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THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
SPANISH WAYS AND BY-WAYS 
 
 WITH 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF THE PYRENEES 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HOWE DOWNES 
 K 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BOSTON 
 CUPPLES, UPHAM & COMPANY 
 
 10 Corner Bookstore 
 1883 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1883. 
 BY CUPPLES, UPHAM & Co. 
 
 PRESS OF 
 STANLEY AND USHER, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. INTRODUCTORY 
 
 II. PARIS TO BURGOS J 5 
 
 III. BURGOS 
 
 IV. FIRST BULL-FIGHT 3 2 
 
 V. BURGOS TO MADRID 46 
 
 VI. MADRID 49 
 
 VII. THE PICTURE-GALLERY 
 
 VIII. MADRID TO SEVILLE 
 
 IX. SEVILLE 7$ 
 
 X. PICTURES IN SEVILLE 9 1 
 
 XL SEVILLE TO GRANADA 97 
 
 XII. THE SEVEN* FLOORS IO1 
 
 XIII. THE ALHAMBRA, WITH A LEGEND 109 
 
 XIV. GRANADA II 9 
 
 XV. CORDOVA I2 5 
 
 XVI. BACK IN THE CAPITAL r 3 
 
 XVII. THE ESCORIAL J 35 
 
 XVIII. LITERATURE OF THE BULL-RING 140 
 
 XIX. BAYONNE, BIARRITZ, AND PAU 15 
 
 XX. PAU TO EAUX-BONNES J 59 
 
 XXL EAUX-BONNES l6 5 
 
 XXII. EAUX-CHAUDES l6 9 
 
 XXIII. THE PLATEAU OF BIOUS-ARTIGUES 177 
 
 M309198 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 A PICADOR (Frontispiece) Drawn by Henry Sandham. 
 
 (After a photograph of the painting by Villegas.) 
 
 THE PUEKTA DEL VINO Drawn by Marcus Waterman. 
 
 Page 1 08. 
 
 A BIT ix Li:s EAUX-BONXES Drawn by A. H. Bicknell. 
 
 Page 164. 
 
 DRAWINGS By A. H. Bicknell. 
 
 Pages 9, 17, 19, 47, 57, 71, 74,' 85, 88, 90, 99, IQI, no, 113, 118, 135, 138, 159, 
 169, 171, 175, 178, and 182. 
 
 DRAWINGS By Henry Sandham. 
 
 Pages 30, 35, 117, and 162. 
 
 DRAWINGS By Marcus Waterman. 
 
 Pages 23, 37, 42, 43, 72, 76, 77, 80, 8a, 89, 91, 97, 102, 104, 107, 119, 125, 
 127, 133, and 140. 
 
 DRAWINGS By W. P. Bodfish. 
 
 Pages 31, 45, 49, 55, 78, 124, 130, 132, and 149. 
 
 DESIGN FOR COVER Drawn by George R. Halm. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 I LOVE the South. The people 
 there are lazy, true ; they are 
 shiftless, yes ; they are im- 
 moral, let us admit it ; there 
 is dirt and decay in the place of cleanli- 
 ness and growth, stagnation where there 
 should be progress ! Well, in spite of all 
 these dreadful things, I love the southern 
 lands. Why? I hardly know. Perhaps 
 I have a sneaking sympathy for laziness, 
 and immorality, and dirt, and decay. Some 
 of us need to learn how to be idle grace- 
 fully. The Andalusians will, I am sure, 
 teach such a lesson in a most unconscious 
 way to any wayfarer who happens along. 
 
 The Salon was about to close ; Paris was becoming 
 dull, comparatively speaking ; it happens to the best 
 of Americans to get tired of Paris sometimes. We 
 had "done" the town quite thoroughly. (I have 
 heard of a tourist who said, " We done Rome, when 
 we was there before.") What had we seen ? Well, 
 Prudhon, as Bellac, in " Le Monde ou Ton s'ennuie," 
 with his "au dela" and his delicious theory of Platonic 
 
io Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 love ; and Samary* the Pretty, as Suzanne ; Krauss, as 
 Hermosa, in the " Tribut de Zamora," which, begging 
 M. Gounod's pardon, will never stir the roots of the 
 spectator's hair as much as one simple little melody in 
 " Faust." Then there was the " Huguenots," mounted 
 as I have never seen an opera mounted before or 
 since ; I remember particularly the scene of the second 
 act, representing the castle and gardens of Chenon- 
 ceaux, with an immense perspective, where a river 
 winds away through the distant landscape which lies 
 there under a flood of daylight and stretches leagues 
 
 away : 
 
 " O beau pays de la Touraine, 
 Riants jardins, verte fontaine, 
 Ruisseau qui murmures a peine, 
 Que sur tes bords j'aime a rever." 
 
 We had also seen the " Hamlet " of M. Thomas, 
 with a ballet. Fancy the operatic Hamlet (it was 
 M. Faure) singing his soliloquy at the audience, and 
 then contemplating with rapture a splendid ballet. 
 
 Better than all these diversions, better than the 
 tiresome Salon, with its sensational and clap-trap 
 torture-chamber scenes, its studio-model goddesses of 
 pagandom, its acres of idealess canvases ten feet 
 by fourteen, memory recalls with ever-increasing 
 pleasure certain rainy afternoons passed in the Louvre. 
 Furthermore, we had breakfasted at that incompar- 
 able restaurant on the terrace of Saint Germain ; we 
 
 * She will never again be photographed while smiling; for in this country they have utilized 
 her portrait in an advertisement of somebody's tooth-powder. 
 
Introductory. 1 1 
 
 had strolled about over the airy hill of Saint Cloud ; 
 we had passed at least three delightful evenings at 
 the Besselievre open-air concerts. 
 
 And one balmy evening, as we sat smoking our 
 Manilas, on a certain quaint stone balcony looking 
 down into a great paved court, Hermano said : 
 
 " Let 's go to Spain ! " 
 
 It was not the first time that the subject had been 
 broached. We had been devouring books about 
 
 > 
 
 Spain for a month ; but each time that the project was 
 discussed it was gravely decided not to go to Spain. 
 The folly of going there in midsummer was pointed 
 out to us ; we realized the objections, but the idea 
 would not be dismissed. It was a case of " now or 
 never," or we chose so to consider it. There are so 
 few untrodden paths now left in Europe, that Spain, 
 which looks compact and accessible on the map, offers 
 no small temptation to the traveler who unreasonably 
 desires to get out of the beaten track. One supposes 
 that more or less French and English is spoken every- 
 where nowadays but don't suppose so, reader. Ex- 
 cept in Madrid, the traveler may have his choice 
 between Spanish or the language of deaf-mutes. Do 
 not go to Spain unless you know the lingo. It is a 
 very beautiful language, but no language sounds well 
 to him who does not understand it. The dearth of 
 French-speaking and English-speaking natives would 
 not be so awkward a circumstance if a good guide- 
 book existed. The Joanne handbooks published by 
 
12 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 Hachette of Paris, and Murray's " Spain," edited by 
 Ford, are faulty and untrustworthy in many particu- 
 lars. Baedecker, the best guidebook-maker in the 
 world, has not included Spain in his series, a fact 
 which is often lamented by travelers in that country, 
 and with good cause. The lack of a good guidebook 
 becomes a real misfortune in a land almost destitute 
 
 of good hotels, and until within a very few years with- 
 out any of the most ordinary " modern improvements." 
 It is no easy undertaking to lay out a route through 
 Spain which takes in all the interesting points, without 
 involving more or less doubling on your own tracks. 
 Granada, for instance, is a cul-de-sac, and there is but 
 one way of getting into or out of it by rail. In the 
 absence of a trustworthy guidebook, the following 
 itinerary may be found interesting if not useful to 
 
Introductory. \ 3 
 
 those contemplating a short trip on the Peninsula : 
 Bayonne, Vittoria, Burgos, Valladolid, Madrid, Toledo, 
 Cordova, Seville, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malaga, Granada, 
 Alicante, Valencia, Barcelona, Perpignan. This is 
 substantially the route we laid out before leaving Paris, 
 but the heat was so overpowering, that it was materi- 
 ally abridged, and the surplus time thereby gained 
 was devoted to a run through the Lower Pyrenees. 
 This route is all rail as far as Cadiz, and involves sev- 
 eral days of steamboat travel on the Mediterranean 
 between Malaga and Barcelona. It would be found 
 long enough and comprehensive enough by most 
 travelers. To be sure, it leaves out Saragossa, Sego- 
 via, Ronda, and Cartagena. When the new route 
 from France under the Pyrenees shall have been 
 completed, an entirely new plan of campaign will be 
 made possible, and the Spanish tour, now becoming so 
 popular among the French, may be accomplished with 
 greater ease and economy. At present it is idle to 
 deny that a " pleasure " journey as such is rather a 
 grim sort of enterprise for any but the most enthusias- 
 tic and dauntless of travelers. The day will come, 
 though, when it will be as common for the Cooky to 
 go whirling through the passes of the Pyrenees en 
 route for Lisbon and Tangiers, as it is now for the 
 same ubiquitous individual to sail up the Rhine on his 
 way into Switzerland ; and the time is not far distant 
 when the great American tourist will multitudinously 
 swarm through the gardens of the Alcazar and cut his 
 
14 Spanish Ways and By-ways* 
 
 initials on the walls of the Alhambra. It has been 
 a true saying that the Pyrenees separated Europe from 
 Africa, but, in the nature of things, that cannot last 
 forever. Even Spain is beginning to feel the influ- 
 ence of the nineteenth-century spirit. Soon enough 
 her shiftless picturesqueness, her squalid grandeur, 
 and her lazy dignity, will give way before the dead 
 commonplace of practical modern industry and thrift. 
 A word as to this modest narrative. Some parts of 
 it appeared in two Boston newspapers. In its present 
 form it has been revised throughout, and augmented. 
 Certain entertaining and harmless exaggerations 
 which enlivened the original text have been modified 
 or expunged : not because I am narrow enough to con- 
 fine myself to facts unnecessarily, but because on 
 reading Theophile Gautier, Alexandre Dumas, and 
 Edmondo de Amicis, I perceive not only that there is 
 no need for me to tamper with the truth, but that, in 
 point of fact, the best way for me to get a reputation 
 for originality is to be truthful. Gautier's book is 
 thoroughly delightful. A genius has a right to lie ; 
 but nous autres never! Furthermore, I would ask 
 the reader to look upon the record of this journey as 
 the most off-hand of vacation sketches, in which I 
 have aimed to avoid flippancy on the one hand and 
 pedantry on the other. If the reader has a mania for 
 the Picturesque, and a not over-fastidious stomach, let 
 him then mentally pack his kit and be ready for a 
 start. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 PARIS TO BURGOS. 
 
 THE direct route from Paris to Spain is by the 
 Orleans railroad, via Orleans, Tours, Angouleme, Bor- 
 deaux, and Bayonne. Sleeping-cars are run through 
 from Paris to Madrid over this line. Berths are an 
 expensive luxury in Europe, however, about five 
 dollars extra for a night, and it may be fancied that 
 they are not largely patronized. The Europeans gene- 
 rally do not take kindly to American railroad improve- 
 ments. 
 
 There was a sunset when we rode down to the 
 Orleans station in Paris a sunset more splendid than 
 any German chromo-lithograph, full of crimson-lake 
 and chrome-yellow as a conflagration. We had just 
 dined, and being unaware that we were not to eat a first- 
 rate dinner for at least a month to come, were in high 
 spirits and full of pleasant anticipations. The smooth 
 rolling of the wheels of our victoria over the asphalt 
 was as music in our ears. We passed the garden of 
 the Tuileries and the Louvre (do you remember how 
 D'Artagnan got Anne of Austria, and the young king, 
 and Mazarin, away from the rebellious city?) ; crossed 
 to the monumental Island of the Cite and whirled rap- 
 idly around to the rear of Our Lady of Paris (how 
 
1 6 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 fine those flying buttresses are ! ) ; peeped shudder- 
 ingly into the open door of the horrible Morgue as we 
 passed ; and when, on the other side of the Seine, we 
 rattled along abreast of the shadowy Jardin des 
 Plantes, looked back to see the river with its noble 
 bridges, the great cathedral towers, and the whole 
 stirring panorama of the town bathed in a liquid, 
 changeful glory of color, so superb that it might well 
 have been taken for a good omen. 
 
 The night train for the South left at half-past eight, 
 and for three hours we sat chatting by the window of 
 our carriage while we were rattled swiftly through the 
 long, sleeping stretches of moonlit country ; and our 
 talk was of the land of the Cid, of Cervantes, of Mu- 
 rillo, of Velasquez, of Moorish palaces and mosques, 
 of bull-fights, of cathedrals, of " castles in Spain." 
 All this, from a subject of conversation, shortly became 
 a subject for dreams ; and it must be confessed that 
 we were surprised when we opened our eyes to find 
 ourselves in Bordeaux at about seven in the morning. 
 Bordeaux ! What a strangely familiar sound the 
 name had, yet we had never been there before. We 
 jumped out of the carriage and had some very bad 
 coffee and rolls by way of breakfast, then bought some 
 novels, and settled ourselves down for a tedious ride 
 through Gascony. A dreary desert of sand, Les 
 Landes, was crossed, and about noon the train arrived 
 at Bayonne, the last town of consequence in France. 
 A little river, the Bidassoa, divides France from Spain, 
 
Paris to Burgos. 17 
 
 and after crossing it the first station is Irun, where the 
 Spanish customs-officers were awaiting us. The ex- 
 amination of baggage is not much more than a empty 
 form; nothing but the largest trunks are opened, and 
 the operation is soon over. It is necessary to change 
 cars here, for the Spanish railways are of a wider 
 
 gauge than the French. The frontier is no sooner 
 crossed than one notices the different characteristics 
 of people, buildings, carriages, ways, and surroundings, 
 in a score of respects. A long delay occurs more 
 than half an hour after the train and passengers are 
 ready. Finally a workman comes along and deliber- 
 ately splices a new tassel on to the cord of the window- 
 shade in our compartment. " Ah ! " sighs an old 
 Frenchman sitting near us, " one sees well that one is 
 in Spain. Ordinarily that is done in the workshops." 
 On this we lead him into conversation. He has lived 
 in Spain half the time for the past ten or twelve years, 
 having established a manufactory somewhere near 
 Saragossa. He says Spain is just one century behind 
 the times, and he goes on to draw a gloomy picture of 
 her condition ' ' devoured by the church and the army." 
 On the railways no attention whatever is paid to the 
 
1 8 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 comfort of the passengers ; the eating is not fit for 
 human beings ; honesty is utterly unknown ; there is 
 no security for property ; everyone lives in sloth and 
 squalor and ignorance; and more of the same tenor. 
 He told several amusing anecdotes. In winter, he 
 said, they have foot- warmers filled with hot water to 
 place in the railway carriages. At a station a passen- 
 ger opens the door and calls out to the guard that the 
 foot-warmer is cold. The guard goes and orders a 
 third party to replace the cold foot-warmer by a warm 
 one. It is apparently done, and the various function- 
 aries receive their ''gratification" (fee), but after 
 leaving the station the passenger discovers that the 
 new foot-warmer is as cold as a stone. The lazy 
 rascals had shifted the foot-warmers about from one 
 carriage to another. A second anecdote was to this 
 effect : A poor widow was moving her domicile from 
 one town to another, and had sent a boxful of clothing 
 and bedding by express to her prospective home. 
 When the box was opened there was nothing in it 
 but stones and gravel. The widow complained in due 
 form to the forwarding company, whose representa- 
 tives shrugged their shoulders and said it was " too 
 bad." Voila tout ! While the Gaul was regaling us 
 with these and similar histories, we were moving at 
 a very sedate pace through " the Normandy of Spain," 
 a remarkably picturesque, but not a remarkably fertile, 
 region, except by comparison with other parts of the 
 Peninsula. At San Sebastian, a finely situated coast 
 
Paris to Burgos. 19 
 
 town, now a favorite summer resort, a party of six or 
 seven men besieged our compartment, and handed in 
 one valise after another, together with hat-boxes, 
 baskets, parcels, and rugs enough for a large family ; 
 each one talking very volubly all the time. We sup- 
 posed they were all going to Madrid, at least, but it 
 turned out that only one of them was going at all, 
 that all the traps belonged to him, and that the others 
 had come to see him off. Consequently, when the 
 dinner-bell and the fire alarm-bell and the gong and 
 the whistle had all sounded for the purpose of announ- 
 cing that the train would start in five or ten minutes, 
 the traveler was embraced by each 
 of his friends and received at least 
 a dozen parting speeches. Then he 
 settled back in his seat, tipped his 
 hat to us, and lighted a cigarette with 
 an air of sad determination. He 
 traveled as much as thirty miles, and 
 then left us. I think he had made 
 his will before starting, and looked 
 upon himself as a great traveler. 
 
 The railway soon quits the coast 
 of the Bay of Biscay and enters 
 among the highly romantic Canta- 
 brian Mountains, where the train 
 plunges noisily through a seemingly 
 interminable succession of tunnels. It was among 
 these rock-bound defiles that the Carlists carried on 
 
2O Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 their prolonged guerilla war against the government, 
 inflicting an untold amount of damage upon the 
 region, which still shows traces of their wanton de- 
 structiveness. No country could be better adapted 
 to the desultory warfare waged by these bandits. The 
 whole region, a succession of gaunt, rocky ridges and 
 deep ravines, peaks with the fantastic resemblance of 
 architectural forms so frequently observed in these 
 mountain chains, mysterious caverns and forests, gorges 
 and cascades, all suggested the contrabandista, the 
 robber, and the kindred heroes celebrated in all litera- 
 ture relating to Spain. " Mountain fastnesses" became 
 an intelligible phrase to me, and at each bend in the 
 road I half expected to see, peering over a rocky 
 breastwork, the stern visage and fantastic headgear of 
 a Carlist sentinel, with leveled rifle, demanding the 
 watchword. However, nothing half so romantic as 
 that occurred. We presently stopped at the station 
 of Miranda for dinner ; it was half-past eight in the 
 evening, for on Spanish railways and indeed in Spain 
 generally there is no such thing as a regular hour for 
 meals. Having heard so much said about the miser- 
 able quality of Spanish cookery, we were pleasantly 
 disappointed in the repast at Miranda, which was not 
 intolerably bad by any means. As we learned later, 
 Miranda is one of the three or four places where you 
 can get a good meal. After leaving this oasis in the 
 dreary desert of bad food into which we had plunged, 
 we entered the province of Old Castile, and at half- 
 past ten arrived at the ancient capital Burgos. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 BURGOS. 
 
 BURGOS is doubtless the most interesting town in 
 the north of Spain ; but it is the little things that im- 
 press one in traveling, and our first plunge was not 
 encouraging. None of the hotels are unreservedly 
 recommended. As a choice of evils we had deter- 
 mined to try the Fonda del Norte. At first it seemed 
 as if we were not destined to find any lodging at all. 
 The omnibus bearing the name of the hotel stood at 
 the door of the station, and entering it promptly, we 
 handed the little numbered slip of paper, called a "bul- 
 letin " (the nearest approach the effete nations have 
 made to a baggage-check), to the driver, who disap- 
 peared in the direction of the baggage-room. A 
 charming half-hour passed away before he returned 
 with the trunk. In the meantime I had got out of the 
 omnibus twice, and had looked in at the baggage- 
 room to see how affairs were progressing. The driver 
 and eight porters were engaged in an animated con- 
 versation. No one present spoke French, so I 
 conceived the happy idea of talking very loud to the 
 driver in English, repeating the word "equipages" 
 (baggage) at frequent intervals, and occasionally 
 putting my hand into my pocket, as if I were about 
 
22 Spanish Ways and By-iuays. 
 
 to haul forth a small fortune. In a few moments the 
 trunk was forthcoming. We were conveyed some 
 distance, through narrow, winding streets, under arch- 
 ways dimly lighted, and past great, dark buildings with 
 grated windows, until at last the infernal racket made 
 by a rapidly driven omnibus in roughly paved streets 
 ceased abruptly, the door of the vehicle was thrown 
 open, and we were about to descend when a frowzy 
 woman, speaking what she thought was French, 
 appeared and informed us that the inn was full, owing 
 to to-morrow's fete, namely, the festival of Saints Peter 
 and Paul, which was to be brilliantly celebrated, etc. 
 After she had been talking fifteen or twenty minutes, 
 we begged her to come to the point and tell us the 
 worst at once. Thus it happened that at midnight 
 we were taken to a private house where there was a 
 room which we might occupy until the pressure of 
 business at the Fonda del Norte should be over. The 
 driver knocked thunderously at the porte-cocJiere of 
 a tall, stuccoed building, and it opened, admitting our 
 forlorn group. We were conducted up a picturesque 
 stone staircase, through such a stiff odor of the stable 
 that I fancied there was some mistake, and that we 
 had been brought to the wrong building, but such 
 was not the case. Incredible as it may appear, the 
 very worthy and respectable people who received us 
 as lodgers live in the midst of that stifling odor, which 
 fills every room in the vast house, and, I am forced to 
 conclude that they, and the natives generally, like it. 
 
Burgos. 23 
 
 Our hosts could not easily get used to the notion 
 that we did not speak Spanish, and, consequently, 
 they plied us with questions and seemed to regard our 
 replies a rather ingenious mixture of French, Latin, 
 
 and deaf-and-dumb language as very comical, as 
 they doubtless were. All in all, it was a great lark 
 for the elderly lady and her tw r o pretty daughters, and 
 it was not without a good deal of laughter that we 
 made them understand that we were Americans, that 
 the hotel was full, that we had been sent to them for 
 a night's lodging, that we should tearfully take our 
 leave in the morning, and that we needed no food or 
 drink before retiring. It was on this occasion that 
 
24 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 the hollow pretensions of a Spanish phrasebook 
 bought in Paris were shown up. It had nothing in it 
 but such remarks as " Will this telegram go to-day?" 
 (!) "This pair of boots does not fit me," "Steward, 
 bring me a basin," etc., which, it may be conceived, 
 did not help us much. However, though the book 
 was worthless, it contained no such suggestive 
 or alarming dialogues as the following, which M. 
 Theophile Gautier found in his Spanish phrasebook, 
 under the caption, "Arrival at the Inn": Traveler - 
 " I would like to take something, as I am very hun- 
 gry." Landlord " Take a chaif 1 ! " Traveler " But 
 I would like to take something to eat ! " Landlord 
 " Well, what have you brought with you ? " The 
 traveler sadly admits that he has brought no victuals 
 with him, so then the landlord shows him the butch- 
 er's shop and the bakery, and adds : " If you will go 
 and get some meat and bread, I think my wife will 
 probably cook the things for you." Whereupon the 
 traveler grows furious and abusive, after which he 
 quiets down and does as he is bid, but on his depar- 
 ture he pays, among other items in his bill, " Row, 8 
 reales" 
 
 The town was very noisy that night, and many 
 musically disposed persons seemed to be abroad, cel- 
 ebrating in advance the festival of the two saints. 
 The room where we found ourselves was as full of 
 subtle odors as the air was full of startling sounds. 
 The door refused to be locked and the windows would 
 
Burgos. 25 
 
 not be shut. We looked for a trap in the floor, but 
 found none, and concluded that the audible conversa- 
 tion in the adjoining room did not concern the 
 manner of our taking off or the subsequent disposition 
 of our mortal remains ; and so presently we suc- 
 cumbed to the drowsy god, and were as much at home 
 as any wanderers may be who sleep and forget where 
 they are. 
 
 We found our way back to the Fonda del Norte 
 early in the morning, and the linguist, looking more 
 frowzy than ever, talked us upstairs and into the best 
 rooms in the house. The hotel smelled as badly as 
 the house where we had slept, but differently, it was 
 a more elaborate odor. Still, it was not so powerful 
 and rank as the scent which the streets could furnish, 
 and after opening the windows for awhile, it was 
 decided to shut them. Soon Hermano went out, 
 holding his handkerchief to his nose, and shortly came 
 back in triumph with a bottle of Cologne-water ! 
 
 " If you think you have smelled Burgos yet," he 
 gasped, " you are mistaken. You have not been to 
 the Plaza Mayor. I never until now appreciated the 
 force of Marcellus's remark, ' Something is rotten in 
 the state of Denmark.' The greatest man Europe has 
 produced since the Cid is John Mary Farina." 
 
 An uninviting breakfast of hard white bread and 
 coffee with queer milk was served in the long, narrow, 
 and dark dining-room, where unhappily the windows 
 were open. Then we found a small boy who spoke 
 
26 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 a few words of French, and we set forth for the cathe- 
 dral, hugging the shady sides of the streets, for it was 
 growing very warm. The exterior of the cathedral 
 must have been wonderfully effective before it was 
 defaced by the " alterations" of some vandal architect, 
 who evidently considered the pure Gothic a very bad 
 style, and tried to improve the front by converting 
 it into a Romanesque monstrosity. The spires, of 
 wonderfully elaborate and airy open-work in stone, 
 are happily left intact as originally constructed. There 
 is no good view of the building to be had, as it is 
 surrounded by mean structures, but there are a good 
 many " bits" of detail which are very beautiful. We 
 were glad enough to get into the cool interior, where 
 an occasional whiff of incense (not ordinarily a grate- 
 ful perfume to heterodox nostrils) was very welcome. 
 The chief charm of all the great Spanish churches lies 
 in the wonderful wealth of interior decoration and 
 detail, upon which art and industry have lavished all 
 their best endeavors for centuries ; and to this there 
 is but one exception to be made, namely, the Seville 
 cathedral, which, while it excels all others in its artistic 
 and material treasures, is yet remarkable principally 
 by virtue of its superb proportions and majestic size. 
 The Burgos cathedral is a great museum and treasure- 
 house, containing countless chapels filled by rich 
 altars, princely tombs, elaborate retablos, and precious 
 works of art. Not far from the entrance a young 
 priest, lantern-jawed and hungry-looking, took us in 
 
Burgos. 2 7 
 
 charge, and sadly showed us the wonders of the place, 
 accepting a couple of timidly preferred pesetas at the 
 close of the exercises. He spoke French the sort 
 of French that Spaniards speak. It is not like the 
 French of Stratford-atte-Bowe, yet, much to the profit 
 and pleasure of all concerned, we understood each 
 other. I wish I could remember the conversation, 
 for it must have been somewhat amusing on both 
 sides. Something in the young man's manner made 
 me feel sympathy for him ; he seemed out of place 
 amid his surroundings ; he wanted to know so many 
 things about the great world outside ; and he seemed 
 a very human and modern pattern of a Spanish priest 
 to spend his days in such a place. Yet how fine, how 
 grand it is, this monument of a faith which has done 
 more than move mountains ! It is no part of my 
 intention to describe it. But there are two sensational 
 objects of curiosity which ought not to be passed by. 
 The first is the Cid's coffer. This enormous iron-bound 
 chest, as capacious as the most inordinate Saratoga 
 trunk, is to be seen in the chapter-house, where it is 
 falling to pieces from age. The story runs that the 
 Cid was "short" just before he started for one of his 
 campaigns in the South ; and in order to raise the 
 necessary funds, he filled this and another similar 
 chest with sand, then presenting them to two Hebrews 
 as collateral security for an enormous loan, repre- 
 sented the contents to be gold and silver ware ; thus 
 he obtained the required cash, so well was he known 
 
28 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 to the money-lenders as an honorable knight. On 
 his return he faithfully repaid the loan with a good 
 round interest : 
 
 " Y a los honrados Judios 
 Raquel y Vidas llevad 
 Docientos marcos de oro, 
 Tantos de plata, y no mas, 
 Que me endonaron prestados 
 Cuando me parti a lidiar 
 Sobre dos cofres de arena 
 Debajo de mi verdad ; 
 Y rogadles de mi parte 
 Que me quieran perdonar 
 Que con acuita lo fice 
 De mi gran necesidad. 
 Que aunque cuidan que es arena 
 Lo que en los cofres esta, 
 Quedo soterrado en ella 
 El oro de mi verdad." 
 
 The other curiosity is a life-size effigy of Jesus on 
 the cross, known as " the Christ of Burgos." As a 
 specimen of the art of woocl-carving it is exceedingly 
 interesting and even wonderful. But it is revolting 
 in its realistic representation of physical anguish. 
 The expression of intense suffering in the drawn lines 
 of the face, the agonized movement of the emaciated 
 trunk and limbs, the rills of crimson blood which 
 trickle from the wounds, everything, is brutally 
 set forth in the good old Spanish way, which leaves 
 nothing to the imagination. Some writers have been 
 informed, and apparently have believed, that the figure 
 
Burgos. 29 
 
 was a stuffed human skin, but the fiction is as absurd 
 as the legend, which states that it floated miraculously 
 from the Holy Land over the seas to Burgos. The 
 comparatively unknown sculptor of the sixteenth 
 century whose work it is would no doubt feel flattered 
 if he could know of the tales concerning its origin. 
 The carving of the stalls in the choir, which, as in 
 almost all the Spanish churches, is placed in the 
 centre of the nave in just such a position as to destroy 
 the best perspective of the interior, is also a work of 
 great intricacy and beauty. Seldom has wood been 
 wrought into nobler forms than in some of the twenty 
 chapels, where the bones of many a deceased grandee 
 of Castile lie entombed under superb monuments of 
 marble and bronze. The few paintings of value in 
 these chapels, including one by Sebastian del Piombo 
 and one by Ribera, can be seen to very ill advantage 
 in the half-light of the gruesome recesses where they 
 are placed. 
 
