, Philip III., Cervantes, Lopez de Vega, Philip V., Calderon, and others. The finest statue in the city, to our taste, is that of Philip IV., representing the monarch as on horseback, the animal in a prancing position, – a wonderfully life-like bronze, designed by Velasquez and cast by Pietro Tacca at Florence. It forms the centre of the Plaza del Oriente, directly in front of the royal palace, from which it is separated, however, by a broad thoroughfare. According to history, Galileo showed how the true balance of the horse could be sustained in its remarkable position, the whole weight of rider and animal resting on the hind legs. On the Prado, the grand public drive of the citizens, there are fine marble statues and groups, combined with fountains, representative of Neptune, Apollo, and Cybele.

The Puerto del Sol is the Place del 'Opera of Madrid, always full of sparkle, life, and color, radiating from which there are a dozen large streets with two or three broad boulevards. Here all the lines of tramways meet and diverge, and the congregated fashionable idlers of the town hold high carnival daily and nightly. Our windows overlooked the Puerto del Sol (the Gate of the Sun), where the whirl of carriages, the rush of pedestrians, the passing of military bands with marching regiments, equestrians; priests decked out in church paraphernalia, preceded by smoking incense, burning candles, etc., bound to some death-bed; itinerant peddlers, and news-vendors, each hastening on some individual purpose, made the plaza a scene of incessant movement from early morning until midnight. Like Paris and Vienna, Madrid does not seem to awake until evening, and the tide of life becomes the most active under the glare of gas-lights which are as numerous at midnight as the fireflies that float over a sugar plantation. The fine shops surrounding this brilliant square, which is the real geographical heart of Madrid, are more Parisian than Spanish. The large plate-glass windows present a tempting array of jewelry, laces, silver-ware and rich fancy goods, in a style and of a quality that would do no discredit to the Rue de la Paix or the Boulevard des Italiens. Indeed, it is mostly French people who keep these shops, and there is a manifest tendency of the upper classes to adopt French manners, customs, and language. Paris serves as a model to Madrid in all matters relating to fashionable life. There is a large fountain and mammoth basin of water in the centre of the square, a stream being forced to a height of fifty or sixty feet, in a graceful column, night and day, the effect of which is heightened by the brilliant array of gas-lights. The sidewalks are here at least forty feet wide, upon which, in business hours, many merchants are accustomed to meet for the discussing of affairs, and to gossip before the several hotels which front on the plaza.

Speaking of the fountain in the Puerto del Sol recalls the fact that the citizens owe it to the energy and skill of foreign engineers that they enjoy the luxury of an ample supply of good water; and foreign engineers are doing or have done the same thing for other Spanish cities, though, in fact, only restoring the ancient supplies first constructed by the quick-witted Moors, and wantonly permitted to crumble into ruin by the Spaniards. They are not sufficiently enterprising or progressive to originate any such scheme for the public good. They even dislike the railroads, though they are compelled to use them; dislike them because they force them to observe punctuality, the native instinct being of the Chinese school, retrospective and retrograding. Everything is exotic in Madrid; nothing is produced in or near the city which its daily consumption demands. Strawberries, butter, cheese, fruits, meats, each comes from some special region far away to this human hive located in the desert. The city adds to its other drawbacks that of being very unwholesome as a residence, and would die out from natural causes if its population were not constantly renewed from the several provinces. There is a native proverb to the effect that so subtle is the air of Madrid, it kills a man but does not put out a candle. Why it is so unhealthy a place, especially for strangers, it is impossible to say. The same extreme difference between the sunshine and the shade is here realized which one experiences at Nice, Mentone, and Naples. The air seemed pure and clear enough during our two weeks' stay, but every one admitted its very unwholesome character. When the breeze swept down from the snowy Guadarrama, it cut like a knife, but that was a condition of temperature which one could guard against, not an atmospheric impurity. If Madrid were surrounded by and ornamented with trees, like Wiesbaden or Baden-Baden, it might prove a favorable sanitary measure, besides adding so much to its beauty. In Paris, Rome, or Venice, fires are not common in domestic living rooms, except in extremes of weather; but at Madrid, if the day is cool and damp, the cheerful, warmth-diffusing fire is lighted and regarded as a necessity.

The king and queen of Spain passed through the Puerto del Sol in an open carriage nearly every afternoon during our stay, attended by half a dozen outriders, and drawn by four superb horses; for Alfonso's royal stable, as we can testify, is justly celebrated. The king rides with his hat in his hand in response to the ceaseless recognitions of respect by the people, who, however, never cheer him, and yet he appears to be fairly popular with the masses. He has seemed thus far to follow rather than to lead public sentiment, perhaps realizing the precarious nature of his seat upon the throne; remembering that the nation has a rather erratic manner of changing its rulers when displeased with them. He is quite youthful in appearance. The queen, though by no means handsome, has a pleasing face, and is represented to be of a very amiable character. It will be remembered that his first wife, Mercedes, died while yet a bride, at the age of eighteen, much regretted and much beloved. Alfonso has, in a few public instances, shown a progressive and enlightened spirit; but were he to permit himself to be demonstrative in this direction, he would not be supported either by his councillors or the public, who are imbued with the true Castilian dormancy even in this nineteenth century. He has undertaken, out of his private purse, to restore many decaying monuments of the country, and is noticeably spending money freely for this purpose, not only in Cordova, but also at Toledo, Madrid, and Burgos.