.>•.'>. V 0DD205baaTA ^s^ ^J^' t A y^ LIBRARY OF COXGRESS. / •j ,ii -Si ^ 'j _•> _sS-ti. ji *♦' B h 2 IIXITED STATES OF AMERICA, g si>?6.cfct»-v, ♦%.%• 'i* 'i? '•'■ 'it -? Tif i, •»?• r;y ,;f ti? .,;♦ .f vr ♦-•• ♦* it r.,* '^r ♦it ♦iM ^^ COSAS DE ESPANA OR OOINQ TO MADKID VTA BARCELONA " Va corre priesa, Sefior." SpanlVh Saying RED FIELD 110 AND 112 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 1855. vn Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, By J. S. REDFIELD, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Southern District of New York. STEREOTYPED UY C. C. SAVAGE. 13 Cliambers Street, N. Y. PREFACE. When the learned curate of a certain village in the Spanisli province of La Mancha, Master Nicholas, the barber, and Don Quixote's house- keeper assembled together in the Don's library to purify it of the perilous stuff which had turned the head of its owner, the holy man remarked concerning a book of Poems he withheld from the flames that, it tvoiild have been still better^ had there been less of it ; and even went so far as to add the general observation that, never was a good book a big one. Considering the maxims uttered by the curate, no less than those of the Don and Sancho Panza, to be still true, respecting all matters having any relation to Spain at least, the au- 4 PREFACE. thor of the following brief narrative of personal adventure and observation does not presume to offer to the public any larger volume than can conveniently be held in the hand. Indeed, the great majority of readers, nowadays, would seem to be of the same mind as the reverend critic. The traveller by " rail" has no room in his pock- ets for quartos and folios; the visiter at the bathing-places wants a volume which he can get through in a single day, as he intends to be off on the morrow ; the idler, escaping from summer heats to the shade of the wide-spreading beech- tree, can not think of undergoing the fatigue of holding up two or three pounds weight by the hour together ; the tired man, who at the close of the day's labors sits down by the fireside, wishes to do his reading, leaning comfortably back in his arm-chair; and all fair readers — may their number never be less — know how un- graceful it is to sit bent over pages too heavy to be lifted from the table. Here, accordingly, is a book of travels which, so far as size goes, might have satisfied the Spanish curate, and will not be PREFACE. O deemed too big, it is hoped, by any of the before- named classes of readers, to fill up a few of whose idle hours, more especially, it has l)een written. Nor, whatever may be its demerits, will it be found any heavier from learning than it is from bulk. For all weighty and cumbrous facts, the reader is referred to the guide-books, and the gazetteers. The author has treated only of such pleasing Spanish matters as might naturally en- ter into the experience, and fall under the obser- vation of a loiterer ; and has generally avoided anything having the appearance of learned lore, or statistical knowledge, as carefully as would have done Imaum Ali Zade himself, who, to an inquisitive traveller's inquiry respecting the his- tory and trade of the city in which he bore rule, replied, " Although I have passed all my days in this place, I have neither counted the houses, nor have I inquired into the number of the inhab- itants ; and as to what one person loads on his mules, and the other stows away in the bottom of his ship, that is no business of mine. But above all, respecting the previous history of this 6 PREFACE. city, God only knows the amoiuit of dirt and con- fusion the infidels may have eaten before the coming of the sword of Islam ! It were unprofit- able for us to inquire into it." POSTSCRIPT Had the preceding Preface been written, as it should have been, after, instead of before, the composition of the work it introduces, it would have stated that a portion of the following pages is reprinted from Putnam's Monthly Magazine, where they appeared under the title of " Cosas de Espana" ; and it would also have requested all fair readers to pass lightly over the chapters on Pig-Killing, Bull-Baiting, and Cock-Fighting. CONTENTS. I. — "Winr I WEXT VIA Barcelona page 9 II. — Napoleon's Colt» d'Etat in my Teapot at Lyons. 27 III. — Excursion in a Berline Parisienne 36 IV. — Going up a Mountain 64 Y. — Going do^^yn the Rhone 67 VI. — Ho\Y to kill a Day at Marseilles 83 VII. — Taking Nice in the Way 88 VIII.— To Sea in a Spanish Ship 113 IX. — Three Days of Quarantine 126 X. — The Landing 130 XI. — My Rooms at the Fonda 138 XIL— My Balcony 146 XIIL— My Table ,. 161 XrV. — The Rambla and the Mukalla de Tierra 165 XV. — The Mltialla del Mar and Love-Making 177 8 C0NTJ3NTS. XVI.- — Baecelonese Fishermen page 189 XVTI. HOLYDAYS AT BARCELONA 204 XYIII— The Annual Fair 209 XIX.— The Pig-Killing 216 XX. — The Carnival 232 XXL— A Mock Bull-Fight 288 XXII.— Olla Podrida 251 XXTII. — Adieu, Barcelona! , 261 XXIV.— To Valencia 262 XXV. — Spanish Breakers 269 XXVI. — The Huerta and the Alameda 21*7 XXVII. — CocK-FiGHTiNG AND Pigeon-Shooting .... 286 XXVIII. — Penitentiaries and Courts of Law. 292 XXIX. — Painters, Priests, and Beggars 299 XXX, — The Lake of Albufera 306 XXXI. — A Cluniate for Invalids 319 XXXII. — Opening of a Railway 326 XXXIIL—From Valencia to Madrid 332 COSAS DE ESPANA. WHY I WENT VIA BARCELONA. " But why not go to Madrid by the usual route, via Bayonne ?" I anticipate your question, gentle reader ; and foresee distinctly that you could never be in- duced to peruse a single one of these sketches w^ithout having been previously informed why the author — be ho who he may ^ made his en- try into Spain by the way of Barcelona. Now this is the most perplexing question I shall liave to answer in the whole course of my story ; and most gladly would I give the profits of the first two or three editions of this volume, to be re- 1* 10 COSAS DE ESPA^JA. licved from the necessity of replying to it. Still, if you will please sit a little further up on this mat of grass, where the spray which is tossed up over the cliff will be less liable to reach us, I will see what can be said to satisfy your very natural and laudable curiosity. To begin then, like a German author, at a con- venient distance from the subject in hand, let me premise that at Paris, as well as elsewhere, the dogma has lately been set np that disease is a process of cure. The doctors tell you that your malady is only an effort of nature to restore a lost equilibrium — to expel from the system an intruding poison — to relieve it of a burdensome superfluity. Their skill, accordingly, is mainly diagnostical. It is directed, in the first instance, to ascertaining by the most careful and minute examination of the patient's symptoms precisely where and what the disease is; — to finding, if not to bearding it in its den. Herein lies the superiority of the medical gentlemen of Paris, who, if they can not cure a patient, wiil at least be able to tell him what is the matter with him. PARISIAN DOCTORS. 11 And it having been ascertained exactly what the difiBculty is, and what it is not, the most that remains. to be done is closely to watch the action of nature ; — to modify, not to thwart it ; — and to aid the struggle of the system to relieve itself, by the administration of Tvhat are rather palliatives than remedies. I speak, of course, of the physi- cian's, not the surgeon's art. Your disease, therefore, particularly if it be something of a pet, is to be treated very gently and gingerly. Your inner man is not to be damaged by the old doses which, in curing, half- killed you. You may be kept, indeed, sotne little time in the doctor's hands ; but when you do get out of them, you are to be warranted as good as new. Instead of being relieved of his blood, the patient, it may be, is ordered simply to drink cold water ; instead of being sharply set upon by the apothecary, with large magazines of pill- boxes, he is now regaled at the hands of a peace- able and perhaps pretty nurse, with sugar-plums. Where formerly he was condemned to the black draught, as the culprit to the hemlock, in these 12 COSAS DE ESPA??A. more humane days he is fed on sirups ; and re- lieved of all difficulty in swallowing his potions, his only trouble consists in preventing their being stolen and devoured by the small children of the family. With some such views of medical remedies as these, it is natural that the Parisian faculty should hold in high esteem the various kinds of natural mineral waters. They are, in fact, the fashion of the day ; — that is to say, of the summer day. For, in the colder months, you would probably find your physician ready enough to treat your disorder with all the aids and appliances of the whole pharmacopoeia, if need were. Perhaps, by way of occupying your attention, and adding at the same time to his own stock of experience, he would not be disinclined to try a few experi- ments upon you. And if nothing better could be done, in a case not too acute, he might do his best to keep you on your legs until the arrival of the bathing season, by the administration of bread pills and Selzer water. But on the first day of June he will not fail to pack you off for the THE PYRENEES. 1 •) Pyrenees. Observe that on no account will he send you to the Spas of Germany. You can not bathe in the waters of Syria or Damascus, but must be healed in the Jordans of France. You must go either to the plains of Vichy, or to the mountains of the South ; in both of which charm- ing regions, Parisian fashion has reared its gilded saloons, and French beauty has dressed her bowers of love. Accordingly, it so happened one fine June morning, that I found myself, duly equipped with medical ordonnance^ on tlie road for the Pyrenees ; and after a week's journey, I arrived in a tolerably undamaged condition at the baths of C . A long time afterward I had the satisfaction of learning that my medical adviser was one of the proprietors of this bathing estab- lishment, and that its selection in preference to others, was a small specimen of that kind of ex- ploitation sometimes laid to the charge of the Parisian celebrities in medicine. However, I remember C none the less pleasantly for that trick of the trade. I liked it well enough 14 COSAS DB ESP AN A. to remain there not only during my prescribed saison of a fortnight ; but to linger through an- another fortnight — a month — the whole sum- mer — and far into autumn. I love the bath like a Turk ; and I love it hot ! None of your icy ablutions for me — after which the shivering victim has to rub his extremities, as in a rage, to entice the frighted blood back from his threatened vitals ; and finds, when at the end of a tolerably long purgatory he has suc- ceeded, that the returning currents ooze out at the hundred pores laid open by the murderous horse-hair, or hemp woven from the cast off ropes of the hangman. Not for me, the awful avalan- ches, whose descent one awaits with terror, trem- bling lest the narrow closet in which he is imprisoned prove his coffin ; and beneath which, when they fall upon his unprotected, half-crazed head, he cowers and cringes and kicks, until, brought nigh to suffocation, he makes one des- perate bound into the middle of his chamber — dripping, panting, shaking in the knees, and blue in every extremity. THE PYRENEAN BATH. 15 Let me rather lie down in thermal waters gushing warm from the rock. The softly-flowing currents gently titulate the surface of the body, stretched at ease ; the pores of the skin, well pleased with the new sensation, freely open their mouths to drink in the healing fluid ; and the soul itself, reached in its inmost seat, finally sur- renders itself up to the delicious influence, and, like unto that of the eater of opium or the gums of Araby, is lapped in dreams Elysian. Thus did I spend my summer-days, lying in waters soft as woman's tears, and — with all due deference to better authority be it said — of just about the same temperature. For though it is sometimes asserted that such tears are scalding^ I must be allowed to say that this has not exact- ly been my experience, and is not therefore writ- ten in the articles of my faith. But be the case as it may, it is absolutely certain that I lay glo- riously steeped in dreams and thermal water from June to October. My memory, when, in recal- ling the past, it reaches these months of soft de- lights, stops, and refuses to go back farther. 16 cos AS DE ESP AN A. The lotus I ate from the branches which over- hung these pools of healmg, has made the Pyre- nees to me a barrier and a shore, against which breaks the sea of a semi-oblivion beyond. But by way of compensation, the recollection of this summer in the mountains ever keeps a nook in my heart as green and sunny as one of their own vales. Whoever then is tired of the paradise of Paris would do well to look for another in the Pyre- nees. Even in winter one may go to Pau ; and, during four or ilve of the warmer months, let his path lead him to what bath it may, it will be only his own fault if he be not the happiest of mortals. Paris empties its saloons to furnish the society of these watering-places. And if, when seen in the blaze of gas and the flashing of brilliants, the accomplished Parisienne dazzled, here enneglige^ in the simple robe which sets off more than it conceals the graces of her person, she attracts and charms you. Let not this seem an exagger- ation ; for of all female prodigies the Parisian belle is the most extraordinary. She is as un- THE nVLLE OF PARIS. 17 equallod in capacities as in graces. Her salon has often proved a third chamber in the govern- ment. It is a court no less of literature and the arts, than of love. In beauty of toilette, tliat rarest of female accomplishments, or in elegance of conversation, that highest grace of civilized society, she has no rival. In the lower grades of life, the Parisienne is the most clever of sales- women and accountants. She invents the fash- ions in dress for the world ; and in the use of her needle is more skilful than Andromache or the queen of Sheba. Nor is this the half of her worth : for in spite of the temptations which lie like flowers along her path of life, she is, in the great majority of instances, a true woman in all her sentiments — the scandal-mongers to the con- trary notwithstanding. Seen in the country, she may not always carry away the palm from the very best bred of Englishwomen, much as she ex- cels them in the metropolis. Still, with her good sense and her good toilette — 'tis about all it takes to make a lady — she adapts herself so per- fectly to rustic scenes, and establishes such har- 18 cos AS DE ESPANA. mony of attire and conduct with the life of sur- rounding nature, that her, who at Paris was the grace of ball and opera, you also worship in the Pyrenees as the goddess of woods and streams. Not but what there is a plenty of stately dowagers to be met with at the baths, who are stiffer than the ledges of limestone ; and more than a sufficiency of laughing Lorettes, too gay by half for the gravity of mountain scenery. Young unmarried ladies, too, are of no account here, as a matter of course. They are of none in any French so- ciety. Mere wall-flowers, they are coldly admir- ed at a distance not much less than the snow-clad summits ; and are never approached except through the medium of their more accessible mammas. Nor is the life of the provinces left unrepre- sented dans les bains. The chateaux of the neighboring departments send whole families to spend the dog-days under the shadow of the mountains. But the provincial dame bears about the same relation of inferiority to the Parisian, as the secondary towns of France do to the metropolis. THE BELLE OF THE PROVINCES. 19 She is a more or less unsuccessful imitation of a perfection of accomplishment, a grace of manners, an elegance of conversation, and a taste in adorn- ment, which are native to the seat of the world's fashion ; and which, with rare exceptions, can neither be born nor bred in provincial stations. Do what she will, she can not lift her skirts over a mountain torrent as the lady of the Fau- bourg St. Germain does over the town gutters. And this is one test of gentility. Whether the fault lies in her shoes not being so well fitted, or her ankles so well turned, or where it lies, I never could discover ; but the fact is, one would sooner be tempted to kneel down in the mud of the Boulevards to arrange a lady's shoe-string, than on the greenest grass of Normandy or Provence. There is a certain air of inferior breeding in a Frenchwoman who has not lived in Paris, scarce- ly to be counterbalanced by the possession of beauty even. In her own chateau, she appears well enough, and fitting the place : but out of it, she loses the fine balance of the graces. She is no cosmopolitan. Her more cultivated rival, on 20 COSAS DE ESPA^A. the contrary, never appears to be out of her nat- ural sphere, place her where you will. The world over, she is at home. Be her seat a silken sofa, or a grassy bank, a chair in the gardens of the Tuilleries, or a rock in the mountains, she makes it at once a throne ; a throne whence with gentle sceptre she rules the empire of all gallant men's hearts. As to French •children, they are unendurable in the Pyrenees, or out of them. One must go to England to see children. In France, in fact, there are none — nothing but little ladies and gentlemen. The fine play of childish nature has, in the great majority of cases, been sacrificed in their training to the proprieties of good behavior, so called. They have been thoroughly drilled in bowing and scraping, however it may stand with their needle-work and their Latin. Dressed in the last month's fashion, with chapeau and a stick, with flounces and a fan, they promenade with the measured pace, salute with the polite formalities, and sit in the starched state, which might lead one to mistake them for Lilliputians. In France, FIJENCH GENTS. 