Between the Alhambra and the Generalife, but not in a direct line, were located the headquarters of the gypsies of Spain, some four or five thousand of whom live in the rock caves adjoining the city, where the valley of the Darro affords a warm, sunny shelter. Holes excavated in the sloping mountain side form the homes of this singular and strongly individualized people, where they have had a recognized habitation for centuries. They are just the same renegade race that are found in other parts of Europe and the British Isles: picturesque in their rags, lawless in the extreme, and living almost entirely in the open air. In the faces of the men, who are as coarse and uncultured as men can possibly be, there was expressed much of the same savage instinct that marked the features of those captured tigers exhibited at Jeypore. They are lazy and reckless, but fiery if roused to anger. Terrible domestic tragedies sometimes occur among them, as the guide explained to us. They observe certain principles of what has been termed "wild justice," having their king or queen as the case may be, and to such self-elected control only do they yield obedience. The men, like the women, affect gaudy colors, and both toss their loose, ragged garments about them after a graceful style all their own. The bronzed features, profuse black hair, and very dark eyes of these gypsies, often render them strikingly handsome; and when this dangerous heritage falls to the share of the young women, it often leads to experiences too tragic to record. Many of the men wear embroidered velvet jackets, with hanging silver buttons, like a Basque postilion, and add a scarlet sash about the waist, the legs being bound up in sheep's skins with fancy-colored ribbons, and the feet covered with crude sandals, – altogether quite a theatrical costume.
Gypsies worship high colors and cheap jewelry, and would spend their last farthing for either, though the question of whence the next meal was to come from might be an unsolved problem. They roam idly about the grounds of the Alhambra, but are not permitted to enter its walls, and no exterior picture of the structure would be true which did not introduce one or more of them in the foreground. Strangers generally visit their quarters in the valley, and for their entertainment they dance, tell fortunes, play tricks, and, if possible, steal from them. Indeed it is hardly safe, without an experienced guide, to go among them. Their domestic life is represented to be of so objectionable a character that it will not bear discussing. Gypsies will not work unless driven to do so by absolute want, but necessity sometimes compels them; and so occasionally they may be found manipulating the waters of the swift-running Darro for gold, which is often found in paying quantities. There is a local jeweler within the precincts of the Alhambra who makes the gold from this stream into mementos, which are a favorite investment with visitors, in the form of pins and brooches. The river Darro rises in a rocky gorge of the neighboring mountains, and comes tumbling down the valley within a stone's-throw of the gypsies' cave-dwellings, thence flows through the town, and is joined by the Xenil on the plain of Granada.
Close by the Alhambra, indeed almost within the walls, we visited the delightful villa of Madame Calderon de la Barca, who was once a resident of Boston, and who was well known and highly esteemed by our best people. This fine estate was presented to her, for valuable services, by the Spanish government. It is remarkable for its spacious and beautifully arranged grounds, combining ornamentation and usefulness in a striking degree, and extending over some twenty acres of ground. Here are vineyards, fruit orchards, choice flower gardens, trees of various tropical species, among which we saw dates, cocoanuts, and figs, in thrifty condition, besides orchards of pears, plums, peaches, and apricots. Miniature waterfalls, lakes, and rivers, shaded walks, aviaries, and many other attractions showed a lavish expenditure in beautifying the place. The villa itself was closed, Madame Calderon being absent in England. At the keeper's lodge we found a Spanish family who carried on a large dairy, the cattle on the estate being of the choicest breed, and their management a favorite idea with the mistress of the estate. Butter of good quality is scarce in Spain. That which was here produced found a ready market at the Washington Irving Hotel.
In strolling about the town many spacious squares were seen, old palaces, houses in ruins, and deserted convents, all in apparent keeping with the general aspect of this faded and fading old city. We were taken by our intelligent guide to several notable localities, and among them to the humble dwelling-house where the ex-empress Eugénie was born, and where her childhood was passed. A conspicuous tablet set in the façade of the house makes formal mention of the circumstance, observing which it was natural to recall, in one comprehensive thought, the strange, romantic, and tragic story of the now childless mother and unhonored widow of Chiselhurst. There would have been no Franco-Prussian War but for her reckless machinations; the Prince Imperial would not, in consequence of reverses thereby induced, have gone to Zululand to throw away his life; the map of Europe would not have been changed by the division of Alsace-Lorraine; and there would probably have been no Republic in France to-day.