 We climbed to the highest perch inside the spire, 
 to obtain a panoramic view of the town. The bells 
 rang a noisy noonday peal directly under our feet as 
 we gazed, and the young priest smiled he was 
 singularly handsome when he smiled to see us 
 clutch the slight handrail so vigorously, as the airy 
 structure vibrated with the shock of the ringing. We 
 went out by another door, and wandered about the 
 town aimlessly, avoiding the beggars as best we could. 
 One of this tribe, who was seated in a warm corner 
 
Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 in front of a big, massive door, holding out his hand 
 and muttering mechanical appeals, had a parchment- 
 like skin of the rich tone of old mahogany, and the 
 physiognomy of a North American Indian, modified 
 
 by some very decided Irish 
 characteristics. He wore 
 sandals, but they were a 
 useless luxury. The coat of 
 dirt on his feet would have 
 been sufficient protection. 
 The beggars in Bur- 
 gos are numerous but 
 not aggressive ; it is 
 only in Granada that 
 they wage open 
 warfare upon stran- 
 gers, pursue them, 
 surround them, 
 threaten them, 
 curse them, and 
 mob them when an 
 opportunity offers. 
 After the cathedral, 
 Burgos has a few 
 minor objects of in- 
 terest to show the 
 
 stranger : among these are the house of the Cid, the 
 Cid's tomb, several chapels containing finely carved 
 altars and tombs ; and, at a little distance from the city, 
 
Burgos. 3 1 
 
 the Carthusian convent of Miraflores, famous formerly 
 as one of the richest monasteries in the country, and 
 the asylum of only the most blue-blooded nuns, the 
 daughters of the aristocracy esteeming it a privilege 
 to be interred alive in such a fine place. 
 
 Perhaps there is nothing more interesting in the 
 place, however, than the Plaza Mayor, where, during 
 the fete, the people congregated to chat and idle away 
 the time. 
 
 The noonday meal at the Fonda del Norte was one 
 of the most mysterious repasts we had ever encoun- 
 tered. Not a single dish w T as in the least degree like 
 any dish we had ever tasted before, and to this day we 
 suspect that one of the most alluring courses consisted 
 of donkey's meat stewed in rancid oil. The salad 
 looked well, but gave forth the same odor as the soup, 
 which it would not be proper to characterize as it 
 merits. We left the table, hungry. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FIRST BULL-FIGHT. 
 
 IT will be many years before public opinion demands 
 or permits the abolition of the national amusement. 
 You are told by a certain class of Spaniards, who are 
 inclined to be very sensitive and self-conscious, that 
 bull-fighting as an institution is falling into merited 
 disrepute ; that they themselves consider it barbarous 
 and disgusting, and that it will not be long before it 
 will be abolished ; in proof of which they point out the 
 efforts constantly making in the Cortes for the legal 
 prohibition of the sport. The people who talk in this 
 way are, I think, perfectly sincere ; but they are in a 
 very small minority. New rings have lately been built 
 in many towns, and fine arenas are supported by 
 comparatively small cities. That the opponents of 
 bull-fighting form but a very inconsiderable proportion 
 of even the higher classes in Spain is demonstrated 
 by the practical unanimity with which the aristocracy 
 and the well-to-do folk of the large cities present 
 themselves in their upholstered boxes each Sunday 
 afternoon, in precisely the same way that the belles 
 and swells of London or Paris drop in at the opera on 
 subscription nights; and by the foundation, in 1882, 
 of a new periodical devoted exclusively to the arte 
 
First Bull-fight. 33 
 
 taurino. The genuine lidiadores regard the profession 
 as worthy of the respect due to a branch of the arts. 
 If the bull-fight may not be justified on any ground, 
 it may be immensely dignified, and the self-respect 
 of the spectators very much strengthened, by a judi- 
 cious employment of the phrase " el arte taurino." 
 
 It is only on special holidays that the provincial 
 towns have bull-fights. Madrid, Barcelona, Seville 
 have them regularly each Sunday throughout the 
 spring and summer. A corrida extraor dinar ia is 
 usually more interesting being a special occasion, 
 which draws out a special crowd than a corrida de 
 abono, which is the usual weekly performance, and is 
 more probably attended by a blase or over-critical 
 audience. For, it is unnecessary to say, the audience 
 is always at least as interesting for the foreigner as 
 the combat. 
 
 The tickets, in the large towns, are numbered, like 
 theatre tickets. Here is a Madrid ticket : 
 
 PLAZA DE TOROS. 
 
 IIA CORRIDA DE ABOXO. 
 
 GRADA 
 
 10 
 
 SOMBRA. 
 
 TERCERA FILA, 
 
 Xo. 22, 
 DIEZ REALES. 
 
 Conservese este billete durante la corrida. 
 
 A rude cut of a bull's head, two banners, and a 
 torero ornament the face of the ticket. 
 
34 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 In Burgos everybody turned out with the open 
 intention of " making a day of it." The ring accommo- 
 dates eight thousand people, and the performance 
 begins at five P. M. We bought seats a la sombra (in 
 the shade), which are dearer than those al sol, of 
 course, the price being three pesetas each. Foreigners 
 find it easier to calculate prices in pesetas than in 
 reales, because a peseta is exactly the same as 
 a French franc, while a real is equivalent to five 
 cents. The tickets are not numbered in Burgos, as 
 they are in Madrid, and it was necessary to go early. 
 So we set forth at three o'clock. To find the way to 
 the plaza de toros it was only necessary to follow 
 the crowd. The general absence of sidewalks made 
 no difference now, as the street was filled from one 
 side to the other with the throng. Fan merchants 
 and aguadores, or water-pedlars, everywhere drove a 
 thriving trade. It was very hot and dusty, and in 
 Spain the two principal occupations in summer are 
 fanning and drinking water. It seems un-European 
 to drink cold water freely, and in that respect, as in 
 many others, Spain is un-European. Gautier says it 
 is a part of Africa, and should still belong to the 
 Moors by right. The aguadores carry their staple in 
 earthen jugs of beautiful form, and usually receive a 
 cent for a glass of water. Their cry, " Quien quiere 
 agua?" ("Who wants water?") is shrill and plain- 
 tive. Before serving a client they invariably pour a 
 few drops of the precious liquid into the glass, rinse 
 
First Bull-fight. 
 
 35 
 
 the inside of it out with their brown fingers, throw 
 away the water thus used, and refill the glass from 
 one of their jugs. They also carry a sort of white 
 confectionery, the size of a small breakfast-roll, of the 
 
 consistency of a piece of honeycomb, which you can 
 dip in the water and suck with great satisfaction ; 
 it absorbs the water and 'melts away gradually in the 
 mouth. 
 
 The ring is just outside the town, and you pass at 
 least a score of side-shows and a hundred booths 
 
36 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 before you reach it, with your boots powdered by the 
 dust. At last you are inside, and have found a seat 
 in the shade. It is a fine spectacle, and suggests a 
 glorified circus. The array of colors is simply dazzling. 
 Every woman has a fan, and if she is not holding it 
 up to screen her face from the overpowering rays of 
 the sun, she is going through those thousand-and-one 
 manoeuvres with it, of which only a Spanish woman 
 knows the secret, and after seeing which you find the 
 fan drill of other women unspeakably awkward and 
 flat. The fan is never motionless for the hundredth 
 part of a second. While you are saying " Scat ! " it is 
 opened and shut, and fluttered, waved, and flirted 
 until your head swims, and you are only conscious 
 of seeing a hazy area of bright color, through which 
 a pair of soft black eyes may be looking at you and 
 through you as innocently as possible. All Spanish 
 women have the gift of wielding the fan born in them ; 
 it is not acquired. The tiniest female infant, just 
 learning to toddle about, manipulates a fan in a way 
 to put to the blush the adult coquette of any other 
 nationality. Almost all the Spanish women still wear 
 the toe a, or lace head-dress (few mantillas are worn 
 commonly they are going out), ordinarily of coarse 
 black lace, and it is immeasurably prettier and more 
 becoming than any hat or bonnet that ever was 
 invented. They affect black dresses also, so that the 
 fan is, in nine cases out of ten, set off against a dark 
 background with decided effect. Nowhere have I 
 
First Bull-fight. 
 
 37 
 
 seen prettier girls or handsomer women than among 
 the spectators at this bull-fight in Burgos. The 
 average of beautiful faces was unquestionably fifty per 
 cent, above that of any equally representative crowd 
 in any other European country. Not one blonde, not 
 even a rousse or a brown-haired maiden in all the 
 throng. All were 
 uncompromising bru- 
 nettes, with jet black 
 hair, black eyes, and 
 dark complexions. 
 The seats were mere 
 benches, placed so 
 close together that, 
 once in your place, 
 you could not move 
 an inch. The crowd 
 grew larger and more 
 dense at every mo- 
 ment. Imagine the animation of a House of Repre- 
 sentatives on a field-day, of a National Convention, 
 of the meetings of the Massachusetts Temperance 
 Alliance, and quadruple it ; then you may have a 
 feeble idea of the commotion, the uproar, and the 
 movement of the audience while waiting for the 
 corrida to begin. An incident of the slightest 
 importance was seized upon as a pretext for a riot. 
 A man lost his hat ; it was knocked out of the hands 
 of the person who picked it up to return it to the 
 
38 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 owner ; it was tossed here and there, and finally fell 
 into the ring ; instantly there went up a roar from 
 eight thousand throats such as that which Milton says 
 
 " Tore hell's concave, and beyond 
 Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night." 
 
 So the audience amused themselves while waiting, 
 and presently family parties here and there produced 
 huge hampers from which the necks of bottles 
 protruded, and, opening them, began to eat and drink 
 as well as be merry. We declined offers of fruit, 
 wine, cheese, etc., freely made by our generous 
 neighbors. Mr. Ford says (in Murray's handbook), 
 that it is the invariable custom to offer to share with 
 your neighbors in the railway-carriage, or elsewhere, 
 whatever you are about to eat, drink, or smoke ; but 
 that such offers are usually declined, or at any rate the 
 first time. I had noted this, so I began by declining 
 with thanks, but found I was seldom or never asked 
 a second time ; whereas, when I passed my cigar-case 
 about, the proud Castilians present usually omitted to 
 go through the ceremony of declining the first offer. 
 Since this is a fair sample of Mr. Ford's information, 
 or rather misinformation, I need not mention the 
 other instances of it. His advice with regard to one 
 point is, however, so rich that is worth while to quote 
 it: "You will often be asked if you are a Christian, 
 meaning a Roman Catholic ; your best answer is, 
 * Christiano, si ; Apostolico Romano, no.' ' He takes 
 
First Bull- fight. 39 
 
 it for granted that all his readers are members of 
 the Church of England. Elsewhere he alludes to 
 the Spaniards as "the weaker brethren," in a tone 
 of patronage which is most offensive,* whereas he 
 evidently thinks he is displaying a spirit of great 
 liberality and politeness. 
 
 But to return to our bulls. At the appointed hour 
 the algziacil, or governor, entered his box and was 
 received with a tremendous storm of cheers, as his 
 coming is always the signal for the beginning. Two 
 cavaliers dressed in black entered the ring on prancing 
 horses, and gravely saluted this authority, who flung 
 the key of the bull-pen to one of them, who attempted 
 to catch it in his hat, but failed and had to dismount 
 to pick it up. This incident produced howls of 
 derision and thunders of laughter. 
 
 As soon as the representatives of the civil authority 
 had withdrawn, the band struck up a wild and 
 fantastic march, and the various bull-fighters defiled 
 into the ring and made the circuit of it, saluting the 
 governor in passing before his box. A flutter of 
 excitement passed through the audience. The valiant 
 warriors were arrayed in the most gorgeous costumes 
 imaginable, no two alike, and as the brilliant proces- 
 sion passed slowly along I could think of nothing 
 but Del Puente singing the stirring " Toreador" song 
 in " Carmen." 
 
 * " Few Spaniards, when traversing a cathedral, pass the high altar without crossing them- 
 selves, since the incarnate Host is placed thereon ; and in order not to offend the weaker brethren, 
 every considerate Protestant should also manifest an outward respect for this Holy of Holies of 
 the natives." 
 
40 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 The generic name for bull-fighters is toreros, but 
 there are various classes, the chulos, the picadores, 
 the banderilleros, and the espadas. The espada is the 
 great hero of the combat, and the vainglorious bari- 
 tone in Bizet's opera is doubtless meant to be an 
 espada, or, as the star performer in the arena is some- 
 times called, a matador. He is the swordsman who 
 inflicts the fatal thrust -upon the fierce victim of the 
 sport. He wears a gallant costume of silk, either 
 purple, green, blue, or pink, composed of knee- 
 breeches embroidered with silver trimmings, light 
 silk stockings, a jacket also adorned with elaborate 
 trimmings in silver, and a bright-hued sash ; his hair 
 is worn in a chignon, and besides his long sword he 
 carries a red cloak with which to beguile the bull. 
 The picadores, who are mounted and armed with 
 spears, come next in rank to the espada. They wear 
 short velvet jackets of vivid colors, splendidly embroi- 
 dered, gaudy vests, and frilled shirts, cravats of mixed 
 colors loosely knotted, silken sashes, buffalo-hide 
 trousers over a light armor which is designed to protect 
 the legs from the bull's horns, wide-brimmed sombreros 
 of gray. The duty of these big fellows is to prod the 
 bull while he is engaged in goring their horses to 
 death. The banderilleros, who are arrayed like the 
 espada, only not quite so sumptuously, are on foot, 
 and have to plant barbs in the bull's neck. The chulos, 
 by the use of their red cloaks, draw the bull's attention 
 here and there as the exigency may require. Then 
 
First Bull-fight. 41 
 
 there are a lot of men in red caps, called miradores, 
 a kind of " supers," who find plenty of occupation in 
 stripping the saddles and bridles off from dying 
 horses, stopping the wounds of other steeds with 
 plugs of cotton, in order that they may serve once 
 more, and kindred pleasant services. All these 
 functionaries would look supremely absurd in such 
 gorgeous costumes if it were not for the fact that they 
 are superbly built men, of elegant carriage and great 
 dignity of demeanor. 
 
 When the bull enters the ring, he finds two mounted 
 picadores and a half-dozen or more chulos there. He 
 usually kills the two horses (unless he is a very 
 cowardly specimen) and as many more as he has the 
 courage to gore in the space of ten minutes or there- 
 about, for as fast as the picadores are unhorsed they 
 are supplied with fresh steeds. Of course the moment 
 a horse is down, the chulos draw the bull away by 
 flirting their cloaks in front of him, so that the picador 
 has time to get out of the way in safety. Nevertheless 
 the picadores are often hurt, and a spare hand is 
 always in waiting to replace the wounded man also, 
 by the way, a surgeon and a priest. At the end of 
 a short space of time the governor gives a signal, 
 trumpets sound, and the picadores retire to give place 
 to the banderilleros, two in number, who each try to 
 place a couple of pairs of barbs in the bull's neck (a 
 dangerous feat), which is often done so deftly that it 
 is impossible to see the man's motions. The bander- 
 
Spanish ]Vays and By-ways. 
 
 illeros are called off by the trumpet-signal presently, 
 and the espada comes to the front. He makes a 
 little speech to the governor, \vhich means that he 
 intends to do his whole duty, etc., flings his cap on the 
 
 ground, and approaches 
 the bull with his sword 
 hid under the folds of a 
 short red cloak. After 
 playing with the animal 
 a while, he kills him by 
 a single thrust in a vital 
 spot, plunging the Toledo 
 blade in its entire length. 
 The bull then usually 
 staggers a few steps, falls 
 on his knees, and in a 
 few moments rolls over 
 on his side. 
 
 Six or eight bulls are commonly sacrificed in one 
 corrida. Of course they vary in character, so that no 
 two combats are alike. The best bulls are bred in 
 Andalusia, it is said ; but, as it happened, the liveliest 
 animal I saw was one of the six in Burgos. He was 
 enormous in size and magnificently built ; and when 
 he entered the ring he did not stop in the centre to 
 look around as some bulls do, but he went for the 
 nearest picador like a shot, and lifted the horse on his 
 horns two or three feet from the ground, amid a 
 tempest of cheers. By the time that horse came down 
 
First Bull-fight. 
 
 43 
 
 to the earth in his death agony, rolling and kicking so 
 that the picador was in great peril, the plucky bull had 
 crossed the arena on a run, sending chulos one after 
 another skipping over the fence for safety, and had 
 impaled the second horse, whose rider gracefully 
 alighted on the fence and escaped being crushed. So 
 for ten minutes this bull, never for a moment on the 
 defensive, sent one horse after another into the eternity 
 
 of hacks, until eight dead and dying horses were lying 
 on the ground, and the audience was almost frantic 
 with delight and admiration. I found myself wiping 
 the cold perspiration from my brow, and (I may as 
 well confess it) before long I was jumping up and 
 down and shouting as lustily as any of them. How- 
 ever, no man was hurt. This go-ahead sort of bull is 
 less feared, they say, than the slow and sly kind. The 
 
44 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 sympathy of the audience is invariably on the side of 
 pluck wherever it is shown, either in bull or man ; the 
 element of fair play is left out, however, for the odds 
 are all in the favor of the men. 
 
 The vocabulary of tauromachy is voluminous, and 
 in Madrid the newspaper reports of a combat are as 
 packed with the slang of the ring as a report of a 
 base-ball match in America is full of "hot liners," 
 " muffs," " first-base hits," " foul tips," and the like. 
 The popular admiration for an expert espada can 
 hardly be overstated. If he despatches the bull artis- 
 tically, he is wildly cheered, and as he struts around 
 the ring to acknowledge the throng's plaudits, the 
 excited spectators throw cigars, fans, hats, and all sorts 
 of objects to the ground before him. He picks up 
 and keeps the cigars and fans, and gravely tosses back 
 the hats. By the time the corrida is over, the sun has 
 nearly set, and *t is past the dinner-hour. Exhausted 
 by excitement, the spectators go straight from this 
 scene of blood and death to their quiet homes, 
 polished gentlemen, gentle ladies, and even little 
 children, where they sit down to their dinner, amid 
 a fine perfume of the adjacent mule-stable, and talk 
 over the events of the day. 
 
 To see a horse wantonly killed, no matter how 
 worthless a rawboned hack he may be, is no fun, but 
 apart from that feature of the sport, a bull-fight is 
 thoroughly enjoyable, and after the first shock is past 
 there is a peculiar and exceptional fascination about it. 
 
First Bull-fight. 
 
 45 
 
 There is nothing like it ! The story is told of a certain 
 American \vho saw his first bull-fight, in Madrid, in 
 1 88 1, and was made quite sick by the sight of so much 
 blood. He went away with his nerves unstrung and 
 his appetite for beef gone. In order to efface the 
 disagreeable impression he retired to the country for 
 a few days, after expressing his abhorrence for the 
 brutality of the Spaniards in no measured terms. 
 On the following Sunday he turned up again at the 
 Plaza de Toros, and sat through the whole perform- 
 ance, which he probably enjoyed immensely. \Ye 
 went twice, the second time in Madrid. There was 
 less sport there, however, than there had been in 
 Burgos. The bulls were not so lively, and the audi- 
 ence was less demonstrative. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 BURGOS TO MADRID. 
 
 THERE are 230 rivers in Spain according to one 
 authority. The Arlanzon, at Burgos, is a fair sample 
 of the great majority of these streams, whose names 
 and whose bridges are so much more impressive in 
 size than themselves. Along the bank of the Arlanzon 
 is the public promenade, called the Espolon, which, on 
 the evening of the festival, was lighted by many 
 hundreds of Chinese lanterns, the paper exteriors of 
 which had an unfortunate aptitude for taking fire and 
 burning up. There was a great throng of well-behaved 
 people abroad. The two bridges were illuminated, as 
 well as the promenade, and the long lines of colored 
 lights made a very pleasant effect. Many little 
 " shows " were in progress in tents and booths, and 
 there was great animation and much entertainment 
 for the stranger whichever way he turned. The men 
 smoked cigarettes, and the women talked, incessantly. 
 This agreeable evening scene did something towards 
 effacing the unpleasant impression Burgos had made 
 upon us: but however promptly one forgets many 
 of the bothers of travel after they are past my nose 
 will long remind me of the fragrant metropolis of Old 
 Castile ! 
 
Burgos to Madrid. 
 
 47 
 
 The distance from Burgos to Madrid is 363 kilome- 
 tres by rail. The express-train makes the run in 
 about eight hours, and the first-class fare is about 
 $9. Nothing more desolate can be imagined than the 
 region through which you pass. Vast plains, almost 
 devoid of vegetation and totally without a tree of any 
 kind, huge gaunt ridges and isolated peaks of bare 
 rock, great basins and val- 
 leys stretching as far as 
 the eye can reach, sere 
 and scorched, encumbered 
 with thousands of gray 
 bowlders, but never con- 
 taining a village, a tree, a 
 blade of grass, or a stream 
 of water, nothing to re- 
 lieve the sight. For hour 
 after hour the train toils 
 tediously along through 
 this lonesome, forsaken, 
 and unspeakably dreary 
 expanse. The sun pours 
 into the carriage relentlessly ; not a breath of air 
 can be felt ; the passengers fan themselves and at 
 each station get out and drink huge glasses of water. 
 Sometimes it seems as if the train would never start 
 again ; at one station it stops fifteen minutes ; at 
 another, half an hour ; at a third, a full hour ; and 
 these long stops are apparently without cause. No 
 
48 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 one knows why the train does not go on, and the 
 passengers do not seem to care particularly, or, at all 
 events, they are so well used to this sort of thing that 
 they take it as a matter of course ; nothing surprises 
 them. They all have baskets, bags, or bundles full 
 of bread, cheese, cold meats, fruit, wine, etc., for they 
 know it would be suicide to depend on arriving at a 
 station where there is a buffet at any given hour. But 
 the Spaniards are light eaters in any case, and do not 
 give much thought to the subject of food. They are 
 accustomed to miserable fare, and would not appreciate 
 anything better. A more patient people does not 
 exist. They are never in a hurry, and, if you are, so 
 much the worse for you. 
 
 Before reaching Madrid the railway crosses the Sierra 
 Guadarrama and passes from Old, into New, Castile. 
 These mountains furnish snow all summer with which 
 to quench the eternal thirst of the Madrid people, who 
 use the snow in lieu of ice in their beverages. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MADRID. 
 
 You are told that the capital is one of the most 
 uninteresting towns in the whole country. The people 
 of the old Andalusian cities, and the thrifty Catalans, 
 despise the " mushroom metropolis." Much that is said 
 against Madrid may be true, but then 
 the picture-gallery is there ! The 
 other cities may point to the glories 
 of the past, but the Museo is a glory 
 of to-day and unites the proud past of 
 Spain with her future possibilities. 
 Madrid is, it may be admitted, less 
 distinctively Spanish in character than the other large 
 cities, and for that very reason it is in many respects 
 a more comfortable place of residence. It has 
 the best hotels in Spain, and modern comforts and 
 conveniences can be had by paying for them. The 
 Fonda de la Paz indeed is, though expensive, the only 
 first-rate hotel in Spain, unless the accounts of travelers 
 are untrustworthy. It has almost the American 
 system. You pay so much per diem for your room 
 and your three meals, and there is a " secretary, " who 
 comes very near the American hotel " clerk" (only he 
 is not so proud or so patronizing), and w r ho is quite 
 
50 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 constantly on hand in the office to answer inquiries 
 and attend to the needs of the guests. 
 
 It was very warm, and on our arrival we were 
 exceedingly tired, hungry, and travel-stained. The 
 large, airy room, with closely barred shutters, and a 
 couple of inviting high beds, looked like a vision of 
 paradise to our jaded sight. The servant brought a 
 perfumed bath, a delicious Oriental luxury, which was 
 fully appreciated ; and presently we were seated on 
 a well-shaded little balcony overlooking the gay and 
 glaring Puerta del Sol, drinking huge draughts of one 
 of those marvelous cooling beverages known only to 
 Madrid, and feeling rejuvenated. At the dinner-table 
 there was a still greater surprise for us in the shape 
 of a very tolerable imitation of a French bill-of-fare, 
 and the waiters spoke French. An acrid red wine 
 was served, which appeared to inflame rather than allay 
 the thirst. There were several French people in the 
 dining-room, whom I took to be commercial travelers, 
 except one couple, who, if appearances are not wholly 
 deceitful, were in the theatrical line. I wonder if 
 every one who has sojourned at this particular hotel 
 in Madrid has as distinct a recollection of that dining- 
 room, and of the little reading-room adjoining it, as I 
 have ! For it was there that we heard of the assassi- 
 nation of President Garfield. We were taking our 
 after-dinner cup of black coffee, and looking over the 
 journals, when the secretary came in, and knowing us 
 to be Americans, said to us, in French, that an attempt 
 
Madrid. 5 1 
 
 had been made upon the life of the President of the 
 United States. We treated it as a hoax. But the 
 evening newspapers, loudly announced by shrill-voiced 
 newsboys through the great square, confirmed the 
 ugly tidings, and later in the evening word came that 
 the President was dead. Would that he had died 
 then, and been spared that hideous summer of pain ! 
 Whenever a word of hostility towards Spain rises to 
 my lips, I think of the manly sympathy of the Spanish 
 people as expressed by hundreds of them at that time, 
 and I leave the word unspoken. They said, with pride, 
 that King Alfonso had been the first to send a 
 message of condolence to Washington. It was plea- 
 sant to attribute much of the kindly interest shown by 
 the Spaniards then to a latent sympathy with demo- 
 cratic institutions. 
 
 The King, by the way, was in town, so that we could 
 not see the interior of the royal palace, which, accord- 
 ing to all accounts, does not contain much to interest 
 the sight-seer. His Majesty was to be seen every 
 afternoon riding out with a modest retinue. He goes 
 to the monastery of Atocha often to attend religious 
 services. He is said to be a liberal-minded monarch, 
 and takes a great interest in all subjects pertaining to 
 the welfare of the people. He reads the daily papers 
 of all shades of opinion with a regularity which speaks 
 well for his industry, and it should be borne in mind 
 that the journals are as outspoken as you please, for 
 the press is practically free. The Prince of Wales 
 
52 Spanish Ways and By-ways* 
 
 gracefully called Alfonso " a model king," on the 
 occasion of his visit to Spain a few years ago. The 
 favorite language in the palace is German, in deference 
 to the Queen, but the King" speaks French and English 
 also. Royalty has ever been accomplished in a 
 linguistic way. We had the pleasure of meeting 
 General Fairchild, then United States Minister to 
 Spain, who exerted himself to render our sojourn in 
 Madrid agreeable. He took us to the beautiful 
 garden of the Buen Retiro, where we met Senor 
 Castellar, the stanch republican, the scholar, orator, 
 and statesman, who was the friend of Charles Sumner. 
 With admirable good sense and loyalty, this great 
 man, who compels the respect of political adversaries, 
 supports cheerfully the present government, believing 
 that the time for a republic will come sooner or later, 
 but holding it a crime to lift a hand against a fellow- 
 citizen in behalf of no matter how beautiful a theory. 
 In how great need has Spain been for many 
 generations past of this kind of unselfish patriotism ! 
 She has lost countless men in civil war, rebellion, and 
 revolution, and it is only since the quite recent sup- 
 pression of the Carlist war that the country has had 
 time to take breath and count up her losses. Already 
 industry is reviving, and confidence, a plant of slow 
 growth, beginning to be restored. All that the country 
 needs is peace, stability, and the consequent chance to 
 recover lost gound. Seville, Malaga, and Barcelona 
 are growing rapidly, and extending their commercial 
 
Madrid. 53 
 
 relations on every hand. In Andalusia improved 
 agricultural machinery has been introduced with 
 gratifying results. The politicians, angry and jealous 
 over the French and English conquests in Africa, are 
 casting hungry eyes towards Morocco ; there is no 
 reason why Spain should not have a slice of the African 
 pie. It would give the young bloods in the army 
 something to do. 
 
 The army, which has always been the too ready 
 tool of revolutionists and political intriguers, is said to 
 be no longer available for such purposes. " The 
 soldiers will not fire on Spaniards," said a Sevillian to 
 me. " If a general is found intriguing nowadays, he 
 is taken out and made an example of at short notice." 
 
 General Fairchild agreed with Castellar, and with 
 almost every intelligent person, that the advent of the 
 republican regime is only a question of time, that it 
 is bound to come, but that it will not do to hurry it, 
 for the people are in need still of more or less prepara- 
 tion for the grave responsibility of self-government. 
 
