Great Cities Through Travelers' Eyes Read online

  MADRID

  Although the origins of Madrid date to pre-Roman times, the town did not acquire major significance until 1561 when Philip II effectively made it his capital by building the nearby palace-monastery of El Escorial as the seat of his court and government. In the 17th century it became one of the largest cities in Europe and a major cultural centre, much of the finest art now being housed in the Prado. In the 1930s, Madrid suffered a long siege at the hands of the Nationalist forces of Francisco Franco; its fall in March 1939 led to the end of the civil war. Since the return to democracy in 1975, Madrid has become an international business and cultural centre.

  1623 RICHARD WYNN

  Richard Wynn (1588–1649) was a politician and courtier to James I and Charles I of England. In 1623 he accompanied the then Prince Charles on a secret and ill-fated journey to the Spanish court to seek the hand of the Infanta. His account of the adventure was not published until a century later.

  The place resembles Newmarket, both for the country and for the sharpness of the air. It is but a village, and lately grown to this greatness by this king and his father’s residing there. It stands very round, thick with buildings, having neither back-premises nor gardens in all the town.

  We were brought in at the far end of the town, which lay near the place we were to alight at. Coming through the streets, I observed most of the buildings to be of brick, and some few of stone, all set forth with balconies of iron, a number of which were gilt. I found likewise that some of their buildings were but of one storey, and the rest five or six storeys high. Enquiring the reason, I was told those low buildings were called in Spanish Casa de Malitia – in English, House of Malice. For there the king has the privilege that no man can build above one storey without his leave, and for every upper storey the king is to receive half the rent, to save which charge there be infinite numbers of houses but one storey high.…

  Towards evening I went to my Lord of Bristol’s to wait upon my Lady, and in my return through one street I met at least five hundred coaches. Most of them had all women in, going into the fields (as they usually do at this time of day) to take the air. Of all the women, I dare take my oath, there was not one unpainted – so visibly, that you would thing they rather wore vizards than their own faces. Whether they be handsome or no I cannot tell, unless they did unmask; yet a great number of them have excellent eyes and teeth; the boldest women in the world, for as I passed along, numbers of them called and beckoned to me: whether their impudence or my habit was the cause of it I cannot tell.…

  1855 RICHARD FORD

  Richard Ford (1796–1858) was a wealthy English art collector who lived in Spain for some thirty years, writing an anecdotal travel guide in 1843 that was so critical of the Spanish government and French behaviour during the Peninsular War that publication was withdrawn while it was at the printing press. An expurgated edition was published two years later.

  It is quite refreshing on the Prado to see what good friends all Spaniards seem to be. There is no end to compliments and Judas kissings, but deep and deadly are the jealousies which lurk beneath. And double-edged are the ideal knives grasped by the murders of the wish, for muchos besan a manos, que quieren ver cortadas [many kiss the hand where they would seek to plunge the knife]: arsenic mixed with honey is not more sweet. All this is very Roman.

  1857 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

  The American poet William Cullen Bryant (1794–1878) spent much of his career in New York, where he edited the Evening Post and was a major influence on the creation of Central Park. In 1857 he visited Spain and North Africa, and published his letters home.

  15 November There are many native Spaniards who tell you that seeing Madrid is not seeing Spain. ‘Madrid,’ said a very intelligent person to me, ‘is not a Spanish city; it is French – it is inhabited by afrancesados people who take pains to acquire French tastes, and who follow French fashions and modes of living.… If you want to see Spain, you must seek it in the provinces, where the national character is not yet lost; you will find Spain in Andalusia, in Estremadura, in the Asturias, in Galicia, in Biscay, in Aragon; but do not look for it in Madrid.’…

  One of the first places we were taken to see on our arrival in Madrid was the Prado. Here, beyond the pavements and yet within the gates of the capital, is a spacious pleasure-ground, formed into long alleys, by rows of trees, extending north and south, almost out of sight. In the midst, between the colossal figures of white marble which form the fountain of Cybele on the north, to those of the fountain of Neptune in the other direction, is an area of ten or twelve acres, beaten as hard and smooth as a threshing floor, by the feet of those who daily frequent it. Into this, two noble streets, the finest in Madrid, widening as they approach it, the Calle de Alcalá and the Calle de Atocha, pour every afternoon in fine weather, at this season, a dense throng of the well-dressed people of the capital, to walk up and down, till the twilight warns them home. They move with a leisurely pace from the lions of Cybele to the sea-monsters of Neptune, and then turning, measure the ground over again and again, till the proper number of hours is consumed. The men are unexceptionably dressed, with nicely brushed hats, glittering boots and fresh gloves; the favorite color of their kids is yellow; the ladies are mostly in black, with the black veil of the country resting on their shoulders; they wear the broadest possible hoops, and skirts that trail in the dust, and they move with a certain easy dignity which is thought to be peculiar to the nation. On these occasions, dress of a light color is a singularity, and a bonnet attracts observation. Close to the walk is the promenade for carriages, which pass slowly over the ground, up one side and down the other, till those who sit in them are tired. Here are to be seen the showy liveries of the grandees and opulent hidalgos of Spain, and of the foreign ambassadors. It seemed to me that the place was thronged on the day that I first saw it, but this the Spanish gentleman who conducted us thither absolutely denied. ‘There is nobody here,’ said he, ‘nobody at all. The weather is chilly and the sky threatening; you should come in fine weather.’ The threat of the sky was fulfilled before we could get home, and we reached the door of our hotel in a torrent of rain.…

