Wanderings in Spain

I was simply in the baño de la Cava, which, I may as well say for the benefit of my readers, means Florinda's Bath, and the tower opposite me was the tower of King Rodrigo. It was from the balcony of that window and concealed behind a curtain, that Rodrigo watched the young maidens as they were bathing, and perceived the lovely Florinda measuring her leg9 and those of her companions, in order to see whose was the roundest and best shaped. From what trifles do great events spring. Had Florinda possessed an ill-shapen leg or an ugly knee, the Arabs would never have come to Spain. Unfortunately, Florinda had a tiny foot, a delicate ankle, and the whitest and best shaped leg in the world. Rodrigo became enamoured of the thoughtless bather, and seduced her. Count Juliano, Florinda's father, furious at this outrage, betrayed his country in order to obtain revenge, and called in the aid of the Moors. Rodrigo lost the famous battle so often mentioned in the romanceros, and perished miserably in a coffin filled with vipers, in which he had placed himself to make atonement for his crime. Poor Florinda, branded with the ignominious name of la Cava, remained bowed down beneath the execration of all Spain; but then, what a ridiculous and strange idea it was to place a bathing-place for young maidens exactly before the tower of a young king.

Since we have begun to talk about Rodrigo, we may as well mention the legend of the Grotto of Hercules, which is fatally connected with the history of this unfortunate Gothic prince. The Grotto of Hercules is a subterranean cave, which, according to the general report, extends three leagues beyond the city walls: the entrance, carefully shut and padlocked, is in the church of San Gines, which stands on the highest ground in the whole city. On this spot there was formerly a palace founded by Tubal, which Hercules restored and enlarged. Here, too, he established his laboratory and his school of magic; for Hercules, of whom the Greeks subsequently made a god, was at first a powerful cabalist. By means of his art, he constructed an enchanted tower, with talismans and inscriptions to the effect, that whenever any one should penetrate the limits of the magical edifice, a ferocious and barbarous nation should invade Spain.

Fearful of seeing this fatal prediction accomplished, all the kings, and especially the Gothic kings, placed more locks and more padlocks on the mysterious door; not that they actually put faith in the prophecy, but, like sensible persons as they were, they had no wish to be mixed up with these magical charms and spells. Rodrigo, who was more curious or more needy, for his debauched and prodigal course of life had exhausted all his money, resolved on venturing into the enchanted cave, in the hopes of finding some considerable treasures there. He directed his steps towards the grotto at the head of some few determined followers, provided with torches, lanterns, and cords, and reached the doorway cut in the living rock, and closed by an iron door secured by a great number of padlocks. On the door was a tablet with this inscription in Greek characters: The king who shall open this subterranean vault, and succeed in discovering the marvels which it contains, shall experience good and evil. The former kings had been frightened at the alternative, and had not dared to proceed; but Rodrigo, chancing the evil to obtain the good, ordered the padlocks to be broken, the locks to be forced, and the door to be opened. Those who boasted of possessing most courage went down first, but soon returned, with their torches extinguished, all trembling, pale, and terror-stricken; those that could speak said that they had been frightened by a most horrible vision. This, however, did not induce Rodrigo to renounce his project of breaking the spell. He caused the torches to be arranged in such a manner that the wind which issued from the cavern could not extinguish them; and then, placing himself at the head of his followers, advanced boldly into the grotto. He soon reached a square chamber of great architectural richness, in the middle of which was a tall bronze statue, of terrible aspect. This statue had its feet placed upon a column three cubits high, and held in its hand a mace, with which it kept striking the floor, thereby producing the noise and wind which had so frightened those who entered first. Rodrigo, as brave as a Goth, and as determined as a Christian who has confidence in his religion, and is not astonished by the magic arts of Pagans, went straight up to the colossus, and asked permission to examine the marvels which were in the grotto.