21 freedom of manners is greater in age, than in childhood. The girl's liberty commences with her marriage ; and the l^oy's dates from the day when he leaves college. Thus excess of license often 'grows out of the application of too much law. French gentlemen, too, are generally a nui- sance at the w^atering-places. The wits of the town, who illumine the Parisian night with bons mots and repartees, are entertaining enough in the salon; on the road, likewise. Frenchmen are invariably the most amusing and agreeable of travelling companions ; but, in tlie country, these same persons furnish as good specimens of the hore^ pure and simple, as can anywhere be met with. They seem entirely out of their element, having no eye for beauty of scenery, or ta.^io for rural pleasures ; not knowing how to subdue them- selves to sentiment ; and making a very poor fist at writing verses. Equally misplaced are the politicians, who, congregating by themselves un- der every shade, spend their mornings in rabid discourse about the govenunont and tlie state of 22 COSAS DE ESPA^A. the country — or did so in the days of the repub- lic. Nor less incongruous in these rustic scenes are the laced and spurred officers of the army, who come here to bathe their scars of service ; and to bedew their epaulettes, if they can, with drops more precious than those that trickle from the rocks. You wish them all, officers, politi- cians, and wits, well out of the mountains. They may understand perfectly the philosophy of the life Parisian ; but they know not what to do with themselves on hill and brook sides. They lack sentiment. But unless the person who goes to the Pyrenees devotes his summer mainly to romancing, he does not put the mountains to their natural uses, nor drink the mineral waters to best advantage. For the three months of his life spent in these delec- table regions, he should surrender up his heart to all sweet natural influences — following where wayward impulse leads — fancy-free. His dayiS will be ushered in with a natural music more fitting the scene than that of art. Innumerable night- ingales, rejoicing in the return of the golden dawn, NIGHTINGALES. '16 will call him from 'bis slumbers betimes to join their cheerful Jubilate Deo. In tlie mountains, every sound, indeed, is musical. The ])arking of the dog that tends the fold ; the carolling of the peasant-boy who drives his goats to pasture ; the call and answer of tlie vine-dressers on the hillsides ; the laugh of boys and maids who rake the fragrant hay of the valleys — all these sounds as they ring in the clear air, and are echoed back fram the mountain-sides, fill the ear with deli- cious melody. Not less pleasing is the murmur- ing of the headlong torrents and meandering brooks, along whose grassy banks you take your morning walk, or beside which you pass the noontide, reposing in the shade of over-arching branches. Here, heedless of the fleeting hours, you turn the pages of some summer book ; you meditate a pleasing theme ; you join in cheerful converse ; perchance, you heave _ the first soft sigh of love. Ah, me ! The walks that I remember up the rugged, winding paths into the lively air of the upper summits. How easy the toil — how gay 24 COSAS DE ESPANA. the march. Staff and donkey aid your footsteps. Yon flourish the one ; you jest with the other. The laugh of your companions and the braying of your beasts vie in waking the echoes. Your mirth makes even the gray mountain merry. While the champagne is cooling in some deep cave of ice, or the melted snow of the torrent, and while skilful hands are preparing the much- needed repast, you climb to the very foretop of the mountain. You seek the bold cliff's edge ; and thence look down upon valleys reduced by the distance to mere ribands — upon streams which are but silver threads. Farther off, lie the level plains, carpeted with the green of the vineyards, the silver gray of the olive-orchards, and the gold of the wheat-fields. On one side, stretches away an infinitude of round hilltops and high peaks and ranges, whose distant snows are blended with the clouds. On another, you look down upon many a league of the dear land of dolce far niente ; you see far off the Mediterra- nean, a mere line of glittering sunlight ; and Bar- / MOUNTAIN PIC-NICS. 25 celona, with its Catalonian towers, no more than a speck on the shore. Returning, how pleasant to see the sun go down behind the snow-clad summits. The gray twilight creeps slowly up the valleys, while day still reigns jubilant, ^vitli all its array of purple clouds and rosy snows, on the iiVDuntain tops. Slow and pensive, you descend the winding way, which, a few hours before, you mounted with boisterous mirth. Your thoughts wander to the hearthstone where, beyond the waves of ocean, sits the circle of those who are dearest to you on earth. You loiter along until the stars of even- ing shine out upon your pathway, or the mountain moon lights up the blue heavens and the pallid snow-summits. Stopping to listen in the stilly night, you hear the raving torrent, or the crash of the falling avalanche — or, it may be, only the beating of the Catalonian heart so fondly pressed against your own ! Now — to cut short my argument — though there be several routes from Paris to Madrid, I 2 26 COSAS DE ESPANA. ask whether whoever should get a glimpse of Barcelona from the tops of the Pyrenees in any such favorable circumstances as I did, would not be sure to go to Spain that way ? Would he not be a blockhead to take a different route ? There can not be a doubt of it. He would be perfectly woo,^en-headed I II. napoleon's coup d'etat in my teapot at LYONS. I LEFT Paris on my way to Spain the evening before Louis Napoleon's coup (Tetat. At that time I had no suspicion of the spectacle which was to be brought out on the morrow, for not a mouse was stirring in the whole city. The re- public lasted me until I got comfortably to bed at Lyons. But there, in the course of the night, my slumbers were more or less disturbed by the clatter of cavalry and the tramp of armed men under my windows. However, I gave but little heed to what was going on in the street, and kept on dreaming of Barcelona until morning. Then, as I went down to the breakfast room, a waiter, who was occupied in arranging the table, came to me with eyes bigger than his tea-cups. 28 COSAS DE ESPANA. " Revolution in Paris, Monsieur ! The Presi- dent has turned out the A'ssembly ! Half of them are imprisoned ; half are banished the country ; and the rest, on dit, are going to be hung !" The dire consequences of this news flashed across my mind in half an instant. I saw at once that it was all over with that day's omelette ! The waiter's eyes were dilating fast to the size of saucers ; and his face was already w^hiter than his apron. How could a fellow in such a state of nervous excitement get up an omelette ? Im- possible. Of course, the cook was in a no less fine frenzy below stairs. The kitchen was a red republic ; and the very bottle-washers were in a blaze. What was to be done ? If I sent the waiter to order my breakfast in the state of ex- citement in which he then was, he would forget my commands before reaching the bottom of the stairs. Or if he remembered them, he and the cook would hold a high political debate over my ome- lette, which, meanwhile, would be baked as hard as bricks. To suppose that such a work of culi- nary art could be done to a turn, while one of LOSS OF AN OMELETTE. 29 tlie professors was narrating to the other how the gens d'armes had routed M. Theirs out of bed at four o'clock in the morning, and the latter was in turn, telling the former what M. Thiers said to the gens d'armes during the time occupied in putting on his breeches, was plainly absurd. All this and a great deal more ruslied through my mind the moment the waiter uttered the word revolution ; and before he had reached the end of his story, I had fully determined that tlie only course for me to pursue, in such an emer- gency, was to condescend to a compromise. I had resolved to order my eggs boiled ! Accordingly, the moment my narrator came to a full stop, I very deliberately replied — '' If such be the state of aflairs at Paris, I'll have my eggs served d hi coqve I See that they are done to a second ! Take care that they be of this morning ! Upon the word, the fellow's face fell from seven heavens ; and he was straightway restored to his right mind. The abruptness of my order had produced its intended efiect of cutting the 80 COSAS DE,*:SPANA. politician down to a gar con. Ei chard, the serving man, was himself again ; and as he left the room, I saw by his altered countenance that my break- fast had been made sure. His reappearance in ,the kitchen would put an entirely new aspect upon it, I felt confident ; and would go far tow- ard bringing to an end the row of the pots and kettles. Nor was my confidence misplaced. In some five minutes afterward my breakfast was before me ; and, upon my word, I could not see but what my eggs were every whit as good as they had been under the republic. The root of the matter, said I to myself, laying down my newspaper after breakfast, is here. The French have attained to the idea of political equality ; but they have no true understanding of civil liberty. In the name of the former, they have twice proclaimed the republic ; but in both instances they have refused to organize by law the great principles of the latter. The popular fancy has been hit by the cabalistic words, Re- publiqe Francaise. Men have thrown up their caps at them from Paris to the two seas. There- LOSS OP THE REPUBLIC. 31 upon, the new politicians have said the republic was well founded, and would last for ever. But did they give to the ncwly-crcated citizen tlie rights and privileges of self-government ? Did these gentlemen proceed to make the peasant any more free than he was before ? Did the Assem- bly at Paris increase the powers of the assemblies in the provinces ? Did it confer upon the towns the right of regulating their own local affairs ? No. France retained substantially the same sys- tem of despotic centralization under the republic which, during a long succession of ages, had grown up under the monarchy. The name was changed, the thing remained. The name of re- public was, in fact, a misnomer, and an incon- gruity ; and could endure but for a moment. The French system of government has always been one of concentrated powers ; but republicanism is local freedom. The prevailing political idea in France has been the supremacy of the state ; in America, it is the supremacy of tlie people. There, sovereignty with all its rights and powers is enthroned in Paris : here, it sits a household 32 COSAS DE ESPANA. god by the fireside of ten millions of citizens. The European republic retained all the governing power which had not previously been given to the people ; while the American republic possesses only so much as has been conferred upon it by the people. The two systems of organization are heaven-wide, and never deserved to have been called by the same names. The one is a civil constitution under which the government does everything for its subjects ; the other, under which the citizens do everything for themselves. The one is a structure suited for war and a mar- tial nation ; the other is the principle and the fruit of peace. When I had run the root of this matter thus far into the ground, I stopped short. But these views of the flimsiness of French republicanism were well illustrated by some observations I had an opportunity next day of making on the Rhone. After having gone on board the steamer, finding but little sentiment in the air, which, like the politics of the country was lowering, I determin- ed to amuse myself by listening to the political EFFECT OF THE NEWS. 83 rumors which came down the wind from Paris. The steamer's canvass appeared to be well filled with them ; all the passengers being more or less politically "lifted." On the forward deck I found one of them mounted on a wine cask, reading in loud and hurried tones, for the benefit of all concerned, the official account of the coup d'etat, just received from Paris. Knowing al- ready myself the contents of the gazette, my at- tention was directed to the effects of this news on the crowd of listeners. They were all ears. Had they been so many donkeys, these members of the body could not have been much longer. Every one was pricked up to the highest top of attention. Yet, as the reading proceeded, I observed several which gradually fell and hung down ; while one or two were suddenly sent vrhisk- ing round as though they had got fleas in them. But their curiosity once gratified respecting the details of the news, I was struck at noticing how shallow the excitement was which the an nouncement of the change of government pro- duced on the minds of all. On the one hand, w9* 34 COSAS DE ESPANA. there was no over-boiling indignation expressed at the overthrow of the republic ; on the other, there was no apparent rejoicing at the triumph of Napoleon. The political changes were, in- deed, the principal topic of conversation at the breakfast table ; but, by the hour of dinner, the morning's news had apparently become as stale as one of its left-over dishes. A republic had been overthrown ; an event which, had it occurred in America, would have mdcle men's faces turn black vfith horror, or pale with rage. But, here, the account of it was listened to as merely the morning's news, no more. During the whole day, the strongest expression of feeling I heard uttered respecting the author of the revolution, was by a gentleman who passed me, twirling his moustache, and muttering to himself, half in jest and half in earnest, " Ah, le coquin !" A still more striking illustration, perhaps, of the little worth of French political sentiment fell under my notice a few months later at Paris. It was the evening of the great Napoleonic fete of the fifteenth of August ; and in endeavorinp: to POLITICS OF FIREWORKS. 35 reach a favorable position in the Place do In Concorde for witnessing the fireworks, I got ac- cidentally jammed into a crowd of the honrg-eoisie. A young mechanic's wife stood pressed against my side ; and behind her was her husband. Finding escape impossible, I consoled myself for the loss of a more favorable position by the sprightly conversation of those around me. The" wit was that of the French middling class, ready, good-natured, and to the point. But the only remark which I carried away, and which I now refer to, was made by my lively voisine. After the throwing up of the most magnificent bouquet of rockets I had ever seen, filling the whole heavens with gorgeous and many-tinted fires, the fair politician, turning round to her husband, exclaimed, " Now, my dear, aren't you satisfied with Louis Napoleon ?" The fireworks had been well gotten up and well gotten off; ergo, the new regime was to be accepted by the bourgeoisie ! Such is the polit- ictil logic current among the middling class of tlie French people. III. EXCURSION IN A BERLINE PARISTENNE. I REGRET to be obliged to inform you, gentle reader, that the steamer for Avignon does not leave before to-morrow morning ! Meanwhile, what shall we do with ourselves ? For my part, I think Lyons, in its best estate, the dullest town in Europe, it being entirely given over to silk- weaving ; and to-day the streets will be so un- comfortably full of gens d'armes and soldiery, that sight-seeing would probably prove anything but a pastime. Suppose — garcon! des cigarres — suppose, as we can not leave town, I tell you a story of how I did get out of Lyons the first time I had the misfortune to get into it. Agreed. And then, if worst comes to worst, A NEW COACH. S7 we can play dominoes and drink eau sucree, like Frenchmen. You must know that in less than six hours after my first arrival in Lyons — not having then the honor of your agreeable company — I was desperate with ennui. It was that kind which the French call Vincommensurahle ennui de Veter- nite. Consequently* I resolved to leave town by a coach of that evening. But not a place was to be had in the coupe of any diligence, going north, south, east, or west. At least such was the report of the hotel commissioner. Therefore, I sallied forth myself to see what chance and my own eyes might do for me. Be- fore going far my attention was attracted by a new Berline Farisienne, standing before the door of a dilige^ice office ; and on inquiring respecting the destination of the carriage, I was informed that it was to be despatched the next morning to < Geneva. The enterprise being a new one, not a seat in the coupe had been bespoken. I opened tlie door and looked in. The internal furnishing corresponded with the elegance of the exterior. 