Page:Once a Week Volume 8.djvu/730

 722 clouds hiding the mountain tops, and the rich Valencian plains wearying the eye with their endless monotony of olive-yards and orange-groves. Every now and then we passed peasants enveloped in their huge cloaks, jogging along on their patient mules, and presenting the most ludicrous appearance, as the ample cloak, flowing over the mule’s back, concealed his tail, so that his hind legs appeared as part of the figure of the peasant. Night was the time of the greatest misery; cramp beset the legs, and any attempt at dozing was cut short by unceremoniously bumping up against an equally miserable neighbour.

At last Valencia was reached. The Fonda, arranged entirely for coolness, was repulsively cold and unattractive; the blue and white tiled floors struck a chill to the soul; the balconies were mere receptacles of rain; drip, drip it fell from the moist matting blind, on to the balustrades, and trickled slowly off, to be succeeded by endless drops. A poor sleepy little boy disturbed our grumblings by walking into the room.

“What do you want?”

“I am the postilion who came from Barcelona, and beg the Señor for a few maravedis.”

“Do you mean to say you rode all the way?”

“Yes, Señor.”

“Why, how old are you, child?”

“Twelve years old, to please God and your worship.”

“And have you long been a post-boy?”

“Three years. I go twice a week between here and Barcelona.”

“Do you never sleep on horseback?”

“Oh, yes, Señor; a little at a time, when there are no precipices.”

We offered him wine, which he rejected with contempt, saying he only wanted sleep, and would sleep twenty-four hours “right away.”

A few silver pieces amply satisfied him, and he staggered off to bed, leaving us in amazement at such unnecessary fatigue being imposed on so young a child, but supposing it to be one of the Cosas d’Espana, which “no fellah could be expected to understand.”

The rain, much as we abused it, gave us a good opportunity for seeing the gay mantas worn by the Valencians. It is a brighter and more picturesque covering than a Scotch plaid; one end, sewn up so as to form a pocket, is adorned with variegated tassels. It is worn in every conceivable way, and has a most picturesque effect, as the bright colours are artistically combined in stripes on a white ground.

Profiting by the first glimpse of blue sky, we set off in the carriage peculiar to Valencia, called a tartana. It is like a long market cart, covered with an arched black tarpaulin, and lined inside with chintz. It has no windows, save at each end, one over the door, and the other at the horses’ heels. It has no driving box, the coachman sitting on a pad which is attached to the right hand shaft. Strong cobby horses drag these clumsy vehicles at a slow pace; if you insist on going quick, the shaking is torture, as springs are a luxury unknown.

The smoothly paved streets are beautifully clean, but very narrow and winding. The houses are eastern in appearance, on a level with or three or four steps lower than the street: below are large open shops, guiltless of windows; above, balconies shaded from the sun by strips of gay matting, gay with hoyas and convolvulus, where all day the women sit sewing, and watching their neighbours. Valencia is well off for gardens; the public walks round the town are all beautiful, adorned with immense orange trees, oleanders, myrtles, and a beautiful flowering tree whose name I know not, but whose blossoms are like hollyhocks, and grow of every shade, from the deepest crimson to pure white, on the same plant. A road, sheltered by magnificent oriental planes, leads to the busy port. On either side are villas, stuccoed and painted bright blue, yellow, and red. The land is like a garden, so well and carefully is it cultivated. It is still irrigated by the canals dug by the Moors, and water raised by the creaking noria, or waterwheel, which they introduced. Water is wealth, under this burning sun; with its aid ten or twelve crops may be raised on the same land in the year. The earth never lies fallow, summer or winter. Immense prices are given for irrigated ground, the general value being 300l. an acre. Without water, the very same land would be worthless: so, while one mocks at the empty dry bed of the Toria, on which the cavalry of the garrison find exercising ground, one should remember that its diverted streams are enriching the whole country, and causing the wealth and opulence of the Valencians.

The peasants are here most simply attired; a shirt, thrown open at the throat, and white linen knickerbockers bound round the waist by a sash of brilliant hue; no stockings, but sandals made of hemp or straw, bound on to the feet round the ankles with bright blue or red strings. On the head a bright handkerchief is the only protection from the heat. The Valencians are a handsome, attractive race, very different from the Catalans; the men are active and well-proportioned, the women slight and gracefully formed, with soft mischievous eyes and luxuriant tresses. The “grao,” or port, was full of feluccas and small craft, driven in by fear of what the angry horizon might portend. Several steamers which were to have started that day remained in harbour, rather than trust to the fickle Mediterranean, which had exchanged its sparkling blue for rolling amber waves, streaked with deep purple stripes, reflected from the gloomy clouds.

The heavy rain, which had been falling unceasingly, had swollen the mountain torrents, and the railway bridges, as a matter of course, were swept away, so that all chance of proceeding to Madrid for several days was over. It does really seem an extraordinary oversight on the part of the railroad contractors in Spain, that the bridges are so slightly built that the unavoidable result of rain is that half-a-dozen give way, and all traffic is interrupted. Dire necessity having thus compelled us to remain in Valencia, we roamed up and down its picturesque streets, stopping to admire the many quaint old buildings which adorn them. Of the old convent “Del Carmen” we shall always retain the most grateful memory, as in examining the omnium gatherum of pictures there huddled together, we passed a most pleasant day. There are