There are some very odd and very ancient stone fountains in the city, supported by grotesque animals and impossible fishes, erected far back in the regal days of Ferdinand and Isabella. The sort of fancy which could have induced these unartistic designs it is difficult to conceive of; they only require a dragon's head on a human body to make them quite Chinese. The little, narrow, winding streets recalled the older portions of Genoa and Marseilles; yet people live in them, do business there, go shopping, and generally transact the usual affairs of town life, though the space between the buildings which line these passages is not sufficient to allow two donkeys to pass each other with loads on their backs. Now one comes upon a broken stone bridge spanning the Darro on a single broad arch of great sweep, under which the noisy river rushes tumultuously down hill, and wonders how long the toppling houses, which overhang the rapids, will maintain their equilibrium. The ruthless finger of Time seems to have touched everything, neglect being only too manifest everywhere; and yet no façade is so crumbled as not to sustain a flower-bedecked balcony. If the houses are inhabited, they bristle all over their whitewashed fronts with clusters of green and blossoming flowers, strongly relieved by the snowy background. The cloth doors of the Catholic churches swing invitingly at the touch, and over the door you are informed in good plain Spanish that plenary indulgences are retailed within. Shovel-hatted priests in goodly numbers dodge out and in, but there seem to be few customers from among the people. Persons, whom by their dress and appearance one would suppose to be in comfortable circumstances, come boldly up to tourists and ask for a few cents, seeming to have no feelings of pride or delicacy. Travelers are looked upon as fair game in Spain; and still one is rather nonplused to be importuned for coppers by well-dressed strangers, and is apt to conclude that sturdy beggars can bear stout denials. Now we come upon the ruins of a square stone tower, which anciently formed a portion of the public baths; and here an old Arabian gate, arch and battlement still standing. Near the Alameda another is seen, and gardens, once connected by a subterranean passage with the distant Alhambra, away on the hill. Here an arch and there a crumbling column, all souvenirs of the exiled Moor.
We visited the Royal Chapel which adjoins the Cathedral, where the magnificent tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella is the chief object of interest. The effigies of the two lie side by side, hewn from the marble in life-like proportions, and rest upon a lofty sarcophagus in front of the great altar. Close by these is a similar tomb in white marble, representing, in the same position and style, Joanna and her husband, Philip of Burgundy. In the vault below were seen the four coffins containing the several bodies of the royal dead, the leaden covering to one of which had been pried off by French bayonets in search of treasures supposed to have been buried with the body. But this sacrilegious injury to the casket has been carefully repaired. Close at hand, in a corner of this vault, was seen the metallic coffin which contains the remains of Prince Miguel of Portugal, – the little fellow who was thrown from his pony while riding in the streets of Granada and killed. Had this boy lived to grow to man's estate, he would doubtless have united and reigned over both Spain and Portugal. The cathedral, which adjoins the chapel, is one of the glories of Spain, so to speak, and is a very grand and noble structure, full of superb workmanship, art treasures in oil paintings, and sculpture; among which are examples from Alonzo Cano and Torrigiano. The architectural effect of the interior is harmonious and beautiful, and was the work, or rather design, of Diego de Siloe, whose father was a famous sculptor, and, if we mistake not, was the author of that marvelous alabaster tomb at the convent of Miraflores, in Burgos. This cathedral was finished three hundred and sixty odd years ago, a year after the death of Ferdinand, who survived Isabella some twelve years.
In the sacristy we were shown portraits of Philip and Joanna, and, in one of the chapels, admirable pictures of Ferdinand and Isabella. The relics in the sacristy are of special interest. Here we saw the golden crown of Isabella, and, above all in interest, the precious box of pure gold from which she sold her jewels, to purchase an outfit to enable Columbus to sail on his first voyage to the new world. The box is exquisitely engraved, and has a few precious stones inlaid upon it: we see no such engraving nowadays. It was very heavy, as pure ore always is, and was some twelve inches long, half as wide, and about five inches in depth. It was impossible not to feel a thrill of emotion upon taking in one's hand this sacred relic. We were also shown the state sword of Ferdinand, and the royal sceptre carried by Isabella. Everything relating to this "queen of earthly queens" is of vital interest, and especially so to Americans. It was she whom Bacon described as "an honor to her sex and the corner-stone of the greatness of Spain." We were reminded, while looking upon these precious objects belonging to the king and queen, of the Bridge of Pinos, which was pointed out to us on the previous day as the spot from whence Columbus, quite discouraged and brokenhearted, was recalled by Isabella, after having been denied and dismissed, as both supposed, for the last time. It was at this bridge that the messenger of the relenting queen overtook the great Pilot, and brought him back to arrange the expedition which resulted in the discovery of America. We had previously seen in the Alhambra the Hall of the Ambassadors, where the queen gave audience to Columbus, and now the jewel-box served more strongly to emphasize the historical association.