38 COSAS DE ESPANA. The cusliions were luxuriously soft ; the back was well stuffed ; in short, no English family travelling-carriage ever looked more comfortable. When I closed the door my mind was made up to visit Switzerland. I believe I should have booked myself for the ends of the earth, had the vehicle been going there. At the same time I liad a strong presentiment that I should have the whole of the coupe to my- self. The morrow beiug a fete day, no Lyonnais would start on a journey. A Swiss would prefer the intcrieur, on the principle that the six insides could make a thicker smoke than three in the coupe. Any Italians, who might be going, would stow themselves av/ay in the imperial. Span- iards do not travel. As to English and Ameri- cans, they would not probably have heard of this new enterprise. I should therefore be in posses- sion of the whole front of the carriage. Not a doubt of it. The next morning, as the commissioner came at the appointed hour to wake me, sitting up in my bed, I addressed him as follows : — A DINNER BASKET. 39 " I am now going to confide myself to your hands." To which he replied, in substance, that I had never done a wiser thing in my life ; nor could 1 now do anything which would be more entirely satisfactory to himself. '' Where were you born ?" *' In the town of xb'les." ^' In the town of Aries ! Quelle Bonheur ! Had you had yourself, instead of your mother, the choice of your birthplace, you could not have selected one so much to my present pur- pose." " At monsieur's service." '' I want you to make the purchase of an Aries sausage for my dinner." " I am the man to render monsieur that ser- vice." " You mean to say that when you see a saiu- cisse d'' Aries, you know it ?" " Without doubt, monsieur, what I see I know." " And when you taste a saucisse (r Aries, you know that something special is in your palate ? 40 COSAS DE ESPANA. You can distinguisli it, even at sight, from any counterfeit hashed up here in Lyons ?" " I am able to do it." " Then, as the Spaniards say, Vaya con Dios — go with God — and buy me an Aries sausage ; add a cold chicken ; bread, at discretion ; a cream cheese ; a couple of bottles of I'Hermi- tage ; and pack all in a clean basket." " At monsieur's service." I arrived at the diligence office just in time to hear my name called out by the conductor. As I stepped forward, the crowd gave way with marked signs of deference for a gentleman who was to occupy place No. 1 in the coupe of a Berline Parisienne. The horses were already joined on to the coach. The postillion held the ribbons. It was to be such a go-oif as had never been witnessed in Lyons before. The six grays had been well chosen ; they had been well groomed ; and they had their heads well tasselled with worsted, and their tails tied up with ribbons. The jehu was worthy of his steeds. He was no ordinary post-boy in a blue blouse ; A COXCOMB. 41 but the very coxcomb of the roads. A fellow in a glazed hat, that morning out of the box, and having the smartest of cocades in it. A heavy pair of gold rings hung from liis ears ; and the official horn was suspended gayly behind his left shoulder. The whole man, in fact, was done up in a dashing uniform, destined to make the lips of many a roadside grisette water, but to look at in passing. Heedless of the gaping crowd around, he sat upon his box as if sitting upon his dignity, bolt upright and eyes forward. When the cathedral clock finished striking the hour of nine, he put horn to mouth and blew a blast, the very first notes of which raised the ears of the leaders to the lino perpendicular, tumbled over a neighboring apple-woman, and cleared the track of some dozen yards of rabble. Horn in one hand, and whip in the other ; and so we rattled out of the town of Lyons. Crack ! crack ! went the lash. Up the gamut, and down the gamut, gayly went the horn. All vulgar vehicles gave w^ay to us. One market woman, in her hiarry to get to the wall, 42 COSAS DE ESPANA. drove lier donkey smack up against the window of a pastry-cook, where, ass though he was, he had wit enough not to take his nose out of the plum-cake, into which it had been so indiscreetly hurried, without bringing off enough comfortably to settle his breakfast. He got, indeed, a good walloping, still further to aid his digestion ; but by the way in which he stuck out his nose, and smacked his chops, it was plain that he relished the cake notwithstanding the cudgelling. Down the long avenue away we went like mad. The simple citizens, going about their daily business, turned round to see what it was so loudly tearing after them. Newsboys gave over crying their papers to throw up their caps at the new coach, and let off a merry gibe at its driver. Many a busy tradesman did our rattling wheels attract to the doorway to witness the passing tumult. Many a housewife's head we drew out of the window, tickling right smartly the point of her curiosity. The sauntering school- boy swung his satchel at our flashy pageant, and tooted through his fingers in imitation of the tune GIllSETTES. 43 of the postillion. It was more like l)cing ])ornc in ti-innipli tlian anything that hail ever happened to me. Sitting- on my three seats, that is to say, sit- ting on the middle one, and with arms akimbo occupying the two others, I took to myself what- ever of thej^ublic admiration it suited me to ap- propriate. Of course I gave little heed to the shouts of the small boys ; nor any special atten- tion to any of the specimens of masculine wonder which followed our cortege, even to the town's gates. But when any particularly pretty maid's face was turned up in admiration, I did not fail to note it. I did not fail to observe that it was directed, not so much to the coach as to the coupe. On the instant I was ready to answer it. I was down upon the sweet eyes with my glass — glass in onejiand and the tip of my moustache in the other. A balance of admiration was duly struck ere our eyes parted. Bless my soul ! How many pretty grisettes there are in the town of Lyons. How wdiite, and neat, and ki?s-me-if- you-will, their caps are. Only it requires some 44 COSAS DE ESP AN A. art to draw these pretty creatures out ; and from my experience, I believe there is nothing like a new coach-and-six to do it. A man might visit Lyons a hundred times, and yet, unless he should bethink him of coming out in a new Berline Parisienne to hunt up the beauty of the town, he might never get half an idea of what I saw that morning. But once passed the gates — wretch that I am — the country damsels very soon put all recollec- tion of my city sweethearts out of mind.^ It seemed to me, in getting among the fields, that the beauty I had left behind was of that pale, unsunned, unripe hue, which makes one dread lest in the girl of his heart he may be wooing an angel of consumption. It was very much the hue of sour grapes. But on the road the maids were -all as brown as nuts. And, heavens ! what sweet simplicity, what blushing innocence, what charming naivete. They had never seen a Ber- line Parisienne before, the dear things. Scarcely had they ever looked on a man in a coupe before, one would have said ; certainly, never upon one COUNTRY-GIRLS. 45 occupying all its three seats. Ah ! how the red blood streamed through the brown of their cheeks when their eyes met the eyes of the trav- elling gentleman, with arms akimbo. His mous- tache in the air was too much for them. And how fragrant, too, the violets, just transferred from the hot-beds of the garden to those of their bosoms, would have been to him if he could have stopped the coach to get at them. Ma foi ! The road from Lyons to Geneva is no " hard road to travel." I have been jolted over highways in France enough without even so much as seeing a solitary cap to take my fan- cy. Nothing but market-women and poultry-girls from one end of the journey to the other. Heads as unkempt as those of a gipsy or a German ; feet as big as camels' feet ; and skins as if they had just come from the currier's. But 'twas not so on the road from Lyons to Geneva that May morning. For it was May-day ; and the beauty of all the country round lined the roadside with the flowers and the smiles of spring. It may never happen again, for aught I know ; and, 46 COSAS DE ESP AN A. even then, I should probably have seen nothing so very extraordinary, had I not been travelling in a new Berline Parisienne. The farther we proceeded into the country, the greater seemed the sensation produced by our arrival. In the smaller towns and villages, our coming turned as many heads as ever did that of a prince-royal. One uninterrupted gaze of curiosity and of wonder followed us from morn- ing to night. As we came in sight, the plough- man stopped short in his furrow ; the gardener leaned on his hoe ; the smith let cool the iron on the anvil ; the carpenter arrested his blov»^ over the nail ; the angler heeded not the glorious nib- ble ; and the spinster stayed her wheel in full career. No pedagogue could keep his pupils from looking out of the window ; no good-wife could prevent her twelve sons and daughters from rushing over each other out of the doorway. Every ale-house was set agog ; and every village inn was turned inside out. The grannies grinned ; the small boys jumped half their length in the air ; and at every halting-place the hostler's eyes PARBLEU ! 47 were as big as five-franc pieces. In short, there were more exclamations and mon-Dietis uttered on the road from Lyons to Geneva that day, than the world could conveniently contain, if printed. The prevailing tone of remark, as with crack- ing whip and braying trumpet, we dashed through the towns, I can not be expected to have myself heard ; but if I am any interpreter of physiogno- my, it must have been as follows : — " There goes a Milord Anglais !" says one. "That man has ten thousand a year!" says another. " He's a big g — d-d — n, travelling in advance of the crowd !" echoes a third. " Certainment. He has engaged beforehand all the best rooms in all the great hotels in Swit- zerland !" " Parbleu. He occupies the three seats of the coupe, and will want three beds to sleep in !" " He's one of the droles — one of the bizarres — and is bound for the top of Mont Blanc in winter !" "He takes the precaution of a seasonable 48 COSAS DE ESPANA. start, so as not to incur the risk of making a new acquaintance, on his travels !" The furious driving gave me no opportunity to correct the errors into which these good people fell so readily. Otherwise I would gladly have explained to them, as I passed, that I was indeed no lion, but simply Nick Bottom, the weaver, going to Geneva. But the anxiety of the conductor to arrive at the end of his journey by eight of the clock in- commoded the inside passengers still more se- riously. They could not stop to get their dinner. Yet, the majority of them were evidently not in the habit of going without it. I pitied them ; but what more could I do for them ? Most of them were men of girth ; and one, more especial- ly, appeared capable of swallowing my whole basket, as a mere primer. By midday, I noticed a fall in his countenance ; and by four o'clock, the look it had assumed was actually ravenous. If ever there was a hungry man, that respectable Swiss gentleman was one that day. But what could I do for him ? DINING EN ROUTE. 49 However, the not being in a situation to relieve the necessities of fello's^-travellers, would be a poor reason for not attending to one's own. I, myself, therefore, dined. That sense of satisfac- tion which a person feels after he has -done the good deed of ministering to the necessities of his inner man — that sense orpleasing fullness in re- gions where Nature most doth abhor a vacuum — that sense of stomachic complacency, about the existence of which not even the doctors of either medicine or divinity disagree — I felt it in per- fection that day. At four o'clock, sharp, I raised up my drop-table. I drew out my drawer. And, behold ! there were my glasses, and my decanter of fresh water. It was more than I wanted. The water was a superfluity. In fact, I had in my basket every convenience, except a table ; and that, too, was now spread before me. What reasonable traveller could have asked for more ? Servants would have been an incumbrance, and could only have been stowed away under the table. Platters would have poured tKeir contents into your lap at every lurch of the carriage ; and 50 COSAS DE ESPANA. sliarp carving knives and forks would have run you through, in the event of a hreak-dovrn, or tip-over. Reader ! Do you know what virtue there is in a cold cut of French roast chicken ? The ques- tion is not an idle one. A chicken, let me tell you, is not a chicken the world over. Tliere is a difference. Your English, or American bird, is not at all the thing. To fatten this animal re- quires an aged granny of the blood of la grande nation. None like her knows where to lay the fat, and where, the lean on. She has a motherly way of tying the chick to her apron-strings, and keeping him warm under the protection of her petticoats. She feeds him on tit-bits. Gives him porridge. Makes pates for him. Encourages his sleeping. Doesn't let him fight, or get his blood up ; but lets him crow whenever he has a mind to. By these, and other secret arts, his meat is rendered juicy, and savory, beyond any chicken meat in Christendom. I except that of A^ienna only, where the gehratene hiihner, of about the size of a man's fist, are perfect butter FRENCH COLD CHICKEN. 51 balls, and not to be set down as inferior to the Gallic cock or any nation's roosters. I did' not, therefore, leave Lyons without a poulet roti in my basket. En route, a man can not properly dine on anything else. Not even a Frenchman can take along a plate of soup in his pocket ; nor did I ever hear of an Englishman's being served in a diligence with roast beef and plum pudding. But a roasted chicken is easily packed — is not inconvenient to eat — and rides comfortably on all men's stomachs. Think how awkward a fricassee w^ould be in such circum- stances ; or a vol au vent ; or a kettle of fish. Whoever insists on these dishes must forswear travelling. As I unpacked my pannier, I could but con- gratulate myself on the non-appearance of any uninvited guests at my board that day. Had half a dozen friends dropped in to share pot-luck wdth me, I might have felt a little embarrassed ; and should have had to dine them, in part, on the unsavory dish of excuses. " Sorry I can set before you only a pick-up ; had a capital dinner 52 COSAS DE ESP AN A. for you yesterday !" Still, though I could not, in justice to my friends, have wished to see the faces of many of them, under such circumstances, there was one whom, as I sat picking my solitary bone, I would have given at least all that re- mained in my basket to have had present. Isn't it Goethe, who says that it does a pair of black eyes good to look into a pair of blue ones ? He might have said it, certainly. And by the time I had got to the bottom of my first bottle, sure enough, we did sit there, vis a vis, looking into each other's eyes, over the rims of our glasses. Yes, those Olympic orbs shone full upon me. I stopped carving my chicken bone to grasp that dear hand. After every glass of the Burgundy I said again, " Give me your hand." We were " glorious" together. Nor, as we got down into the second bottle, did we forget our absent friends. We toasted them all, and did them handsomely brown. Then we drank to the health of the fat passenger in the interieur ; and wished all our fellow-travellers ho7i appetit. Finally, we told each other our choicest stories. WAKING UP IN GENEVA. 53 We sang to each other our tenderest songs. And as the swan is fabled to sing herself to sleep, so did we gently fall into slumber's arms with our mouths full of bars of music. I slept, I know not how sweetly or how long. All that I am sure of is, that the voice of the conductor suddenly woke me, as, opening the door of the coupe, he triumphantly cried out, " Yous voila. Monsieur, a Geneve, a huit lieures, moins deux secondes 1" I aroused myself from my dreams ; threw out my basket and bottles to a beggar who stood conveniently by ; tossed my keys to the commis- sioner of the hotel des Bcrgnes ; and, in wishing bon soir to the elated conductor, added — " Coaclimiin, coachman, lake twice tliy fee, For spirit one hath roflc with me." lY. GOING UP A MOUNTAIN. Being in Switzerland you wish to ascend a mountain. I advise you not to do it. The ocean is most impressive, seen from the land ; and so are mountains, when viewed from the plains. You climb a summit, and it at once becomes a reality, precisely so many feet in elevation above the level of the sea ; but as you gaze at it from a distance, it is a magnum ignotum of the imagina- tion, reaching to the skies. No view of Mont Blanc ever produced so ex- citing an effect on my imagination as the first, ob- tained at a considerable distance. As I drove into Geneva from the French frontier, the heavy morn- ing mists were being gradually cleared up, until at last through tlie glimmer — now fainter, and MONT BLANC. 