The brazen warrior intimated that he assented to the request, by ceasing to strike the earth with his mace. It was now easy to see the various objects in the chamber, and, before long, a chest was found with the following inscription on the lid: – "He who opens me will behold marvels." Seeing the quietness of the statue, the king's companions, having recovered from their fright, and being encouraged by the inscription, which seemed to promise well, began making ready their pockets and mantles, under the idea that they should fill them with gold; but all they found in the chest was a roll of cloth. On it were painted troops of Arabs, some on horseback and others on foot, with turbans on their heads, and shields and lances in their hands. There was also an inscription to the following effect: – "He who penetrates thus far, and opens the chest, will lose Spain, and be vanquished by nations similar to this one." King Rodrigo attempted to conceal the disagreeable impression produced on him, in order not to augment the sadness of his followers, and continued his search, in the hope of finding something to compensate him for this disastrous prophecy. On raising his eyes, Rodrigo perceived on the wall, to the left of the statue, a cartouche, on which were the words, "Poor king! To your misfortune is it that you have entered here!" and to the right there was another, with the words, "You will be ejected from your possessions by foreign nations, and your people will be heavily chastised!" Behind the statue there was written, "I invoke the Arabs," and before it, "I do my duty."

The king and his courtiers withdrew, filled with anxiety and gloomy presentiments. The very same night there was a furious tempest, and the ruins of the Tower of Hercules fell to the ground with the most awful noise. It was not long before the prophecies of the magic grotto were borne out by circumstances; the Arabs painted on the roll of cloth in the chest really did show their strange-shaped turbans, shields, and lances, on the unhappy soil of Spain, and all because Rodrigo looked at Florinda's leg, and went down into a cavern.

But night is setting in; we must return to the fonda, sup, and retire to bed, for we leave to-morrow evening, and have yet to visit the Hospital of the Cardinal Don Pedro Gonzales de Mendoza, the Manufactory of Arms, the remains of the Roman Amphitheatre, and a thousand other curiosities. As for myself, I am so fatigued by the diamond-edged pavement, that I feel inclined to reverse my position, and walk about a little upon my hands, like the clowns, in order to rest my aching feet. O hackney-coaches of civilization! omnibuses of progress! I called upon you with a sinking heart – but then of what use would you have been in the streets of Toledo?

The cardinal's Hospital is a large building, of broad and severe proportions, which would take too long for me to describe here. We will cross rapidly over the courtyard, surrounded by columns and arcades, and containing nothing remarkable save two air-shafts, with white marble kerbs, and at once enter the church, to examine the cardinal's tomb, executed in alabaster by that prodigy, Berruguete, who lived more than eighty years, covering his country with masterpieces in various styles, but all equally perfect. The cardinal is stretched out upon his tomb in his pontifical habits. Death has pinched his nose with its skinny fingers, and the last contraction of the muscles, in their endeavour to retain the soul about to leave the body for ever, puckers up the corners of the mouth, and lengthens the chin: never was there a cast taken after death more horribly true; and yet the beauty of the work is such, that you forget any amount of repulsiveness that the subject may possess. Little children in attitudes of grief support the plinth and the cardinal's coat of arms. The most supple and softest clay could not be more easy, or more pliant; it is not carved, it is kneaded!

There are also in this church two pictures by Domenico Theotocopouli, called El Greco, an extraordinary and strange artist, who is scarcely known, save in Spain. He was absurdly afraid, as you are aware, of being accused of imitating Titian, whose pupil he had been; this fear of his caused him to have recourse to the strangest expedients and caprices.

One of these pictures, that which represents the "Holy Family," must have made the poor Greco very miserable, for, at first sight, it would be taken for a genuine Titian. The ardent colouring, the vivid tone of the drapery, and that beautiful reflex of yellow amber, which imparts warmth even to the coolest shades of the Venetian artist, all concur to deceive the most practised eye; the touch alone is less bold and less broad. The little reason that El Greco still possessed must have been altogether swallowed up in the sombre ocean of madness, after he had completed this masterpiece. There are not many artists, now-a-days, capable of going mad for a similar reason.

The other picture, the subject of which is, the "Baptism of our Saviour," belongs entirely to El Greco's second style. It is remarkable for the abuse of black and white in it, for its violent contrasts, singular tints, laboured attitudes, and abrupt, sharp disposition of the drapery, but there is a certain air of depraved energy, a sort of morbid power about it, which reveals the great artist and the madman of genius. Very few paintings interest me so much as those of El Greco, for his very worst have always something unexpected, something that exceeds the bounds of possibility, that causes astonishment, and affords matter for reflection.

