This General Admonition Being Addressed To
The Team At Large, The Zagal Descended To Details, And Proceeded To
Vilipend The Galloping Beasts Separately, Beginning With The Leader.
He
informed him, still in this wild, jerking scream, that he was a dog,
that his mother's character was far from that of Caesar's wife, and that
if more speed was not exhibited on this down grade, he would be forced
to resort to extreme measures.
At the mention of a whip, the tall male
mule who led the team dashed gallantly off, and the diligence was soon
enveloped in a cloud of dust. This seemed to excite our gay charioteer
to the highest degree. He screamed lustily at his mules, addressing each
personally by its name. "Andaluza, arre! Thou of Arragon, go! Beware the
scourge, Manchega!" and every animal acknowledged the special attention
by shaking its ears and bells and whisking its shaven tail, as the
diligence rolled furiously over the dull drab plain.
For three hours the iron lungs of the muleteer knew no rest or pause.
Several times in the journey we stopped at a post-station to change our
cattle, but the same brazen throat sufficed for all the threatening and
encouragement that kept them at the top of their speed. Before we
arrived at our journey's end, however, he was hoarse as a raven, and
kept one hand pressed to his jaw to reinforce the exhausted muscles of
speech.
When the wide and dusty plain was passed, we began by a slow and winding
ascent the passage of the Guadarrama. The road is an excellent one, and
although so seldom used, - a few months only in the year, - it is kept in
the most perfect repair. It is exclusively a summer road, being in the
winter impassable with snow. It affords at every turn the most charming
compositions of mountain and wooded valley. At intervals we passed a
mounted guardia civil, who sat as motionless in his saddle as an
equestrian statue, and saluted as the coaches rattled by. And once or
twice in a quiet nook by the roadside we came upon the lonely cross that
marked the spot where a man had been murdered.
It was nearly sunset when we arrived at the summit of the pass. We
halted to ask for a glass of water at the hut of a gray-haired woman on
the mountain-top. It was given and received as always in this pious
country, in the name of God. As we descended, the mules seemed to have
gained new vigor from the prospect of an easy stretch of facilis
descensus, and the zagal employed what was left of his voice in
provoking them to speed by insulting remarks upon their lineage. The
quick twilight fell as we entered a vast forest of pines that clothed
the mountain-side. The enormous trees looked in the dim evening light
like the forms of the Anakim, maimed with lightning but still defying
heaven. Years of battle with the mountain winds had twisted them into
every conceivable shape of writhing and distorted deformity. I never saw
trees that so nearly conveyed the idea of being the visible prison of
tortured dryads. Their trunks, white and glistening with oozing resin,
added to the ghostly impression they created in the uncertain and
failing light.
We reached the valley and rattled by a sleepy village, where we were
greeted by a chorus of outraged curs whose beauty-sleep we had
disturbed, and then began the slow ascent of the hill where St.
Ildefonso stands. We had not gone far when we heard a pattering of hoofs
and a ringing of sabres coming down the road to meet us. The diligence
stopped, and the Introducer of Ambassadors jumped to the ground and
announced, "El Regente del Reino!" It was the regent, the courteous and
amiable Marshal Serrano, who had ridden out from the palace to welcome
his guests, and who, after hasty salutations, galloped back to La
Granja, where we soon arrived.
We were assigned the apartments usually given to the papal nuncio, and
slept with an episcopal peace of mind. In the morning, as we were
walking about the gardens, we saw looking from the palace window one of
the most accomplished gentlemen and diplomatists of the new regime. He
descended and did the honors of the place. The system of gardens and
fountains is enormous. It is evidently modelled upon Versailles, but the
copy is in many respects finer than the original. The peculiarity of the
site, while offering great difficulties, at the same time enhances the
triumph of success. This is a garden taught to bloom upon a barren
mountain-side. The earth in which these trees are planted was brought
from those dim plains in the distance on the backs of men and mules. The
pipes that supply these innumerable fountains were laid on the bare
rocks and the soil was thrown over them. Every tree was guarded and
watched like a baby. There was probably never a garden that grew under
such circumstances, - but the result is superb. The fountains are fed by
a vast reservoir in the mountain, and the water they throw into the
bright air is as clear as morning dew. Every alley and avenue is a vista
that ends in a vast picture of shaggy hills or far-off plains, - while
behind the royal gardens towers the lordly peak of the Penalara, thrust
eight thousand feet into the thin blue ether.
The palace has its share of history. It witnessed the abdication of the
uxorious bigot Philip V. in 1724, and his resumption of the crown the
next year at the instance of his proud and turbulent Parmesan wife. His
bones rest in the church here, as he hated the Austrian line too
intensely to share with them the gorgeous crypt of the Escorial. His
wife, Elizabeth Farnese, lies under the same gravestone with him, as if
unwilling to forego even in death that tremendous influence which her
vigorous vitality had always exercised over his wavering and sensual
nature.
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