 Madrid apes the fashions of Paris, and is flattered 
 to be considered a good imitation of the French cap- 
 ital (which she is not), just as Brussels calls herself 
 the " little Paris," and as Cincinnati is willing 1 to be 
 esteemed the " Paris of America." Imitations are but 
 poor things at best. Whatever is really of the most 
 value in a town, as in other things, must be original. 
 The cafes of Madrid are numerous, and a few of them, 
 especially on the Puerta del Sol, the Calle de Alcala*, 
 
54 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 and the Carrera de San Gerdnimo, are large and 
 elegant. Besides the cafes, there are cerbezerias 
 (beer-halls), tavernas (ordinary bars), and horchate- 
 rias, where they deal exclusively in the wonderful 
 summer drink, the horchata de chufas, a sweet, barley- 
 water mixture, the color of muddy milk, with snow in 
 it. It is very wholesome in hot weather, but it is too 
 sweet to suit most palates. A more attractive beverage 
 is cerbeza con limon, beer mixed with lemon juice, 
 which is brewed, ice-cold, in a large punchbowl, and 
 quenches thirst excellently. Then there is agraz, 
 described as " clarified verjus," and highly recom- 
 mended by Ford ; but I could never get it at any of 
 the first-class cafes. The first time I ordered it, the 
 waiter brought me a glass of coffee ; the second time 
 a cup of very thick chocolate. I was afraid to make 
 any further experiments with the language, and 
 desisted. The Spanish wines, high as their reputation 
 is, are seldom found palatable in Spain. All the best 
 sherry is exported, and the same may be said for the 
 Malaga and Tarragona wines. The red wines are 
 sharp, and inflame thirst. In the South they have on 
 the hotel tables a white wine, tasting like watered 
 sherry. The best standard table wine is the Valde- 
 pefias, and perhaps also the Manzanilla. 
 
 The lower classes drink a great deal of agua-ardi- 
 ente, which may be described as " fire-water." It has 
 an aromatic taste, far from disagreeable, and turns 
 a cloudy white when mixed with water. The depraved 
 
Madrid. 
 
 55 
 
 associations evoked by this subject lead me to speak 
 of tobacco. Don't go to Spain, O slave of the weed ! 
 supposing that because Cuba is a Spanish possession 
 you can get Havana cigars there. Nine tenths of all 
 the Havana cigars go to the United States ; but in 
 revenge you can smoke cigarettes made of Virginia 
 tobacco in Spain. They are rather bad cigarettes, and 
 
 the cigars to be got in the 
 
 estancos are not much better, 
 as a rule. Occasionally a 
 three-cent cigar may turn 
 out to be very good, but the 
 expensive ones are invari- 
 ably bad. 
 
 The Puerta del Sol is by 
 all odds the most interesting 
 part of Madrid. A large 
 proportion of the population 
 spends its days and nights 
 
 on the broad sidewalks, talking and laughing and mov- 
 ing to and fro, soldiers, priests, bull-fighters, and 
 women, a motley crowd. All is animation. The 
 fountain throws up its jet of water ceaselessly in the 
 centre of the big square, the horse-cars come and go in 
 four different directions, carriages dash here and there, 
 the newsboys and match-venders keep up an endless 
 racket, and above all rises the murmur of a thousand 
 voices. What are they all talking about ? 
 
 The Prado is the park. As soon as the sun goes 
 
56 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 down everybody starts for the Prado, which includes 
 the Retiro, or fashionable drive, the Salon, where 
 swells afoot and on horseback air themselves, and the 
 charming garden of the Buen Retiro. On the Retiro 
 you may see, from half-past six till eight o'clock, 
 a great throng of fine equipages, four abreast, the 
 whole length of the drive. The Salon is a sort of 
 second-class Champs Elysees, a shadowy reminder of 
 the great Parisian avenue. A broad gravel walk is 
 bordered by rows of iron chairs, in which one may sit 
 (for a consideration) and look at the promenaders who 
 pass and repass at a sedate gait. As for the Buen 
 Retiro, it is a pretty garden with trees, shrubbery, 
 winding pathways, zinc palms, colored lights, stirring 
 band music, out-door variety-shows, vaudevilles, and 
 ballets, in fact, a respectable Jardin Mabille, patron- 
 ized by good society, and the only place to spend 
 a summer evening in, for of course the theatres are 
 mostly closed. It is in such a place, too, that you may 
 see the Madrilenians as they are at home. They are 
 certainly a good-looking and well-behaved people. A 
 few of the women have begun to wear hats and 
 bonnets in place of the lace tocas which are so becom- 
 ing, a sad mistake on their part. 
 
 Of course we went to see the royal armory and the 
 royal stables. The first contains I know not how 
 many suits of armor worn by Christian and Moorish 
 heroes of old : for that is one of those things I can- 
 not get excited over, though the guidebook call on me 
 
Madrid. 
 
 57 
 
 ever so loudly for appropriate emotions. The stables 
 are of great interest, however, for even a republican 
 may admire the aristocratic qualities of a horse of high 
 pedigree, and there is no end to the blooded pets of 
 Alfonso's equine palace. They are English, French, 
 Arabian, a splendid lot of mettlesome fellows, who 
 probably don't get enough exercise. The carriages 
 are very numerous and sumptuous, but all except 
 those of American make seem unneccessarily heavy 
 and clumsy. 
 
 There is one particular in which Madrid is peculiar, 
 and stands alone among European cities : she has no 
 churches which the most frenzied tourist would wish 
 to visit. This gives her a certain pre-eminence which 
 no other feature could confer. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE PICTURE-GALLERY. 
 
 UNTIL within a few years the Royal Museum of the 
 Prado has been almost unknown beyond the borders 
 of Spain. The immense value of the collection is 
 beginning to be generally appreciated, but it remains 
 the most unfamiliar among the really great galleries 
 of Europe. It is called less complete, chronologically, 
 than the Louvre, and so it is ; but as a collection of 
 masterpieces it is unsurpassed in the world, and no 
 other collection except that of the Louvre can for one 
 moment be compared with it. Indeed I have heard 
 artists say that even the Louvre looked rather tame to 
 them after they had visited Madrid. Apart from the 
 significant fact that nowhere else can an adequate idea 
 be gained concerning the Spanish school, the collection 
 is extremely rich in its Italian and Dutch departments. 
 The great room known as the Salon of Queen Isabella 
 contains the principal masterpieces of all the schools, 
 without distinction, and I doubt if there is another 
 roomfull like it in the world. 
 
 The gallery is in the Prado, and is approached from 
 the centre of the town through the Carrera de San 
 Gerdnimo, where is the palace of the Cortes a 
 handsome building and an interesting statue of 
 
The Picture - Gallery. 5 9 
 
 Cervantes. An excellent catalogue, in French, exists, 
 and on weekdays there is a nominal admittance fee of 
 ten cents, but on Sundays the galleries are free. The 
 large central hall is well-lighted from the top, but the 
 side rooms are ill-lighted, and should be seen at certain 
 hours when the light is best. The Spanish school 
 must first claim our attention. As for numbers, there 
 are sixty-four examples of Velasquez, forty-six of 
 Murillo, fifty-eight of Ribera, fourteen of Zurbaran, 
 eighteen of Macip, or (Joanes), a roomfull of Goya's 
 paintings, and a considerable number by Cano. 
 
 If we take Murillo, Velasquez, Ribera, Goya, and 
 the rest of the famous Spanish painters for true expo- 
 nents of the national characteristics, many preconceived 
 notions must be upset ; these are a most saturnine, 
 sober, sad folk. Their pleasures are grotesque and 
 fierce, their humor impish and rough. An under- 
 current of gloom runs through all their merry-making, 
 as a barbaric minor strain is heard in the midst of their 
 gayest music. 
 
 Velasquez is very justly the favorite of painters. 
 So full of the subtle modern flavor are his works, that 
 it is hard to realize that he died more than two cen- 
 turies ago. No man ever made a more abrupt " new 
 departure " in the way of looking at things. The 
 Spaniards always painted as literally as they knew 
 how, even the most ideal of subjects, but they were 
 rigidly formal, and only copied the weaknesses of the 
 Italians, their native strength running to brutality and 
 
60 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 harshness. It remained for Velasquez to combine 
 force with refinement, and freedom with firmness, after 
 his own manner. It would be almost impossible to 
 convey a satisfactory idea of his very numerous paint- 
 ings monopolized by this gallery. His portraits are 
 superb for their vigor, genuineness, and verve, the 
 absence of any trickery or superficiality. They have 
 a truly patrician flavor, like Van Dyck's portraits, and 
 such as is eminently appropriate in the likenesses of 
 royal heirs, kings, and princesses of high degree ; but 
 their greatest charm is inexplicable, as is always the 
 case with the best works of art. Simplicity and sin- 
 cerity, with great learning and skill of hand that is 
 all there is of Velasquez. " The Topers" ("Los Bebe- 
 dores") is as marvelous a specimen of technical per- 
 fection as any of his works. It is one of those pictures 
 in front of which an artist halts and makes confession 
 that he does not know how to paint. Conviviality was 
 never represented with greater truth or humor. The 
 spirit of Bacchus is over all the scene. It is full of 
 human nature in its pagan aspect, rollicking in the joy 
 of exuberant physical life. It is a drinking-song in 
 color, a "rouse," a jolly " time," anything but a tem- 
 perance tract. Still its humor saves it from grossness. 
 Velasquez was incapable of vulgarity. On the con- 
 trary, he could paint nobility in a dwarf, and give 
 dignity to commonplace figures. The picture of " The 
 Spinners, " a splendid composition, representing 
 women at work in a large weaving-room, is worthy to 
 
The Picture - Gallery. 6 1 
 
 be rated equal \vith "The Topers," and Mengs said of 
 it, very happily, that it seemed as if it had been the 
 work of pure thought. " Las Meninas " (''The Maids 
 of Honor") is one of the most celebrated of this happy 
 man's works. " O, if I could only paint like that, I 
 would be satisfied to leave one such picture to the 
 world ! " said an artist. It represents Velasquez him- 
 self in his studio, as he was painting the portrait of 
 the charming little Infanta Maria Margarita, whose 
 maids are grouped about her. There are eight or ten 
 figures, and on the walls are pictures which are said to 
 have been Rubens's. The composition is full of his- 
 toric interest. Sir W. Stirling Maxwell, in a capital 
 description of it, gives the names of all the characters, 
 and many entertaining details. " The dresses," he 
 says, "are highly absurd, their figures being concealed 
 by long stiff corsets and prodigious hoops." But 
 who, once having seen the picture, would wish it to be 
 otherwise in any particular ? The King, and Giordano 
 the Italian, who was at that period painting in Madrid, 
 conspired to make " Las Meninas " one of the most 
 famous paintings of all time : the former, by seizing a 
 brush and painting the Cross of Santiago upon the 
 breast of the figure of Velasquez, the latter, by calling 
 the picture the " theology of painting." Both compli- 
 ments were remarkable, though the latter has more 
 sound than sense, but nothing ever turned Velasquez's 
 head ; he was used to royal favors, and probably knew 
 he deserved them. He has made Philip IV's face and 
 
62 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 figure familiar to posterity in all sorts of becoming 
 expressions, attitudes, and costumes, and it is easy to 
 imagine how delightful as a loafing-place the monarch 
 found his studio. It is not my intention to speak in 
 detail of the famous " Capture of Breda " (" Las 
 Lanzas"), or of "Vulcan's Forge." Among the por- 
 traits there is not one which is not interesting as a 
 faithful description of a real person, from that of the 
 blithe little Prince Balthazar-Charles, who rides his 
 pot-bellied pony with such easy grace, to. the picture 
 of the most grotesque dwarf in Philip's court. The 
 quality is always there, and can be felt. It is the 
 rarest talent to paint portraits well. There are so 
 many bad portraits in the world ! so many libels on 
 individuals, and so many caricatures of humanity in 
 general, no wonder that Eugene Fromentin can 
 count on his fingers the great portraitists of the 
 world. * The men of to-day are turning to Velasquez 
 to see what he can teach them in the province of 
 portrait-painting. And they are right. Bonnat and 
 Carolus Durah are well enough in their way, but they 
 themselves, if frankly asked for advice, would say to 
 the young men, " Go to the fountain-heads. The 
 Louvre is better than the Salon. The old masters 
 knew how better than the best of us." None of them 
 had what Fromentin calls " cette naivete attentive, 
 soumise et forte," which the study of the human face 
 
 - Titian, Rembrandt, Raphael, Sebastian del Piombo, Velasquez, Van Dyck, Holbein, 
 Antoine More. 
 
The Picture - Gallery. 63 
 
 requires in order to be perfect, in so great a degree 
 as Velasquez. Only a painter can appreciate such 
 triumphs as " Los Bebedores " and " Las Meninas." 
 Velasquez's genuis was more robustly masculine than 
 that of Murillo, but if it excels in force, directness, and 
 accurate brilliancy of characterization, it lacks the sweet 
 and almost feminine quality of the other's religious 
 compositions. His realism is always of the refined 
 sort, never brutal, never pretentious. He has an 
 intensely original and distinguished style. By looking 
 at any one of his portraits, one can guess his personal 
 refinement, his cultivated mind, his rectitude and 
 strength of character. His taste was never at fault. 
 His intelligence never forsook him. His manual skill 
 was equal to the immense demands made upon it. He 
 had his materials apparently under perfect control, or 
 as nearly so as may be. And he not only controlled 
 his means : he controlled his subject also. His model 
 never entirely ran away with him ; he always managed 
 to work in a little of Velasquez. His observation was 
 more developed than his imagination, but his insight 
 was keen, he analyzed people and things with a good 
 deal of penetration, and as he was well-off, healthy, 
 and happy, his art is sane, alert, cheerful. In this 
 regard he was different from all his contemporaries, 
 and remains unique. 
 
 Murillo, with less command of technique, had the 
 soft heart of a woman, and the capacity of feeling the 
 spiritual anguish of the Virgin as few painters ever did 
 
64 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 before or since. No sceptic could look upon one of 
 the two great " Immaculate Conceptions," in the main 
 gallery, without a deep respect (to say the least) for the 
 motive of the work as well as for the lovable human 
 qualities of the painter who could thus portray the 
 sweetness and innocence of womanhood. I am aware 
 that Murillo has been placed in the second rank of artists 
 by Ruskin and some other critics ; but I doubt if they 
 were familiar with his best works when they so unjustly 
 estimated him. The big " Assumption," in the Louvre, 
 does not represent him at his highest level, though it 
 is one of his " important" canvases. One of the two 
 large paintings of the same subject in the Madrid 
 gallery is so entirely apart from the conventional Virgin, 
 whose meek expression and upturned eyes are so 
 often reproduced, that it seems at first almost an 
 infraction of the unwritten laws governing ecclesiastical 
 art. There is a human air about it, and presently you 
 begin to feel that if there exists a Holy Virgin you 
 have now seen her real self. Not that there is less of 
 innocence and tenderness and sanctified beauty in this 
 case but a more human type, and a younger, fresher, 
 and more recognizable countenance brings the mystery 
 closer to you. This is a much better work in concep- 
 tion, if not in execution, than the " Immaculate Con- 
 ception," in the Square Hall of the Louvre. There is 
 more character in the face of the Virgin, though I 
 cannot agree with those who find the other insipid and 
 commonplace. In his love of the beautiful, and in his 
 
The Picture -Gallery. 65 
 
 grace, religious earnestness and tenderness, Murillo 
 was pre-eminent, how completely so can hardly be 
 appreciated without visiting both Madrid and Seville. 
 In the "Divine Shepherd" is a beautiful type of 
 guileless childhood, with much of the quality of naivete, 
 both in the character of the subject and in its treat- 
 ment. The same quality is seen in the " Christ and 
 St. John." The great picture of the " Vision of Saint 
 Anthony of Padua " is in Seville, and I shall speak of 
 it further on. The Academy of Arts and Sciences in 
 Madrid possesses several of Murillo's most esteemed 
 paintings, one of which, " St. Elizabeth " dressing the 
 sores of the poor, is called his greatest work ; it is 
 a very marvelous canvas, and technically perhaps his 
 greatest performance, but the subject is most repulsive. 
 Ribera was a very strong painter in every respect, 
 and in spite of his long residence in Italy, his works 
 are particularly national, and are valuable for their 
 illustration of marked Spanish tendencies. He was 
 predisposed to take the tragic view, and liked to 
 depict such episodes and subjects as the flaying of St. 
 Bartholomew, Ixion on the wheel, etc. Some of hjs 
 works are unutterably gloomy and dark, both in color 
 and motive. In his " Prometheus" he shows you the 
 blood and intestines of the victim, painted with revolt- 
 ing fidelity. His " Jacob's Ladder," in the salon of 
 Queen Isabella, is considered his greatest work, and it 
 is, in fact, remarkable in expressional power. But the 
 most impressive example of this master, who was said 
 
66 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 to employ every means to crush out his rivals, not 
 hesitating at murder, is a representation of the " Holy 
 Trinity." A beautiful and venerable head is that of 
 the Father, a calm, sad old man with white hair, an 
 ample beard, and a Roman nose. This head is pro- 
 jected against a luminous space in the centre of a 
 cloudy background. Below is the crucified Son, his 
 head falling back on the Father's knee, his arms out- 
 stretched, and the lower part of his body, which is 
 modeled with exceptional power, is borne up by a 
 sheet held by cherubs. The deathly pallor of his 
 countenance, the gaping wound in his side, and the 
 rigidity of his limbs, expressed marvelously, contribute 
 to the feeling of painful truth which is conveyed by 
 this great work. Just above the head of the Christ is 
 a white dove with outstretched wings representing the 
 Holy Spirit. 
 
 But Goya even surpassed Ribera in his realistic 
 descriptions of horrible events and scenes. His works 
 are set apart in a special room, and are supposed to 
 form a complete exposition of the strangely pictur- 
 esque manners and customs of the Spaniards. Gautier 
 gives a charming chapter about this odd genius. He 
 painted with sticks, brooms, sponges any tool that 
 served his purpose, and " donnait les touches de sen- 
 timent a grands coups de pouce."* His "Second of 
 May," which represented French soldiers massacring 
 
 * Though there is nothing new about this except the phrase " touches de sentiment," which 
 is intensely Gautieresque. 
 
The Picture -Gallery. 67 
 
 the Spanish inhabitants, is said to have been blocked 
 in with a spoon. He was a violent satirist, and set 
 forth the fanaticism, gluttony, and stupidity of the 
 monks, the ignorance and vices of the courtiers, the 
 follies of polite society, with extraordinary and malig- 
 nant force. His ideal caprices are like the nightmares 
 produced by a morbid fancy, and are frightful beyond 
 description. His pictures of bull-fights are numerous, 
 and marked by an exceedingly impressive compound 
 of realism and strange conceits. He painted many 
 war-scenes, as horrible as the most unbridled imagina- 
 tion could make them. An erratic cynicism pervaded 
 all his works, which exercise a certain grim fascination 
 over the mind of the spectator. He painted portraits 
 very well, and his equestrian portraits of Charles IV 
 and his wife are admirable serious works. A portrait 
 of Goya himself, by Lopez, shows him to have been 
 a broad-faced old gentleman, whose good-humored and 
 well-fed appearance is quite at variance with the idea 
 of him gained from a contemplation of his works. 
 Alonso Cano is fairly represented in the gallery by 
 a picture of the Virgin worshiping her Son, and a 
 " Dead Christ Mourned by Angels"; but we shall see 
 more of him in his native city of Granada, where he 
 was equally renowned as a painter and sculptor. Cano, 
 like Ribera, had the reputation of putting out of the 
 way people whom he did not like. He was accused of 
 murdering his wife. It seems to have been quite the 
 fashion among the seventeenth-century Spanish artists 
 
68 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 to remove in a summary manner all real or fancied 
 obstacles to their success. 
 
 After this outline survey of the Spanish masters, 
 who at least make a stranger feel some respect for 
 their country, let us take a look at the Italians. Think 
 of forty-three Titians! What a glorious collection 1 
 It is indescribable. The schools of Venice, Florence, 
 Rome, Parma, Bologna, Naples, all are represented ; 
 but the chief strength lies in the great Venetian school 
 with its forty-three Titians, its thirty-four Tintorets, 
 its twenty-five Paul Veroneses, and its crowd of Del 
 Piombos, Malombras, and Tiepolos. Then, for the 
 other schools, there is Raphael with ten examples of 
 prime importance, Guido Reni with sixteen canvases, 
 Luca Giordano with sixty-six, and an uneven but 
 strongly interesting lot of Da Vincis, Del Sartos, 
 Correggios, and the rest. Among the ten canvases 
 by Raphael is the holy family known as " The Pearl." 
 It was so named by Philip IV. It was formerly owned 
 by Charles I of England, and was disposed of by 
 Cromwell with the rest of the royal rubbish. It 
 brought $10,000 at that time. If at present $200,000 
 is asked for the Raphael exhibited in New York, what 
 would 4t The Pearl " not be worth to our famishing 
 museums at that rate of valuation ? Then there is the 
 same master's " Spasimo di Sicilia," representing Jesus 
 succumbing under the weight of the cross and sus- 
 tained by Simon ; the " Visitation," representing St. 
 Elizabeth and the Virgin ; the well-known Madonnas 
 
The Picture -Gallery. 69 
 
 of the Fish and of the Rose ; with his Holy Family of 
 the Lamb and his portrait of the Cardinal Julius de 
 Medici. Titian's " Offering to the Goddess of Love," 
 an ill-balanced composition, is remarkable for its crowd 
 of hilarious and beautiful infants ; but there is nothing 
 more captivating than his portraits, the portrait of 
 himself for instance, or the famous portraits of Charles 
 V on foot and on horseback. In fact the number of 
 really great portraits in the Madrid gallery is astonish- 
 ing. Some of Titian's best works are here, and there 
 are none better. The model for his Salome, who 
 bears the head of John the Baptist on a charger, was 
 his daughter Lavinia. 
 
 The Dutch and Flemish department is quite as 
 remarkable as one would expect to find it, even in 
 the national gallery of Spain. There are sixty-six 
 examples of Rubens, twenty-two of Van Dyck, fifty- 
 five of Teniers, fifty-four of Breughel, and a few of 
 Rembrandt's, Jordaens's, Wouvermans's, and Bosch's 
 works, forming a priceless collection. The represen- 
 tation of Rubens is superior to that in the Louvre, 
 and includes some of his most fleshly creations, once 
 modestly stowed away in the basement, but now dis- 
 played in the main gallery. They are superb, these 
 human animals of his, and appeal to all that is pagan 
 in the most civilized Christian nature. The humor in 
 Teniers's group of six paintings, depicting monkeys 
 dressed in the costumes of men, and engaged in eating, 
 drinking, smoking, playing at school, and aping the 
 
jo Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 postures and expressions of painters and sculptors, is 
 simply irresistible. How stirring are the breezy hunt- 
 ing-scenes of Wouvermans, how fresh and gallant his 
 figures of cavaliers and dames, who sweep gayly down 
 a slope in pursuit of some unseen hare ! I remember 
 particularly one of these scenes which impressed me 
 with all the newness and joy of a spring morning, a 
 sense of the immense happiness of living, and of 
 being young ; yet I do not remember the composition 
 itself with sufficient distinctness to describe it. It was 
 merely the flavor and the gusto of the thing. Some 
 of Van Dyck's most spirited and patrician portraits are 
 here ; among them those of the Duchess of Oxford, 
 of the artist himself, and his patron, the Count of 
 Bristol, of Liberti, the organist of Antwerp, of the 
 Prince of Orange, Henry of Nassau, of Henry, Count 
 of Bergh, and of the painter David Ryckaert. For 
 the full-lengths Van Dyck used to ask $300! Our 
 modern portrait-painters are not so badly off as they 
 think, after all. A head of Christ, wearing the crown 
 of thorns, is the only serious work, setting aside the 
 portraits, which can be called powerful and original ; 
 it is thoroughly manly in character, one of the 
 strongest and least diluted of Van Dyck's works. 
 
 In the French room there is not much that is 
 remarkable. Good specimens of Poussin, Claude, 
 David, Watteau, Ingres, Largilliere, are to be seen, but 
 many great names are missing. There are twenty 
 Poussins and ten Claudes. One of the Claudes 
 
The Picture -Gallery. 71 
 
 (" Paysage, la Madeleine a genoux, le matin ") is well 
 worthy to be hung where it is, among the rarest 
 masterpieces in the Queen's salon, for, though very 
 much blackened by age, it is a perfect example of the 
 sombre and mysterious classical landscape at its best, 
 making the beholder dream of grand old forests and 
 cool shadows and glimpses of an infinitely remote sky, 
 just touched by the first faint reflections of the dawn, 
 long after he has passed the smoky old canvas and 
 departed from the silent gallery. 
 
 There may be more complete, more symmetrical 
 collections of pictures, but there can be none better. 
 It was a long time before we could tear ourselves away 
 from Madrid. Every morning by common consent we 
 turned our steps towards the Museo, and spent many 
 long and blissful hours there, till our eyes ached, and 
 our spinal columns cried out for a rest. And how 
 many times since have we, in memory, \vandered 
 through these enchanted halls, recalling each favorite 
 picture, and renewing the purest pleasures of a 
 lifetime ! 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MADRID TO SEVILLE. 
 
 ANDALUSIA is repre- 
 sented to be an earthly 
 paradise. Its climate in 
 July is such as we are 
 accustomed to associate 
 with an entirely different 
 locality. The journey 
 from Madrid to Seville 
 occupies fourteen hours, 
 and is best taken at 
 night. The express- 
 train goes three times 
 a week. Leaving Mad- 
 rid at six o'clock p. M., 
 after an unusually early 
 dinner, you are enabled 
 to see all that you wish 
 to see of La Mancha, the 
 scene of some of Don 
 Quixote's adventures,* an indescribably dreary desert, 
 in comparison with which even the gaunt and forlorn 
 
 * Mr. Waterman calls his illustration " A Veritable Spanish Windmill." This has reference 
 to Gustave Dore"s spurious Spanish windmills, which are of an entirely different pattern. 
 
Madrid to Seville. 73 
 
 wastes of New Castile are cheerful and luxuriant. It is 
 literally true, as Washington Irving says, that it is " a 
 stern, melancholy country, with rugged mountains and 
 long, sweeping plains, destitute of trees and indescrib- 
 ably silent and lonesome, partaking of the savage and 
 solitary character of Africa." But there is no longer 
 any spice of danger from banditti, as there was fifty-odd 
 years ago, when Irving made his romantic pilgrimage 
 to the Alhambra. The great heat, the miserable food, 
 the tormenting fleas, the nauseating odors, and the 
 importunate beggars cannot be dignified under the 
 name of dangers, and there is nothing romantic about 
 the railway-trains of Spain, be they ever so slow. At 
 nine in the evening the train halts at the station of 
 Alcazar de San Juan, and the passengers indulge in 
 the chocolate and sponge-cake for which the place is 
 renowned. After this harmless lunch the traveler 
 settles himself for the night, and is lulled to sleep by 
 the monotonous motion and rattle of the train. There 
 are no sleeping-cars on the lines south of Madrid, but 
 there are expensive reclining-chairs, or what the 
 French call fauteuil-lits. It is generally safe for men 
 to trust to luck for a couple of seats in a first-class 
 carriage, where the human form divine can be extended 
 nearly at full length, and the hand-bag or bundle of 
 wraps utilized as a pillow. It is best not to say much 
 about the personal appearance in the morning of the 
 individual who sleeps in this way. At six A. M., the 
 train comes to a standstill in Cordova, and there is 
 
74 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 time to get out and take a cup of so-called coffee. 
 The exquisite maiden who so bewitched the susceptible 
 De Amicis at this ancient place has departed. She lives 
 in Burgos now, I believe. Cordova from the railway 
 
 looks very sleepy and insignificant in the early morn- 
 ing, a stretch of low, white walls, with square towers 
 here and there, and the Graeco-Roman tower of the 
 cathedral dominating the town. The train now follows 
 the course of the Guadalquivir, and runs alongside of 
 immense hedges of rank, dusty cactus, and one catches 
 glimpses of strange southern forms of vegetation 
 formerly unknown ; for we are fairly in the marvelous 
 beau pays of which we have read so much. But though 
 Andalusia is described with so much vague enthusiasm, 
 it is a beau pays only in comparison with the ugly 
 interior provinces. Near Seville, the train passes 
 through a long succession of extensive olive plantations. 
 As a shade-tree the olive-tree is not a success, but it is 
 better than nothing. The foliage is dusty and pale, 
 and the trees have a stunted and forlorn appearance ; 
 
to Seville. 75 
 
 they are planted in regular rows, and the berries, 
 which are not gathered until towards winter, are almost 
 all made into oil. At all the stations big placards 
 freshly posted up announced a grand bull-fight of 
 extraordinary interest at Malaga the following Sunday. 
 Espadas and picadores from Madrid, Seville, Cordova, 
 and other tow r ns were to participate ; bulls from Senor 
 's breeding- farm would be introduced ; and excur- 
 
 o 
 
 sion-trains w r ere to be run from several distant points. 
 These posters excited no small degree of interest on 
 the part of the passengers, who read and reread them 
 and then discussed the prospects. It was growing 
 frightfully hot, and the courteous caballeros in our 
 coupe began to discard garment after garment, until 
 we became anxious least they should be entirely nude 
 by the time we arrived in Seville. But no such thrill- 
 ing incident happened. We are at last in the gay 
 Andalusian metropolis, at nine o'clock of a blistering, 
 scalding day, and O joy ! the porter of the Four 
 Nations Hotel has captured us with a few words of 
 pigeon-English which we are too tired to resist. 
 