From the Hospital, we proceeded to the Manufactory of Arms, which is a vast, symmetrical, and pleasing edifice, founded by Charles III., whose name is to be found on all buildings of public utility. It is erected close to the Tagus, the water of that stream being used to temper the sword-blades and move the machinery. The workshops run along a large courtyard, surrounded by porticoes and arcades, like almost all the courtyards in Spain. In one room the iron is heated, in another it is submitted to the hammer, while farther on it is tempered. In one place are the stones for sharpening and grinding, in another are made the sheaths and handles. We will not extend the investigation further, as it would not teach our readers anything peculiarly new; we will only state that these blades, so justly celebrated, are partly manufactured out of the old shoes of horses and mules, that are carefully collected for the purpose.

To convince us that the Toledo blades were still worthy of their ancient reputation, we were conducted to the proving-room, where a workman, of commanding stature and colossal strength, took a weapon of the most ordinary kind, a straight cavalry sabre, fixed the point in a pig of lead fastened to the wall, and made the blade bend about in every possible way, like a switch, so that the handle almost touched the hilt; the elasticity and suppleness of the steel were such that it was able to stand this test without snapping. The man then placed himself opposite an anvil, and gave so vigorous a blow that the blade entered about half an inch; this feat of strength made me think of the scene in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels, where Richard Cœur-de-Lion and king Saladin amuse themselves by cutting pillows and iron bars.

The Toledo blades of the present day are therefore quite equal to those of former times; the secret of tempering them is not lost, but merely the secret of their form; this little thing, so despised by Progress people, is all that is wanting to enable modern works to sustain a comparison with those of antiquity. A modern sword is merely an instrument; a sword of the sixteenth century is at once an instrument and a gem.

We thought that we should find at Toledo a few old weapons, such as daggers, poniards, rapiers, and other curiosities, to be hung up as trophies on the wall, or laid out upon a shelf; and we had learnt by heart, for this purpose, the names and marks of the sixty armourers of Toledo, collected by Achille Jubinal; but we had not an opportunity of putting our knowledge to the test, for there are no more swords at Toledo than leather at Cordova, lace at Mechlin, oysters at Ostend, or Pâtés de Foie Gras at Strasburg; all curiosities are confined to Paris, and if you happen to meet a few abroad they are sure to have come from the shop of Mademoiselle Delaunay, on the Quai Voltaire.

We were likewise shown the remains of the Roman Amphitheatre and of the Naumachia, which look exactly like a ploughed field, as do all Roman ruins. I am not imaginative enough to go into ecstasies at the sight of such problematical nonentities; this is an amusement that I leave to antiquaries; for my own part, I prefer talking of the walls of Toledo, which are visible to the naked eye and admirably picturesque. They accord extremely well with the undulating surface of the ground, and it is often very difficult to say where the rock ends and where the rampart begins. Each epoch of civilization has had a hand in the work; that piece of wall is Roman, that tower is Gothic, those battlements are Arabic. All the portion which extends from the Puerta Cambron to the Puerta Visagra (via sacra) was built by the Gothic king Wamba. There is a story attached to each of these stones, and if we wished to relate them all we should require a whole volume instead of a single chapter. But there is one thing we can do which is strictly in accordance with our character of travellers, and that is, to mention once more the noble effect produced on the horizon by Toledo seated on her rocky throne, with her girdle of towers and her diadem of churches. It is impossible to conceive a bolder or severer outline, clothed in a richer colour, or one in which the physiognomy of the Middle Ages is more faithfully preserved. I remained for more than an hour plunged in contemplation, trying to satiate my eyes, and engrave on my memory the recollection of this admirable view. Night closed in, alas! too soon, and we were obliged to think of retiring to rest, for we were to set off at one o'clock in the morning in order to avoid the midday heat.