55 now more clearly revealed by the flashing sun- sliine — amid a multitude of cross lights stream- ing into the rising mists, and reflected from the lower peaks and declivities — stood half hidden in dazzling light, like a pillar in Heaven's gate, the mighty form of Mont Blanc. It was the mountain, as it were, in a transfiguration. Never afterward when hammering off" specimens from every layer of his rocks, or plucking flowers from every zone of his climates, and taking day by day the great mountain familiarly by the beard, did this monarch of the Alps so exalt my thoughts, as on that morning, when first descried through the veil of mists. I once spent a month in Geneva without climb- ing higher than the third story of the hotel des Bergues — and was all the while in the enjoy- ment of the most romantic mountain thoughts one could possibly wish to feel, or to afi'ect. Did not Byron write his Alpine lines in a snug villa on the shores of Leman ? Did not Goethe de- scribe the Hartz over his pot of beer in low- placed Gotha ? And did not Coleridge apostro- 56 cos AS DE ESPANA. pliize the White Mount comfortably settled in tlie Chamomii tavern ? Not one line of poetry in a hundred addressed to the mountain-tops -was ever written on them. When there, the poet has something else to do besides indite verses. What ardor could there be in strains composed, while the poor author was rubbing his nose with one hand to keep it from freezing, and holding on to his hat with the other to save it from sailing off with the hurricane ? Any poetic afflatus super- added would, very likely, carry away both hat and man. No, in the mountains the poet holds rather to his pole than his pen. Unless more than usually crack-brained, he carefully guards against all attacks of the " fine frenzy" during his visits to the summits, lest in his abstracted- ness he might walk off" a precipice ; and when he has got safely down upon the level bosom of » mother earth, and collected together his wits, his cloak, and his umbrella, then first does he begin to wax poetical. Believe me, I have met poets in the mountains; and of all men they were the most forlorn and POETS IN THE ALPS. 0< bliic-nosed. They never had any schnapps with them ! They had come up there for no other purpose than to drink inspiration out of Apollo's sources ; and had made no provision of Hol- lands or cognac. Simple souls, they had no thought but what they should be asked to dine by the mountain divinities ; and had not had the common prudence to put even a few sandwiches in their knapsacks. But the keen air, instead of making them more inspired than they were be- fore, had only rendered them more hungry. On the top of a mountain, and no cold tongue, except til at in their own mouths ! No cold ham, except what they stood on ! No champaigne ; no Lon- don porter ; no eau de Selz ; not even a drop of spring water ; nothing but snow, ice, and the mountain. Into such absurdities will your poets ascend, under the mistaken notion that the top of Mont Blanc is a proper place for writing blank verse. Such persons, ninety-nine times in a hun- dred, will find their true poetic level much lower down. Whenever you meet such a one wander- ing among the summits, the most charitable thing 3* 58 COSAS DE ESPANA. you can do, after giving him a good strong horn of brandy, is to show him the way down to where he started from. He will, generally, be met roving without a guide, if not lost in a fog. Take the simple child of nature kindly by the hand ; conduct him to the high road, or the near- est path leading to it ; stick unobserved a roll of bread in his pocket at parting ; and impress upon his mind the propriety of not looking back until he is fairly out of the mountains. When he gets down to terra-firma, and has had a good supper, and put his feet in warm water, and slept soundly some twelve or sixteen hours, he will be restored to his right mind, and will quite likely write very readable sonnets. Come you, gentle reader, rather with me ; and we will look at the Alps, as the painter does, from below. We will behold them in perspective. For 'tis in distance that lies all enchantment. We leave the town behind, and going across the fields, by the path of le petit Saconnex, we gradually gain the brow of a high ridge of land which overlooks two valleys. At a consider al)le SUNSET. 59 distance beyond the broad sweep of one of these may be seen Ferney, and the finely-placed chateau of Voltaire ; while beyond tlie other lie the city of Geneva, and the head of Lake Leman. Rows of ancient sycamores make a magnificent avenue, up and down whicli we walk, having Calvin on one side and Voltaire on the other. But adjourning the debate, theological or phil- osophical, we will now turn poets and look at the Alps. For there they stand ; and look which way we will at thcni, Mont Blanc is still face to face with us. It rules the prospect and will be seen. In this pure atmosphere, though a hun- dred miles away it seems near, and is even here an overshadowing presence. During my resi- dence in Geneva this was my favorite haunt, under these trees. At the going down of day, my companion and myself might oft be seen sitting, like wayfarers, on the road-side bench, and in the chequered shade. The morning's clouds having been evaporated in the dry air, the bald head of the royal Alp stood out in strong relief against the sky. As the sun nearod the 60 cos AS DE ESPAISJA. horizon behind us, the whole air became filled with the warm tints of the sunset. Instead of the gray colors of the noontide, the mountain sides and valleys put on a rose hue, which, in certain aspects, deepened to purple, and in others faded into blue ; while in the upper air, the triple- headed mount flamed against the firmament with all his snows blood red. How gorgeous the scene ! ■ But, gradually, the glowing rays began to fade from the lower landscape. At first, the windo\7S of the city lost their blaze, as the sun sank below the line of the horizon. Then, the shadows of the coming twilight stole out from the banks of the lake, and threw a film of obscurity over its gleaming surface. Next, the valleys became softly enfold- ed in gray mantles of mist. The crimson slowly faded out of the cheek of the mountain sides. The lower snow heights grew pale. But long after the twilight had thrown its half-shadows over city and lake, over valleys and liill-tops. the summit of Mont Blanc still continued to glow v*^ith undiminished effulgence. Yet, as tlie sun STAIILIGIIT. 61 sank farther and farther down, tlic line of rose- light mounted higlicr and higher up, until at last tlie final ray played upon the crest of snows. One parting kiss, and the brow of the mountain was left as pale as that of a woman at the fading away of her last hope of love. Colorless, but pure, stood the white ^Deak in the blue of the up- per firmament. All nature below was by this time wrapt in gloom ; but until long after the evening had woveu its garland of stars around . the hoar mountain's head, could it be seen tower- ing through mid-heaven in solitary and awful majesty. Still, you wish to go up a mountain. Well — everybody does once. And certainly the recol- lection of that sunrise seen, in student days, from the summit of the Giant mountains of Silesia, ought to make me well disposed toward any similar undertaking. But, then, t1iat sudden breaking up of the mists, as the sun rose above the horizon, letting in the exulting rays to paint with every possible hue to be found on nature's easel the drifting cloud-forms, and disclosing at the same 62 COSAS DE ESPANA. time through tlie openings in them the beautiful landscape of the Silesian plains below — it was what may not be expected twice in a lifetime. Well was it worth the being drenched in the night mists ; the clambering up the rocky path ; the supping on stale eggs ; and the sleeping on the floor amid snoring peasants. Nor scarcely less pleasing are my recollections of the White mountains of our own New Hampshire, from the tops of which one looks down upon interminable forests, throwing over hill and valley, as far as the eye can reach, their magnificent carpet of va- riously tinted tree-tops. It is this boundless ex- tent of woods, by the way, which is the charac- teristic feature of American mountain scenery, compared with that of Europe. A sunrise on the mountains, then, is well worth seeing — if it can be seen at all. There is but this one condition. If, being a bonafide lover of the mountains, you have made up your mind to spend the whole summer among them, you, of course- will have an opportunity of witnessing sun- rises and sunsets. But there is the case of the UP THE RIGIII. 63 traveller wlio can spare but one day in his life for the ascent of an Alp, and must be fifty miles away the next. He, too, must go up — and be able to say ever after to his untravelled friends, " When I ascended the Righi I" Well — let him go up. Unluckily, he happens to be on the sunny side ; and the rules require the summer traveller always to ascend the shady one. But 'tis fifty miles around ; and he has no time for the journey. He, therefore, must go up where he is. Tlie day is hot ; and he weighs, I know not how many stone, without his boots. xVccordingly, he makes the ascent in nankeens, taking along a spare top-coat. He starts com- fortably enough in a carriage ; afterward takes donkey, which is decidedly a change for the worse ; and, at last, foots the perpendicular finale of his day's journey, which puts the climax to his sufferings. The ordinary haps and mishaps of such an ascent would be most laughable, in the case of so fat a man, were he not rather a subject for commiseration. He breaks down long before either his carriage or his donkey. His nerves 64 COSAS DE ESPANA. get started at tlie very first precipice. Tliere being more dust than air on the road, tlie diffi- culty in his breathing becomes greater and great- er as he gains the regions of the atmosphere highly rarefied. He hasn't walked a mile on a stretch before for ten years ; and therefore has no wind worth mentioning. Were it a pouring rain, he couldn't be wetter. His linen sticks to him- as if he had just been lifted out of the dock. The rocks of the mountain are as hot as bricks ill a kiln. With stone walls all around, there is not a shadow on the road for half a mile ahead. He would like to put every cascade on the way to the uses of a shower-bath ; and instead of en- joying the scenery, he is disturbed at every step with fears of melting. The case is, indeed, well nigh desperate ; but 'tis no worse to go on than to turn back. At length, however, with the night arrives the weary traveller at the summit. He has now got on his top-coat. The ladies of the party, whose faces, all day long had been a,s flaming as that of the sun overhead, are now all in shawls. The A FOfi. C)iy whole company look badly frost-bitten. Tlie wind almost takes them off their feet. They ask for a fire, and are shown into the kitchen. There is not much warmth, and less supper. Bed is the only refuge ; and that is a doubtful one. Tlie traveller reads with dismay the regulations of the house posted on the walls of his chamber, " No guests allowed to go out to see the sunrise in the bed-blankets, without paying extra." How much, then, will it cost him to put on the featlier bed ? He lies down to sleep ; but can not close his eyes for tlie loud talking of his next neigh- bors, who are making fun of the mountain. Or he dreams tliat he is wedged in at sea between icebergs, and shiv?rs by the hour, like a ghost. At length, in the middle of the night, lie is calle.d up to see the sunrise. He thrusts his head out of the window and finds it pitch dark. He lies down again ; but is tormented with fears of losing the promised spectacle. So he gets up once more ; and after having put on the l:)lankets and the feather bed, sallies out into tlie fearful gloom. Tliere he stands in a thick fog ; and 6Q COSAS DE ESPANA. there they all stand, like so many blanketed owls, gazing into the opaque void. The cold becomes at length intolerable ; and our traveller goes to bed the third time, swearing that he will not get up again until after sunrise. It is the only wise step he has taken since he started on the ascent. For the mist turns to rain ; and the poor man is finally obliged to go down the mountain in a cloud, dogged to-the heels by a thunderbolt. Such is mountain climbing — or was when a certain acquaintance of mine last tried it. y. GOING DOWN THE RHONE. At an early hour of the second day after my arrival at Lyons, I was on board La Hirondelle, with prow turned toward the Mediterranean. As usual upon the Rhone, it was blowing a gale of wind — une bise a decorner les boeufs. And beautiful as may be this river of France, the first puff of the mistral disenchants its banks, and de- stroys all possibility of the voyage poetical. Ah, then, how do the bridal tourists, from beyond sea, wish it were the Hudson they were descend- ing, and the well-known spires of home were in the place of those strange towers which frown from the heights of the Rhone. How then does the delicate belle of American cities, whose every dream for many a month has been tinged with 68 cos AS DE ESP AN A. the purple of the sunsets she expects to behold in Italy, feel in her heart the sting of an arrow of disappointment, as she looks out upon the storm-driven waters, and upon all of vegetation's forms bending in supplication before the unrelent- ing blast. How then does the invalid, who is painfully making his way down from the north in search of heavens more genial, regret the comforts of his own wood-lit fireside, and look out upon this hurly-burly of air and earth vv^ith blank despair. In early September, when the peach was hang- ing out its blood-red sides from the green branch- es, and the grape was bending down with its pur- ple burden the vine, I have mounted the Rhone in top-coat buttoned close in the neck. My memory still aches with the remains of that frost-bite. At such times, the passengers, driven from the deck, are huddled into the narrow cabin. Then, if there are stoves, you will find them red-hot, and the air of a temperature which one would sup- pose might be agreeable to imp and salamander, rathei*than to pleasure tourists and invalids trav- LANKS OF THi: ItllONE. 69 elling for their health. If there are no fires, you put on coat or shawl, and sit on your bench scarcely less disconsolate. You turn, perhaps, for relief to Murray. That is coideur cle rose, both book and binding. You read of the delight- ful banks of tlic Rhone. How soft the zephyrs that gambol with the ripples on the shore ; how graceful the river reaches ; hovv" gay the banks festooned with vines. The distant valleys are lost in blue ; and far off the evening mountain tops are draped in clouds of purple and of pearl. Of a truth, it is more pleasing to read the descrip- tion of the river on the printed page than to look through the breath-stained window of the cabin at the reality. However, the Rhone has better moods than this. One such do I well remember, when, fol- lowing in the train of spring, I was leisurely making my way up to the north. Perhaps the mood was partly my own ; for my mind was then filled with pleasing southern memories, and my heart warm with the sunshine of the terra caliente, whence I came. Certain it is, I mounted the 70 COSAS DE ESPANA. Rhone as gayly as flies the bird let loose in east- ern skies. Yet, not as a dove hastens back to its home, on a single stretch of its wings ; but rather like the short flights of a songster in the spring, seeking its mate from tree-top to tree-top. The daily march of my travels being regulated by no preconceived plan, and having so much time on my hands that I was not forced to heed its lapse, or loss, there was scarcely a pretty town on the river with which I did not dally, and flirt, at least, a day or two. I profitably emj^loyed a short time studying the type of beauty in the women of Aries. Nearly a week was passed roaming among the ruins of the ancient Romans at Nismes, and gazing again and again at that fa- mous architectural gem, the Maison Carree. A few afternoons were whiled away in sauntering through the gardens and promenades of Montpe- lier, once the resort of English fashion, before it had found its way to the softer skies of Nice, Pisa, and Naples. The views, certainly, are charming ; for you look, on one side, over far- stretching valleys to mountains beyond ; and, on BATHS OF AIX. 71 the other, to the shining line of the distant Med- iterranean. The air, too, is pure and lively ; but there must be seasons when, from its high, isola- ted position, this fair city is visited a little too roughly by the winds of heaven, and when the delicate invalid would have to shut himself up in his chambers for days together, to escape the raee of flood and hurricane. A week, also, I gloriously spent reading the love-songs of the Troubadours in the tepid baths of Aix, the town of olives now, and formerly of minnesingers. Here, in early days was the min- strel's homo ; and here was held by ladies fair the high court of love. The town library has many a well-gilt alcove of Provencal poesy. In- deed, it seemed to my enchanted senses that the sunny spring air was still full of sonnets. Every passing zephyr swept the strings of invisible love lyres. As the moon rode up over the neighbor- ing mountains, I fancied, as I stood in the shadow of the statue of lo bon roi Rene in the deserted market-place, that there could be heard in the rising and falling night-breeze the sighing of 72 COSAS DE ESPANA. lovelorn poets, the measured vows of knights, sueing to their mistresses, and the rhymed fare- wells of chieftains, leaving for the wars. Nor did the old Romans seem to me scarcely less near. For here, too, were their baths — the very hot springs of Sextius. Here was once their camp, their walled town, their villas. Sen- sible people those Romans; — not a thermal fountain ever escaped their attention. Wherever natui^e made a warm bath for them, there they built a city. And I, no less true to a penchant for soft wa- ters, idled away a week in them — living mean- while en prince at the hotel of the same name. Being the only guest at that early season, I was waited upon by the whole household, and had troops of menials at my most humble service. Still more — I had a nosegay of fresh violets brought me every day at dinner by a flower-girl, out of whose eyes beamed the blue heaven of her native Italy, and the raising of whose modest lids, as she brought in the flowers, was like the dawn of morning on the top of Fiesole. TASTING BURGIUNDY. 