 " You have come off Madrid ?" he says, after res- 
 cuing the trunk, expanding his mouth in a sociable 
 smile. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ah! You are English?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Ah ! You are Americans ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
j6 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 The clever Jose is pleased with his own penetration, 
 and continues to talk all the way up to the hotel, which 
 is on a great square full of tall* palm-trees, where three 
 consolidated bands give concerts on summer evenings. 
 After the intolerable heat of the streets, the marble- 
 
 
 paved patio of the hotel seems a deliciously cool and 
 pleasant spot. The men sitting about are smoking 
 cigarettes, drinking coffee, reading the papers a little, 
 loafing, and gossiping, without the slightest pretense 
 of doing anything more fatiguing than to draw the 
 breath of life. We are shown to a room by the ener- 
 getic Jose, and after a bite of breakfast we proceed to 
 make ourselves as comfortable as the circumstances 
 will permit for the thermometer indicates a degree 
 of heat equal to 98 Fahrenheit. The process is quite 
 
Madrid to Seville. 
 
 77 
 
 simple : we remove all our clothes except our shirts, 
 and sit with our feet in basins full of water. A cigar 
 and a French novel say by Cherbuliez make the 
 arrangement complete. There is a monotonous hum 
 of female voices just outside the door, where a group 
 of women are sitting at their needlework in the cor- 
 ridor, and the intermittent music of a guitar floats 
 from some unseen patio ; so presently we fall asleep. 
 Thus we pass our first day in Seville. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SEVILLE. 
 
 SEVILLE is undoubtedly the most Spanish of all 
 Spanish towns. The boastful native couplet which 
 declares that 
 
 " Quien no ha visto a Sevilla, 
 No ha visto a maravilla," 
 
 is true enough, and if a traveler could only see one 
 city in Spain he would do well to select the gay, 
 
 growing, and thriving Seville in preference to all the 
 rest. The streets are very narrow and crooked, and 
 the houses are all either whitewashed or painted a 
 very light pink, blue, or green shade, which contributes 
 
Seville. 79 
 
 not a little to the intolerable glare. In some of the 
 streets awnings are suspended from roof to roof, so 
 that you may drive under a canopy for some little 
 distance protected from the sun's rays. The houses 
 have patios, or interior courts, surrounded by balconies, 
 and in the dwellings of the rich these are very beauti- 
 ful, being paved with marble tiles and ornamented 
 by tropical trees and plants, fountains, and flowers. 
 The open-work iron gates leading from the street to 
 the patios permit the passer-by to obtain charming 
 glimpses of these refreshing spots. Having rested all 
 day, we went out after nightfall, and viewed the place 
 by lamplight, with Jose for our guide. The principal 
 street is a crooked way about twenty feet wide, lined 
 with brilliantly lighted cafes and clubs, stores, places 
 of amusement, tavernas, etc., and thronged with 
 people. The big Plaza Nueva, to which reference has 
 been made, is also thronged with a constantly moving 
 crowd, lingering till long after midnight, affording an 
 unequaled opportunity to study the population in one 
 of its most characteristic aspects. There is not half as 
 much chattering and chaffing as would be observed in 
 a French crowd of the same dimensions ; every one is 
 talking, but in a staid and reserved fashion, and it is 
 rare to hear an outburst of laughter. The shrill cry of 
 the aguadores, " Quien quiere agua?" is heard on 
 every hand, and they drive a brisk trade. The bands 
 play some strange Castilian airs, unlike anything you 
 have ever heard before, while you wait in vain to hear 
 
8o 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 a familiar strain from "Carmen" or ''II Barbiere," 
 which would seem so appropriate to the time and 
 place. On this square is the ayuntamiento, or city hall, 
 beyond which is the old Plaza de la Constitucion, an 
 oblong square of such a quaint 
 aspect that one is inclined to 
 laugh when first its tumble- 
 down houses, with their in- 
 numerable crooked balconies, 
 meet the eye. Of course we 
 take a carriage-ride over the 
 Cristina, the great park-drive 
 by the edge of the Guadal- 
 quivir, where the 
 belles and beaux of 
 the town show them- 
 selves between seven 
 and eight o'clock in 
 their prettiest toilets. 
 The Cristina is the 
 finest promenade in 
 Spain and the place of 
 all places to see hand- 
 some women. The 
 Andalusians have some justification for their boasts 
 regarding the beauty and grace of their women ; the 
 average is certainly high. " There may be in England, 
 in France, or in Italy," says Gautier, " women of a more 
 perfect, more regular beauty, but assuredly there are 
 
Seville. 81 
 
 none prettier nor more piquantes" They have in a 
 high degree what the Spaniards call la sal: not at all 
 like what is meant by Gallic salt, but something pecu- 
 liarly Andalusian and unique, a mixture of dash, 
 piquancy, " savey," and deviltry. To say of an An- 
 dalusian maiden that she is salted, is regarded as the 
 highest possible compliment. We bring our strange 
 nocturnal round of sights to a close very late, after 
 visiting one of the subterranean cafes where gypsies 
 dance, and where we each drink a thimbleful of agua- 
 ardiente. It is impossible to describe the dancing 
 satisfactorily: not that it was indecent, for, on the 
 contrary, it was uncommonly decorous, but it was so 
 odd that it almost defies description. A troupe of four 
 men and four women occupied the stage. The females 
 were distinguished by the most extraordinarily bright 
 black eyes in the world, while they were otherwise not 
 by any means plain in appearance, though dressed 
 rather simply. The only music was a weird chant of a 
 peculiar and teasing rhythm, loud and shrill, accom- 
 panied by the regular clapping of hands ; the same 
 motif ran through the whole, and all the company, 
 except the one who happened to be dancing, joined in 
 it with great gusto. The dancer began by stamping 
 with one and the other foot at irregular intervals, and 
 finally writhed from head to foot, waving the arms 
 meantime in a graceful fashion. Finally the middle 
 and upper portions of the body were brought into play, 
 and the most absurd and extravagant contortions of 
 
82 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 the least graceful part of the system were produced. 
 This description will convey but a very inadequate idea 
 of the dance to any one except him who has seen it. 
 Nothing more thoroughly barbaric, more fantastic, 
 
 could be imagined in a dream. It was a bolero. In 
 having seen it we felt ourselves to be more fortunate 
 than M. Gautier, who erroneously assures his readers 
 that Spanish dances exist only in Paris, like those 
 shells which are found in curiosity-shops, but never on 
 the sea-beach. 
 
 The cathedral of Seville is so great a building in 
 many respects, that it is surely a surprise and a marvel 
 to the visitor who enters it with even the most ex- 
 aggerated anticipations. It is second to St. Peter's 
 alone in point of size, being 150 feet high, and 414 
 by 271 feet in dimensions inside, with 93 windows, 
 
Seville. 83 
 
 30 chapels, and everything in like proportions. Gautier 
 says that Notre Dame of Paris might walk right up 
 into the middle nave. " Pillars big as towers, and which 
 appear frightfully frail, spring from the earth or hang 
 from the vaulted roof like stalactites in a giant's cave. 
 The four lateral naves, though less lofty, might shelter 
 whole churches, spires and all. The retablo, or high 
 altar, with its staircases, its superpositions of archi- 
 tecture, its rows on rows of statues, is an immense 
 edifice of itself; it rises almost to the roof. The font- 
 candle, large as a vessel's mast, weighs 2,050 pounds. 
 Twenty thousand pounds of wax and as much oil are 
 burned each year in the cathedral ; the wine used in 
 the holy sacrifice amounts to the frightful quantity of 
 18,750 litres. It is a fact that 500 masses are per- 
 formed every day at the 80 altars. The catafalque 
 used during Holy Week is nearly 100 feet high. The 
 organs, of gigantic proportions, look like the basaltic 
 colonnades of Fingal's Cave, and yet the storms and 
 thunders that burst from their pipes, big as siege-guns, 
 seem melodious murmurs, the distant songs of birds 
 and seraphim, under these colossal arches." The 
 cathedral staff consists of an archbishop and about 
 one hundred priests. The chapter was immensely 
 rich until the government appropriated its estates in 
 1836. The effect of the interior of the cathedral is 
 majestic and solemn in the extreme, and the innumer- 
 able treasures of art, which it would take months to 
 see and volumes to catalogue, are almost forgotten 
 
84 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 in contemplating the superb vista of the nave. But 
 the Spanish churches are always full of little artistic 
 museums abounding in pleasant surprises, and it will 
 never do to omit visiting this and that chapel, though 
 the process be never so wearisome. The details of the 
 interior in this case are worthy of the magnificent 
 edifice itself, which was designed to impress later gen- 
 erations with the belief that its builders were crazy. 
 The royal chapter contains the tombs of Alonso the 
 Wise and Queen Beatrix, St. Ferdinand, and Maria de 
 Padilla, the mistress of Pedro the Cruel. St. Ferdi- 
 nand's body lies in a solid silver sarcophagus of beau- 
 tiful workmanship, in front of the altar, the frontal of 
 which is also of silver. His sword, and the ivory 
 statuette of the Virgin which he carried about with him 
 in his campaigns, are here, with some other relics of 
 more than ordinary interest; and lastly, a portrait of 
 the conqueror of Seville, by Murillo. Of the most 
 interesting pictorial works of art in the cathedral, 
 I shall speak in another chapter. 
 
 The Giralda tower, built by the Moors about seven 
 hundred years ago, serves as bell-tower for the cathe- 
 dral. So well built is the inclined plane up which the 
 Arabs rode their horses to the platform at the top, 
 some two hundred and fifty feet from the ground, that 
 it is just as strong to-day as the first day it was built. 
 The view of the city from the tower is very fine, but 
 the glare is awful. Yonder is the Alcazar, the ancient 
 palace of the Moorish monarchs ; the tobacco-factory ; 
 
Seville. 
 
 the palace of San Telmo, 
 home of the Duke de Mont- 
 pensier ; the Tower of Gold, 
 where the Moors used to 
 store their valuables ; the 
 bull-ring, one of the best in 
 Spain; and the winding 
 Guadalquivir, gay with ship- 
 ping, for the commerce of 
 Seville is extensive. As this 
 was the first river with any 
 water in it we had seen in 
 Spain, the sight of it glad- 
 dened our eyes. A country 
 as destitute of rivers, trees, 
 and grass as is Spain is to 
 be pitied. 
 
 It is wise to visit the Alcazar of Seville before 
 seeing the Alhambra, for obvious reasons. The 
 former was indeed the first Moorish building we saw, 
 and consequently it impressed us strongly, all the 
 more so that the repairs and restorations have made it 
 present almost the same appearance that it wore in the 
 time of Abdu-r-rahman Anna 'ssir Liddin-Allah. The 
 King was intending to come here for a short sojourn 
 at the time when his first wife, Mercedes, died ; and 
 about a dozen apartments had already been partly 
 furnished for the occasion. The luxurious divans and 
 tapestries presented to Alfonso by the last Sultan of 
 
86 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 Turkey adorned several of the rooms. The Alcazar 
 is the only Moorish monument in Spain which has 
 been repainted, and, although a vast sum was expended 
 under Isabel, the moderns were not able to match the 
 blue tints of the Moors, which still excel all pigments 
 known to the Spaniards of to-day. The court of the 
 Doncellas, with its fifty white marble columns and its 
 walls covered with arabesques of indescribable delicacy 
 and intricacy, and the hall of ambassadors (the original 
 doors of which remain, untouched by the vandal hands 
 of Charles V, who had a mania for "improving" the 
 Moorish architecture, and did his best to spoil the 
 Alhambra), are the most remarkable portions of the 
 palace, which retains its Moorish character to a won- 
 derful degree, considering how many Christians have 
 tampered with it since Sakkaf surrendered the city to 
 St. Ferdinand. The garden, with its terraces, bowers, 
 fountains, summer-houses, banana-trees, orange-trees, 
 lemon-trees, pomegranates, date-palms (all bearing 
 fruit), jasmins, magnolias, citrons, prickly-pears, and 
 so forth, seemed almost too beautiful to be real ; but 
 there was much reality in the overpowering rays of the 
 fierce sun which occasionally beat upon our heads 
 while we wandered in its labyrinth and inhaled the 
 scent of the orange-blossoms with which the air was 
 laden and dodged the bees. Here is the pond 
 where Philip V used to fish, and the Moorish baths 
 where the beauties of the harem disported them- 
 selves long before ; and now and then the visitor steps 
 
Seville. 87 
 
 on the wrong paving-stone in the pathway and is 
 sprinkled by a fine jet of spray from an unseen fountain. 
 The luxurious Moors had a covered gallery running 
 all along one side of the garden, so they could walk 
 out without exposure to the sun. The thing that 
 pleased us most was to see great bunches of bananas 
 growing on the trees. It was hard to realize that this 
 superb palace was uninhabited ; but that is the case 
 with a great many royal palaces in these days of 
 republics and iconoclasm. 
 
 The tobacco-factory is one of the most interesting 
 things to be seen in Seville. Seven thousand five 
 hundred women and girls are employed. The building 
 is immense, the dimensions being 662 by 524 feet. It 
 was very uncomfortably hot, and in some of the rooms 
 the odor of tobacco was exceedingly strong, but Jose 
 said that the work was wholesome, that once when 
 a plague devastated the city not a single cigarrera 
 was sick, and he added that vermin gave the establish- 
 ment and the employees a wide berth. The girls 
 were very decidedly decolletees , and some of them 
 came startlingly near to wearing nothing at all, but 
 they usually threw a light shawl over their shoulders 
 when they saw a party of male visitors approaching. 
 One room alone contained no less than 3,300 women. 
 As we entered, the sound of their voices was like the 
 distant roar of the breakers on an ocean strand. The 
 cigarreras, many of whom are great beauties, form 
 a class by themselves, and unhappily are not noted for 
 
88 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 their chastity. Of course we thought of the " Carmen " 
 of the opera, and on coming out of the factory were 
 pleased to discover that the infantry barracks occupied 
 the opposite side of the square, thus verifying the first 
 scene of Bizet's work. This 
 is not the only pleasant asso- 
 ciation connected with Se- 
 ville ; for, besides the world- 
 renowned Figaro, another 
 true Andalusian type, there 
 is Don Juan, who lived in a 
 house now belonging to the 
 nuns of San Leandro. It is 
 interesting to compare the 
 numerous contradictory leg- 
 ends about this immortal gay 
 deceiver. The most uni- 
 versally accepted story makes 
 his name Don Juan Tenorio, 
 and was first given to the 
 world by Gabriel Tellez (Tirso de Molina). Then 
 after serving as the hero of various Italian and French 
 plays, he was finally immortalized in the book of 
 Mozart's opera. The original of Donna Anna was the 
 daughter of the Governor of Seville, whom Don Juan 
 killed, and whose statue so unexpectedly (and, I may 
 add, so operatically) accepted a foolish invitation to 
 supper, thus affording another proof, if one were 
 needed, that the Spaniards do not always need to be 
 
Seville. 89 
 
 urged to accept the courtesies offered them ! Indeed 
 the statue not only accepted Don Juan's invitation 
 at once, but when he invited him to supper in return 
 Don Juan was equally ready to accept the hospitalities 
 of the statue. But the most picturesque legend told 
 in Seville makes it appear that Don Juan lived to 
 repent of his evil deeds, and founded the hospital now 
 
 known as the Charity. The story runs, that, going 
 home one night after an orgie, Don Juan met a funeral 
 procession going to the church of St. Isidore black- 
 robed, masked monks, bearing yellow wax tapers, 
 something more dreadful indeed than an ordinary 
 funeral. "Who is dead ?" asked Don Juan : " a hus- 
 band killed in a duel by his wife's lover ? or an honest 
 father who was too slow about leaving his fortune to 
 his heirs ? " One of the bearers of the bier answered : 
 "This dead man is none other than Don Juan de 
 
9 o 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 Marana, whose obsequies we are about to perform. 
 Come with us and pray for him." Don Juan 
 approached and, by the light of the candles, perceived 
 that the corpse had his face, and in fact was himself. 
 He followed his own bier into the church and prayed 
 with the mysterious monks : the following morning he 
 was found lying, unconscious, on the steps of the 
 choir. This incident made such an impression on 
 him that he renounced his depraved way of life, 
 became a penitent, and, after founding the aforesaid 
 hospital, died almost in the odor of sanctity. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 PICTURES IN SEVILLE. 
 
 SOME of the most 
 interesting of Mu- 
 rillo's works are still 
 retained in his own 
 city, though the 
 French under Soult 
 carried off a good 
 many valuable ex- 
 amples, including 
 the large Concep- 
 tion, in the Louvre, 
 and the St. Elizabeth which has found its way back as far 
 as Madrid. " The Vision of Saint Anthony of Padua," 
 which hangs in the chapel of the baptistry of the cathe- 
 dral, is a great painting in all respects,* and is 
 
 *" Jamais la magie de la peinture n'a e"te pousse'e plus loin," says Gautier, in a burst of 
 admiration. " Le saint en extase est a genoux au milieu de la cellule, dont tous les pauvres 
 details sont rendus avec cette realite vigoureuse qui caracterise 1'ecole espagnole. A travers la 
 porte entr'ouverte Ton aper$oit un de ces longs cloitres blancs en arcades si favorables a la reverie. 
 Le haut du tableau noye 1 d'une lumiere blonde, transparente, vaporeuse, est occupe par des groupes 
 d'anges d'une beaute vraiment ideale. Attire" par la force de la priere, 1'Enfant Jesus descend de 
 nuee en nuee et va se placer entre les bras du saint personnage, dont la tete est baignee d'effluves 
 rayonnantes et se renverse dans un spasme de volupte celeste. Je mets ce tableau divin au-dessus 
 de la Sainte Elisabeth de Hongrie pansant un teigneux que Ton voit a 1' Academic de Madrid, au- 
 dessus de Motse, au-dessus de toutes les Vierges et des enfants du maitre, si beaux et si purs qu'ils 
 soient. Qui n'a pas vu le Saint Antoine de Padoue ne connait pas le dernier mot du peintre de 
 Seville ; c'est comme ceux qui s'imaginent connaitre Rubens et qui n'ont pas vu la Madeleine 
 d'Anvers." 
 
92 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 considered by some writers to be the finest of Murillo's 
 works. It has extraordinary gusto, and the motive 
 must appeal forcibly to every observer, in spite of the 
 absence of the feminine element which constitutes such 
 an important factor in many of this painter's most 
 admirable pictures. There is a charming tenderness 
 and benignity about the Saint's expression, and I may 
 say that no painter, as it seems to me, has represented 
 so truthfully and graciously the softer side of men's 
 character that phase of feeling which all have 
 experienced at some crisis in life, but which most men 
 (especially those of Northern race) are ashamed of. 
 Murillo's art must impress Protestants and sceptics 
 with the sincerity and depth of his faith, its beneficent 
 influence upon him, and its value as an art motive. 
 His religious fervor supplies him with an inspiration 
 which lifts his art to a plane where simplicity, grandeur, 
 and dignity become the natural concomitants of a lofty 
 ideal. Where the modern man expends his emotional 
 reserves in his family affections, the Catholic pours out 
 all his love and reverence before the altar of the 
 Virgin and her Divine Son. In the face of Saint 
 Anthony, as here depicted, there is the same deep and 
 tranquil joy that may be seen in a father's face when 
 he welcomes a child who has been absent. " Drawn 
 by the force of prayer," that is very fine, very touch- 
 ing, but not more so than the daily miracles of human 
 love which are perhaps quite as authentic. This 
 painting has a history not wholly unconnected with 
 
Pictures in Seville. 93 
 
 that New World \vhich Columbus so prematurely 
 presented to Castile and Leon. One morning at an 
 early hour a man enveloped in a long cloak entered 
 the cathedral, apparently for the purposes of worship, 
 and turned into the chapel of the baptistry, where 
 as soon as he perceived that he was alone and unob- 
 served he slipped out a knife from his belt and 
 quickly cut the lower part of the canvas out of the 
 frame ; then he rolled up the stolen masterpiece and 
 concealing it under his cloak, made good his escape. 
 As soon as the theft became known, the government 
 advertised it far and \vide, sending out descriptions of 
 the painting. The thief brought his booty to America, 
 and one day offered to sell it to a picture-dealer in 
 New York, but of course the latter had heard of the 
 theft and promptly notified the Spanish Consul, so 
 that the missing painting was finally found, sent back 
 to Seville, and restored to its old place, the work of 
 joining it to the other parts of the canvas being so 
 skilfully done that it is not easy to tell where the 
 patching was done. As for the foolish thief, he was 
 caught, to be sure, but at that time he could not be 
 punished, owing to the want of an extradition treaty 
 between the United States and Spain. 
 
 The cathedral is very rich in works of art by painters 
 of the Sevillian school, Herrera, Cano, Campafia, 
 Valdes, Vargas, and others. There is an exquisite 
 "Guardian Angel," by Murillo, and in the sacristy, 
 where the great " painter of the Conceptions " lies 
 
94 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 buried, are two fine canvases by him, "San Isidro" and 
 " San Leandro." The altarpiece, a " Descent from the 
 Cross," by Campana, was greatly admired by Murillo, 
 who was buried here at his own request, just in front 
 of it. Among" other paintings is one of the patron 
 saints of Seville, Saints Justa and Rufina. There are 
 two different tales about the models who posed for this 
 work ; but the favorite version is to the effect that they 
 were two frail ladies of Madrid frail morally, I mean. 
 Another chapel contains no less than nine pictures by 
 Zurbaran, but I will not mention any more of the cathe- 
 dral's artistic treasures, for I do not wish to poach on 
 the preserves of the guidebook-makers, wretchedly as 
 they have done their work. 
 
 The Charity Hospital contains Murillo's " Moses 
 Striking the Rock " and the " Miracle of the Loaves 
 and Fishes." I translate the following agreeable 
 description of a celebrated canvas by Valdes Leal in 
 the same place : A dead archbishop is seen lying in 
 a rotten coffin trimmed with velvet. On one of the 
 fingers of his gloved hand shines an enormous ring. 
 The greenish, bluish, black head is in a complete state 
 of putrefaction under the white mitre surrounded by 
 pearls. Viscid larvae crawl over the gnawed nose ; an 
 unclean creature emerges from one of the eyes. At 
 the side of the archbishop, in another coffin, a king, 
 with a crown upon his head, is laid out under a swarm 
 of worms. The clenched hand grasps a sceptre. 
 Above, through the clouds, appears a hand holding 
 
Pictures in Seville. 95 
 
 a pair of scales, and against a luminous ray of light 
 flame the words of truth : " Here below, all is vanity." * 
 The property of the Academy of Fine Arts is lodged 
 in an old church, ill-lighted, but high and airy, and it 
 is called the Provincial Museum. It contains twenty- 
 four pictures by Murillo, twenty by Zurbaran, nineteen 
 by Pacheco, twelve by the brothers Polancos, ten by 
 the elder Herrera, ten by Valdes Leal, and the rest 
 are by Juan del Castillo, Andres Perez, Juan Simon 
 Gutierrez, Francisco Frutet, Pablo de Cespedes, Matias 
 Arteaga y Alfaro, Esteban Marquez, Juan de las Roelas, 
 Clemente Torres, Francisco Varela, Alonso Vazquez, 
 and other gentlemen of equally sonorous names, 
 belonging to the three epochs in art to which every- 
 thing in Seville is relegated, namely : the ante-Murillo 
 epoch, the Murillo epoch, and the post-Murillo epoch. 
 The whole collection numbers less than two hundred 
 pictures. Many of them are in a very dirty and 
 obscured condition, and a large number are of slight 
 interest to the casual visitor, though they supply much 
 food for reflection to the student of art. The "Saint 
 Thomas Aquinas," of Zurbaran, is of capital importance, 
 ranking first among this prominent painter's perform- 
 ances. y There is a certain academic dryness and 
 
 * " Ici-bas, rien n'est vrai." P. L. Imbert, " L'Espagne: Splendeurs et Miseres." 
 t This is the description of the work given by the catalogue: " Representa el Santo en pie y 
 elevado: en la pane superior, y entre nubes, se ven Jesucristo y la Virgen, San Pablo y Santo 
 Domingo: a los lados del Santo aparecen sentados, tambien sobre nubes, los cuatro Doctores 
 de \.\ Iglesia Latina; y abajo, en primer termmo, estan arrodillados el Emperador Carlos V, el 
 Arzobispo de Deza y algunos otros personajes. Es tradicional que la cabeza que se ve inmediata- 
 mente detras del Emperador es el retrato de su autor." 
 
g6 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 formality in his works generally, and this unpleasant 
 quality pervades many of the paintings of the Sevillian 
 school in this gallery, paintings of wooden saints, 
 stupid monks, lifeless apostles, and automatic angels, 
 which are libels upon humanity and outrages against 
 divinity. It is only when you turn to Murillo that you 
 find vitality and thought in form and color. See with 
 what legible expression and individuality he has 
 endowed his benign " San Antonio," the good-hearted 
 and tender man who holds the Nino Dios in his arms 
 so lovingly ! And note the Virgin Mother of " La Ser- 
 villeta," so full of holy maternal affection and solicitude, 
 " admiracion de cuantos la ven," as the catalogue 
 quaintly says. It is not hard to see what places the 
 master so far above the rest of them who went before 
 and after him, for if it may be said of many that they 
 could draw to perfection, of others that they were 
 superb in point of coloring, of a few men that their 
 knowledge of chiaroscuro was great, of how many can 
 it be said as well that they combined these acquire- 
 ments with the perceptions of a genuine artist, the 
 enthusiasms of a noble and sincere man, and the 
 sensitive nature of a poet? Happy Murillo! and 
 fortunate Spain ! to possess such glorious memorials 
 of this "divinely gifted man." Can it be possible that 
 this very Seville which was his home was also the 
 scene of the Inquisition ? and that the same religion 
 which prompted his labors was capable of inspiring 
 the fiendish tortures by which Torquemada cast an 
 ineffaceable stain upon his church and his country? 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SEVILLE TO GRANADA. 
 
 To the fevered traveler in hot Se- 
 ville there comes a vision of Granada 
 with her breezy hills and her distant 
 snow-capped sierras ! We reluctantly 
 gave up going to Cadiz and Gibraltar, 
 and told Jose we would fain hie us 
 to the Alhambra. He asked us to 
 what hotel we were going, and we 
 responded, as in duty bound, "The 
 Washington Irving." "The Hotel of 
 the Seven Floors is better," said Jose. 
 " We will go there, then," we said : 
 " for there are degrees of badness, and some bad 
 dishes are not so hopelessly bad as others." Jose 
 packed a lunch consisting of cold meats, bread, fruit, 
 and a bottle of Manzanilla, in a basket, and we took it 
 with us, for it was more than doubtful whether we 
 were to be victualled at Utrera, or at La Roda, or at 
 Bobadilla, though we knew that the " through car " 
 which leaves Seville daily at seven A. M., and arrives 
 at Granada about fourteen hours later, was to be 
 switched from one line to another at each of those 
 three interesting junctions. Jose came to the station 
 
98 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 to say " Hasta la vista " to us, and we departed, leaving 
 him richer by a handful of pesetas, for truly the worthy 
 fellow had been of great service to us, missing at least 
 two siestas in our behalf, and had assisted Hermano 
 to select a black lace toca for his far-off muchacha 
 with good taste and judgment, without pocketing 
 more than ten or twelve pesetas as a commission, 
 which was modest and reasonable. 
 
 That was a day which may without exaggeration be 
 set down as warm. At Utrera our car was left behind 
 by the train, which proceeded to Cadiz, and after an 
 hour and a half of waiting we were picked up by 
 another train and moved eastward at the usual rate of 
 sixteen miles an hour till we came to La Roda, on the 
 line between Cordova and Malaga. Here we spent 
 a pleasant hour on a siding, and presently the south- 
 ward train took us along as far as Bobadilla, and there 
 dropped us. There was a restaurant at Bobadilla, but 
 we had no time to spare, for the final stage of this 
 extraordinary journey was at once entered upon, and 
 we were at last fairly on the Granada road. The latter 
 part of the ride is most interesting, and our anticipa- 
 tions are excited to the highest degree. At nightfall 
 we are toiling up a steep grade among the romantic 
 and oddly picturesque mountain defiles, where gray 
 villages, perched on gray, rocky hillsides, overlook the 
 grim gray landscape beneath, and where ruined castles 
 and citadels loom up suddenly in the twilight on the 
 barren mountain slopes, as unreal and mysterious as 
 
Seville to Granada. 
 
 99 
 
 the castles in Spain of our waking dreams ! This is 
 the most lonesome, ghostly region in Spain. The 
 mountains are of peculiar forms, and their ruddy 
 flanks look as if some Titanic colorists had given them 
 
 a coat of Indian red, here 
 and there covered with 
 a gray glaze. We have 
 passed Antequera, Archi- 
 dona, and Loja. Each 
 name awakens recollec- 
 tions of Irving's " Con- 
 quest of Granada." It was 
 among these strange 
 mountains that Ferdinand 
 and his warlike spouse 
 gave and took so many sturdy blows 
 in the long conflict which Fray Antonio 
 Agapida has recorded with so much 
 romantic zest. If one could travel 
 among the mountains on the moon, 
 they would be found not unlike these 
 ashen-hued and ghostly heights, which show one how 
 a dead world might appear. Is it possible that the 
 rest of the physical world can be as venerable as this 
 part of it ? The sun has fairly gone down when the 
 train reaches the open plain which encircles Granada. 
 