A visit in the environs of the city to a place bearing the Moorish name of Hinadamar should not be forgotten, nor should any traveler who finds himself in Granada neglect to go there. Here we were shown through the convent known as the Cartuja, which has been virtually abandoned since monastic rule in Spain was deposed. It is now in charge of civil officers of the government, and one service is held each week in the chapel. It is really wonderful in the minuteness and splendid finish of its ornamentation. Here is seen an endless amount of jasper, marble, ivory, ebony, and tortoise-shell, in the form of carved and inlaid work, curious beyond description. Most of theses ornamentations, as well as the paintings, were the work of brothers of the order, who must have spent half a life-time in their consummation. The cloisters are surrounded by a wretched series of life-size paintings in fresco of the mystic type, also the work of brothers attached to the convent, representing Carthusians tormented by the English in the time of Henry VIII. But here and there was seen the work of an artistic hand shining out conspicuously above its surroundings. Apparently hanging high up on the bare wall of the sacristy is a large wooden cross, of such statuesque effect, so perfectly foreshortened and shaded, that it was difficult to believe it to be a painting, however carefully examined from the floor. The old sacristan told us that it was painted by a brother of the order named Juan Sanchez Cotan, who certainly had a painter's genius and a master's skill with the brush. Alonzo Cano has here one or two remarkable statuettes in marble, though we think of him rather as a painter than a sculptor. Some of the large pieces of variegated marble which form the base work, fonts, and tables of the chapel, are beautiful examples of the natural stone as quarried in the neighboring mountains. Indeed, larger, or finer agates cannot be found in Europe than those which ornament the Cartuja. In the natural veins of the large marbles the guide takes pleasure in suggesting likenesses to various objects, which, when once mentioned, easily form themselves to the imagination, as a wayward fancy sometimes depicts forms in the fleeting clouds at twilight.
There is a dearth of song-birds in Granada. We heard of, but not from, the nightingales in the sacred precincts of the Alhambra. Perhaps it was not the favored season, however, for this purpose. The people themselves are naturally musical and music-loving. Even the street-cries uttered by youthful and middle-aged vendors are rendered in such harmonious notes as to strike the ear agreeably. This was noticed in Malaga, and also claimed our attention here. On the road one not infrequently meets some roughly-dressed muleteer at the head of his string of heavily-laden animals, caroling forth luscious notes in a fine tenor voice which a Brignoli might envy. A taste for music is born in the people, few of whom are too poor to own and play upon a guitar or some musical instrument. The only difference between Spain and Italy in this respect is that here one does not recognize the music, while in Italy we usually hear the strains of some familiar opera.
CHAPTER XII
Granada to Cordova. – An Antique City. – The Guadalquivir. – Old Roman Bridge. – The Grand Mosque-Cathedral of Cordova. – Court of Orange-Trees. – Army of Beggars. – From Cordova to Madrid. – Local Characteristics of the Capital. – The Gate of the Sun. – The King and Queen in Public. – The Royal Palace. – Spanish Ladies and Gentlemen. – The Fan. – The Picture-Gallery of Madrid. – National Sport of the Bull-Fight. – Cowardice! – Interesting Visit to the City of Toledo. – The Escurial.
The journey from Granada to Cordova covers a distance of about a hundred and twenty-five miles, and passes through a comparatively well-cultivated and interesting country, where the vine, the orange, and the lemon, together with the universal olive, are abundant and thrifty. The oil extracted from the latter product forms a large source of profit to the southern and middle provinces of Spain. The road, soon after starting, lay through a succession of valleys and lofty hills, rendering the construction of many tunnels and viaducts necessary. Occasionally we came out of one of these tunnels upon a broad prairie-like plain, where flocks of goats, sheep, and horned cattle, tended by herdsmen, were struggling to get a scanty subsistence from very unpromising fields. Not infrequently there came into view a pretty white hamlet of a score of dwellings, dominated by a rude castellated structure, and a square-towered church surmounted by a cross. Here and there were crumbling strongholds, monuments of the days when the Moors held sway over the land.