73 Perhaps it was the recollection of those orbs — perhaps it was the Burgundy — but I seemed to be under some sort of a hallucination all the way from Aix up to Lyons. The juices of tliat wine district are, indeed, about as capable of turning a man's head, as the eyes of any Italian flower- girls. In passing through that home of the vine, all sense, all feeling is naturally concentrated in the tip and top of the tongue. The lips have but one office — it is to kiss the cup. The mouth is full of perfumes. The drinker's own lips are as sweet to him as were to her those of the maid who kissed herself in the mirror. The palate — alas ! if it should have been cut off by a quack — vibrates with sensations the most delicate and semi-divine. Wandering through those delectable hills, one may very often come near seeing Fauns and Satyrs. He may even himself gradually and un- consciously put on the airs of the god who first loved Avine ; and may catch himself from time to time, raising his hand to his temples, to feel whether they are not bound around with ivy. Besides stopping at all the principal Bur- 74 COSAS DE ESPANA. gundy towns, I looked hard at several of the vil- lages, but had my misgivmgs. I tried my legs, however, at here and there a hill-side, and sat no less merry than sentimental, on the topmost stone of many a fine old robber ruin, hanging high above the river. And all this in perpetual sunshine. Invariably the day came in with unclouded serenity, and went out with glowing effulgence. The air had all the softness and the balm of the spring in far southern climes. One revelled in the sunlight more than at a feast ; and to breathe the air was a magnificent entertainment. The grass was deep green on bank and border, while the early flowers thrust up their heads gayly among the blades. On the trees the leaf had already un- rolled its new and polished surface to the sun ; and the bees were loading down their legs in the richly-scented blossoms. Then, the Rhone was like unto a river of para- dise. So smooth was its flow, that every bank of flowers, or forest, every projecting headland, or overhanging mountain-top, every town at the A LANDSCAPE. 75 water's edge and every hamlet on the hills, every bridge, and spire, and ruin, every sail and rising smoke, the fisher-boy sitting in his boat, the cat- tle drinking in the stream, the birds flying in mid-heaven, — all were mirrored in the glassy tide, as on a painted canvass. In fact, the scenes reminded one of what in early days he had seen in fairy-land. The landscape had an air of unre- ality. The prospect was a halo of the imagina- tion, Bhd not at all tlie river you had before seen whipped and scourged by the mistral. Reader, may you never know by experience the difference. When you go on your travels from Lyons to the sea, may the soft southwest wind fan you ; and the bitter blast be pent up in its Alpine ice-caves. May the gorgeous, bounti- ful days of autumn wait on your going, and the heavens shower upon your coming back the bud- ding hopes of the spring season. Never linger on the Parisian Boulevards, like too many of your countrymen, until the chill days of winter come on. Then, the descent of the Rhone by steamer is no more to be counselled than the going to sea rr 6 COSAS DE ESPANA. in a bowl. If, unfortunately, you are compelled to delay your journey south until so late in the season, then post it. But, to proceed with the narrative of my win- ter-voyage down the Rhone. At Avignon, I encountered a commotion scarcely less iierce than that gotten up by the mistral. The whole posse of porters were up in arms, and disposed to play off the red republic on the passengers. They were not, I should observe, the regular carriers of Avignon ; for, the water being too low to allow the boat to come to the usual landing-place, the passengers were obliged to go onshore on the opposite side of the river. This point being situated without the jurisdiction of the city, the peasants inhabiting that bank were enabled, un- der connivance of the socialistic authorities of the district, to take exclusive possession of the business of transporting luggage from that sta- tion to Avignon. They would not permit any city porter, or coachman, to show his head on their side of the river. They had also clubbed together among themselves, and established the AVIGNON PORTERSi. 77 most extortionate rates of remuneration for their servi(fes ever heard of in countries Christian. If a traveller, indignant at the fees demanded, turned away from the first applicant to some other of the red-capped throng which pressed around him and his impedimenta ^ the terms would be raised one half. If, in his anger, he made a third attempt at negotiation, the citoyen^ with a not very carefully-dissembled sneer, would quietly proceed to estimate the weight of each trunk, bag, box, and umbrella, by lifting it ; and then would very deliberately propose to take the lot at just double the original offer. Thus, the dis- concerted traveller, finding himself completely at the mercy of the knaves — some of whom were looking upon his distress with no very compas- sionate eyes, and even threateningly intimating that their politics were of the same color as their caps — was obliged to return, crest-fallen, to what, by that time, might seem to him the very reasonable personage whom he had met with first. A few weeks later, I was pleased to liear that these worthies had l)een taken in 78 COSAS DE ESPANA. hand by Louis Napoleon, who,. for this good deed, merited the thanks of all travellers on the Rhone. A few hours' " railing" brought me to Mar- seilles. The road need not be described ; but two young fellow-passengers I deem worthy of special mention. I had taken my place in one of the small, first-class carriages which render railway-travelling so agreeable in Europe, and where I found already seated an elegant party, consisting of a French gentleman, lady, and lap- dog ; when the conductor opened the door to a couple of travellers, such as one would sooner expect to see in the cart of the vetturino, or on the top of the diligence, than in a Berline of a railway. They seemed to be a modern Paul and Yirginia on their travels. Indeed, it was plain that they were bound to the honey-moon, and thought they would sooner reach it by going in a first-class carriage. Each was heavily loaded down with a basket in one hand, and two small bundles in the other. At sight of this strange apparition, the lap-dog pricked up his ears and PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 79 commenced barking. This, however, did not put the coming couple out of countenance, nor pre- vent their proceeding carefully to stow awav their chattels, as best they could, under bench and feet. But what most attracted my attention was rather the luggage than the lovers. The necks of two champaigne-bottles rose above the top of one basket ; while a carving-knife and a big roll of bread projected out of the mouth of the other. After all things had been duly ad justed, the two bottles promised to ride com- fortably together, as did also the roll and the carving-knife. The two lovers, likewise, put their heads together as close as were the noses of their bottles, and seemed as well matched as the knife and bread. Besides the baskets, they carried with them a box of cigars and a casket of smelling-bottles, a bolster of feathers and a sheep-skin, a foot-stove, and a straw bonnet, done up in a handkerchief. . The hero had on two top-coats, and the heroine, to all appearances, double the natural number of petticoats. After the barking was over, and the train got 80 cos AS DE ESP AN A. under weigh, the happy pair very soon fell asleep. Thereupon, the small dog, who had been watch- ing his opportunity, stole down to the baskets, and, after smelling doubtfully at one of them, finally turned up his leg against it. Then, he crept round to the other ; and cautiously insert- ing his nose under the cover, fished up to the surface what turned out to be a baked rabbit. He had seized his prize by the leg, and was tug- ging to lift it entirely out of the basket, when a nod of Paul's head shook his hat off, and out fell a champaigne-glass directly across the nose of my lady's puppy. The little fellow dropped his dinner as though he had been shot ; cried out loudly for help ; and ran, half blubbering, half barking, to the lap of his mistress. All this powwow woke up the passengers. Paul replaced his rabbit, and Virginia looked daggers at the lap-dog. For my part, I held on to my sides, and feigned to find in Murray the cause of an irrepressible fit of laughter. The truth was, no doubt, that this runaway-match had started on their travels with at least one bottle of cham- MARSEILLES ILLUMINATED. 81 paigiie more tliim then remained iii their basket. I could not otherwise so ^Ye\\ account for the loving manner in which the two fortunates laid their heads together, and drew breath out of each other's noses ; nor why Virginia should so far forget herself in her slumbers as to set one foot in PauFs hat, which seemed to have a greater affinity for the bottom of the carriage than for the head of its owner, and to plant the other firmly in the provision-basket. The whole scene presented a phase of hymeneal bliss which was altogether new to me, and suggested to my mind how great must be the solaces and resources of wedded travel over single. It turned, moreover, to comedy everything I saw on the road that afternoon — making even the lovely bay of Mar- seilles appear as but the scenic background of a farce. On entering the town, I found it occupied with soldiery, to sustain the coup d'etat at Paris. But the light-heartedness of the French was ma- king the state of siege scarcely less gay than a fete. The whole city w^as illuminated by the 82 COSAS DE ESPANA. torches of the troops, and the numerous fires kept burning on the promenades where the com- panies were bivouacked. The blazing fagots shone upon the soldiers seated around in circles — ■ upon parties of them playing at cards — and oth- ers stretched asleep on the straw. The red light fell, also, upon the passing faces and costumes of all the Mediterranean nations assembled in this mart of commerce — lighting up the swarthy fea- tures of the Turk, and making still redder the red cap of the Greek — reflected back from the flashing eyes of the Italian, and the ivory mouth of the African — casting a gleam, now upon the muffled face of the Spaniard, now upon the half- veiled brows of the Arab, and now upon the un- unbonneted head of the Marseillaise. On strol- ling through the principal promenades and listen- ing to the prevailing tone of conversation, one would have said that the picturesque illumination had satisfactorily atoned for the loss of a republic. Yl. HOW TO KILL A DAY AT MARSEILLES. Whoever makes up his mind to visit Spain should take special care not to get out of patience before arriving there ; because in t&t co^untiy' he will have need of a large supply of this'viffue." " No corre priesa, Senor /" is an Iberian saying which should be the frequent theme of his medi- tations. It saved me much vexation at Marseilles where I found that the Spanish steamer would not be ready for a start under a week or more after my arrival. One day, indeed, is enough for seeing all the glories of the ancient Massilia. To lie sure, there is the Cannebiere. And if, by chance, you have ever fallen in with a Marseillais, on his travels, he surely could not have talked iiv<^ niin- 84 COSAS DE ESPANA. utes with you without asking if you had ever seen the Cannebiere. One should go all the way to Marseilles just to behold it. To have visited the Boulevards, the Rialto, the Corso, is not enough ; you must also " promenade yourself" on the Can- nebiere. The spacious avenue — the lofty lines of building — the hotels — the shops gorgeous with eastern merchandise — the grand quay, with its ships and sailors from every sea — the blended costumes of all nations — and the fair dames a,nd damsels of this southern heaven — voila ce que c'est que la Cannebiere. Well, here you are at last. The flattering torch-light of the preceding evening is extin- guished, and you look in broad day at the Can- nebiere. And what do you see ? You see a great bustle of barbarians and old salts and Sally Browns. You observe a great deal of ready-made clothing exposed for sale, and any number of tarpaulins hanging in the door-ways. You read all the ditties of the sea, set off with wood-cuts, each one penny, stuck in the shop windows. You meet shop-keepers, hucksters, THE CANNEBIERE. fi/S hotel ruDiiers, coach agents, valets de place out of place, courriers with pockets full of Milord's recommendations, beggars, Jews, Turks, and not one elegantly dressed body in a hundred. Such do you find to be this deplorable Cannebierc. Add a very bad smell whenever the wind hap- pens to blow from the port. Add the fleas you catch on the promenade. Add the odor of onion'* and garlic, which makes you anticipate your din- ner with suspicion, if not with horror. Add, in fact, a hotel where on mange — on ne dine pas. Disappointed, you make complaint to your Marseilles friend ; and he says to you, " Only stay here until the bathing and promenading sea- son commences on the Prado." Until spring, ma foi ! We will rather set off for Nice this very evening. Having once gone to that winter re- treat for a week, and remained six months, I can guaranty that a couple of days may be spent there satisfactorily at any season. One day is all that the traveller can possibly get rid of in Marseilles ; and to do that, he should idle the better part of it away on the heights 86 COSAS DE ESPANA. crowned by the churcli of Notre Dame de la Gare. Spread out before and below him lies the beautiful bay, widening gracefully into the Gulf of Lyons. The gay flags of many nations, his own included, float from the shipping in the harbor; and the graceful lateen sails of the smaller craft dot with white or purple the blue expanse of the sea. On one side a low, winding beach stretches out an arm to enfold the bay, as if a bride ; on the other, high and jagged rocks of yellow limestone project, like volcanic peaks, out of the transparent waters. Some of these are crowned with forts and castles ; and on the top of one of them sits perched the romantic chateau of If. The town stands upon the mar- gin of the sea — the cream-colored stone of which it is built glowing in the bright sunlight. On the slopes which rise gradually up around it on all sides excepting the southern, until they final- ly join upon the higher and more distant moun- tain circle which stands between it and winter, peep out of orange groves and olive orchards, the bright cottages of tlie peasantry and the sum- BAY OF MARSEILLES. 87 mer retreats of the merchants. Over all hangs a firmament of cloudless blue, with which the vari- ous tints of the sea, the mountains and the olive- trees finely harmonize. And if you linger until the day goes down, you may see the whole landscape transfigured. The sinking orb will change the mountains to purple ; the rocks of the coast will turn to red ; and the thousand windows of the city will be in a blaze. Gilded by the level rays, the bay be- comes transmuted into molten gold ; and the azure, retiring to the zenith, gives up more than half the heavens to the gorgeous hues which float one upon another above the horizon. Thus may one* spend an October or even a winter day, strolling over the rocks, or reclining in grassy nooks ; and intoxicated with breathing the genial air of the soutli, where he has just ar- rived, may find the hours of the day run out, ere he is ready to turn away from scenes so fair. yii. TAKING NICE IN THE WAY. But we are off for Nice — in fact, have already arrived ! We will take rooms in the garden house of the Hotel des Etrangers. The higher up we go, the finer the prospect. From these upper windows behold the scene ! The roses climb almost all the way up to us from the gar- den below ; beneath us lies the town ; yonder is the sea ; and westward is spread out the cam- pagna, even to the capes of France. Quelle belle vue ! But sit down by this window, and I will tell you something about Nice, and how to live in it. As for the town itself, it is a place where the foreign invalid may die of consumption, as well as elsewhere. The natives die in it of the same HEIGHTS OF CIMELLA. 