 " Yet of the Vega not a rood 
 But hath been drenched with Moorish blood.' 
 
ioo Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 Proceeding from the Loja station, the scene of old 
 All Atar's bloody chastisement upon the Christian army 
 which had marched down from Cordova so proudly, 
 we are just in time to catch one glimpse of the distant 
 snows of the Sierra Nevada, "with rosy stain" now 
 fading fast. It is our entrance upon the vast arena 
 called the Vega, or plain, and across which in the 
 gathering shadows of the evening the train rolls slowly 
 until the Granada station is reached. The coach which 
 conveys the weary traveler to the Hotel of the Seven 
 Floors is drawn by four gaunt mules, which look as 
 if they lived on shavings, but who are in recompense 
 decorated profusely with gaudy red tassels. The 
 town, or at least a large portion of it, is traversed, the 
 bull-ring being passed soon after quitting the railway 
 station. Presently we are climbing through a thick 
 grove, and our hearts beat quicker to know that we 
 are on the hill where stands the Alhambra. It is 
 pitch-dark, and nothing can be seen under the trees, 
 but there is a delicious sound of gurgling, rushing 
 water, for on all sides are little rills dashing down the 
 steep slopes. A few minutes later, we are in the 
 hotel, ordering a supper in three or four languages, 
 and reading a bundle of letters from home. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE SEVEN FLOORS. 
 
 "SENORITO, Un 
 
 cuartito ! " 
 
 "Monsieur, un sou, 
 un petit sou ! " 
 
 "Mister! a penny!" 
 Those dirty four- 
 year-old girls had 
 learned to beg in 
 three languages. But 
 they were picturesque 
 in their rags, or, as Hermano said, 
 they were merely a part of the gen- 
 eral picturesqueness all about us. 
 When they found that we were 
 unmoved by their appeals, one of 
 them planted herself squarely in front of us (we were 
 sitting on a stone bench overlooking the town and the 
 Vega) and began to dance the bolero in the most 
 business-like manner. After we had got rid of these 
 juvenile beggars, Hermano produced from his pocket 
 a card from which he proceeded to read the following 
 list of " curiosities of the city of Granada and its envi- 
 rons," or " curiosidades de la -ciuclad de Granada y sus 
 
IO2 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 cercanias " : Alhambra, Axarix, Audiencia, Algibe de 
 la lluvia, Albercon de los Negros, Albaicin, Banos de 
 las Damas, Banos Arabes, Catedral, Capilla Real, 
 Cartuja, Casa de los Tiros, Espada de Boabdil, Ermita 
 de San Sebastian, Fuente de Alfacar, Fuente del Avel- 
 lano, S. Gerdnimo (Sepulcro del Gran Capitan), Sierra 
 Nevada, Suspiro del Moro, Sacro-Monte, Soto de 
 Roma, Palacio de Andaralik, Palacio de Aben-Abid, 
 Palacio de Viznar. 
 
 " And here we have been spending nearly twenty- 
 four hours in this place without doing a thing, unless 
 it is to make Jose Gadea understand that that ropa 
 
 must be washed and ironed 
 by next Maries tardes" I 
 said. (I was growing very 
 proud of the Spanish phrases 
 I had picked up.) 
 
 " Yes," assented Hermano, 
 glancing over the list of curi- 
 osities, which seemed to ex- 
 ercise a certain painful fasci- 
 nation upon him. " Do you 
 suppose they would admit 
 us to see the Banos de las 
 damas ? " 
 
 " Nicolas could tell you." 
 Nicolas Garzon Rodriguez 
 had not yet made his appearance that morning, though 
 it was quite late. He was a cross-eyed youth, who 
 
The Seven Floors. 103 
 
 spoke a few words of French and fewer still of English, 
 and we had engaged him to be our guide for a day or 
 two, until we had got our bearings. Nicolas was an 
 amusing fellow. He was smoking cigarettes contin- 
 ually, except when eating, sleeping, or in church. He 
 was entirely walling to accompany us anywhere all the 
 morning, but wisely insisted on taking his regular 
 siesta after the noonday meal, in which respect we 
 followed his excellent example, and indeed continued 
 the practice until we left the country. He insisted 
 that the Arabic inscription, " Wa la ghaliba ilia Allah " 
 (" There is no conqueror but God"), Alhamar's motto, 
 repeated here and there on the walls of the Alham- 
 bra, meant " Good-ah God." He remarked also that 
 he could tell an Englishman from an American, because 
 the former said "Red towers," the latter ''Vermilion 
 towers." He held that the chief point of interest 
 about the Generalife was the gardener's daughter, 
 who, like the miller's daughter, is grown " so dear, so 
 dear," that it costs four reales to have her mother 
 show you through the garden, in order to have a look 
 at the maiden's prettiness as you pass the porter's 
 lodge. There were other entertaining traits about 
 Nicolas, who was quite dignified in demeanor, but 
 whose heart we won by treating him to bottled beer 
 and Cuban cigars in the garden of the hotel. Travelers 
 assuredly make a great mistake when they do not 
 cultivate the acquaintance of their guides. To us 
 Nicolas was quite as interesting as the Alhambra, over 
 
IO4 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 which he possessed one decided advantage, namely: 
 that we had never heard of him before. 
 
 The Hotel of the Seven Floors is just outside the 
 walls of the Moorish fortress, and takes its name from 
 the Tower of the Seven Floors, which stands in the 
 rear of the house and which has an entertaining 
 legend, one of the best that Irving tells, concerning 
 the Moor's legacy of treasure which enriched poor 
 Pedro Gil, the water-carrier. Opposite this house is 
 the Hotel Washington Irving, which, though older 
 and perhaps more widely known, is not so popular as 
 its rival. These two are the only hotels on the hill. 
 They are situated on a spot not only beautiful in its 
 natural aspects, but exceedingly romantic from its 
 associations. The landlord of the Seven Floors is a fat 
 and jolly old boy, and his daughter is remarkably 
 pretty two circumstances which may in some 
 
 measure account for the 
 popularity of the inn. 
 The sociable group of 
 boarders, which gath- 
 ered just outside the 
 front door on the in- 
 geniously designed 
 pavement of black and 
 white pebbles, was often 
 enlivened in the afternoon and evening by the presence 
 and animated conversation of this dark-eyed belle, who 
 slept on a bench in the " office" when the hotel was 
 
The Seven Floors. 105 
 
 
 crowded ; at least we saw her slumbering there at three 
 
 o'clock in the morning on the day when we departed by 
 an early train. 
 
 The visitors' book in the public room was full of 
 enthusiastic praise of the accommodations, cuisine, 
 service, etc., these absurd testimonials being written 
 in Spanish, French, English, and German, with an 
 occasional impromptu verse or a labored joke. One 
 Englishman had filled a whole page with an " Ode to 
 Carlos Quinto," which was really witty. The fare at 
 this place was very bad, though probably it would be 
 rated a good example of a high-class table, as Spanish 
 tables go. It was diverting to see a beautiful woman 
 at dinner, eating cold fish in oil with her knife. She 
 looked like Marie Roze, or would have looked like her 
 if she had not been cross-eyed, as so many Spanish 
 beauties are. Mesa redonda (table d'hote) was served 
 in the long dining-room at six o'clock, when it 
 happened to be ready on time, which was a rare 
 occurrence. But most of the visitors preferred to take 
 dinner in the picturesque terraced garden, under the 
 shadow of the Alhambra walls, where the lamps were 
 lit and cigarettes glowed in the dusk. Here the only 
 drawback to the enjoyment of dining al fresco a 
 privilege so wisely esteemed by Europeans was the 
 presence of several half-starved cats, who, when one's 
 attention strayed from the edibles to some less im- 
 portant subject, impudently jumped upon the tables, 
 and seizing whatever food they could most conven- 
 
io6 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 iently reach, made off with it rapidly and in triumph. 
 One evening, as we sat here at dinner, a party of 
 toreros came up from the town, and created a tremen- 
 dous excitement which quite paralyzed for the time 
 being the usefulness of the waiters, who hung about 
 the demi-gods of the arena in an ecstacy of admiration. 
 The dinner that evening was neglected, and the entire 
 establishment was thrown into a commotion. It was in 
 this pretty garden that we met the only compatriots we 
 had encountered in Spain Mr. L., the author, and 
 Mr. R., the artist. It was surprising to find how 
 pessimistic our group could be under such pleasant 
 circumstances. Instead of rhapsodizing about castles, 
 cathedrals, and pictures, the quartet unanimously fell 
 to complaining of the heat, anathematizing the beggars, 
 abusing the hotels and railways, and outdoing one 
 another in preposterous stories about fleas. Mr. R. 
 was in a particularly gloomy state of mind. He had 
 been made downright ill by the smells of Burgos ; at 
 Toledo he had been obliged to go out in the street to 
 look up the hotel employees and inform them that it 
 was past dinner-time ; and he was sighing for beloved 
 France, where he could make himself understood. 
 While we were talking, some strolling caballero in the 
 grove near by struck up the familiar, wild, ear-piercing 
 chant which apparently forms the sole stock-in-trade 
 of Spanish vocalists, and as the last mournful howl 
 died away in the distance, a groan broke from the 
 afflicted artist, and he said, "I am so tired of that 
 
TJic Seven Floors. 
 
 10: 
 
 song ! " But we on our part had a special personal 
 grievance which made his woes seem trifles light as 
 air. Our bedchambers were immediately above the 
 donkeys' stables ! And those frisky animals spent the 
 greater part of each night in kicking against the walls 
 of their quarters with tremendous vigor, occasionally 
 breaking out into a prolonged and startling he-haw of 
 fiendish fury. When we told Mr. R. of these things 
 he acknowledged that his cup was not yet so full as 
 it might be. 
 
io8 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE ALHAMBKA, WITH A LEGEND. 
 
 Do you remember what Daisy Miller's mother said 
 soon after her arrival in Rome ? " We had heard so 
 much about it ; I suppose we had heard too much. 
 But we could n't help that. We had been led to expect 
 something different." Likewise do you remember 
 what Edward Everett Male's double used to say when 
 called upon for a speech ? " So much has been said, 
 and so well, that I will not occupy the time." 
 
 No one can adequately describe the Alhambra : not 
 even Irving, whose word-pictures are so beautiful and 
 so full of the local color. He comes nearest to it, and 
 we felt a certain patriotic pride as we entered the place 
 and remembered that an American had sat upon the 
 throne of Boabdil to such good purpose. On the first 
 visit there is a feeling of disappointment, for the 
 imaginary Alhambra which has been built in the mind 
 by means of reading has to be demolished, a painful 
 and shocking process, which is soon over. Nicolas 
 led us about, told us what to admire, catalogued the 
 courts and halls, and conducted us to the towers. We 
 went back to the hotel disgusted. But the next day 
 we gave Nicolas the slip, and went in the right way 
 to enjoy ourselves alone, aimless, lazy, and in 
 
no 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 sympathy with the place. That long, quiet, peaceful, 
 beautiful afternoon spent in the Hall of Ambassadors 
 will be forever remembered. We sat in a window 
 overlooking the valley of the Darro, and for hours we 
 
 did not 
 care to 
 move or 
 speak. 
 "While 
 the city 
 below 
 pants with 
 
 the noontide heat," says 
 Irving, in one of his 
 most exquisite passages 
 of description, "and the 
 parched Vega trembles 
 to the eye, the delicate 
 airs from the Sierra Ne- 
 vada play through these 
 lofty halls, bringing with 
 them the sweetness of 
 the surrounding gar- 
 dens. Everything in- 
 vites to that indolent repose, the bliss of Southern 
 climes ; and while the half-shut eye looks out from 
 shaded balconies upon the glittering landscape, the ear 
 is lulled by the rustling of groves and the murmur of 
 running streams." 
 
The Alhambra, with a Legend. 1 1 1 
 
 At another time we loitered long in the charming 1 
 boudoir of Lindaraxa, where we amused ourselves by 
 making sketches of the opposite wing, the tocador de 
 la Reyna, where Irving lodged. The little garden is 
 overgrown with orange and citron trees, vines, and 
 rank growths unknown to Northern countries, and it 
 has a melancholy air of having seen better days. 
 Then, wandering slowly from one hall to another, as 
 the magic hour of sunset drew near, we would go to 
 the charming garden on the battlemented \vall under 
 the bell-tower, looking off on the Vega, the wide- 
 spreading city below us, the Vermilion Towers on the 
 thickly wooded hillside, and the 
 
 ' Mountain walls that bound 
 The glorious landscape spread around, 
 Which, canopied by cloudless skies, 
 A scene of matchless beauty lies." 
 
 To convey an idea of the spirit of such a scene 
 would be a task to call forth all the powers of a poet. 
 Such episodes as these remain a source of inexhaus- 
 tible pleasure for years ; you have but to close your 
 eyes and you may see it all again, long after your 
 discriminating memory has cast out all the disagreeable 
 things. The strangeness of that marvelous combination 
 Roman towers, groves, the great town beneath with 
 its vesper bells sounding through the still evening air, 
 the vast plain and the gigantic snow-peaks is not 
 less impressive than its beauty. No wonder that poets 
 
1 1 2 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 and painters celebrate this wonderful corner of the 
 world ! In the twilight, on a ruined tower's platform, 
 it is easy to forget petty griefs, and to believe that life 
 contains more of beauty than of ugliness. 
 
 The subtle influences of the place and time so 
 affected Hermano that he improvised the following 
 legend of the Vermilion Towers : 
 
 " Long before the days of His Whitewashing 
 Majesty Carlos Ouinto, when tourists were unknown 
 and Christians were at a discount in this region, the 
 eminent and highly esteemed Abou Mansard came 
 over here from Morocco, where he had made a fortune 
 in the manufacture of a well-known brand of prayer- 
 rugs, and bought the towers yonder (then known as 
 the old Phoenician grain-elevators), for the purpose 
 of making his summer home there. He brought his 
 wives with him, and his daughters, among them the 
 lovely and fascinating Tortilla, who wore red slippers 
 turned up at the toes, not over two inches long, and, 
 among other clothes, a brass necklace which was con- 
 sidered very nobby. Same as you see on the Rue de 
 Rivoli, don't you know ? Ab. went to work and fitted 
 up his towers regardless of expense. He had that 
 odd-looking terrace, which has dungeons under it, 
 thrown out on the right, to afford an open-air prome- 
 nade for the women, and he introduced all the ancient 
 improvements fountains, arabesques, tiles, grotto- 
 work, till you could n't rest. He became quite 
 influential in the Alhambra, and was regarded as one 
 
The Alhambra, ivith a Legend. 1 13 
 
 of the solid men. One day he bagged a young 
 Christian Knight down towards Antequera in a 
 skirmish, and brought him home as a captive, placing 
 him in one of the best dungeons. The name of the 
 unfortunate Spaniard was Don Miguel Dulce Cabello 
 de Angel, and he was a Christiana viejo from 'way 
 back, with a pedigree as long as your arm, and 
 
 a brilliant pair of black eyes and an arched instep. 
 It would make you wild with envy to see him roll 
 a cigarette, and for graceful and daring horsemanship 
 he took the cake. Tortilla was walking on the terrace 
 one evening when she heard the young prisoner 
 singing in a mellow tenor voice a Castilian ditty ; it 
 was thus he whiled away the weary hours in his lonely 
 cell. The sound seemed to proceed from beneath her 
 very feet, and her susceptible nature was stirred to its 
 
ii4 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 depths, for she had never before heard the soulful 
 strains of ' Little Buttercup ' and ' The Last Rose of 
 Summer.' She ran to the parapet with a tumultuously 
 throbbing heart, and leaned over as far as she could, 
 but all she could make out in the dusk was a small 
 window, about the size of a porthole, in the wall about 
 six feet below the top. The sounds of music now 
 appeared to her to come from that window, and they 
 were sadder than ever, for Don Miguel was feeling 
 all broken up, and had begun to sing * Put Me in My 
 Little Bed.' As soon as he had finished, Tortilla gave 
 a little cough. 
 
 "' Ahem! ' 
 
 11 It was heard. In a moment the noble Don's head 
 was thrust out of the window, but he was looking 
 down into the grove below. 
 
 " 'Ahem ! ' repeated Tortilla. 
 
 " He looked up, and said, with sudden admiration : 
 ' What a daisy ! ' 
 
 " Tortilla could not comprehend this Christian 
 compliment, but she blushed, and asked the gentleman 
 what was his name and how he came to be so miserably 
 situated. When he had explained matters, she intro- 
 duced herself in turn, and they continued their 
 conversation until Tortilla, saying she feared she would 
 be missed in the castte if she stayed longer, bade her 
 new acquaintance a sweet good-night, much to his 
 sorrow, and retired, leaving him in a thoroughly 
 agitated condition. 
 
The Alhambra, with a Legend. 1 15 
 
 " ' A mash ! ' he groaned, as he sank back upon his 
 rude couch, torn with a perfect bull-fight of emotions, 
 ' and here I am in durance vile, with no way of escape/ 
 
 " But Tortilla came again to the parapet, every 
 evening when there was no one else on the terrace to 
 see her, and they had many hours of affectionate 
 converse. In the meantime old Ab. did not tumble 
 to the racket. 
 
 One evening Tortilla said to Don Miguel : 
 
 " * I have good news for you. They say that the 
 Cid is coming with a big army of Christians, and that 
 he has sworn to conquer Granada this time, if it takes 
 a leg.' 
 
 " * Hooray ! ' cried Don Miguel. 
 
 " ' But if my governor should kick the bucket in the 
 fray, it would be a cold day for me/ said the Moorish 
 maid, pensively. 
 
 " ' Never mind, Tortilla mia, I will wed thee at once, 
 and don't you forget it/ ejaculated the impulsive 
 knight, throwing her a kiss. 
 
 " As she had announced, the Cid with his hosts was 
 getting ready to go for 'em, and not long afterwards 
 there was a red-hot combat down on the Vega. Don 
 Miguel could not see the fun from his porthole, but he 
 could hear the Spaniards shouting out their battle- 
 song : 
 
 ' Debout ! enfants de 1'Iberie ! 
 Haut les glaives et haut les coeurs ! 
 Des paiens nous serons vainqueurs, 
 Ou nous raourrons pour la patrie ! ' 
 
1 1 6 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 " The battle was long and severe. About noon, 
 when victory seemed about to perch upon the standards 
 of the Moors, both sides retired to take their customary 
 siestas, after which they began again, and at the close 
 of a struggle of unequaled fierceness, the heathen were 
 beaten, having been outnumbered two to one. The 
 Cid, accompanied by Felipe Segundo, Carlos Quinto, 
 and others of his staff, took possession of the place. 
 Don Miguel regained his freedom, and taking the 
 blushing Tortilla by the hand, he led her into the 
 presence of the Cid, and announced that he would like 
 to espouse her. 
 
 " ' What are you giving us, Don Miguel ? ' said the 
 Cid, wrathfully ; * she is a heathen jade. Besides I 
 had picked her out for myself/ 
 
 " Without commenting upon the inconsistency of 
 the great warrior, Don Miguel contented himself 
 with remarking that the maiden had plighted her 
 troth to him, and that he would die sooner than give 
 her up! 
 
 " The Cid was a wily old chap, and had an extensive 
 knowledge of human nature. Turning to Tortilla, he 
 said : ' It must be for you to choose between us, my 
 dear. If you choose Don Miguel, I shall be under the 
 painful necessity of drinking his gore by the quart. 
 If you choose me, you will be rich and happy, besides 
 being the wife of the greatest fighter that ever lived ; 
 in fact, you will be the Cidess.' 
 
 "True to the treacherous and mercenary nature 
 
Tke Alkambra, with a Legend. 
 
 117 
 
 of her sex, the false creature decided in favor of the 
 Cid, and was married to him with great eclat at once. 
 " Don Miguel Dulce Cabello de Angel went to the 
 highest platform of the highest tower, drew a razor 
 from his pocket, and in the view of all the grandees 
 
 of Castile, Leon, Aragon, Catalonia, Navarre, La 
 Mancha, Valencia, Murcia, Estremadura, Andalusia, 
 the Asturias, Galicia, the Basque Provinces, and New 
 Jersey, he spilled the richest, reddest, bluest blood in 
 all Spain all over the towers, hence the Vermilion 
 Towers." 
 
 As Hermano concluded his legend, the towers at 
 
n8 
 
 Spanish Ways and By -ways. 
 
 which we were gazing assumed a more distinct and 
 pronounced hue of color, as the last faint reflection 
 from the ruddy Western skies lingered about their 
 ancient battlements. 
 
 "See!" I said: "The towers are blushing on 
 account of the lies told about them." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 GRANADA. 
 
 DOWN in the city it 
 was unspeakably hot, 
 and we spent very little 
 time there. Nicolas 
 persuaded us that we 
 ought to devote at least 
 one day to the sights of 
 the town, so we started 
 early in the morning, 
 and went first to the 
 cathedral. This is a 
 most repulsive structure, which inspired Hermano with 
 a sudden and violent aversion for Catholicism. The 
 numerous mean chapels are full of tawdry ecclesiastical 
 bric-a-brac and impossible works of art. The old 
 women kneeling in front of the altars got up from their 
 prayers to beset us for alms, and followed us about 
 until they got something. Nicolas carried about a 
 lighted cigarette, which he perilously concealed in the 
 pocket of his coat, enjoying a surreptitious whiff once 
 in a while in an obscure chapel. The six enormous 
 paintings, by Alonso Cano, which adorn the capilla 
 mayor are in the most artificial and formal vein, and we 
 
I2O Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 found it easy to believe that the author of such mon- 
 strous works was capable of murdering his wife : he 
 certainly had no feeling. To go from the Alhambra 
 down into such a dismal, whitewashed granite barrack 
 as this cathedral is enough to make a Christian wish 
 himself "a pagan suckled by a creed outworn." The 
 capilla real contains the mortal remains of the. Catholic 
 sovereigns Ferdinand and Isabella. A richly sculptured 
 sarcophagus of marble, with recumbent alabaster effi- 
 gies of the pious conquerors of Granada, surmounts 
 the narrow vault where the leaden coffins are. We 
 did not go down there, but, among the many favorite 
 "gags" derived from Ford's highly amusing volume, 
 this struck us as especially funny; " Tomb of Ferdi- 
 nand and Isabella. . . , Mind your head." The place 
 is impressive in spite of the cheap, theatrical accessories 
 and the junkshop atmosphere. One thinks of Prescott, 
 and, for the second time in Granada, feels a thrill of 
 patriotic pride. 
 
 To go to the Carthusian monastery we took a car- 
 riage, and monopolized what room there was in the 
 streets, forcing pedestrians to skip into the doorways, 
 and several times causing a blockade of mules. 
 Nicolas was happy. This sort of thing just suited 
 him, and the cracking of the driver's whip seemed 
 to afford him the most unalloyed pleasure. As we 
 meandered through the crooked ways, past houses 
 decorated with all sorts of odd green, pink, and blue 
 designs, under little balconies half hid by coarse 
 
Granada. 121 
 
 curtains, he became communicative, and gossiped 
 in a genial way about his life and adventures. There 
 is no subject so interesting to a man as himself. 
 
 It was true, he said, that when you met ladies of 
 your acquaintance at a restaurant or a cafe, it was 
 proper to call the waiter to you and quickly pay their 
 bill ; this was one of the little points of etiquette 
 about which we had entertained doubts. He gave 
 us illustrations from his own experience and obser- 
 vation, and he scoffed at the suggestion that ladies 
 might be apt to go to places where they would be 
 certain to meet their male friends, that is, they 
 would not do so from mercenary motives, he added, 
 with a wink. The Cartuja proved to be interesting, 
 though the monks have all gone, and with them many 
 works of art. The church and chapels contain a large 
 amount and variety of fine marbles, carved with more 
 or less artistic success. The arabesques in the church 
 are of wonderful intricacy and abundance. At one 
 end of a long bare hall, there is a cross, high up 
 on the white wall, against which it stands out in 
 relief. Nicolas asked us of what wood we thought 
 the cross was made. When we had guessed, he took 
 us up close enough to demonstrate that it was painted 
 on the wall itself. 
 
 The Granada beggars are the most troublesome 
 of all their tribe, and there are few places to which 
 they do not penetrate. Nicolas introduced us to the 
 gypsy quarter on the steep hill of the Albaycin, and 
 
122 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 we entered a squalid cave-dwelling inhabited by 2 
 blear-eyed brigand of a blacksmith, his excessive!) 
 dirty children, and a couple of black pigs, "local 
 color ! " for the purpose of seeing a couple of horrid 
 youngsters dance a bolero. When the performance 
 was about concluded, in a thoughtless moment 
 Hermano took a few coppers from his pocket and gave 
 them to the children. Presto ! in less time than it 
 takes to tell it, a score of hideous creatures swarmed 
 about us with frantic, vociferous appeals and threaten- 
 ing looks and gestures. They seemed to spring out 
 of the ground. We were taken by surprise, and it 
 cost us a pretty penny to get out of the place, for 
 of course k did no good under such circumstances 
 to repeat " Perdone Usted, por Dios, hermano ! " The 
 wretches chased us until Nicolas showed fight, and we 
 were soon out of their territory. This is the part 
 of Granada containing the most remains of Moorish 
 dwellings, and in several patios their light, delicate, 
 airy, and graceful architectural effects may be found, 
 in greater or less perfection. Here are the "bits" 
 that Fortuny alone could paint, the vast expanse 
 of white wall, half in shadow and half in light, the 
 great arched portal giving access to the cool interior 
 with its slim pillars, its arabesques and tiles, its swing- 
 ing lamps, its inlaid doors, its fountains, alcoves, 
 alabaster pavement, and glimpses of embowered 
 gardens beyond. Nothing is wanting but the Moor 
 himself, as Fortuny represented him, sitting cross- 
 
Granada. 123 
 
 legged on his rug, contemplating space, and busily 
 thinking about nothing. Some one has said that 
 what Chopin is to music Fortuny is to art, and that 
 both of them "have more of the gypsy wildness and 
 strangeness of Spain in their works than of the sweet, 
 classical composure of Italy, or of the sharp, graceful 
 esprit of France." 
 
 The Generalife was a royal summer residence of 
 the Moors, and occupied a higher site than the Alham- 
 bra, on a hillside commanding a very extensive pros- 
 pect. All that is left of it, beyond a few bare apart- 
 ments whose beautiful arabesques have been white- 
 washed, is the romantic garden, irrigated by countless 
 little brooks and fountains, and overgrown with a riot- 
 ous abundance of tropical plants, trees, and flowers. 
 Winding paths everywhere serve but to lose you in 
 a sweet-scented jungle of blooming shrubbery. The 
 bees bustle about with great energy, too much occu- 
 pied to take note of human intruders ; and the gurg- 
 ling of unseen rills is everywhere heard. A grove 
 of aloes, orange-trees, laurels, fig-trees, evergreens, 
 pomegranates, jasmins, cacti, and I know not what 
 other growths, forms the approach to this exquisite 
 retreat. The gardens are terraced, and at the highest 
 point rises a belvedere from which you look down 
 upon the Generalife, the Alhambra, the city, and the 
 vast plain. This view is more comprehensive than that 
 from the bell-tower of the Alhambra, but not prefer- 
 able, for the sight of the Alhambra itself from above 
 
124 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ivays. 
 
 is not edifying, the renaissance palace begun by 
 Charles V being the most prominent object. 
 
 Granada is a place of surpassing interest and inex- 
 plicable charm. The situation is perfect, the associa- 
 tions romantic in the extreme, and the surroundings 
 are remarkably picturesque. But to leave the place, 
 one has to be awaked at three o'clock in the morning. 
 We wrote in the visitors' book that we were " sorry 
 to depart so early," which was doubly true. And 
 if we heaved a Boabdillian sigh, it was with the 
 thought of the long, hot ride to Cordova which was 
 before us. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CORDOVA. 
 
 IT is impossible to be- 
 lieve that in the time of 
 the Moors, when their 
 European dominion was 
 seeing* its palmiest days, 
 Cordova this sleepiest 
 of cities, deep in a perpet- 
 ual siesta was a great 
 metropolis, counting her 
 inhabitants by the million 
 and her mosques by the 
 hundred. The only thing 
 that seems real to the 
 memory is the heat. At the Swiss Hotel our room 
 was on the ground floor ; the sunlight was excluded 
 by heavy wooden shutters ; the floor was of brick ; 
 sweating jugs of water moistened the air; and there 
 was plenty of soda-water in wheezy syphons to be had. 
 But even in the patio the thermometer indicated a 
 heat equal to 92 Fahrenheit, and the patio, with its 
 fountain, marble pavement, and awnings on a level 
 with the roof, was the coolest place in the house. The 
 
126 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 breeze which came from the street was like a blast 
 from the furnace of an iron foundry. Even at night 
 there was no relief, the mercury dropping only four or 
 five degrees. One could do nothing but lie on a divan 
 in one's shirt sleeves, read novels, smoke cigarettes, 
 and wield a fan. No one in such a climate pretends 
 to do any work. What few exertions are necessary are 
 put forth in the early morning, before the sun has got 
 fairly up, when the pavements and walls are giving 
 out the least heat, and when a little shade can be 
 found. In the course of a long walk down what must 
 be one of the principal streets of the town, only a 
 " solitary horseman " and a couple of priests are 
 passed. The courtyard adjoining the mosque, with its 
 orange-trees and inviting benches, affords a few 
 diminutive spots of shade, which are monopolized 
 by soldiers, priests, and beggars. It is a most grateful 
 sensation to be met with a blast of cool, incense-laden 
 air from the interior as you push back the leather- 
 bound doors at the main portal. 
 