At last we reached Cordova, where it seemed that something untoward must surely happen, as we were driven through the narrow, deserted, cobble-stoned streets in a hotel omnibus, the hubs of the wheels scraping the stone buildings on either side alternately. Nobody but Moors would have constructed such lanes and called them streets, though doubtless they aimed to exclude the intense heat of the sun's rays. The neatly white-washed houses, like those in Havana, have the lower windows all barred with iron, as if they were so many prisons, and fitted to keep people in or out, as the occupants might desire. Looking about us curiously it was natural to recall the slumber of Rip Van Winkle, and to wonder seriously if the place was destined ever to wake up. How any shops afford their proprietors a subsistence here is a marvel. The few to be seen had but one shutter down, the rest being rusty with disuse. There were a plenty of broad-brimmed hats with priests under them, a sure crop in Spain, but scarcely a citizen was to be seen, or aught else to be noticed, except a few rusty towers and antique fountains. Everything seemed impregnated with decay, more desolate than an actual ruin, because of its moth-eaten vitality, which left nothing to hope for. Plainly the only life in Cordova is that imported by curious travelers from abroad, who make pilgrimages hither to see its few historic monuments, and to behold a Herculaneum above ground.
We looked about us for specimens of the famous breed of Cordova horses, of whom poets have sung and kings were covetous. There were a few animals to be seen with fine manes and tails, with arching necks and lustrous coats, but their forms would not compare with some neglected creatures whose blood showed through dirt and hard usage, at the Slave Market in Tangier. There may have been noble ancestors to these Cordova animals a thousand years ago, but they must have been crossed with mongrel races too many times to show good traces to-day.
This is one of the most ancient cities in the country, having been the capital of Moorish Spain a thousand years ago. The walls which still surround it are flanked by octagonal and square towers of Saracenic origin. From the ninth to the twelfth century it boasted a million inhabitants, and we read of its public library which contained six hundred thousand volumes. The present population cannot exceed forty or fifty thousand. Is it possible that this was once the largest city in the western world, – once the centre of European civilization? So at least history informs us. Not even one foundation of its three hundred mosques can be found to-day. Seneca and Lucan were born here before the time of Christ, and the guide rehearsed with voluble facility some other high-sounding names of historic fame who were natives of the place, but who were quite unfamiliar to us. When we pointed, however, to the broad, pale-yellow river crossed by the old Roman bridge, and asked its name, he replied: "The Guadalquivir," and the name rang softly on the ear like a strain of half-forgotten music. The old stone bridge, with its broad, irregular arches, was an object of much interest, and is, undoubtedly, with its two flanking towers, the oldest visible object in Cordova, though it was an important city in Cæsar's time. The bridge is about the sixteenth of a mile in length, and after two thousand years of battling with the elements is firm and substantial still. Romans, Moors, and Spaniards have fiercely battled at its entrances, the tide of victory and of defeat sweeping again and again across its roadway, which has many times been made slippery with human blood. How often has it witnessed royal pageants, ecclesiastical parades, murderous personal conflicts, and how often been the rendezvous of lovers and of whispering groups of conspirators. Here have been enacted many vivid scenes in the long line of centuries. What a volume might that old bridge furnish of history and of romance! During our brief stay this spot was a favorite resort, usually supplementing our visits to the cathedral, which is near at hand. Leaning over its stone barriers, we watched the rapid stream which doubtless flows on just as it has done for twenty centuries. Palaces temples, towers, and shrines crumble, nations rise and fall, but the Guadalquivir still flows on. Just below the bridge, perhaps fifty yards away, are the ruins of an ancient Moorish grist-mill of stone, forming a strikingly picturesque object, in its shattered condition, amid the foaming rapids.
We visited a museum of antiquities, but it was in a dark, inappropriate building, gloomy and cobwebby, smothered in dust and obscurity; so out of the way, indeed, that it was difficult to find, and our guide was obliged to inquire where the institution was! The traveler may conscientiously omit a visit to the blind alley which contains the Museum of Antiquities at Cordova. The guide, by the way, we found much more intent upon selling us Spanish lace than anxious to impart desirable local information. To be a good guide, as Izaak Walton says of anglers and poets, a man must be born so.