  Here at Madrid they live upon very unceremonious terms with each other, dropping in at each other’s houses in the evening, and calling each other by their Christian names, without the prefix of Don or Doña. They get perhaps, if anything, a cup of tea or chocolate, and a biscocho. I was several times at the house of a literary lady of Madrid and saw there some of the most eminent men of Spain, statesmen, jurists, ecclesiastics, authors, leaders of the liberal party and chiefs of the absolutists, who came and went, with almost as little ceremony as if they met on the Prado. The tertúlia is something more than this; there is more dress, illumination, numbers; but the refreshments are almost as frugally dispensed. The stranger in Spain does not find himself excluded from native society, as he does in Italy, but is at once introduced to it, on the same footing with the natives.

  I find one objection, however, to the social arrangements of Madrid: that they make the evenings frightfully long.

  1862 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

  The Danish writer Andersen (1805–1875), best known for his fairy stories, also wrote travel books, notably about Scandinavia and the Iberian Peninsula, written in conversational tone with occasional philosophical diversions.

  In the north, in the cloudy land, the wind sweeps across the open strand, and through the corner of every street. There are many corners, and a poet may dwell in each of them. Is there one well born and brought up, he delights in the beautiful, he is full of longing after romantic Spain. Let him come here, let them all come direct to Madrid, at any period of the year they choose! If that be in summer, they will be roasted alive by the sun; if it be in winter, they will receive the icicles’ kiss, they will be favoured with frosted fingers, and thawing snow into their very galoshes. And if they remain here, what have they seen of Spain? Madrid has none of the characteristics of a Spanish town, not to mention t
he capital of Spain. That it became such, was a fancy of Philip II, and he would assuredly have frozen and perspired for this, his royal whim.

  One very great advantage, however, this place possesses the first of its kind; it is the picture gallery – a pearl, a treasure worthy to be sought and deserving a journey to Madrid to see it. During our stay here, there was another very charming place of resort open – the Italian opera; but when you have mentioned this and the picture gallery, you have named what are the most remarkable and most interesting places for strangers. Outside all was raw and damp, but within the theatre you sat as if in a warm bath, amid smoke and steam; the thick mist from the numerous cigars the people smoked between the acts, and the smell of the gas, pervaded even the boxes. Yet, notwithstanding these disagreeables, we remained until after midnight, fascinated by the richness of the tones with which Signora La Grange astonished and delighted us.…

  Madrid reminds me of a camel that has fallen down in the desert: I felt as if I was sitting on its hump and though I could see far around, I was not sitting comfortably.

  Besides the Puerto del Sol, the plaza in which we resided, there are in Madrid some other plazas which ought to be mentioned, and which has each its peculiarity. The prettiest is the large Plaza de Oriente, planted with trees and bushes; it is situated near the palace. Under the leafy trees stand here, in a circle, statues of the kings and queens of Leon and Castile. The palace itself is a large, heavy building; but from its terrace, and even from part of the plaza, there is an extensive and lovely view over the garden and the fields down to the river Manzanares, and of the hills behind the Escurial; they were now quite covered with snow, and looked very picturesque when the atmosphere was clear. The Plaza Major, which is at no great distance, has quite an opposite character; one feels one’s self, as it were, in it, confined in a prison yard; but it is unquestionably the most peculiar of all the plazas in Madrid. It savours of the Middle Ages; is more long than broad; and has in its centre a bronze statue of Philip III on horseback. The lofty arcade around it contains but small, insignificant shops, where are sold bonnets, woollen goods and hardware. In former days, this plaza was the scene of the bloody bullfights and the terrible autos-da-fé. Even now stands here the old building, with its turrets and curiously formed window frames, from the balconies of which the Spanish kings and courts beheld the bullfight, or saw the unfortunate victims of the Inquisition roasted alive. The little clock which gave the death-signal hangs still upon the wall.