 This wonderful edifice, more curious than beautiful, 
 is the chief pride of Cordova, and has been described 
 by thousands of travelers. Every one feels instinctively 
 that the Christians are intruders in it, for all the carved 
 retablos and fantastic chapels in the world cannot alter 
 the Moorish character. It was with this thought in 
 mind that Heine pictured Almanzor ben Abdullah 
 standing in " Cordova's grand cathedral," and mur- 
 muring 
 
Cordova. 
 
 127 
 
 "O ye strong and giant pillars, 
 Once adorned in Allah's glory ; 
 Now ye serve, and deck while serving, 
 The detested faith now o'er us." 
 
 What sort of an idea of the interior can be conveyed 
 by stating- that there are nineteen naves traversed 
 by thirty-three others, sup- 
 ported by over nine hundred 
 columns of porphyry, jasper, 
 breccia, and many-colored 
 marbles? None at all, or 
 at most a very faint one. 
 Even when looking on such 
 a thing it is impossible to 
 " take it in " or appreciate it. 
 This was the greatest Mus- 
 sulman temple in the world, 
 and in the time of the Moor- 
 ish domination there were 
 no less than fourteen hun- 
 dred pillars, the ceiling was 
 of sculptured cedar and 
 larch, the walls were trimmed 
 with marble, and eight hun- 
 dred lamps lighted the vast 
 edifice. " A sea of splen- 
 dors," sang a poet, " filled 
 this mysterious recess ; the 
 ambient air was impregnated 
 
128 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 with aromas and harmonies, and the thoughts of the, 
 faithful wandered and lost themselves in the labyrinth 
 of columns, which gleamed like lances in the sunshine." 
 Every one came to dinner at six o'clock, in the 
 flimsiest of toilettes, and there was a prodigious 
 flattering of fans and clinking of ice in glasses and 
 fizzing of syphons. The conversation (we had learned 
 not a little Spanish by this time) concerned the 
 weather, and each gentleman stated how high his 
 particular thermometer had been during the day. 
 A party of English people who had just come from 
 Malaga cast a coolness over the company by alleging 
 that the mercury was at least ten degrees lower 
 (Fahrenheit) in that favored seaport. Almost every 
 one had been sleeping during the day, as is proper 
 and expedient. Late in the evening there began to 
 be some signs of life in the streets We went out for 
 
 o 
 
 a walk, but found the pavements and white walls still 
 giving forth an intolerable heat. From the iron-grated 
 windows of the houses a draught of cold air rushed 
 out, laden with perfumes not precisely of Araby the 
 blest. The nursery rhyme of the bachelor who had 
 to take his wife home in a wheelbarrow on account 
 of the inconvenient narrowness of the thoroughfares 
 might have had an appropriate origin in Cordova. 
 The ways turn and twist in a very confusing fashion, 
 too. At midnight it began to be a little cooler, and 
 there were more people out than there had been at 
 any previous hour. This turning of night into day is 
 
Cordova. 129 
 
 both novel and sensible. It is very convenient for 
 the gallants and their Dulcineas, who, on opposite 
 sides of a window-grating, exchange amorous glances 
 and vows which may possibly be kept. Who knows ? 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BACK IN THE CAPITAL. 
 
 NORTHWARD, in the moonlit night, the long train 
 swept leisurely across those wide and solemn uplands 
 
 of La Mancha, while the 
 bald-headed Spaniard in 
 the opposite corner of 
 the coupe purred the 
 praises of Morpheus 
 through his open mouth 
 with a frightful regular- 
 ity. At one station 
 ^ must have been long 
 after midnight when 
 
 S 
 
 we halted there a 
 party of pretty damsels 
 
 was promenading up and down the long platform, 
 enjoying the freshness of the night air, and when 
 Hermano, forgetting that he had tied a white hand- 
 kerchief over his head in lieu of a nightcap, thrust his 
 head out of the window, there was an explosion of 
 merry girlish laughter. 
 
 Madrid was hot, but not by any means so hot as 
 Cordova, and it seemed quite homelike and comfort- 
 able. To a charming little darkened room on the Calle 
 
Back in the Capital. 131 
 
 de Carmen the familiar strains of " Les Cloches de 
 Corneville " came Moating in at the balconied windows 
 from a big Neapolitan hand-organ ; the Puerta del 
 Sol was as animated as ever ; the people about the 
 house spoke French; the horchata de chufas was as 
 cool and refreshing as could be desired ; the Corre- 
 spondencia gave the latest news about the state of 
 President Garfield's health and the French invasion 
 of Tunis; and last but not least the pictures in 
 the great gallery seemed to welcome us back like old 
 friends. There were two New Yorkers at the Fonda 
 de la Paz, a clergyman and a physician, who were 
 quite discouraged by the heat, until we introduced 
 them to a horchateria. The clergyman was undecided 
 about going to a bull-fight on Sunday. He did 
 not ask our advice, but we ventured to offer it gratui- 
 tously Unfortunately one of us advised him to go, 
 and the other counselled him to remain away, so that 
 he was left in the same perplexed state of mind. I 
 do not know what would have become of his con- 
 science if it had not happened that one of the leading 
 espadas was suddenly taken ill and the corrida was 
 postponed from Sunday to Wednesday. The clergy- 
 man went. An Englishman was also among the 
 new arrivals at the hotel. He was a marine-surveyor, 
 from Liverpool for Gibraltar, two days out, and had 
 put in for repairs, as it were. Although his busi- 
 ness took him to all parts of the earth, he did not 
 speak any language but his own. He pronounced 
 
Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 Spain a miserable country, and the Spaniards miser- 
 able creatures. I quite won his heart by expressing 
 my admiration for Gladstone, and before leaving the 
 capital he made himself 
 very agreeable to us, in- 
 sisting on taking us to ride 
 in the Retiro at his ex- 
 pense, probably to show 
 his knowledge of the 
 noble American custom of 
 "treating." He continued 
 to rail at the natives, 
 ridiculed the powder and 
 paint on the ladies' faces, 
 and remarked pleasantly 
 of the people whom he 
 had met on the railroad, that he could " smell their 
 'ides." He further observed that he had his opinion 
 of a people who called potatoes patatas. He had 
 traveled in the United States, and took a great 
 interest in President Garfield's condition, which was 
 at that time thought to be hopeful. The secretary of 
 the hotel also discussed American politics with great 
 profundity ; he thought that if the masses had their 
 way Senor Elaine would be President. He informed 
 us that the Southern Americans were much more 
 intelligent than the Northerners, who were the canalla. 
 By Southerners he meant, evidently, the inhabitants of 
 South America. It may not be generally known here, 
 
Back in the Capital. 
 
 133 
 
 but it appears that the late war of the Rebellion was 
 between North America and South America. When 
 we were seated in the carriage, ready to start for a ride 
 after dinner, and the driver was waiting" for the \vord, 
 our British friend turned to me, and said, gravely: 
 " Tell 'im to hallez. That generally fetches 'em." 
 All foreign languages were the same to him, and 
 all foreigners also, probably. As we rode through 
 the Retiro, the driver, who spoke French, turned to 
 me and said the Princess's carriage was just ahead 
 
 of us. I urged him to catch up with it, so that we 
 might see the Princess ; and he tried to clo so, but in 
 vain. The Princess had two horses and we had but 
 one. "Ah, bah! monsieur," said our discomfited 
 driver, " eight legs are better than four." 
 
134 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 I make a note of this remark to illustrate the 
 Spanish fondness for shaping everything into epigrams 
 and proverbial sayings. When I complained of the 
 high price asked for berths on the sleeping-car, 
 the good-humored response was that berths were 
 " comme les petits gateaux " : in other words they were 
 luxuries intended for those who could afford not to 
 consider the petty question of money. And when 
 I asked a Madrilenian whether the bulls were likely 
 to be lively in a coming course, he replied that one 
 could never tell about bulls, oranges, or women, until 
 one had tried them. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE ESCORIAL. 
 
 DRIVEN by a false 
 sense of duty, we un- 
 dertook the arduous 
 day's labor of seeing 
 the "architectural night- 
 mare" which forms 
 such an appropriate 
 monument to the most hateful 
 of tyrants. Every one goes to 
 the Escorial, and many pretend 
 to admire it. The excursion 
 is not very easy. It is neces- 
 sary to quit Madrid at eight in the morning, and the 
 chances are that you wall not get back to town before 
 half-past eight in the evening, though the distance is 
 something less than thirty miles. To see the people, 
 we took cheap excursion tickets, and went sweltering 
 in a crowded car with soldiers, priests, women, babies, 
 and great heaps of baskets, bundles, and bags. 
 There was plenty of tobacco-smoke and conversation 
 on the way. We rode from the station up to the 
 Escorial village in an omnibus, and breakfasted very 
 tolerably in the Fonda Miranda off egg soup (with 
 
136 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 plenty of oil, saffron, and pepper in it), a stewed 
 forequarter of mule, a boiled fish of obscure origin, 
 and a good pot of chocolate, with a bit of Burgos 
 cheese, exhaling that same old familiar odor. The 
 Fonda Miranda, in fact, is an " antiguo y acreditado 
 establecimiento," in spite of the assaults of its rival, 
 the Fonda de la Rosa, which announces that it is the 
 " establecimiento inmediato al monasterio." 
 
 For several long hours we wandered about the 
 Escorial, in a listless and depressed fashion, under 
 the guidance of a matronly female who heroically 
 defended us against the blandishments and wiles of 
 the other guides. We had until then entertained 
 a remote enmity to Felipe Segundo, but now we hated 
 him with an active, intimate hatred, and believed the 
 most malignant tales that ever were told of his cruelty 
 and treachery. The whole vast pile is in full harmony 
 with the character of its founder, whose heart was of 
 granite, as cold and clammy as the touch of a reptile. 
 Yet Philip's portraits do not make him look so hard as 
 weak. He was of a light complexion, with a protrud- 
 ing lower lip, and calm gray eyes which have less 
 of deviltry than of stupidity in them ; and his neatly 
 trimmed beard was worn in exactly the style in vogue 
 at present in Paris. In the portrait by Pantoja, he is 
 represented in a close-fitting black-velvet doublet, and 
 holds in his white hands a chaplet. 
 
 " Scarfs, garters, gold amuse his riper stage, 
 And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age." 
 
The Escorial. 137 
 
 That the monastery was built in the form of a gridiron, 
 in honor of Saint Lawrence's warm martyrdom, is a 
 widely diffused and interesting tradition, which may be 
 true. But a gridiron is picturesque, nay statuesque, 
 in comparison with the Escorial. A gridiron has 
 some suggestiveness, some human interest, some 
 warmth of style about it, as it were. Thus, a gridiron 
 is far more beautiful than the Escorial, if not so large. 
 After wandering about for a long time in the grim, 
 great church, the chapels and the sacristy, the library 
 and the pantheon, the palace and the galleries, we sat 
 down to rest in one of the long cloisters, where we 
 had a comfortable smoke in company with two jolly 
 young monks, who could have given a lesson to Mark 
 Tapley himself in the art of being cheerful under trying 
 circumstances. The stone walls of the cloister were 
 decorated with atrocious paintings of martyrdoms and 
 tortures, battles and burnings. The seats were of 
 stone, and long rows of square stone pillars stretched 
 away on either hand. A small area of adventurous 
 sunlight was visible near the centre of the enclosure, 
 but everywhere else it was dark and chilly. Presently 
 we visited the cell of one of the monks. It was about 
 the size of a stateroom on an Atlantic steamship, but 
 smelled sweeter, and maintained its status quo better. 
 A scanty allowance of sunlight fell through the gratings 
 of the little window and lay upon the bare floor. The 
 walls were whitewashed neatly. A wooden bench and 
 a couch of severe plainness, a little shelf bearing a 
 
138 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 crucifix and some books, were the only furnishings. 
 There were several hundred cells precisely like this 
 one, but few of them were occupied. Their nakedness 
 and poverty contrasted vividly with the superb appoint- 
 ments of the palace, not more than a stone's-throw 
 distant, though even the fine tapestries and splendid 
 inlaid woodwork of the royal apartments wore the 
 melancholy aspect of abandoned glories. In the 
 chapter-house is a famous composition by Velasquez, 
 " Jacob Receiving Joseph's Coat." It was painted in 
 Italy. The figures are six in number and are literally 
 copied from Spanish types of the day. The design is 
 notably good, and there is a very strong effect of light 
 and shade. Among other paintings carefully secluded 
 here is Tintoret's " Washing of Feet," a dignified 
 composition, with four or five distinct groups, making 
 a total of more than a dozen figures, all of them 
 interesting, against an architectural background. Luca 
 Giordano's frescos are interesting ; and the Hall of 
 Battles, with its mural paintings of half a dozen conflicts 
 on land and sea, is an amusing 
 place. A look at the squalid room 
 where Philip ended his odious 
 career, and where the visitor may 
 still see his bed, table, desk, and 
 chair, relics which are as carefully 
 preserved as the bones of any 
 saint, and we were quite ready 
 to go, very well satisfied to get out 
 
77/6' Escorial* 139 
 
 into the fresh air, and bid farewell to the Escorial. 
 We sauntered down through the gardens on the 
 slope of the hill, and went through the Prince's house, 
 a miniature palace full of interesting cabinet paintings. 
 The train for Madrid was half an hour late when it 
 rolled up to the Escorial station, and it stopped there 
 one hour precisely, so that it arrived at Madrid an 
 hour and a half behind time. This was such a common 
 incident of travel that it occasioned little or no comment 
 among the passengers. More soldiers, priests, women, 
 babies, conversation, and smoke, and at last we are 
 back in Madrid, in time for dinner at the festive hour 
 of nine p. M. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LITERATURE OF THE BULL-RING. 
 
 THE Art of Bull- 
 fighting has its recog- 
 nized laws, and an able 
 exponent of its prin- 
 ciples is La Lidicit a 
 weekly periodical pub- 
 lished in Madrid. It 
 appears on the day fol- 
 lowing a bull-fight, with 
 a detailed report of the 
 affair, a criticism of the 
 matadores, an editorial 
 article on some subject connected with the ring, and 
 a chromo-lithograph representing some torero in the 
 act of making a difficult pass. It is amusing to 
 see on what an elevated plane the writers place the 
 Art. They talk of an espada being born and not 
 made; of the difficulties and dangers of the profession ; 
 of its inexhaustible attractions to the genuine connois- 
 seur; of the rewards of excellence in the arena ; of the 
 folly of entering into the race unless one is impelled 
 by a real love of the Art ; of the meanness of those 
 
Literature of the Bull-ring. 141 
 
 who take it up merely to make money out of it ; and 
 of the boundless enthusiasm of the great masters now 
 dead and gone, who won undying fame in the ring 
 because to them the Arte taurino was a vocation, and 
 they loved it. " Ah ! there was Pepe Hillo, for 
 instance he was a thorough espada!" you can 
 imagine them saying, with the reverence of a painter 
 in speaking of Titian. The whole subject is regarded 
 seriously as an art question, and they criticize a 
 matador's every pass as closely as the French writers 
 criticize the acting at the Theatre Fran9ais. At the 
 same time there is the element of Sport in it. It more 
 than occupies the place given to horse-races or hunting 
 in England, or base-ball in America. The spice of 
 danger makes it a hundred-fold more exciting than 
 anything of that sort. Accidents are of not uncommon 
 occurrence, but they seldom prove fatal, and it is 
 almost invariably held that if a torero is tossed by 
 a bull it is his own fault. For example, Angel Pastor, 
 a well-known Madrid espada, was seriously wounded 
 on April 10, 1882, and La Lidia did not hesitate to 
 declare that it was because of his lack of courage. 
 The combat was the first regular corrida of the season, 
 and Pastor took the place of Cara ancha, who had been 
 injured the previous season. Pastor was dressed in 
 a lilac-and-black suit ; four bulls had been killed ; the 
 fifth was named Capirote ; he was white and black, 
 quick, war}', and cross-eyed. After the banderilleros 
 had been dismissed, Pastor displayed his cloak to the 
 
142 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 beast, who came at him like a flash (" como una 
 exhalacion"). Just when the fierce Capirote was 
 within a few feet of him, Pastor was seen to change 
 the cloak from one hand to another, leaving his body 
 uncovered. He was caught and tossed by the bull, 
 falling near the barrier with a severe wound in his 
 right side. He tried to arise, but had to lean against 
 the barrier, and was carried off to the infirmary by the 
 assistants. The account does not state how the bull's 
 attention was drawn away from the wounded man by 
 the ever-alert chulos, but that is always taken for 
 granted. Lagartijo at once entered the arena, and 
 after eight beautifully finished passes, killed the 
 redoubtable Capirote in superb style, amid tremendous 
 cheers. Poor Angel Pastor, in the infirmary, could 
 hear the loud shouts of applause which greeted his 
 avenger. La Lidia, the next day, said of the wounded 
 man that he was a torero of intelligence, who wielded 
 his small cloak with great skill, and seemed to know 
 what he was about, but added, " What a pity for him 
 and for the Art that he has not more courage ! " This 
 was severe. Angel Pastor recovered, and two months 
 after the accident he was ready to make his reappear- 
 ance in the ring. It was June n. His children, as 
 La Lidia fancies, run to him to watch him as he 
 makes his preparations, arranging his elaborate toilette, 
 looking to his arms, polishing his swords. " The 
 youngsters in playing about the room discover in a 
 corner a forgotten silk vest, stained with blood, and 
 
Literature of tJie Bull-ring. 143 
 
 with a round hole in the right side. The baby takes 
 the garment, so lately bedewed with tears, and of it 
 makes a lovely dress for her doll ! The horses stamp 
 impatiently outside the door where they are waiting 
 to convey Papa Pastor to the Plaza de Toros. Friendly 
 hands grasp his as he mounts, and as he proceeds 
 shouts of enthusiastic welcome rend the air on every 
 side ; but amid the din he meditates, and his face 
 remains grave. * I alone am left to my children/ he 
 says to himself, ' and I am now about entering a 
 conflict which may make orphans of them.' Then, 
 the sight of the vast plaza is horrible to him, and the 
 bicolored banners fluttering so proudly at the tops of 
 the tall staffs seem the auguries of Death." 
 
 " Can much be expected," asks La Lidia, " of one 
 who in the presence of deadly peril allows a secret 
 impulse of sentiment to weigh down his spirit? We 
 believe not." 
 
 Then the writer goes on to consider the question in 
 its broad aspects, as follows : 
 
 " We would not," he says, " deprive the torero of 
 his domestic affections ; not at all ; but, above and 
 beyond these human ties, above and beyond these 
 tender attachments and the various forms of sensibility, 
 we conceive that there exists, and must exist, for the 
 torero a glorious thing which for want of a better name 
 we call aficion! Like the sailor who dares the fury 
 of the ocean's billows, like the soldier who is first to 
 bare his breast to the storm of bullets, so the aficionado 
 
144 Spanish Ways and By-ways* 
 
 must take his Art for his only love, and not for a mere 
 employment, as a cultivated passion, not for passing' 
 gain ! " 
 
 Then he tells about Pepe Hillo, who, when suffering 
 terrible agonies from a wound, turned to his friends 
 and said (the first words that came from his fevered 
 lips), "When shall I be able to return to the ring?" 
 Another enthusiastic lidiador said, " Whenever I put 
 on my jacket and girdle my sash about me, I put my 
 wife away from me, run to the mirror to wipe the tears 
 from my face and there to remember that I am dressed 
 as a torero." 
 
 " What mean these words from the authoritative 
 lips of our glorious taurinas ? " demands the eloquent 
 writer. "They mean that, before our affections as 
 men, we should keep the line of duty firmly traced. 
 They mean that that torero is doubly in danger of 
 death who does not feel a gran aficion, a real passion, 
 for his perilous calling ; who does not prefer it to the 
 pleasures of home and all the modest affections of 
 life, and who does not feel that for him the Art is 
 a necessity." 
 
 Now all this rhetoric was a propos to poor Angel 
 Pastor, and was in very bad taste, besides being 
 misapplied, for when Pastor reappeared, he was 
 admirably brave, killed his two bulls with great 
 dexterity and coolness, and was rewarded with immense 
 applause. However, what I have translated shows 
 very clearly the ground taken by the Lidia in all its 
 
Literature of the Bull-ring. 145 
 
 utterances. The plea of Art is ingeniously made in 
 another essay, which points out that the competition 
 of the ring is "a rivalry of forces, just as in all the 
 other professions in life a rivalry which stimulates 
 and excites the noblest of passions: that is, the 
 ambition of attaining to be worthy. To feel uplifted by 
 this desire is equal to an extinction of all meanness. 
 The struggle is not, then, censurable," etc. etc. 
 
 Are not these fine sentiments ? 
 
 In another number of the Lidia we find a careful 
 and elaborate study of Frascuelo and Lagartijo, the 
 two leading espadas of Spain. Frascuelo and Lagartijo 
 are noms de guerre, the real names of these mighty 
 heroes being Salvador Sanchez and Raphael Molina. 
 All Madrid is divided into two partisan camps respect- 
 ing the merits of these rival stars. Frascuelo probably 
 is the greater man ; at least he wears the largest 
 brilliants on his embroidered shirtfront and is followed 
 about in the Puerta del Sol by the more numerous 
 escort of admirers. A harder looking hero it w r ould 
 be difficult to find. He is of medium height, slight, 
 of swarthy complexion, with curly gray hair; and his 
 bearing has all the studied elegance and dignity of one 
 who knows himself worthy of the adoration he receives. 
 A wide-brimmed hat is artistically adjusted on one 
 side of his head, and a gorgeous silken sash encircles 
 his waist. Thus arrayed, he spends the greater part 
 of his time on weekdays loafing in the Cafe Imperial 
 and its vicinity, surrounded by a troop of friends who 
 
146 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 are proud of the privilege of " treating" him, anxious 
 to guffaw at his slightest joke, and eager to hear with 
 solemn attention the words of wisdom that fall from 
 his lips. The whole week is only too short a time in 
 which to discuss last Sunday's bull-fight and prophesy 
 as to next Sunday's performance. -As a torero, Fra- 
 scuelo is brave to the point of rashness, and has many 
 a time seemed to invite death with a smiling face. 
 " He invites the bulls with fine and elegant delibera- 
 tion ; handles his muleta, if not like a great master, 
 splendidly at times ; and gives the finishing-stroke as 
 few fencers could, even among the most famous in 
 former days." Note the reverential tone of the 
 distinction in favor of the old masters. In spite of 
 Frascuelo's skill and coolness, he was once tossed 
 by a bull named Guindaleto, in Madrid. The city was 
 in a ferment ; and the greatest concern was manifested. 
 But when he recovered from his wounds, a reaction 
 took place, and he was so unpopular for a time that it 
 was proposed to expel him from the Court. However, 
 he reappeared in the arena one fine day, and con- 
 ducted himself with such brilliant daring, and such 
 exceptional skill, that he reconquered the approbation 
 of the people, who are ever ready to forgive any fault 
 but cowardice. 
 
 Besides Frascuelo and Lagartijo, there are minor 
 pets of the populace, El Gallo (Fernando Gomez), 
 Cara ancha (Jose Sanchez del Campo) , Jose Machia, 
 Felipe Garcia, Angel Pastor, and others, for each 
 
Literature of the Bull-ring. 147 
 
 town has its own favorites. El Gallo (The Cock) is a 
 graduate of the famous Sevillian school of toreros. It 
 was in the historic ring of the Andalusian metropolis 
 that he made his reputation, and the manner of it, as 
 related by the Lidia, was as follows : 
 
 He jumped into the arena one day when he had no 
 right to be there, and, walking to the very centre 
 of the vast ring, looked about in an unconcerned way, 
 drew a white handkerchief from his pocket, placed 
 it on the ground carefully, and knelt upon it. There- 
 upon the public began to shout "Out with him!" 
 "Take him to jail!" "He'll be killed!" But the 
 young man, paying no attention to the outcry, called 
 to the bull and threw his hat into the air. The beast 
 turned, and on seeing this odd figure kneeling, he 
 darted toward it like a flash. 
 
 The audience gave a cry of horror. 
 
 A second later, and fright was changed into enthusi- 
 astic and ecstatic admiration ! 
 
 What had happened ? 
 
 El Gallo, mocking the fury of the bull as he charged, 
 had received the terrible beast on his sword there as 
 he knelt, with his breast almost touching the animal's 
 head, and, rising unhurt, with the handkerchief in one 
 hand, the hat in the other, he smiled with serene self- 
 possession ! Such audacity is not approved by the 
 genuine lidiadores, who are careful to applaud only 
 the recognized and orthodox practices of the Art. 
 But the Spanish public adores courage in any form. 
 
148 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 Sevilla, a famous picador, once attacked a bull out 
 of his turn, and the people shouted " A fuera Sevilla! 
 a ti no te toca! lo demasiado bueno es malo." His 
 horse was terribly gored, having turned to escape the 
 bull, and " the first use which Sevilla made of his legs, 
 on regaining them, was to bestow as hearty a kick 
 as the encumbrance of his armor would allow, upon 
 the uplifted head of the poor animal. This proof 
 of his unshaken courage and presence of mind, as 
 well as of his brutality, was received with immense 
 applause." * 
 
 So quick are the motions of the men and the bull 
 that sometimes it is impossible to tell how the toreros 
 escape, and, on the other hand, sometimes it is equally 
 impossible to know how it is that an accident 
 happens. Jose Candido, who was a celebrated 
 ^matador of the last century, met with a terrible death. 
 A. bull of unusual ferocity and cunning happened to 
 be in the ring, and followed up one of the picadores 
 with such persistency that Candido interposed to save 
 the man's life. During this episode Candido either 
 slipped or threw himself down purposely to avoid the 
 beast's blow at all events he was seen stretched 
 on the ground. The bull jumped over him, and turned 
 very rapidly ; in an instant he was caught up and 
 tossed, being horribly gored several times in succession. 
 He was lifeless when picked up by his aids. The 
 sketch of his career ends with a particular mention of 
 
 * Ridell, " Spain Revisited." 
 
Literature of the Bull-ring. 
 
 149 
 
 the circumstance that he invented a certain way of 
 jumping over the bull's head. 
 
 The ordinary performances are often varied by the 
 introduction of novel and fantastic features. Among 
 the memorable occasions in the Madrid arena was a 
 fight between a bull and several beasts of prey 
 a lion, a tiger, and twenty-eight bull-dogs. The bull 
 was the victor. The dogs ran away from him. 
 Another very curious combat was that between a bull 
 and an enormous elephant. The bull rushed upon 
 his adversary, who immediately seized him with his 
 trunk, lifted him on his tusks and threw him a distance 
 of ten yards, after which he quietly stepped on him 
 and crushed the life out of him. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BAYONNE, BIARRITZ, AND PAU. 
 