The one great and nearly unrivaled interest of Cordova is its cathedral, an architectural wonder, erected some sixteen centuries since, and hallowed by age and historical associations. Beautiful are its still remaining thousand and one interior supporting columns, composed of porphyry, jasper, granite, alabaster, verd-antique, and marble of various colors. Think of that vandal Charles V. destroying two hundred of them: he who was capable of tearing down a portion of the Alhambra to make room for his barrack of a palace! Each of the columns upholds a small pilaster, and between them is a horse-shoe arch, no two columns being precisely alike, – as they came from Greece, Rome, Constantinople, Damascus, Africa, and some are said to have come from the Temple at Jerusalem, as also from Pæstum and Cumæ. All the then known world was put under contribution to furnish this wonderful temple. The great mosque was changed into a cathedral after the expulsion of the Arabs; but a large portion of the interior is untouched, and remains as it was when the caliphs worshiped here. We felt oppressed by a sensation of gloom wandering amid the dark forest of pillars. It is, and always will be, a mosque, as characteristic and typical as the most marked shrine in the East. The Holy of Holies, as sacred to the Spanish Arabians as Mecca to those of the East, has been preserved intact, and is by far the most interesting portion of the structure. Here all the original lace-like ornamentation is entirely undisturbed, and looks as though it were a hall taken bodily out of the Alhambra. The Moslem pilgrims from far and near came to this spot, and walked seven times round it, the marble pavement being visibly worn by the bare knees of devout Mussulmans.
Just outside of this large alcove, which is very similar to a side chapel in a modern cathedral, there was pointed out to us the finest piece of mosaic in the world. It originally came from Constantinople, and was the gift of the Emperor Romanus II. It contains, in accordance with the Moslem faith, no representation of any living thing; but is perfection in its graceful vines, leaves, and scroll work. The deep glowing colors, crimson and green dominating, are as bright to-day as when it first came, perhaps two thousand years ago, from the artist's hand. It recalled the contemporary productions exhumed at Pompeii, and now to be seen in the Museum at Naples. These latter however, as we remember them, are neither so large nor so choice as this masterpiece in the Cordova Mosque. The cathedral, as a whole, has been pronounced by experienced travelers to be the greatest architectural curiosity in Europe. It is a strange conglomerate and jumble of incongruities, half-Christian, half-Saracenic, reminding one strongly of the Church of St. Mark at Venice, – having, like that remarkable structure, borrowed many of its columns and ornaments from the far East. Inside and out it is gloomy, massive, and frowning, forming the most remarkable link between the remote past and the present existing in Spain. It appears to be nearly as large upon the ground as St. Peter's at Rome, and contains fifty separate chapels within its capacious walls. It has, in its passage through the several dynasties of Roman, Moorish, and Spanish rule, received distinctive architectural marks from each. Its large, cool court of orange-trees, centuries old; its battlemented wall and huge gateway; its famous fountains and its mingled palms and tall cypresses, all combine to perfect a picture suggestive of the dead and buried races connected with its history.
This famous court-yard is of scarcely less interest than the interior of the great Cathedral-Mosque itself. It has at each end a colonnade of marble pillars supporting circular arches, and the grounds are broad and spacious. Here a battalion of professional beggars were drawn up in battle array as we entered, numbering fifty or sixty of both sexes, and of all ages. The poor creatures formed both a pitiable and a picturesque group, composed of the lame, the halt, and the blind. On the greensward just back of them, under the shade of the dark-leaved orange-trees, played troops of careless children, who had been sent here by their parents to beg, but had forgotten their vocation. Sitting on the stone bench, which surrounds the outside walls of the mosque, were little groups of hale and hearty men, playing cards and smoking; while others, stretched at full length upon the ground, slept just where the dancing sunlight pierced the leaves and branches of the trees and mottled their faces with its shimmering rays. Idleness is the general business of Cordova. What a strange, weird aspect the deep shades assumed beneath the graceful palms and slender cypresses. The Babel of pleading tongues from the beggars, the merry voices of the laughing children, the angry dispute of some card players, and the cool business-like aspect of the priests shuffling about the corridors, while a little confusing was still impressive.