89 complaint, likewise. The seeker after health, therefore, as well as the lover of fine scenery, should build his nest on the heights of Cimella, which rise at a little distance back of the town, and pleasantly overlook it. No man coughs on Cimella. Few men die there. The old Romans, who had an instinctive sense for sites, who knew as well as tlie temple-haunting martlet where the air was delicate, they built there. Observe the situation of the town. It lies on the margin of the Mediterranean ; and is divided by a torrent which, formed by numerous rivu- lets from the neighboring mountains, finally flows a shallow but rapid stream through the gradually expanding valley. Close around this narrow delta stand the hills, rising higher and higher in the distance, until they shut in the horizon on all sides, excepting that to tlie sea. How snugly the town lies at the feet of its Alpine protectors, which exclude the north. How warm the win- ter's suns stream into this nest in the mountains, and are reflected from the golden beech-sands. Far off, the blasts beat against the northern de- 90 COSAS DE ESPANA. clivities : but their force is broken by the moun- tain barriers. Here, on this side, the south wind softly blows in from the sea. The air is full of light. One feels as though human life were here in a haven, free from all perils ; and where the flow of time would be as imperceptible as the tides of the Mediterranean. Thus easily did I myself once ride at anchor here for half a year. ~ One day, you must know, I saw a very pretty foot in Nice ! It was on Montalbano. I had strolled leisurely up to the gardens after break- fast, book in hand. Here and there, I had stopped to lean over the mural rampart and gaze down upon the busy movement of the little harbor below — smoking my morning's cigar the while. I watched with idle interest the lading and unla- ding of the argosies, the dipping of the boatmen's oars, the scarcely perceptible motion of the lateen sail-boats, the coming into port of some puffing little steamer, the floating on the horizon of specks of canvass spread for Genoa or Leghorn. Lighting a second cigar, I continued on my spiral way to the summit. As, however, I came to MONTALBANO. 91 where tlie spruce is planted, I threw it away, thinking the air more fragrant without tlie tobac- co. Still further on, the violet borders enabled me to continue of the same mind. Here I sat me down to enjoy at my ease this more natur- al and more delicious fragrance. As the sun streamed down upon the flowery bank, it seemed as thougli Nature were here burning in a thou- sand cups frankincense and myrrh sweeter far than that swung out of the censers of the priests. I caught up a few drops from the rivulet to wash from my lips the stain of the tobacco. I think I even made a vow ever afterward to keep my- self pure from the weed. I opened my book — and laid it down again by my side. The scene was too lovely for reading. I preferred to pluck an overhang- ing orange blossom, and quietly pull to pieces its inner mysteries. Next, a buzzing honey- bee attracted my attention. Being in a mor- alizing mood, I set myself to contrasting his busy life with mine ; and was fast coming to tlie conclusion that he had been created expressly to 92 COSAS DE ESPANA. rouse the conscience of a bachelor, when br.z ! the little imp flew up within an inch of my nose, and then went off in a bee line to a neighboring bower of myrtles. Taking his brushing across my eyes as a hint that I had better come after him, if I wished to find something to make my life as sweet as his, I followed the little rascal with my eyes. Just at that moment, out of the myrtles was thrust a lady's foot ! I immediately gave up the bee, and turned my attention to the foot. A very pretty foot. To whom did it belong ? It could not be an Englishwoman's, else it would be more heavily booted. The owner of it could not be a German — the member was too small for that supposition. It might belong to a Spaniard, but then tlie shoe would not be so well made. For the same reason it could not be an Italian's. That shoe was made on the Boulevards, I'll bet my hat ! And the wearer of it is a Parisienne, I'll stake my all on it ! Thereupon, taking my glass from my eye, I said to myself, " Young man, you arc shot !" A PRETTY FOOT. 93 In truth, the foot had gone to my heart. It was such a one as I had not before seen in Nice. It must have just arrived. Who was the lady — what was her name — whore was she living — and how should I make her acquainta,nce ? Here, if I had had a pinch of snuff, I should have taken it ; for no satisfactory answer seemed to come to any of these questions. Thereupon, it occurred to me that if after having studied comparative anatomy a whole semestre at Paris, I could not make out from that foot who the lady was, I might as well tlirow my new edition of Cuvier behind the back-log. Given the foot, what's the color of her eyes ? That is the question. Is she married or unmar- ried ? What's her disposition ? Where in town is she residing ? And how long is she to be here ? As I begun to study these questions, the little foot began to pat the ground. Ah, how daintily. Pat ! pat ! I thought I should go distracted. My hat again that her eyes are blue ! She's a blonde. Auburn hair. Blue ribbons to her bon- 94 COSAS DE ESPANA. net. Wears a scarf. Carries a fan. Either I have no knowledge of feet, or that lady is gentle- hearted. She is no blue, her stocking being of undeniable white. The foot is not girded for travel — a clear indication that she is in town for six months. But what puzzles me is the tie. That gives me pause. All my former observa- tions of shoe-strings must go for nothing, if that lady has not left a husband behind her in Paris. Not a doubt of it — 'tis a case for friendship only, and the affection Platonic. What a pity. Such a pure blonde, and just sufficiently 7mg'nonne for love. Not after the Powers' model of women — not strapping ; but like the Medicean Yenus, of the size to drive one mad. There I sat — the foot sometimes withdrawn behind the myrtles, and then again well extend- ed. Though distressed at the thought that both foot and owner had been conveyed away by mar- riage contract to another, still I said we might be friends together ; and in fact, before rising from my seat I had come to the firm conclusion that my acquaintance with the fair unknown, A PIC-NIC. 95 though commencing with her foot, would be still more delightful the farther it was carried. We would be the very best friends in the world. We would come up here every morning. We would go to La fontana del tempio, or to 11 vallone osciiro, every afternoon. Our Nicean life should be a perpetual stroll and pic-nic. > That day week, had you- been in Nice, you would have been invited to join our party to Villa Franca. It was, indeed, a merry cavalcade, as we sallied out of the court-yard of the hotel de Londres. We were all upon donkeys. "All upon donkeys — Gee-up and gee-ho !" The children, being the most impatient, led off. Others gave chase. The donkey-boys ran after, beating with their sticks the air instead of the legs of their coursers, who, being well fed and willing, set off with unprecedented enthusiasm. My belle Frangaise had stuck a purple lilac with its green leaves in her straw hat ; and the violets I had given her she had fastened on her breast. Through the streets at a smart trot ; and out of 96 COSAS DE ESPANA. the town gates at almost a gallop. Now boys take your beasts. We will walk up this hill ; and don't let us see you again until we reach the summit. But if anybody chooses to ride, in heaven's name let him do it. Each shall go at his own sweet will. Only let every hungry and thirsty soul be in at the opening of the baskets. Through olive-orchards, through plantations of fig and orange, through vine-fields, through flower-gardens and rose-hedges, wound our way. How often did we break off discourse to look back upon a prospect fairer than that seen by the wife of Lot. We sat down and plucked flowers from this bank ; we drew a bucket of water from that well. Our songs were added to those of the birds over-head ; and our laugh and halloo echoed from hill-side to hill-side. ' On every hand the landscape smiled ; and in the heavens the sun ran his race like a strong man rejoicing. He had nearly reached his zenith, ere we our summit. Then came the lunch ; the spreading of napkins on the greensward ; the unpacking of A SIESTA. - 97 baskets ; the drawing of corks. By my troth, all that goes to help out wonderfully the romance of the mountains. But were ever children so famished ? Had we all been keeping fast for a fortnight ? I will thank you for a cut of that chicken. Just a drop to lielp me swallow it. One would have said that you needed nothing to wash it down any faster. True — but then bread, meat, and wine go together like any trinity or triumvirate. And now are ye all done ? Then, call in the donkey-boys. The rogues — they will pick these bones cleaner than would so many foxes. If one may judge by the way in which they fall to, they will make no bones of a whole basket-full of fragments. How their young cheeks stick out ; their jaws are as quick as steel-traps ; aad their big black eyes run over with joy, as if with champaigne moussu. How glorious this wide-awake siesta under the spreading beech-tree 1 A sense of calm content and unobstructed joy pervades the soul of a man after a luncheon which he has climbed a moun- tain for. As he reclines against the ancient tree- 5 98 COSAS DE ESPANA. roots, the zephyrs come softly out of heaven to kiss his temples. He is at perfect peace with his stomach and with all mankind. The valley beneath his feet is to him a happy valley, like nnto the vale of Rasselas, prince of Abyssinia. The bay beyond lies before his eyes spread out like a summer sea of pure delight, and its islands are as fair as the fortunate isles, fabled in story. Day-dreams, the most gorgeous, are spun out by his nimble-fingered fancy, until at last sweet sleep steals in unawares, and claims for itself the few remaining moments of the noon-tide hour-t Near by, the donkeys sleep too. Their drivers also lie supine with faces in the sun, and basking like snakes. Luckily, the children are out of hearing, though not of sight, sailing boats and chips on a mimic lake. Not a word is spoken ; not a sound is heard, except the occasional turn- ing of a leaf, as my Frangaise, on the other side of the tree, roves through the pages of some summer book. Heigh ! ho ! donkey-boys. Ho ! for Villa Franca. Quickly we are all in the saddle ; and VILLA FRANCA. 99 away we go down the mountain side as for a wager, and who can go fastest. Villa Franca, and the inn by the sea ! "We will order our din- ner, and then fish up the first course of it, stand- ing in our balcony. Or who will, may seat him- self in the boat which lies moored to the house- door, and cast his line for ortolans, or sea-dates, dattolas di mare, over the stern-board. How lighter than a fancy sits the shallop on the water — and as unreal as any dream ! We push off into deep water, my belle Francaise and I. Yet how transparent are the green depths ; how distinctly we discern the shells and pebbles on the bottom ; and what homes for mermaids to hide in are furnished by these groves of marine plants. As in air, so in water the range of the eye is here doubled. We follow the fish gambol- ling together through their liquid play-grounds ; and see the glorious niblile ere we feel it. Capital place this for sea-bathing. One might rise from his bed of a summer morning, and at a bound plunge from his balcony into the depths of the sea. It would wake him ud most effectu- 100 COS AS DE ESPA^A. ally, such a plunge. And then how refreshing- after the night's repose to lave one's limbs in the salt sea water. Just as the sun gains the mount- ain top, and pours the purple flush of morning wide over the surface of the glassy bay, is the hour for it, as for matins. Ablutions performed at such a time always seem to me a sort of half- sacrament. Shall we then pass the summer here ? Shall we keep a yacht, and explore these bays and bights, these grottoes and caverns ? Many a headland and mountain spur it would be pleasant to climb ; many a sea-washed town, and tower rising o'er the steep, to visit. Often would we round the beautiful peninsula of Sant' Ospizio, formerly colonized by the Moors ; we would chase the dolphins off Monaco ; we would climb the rock of Esa where the Corsairs had their city of refuge ; and on Sundays we would say our prayers in the chapel of the stalactite cave. Palms of the east, and the stone-pine, so beloved of Claude, would shade our cottage. The prickly pear and American aloe, would make us hedges. A GARDEN. 101 In our garden would bloom the primrose, though it loves not Italy, the sweet violet, the jessamines, the anemonies, scarlet, pink, and purple. We should glory in rhododendrons, oleanders, and plane-trees ; in cork-trees, evergreen oaks and cypresses. We would live on our own dates and pomegranates. The fig here is luscious. The grapes burst with sweetness. The wine of San Lorenzo has all the secret virtues of that of Cy- press. We would catch our own ortolans ; and partake daily of the mytilus lithophagns^ at fifty livres the dish. Or failing that, we would dine on pollen ta and the roasted chestnuts of the peas- antry. What say you to a summer cottage in II hoi paese, Che I'Appeniii 'ptirte, e '1 mnr 'ciiconde e '1 Alpe ? Returning to town, we reached the summit just as the sun was sinking behind the distant head- lands of the coast of France. As purple as any isles that float in the Grecian archipelago, or off Afric's tropic coasts, lay the rocky shores of this Mare Ligusticum. Tlie Mediterranean, far off to where the Corsican mountains loom on the hori- 102 COSAS DE ESPAJV'A. zon, gleamed as a sea of molten glass, with tints Bohemian. The rugged momitains were red as rubies. Tasso's description of a sunrise in the Secchia Rapita would well apply to this sunset. Tremalavono i rai del sol iiasceiite Sovra I'onde del mar purpuree e d'oro ; E ill veste di zaffiro il ciel rideiite Specchiar parea le sue bellezzo in lorn. But vain the pen. Only the pencil could paint this beatification of nature. Only the imagination can conceive how soft and radiant shone the light shed from the new moon's crescent through the the transparent twilight ; or the heart describe the influences cast by that evening star. Alas, that such an eve should ever have an end ! To-day to Yilla Franca ; to-morrow to the orange cottage. Indeed, I think I must have preferred the latter, as I went thither much the oftener. If there were no other special rendez- vous for the day, we always went to the cottage. It was agreed upon all round ; and each knew where to find the other by a sympatheti'c instinct which superseded the necessity of formal appoint- ments. To the cottage tlie way had tliis ad van- THE ORANGE COTTAGE. 108 tage that it took us more across-lots, and through private orchards and gardens, where we had leave to pass. Well was the wliolo troupe of us known to the gardeners, and many a franc did we leave behind in exchange for flowers. These, on our arrival at our rendezvous, made an occu- pation for the ladies frequently during half the morning. The art of arranging them was made a study as well as an amusement. The most pleasing combinations of form and color were sought for as earnestly as if we had all been flower-painters. Where should stand the lily, and where should we plant the rose ? Where would the carnations best display their many- colored charms ; and in what nook of the moun- tain of flowers should nestle the sweet-smelling verbenas ? An argument was lield on every leaf and petal. Each favorite flower had its advo^ cates. The place of a hare-bell was decided by a majority of voices. And the beauty of it was that, when our bouquet was finished, there were to be no signs of argumentation about it. The art was to be gone ; and you were to swear that. 104 COSAS DE ESPANA. by a happy conceit of nature, the well-combined colors had thus grown out of the earth together. And yet I would sometimes say to myself, inaud- ibly, that the simple bud or two worn in a cer- tain person's hair, or the pair of pinks nestling at her heart, were more effective than all our flower-mountains, though undeniably of the most delectable. Sometimes our fancy would run en- tirely on wreaths ; and then we all sat together crowned like the divinities on high Olympus. Or we bound the children's heads with orange blossoms ; though it was hard keeping them in place. They soon ran their flowers off. The paths were strewn with fallen pinks and roses. The grass-plot was purple with violets. Then it would do your heart good to see our garlanded cherubs drink the newly-drawn milk. With big staring eyes they look at you over their pitcher rims, and devour with long-suppressed breath the life-giving beverage. This is mainly why we frequent the cottage. For it is cheering day by day to see the young cheeks grow red and rounder. Let them drink their fill. For BOX-HEDGES. 