 IN Bayonne, street of Thiers, in front of St. 
 Stephen Hotel. Sitting there in the early evening, 
 while the breeze that heralded a coming thunder- 
 shower swept clouds of dust down the street, we were, 
 it must be confessed, glad to be back in France. It 
 has been written in the books that Bayonne has a 
 Spanish character. However this may be, it is not 
 noticed by the traveler just out of Spain. A few 
 Spanish signs, a few Spanish tourists in the hotels, 
 and the Basque dialect of the inhabitants, may remind 
 one of Spain ; but the town is thoroughly French in 
 its appearance, and there is nothing Spanish about the 
 quick movements and smartness of those young 
 women seen trooping one after another to the public 
 pump at the street corner, and bearing away heavy 
 jugs of clear water in all directions. The French 
 women are certainly admirable in their thrift and 
 industry. How many of them take hold of business 
 either independently or with their husbands, and with 
 what success ! They are as keen as two-edged blades, 
 and it would be hard to find a parallel in any other 
 nation for the practical capacity of a certain class of 
 shop-keeping females, cashiers, clerks, saleswomen, 
 
Bayonne, Biarritz, and Pau. 151 
 
 landladies, accountants, etc., who are everywhere at 
 \vork in France, very often as proprietors even, should- 
 ering heavy responsibilities, and putting the men to the 
 blush by their tact and energy. There is nothing 
 Spanish about yonder passing squad of red-trousered 
 soldiers, all out of step, marching to the sound of a 
 ringing fanfare of bugles ; for, alas ! the drum has 
 been abolished in the French army. There is nothing 
 Spanish about the waiter flitting in and out of the 
 door of the cafe near by, with his long-handled coffee- 
 pot in one hand and the other ready for poiirboires ; 
 he wears slippers tied with ribbons, a short black 
 jacket, and a long white apron, and never, by any 
 chance, is there any headgear covering his close-cut 
 locks, though customers will sit outdoors on days 
 when one would suppose their very teeth must chatter. 
 Bayonne is a very interesting and delightful old 
 town. It has buildings dating from the sixth century, 
 yet it has kept pace with the times in enterprise, and 
 is to-day commercially prosperous. Its citadel is one 
 of Vauban's famous works. In a little valley to the 
 north of it lie the bones of many Englishmen who 
 died while besieging the place in 1814. The one fact 
 that everybody knows about Bayonne is that bayonets 
 originated here. The city, though often besieged, has 
 never been taken ; and it refused to participate in the 
 massacre of St. Bartholomew. The small River Nive 
 here flows into the broad Adour, which is spanned by 
 a handsome stone bridge and empties into the Bay 
 
152 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 of Biscay only a few miles below the town. The 
 Adour at this point is a nobly picturesque stream, and 
 below Bayonne the banks are wooded and hilly, so 
 that it looks like several American rivers that might 
 be named. The shallows near the mouth are great 
 obstacles to the commerce of the town. European 
 rivers are so often mere insignificant creeks in com- 
 parison with the great rivers in the United States, that 
 I always relish the anecdote of the Yankee who stood 
 on London bridge, and said, with intense scorn: ''And 
 this dirty creek is what they call the grand old Father 
 Thames ! " Bayonne is the largest town of the 
 department of the Basses Pyrenees, a politically 
 perverse region, whose antecedents are of the greatest 
 interest. On the north it adjoins Les Landes, a 
 dreary waste of sandy country where Rosa Bonheur 
 found her picturesque shepherds on stilts and made 
 them familiar the world over. The department was 
 a portion of the ancient realm of Beam and Navarre, 
 prominent in history ; and a part of it is included in 
 what was of old the country of the Basques, that 
 extraordinary race whose origin no one can trace, and 
 whose characteristics are said to survive all the 
 mutations of wars, conquests, political distinctions, 
 and social innovations. What is strange about the 
 French peasants of this region is the fact that they 
 are decidedly Spanish in character and customs. The 
 Spaniards of the other side of the mountains are 
 apparently not affected by French influences. It is 
 
Bayonne, Biarritz, and Pau. 153 
 
 curious, because one would naturally suppose the 
 weaker people must be the more susceptible to 
 foreign influence. The French built all the railways 
 in Northern Spain and are introducing business in 
 many of the towns there, but their presence does not 
 affect the unique qualities of the people. The Basques 
 are said to have descended straight from Adam, 
 that is to say, straighter than the rest of us, but it 
 is doubtful if they have any more of the old Adam 
 in them than those whose lineage is more obscure. 
 From this famous little corner of Europe came Henry 
 of Navarre, the Bernadotte family, and Orthes, who 
 was prefect when Bayonne refused to participate in 
 the massacre of St. Bartholomew. The peasants still 
 wear on their heads the berets of dark-blue stuff, which 
 somewhat resemble sailors' hats and are very 7 useful 
 as well as becoming ; and the rustic women who toil 
 in the fields preserve their effective and picturesque 
 bright-hued costumes, such as may be seen excellently 
 in Julien Dupre's paintings. This department includes, 
 besides Bayonne and Biarritz, the world-renowned 
 mountain resort of Pau, and the less widely known 
 watering-places of Eaux-Bonnes and Eaux-Chaudes 
 away up in the mountains. Lourdes, the locality of 
 the grotto famed throughout Catholic Christendom for 
 the miraculous apparition of the Holy Virgin, is not 
 far away in the neighboring department of the Upper 
 Pyrenees, which contains a dozen prominent mountain 
 resorts, such as Bagneres de Bigorre and Bagneres de 
 
154 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 Luchon, the future rivals of the most favored centres 
 of travel in Switzerland. 
 
 Biarritz was made a fashionable resort by the caprice 
 of the Empress Eugenie, who was fond of the locality, 
 but it is not a superlatively attractive place. A good 
 many Spanish go there to get cool in summer, and 
 a good many English go there to get warm in winter ; 
 but as it is rather warm in summer and decidedly 
 rainy and breezy most of the winter, it is questionable 
 if either class of habitues meets with entire success. 
 The hotels are enormous, gaudy, and very expensive, 
 and there is, of course, a big casino. The beach is 
 not to be compared for a moment with that of any 
 first-class American seaside resort. But the water has 
 the capacity of assuming the most exquisitely beautiful 
 shades of green and blue imaginable. This peculiarity 
 of the Bay of Biscay is observed all along the coast, 
 from Arcachon (a very swell resort farther north, only 
 an hour's ride from Bordeaux) down to the Spanish 
 watering-place of San Sebastian, memorable for having 
 been sacked and burned by the English, under 
 Wellington, in 1813. Biarritz is mildly interesting to 
 the casual visitor, but nothing more ; and there must 
 always hang about the place certain unpleasant associ- 
 ations with the flashy court of Napoleon the Little. 
 Between Biarritz and Bayonne, which are only five 
 miles apart, there is not only the main line of railway 
 but also a narrow-gauge road. The cars are furnished 
 with seats on top, like some of the suburban lines 
 
Bayonne, Biarritz, and Pan. 155 
 
 around Paris. There is also a fine carriage-road, lined 
 with handsome villas belonging to a select assortment 
 of counts, marquises, etc., not omitting that sort of 
 " self-made man " who adores his maker the French 
 type so well represented by the immortal M. Poirier 
 in Augier's comedy. 
 
 The low country immediately north of the Pyrenees 
 is uncommonly beautiful and fertile. From Bayonne 
 up to Pau the raihvay goes through a succession of 
 charming scenes, which become more and more 
 diversified and interesting as the train nears the 
 ancient capital of the province, following along almost 
 the entire distance the rapid stream known as the 
 Gave de Pau. At length, on the right, the foothills 
 of the Pyrenees are overtopped, one after another, 
 by gigantic snow-peaks, which, by the time Pau is 
 reached, form an almost continuous line of dazzling 
 white along the southern horizon. 
 
 No one who has visited Pau this famous winter 
 resort will be disposed to dispute the assertion that 
 it is one of the most favored spots in the world, or 
 to deny that the panorama from the terrace is hardly 
 to be equaled in Switzerland. The combination of 
 attractions which makes Pau what it is, must continue 
 to draw increasing numbers of visitors there every 
 year. Added to the wonderfully equable climate, it is 
 a social centre of no ordinary calibre, possessing all 
 the refinements and luxuries of an old and thriving 
 capital, and a situation which for picturesqueness can- 
 
156 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 not be surpassed by any place similarly accessible. 
 The hotels are superlatively good as good as those 
 of Lucerne or Lausanne ; all of them command that 
 glorious view to the southward ; and at present it is 
 almost impossible to obtain accommodations during 
 the season at prices within the means of any but mil- 
 lionaires. It is the natural centre of a superb region, 
 a smiling country of verdure and constant bloom. For 
 miles along the macadamized rural highways one may 
 pass between estates which vie with each other in 
 elegance. Juran9on, the principal suburb, which lies 
 just across the river, is a town of wealthy grandees 
 whose villas and castles dot the slopes of beautiful 
 green hills as far as the eye can reach. The city itself 
 has thirty thousand inhabitants, a picture-gallery, pub- 
 lic library, school of design, theatre, casino, and " all 
 the improvements." It is tremendously gay in winter, 
 if there can be said to be any winter, and in the modish 
 crowd not a few English and Americans are found. 
 In the old quarters of the town, which lies high and 
 dry on a platform forty metres above the river, there 
 are plenty of "bits" which would delight the soul of an 
 artist ; tall old houses with tiny windows and quaint 
 roofs, all jumbled together and surmounted by a forest 
 of comical chimney-pots, which leaves even Edinburgh 
 in the shade. The castle of Henry IV, on the brink 
 of the plateau, has six square towers, some of them 
 nearly covered with ivy, and fits into the view as if it 
 had grown there. The wide moat which formerly 
 
Bayonne, Biarritz, and Pau. 157 
 
 separated it from the town is now an alley planted 
 with trees. The largest tower, named after Gaston 
 Phebus, was used as a prison under Louis XIV. 
 There were secret cells also below the Montalizet 
 tower, oubliettes. What a significant name ! The 
 chief object of interest in the castle is " our Henry's " 
 cradle, a tortoise-shell. During the Reign of Terror 
 the people wished to destroy this memorial of royalty. 
 The governor of the castle cunningly substituted a 
 false tortoise-shell cradle for the real one, and the citi- 
 zens burned the counterfeit with just as much joy. * 
 The best of republicans in France nowadays are too 
 shrewd to destroy any objects which possess historic 
 interest enough to attract the notice of tourists. 
 
 Of foreign tourists Pau sees comparatively few, but 
 the winter population includes a host of fashionable 
 English people, who have here their own libraries, 
 clubs, churches, cemetery, cricket, polo, and lawn- 
 tennis grounds, etc. The Museum of the Infant Don 
 Sebastian of Bourbon and Braganza contains over 
 seven hundred paintings, among which there are two 
 Titians, five Murillos, six Salvator Rosas, five Goyas, 
 six Riberas, two Rubens, two Teniers, and one each of 
 Velasquez, Van Dyck, Rembrandt, etc. The Museum 
 
 * " Pendant la Terreur, le berceau de Henri IV fut soustrait a la rage de la populace, qui avait 
 envahi le chateau pour livrer aux flammes les objets qtu rappelaient la royaute. Le commandant 
 du chateau, M. d'Espalungue d'Arros, resolut de remplacer le berceau du grand roi par une cara- 
 pace d'egale grandeur, que M. de Beauregard avait dans son cabinet d'histoire naturelle. Un 
 homme devoue, le sergent Lamaignere, gardien du chateau, opera cette substitution. Une cara- 
 pace ordinaire fut done bruleesur la place publique, tandis que le veritable berceau etait transporte 
 sous la toiture de la maison Beauregard, ou il resta cache, pendant plusieurs annees." Saget, 
 Description, du Ckdteau de Pau, 1838. 
 
158 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 of Pan has some valuable historical works, but contains 
 little to interest the passing tourist. 
 
 The panorama of the distant mountains is a source 
 of constant surprise and pleasure, for with every vari- 
 ation of light, with every change in the disposition -of 
 the clouds, from morning till night, it is undergoing 
 the most marvelous transformations. It seems unreal ; 
 you sit out on that terrace hour after hour, and try to 
 grasp it, to realize it, but it is useless. At your feet 
 the shallow stream ripples over its rocky bed ; the 
 straggling town of Juran9on, at first a compact mass, 
 then disintegrating into multitudes of detached villas, 
 lifting their slate roofs above the trees from among their 
 parks and lawns, next catches the eye ; then undulating 
 meadows lead your glance onward to a line of hills 
 the cbteaux with their vineyards ; farther yet, and a 
 second, higher chain of wooded hills, in the blue dis- 
 tance, hazy and soft in outline ; and, beyond these, the 
 vast towering summits of the snow-peaks, now hidden 
 and now revealed by the shifting clouds : not one or 
 two, or a dozen peaks, but scores of them, rounded 
 and sharp, low and high, near and far, an unbroken line 
 of gleaming monarchs from east to west, with the 
 magnificent Pic du Midi in the very centre of the chain, 
 directly in front of you, lording it over all the rest. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PAU TO EAUX- BONNES. 
 
 FORTY-FOUR kilometres away, 
 among those lofty mountains, are 
 the two rival health resorts of 
 Eaux-Bonnes and Eaux-Chaudes, 
 whose mineral springs are highly es- 
 teemed by wheezy sufferers from catarrh, 
 the hoarse-voiced victims of bronchial 
 difficulties, and the irritable martyrs to 
 rheumatism. To pfo to either of these 
 
 O 
 
 places it was necessary to take the daily 
 diligence from Pau, hire a private con- 
 veyance at twenty-five or thirty francs 
 a day, or best of all to take to 
 Shanks's mare. The route is over an 
 excellent national road, such as is found 
 only in Erance, and is in a very interesting part of the 
 mountain region. But the railway was (1881) already 
 in process of construction, and the entire district will 
 soon be accessible to the hordes of travelers who 
 don't go where there are no railroads, and the sort of 
 creatures who consider riding up the Righi or Mount 
 Washington a glorious feat. For my part I am 
 
160 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 always glad to have visited such isolated and grand 
 regions before the "iron horse" has planted his cloven 
 hoof on them. 
 
 In meandering southward from Pan, the first village 
 of consequence that we passed through was Gan, a 
 squalid and pent-up town, with houses of immense 
 antiquity and equally great filth and ugliness. Then 
 we came to Rebenacq, and found the village enjoying 
 its annual fete. It was a scene that could not fail to 
 recall to mind vividly the paintings of Dutch village 
 festivals by Teniers. From the bench where we sat, 
 in front of a humble cafe situated on the large square, 
 we watched the young men and women dancing in the 
 open air. The three musicians who composed the 
 orchestra sat in chairs placed on the top of a table, and 
 played one and the same tune over and over again 
 with never-failing gusto. It was evidently the tune 
 which caused the death of the ancient bovine. The 
 dances were quadrilles, and they had a certain grace 
 and dignity of their own. At the conclusion of each 
 set the men " turned their partners " most vigorously, 
 putting both hands around the waist and then lifting 
 the women up about a foot into the air. Some of the 
 girls were very pretty. They were dressed in their 
 best, and the men even wore " biled shirts," in several 
 instances. The enjoyment of all hands was hearty. 
 The doors of the church stood open, and occasionally 
 a party of the convives would enter and go through 
 with their devotions. Among the gayest of the giddy 
 
Pau to Eaux- Bonnes. 161 
 
 throng were a lot of black pigs who went wandering 
 about the square and afforded amusement to the chil- 
 dren who caressed them and teased them alternately. 
 The old people sat knitting, drinking, eating, gossiping, 
 and looking on, in the shade of the stone barracks at 
 one side of the place. A few steps beyond Rebenacq 
 we saw the wonderful Oueil du Neez (or eye of the 
 Neez), which is a refreshing spectacle of a hot day ; 
 it is the river gushing out from its subterranean caverns 
 into the light of day and flowing down to give its 
 water-supply to Pau, over twenty kilometres distant; 
 and it resembles an immense spring boiling out of the 
 wooded hillside. After passing through two or three 
 unimportant villages, the traveler shortly pulls up at 
 Louvie for lunch and a rest. This place is just at the 
 entrance of the beautiful valley of the Ossau, a long, 
 flat farming district, entirely shut in by high hills and 
 mountains, a little world by itself, with some seventeen 
 villages and seven thousand inhabitants, all farmers, 
 who wear the old costumes and " run things " on the 
 patriarchal plan, according to their notions. Louvie 
 might pass as a fair sample of a Spanish post-village. 
 The low whitewashed stone tavern is built around a 
 square court, paved with cobble-stones and redolent of 
 the odors of the stable, and from a canopied interior 
 balcony running around this hot and glaring court 
 come the voices of a bevy of young women, ostensibly 
 sewing, but really flirting with the drivers and travelers 
 below. Out in the narrow, dusty street is a group of 
 
162 
 
 SpanisJi Ways and By -ways. 
 
 hideous, deformed beggars, who catch your eye when 
 you come to a front window to look at the view, and 
 smile, and beckon, and hold out their hats, and exhibit 
 their sores all in full sight of a blue-and-white sign 
 
 which says, " Mendicity is forbidden in this Depart- 
 ment." The main entrance to the inn is through a 
 brick-floored hallway adjoining the kitchen, where a 
 glimpse of the fat cook mopping his perspiring brow, 
 and enveloped in clouds of smoke and steam, serves to 
 give the wayfarer an appetite for his dejeuner. Every- 
 thing about the place is suggestive of heat, dirt, and 
 hopeless shiftlessness. 
 
Pau to Eaux- Bonnes. 
 
 16 
 
 Beginning with Louvie, the valley of the Ossau 
 
 kilometres to the 
 all sides by 
 
 m on 
 
 extends southward about fifteen 
 town of Laruns. It is hemmed 
 mountains, and the scenery all 
 along it is marvelously fine. 
 Queer villages are seen here and 
 there nestling high up on the 
 flanks of the mountains. Ruined 
 castles and churches crown the 
 summits of rocky hills rising from 
 the broad, flat bottom of the 
 valley. At Bielle, the ancient 
 capital of the district, there are 
 several ruins of Roman con- 
 structions and some famous old 
 fifteenth-century houses. Beyond 
 Laruns, which is the largest town 
 in the valley, and whose public 
 square we immediately recognized 
 as an old acquaintance, the high- 
 way forks, the road to the right 
 
 going to Eaux-Chaudes, and that to the left going to 
 Eaux-Bonnes. This is the end of the valley. The road 
 to Eaux-Bonnes zigzags up a long and steep incline, 
 entering the narrow and precipitous valley of the 
 Valentin ; and before long the weary traveler enters 
 the place of his destination, probably shut in on all 
 sides by a thick curtain of clouds. 
 
164 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 EAUX- BONNES. 
 
 EAUX-BONNES, in point of situation, is one of the 
 most delightfully odd places in the world. We at 
 once named' it " the jumping-off place," and were 
 rather astonished, when the fog lifted, to find that 
 there was anything beyond. " I am confident," said 
 Hermano, looking about the room with the radiant. air 
 of a discoverer, "that we have at last found a place 
 where Americans do not come. We are probably the 
 first Yankees who ever found their way into this 
 remote and unheard-of corner of the world." As he 
 ceased speaking he pulled open a bureau drawer, and 
 with a groan of discouragement lifted from it an old, 
 torn copy of the New York Herald ! 
 
 The village, if not the authentic jumping-off place 
 of our youthful dreams, affords abundant opportunities 
 for saltatorial suicides. It is perched on a narrow 
 ledge overhanging a deep gorge, and can never grow 
 much larger than it is now unless some new devices 
 in the way of aerial dwellings are invented. But it 
 has its public square, as what French town has not ? 
 a very steep little park, where you must be careful 
 not to tumble down, for you might roll several miles 
 
1 66 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 before you could pick yourself up again. A most 
 industrious, loud, and indefatigable band plays during 
 the afternoon and evening, and from the half-dozen 
 hotels there emerges a well-dressed crowd of genteel 
 invalids to take the air and enjoy the social opportuni- 
 ties at hand. About ten thousand visitors come here 
 every year. There is something irresistibly attractive 
 about mineral-waters to a Frenchman, and if one 
 fancies himself an invalid nowadays, all he thinks 
 necessary to a complete restoration of health is 
 unlimited guzzling of, and bathing in, bad-tasting and 
 worse-smelling spring water. The " establishment," 
 as the big building where the water is dispensed is 
 called, is the most important edifice of the town. 
 
 The walks about the neighborhood are full of 
 romance and attraction ; it is a region of beautiful 
 cascades. Among a half-dozen of them, quite near 
 the village, the finest is the Cascade du Gros Hetre. 
 An American is apt to be rather scornful concerning 
 foreign waterfalls, but there is no humbug about this 
 one ; it is a beauty. The tremendous volume of 
 water that comes thundering down some sixty feet 
 into a deep pool almost shakes the earth round about, 
 and casts off immense clouds of spray, which, accumu- 
 lating on the foliage of the big beech-tree overhanging 
 the chasm, drips continually in a gentle shower on 
 the moss-covered rocks and into the seething eddies 
 of the stream below. Nothing could be more romantic 
 than the Promenade de I'lmperatrice, along whose 
 
Eaux- Bonnes. 1 6 7 
 
 sinuosities you stroll in going to this cascade. It 
 follows the left flank of the wild and deep gorge 
 through which the Gave du Valentin tumbles and 
 rumbles, and sings and roars, and leaps from shelf 
 to shelf of its rocky bed on its way to the peaceful 
 valley of the Ossau. When we walked there the 
 clouds were all about us, and the woods were filled 
 with the mysterious yet significant voices of the 
 unseen waters. Other cascades big enough to be 
 dignified by titles, besides the Gros Hetre, are the 
 Serpent, the Discoo, and the Eaux-Bonnes. These 
 are all on the same stream, which is but a succession 
 of waterfalls. But there are arduous and adventurous 
 excursions which can be made from Eaux-Bonnes, 
 which is a resort for climbers as well as for invalids, 
 and which is quite a centre for guides. The Pyrenean 
 guides are not reputed to be very skilful, by the way, 
 though there must be some exceptions. The great 
 excursion from this point is to the Pic de Ger, an 
 ascent \vhich can be made in one day by putting in 
 eight or ten hours of good, stiff work. The view is 
 extensive and very fine, and the climb is not so dan- 
 gerous as it is tiresome. However, the most agreeable 
 by far of all the excursions, and that affording the best 
 views at the least expense of effort, is the trip from 
 Eaux-Bonnes to Eaux-Chaudes over the Gourzy, an 
 affair of only three or four hours, on foot or on horse- 
 back, with or without guides. The Gourzy is a high 
 plateau commanding an exceptionally broad panorama. 
 
1 68 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 Anybody who is fond of going down hill on horseback 
 may adopt that method of locomotion ; but for this 
 excursion all others will do well to walk, in spite of 
 the blandishments of the guides, who, in almost every 
 case, own horses and are naturally anxious to let them. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 EAUX-CHAUDES. 
 
 THE French guidebooks of 
 Adolphe and Paul Joanne are 
 unsatisfactory works in many re- 
 spects, and that to the Pyrenees 
 is no exception, yet it is so much 
 better than nothing, that it would 
 be an error to travel without it. 
 The faculty of making a good 
 guidebook (which is a sort of 
 sixth sense, like that of "keeping 
 an hotel ") seems to belong pre- 
 eminently to the unrivaled and 
 immortal Baedeker, and it is a 
 great pity he has never covered 
 the ground which includes the 
 Pyrenees. A tour through this 
 region must be planned on a 
 
 different principle from that adopted in the Alps, owing 
 to the peculiar configuration of the range. Instead of 
 going from place to place in a continuous progress, as 
 can be done in Switzerland, you must take up your 
 headquarters in certain centres here long enough to 
 
1 70 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 explore the surroundings, for railways are rare, and 
 good diligence-roads are only found in the low, broad 
 valleys on the French side. These centres are as 
 follows : Eaux- Bonnes, Eaux-Chaudes, Cauterets, Luz, 
 Bareges, Bagneres de Bigorre, Bagneres de Luchon, 
 and one or t\vo minor points frequented by climbers, 
 such as Aulus, Ax, and Le Vernet. It would be 
 stretching a point to say that the scenery rivals that of 
 the Alps, which for grandeur and diversity of forms 
 has no equal anywhere, and never can have. But the 
 Pyrenees have a character all of their own, and are all 
 the more interesting in that they are unlike other 
 mountains. The places just mentioned as centres for 
 mountain excursions are almost invariably health 
 resorts, renowned for their mineral-springs, and most 
 of them are situated at great elevations, remarkable 
 for picturesque surroundings, either nestling on the 
 borders of wild and romantic gorges, or hemmed in on 
 all sides by huge mountains at the end of some lateral 
 valley. The place in the Rhone valley, called Leuker- 
 bad, in German, and Loueche-les-bains, in French, 
 a resort which has been "written to death," is, in 
 respect to situation as well as character, very similar to 
 some of these Pyrenean villages. It must be said to 
 the credit of the Pyrenees, that if they have no such 
 beautiful lakes as there are in Switzerland, they are 
 equally devoid of English and German tourists. 
 
 From Eaux-Bonnes the traveler naturally turns his 
 steps towards Eaux-Chaudes, only nine kilometres 
 
Eaux- CJiaudes. 
 
 171 
 
 distant, in the narrow valley of the Gave d'Ossau. 
 Descending to the broad, open valley of the Ossau near 
 Laruns, the road to the left is taken, and immediately 
 you find yourself in the Gorge du Hourat, one of the 
 
 most striking defiles in the region. On either side of 
 the stream the sheer precipices tower to a height of 
 several hundred feet, almost shutting out the light of 
 clay, and the road is cut in the rock on the right bank, 
 forming a long gallery about one hundred and twenty 
 
172 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 feet above the torrent. At one point a bridge spans 
 the raging little river, and here a pathway leads down 
 to the water, so that you can run down there and get 
 the effect of the tremendous twin cliffs from below. 
 Those who have seen the Via Mala in Switzerland (or, 
 as A. Ward used to say, "Those of you who have 
 been in jail ") know what a fascination there is about 
 such places. The traces of an old road, now disused, 
 are seen on the other side of the defile, and the spot 
 is indicated where a horse and carriage and beautiful 
 young lady went off the brink, one dark night, and 
 plunged into the abyss. The unfortunate young 
 woman's name escapes me, but there is a delicious 
 story about her disappointment in love, or something 
 of that sort, -which I have also forgotten, always 
 related by the guides in a touching manner. The 
 trouble is that each guide has built up a " revised ver- 
 sion " of the anecdote to suit his own notions of the 
 thrillingly romantic. If the truth were known, it may 
 be that only a drunken pedlar and his donkey fell into 
 the gulf. If this be denounced as an unworthy suspi- 
 cion, all that can be said is that the guides ought to 
 organize a synod and agree as to what story shall be 
 told about the antecedents and title of the beauteous 
 victim 
 
 It was raining at Eaux-Chaudes when the elegant 
 and gentlemanly landlord of the principal inn said, in 
 what he flattered himself was pure English, " Good- 
 morning ! " and when we said, in what we knew was 
 
Ea ux- Cha udes . 173 
 
 classic French, "Bong joor ! " It was raining, but 
 the water was not warm. The morning had been of 
 that tantalizing sort that keeps a mountaineer in a 
 state of indecision as to his programme. It rained a' 
 little occasionally, and then it made a feint of clearing 
 off, the clouds rolled up higher on the mountain sides, 
 and opened here and there, exposing a suggestive 
 patch of snow in about the place where the zenith 
 ought to be. In any other locality than the mountains 
 it would have cleared off. Once the sun came out, 
 and a rent in the clouds showed us a whole glittering 
 pinnacle of ice startlingly near us, almost overhead ; 
 but in ten minutes more the heavy mist came rolling 
 down the valley, shutting down suddenly, and shortly 
 followed by a fresh shower. We wanted to go to the 
 Plateau, beyond Gabas the neighboring settlement, 
 and the last town in France, for the purpose of 
 obtaining the superb view of the Pic du Midi to be 
 got there ; and every one who has been in the 
 mountains (or in jail) can appreciate the impatience 
 with which we stood drumming on the window-panes 
 and murmuring gentle imprecations on the weather. 
 There were no other guests in the hotel, if I remember 
 aright, and the usual collection of torn guidebooks, 
 dogeared Tauchnitz editions of " British " authors 
 (including Fenimore Cooper and Bret Harte), and 
 one or two French novels, formed a slim capital on 
 which to beguile any great amount of time away. 
 Consequently, the inevitable resort of man in time 
 
174 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 of ennui (which is French) was taken, and we ordered 
 a lunch. The dining-room proved to be a remarkably 
 amusing place. The walls were decorated with 
 paintings, almost life-size, of the Pic du Midi, the 
 Gorge clu Hourat, the cave of Eaux-Chaudes, the 
 Pic de Ger, and of various other objects of interest 
 in the neighborhood. Such works of art were never 
 seen surely anywhere else. Such color, such drawing, 
 such effects of perspective, such chiaroscuro ! If 
 laughter aids digestion, then these masterpieces of 
 local genius are rightly placed. The mute, inglorious 
 Michael Angelo of the village saw his opportunity 
 here, and grasped the skirts of happy chance to some 
 effect. When Eaux-Chaudes is dug up from under 
 the debris of the Pic de Ger, in 2883, the future man 
 will be a good deal more astonished than any of the 
 excavators of Pompeii have been. 
 
 Eaux-Chaudes is almost as picturesque in point 
 of situation as Eaux-Bonnes. It lies in so narrow 
 a gorge that there is just room for the single street 
 which runs along one side of the Gave d'Ossau. The 
 thermal establishment is a big square structure, 
 utilizing three of the springs. There are but two 
 hotels, and these are cheaper than any of the half- 
 dozen at Eaux-Bonnes, for the visitors here are fewer 
 and less fashionable. A visit to the cave is one of 
 the first duties of the newly arrived traveler. And 
 he may rest assured that it is well worth seeing. 
 Leaving the village, and climbing along a steep bridle- 
 
Eaux- CJiaudes. 
 
 path for about an hour, you come to the mouth of the 
 cave, where you stop to put on your overcoat and 
 await the preparations of 
 the fantastic custodian 
 who lives in a hut at 
 the entrance. This wild- 
 eyed ogre, who insists 
 on taking in Bengal- 
 lights at your expense 
 for the purpose of illu- 
 minating the interior 
 properly, salutes you 
 with great dignity and 
 
 looks at you with an are-you-prepared-to-die expres- 
 sion, but turns out to be harmless and rather loqua- 
 cious. He unlocks the gate (the slats make the 
 exterior of the wonder look like an extemporized 
 henhouse) and lights a big, dripping pine-knot torch, 
 \vhich he flourishes about as he leads the way over the 
 slippery, slimy rocks into the uncanny hole. Presently 
 the cave narrows, and the floor-space becomes con- 
 tracted, so that before long you find yourself trudging 
 over a rapid torrent on a narrow footbridge, whose 
 solitary and shaky handrail you grasp with a good deal 
 of caution. It is about at this point that the ogre, 
 without any warning whatsoever, gives an unearthly 
 whoop to show off the echoes. A diabolical chorus of 
 diminishing howls mocks his shout and mingles with 
 the roar of the furious stream. Then the ogre fires off 
 
1 76 Spanish Ways and By-wciys. 
 
 his Bengal-fuses, and makes visible the most frightful 
 scene imaginable a world of rocky and watery 
 desolation which appalls the imagination and makes 
 one thank God for the fresh air and warmth and 
 sunlight of the earth's surface. The cave is four hun- 
 dred and fifty metres deep, and is closed to further 
 exploration by a subterranean cascade coming from a 
 fissure which is believed to communicate with a plateau 
 some thousand feet above, where the waters from the 
 Pic de Ger are ingulfed. In walking these four hundred 
 and fifty metres, you cross and recross the stream 
 about eight times, and there must be a good deal of 
 danger, for there is nowhere more than a single rail 
 to take hold of, and the rotten planks on which you 
 go are as slippery as ice, owing to the accumulated 
 moisture and slime. The man who falls from one 
 of these bridges may as well give up making any 
 codicils to his will, for the rocks are crusted thickly 
 with slime, and the stream has depths which are 
 treacherous and horrible to the view. Altogether the 
 cave of Eaux-Chaudes is a frightful as well as a 
 wonderful place. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE PLATEAU OF BIOUS-ARTIGUES. 
 