The best dwelling-houses in Cordova are built upon the Moorish model; that is, they have a central court or garden, visible from the street entrance, which is adorned with trees, flowers, and fountains, usually guarded by an iron gate and an inner glass door. The domestic life of the family centres here, where in summer a broad canvas is drawn over the top, and the meals are taken underneath in the open air. We saw, late in March, orange and lemon-trees blooming in these areas, as well as Bengal monthly and common white roses, tea-roses, verbenas, tiger-lilies, carnations, and scarlet geraniums. Neither the palm nor the orange will grow without shelter in this part of Spain, – the north winds being too cold and piercing, – except by artificial culture. Spain is almost a treeless country, her immense olive orchards serving but partially to redeem the barren aspect of the southern and middle districts. In the orange court of the Grand Mosque, the lofty old Moorish wall forms a protecting screen. The Alameda of Cordova must be quite denuded of foliage in winter, exposed as it is to the north winds and frosty nights. It is a short but very broad thoroughfare, with a tree-lined promenade through its centre, like that at Malaga, but it seemed singularly out of place in a city so utterly void of life and animation.
Spain is a country of beggars, but in this ancient town one is actually beset by them. Travelers, stopping at the same hotel with us, abbreviated their stay in the city on account of this great annoyance. As far as one can judge, these people have no pressing reason for begging. It has become a habit, and strangers are importuned as a matter of course. Cannot the priests do something to mitigate this great evil? In Spain evidence is not lacking to show that the Roman Catholic faith inspires deep religious sentiment, but without religious principle. The more blindly ignorant the masses of the people are, the greater is the influence of the priesthood. Not one of the famous Spanish cathedrals but has within its vaults so-called sacred treasures of great amount, in gold and silver plate and other material, the intrinsic value of which in each instance large, being aggregated, would furnish a sum nearly large enough to liquidate the national debt. At Toledo, for instance, the mantle called the Robe of the Virgin is covered with precious stones, so large and choice that its value has been estimated at a million of Spanish dollars; and this is but one item of value stored in that rich church. So at Malaga, Seville, Cordova, and Burgos, not to name other places of which we can speak with less personal knowledge, each is a small Golconda of riches, yet the common people starve. A horde of priests, altogether out of proportion to the necessities of the case from any point of view, are kept up, the most useless of non-producers, and whence comes their support but from this very poverty-burdened mass of the common people? When Philip II. was told of the destruction of the great Spanish Armada, which had cost a hundred million ducats, he only said: "I thank God for having given me the means of bearing such a loss without embarrassment, and power to fit out another fleet of equal size!" And yet there were starving millions in Spain at that time as there are to-day.
From Cordova to Madrid is nearly three hundred miles, the first half of which distance we passed over in the daytime, lightening the journey by enjoyment of the pleasing scenery and local peculiarities. Though it was quite early in the spring, still the fields were verdant and full of promise. More than once a gypsy camp was passed by the side of some cross-road, presenting the usual domestic group, mingled with animals, covered carts, lazy men stretched on the greensward, and busy women cooking the evening meal. Long strings of mules, with wide-spread panniers, came winding across the plain, sometimes in charge of a woman clad in gaudy colors, while her lazy husband thrummed a guitar, lying across one of the mules. Towards evening groups of peasants, male and female, with farming tools in their hands, were seen wending their steps towards some hamlet after the day's labor. Arched stone bridges, old and moss-grown, came into view, spanning small water-courses, on their way from the mountains to join more pretentious streams. Elevated spots often showed the ruins of the old stone towers, once a part of some feudal stronghold, but the eye sought in vain for well-wooded slopes or thrifty groves; and yet, strange to say, the song-birds which we had missed further south, in Andalusia and at Granada, put in an appearance as we came north, cheering us with their soft trilling notes in the amber sunshine that radiated about the small railroad stations. Some of these depots were rendered attractive and pretty by nicely arranged flower-beds and a few trees, imparting a home-like appearance. The ever-varying scenery kept mind and eyes busy, until by and by Night dropped her mantle over the face of nature, and with the darkness came a cool and nipping air. Then followed two hundred miles of tedious night travel, with no convenience for sleeping, except such as one could obtain sitting bolt upright, so that when daylight and Madrid arrived together, we were ready to welcome them both.