105 my part, 1 ^vill cat oranges. This is my morn- ing's labor. Happily I need no solaces ; but were I a sad man ; were I at all " hipped," crossed in love or indiscreetly married ; Avere I nursing a pet dyspepsia, or in the mood for a jaundice ; were I out of pocket and out of friends and out of occupation ; this should be my conso- lation — I would come up here and eat oranges. We all sit on the box-hedges. ' Never was a spring-seat so cunningly contrived by the uphol- sterers. Never was there such play to a couch as to this. With every movement of your person there is a gentle give and rebound. You feel as buoyant as soap-bubbles. The leaves of the box are soft to your back ; the thousand springy little twigs bear you bravely up on their shoulders; while the strong stems below are as firm as four posts and mahogany. Surely, never was a head more softly pillowed on lap or .feathers. You shut your eyes, and imagine yourself floating off on a summer cloud. You open them, and gaze up into the green depths of the foliage. Here and there the sun's rays streaming in gild the 5* 106 COSAS DE ESPANA. polished leaf-surfaces. Here and there, beUveen the branches, are disclosed bits of the oA-erhang- ing blue. The bees softly hum in the blossoms. The fruit, green or golden, weighs down the branches. There you lie, waiting the falling of the yellow orbs from out their leafy heaven ; and as one after another, heavy with ripened juices, they drop off their weary stems, with open mouth you catch tlieni ! 0, traveller ! seek out tliis cottage, you can not mistake it, though not set down in the guide- books. Only avoid all the paths that are straight ; and go up through the olive-orchards zig-zag ; not following your nose too closely ; but roving on fancy-free. That's the gate. Either the flower-girl or the orange-boy is waiting to open it for you. Come and go as you list. And be sure your coming in and your going out will be with salutations as good as benedictions. Or, perhaps, you prefer going with me this morning up to the monastery on the heights of San' Andrea ! Come on then. On foot ; on horseback ; or in carriage — as you will. I must san' andrka. 107 confess, however, that generally I prefer paying a visit to these brothers on foot and alone. I like to go up to their mountain near the close of day, and most when in the mood serious. There is a padre there who knows me well. Many a time have we walkjed the garden-paths together at fall of day, discussing the solemn themes of our holy religion. The learning of the ancient doctors of the law — the former triumphs of the cross — the beauty of the sacred rites and ser- vices — the wisdom, the beneficence, the far-"" reaching dominion of Mother Church — on these and kindred themes would the enthusiastic padre discourse until the twilight faded out of the west, and 4hQ convent towers grew pale in the autum- nal moonlight. At other times our conversation would take less of the moon's serious cast, and more of the warm tints of the sunset. Even the purple glow of the clusters we occasionally broke from the overhanging vines sometimes seemed rellected in our talk of Italian art and Roman letters. The padre was well read in both Horace and Petrarch. He also told a good story. And 108 COSxVS DE ESP AN A. what was more, he was endowed with as splendid a set of teeth as ever shamed the elephant with all his ivory ; and whether it was to get an op- portunity of showing them off to advantage, or whether he wished to enchant me with his beam- ing eyes, often would he stop short in mid-path, and looking me full in the face, recite Dante by the page, or the sweet nnmbers of the later poets. His voice was bewitchingly musical ; and the verses ran over his lips like the dropping of the honey-comb. " Come in, my son," would the good padre finally say, " come in, and break with me the long day's fast." Then the frugal table would be spread ; and brother Giacomo would be called in. He was a genial brother too; but his dis- course shone mostly at the board. I preferred to walk the garden with Alfonso. It was always with him that I stood leaning over the balustrade at the end of the grounds, looking far down the dizzy height upon the road wliich wound below, and surveying the graceful sweep of the valley from whereit issued from the mountains to where THE PADRES. 100 it was terminated by the curved sea-beach. On the lower declivities were scattered the pictur- esque cottages of tlie vinedressers ; and on the distant shore stood the gay-roofed town of Nice. The high-placed monastery seemed to be near to heaven ; and could one ha,vc caught a glimpse of tlie trees of life that shade its golden portals, they could scarcely have excelled in beauty the two evergreen oaks which kept their guard of peace before San' Andrea's gates. But, as I was saying, within doors Giacomo was my man. He was equally good at a feast as a fast — to say the least. His voice was a grand organ foi* the paternosters and the vesper hymns ; but he could also sing you a good song : a good soug in the very best Latin of the middle ages, or in the laughing verse of times less strict- ly ecclesiastical. As you called, so he sang. At the monastery, of course, I asked only for the chants of tlie church, and the magniloquent Latin of the Yulgate ; but when Giacomo came to my cell on Cimella, no lady's lattice o)i the Yalencian shore, or in Andalusia's vales, ever 110 rOSAS DE ESPANA. listened to a tenderer plaint of love than was breathed from the musical breast of that good padre. He seemed to know the classic songs of every land, having been in his youth an enthusi- astic collector of national melodies. I gave Giacomo a glass of my best wine ; but I must confess that it came far short of his. The flasks he produced must, I think, have been from a few left over from the preceding century, and one less enlightened than the present as to the policy of letting good liquors go down to poster- ity. Or they might possibly have come from the store of some son of the church who in his final hour had had the good sense to secure the pray- ers of the friars of San' Andrea, not only by a devise of lands and chattels, but by throwing in a few bottles of his best Nizza. But whether the lips of the good man's intercessors were wet to any purpose or not, mine certainly were the bet- ter for the legacy. The hearts of the padres also overflowed, even more than their bowls. Not that the holy men were at all " lifted." Far from getting to slapping each other profanely SLEEPING IN A MONASTERY. Ill across the I)ack, they simply hiid their hands with a little additional emphasis upon their breasts. It was no more than a slight mellowing of the soul, and a freer flow of wit. Alfonso's eyes shone with a still purer water, and his ivory smiled with, if possible, a brighter radiance. Giacomo's voice dropped down to a sub-base a little nearer to the muttering of the gathering tempest, or ran dallying up among the gay semi- quavers of the high tenore. Once, on an emergency, I was obliged to accept the hospitality of a vacant cell for the night. And I am happy to say that my experience must go to prove that one might be less well off in Italy than sleeping on good wine and a peaceful conscience under the roof of a monastery. The mattress may be thin; the boards unbending. But cloister air is favorable for sleeping ; and, as I found, for dreaming too. In my sleep I saw nothing l)ut beautiful Madonnas and very sweet- faced angels looking down Avith interest upon me. Little plump, rosy-cheeked cherubs, for all the world like so many Cupids, wore flying about 112 COSAS DE ESPANA. on the low ceiling, and climbing playfully up and down the bed-posts. In one corner of the room stood a capacious, high-backed arm-chair, prob- ably a gift-oifering, and the only article of furni- ture which looked at all unclerical ; and in it, all night long, as often as my dreamy eyes were turned that way, sat roguish Friar Puck, his fin- ger on his nose, making faces at me. As the bell rang for matins, I awoke as com- pletely mystified as if I had been sleeping at the foot of Jacob's ladder. I think Griacomo and Queen Mab were leagued together to play me tricks. Certain visions passed that night before my eyes, whether shut or open I can not precisely say, so charming, I would barter all my earthly hopes to make them realities. But — 'tis time to return to Marseilles. YIIl. TO SEA IN A SPANISH SHIP. Barca, the father of Hannibal — Barcino. Be- hold the origin of the name of tlie steamer which was destined to convey me to the Spains. Hav- ing duly obtained leave of the Marseilles police, the American consul, and his worship, the Span- ish consul, to take so grave a step, I engaged a berth in this good Spanish ship, rather than run the risk of offending the national pride of my Barcelona friends by arriving in a French one. Had there been an American vessel, by the by, running in opposition to the others, it would have been still more imprudent to have given it the preference, for the difficulties between the gov- ernments of Spain and the United States, growing out of the Lopez buccaneering expedition against 114 COSAS DE ESPANA. Caba, were then unsettled. I had even been warned at Marseilles that in the exasperated state of the public mind beyond the Pyrenees, a Yankee might be welcomed there with hands which the next moment would be cold from the steel of the stiletto. However, naught alarmed by the advice of men whose minds were excited by the perils of a threatened insarrection at home, I paid down my hard Spanish dollars ; and to all warnings gave for my only reply — Carlos Stuardo soi, Que siendo amor mi guia, Al ciel de Espafia voi, For ver mi estrella, Maria. An explanatory word, at the outset, respecting the cosas de EspaTia. They are the strange things of Spain, which, being utterly incompre- hensible by foreigners, are never even attempted to l3e"^pTamea to tliem by the natives. Should a stranger imprudently seek to pry into one of them, he would get in return merely a long string of polite circumlocutions and repetitions of words, the substance and end of which would be, that STARTING BY DAYLIGHT. 115 t]ie matter in question was a cosa de Espaha; and that was all which could be said about it. Now the traveller can not take tlie first step toward thi s land of w himsicalities without en- countering a cosa. After I had paid for my pas- sage on board the Barcino, I was informed tliat we sliould leave the next morning at daylight. At davliQ:ht ! Now what, in the name of common sense, thought I, could be the reason for compel- ling the passengers to turn out on a December morning at an hour so uncomfortable — and that, in order to go on board a ship wliich showed by the number of the revolutions of her paddles per minute that she v/as not in the least possible hurry to reach the point of her destination — and that, moreover, in order to go to a country where, as the reader already knows or will here- after be fully informed, time is of no sort of ac- count whatever, and especially the time whicli is spent in journeying ! I did not presume to ask for an explanation. But the one which occurred to me was, that the Spaniard having been accus- tomed from time immemorial to take the road at 116 COSAS DE ESPANA. break of day, in order to save himself and liis ass from the midday heats, he could not think of so far changing old established habit as to set out even by steamer at any other hour. Knowing the thousand causes of delay incident to all Spanish expeditions, I had, in truth, not much faith to believe that we should get off be- fore noon ; but not wishing to run any risk of being left behind, I thought the best thing to be done was to go on board over night, and get such sleep in the narrow cabin as fortune should send me. I accordingly did so. It is a strange sensation — that which comes over one when being rowed down the harbor of Marseilles at night. • It was getting toward mid- night as I stepped into the heavy barge which was to convey me to the steamer at the bottom of the harbor. Four sailors in the red caps and brown jackets of Spain were at the oars ; and a steersman, with a face dark as Charon's, sat muffled in his capote at the helm. Had I been going to cross the Styx, I could not have chosen a better hour or man. As I glided down the HARBOR OF MARSEILLES. 117 harbor, almost as narrow and well filled as a dock, no noise broke the stillness of the night, save that of the slowly dipping oars. The use of fire being prohibited within the port, not a single sliip-light was seen burning froni deck or cabin. Only the stars shone upon my pathway, and were reflected in long lines of light from the glassy surface of the sea. The big, black hulks, half- buried in the darkness of the night, seemed to be sleeping on the silent waters. For once, a sense of desolateness, which will sometimes overtake the solitary traveller — a regret — a vague feeling of dread even, was rising in my breast, when all at once the similarity of the scene recalled to my recollection the pleasant summer nights spent years before on the lagoons of Venice. There was a resemblance, yet how great the contrast. For instead of the light gondola, and the song of the gay-throated Italian, I had now a cumbrous barge with a helmsman as silent and motionless as a spectre. Instead of gliding along between banks of palaces, with pillar and cornice, wall and window, urn and statue, shining in the moon- 118 COSAS DE ESPANA. beams, I was stealing away between a double row of black, half-defined masses which lay like monsters brooding on the deep. Instead of the passing and repassing of'pleasnre boats, freighted with frolic or with love, I was ploughing a solitary furrow through a silent sea, meet- ing no adventures, and looking forward to no greetings. But the recalling of the more pleasing Vene- tian scene was soon interrupted by the arrival of the boat alongside the steamer. I aroused my- self from my revery just long enough to climb the ship's side — to give a thought to Saint Ferdinand — and to throw myself into my berth. It was not until the Barcino had been several hours on her way that I made my appearance on deck the next day. And judge of my surprise on observing that we were then streaming directly past the entrance to the harbor of Marseilles. I rubbed my eyes ; I rubbed my glass ; but could make nothing else of it. Then, seeing the cap- tain standing near me, I went up to him, and asked him what the deuce the Barcino had been DON QUIXOTE. 119 about for the last three or four hours. To which, as it may have seemed to him, very strange ques- tion, he quietly replied that we had been running down the coast to the port of — 1 forget the name — to get a bill of health. Going half the way to Italy, said I to myself, in order to procure a bill of health for a port in Spain ! What can that mean ? Luckily, an instant's reflection sug- gested to me that this was cosa^ number U'i^i, So I spared myself the mortification, and the captain the indignity of another inquiry. Calmly turning away, I congratulated myself with the reflection that a bill of health was undoubtedly a good thing ; and remembering that there was an extra charge of several francs on my passage- ticket for this same bill of health, I had also the satisfaction of knowing that I had got what was bargained for. Excepting this voyage down the eastern coast of France, the day wore away without any sort of an adventure — and that, 'notwithstanding the ship's cabin doors were ornamented with pictures of the exploits of Don Quixote. On 120 COSAS DE ESPANA. mine was painted the scene where the gallant knight attacked his host's pig-skins. In his shirt- tails, and the innkeeper's greasy nightcap, with his good blade in hand, and his eyes hurling dag- gers at the fancied giant Micomicon, he was rip- ping up the innocent wine-bags, which hung un- suspectingly on the walls of his bed-room. The red fluid, which, to the astonished eyes of Sancho Panza, was the blood of the giant, but which to those of the indignant host, was his own fruity, full-bodied and high-colored Yaldepenas, was gushing from the fatal gash, and streaming a copious current to the floor. Alas, what waste of courage — and what waste of wine ! But even upon so sad a sight, it_ was some relief to look in the intervals of jea-sickness. And before leaving the ship, there had sprung up in my mind such a sympathy for the Don on my cabin door that, like travellers who go about pilfering chips from the tables of the illustrious dead, or stones and mor- tar from their tombs, I was more or less tempted to cut out the precious panel and pocket it. Had I done so, what a capital coat-of-arms I should GARLIC. 