and by the pleasant levels broke into rough
hills and hollows, strewn with granite boulders which, as our train
mounted, changed into the savage rock masses of New Castile, and as we
drew near the village of Escorial gave the scene the look of that very
desolate country. But it could not be so gloomy in the kind sunlight
as it was when lashed by the savage storm which we had seen it cowering
under before; and at the station we lost all feeling of friendlessness
in the welcome of the thronging guides and hotel touters.

Our ideal was a carriage which we could keep throughout the day and use
for our return to the train in the afternoon; and this was so exactly
the ideal of a driver to whom we committed ourselves that we were
somewhat surprised to have his vehicle develop into a motor-omnibus, and
himself into a conductor.

When we arrived at the palace some miles off, up a winding way, he
underwent another change, and became our guide to the Escorial. In the
event he proved a very intelligent guide, as guides go, and I really
cannot now see how we could have got on without him. He adapted the
Spanish names of things to our English understanding by shortening
them; a _patio_ became a _pat',_ and an old master an old mast'; and an
endearing quality was imparted to the grim memory of Philip II. by the
diminutive of Philly. We accepted this, but even to have Charles V.
brought nearer our hearts as Charley Fif, we could not bear to have our
guide exposed to the mockery of less considerate travelers. I instructed
him that the emperor's name was Charles, and that only boys and very
familiar friends of that name were called Charley among us. He thanked
me, and at once spoke again of Charley Fif; which I afterward found was
the universally accepted style of the great emperor among the guides
of Spain. In vain I tried to persuade them out of it at Cordova, at
Seville, at Granada, and wherever else they had to speak of an emperor
whose memory really seems to pervade the whole land.

II

The genuine village of Escorial lies mostly to the left of the station,
but the artificial town which grew up with the palace is to the right.
Both are called after the slag of the iron-smelting works which were and
are the vital industry of the first Escorial; but the road to the palace
takes you far from the slag, with a much-hoteled and garden-walled
dignity, to the plateau, apparently not altogether natural, where the
massive triune edi