  I always observed a number of soldiers in this plaza. They stood in groups, looking at different jugglers who, during the whole day, were performing here. In the evening poor boys kindled a large fire here to warm themselves. On the steps leading up to the arcade sat a couple of wretched-looking objects, an old woman in rags, and a grey-haired old man wrapped up in a dirty Spanish cloak. Each of them were playing on some little instrument, which was quite out of tune, to which they sang in husky voices equally out of tune. Not one of the people passing by gave them anything. Nevertheless, they continued to sit where they were, as if they had grown fast to the damp stone, in the bitterly cold weather, and perhaps they were singing about that hero, El Cid, or of happy love.

  1916 LEON TROTSKY

  The Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky (1879–1940) went into exile during the First World War and spent a brief period in Spain. He recounted in his autobiography My Life (1930) how he passed a week at liberty and alone in Madrid before being sent to prison and then expelled from the country.

  From San Sebastian, where I was delighted by the sea and appalled by the prices, I went to Madrid and found myself in a city in which I knew no one, not a single soul, and no one knew me. And since I did not speak Spanish, I could not have been lonelier even in the Sahara or in the Peter-Paul fortress. There remained only the language of art. The two years of war had made one forget that such a thing as art still existed. With the eagerness of a starved man, I viewed the priceless treasures of the Museum of Madrid and felt again the ‘eternal’ element in this art. The Rembrandts, the Riberas. The paintings of Bosch were works of genius in their naive joy of life. The old caretaker gave me a lens so that I might see the tiny figures of the peasants, little donkeys and dogs in the pictures of Miel. Here there was no feeling of war, everything securely in its place. The colours had their own life, uncontrolled.

  This is what I wrote in my notebook in the museum: ‘Between us and the old artists – without in the least obscuring them or lessening their importance – there grew up before the war a new art, more intimate, more individualistic, one with greater nuances, at once more subjective and more intense. The war, by its mass passions and suffering, will probably wash away this mood and this manner for a long time – but it can never mean a simple return to the old form, however beautiful – to the anatomic and botanic perfection, to the Rubens thigh (though thighs are likely to play a great role in the new post-war art, which will be so eager for life). It is difficult to prophesy, but out of the unprecedented experiences filling the lives of almost all civilized human beings, surely a new art must be born.’

  MECCA

  The ancient city in the western Arabian Peninsula was the birthplace of Muhammad and site of his revelations of the Quran, so that the city in present-day Saudi Arabia has always been the focus of Muslim daily prayers and — in particular, the black granite structure of the Kaaba (House of God) at the heart of its main mosque — of the Hajj, or pilgrimage, undertaken by every Muslim at least once in a lifetime. No non-believer is permitted to enter the city.

  1326 IBN BATTUTA

  The famous North African traveller Ibn Battuta (see page 72) visited Mecca on pilgrimage four times, the first in 1326.

  We then set out from Medina towards Mecca, and halted near the mosque of Dhu’l-Hulayfa, five miles away. It was at this point that the Prophet assumed the pilgrim garb and obligations, and here too I divested myself of my tailored clothes, bathed, and putting on the pilgrim’s garment I prayed and dedicated myself to the pilgrimage.… Thence we travelled through ’Usfan to the Bottom of Marr, a fertile valley with numerous palms and a spring supplying a stream from which the district is irrigated.

  We set out at night from this blessed valley, with hearts full of joy at reaching the goal of our hopes, and in the morning arrived at the City of Surety, Mecca (may God ennoble her!), where we immediately entered the holy sanctuary and began the rites of pilgrimage.

  The inhabitants of Mecca are distinguished by many excellent and noble activities and qualities, by their beneficence to the humble and weak, and by their kindness to strangers. When any of them makes a feast, he begins by giving food to the religious devotees who are poor and without resources, inviting them first with kindness and delicacy. The majority of these unfortunates are to be found by the public bakehouses, and when anyone has his bread baked and takes it away to his house, they follow him and he gives each one of them some share of it, sending away none disappointed. Even if he has but a single loaf, he gives away a third or a half of it, cheerfully and without any grudge.

  Another good habit of theirs is this. The orphan children sit in the bazaar, each with two baskets, one large and one small. When one of the townspeople comes to the bazaar and buys cereals, meat and vegetables, he hands them to one of these boys, who puts the cereals in one basket and the meat and vegetables in the other and takes them to the man’s house, so that his meal may be prepared. Meanwhile the man goes about his devotions and his business. There is no instance of any of the boys having ever abused their trust in this matter, and they are given a fixed fee of a few coppers.