At midnight our calesero arrived, punctual to his time, and we clambered up, in a state of unmistakable somnambulism, on to the meagre cushions of our vehicle. The horrible jolting caused by the abominable pavement of Toledo soon woke us sufficiently to enable us to enjoy the fantastic appearance of our caravan. The carriage, with its scarlet wheels and extravagant body, seemed – so close together were the walls – to divide the houses, which closed again like waves after it had passed! A bare-legged sereno, with the flowing drawers and variegated handkerchief of the Valencians, walked before us, bearing at the end of his lance a lantern, whose flickering light produced all kinds of singular effects of light and shade, such as Rembrandt would not have disdained to introduce into some of his fine etchings of night-watches and patroles. The only noise we heard was the silver tinkling of the bells on the neck of our mule and the creaking of the axletrees. The inhabitants were buried in as deep a sleep as the statues in the chapel of los Reyes Nuevos. From time to time, our sereno poked his lantern under the nose of some vagabond who lay slumbering across the street, and pushed him on one side with the handle of his lance; for whenever any one feels sleepy in Spain, he stretches out his cloak upon the ground and lies down with the most perfect and philosophical calmness. Before the gate, which was not yet open, and where we were kept waiting two hours, the ground was strewed with sleepers, who were snoring away in every possible variety of tone; for the street is the only bedroom which is not infected with insects; to enter an alcove, you must possess all the resignation of an Indian Fakir. At last the confounded gate swung back upon its hinges, and we returned by the same road we had come.

CHAPTER X

MADRID TO GRANADA

Procession of the Corpus Christi at Madrid – Aranjuez – A Patio – Ocaña and its Environs – Tembleque and its Garters – A Night at Manzanares – Santa Cruz Knives – The Puerto de los Perros – Colony of Carolina – Baylen – Jaen, its Cathedral and its Majos – Granada – The Alameda – The Alhambra – The Generalife – The Albaycin – Life at Granada – The Gitanos – The Carthusian Convent – Santo Domingo – Ascent of the Mulhacen.

We were obliged to pass through Madrid again, in order to take the diligence to Granada: we could, it is true, have gone and waited for it at Aranjuez, but we should have then run the risk of finding it full; we therefore determined to return to Madrid.

Our guide had taken care, the evening before, to send forward a mule, which was to wait for us halfway along the road, in order to take the place of the one we set out with; for it is doubtful whether, without this precaution, we should have been able to perform the journey from Toledo to Madrid in a single day, owing to the excessive heat we were exposed to along the dusty road, which affords you nowhere the slightest shade, but runs through tracts of open and interminable corn-fields.

We reached Illescas at about one o'clock, with no other incident to talk of than that of being half-baked, if not quite so. We were impatient to get away from a region which possessed nothing new for us, unless passing through it in a contrary direction can be said to add any novelty to the scene.

When we had alighted, my companion preferred to go to sleep; while I, who was already pretty well accustomed to Spanish cookery, began contesting the possession of my dinner with innumerable swarms of flies. The landlady's daughter – a pretty little girl of twelve or thirteen, with Arabian eyes – stood beside me, with a fan in one hand and a little broom in the other, trying to keep off the importunate insects, which returned to the charge more furiously and more noisily than ever as soon as she flagged in the use of either fan or broom. With this assistance I succeeded, however, in getting into my mouth a few pieces somewhat free from flies; and when my hunger was a little appeased I opened a conversation with my pretty fly-flapper, which conversation was, however, kept within very limited bounds by my ignorance of the Spanish language. Yet, with the aid of my diamond dictionary, I succeeded in keeping up the conversation tolerably well for a foreigner. She told me that she could write and read all sorts of print, including even Latin; and that, moreover, she played the pandero pretty well: I immediately requested her to give me a sample of her last-named talent, which she did with a very good grace, though much to the discomfort of my friend, whom the rattling of the brass rings and the hollow sound produced by the little musician's thumb on the ass's skin at length awoke.

The fresh mule was now harnessed, as it was necessary to continue our journey. In a heat of thirty degrees, it requires great moral courage to leave a posada where we see before us several rows of jars, pots, and alcarrazas, covered with beads of moisture. Spain is the only place where a draught of water ever appeared to me real voluptuousness: it is true that the water there is pure, limpid, and of an exquisite taste. The interdiction of wine to Mahometans is a law more easily obeyed than any other in such climates.