 A START was made for Gabas as soon as it was 
 thought that the weather would permit an excursion to 
 the Plateau of Bious-Artigues, whence that famous 
 view of the Pic du Midi d'Ossau was to be obtained. 
 Gabas is eight kilometres beyond Eaux-Chaudes, to 
 the southward, and occupies the pent-up extremity of 
 the same little valley. It is only a hamlet, consisting 
 of an inn and a half-dozen houses or so, an old church, 
 and a marble quarry. It is eleven hundred and twenty- 
 five metres above the sea level, and is the point of 
 departure for several arduous mountain excursions. 
 Here the highway comes to an end, and a rough 
 mountain-road winds upward through an elevated and 
 wild pass leading over to Panticosa, in Spain. It was 
 stated that a walk of an hour and a half, along a 
 bridle-path which follows the right bank of the Gave 
 de Bious, would bring us to a certain sawmill located 
 on the Plateau of Bious-Artigues. So we left Gabas 
 at noon, and counted on employing the whole after- 
 noon in a delightful excursion. The path was very 
 plain for the first two or three miles, and a succession 
 of extremely picturesque views made the way seem only 
 too short. Unhappily the weather was as fickle as it 
 
Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 commonly is in 
 the mountains, 
 and everything 
 was soon cloaked 
 in an impenetra- 
 ble mist. After 
 an hour and a 
 half of sturdy 
 exercise, the 
 conviction was 
 gradually forced 
 upon us that we 
 had lost our way. 
 At this time we 
 were crossing 
 some swampy 
 uplands where 
 cattle were graz- 
 ing, and, having 
 almost lost the 
 faint trail several 
 times, we were 
 about to turn 
 back, when we 
 found a narrow 
 corduroy road 
 leading up into 
 the woods. This 
 
 was evidently used for the purpose of hauling timber 
 
TJie Plateaii of Bious-Artigues. 1 70 
 
 down from the mountains, and it was decided that, if 
 followed, it must lead us somewhere ; so we climbed 
 for an hour, silently and stubbornly. It was a most 
 impressive failure. The solitude of the boundless 
 forest about us, and the ghostly effect of the swirling 
 clouds of fog among the tall pines, were awesome. 
 At last a halt was called in a little clearing, the haver- 
 sacks were opened, and a bit of bread and cheese with 
 a draught of the Juran9on wine was discussed ; while 
 every moment the fog thickened and settled lower. 
 "A little farther!" we said, and with useless persist- 
 ency we pushed on upward until we heard ahead of us 
 something that sounded like the cry of a child. We 
 halted to listen. It was surely a child's voice. But 
 how came a child up here ? " There are bears in these 
 woods," suggested my mischievous comrade, in a 
 low tone, and we thought of the panther story in 
 Cooper's " Pioneers." Nevertheless, we walked on a 
 bit, and sure enough there were two youngsters playing 
 in front of a woodchopper's hut. We stopped and 
 asked them where was the sawmill of Bious-Artigues ; 
 but they began to whimper with fear at the sight of 
 two strangers coming so suddenly out of the mist. 
 On this the father, a rough looking specimen, stuck 
 his head out of the door, and said something in an 
 incomprehensible jargon. The question being re- 
 peated, he answered, in labored French, that the 
 plateau was lower down and that we had come too 
 far. So we turned back, having in all probability 
 
180 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 crossed the Spanish frontier after passing to one side 
 of Bious-Artigues without seeing it. We made good 
 speed down the corduroy track, but not remembering 
 exactly the right point at which we should have left 
 it and turned to the left, we finally found ourselves 
 completely at a loss as to our route, in the midst of 
 the thickest and coldest of fogs. After wandering 
 about a while, and only getting still more confused, 
 we sat down on a log, in a clearing, and enjoyed, the 
 romantic consciousness of being lost. It was with 
 more disappointment than relief that I received Her- 
 mano's practical suggestion that the first stream we 
 came to would show us the way down to Gabas. 
 Probably at that moment the gigantic Pic du Midi was 
 so near, that, had the atmosphere been entirely clear, 
 we should have had to throw back our heads and look 
 upward to see the great fields of snow around its 
 sharp summit. However, we were destined not to see 
 it that day. We set forth again, and after twenty 
 minutes' walking, regained the bank of the Gave de 
 Bious and followed the stream downward till we 
 struck the bridle-path. Here we presently met two 
 young men in blouses, who halted and requested a 
 light for their cigarettes, perhaps as an excuse for a 
 little conversation in a patois which somewhat resem- 
 bles that of the Canadian-French, and which shows 
 the decided influence of the Spanish in several ways, 
 but principally in the pronunciation of the vowels. 
 " You do not fear the fog ? " they said. 
 
Tke Plateau of Bious-Artigues. 181 
 
 ' Xo, but we lost our way. We were looking for 
 the Plateau of Bious-Artigues." 
 
 They asked us what route we had taken, and told us 
 \vhere we had gone amiss. 
 
 " You are foreigners," one of them said. " Are you 
 English ? " 
 
 k< No, \ve are Americans." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! From South America or from North 
 America ? " 
 
 " From the America of the North." 
 
 " Ah, that ! I know that is New York ! " 
 
 ''Yes, that's it." 
 
 " But you speak English there, is it not so ? " 
 
 " Yes, a sort of English." 
 
 " And as to politics, how is it in your country?" 
 
 " O, we are all republicans there." 
 
 " Good. I would like to go to New York. I have 
 a cousin who is in your country. In Buenos Ayres." 
 
 " Buenos Ayres. But " 
 
 " Is not that city very near your department ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. It is in New York, in fact. But 
 there are other parts of the America of the North, 
 beside. We have other large departments and towns 
 several." 
 
 " And how large is New York ? " 
 
 " Not so large as Paris, but larger than Lyons." 
 
 " Sapristi ! And you have been in Paris ? " 
 
 11 1 believe well ! " 
 
 " Ah, there's a city, eh?" 
 
 " By blue ! " 
 
182 
 
 Spanish Ways and By-ways. 
 
 And so forth. The spokesman had been in Paris, 
 and it was his pride and delight to tell all he knew 
 about it. We talked until his cigarette was smoked 
 up, and then parted company, all hands lifting their 
 hats, and saying, " Au revoir, eh ? " For the Basques 
 append "eh?" to every sentence. 
 
 Bedraggled, chilled, hungry, and in a bad temper, 
 we crawled into the inn at Gabas toward night, and 
 partook of the dubious cheer the establishment had to 
 offer. Then, in the rain and darkness, we pushed 
 on down the valley to Eaux-Chaudes, where we had 
 left our luggage. The next day, looking over our 
 shoulders as we made our way down the hot valley 
 of the Ossau, we saw the Pic du Midi looming up in 
 the bright sunlight and blinking at us in the most 
 provoking manner, as if to say: 
 
 " Yesterday I had on my nightcap, but to-day, if you 
 are of a mind to come back as far as the Plateau of 
 Bious-Artigues, I am ready to show myself unless 
 I change my mind before you get there." 
 
THE CATALOG-TIE 
 
 ART DEPARTMENT 
 
 NEW ENGLAND EXPOSITION, 
 
 Is the most magnificent effort yet made in this country to place 
 before the public, in a single, compact volume, the results that to this 
 date have been reached in American Art. It excels all catalogues of 
 Art that have been produced either in this country or in Europe, and 
 is designed to serve many other purposes than the one that was the 
 immediate occasion of its production. It was planned and executed 
 with immense pains, and absolutely regardless of cost, by John M. 
 Little, the Chairman, and Frank T. Robinson, the Art Director, of the 
 Exposition, solely in the interests of the Art and the Art-industries 
 of this country. One motive pervades the whole book, aid finds 
 enthusiastic expression in its every page; namely, to produce a 
 work which for practical value and importance should be attractive 
 alike to artists, designers, photographers, printers, manufacturers, 
 indeed to all Avhose professions and livelihoods are allied with Art 
 and Art-progress. 
 
 It is a large quarto of 300 pages, printed at the Art Age Press of 
 Arthur B. Turnure, New York, who has succeeded in making it, in 
 point of paper, printing, and style, an ideal-instance of the typog- 
 raphy and bibliopegy of the nineteenth century. It contains G3 
 full-page illustrations, all of which have been judiciously selected 
 from the most notable works of the best American artists; and, as 
 produced here, are intended to show the facilities possessed of 
 artistic illustration and the effectiveness of reproductive methods in 
 the Art-world. 
 
 ORIGINAL ETCHINGS 
 
 Of surpassing beauty have been contributed by the following dis- 
 tinguished artists, as well as by others : 
 
 Stephen Parish, J. C. Nicoll, C. H. Ritchie, 
 
 Thomas Moran, A. H. Bicknell, William Hart, 
 
 C. A. Platt, R. C. Miner, J. A. 8. Monks, 
 
 Charles Volkmar, George L. Brown, 
 
 B. Lander, W. F. Lansil. 
 
FULL-PAGE DRAWINGS 
 
 Appear by these, among other well-known names: 
 
 Carroll Beckwith, 
 R. "Runner, 
 Thomas Robinson, 
 C. D. Hunt, 
 Bruce Crane, 
 K. H. Blashfield, 
 R. W. Van Boskerck, 
 R. M. Shurtleff, 
 
 Carl Chapmnn, 
 R. H. Burleigh, 
 F. Batchellor, 
 W. A. Coffin, 
 F. Childe Hassam, 
 F. M. Boggs, 
 (iranville Perkins, 
 
 J. Wagner, 
 C. W. Sanderson, 
 E. M. Parmenter, 
 Leo Hunter, 
 T. Winthrop Pierce, 
 Julia Dabney, 
 H. M. Knowlton, 
 Eleanor Matlock. 
 
 All persons interested in the historical development, present 
 position, and the prospects of the young American Art School, will 
 find unusually instructive and opportune the series of papers con 
 tributed by the ablest living specialists in knowledge of the theories 
 and practice of Art; Avhich considered in their entirety may be said 
 to constitute a literature on Modern Art and Modern Art-tendencies. 
 
 The quality and interest of the text is seen from a glance at the 
 
 SUBJECTS AND CONTRIBUTORS: 
 
 Photography, Edward A. Robinson. 
 
 American Art Furniture, A. Curtis Bond. 
 
 The Growth of American Art, James Jackson Jarves. 
 
 J&ttrnalifm and Art, M. G. Van Rensselaer. 
 
 Portrait Painting, Sidney Dickeiison. 
 
 Natire Painters, Charles DeKay. 
 
 American Flon-er Painters, C. VV heeler. 
 
 Etchings, S. R. Koehler. 
 
 landscape Art, William Howe Downes. 
 
 Watercolor Painting, Lyman M. Weeks. 
 
 American Wood Engraving, Arlo Bates. 
 
 Color in Works of Art, R. Riordan. 
 
 The Ideal in American Art, Florence Finch. 
 
 American Art Journalism, James I>. Townsend. 
 
 Success in Art, F. T. Lent. 
 
 The Art Tariff, L. C. Knight. 
 
 Memorial Art, E. II. Silsbee. 
 
 What shall American Artists Paint f E. II. Clement. 
 
 The Present Conditions of American Art, Arthur B. Turnure. 
 
 American Stained Glass, Edward Dexvson. 
 
 Women as Art Critics, Lillian Whiting. 
 
 The book has been produced at the large outlay of $12,000; yet it is 
 offered to the public for the comparatively small sum of $3 a copy. The 
 Publishers invite early and close examination of the volume, confident 
 that it will be found the most considerable contribution yet made to the 
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 engaged in the furtherance of aesthetic culture, or in the pursuits of 
 Art, whether Design, Painting, Sculpture, Decoration, Photography, 
 Criticism, or in any of the various Art-manufactures and Art-industries 
 rapidly developing amongst us. 
 
 The Publishers reserve to themselves the right of increasing the 
 price after a certain number of copies have been sold. 
 
 CUPPLES, UP1IAM & CO., Publishers, 
 
 283 Washington Street, BOSTON, 
 
 V Mailed to any address on receipt of $3.2o, postage paid. 
 
MARIA EDGEWORTH/ 
 
 WITH NOTICES OF HER FATHER AND FRIENDS. 
 BY GRACE A. OLIVER. 
 
 Illustrated with portraits and several wood engravings. 
 
 Third edition. Svo. i vol. 571 pages, price $2.25. Half calf, $5.00. Tree calf, $7.50. 
 * t * Mailed by publishers, postage paid, on receipt of price. 
 
 HTHIS is a charming record of the literary life, educational and philanthropic efforts, 
 domestic and social history, contacts and friendships of one of the most remarka- 
 ble women that have ever influenced the world by their pen, or shone in society by their 
 talents. The production of such a work was a debt that society owed to the memory 
 of one so active in its service, and though, perhaps, too long neglected, it is fortu- 
 nate that at last it has been executed by one so qualified to perform the task by pa- 
 tient research, wide information, and large culture. That this great woman should 
 have found in another woman a biographer so capable and admirable is a very grati- 
 fying fact, and well worth the long waiting for; indeed, it almost makes us wish that 
 every supreme instance of high character, literary endeavor and excellence, poetic 
 and imaginative genius, that has appeared or may appear from time to time amongst 
 women, might have the like good fortune to find a Boswell in the growing sister- 
 hood of authors, so able and zealous to do her justice and honor, as the biographer 
 here is to reveal the character and perpetuate the memory of the noble woman about 
 whom she writes. To some extent it must always remain true, that a woman's mind 
 and genius will be best understood and interpreted by a woman, if she happen to be 
 one of real culture and fine discernment; of thoroughly independent habits of mind, 
 and of high literary qualifications. The author of this book has a real genius for 
 biographical writing, but she has not trusted to that genius, when only the labor of 
 hard and wearisome research could avail she has done immense reading, and 
 gathered her materials from many mines of literary wealth, and from the most di- 
 verse sources of information; having done this, her imagination has illumed it all, 
 and her genius has welded it into a consummate biographical unity. Probably no 
 biography of this century has been more conscientiously written, or the facts more 
 carefully gathered together from all known sources, and by all possible means, than 
 in this instance. It seems that the author has crowded into this comparatively small 
 volume a lifetime of study; that she has travelled over, not only the highways of 
 literature during the period covered by the life and efforts of the subject other hiog- 
 raphy; but that she knows equally well the by-paths and the shady nooks in which 
 grow the violets, and amidst the fragrance the best thoughts are found. And no 
 endeavor has been wasted, for in accuracy and general interest it must remain amongst 
 the few classics of biographical literature, at once a memorial to the life, genius, and 
 character of MARIA EDGEWORTH, and of the writer's own unique biographical gifts. 
 The subject, too, was well worthy of this great devotion, for in her own particular 
 sphere she is supreme, and deserves a plact in the memory of the world beside that 
 of George Sand, Charlotte Bronte, Mrs. Gaskell, and George Eliot, and all the great 
 women who are celebrated for the nobleness of their lives, and the power and beauty 
 of their writings. Her tales and novels have exercised great influence for good on the 
 manners and habits of society, and many of the greatest men have expressed the sense 
 of indebtedness and obligation to her. The chief charms, however, of the book 
 arise not from its showing the intellectual development and literary achievements 
 of a noble woman, but from its revealing her to us, in the real beauty and great 
 refinement of her personality, in society and in intercourse and correspondence with 
 her friends, amongst whom were numbered nearly all the principal persons of the 
 time. This play of heart and imagination in the common relations of life and soci- 
 ety, these glimp'ses and anecdotes of notable persons, this intellectual contact which, 
 the book enables us to come into with the poets, novelists, wits, scholars, philoso- 
 phers, and celebrities of a former generation and age, is one of the richest enjoy- 
 ments, and one of the greatest benefits conferred by literature. It is not too much to- 
 say MARIA EDGEWORTH drew towards her personality the mind and culture of her 
 age, and that from reading this volume we become as "familiar with her many friends 
 as with herself; indeed, it is written with such power and realistic touches that she 
 and they become our own familiar companions, and we move in their world. The 
 portraits and illustrations give rare attractiveness to the volume. 
 
 Cupples, Uphain & Co., Publishers, 283 Washington St., Boston, 
 
PRIEST m MAN; or, ABELAO AID HELOISA, 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE. 
 BY WILLIAM WILBERFORCE NEWTON. 
 
 With Fine Illustrations, i vol. i2mo. Cloth, elegant, 548 pages. Price, $1.50. 
 *** Mailed by the publishers, postage paid, on receipt of price. 
 
 THIS book is a decidedly important addition to the Fiction of America. In its 
 beautiful and ; jcurate presentation of the facts that encircle, in sadness and 
 tragedy, the lives of ABELARD and HELOISA, it is never likely to be surpassed. 
 Amongst the stories of the immortal loves of great men and women^ it exercises a 
 spell, the most absorbing, over the imagination, and fascinates to an infinite degree 
 the thoughts and heart of the reader. Truth and accuracy are never sacrificed to the 
 mere glamour of the novelist's art, and yet the mind is carried captive with each sue 
 cessive stage of the story's development, and we almost lose our personality in the 
 personalities of these two deathless lovers. Apart from this book, Dy the sheer force 
 of their passion and the tragic incidents amidst which their lives were passed, by 
 their culture and the important positions they occupy in the thought-life oftheir a"e, 
 by their letters and songs that immortalize their love, both characters were destined 
 to be remembered to the end of time ; but the idea was happy in the extreme that led 
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 work. The cases are few in which an author, so fortunate in his cnoice of subject, 
 .has, with the aptness and real imaginative genius here displayed, bent his purpose 
 and directed his labor to giving it such noble and artistic expression ; the subject is 
 
 page 
 
 insight of character and penetration of the secrets of the inner life of mortals, which 
 is the peculiar birthright of genius, and the supreme qualification for success in fiction 
 and all imaginative writing. 
 
 The writer has nobly fulfilled the promise of the Preface, in which he says : 
 "This story of a period and this story of a life are based upon the well-known out- 
 lines of history. But where the chroniclers are silent, fancy has dictated the fiction 
 of the hour. The passion and tragedy of such a story are not the invention of any 
 writer; they are the strange inheritances of human nature." In short, he has used 
 his art just where he should have done, used it wisely and judiciously, and so 
 achieved fine results and a large success. He has laid hold and given eloquent 
 utterance to that, in these lives, which makes them of enduring attraction and uni- 
 versal significance in the history of the world. The story of sin and passion, the 
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 century, we nevertheless are rendered quite unconscious of it from the mighty force 
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 so large a portion of the life of the world, not in any one age in particular, but in 
 all ages; and in none more than the present. The love of ABELARD and HELOISA 
 unites their names forever in one joy, sorrow, supreme affection, and undying fame; 
 and it is not too much to say that it enshrines them forever in the memory of the 
 world ; unites them as endunngly to humanity as they are united to themselves. 
 
 Literary ability, imaginative art, and the creative faculty of genius, have fulfilled 
 their task so well that the book deservedly takes its place amongst the highest works 
 of fiction of this period of our literature ; and may confidently be said to be one, 
 not only of the most entertaining, but instructive of novels, picturing, as it does for 
 us, many of the most notable characters, incidents, circumstances, customs, and in- 
 stitutions of a distant age, in which lived and loved and suffered two of the most 
 fascinating personages in all history. The interest of the book is greatly increased by 
 a fine portrait of HELOISA, and by several beautiful illustrations, in which such 
 prominent facts of the story are represented, as " HELOISA taking the Veil at 
 Argenteuil ; " "ABELARD surrounded by his students at the Paraclete; " "A young 
 monk at St. Gildas poisoned by a cup designed for ABELARD;" and, perhaps the 
 most beautiful and pathetic of all, " HELOISA at the Tomb of ABELARD." No book 
 amongst modern novels is calculated to give higher pleasure, or at one and the same 
 time so likely to inform and entertain the mind of the reader. 
 
 Cupples, Upham & Co., Publishers, 283 Washington St., Boston. 
 
THE BUSINESS MAN'S ASSISTANT. 
 
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 'PHIS little book is offered to the public from the conviction that it will be found 
 1 of the highest value and convenience in commercial and trade circles. Its 
 author, I. R. BUTTS, has compressed into small compass an immense fund of 
 information on all subjects that concern the business man, whether he be mer- 
 chant, mechanic, or farmer. Many books have been published bearing this, or a 
 similar title, which have been most inaccurate where they promised to inform, and 
 altogether unreliable in their presentation of the facts and recognized data of the 
 trade-world. This is not the case here ; its author is a well-known and highly 
 respected authority, and his " Assistants," designed in the interests of many special 
 professions and handicrafts, enjoy a wide popularity, and are in great request by 
 those for whom they were respectively written. The scheme here is somewhat 
 different from that of his other books, and adopted to make the work of wider 
 service than if it had been shaped solely for the benefit of such as belong to any one 
 particular trade or profession It is found that there are points at which each 
 business touches all other businesses, and each profession involves some acquaint- 
 ance with every other ; the aim, therefore, has been to produce a work that shall, 
 while rendering the utmost aid to each man in his own immediate occupation, still 
 give him that universal information about Industry and Commerce that at any 
 moment he may find himself needing ; and without a handbook at his side like this, 
 may be put to great inconvenience, often large expense. In size it is portable, 
 and suitable for the bag or desk. The following brief outline of some subjects 
 treated will best illustrate its office and worth : 
 
 14. (b} Rules of Law relating to same. 
 
 15. Releases, Tenders, Wills. 
 
 (a) Forms of respective Releases. 
 
 (b) Tenders for Work. 
 
 (c) What amounts in various coins are 
 
 Legal Tenders, 
 (c/) Forms of Will and Codicil. 
 
 16. Practical Rules and Tables. 
 
 (a) Arithmetical, Decimal, Diagrams 
 
 to find the Square or Superfi- 
 cial Feet in Boards, Marble, 
 Brick Wall, Land, etc. 
 
 (b) To find Area of a Circle. 
 
 (c) To find the Solid Contents in 
 
 Trees, Timber, Stones, etc. 
 
 (d) To find Capacity in Gallons of 
 
 Tanks, Reservoirs, etc. 
 
 (e) To find Measures of Weights, 
 
 Surfaces, Capacity (Dry and 
 Liquid), Length, etc. 
 
 (f) Decimal Approximations for Fa- 
 
 cilitating Calculations. 
 
 17. Lumber Tables. 
 
 18. Ready Reckoners. 
 
 19. Mechanics' Tables. 
 
 20. Interest and Mercantile Tables. 
 (a) Of Interest, etc. 
 
 (b~) Value of Gold and Silver Coins, 
 and Foreign Currencies. 
 
 21. Miscellaneous Tables. 
 
 (a) Rates of Postage, etc. 
 
 (b) Book-keeping,\vith Directions for 
 
 Double and Single Entry, etc. 
 
 1. Laws relating to Agent. 
 
 2. (a) Forms of Agreement and Contract. 
 
 (b) Laws regulating same 
 
 3. Laws regulating Damages. 
 
 4. Forms of Assignment. 
 
 5. () Forms of Guarantees. 
 (b~) Laws regulating same. 
 
 6. (fl) F'orms of Awards. 
 (b) The Duty of Referees. 
 
 7. (a) Forms of Bills of Sale and Bonds. 
 (b) Laws regulating Bond. 
 
 8. (a) Forms of Deeds. 
 
 () Laws regulating same. 
 9. Forms o 
 
 s of Lease. 
 
 10. (a) Forms of Mortgages. 
 (b) Laws regulating same. 
 
 11. Forms of Certificates. 
 
 12. (A) Forms of Notice. 
 
 (rt) of Intention to Build. 
 
 (b) of Dissolution of Copartnership. 
 
 (c) to Quit, etc. 
 
 (B) Notes, Due Bills, Receipts, Bills 
 of Exchang-e, Drafts, Orders, 
 Checks. 
 
 (rt) Judgment Note, with Laws reg- 
 ulating same. 
 
 (b) Forms of Petitions. 
 
 13. Patent Laws. 
 
 (o) Patent Forms. 
 
 (b) New Fees of Patent Office. 
 
 (c) Directions to persons having busi- 
 
 ness with the same. 
 
 14. (a) Powers of Attorney. 
 
 The publishers cordially recommend the book to the business public. 
 
 CUPPLES, UPHAM & CO., No. 283 Washington Street., Boston. 
 
 AGENTS WANTED EVERYWHERE. 
 
ANNA L/ETITIA BARBAULD. 
 
 A MEMOIR, 
 
 With many of her Letters, together with a selection from her Poems and Prose 
 
 Writings. 
 
 BY GRACE A. OLIVER. 
 
 With Portrait. 2 vols. i2ino. Cloth, bevelled, gilt top. Price, $3.00. 
 
 'T'HIS is a book of great interest and enduring worth, on one of the most charming- 
 1 characters in English society and English literature during the fifty years 
 covered by the last quarter of the preceding and the first of the present century^ 
 Belonging to the Aikin family, many members of which were so singularly accom- 
 plished and so devoted to the work of education and progress in days when those 
 who championed these causes were fewer than now, it is gratifying in the extreme 
 to have so accurate and highly appreciative a work as this to put into the hands of 
 those whose enthusiasm and energies are, in these days, devoted to similar ends, 
 to have so full and beautiful a presentation of one who was herself actuated by the 
 noblest Spirit of Reform, and to catch glimpses, as we do throughout these pages r 
 of many similarly inclined, especially delightful to be brought into near and inti- 
 mate contact with the family of benefactors and reformers to which she belonged. 
 Her character and attainments were of so high an order that they deserve to be per- 
 petuated, and will doubtlessly be perpetuated by this book when many of her writings- 
 are forgotten; yet there are amongst these selections from her letters, poems, and 
 prose-writings not a few gems that belong to the very choicest things in our litera- 
 ture, than which it were hard to conceive of any more helpful and inspiring tc* 
 Young England of that or of this day. In her poetry there are lines that bear the 
 impress of the most exalted sentiments and profoundest thought, which made her a 
 peculiar favorite of other poets, especially of Rogers. It was Wordsworth who, on 
 hearing some verses of hers for the first time, said : " It is not often I envy others 
 the honor of their work, but I should like to have written those lines." The author 
 has performed her task with consummate skill and the best of taste, and nowhere is 
 this more evident, or more likely to win praise, than in the many passages through- 
 put the book, where she, with true grace and devotion, stands aside that the one who 
 is her subject may herself be heard, and her wisdom and poetry fall upon our ear as- 
 from her own lips. 
 
 LIVES OF THE GREAT AND GOOD. 
 
 With Portrait, i vol. izmo. Cloth. $1.00. 
 
 STORY OF THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 BY FRANCES E. COOKE. 
 With an Introduction by GRACE A. OLIVER. 
 
 A MONGST the many "lives" of THEODORE PARKER, no one deserves to be 
 /\ wider known than this, and where it is known it must be appreciated. The 
 author, an English lady, has given us in a form more compact than any of the earlier 
 lives, a graphic, realistic, and living picture of THEODORE PARKER as child in the old 
 home, boy on the farm, the earnest student, the patient searcher after truth, the brave 
 heretic, the heroic preacher, and the zealous reformer; and everywhere we see not 
 only the outward, but the inward man, a life ennobled by its love of man and glorified 
 by its love of God, a character transfigured in that radiant light that " never was- 
 on sea or land," a spirit resembling the Ideal he followed in the storm and in the 
 calm, in the arduous enterprises with which his life was filled, and in the quiet hour 
 of death. It needs no words to recommend this book to the American public, whose 
 highest pride it must ever be to feel that PARKER was born of them, flesh of their 
 flesh and bone of their bone, and that the forces and influences of his great person- 
 ality still rest on their institutions and literature, culture and religion; and when 
 universally it is felt, as Lord Coleridge said of him in Boston lately, that here is 
 " one of the highest and greatest souls." 
 
 Mailed, postage paid, on receipt of price. 
 
 Cupples, Upham & Co., Publishers, 283 Washington St., Boston* 
 
VC 37940 
 
 
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