Thanks to the eloquent appeals our calesero never ceased making to his mule, and to the pebbles which he continually threw with great dexterity at her ears, we got on pretty well. Under trying circumstances, he called her vieja, revieja (old, twice old), to which injurious terms all mules appear, in general, particularly sensitive, either because the said terms are always accompanied by a blow on the back with the handle of the whip, or because they really are in themselves very offensive. By the aid of these epithets, aptly applied several times, we arrived at the gates of Madrid at about five in the evening.

We were already acquainted with Madrid, and saw nothing new in it, with the exception of the procession of the Corpus Christi: this ceremony has, however, lost much of its former splendour, by the suppression of the convents and religious fraternities; though it still retains an appearance of great solemnity. The streets through which the procession passes are strewed with fine sand, while canvass tendidos, which reach from house to house, afford protection from the sun and keep the air cool: the balconies are decorated with flags and crowded with pretty women in full dress; so that, altogether, the sight is one of the most charming that can well be imagined. The perpetual motion of the fans, which open and shut, tremble and flutter, like the wings of a butterfly about to settle down somewhere; the movements of the elbows of the women, wrapping themselves in their mantles and smoothing an ungraceful wrinkle in their dress; the glances sent from one window to acquaintances at another; the pretty inclination of the head, and the graceful gesture that accompany the agur by which the señoras reply to the salutations of the cavaliers; the picturesque crowd, interspersed with Gallegos, Pasiegas, Valencians, Manolas, and water-sellers, form a spectacle of the greatest animation and the most charming gaiety. The Niños de la Cuna (foundlings), dressed in their blue uniform, walk at the head of the procession. There were but very few out of this long file of children who were endowed with pretty faces; and Hymen himself, with all his conjugal carelessness, would have been troubled to produce offspring uglier than were these children of Love. Then follow the parochial banners, the clergy, silver shrines, and, under a canopy of gold cloth, the Corpus Dei, in a sun of diamonds of the most dazzling brilliancy.

The proverbial devoutness of the Spaniards appeared to me greatly abated; for, with respect to it, one might well have fancied himself in Paris at the time when it was considered fashionable opposition not to kneel to the Host. The men hardly touched the brim of their hats at the approach of the canopy. Catholic Spain no longer exists. The Peninsula is now under the influence of Voltairean and liberal ideas with respect to feudalism, the Inquisition, and fanaticism. To demolish convents appears to her, at present, the height of civilization.

One evening, as I was passing near the post-office at the corner of the Calle de Carretas, I saw the crowd separate precipitately; and then I perceived a brilliant galaxy of light coming up the Calle-Mayor. It was the Host hastening in its carriage to the bedside of some dying person; for the representatives of religion do not yet go about on foot at Madrid. The people had fled, in order to avoid the necessity of kneeling to the host as it passed. As we are speaking of religious ceremonies, we must not forget to mention that in Spain the cross on palls is not white, as in France, but of the colour of brimstone. The Spaniards do not use hearses, but carry their dead to the grave on biers.

Madrid was insupportable to us, and the two days that we were obliged to stay there appeared, at least, two centuries. We could think of nothing but orange-trees, lemon-trees, cachuchas, castanets, and picturesque costumes, for every one related wonders to us about Andalusia with that boastful magniloquence which the Spaniards will never lose any more than the Gascons of France. At length the long desired day arrived, for everything arrives at last, even the day we are waiting for; and we left Madrid in a very comfortable diligence, drawn by a troop of sturdy, close-cropped mules, with shiny coats, and which trotted along at a dashing pace. The diligence was lined with nankeen, and furnished with both roller and green wooden blinds. It appeared to us the ne plus ultra of elegance, after the abominable galleys, sillas volantes, and coaches, in which we had been jolted up to that time; and it would have really proved a very agreeable conveyance, had it not been for the furnace-like heat which calcined us, in spite of the lightness of our dress and the continual movement of our fans. The consequence was, that our rolling stove resounded with a perpetual litany of "Oh, dear! que calor! I am stifled! I am melting!" with numerous other well-assorted exclamations. We bore our sufferings patiently, however, and, with a little grumbling, tranquilly allowed the perspiration to run, like a cascade, down our noses and temples; for, at the end of our fatigues, we had in perspective Granada and the Alhambra, the dream of every poet – Granada, whose name alone makes the heaviest and dullest man in all the world break out into exclamations of admiration, and dance on one leg for delight.