121 have had for my coach, in case I ever camo to set up one ! Everything, I repeat, went on aboard-ship as naturally and as reasonably as if instead of going to Spain, I had been bound to any other Chris- tian country. I should therefore have retired at night poorly satisfied with my first day's adven- tures, but for the enjoyment all the day long of one plra riurc, prrub'nrf3r-Pipninir>h.._T^iTfrr to the smell of garlic. Th is pervaded the whole ship, and must have perfumed the surrounding sea-air for as many leagues as do the odoriferous gales which blow off the coast of Mozambique or Araby. The privilege of inhaling it was as free as the air it sd strongly qualified ; and was about the only agrement of the voyage which did not find a place in the steward's bills. At dinner, however, it operated as too much of a good thing. It was the drop of excess. Something I must have been forced into muttering to myself at table about the odoriferous bulb — something about every dish of tlie dinner being seasoned with it ; for a Span- ish gentleman sitting by my side, who by some 6 122 COSAS DE ESPANA. extraordinary chance happened to speak English, very politely informed me in my own languag^e that I was mistaken — that there was no garlic in any dish on the table, excepting the hare-stew — and that my error had arisen from the circum- stance that the cook and waiters kept themselves constantly ruhhed in it. The night, indeed, had its little incident ; for in the course of it, I scraped acquaintance with my first Spanish flea. The previous night, as the ship was lying in French waters, he was off duty, flirting no doubt with the grisettes of Marseilles, and did not therefore come across me. But he now seemed eager to embrace the earliest oppor- tunity of flying into my arms, and making my personal acquaintance. I found him a very lively little person, as capering as a Frenchman, and not at all affecting the stately, measured move- ment of a full-blooded hidalgo. As he wore his face muffled by the cloak of night, 1 could not get a sight of his features, but have the impres- sion that he must have had a decidedly hungry look. At any rate, he proceeded to attack the A FLEA. 123 banquet I had spread out before him with an ap- petite such as his countrymen are always happy to bring to your entertainment, but which you rarely have an opportunity of displaying at theirs. But after he had enjoyed the satisfaction of drinking my healtli several times, I made some remark, accompanied by some movement, which he took in ill part ; and, thereupon, very abruptly quit my company. On going on deck next morning, I found the steamer off Mataro, and, running down one of the fairest coasts, washed by any sea or ocean. A range of low mountains stretched away to the south parallel with the shore, and so close upon it as to leave but a narrow fringe of level land between. At one extremity of this lip of shore stood Mataro ; and on the other, just visible in the distance, the city of Barcelona. Between them lay a large number of smaller towns, con- nected by what a year or two ago was the only railway in Spain. The brown mountain-sides were terraced ; and in summer, they are draped with a green scarf of vineyards. Less gay in 124 . cos AS DE ESPAPfA. winter, they nevertheless presented a clieerful ap- pearance ; for, besides the numerous towns lying at the foot of the mountains, I counted some doz- ens of villages, together with a great number of hamlets nestled in the higher valleys or perched on the lower hill-tops. These, looking all to the south and east, were lit up, when. I saw them, by the rising morn, and shone on their back-ground of brown earth like gems on. the purple of a queen. Beyond the mountains of the shore was to be seen the over-topping edge of more distant ranges, clad in snow — thus making a line of white to link the darker foreground of the earth with the beautiful azure of the unclouded sky. This scene beheld from a sea, on whose polished surface lay reflected all the magnificence of both sky and shore, furnished my first view of the del de Es- pana — the " heaven of the Spains." IX. THREE DAYS OF QUARANTINE. In the noontide of a day, as sunny as if it had been summer, we dropped anchor in the harbor of Barcelona. Enchanted with tlie sight of shores so fair, I liurried my " traps" together, and was going to call a boat alongside for the purpose of disembarking at the earliest possible moment, when tlie captain, observing my intentions, called out, " No cor re priesa^ &/7or." " There's no hurry — what do you mean ?" " I mean to say you can't go ashore, sir. Three days of quarantine." " Three days of quarantine ! ! ! But haven't we got a cleaji bill of health — a bill of health we went half the way to Italy after — a bill of health duly paid and receipted?" 126 COSAS DE ESP ANA. " All very true, sir ; and your bill of health takes off two days from the quarantine. Do you see that English coaler yonder ? He's thirty days from Newcastle ; and he has to ride out a quaran- tine of five notwithstanding." ^' Bravo ! Newcastle is in the enjoyment of the best of health ; Marseilles never was in sound- er condition; there is not a single infectious dis- ease prevailing on the shores of the Mediterra- nean, or even the Atlantic ocean; and yet the commerce of the whole civilized world is quaran- tined from three to five days at Barcelona ! Only answer me this one question : loliy then did we leave Marseilles at daybreak ?^^ But here was another cosa. Of course, I got no explanations. Nor could I afterward get any — unless it was that the detention of vessels an- swered the purpose of increasing the port-charges ; or furnished greater facilities for smuggling ; or enabled the government at Madrid to cripple the commerce of the rival capital of Catalonia. How- ever this may be, I did not then waste much time in reflecting upon the matter, but hastened down THE PORT-DOCTORS. 127 stairs ; took to ray berth ; and there, by dint of frequent shifting from one side to the other, I reached the third day — day of grace and pardon for having presumed, being in full health of body, if not of mind, and having a bill of the same duly paid in my pocket, to enact such a stupid piece of knight-errantry, as to come to the dominions of her Most Catholic Majesty ! At an early hour of the third day — no plague nor pestilence having broken out among the ship's passengers, though strong signs of a famine had begun to show themselves in the steward's de- partment, where little was left beyond an inex- haustible supply of garlic — our term of bondage was declared to be fniished, and we were sum- moned on deck to pass through the formalities of manumission. After an hour or two of still fur- ther delay, the doctor's boat was at last spied slowly pulling otf to the steamer. The doctor leisurely picking a late breakfast out of his teeth, lounged up the gangway ; and having comforta- bly posted himself against the railing of the poop- deck, as well as braced himself up with his offi- 128 COSAS DE ESPANA. cial walking-stick, gave orders that the whole posse of us should be made to pass in review before his worship. He was dressed, I observed, in the rusty old clothes of Dr. Sangrado. But how many pulses he may have timed — how many tongues he may have ordered out — how many ribs he may have felt of — I know not. Being among the first to '^ pass muster," I can only say that he neither looked down my throat, nor felt of my teeth ; but that giving me the benefit of a rather knowing squint out of his left eye, he at once pronounced me a fit subject for disembarka- tion. The examination was as good a farce as you may see in Spain even. In truth, how could a Spanish port-doctor, who had ever inspected his own person, or the persons of Spanish sailors, the greater part of whom are black enough with dirt and sun to be sent to prison in South Caro- lina as free negroes, how could he cast out of the country as unclean any foreigner in the daily use of soap and 'water? The thing is a small ab- surdity. But before I could have time to make this or any other reflection, I was over PULLING ASHORE. 129 the sliip's side, into the boat, and had a rag- ged barbarian of the country pulling me ashore as for dear life — though in fact for the sum of four pesetas. 6* X. THE LANDING. The distance from ship to shore was consider- able. I had, therefore, ample time to compose my mind, slightly ruffled as it was by the annoy- ances of the quarantine ; and in the exercise of perfect good will toward all Spaniards, was about to take peaceable possession of the shore, when I was met at the water's edge by a hostile army drawn up for battle. It consisted of a small host of what in any other country would pass for rag- amuffins, but who were here called porters. The moment my foot touched the shore, the enemy rushed upon me, together with a Frenchman whom chance made my ally for the moment, and com- pletely surrounded us. Spirited as the French are in an attack, it is well known that they make A FIGHT. 131 a poor defence. My experience in this particu- lar case confirmed the truth of the general im- pression respecting them. The fat travelling merchant, for such he was, did not stand his ground so well as even I did, and was absolutely borne ofi' his feet in triumpli by the enemy. But after their easy success against us, they immediately fell to loggerheads among themselves over their booty. While one of the scoundrels had succeeded in throwing my trunk, and another my bag over his slioulders, two others were tug- ging at each end of my umbrella, and other two were having a regular stand-up figh^ over my hat-box. Taking advantage of this contention, I escaped to a slight eminence, whence I could sur- vey tlic fray below. In the midst of the crowd was the fat Frenchman struggling for dear life, and his still dearer parcels, of which he had a md'st embarrassing number. All told, boxes and packages, they might amount to well-nigh a doz- en ; and every one of them, besides life and limbs, was in imminent peril. There he was, poor fel- low I can not say, but fat fellow, his hat carried 132 COSAS DE ESPANA. ojff among the spoils of war, and himself jamftied into the centre of as beggarly a platoon of ras- cals as ever got together under the nostrils of a gentleman. He vociferated, gesticulated, and I am afraid he swore. I certainly saw him seize one poor devil by the collar ; and he was so over- excited that he seemed to be in danger every moment of going off in a fit of apoplexy. But at length the rage of battle subsided. The commis-voyageur succeeded in making a treaty with the victors, agreeing to give on both his ac- count and mine such a sum as on subdivision would yieid to each beggar of them a small hand- ful of reals. This amount paid, though some still clamored for more gratificacioncitas , he eventu- ally got a release ; but came out of the crowd, a sight to behold, puffing and perspiring like a patient from the feather-beds of a water-cure. Having at last ransomed ourselves and effects out of the hands of these Philistines, we were both piled up with bag and baggage in the inte- rior of an omnibus. It was one of those which Noah had made use of in going into the ark, and CUSTOMHOUSES. 133 still had more or less of the mud of the first flood about it. In this vehicle we had to run two lines of customhouses before getting admittance to the city. The first was passed with tolerable success. By simply standing a little aloof*, and keeping perfectly cool, I managed to have my trunk over- looked in the examination of the luggage ; but my companion, whose nerves, never strong, had just before been unduJy excited, got at once into a fluster, and* was not let ofl* until after all his wares had been most faithfully ransacked. On reaching the second line, we were driven into a courtyard where, as it next to never rains in this part of the world, was accumulated the dust of all the feet of all the sinners who had ever en- tered Barcelona. And the moment after our en- trance a set of sweeps, well instructed, no doubt, in this part of their duty, began to raise such a dust in the four corners of the enclosure, that my travelling merchant, who, besides having a diffi- culty in Ills breathing, had a collection of pat- terns which would suffer more from exposure in such an atmosphere than even his mucous 134 cos AS DE ESPANA, membrane, began immediately to curse and swear, and almost to wish himself back among the porters. As he had voluntarily assumed the office of paymaster-general until our arrival at the hotel, I resolved to let him take his own course, and see how he would get us out of this second scrape. This time he resorted to his pockets. He fum- bled long before getting hold of a five-franc piece ; but when he did, he thrust it into the sleeve of the official with force enough to send it half-way up to his shoulder. At the same instant he shouted to the coachman to crack his whip; and in another we cleared the gates at a bound. Our driver turned out to be a veritable Jehu. He played his lash around the long ears of his animals with the adroitness of an expert. He shouted to his leaders, calling each by name: — "Go it, Gil-^go it, Sancho." And all this while he was rattling us over a pavement which had been laid down by the Phenicians, and never mended since. The result was that the French- man, who had never einbarked on such a sea of A NATIVK co.\rn. 185 troubles before, was in less than five minutes cas- cading out of the window. At tlie same time his boxes, no less disturbed tlian their owner, were leaping about the carriage like so many frogs. At the end of some ten minutes, however, we pulled up, all standing, in front of the hotel. Before alighting, ray fellow-traveller proceeded to examine his legs and the small of his back, to see if he were in a condition to move from his seat. But finding all his bones safe and sound, though his shirt-collar was badly broken down by the perspiration which flowed at every pore, he descended. I, who, in all things, let him take the lead, followed his example. On enter- ing the house, however, I found that, like a true Frenclunau, he had brought me to an inn kept by one of his own countrymen. But as I had not come to Spain to keep company with its mortal enemies, I at once decided to seek a lodging else- where. So after paying the half of all charges, I bade him good morning, and drove to a Fonda, where I could have my stews seasoned by a na- tive-born Spaniard. 136 COSAS DB espaNa. " One hundred sous, Sehor,^'' said the 'bus- man, pushing away from his forehead a long red cap, which hung down his back nearly to his but- tock. One hundred sous, said I to myself, for being driven to town by a fellow in a cap like that ! A fellow in a sheepskin jacket, and an absolutely unmentionable pair of short-clothes ! One hundred sous for the use and enjoyment of such a wretched piece of joinery as was the fel- low's vehicle ; for the service of mules in ropes, and spavined " worse than ever was Rosinante ; for the pleasure of being taken over a pavement utteidy dislocated, and so nearly fatal to my spi- nal marrow ! The demand seemed to me extor- tionate. Having been long accustomed to the two-franc fees of the Parisian cabmen, and con- sidering that I had been paraded into town in a mere 'bus, I had made up my mind to forty sous — with ten more to be added for the circum- stance of being in Spain. However, thinking that I would, at least, get some amusement out of tlie fellow before paying his fee, I resolved to try my Spanish on him. Accordingly I entered "ONE HUNDRED SOUS, SENIOR." 137 upon a semi-serious argument with my claimant of the hundred sous, and was apparently making out something of a case in my favor, when I very imprudently alluded to my experience in Paris, where for forty sous one may drive from one end of the city to the other in a cab and two. Now in arguing with a Spaniard, nothing is so ill ad- vised as any comparison drawn between his coun- try and France, to the advantage of the latter. Accordingly, no sooner had I got the words out of my mouth than my little man, drawing himself up as high as he could get — which was not more than five feet two — and cracking his cap like a whip-lash, immediately replied : — '' Fifty sous may do for Paris ^ Senor ; but they ivonH ansvjer for Barcelona !^^ or course, after being so fairly floored in the argument, I had nothing to do but strike my flag. I did so most cheerfully — paid my money — and entered upon a new" scene of adventure in enter- ing my first Spanish Fonda. XL MY ROOMS AT THE FONDA. The Fonda del Grande Oriente, at Barcelona, was formerly a monastery. Little else, however, than its strong stone walls, enclosing a quadran- gular court, and its low-arched corridors, running around the four inner sides of the building, and furnishing on each of the five stories a long and spacious promenade, now remains of the original edifice. Still the air of good cheer, which in earlier days must have reigned in its refectories, continues to linger in its halls. As of old, its cellars are well supplied with the liquid which is red in the cup ; its larder is fat with good Span- ish pork and poultry ; and its inmates, from land- lord to boot-cleaner, retain a good degree of the rubicund rotundity of the ancient priesthood. MINE HOST. 189 As, for tlie first time, I walked thoughtfully up the broad and well-worn stones of the stairway, so suited by its gentle ascent to the weary feet of the well-loaded mendicant, or the heavy foot- steps of the short-winded father confessor, I said to myself: You have come to Spain just half a century too late. The publicans have supplanted the priests ; and instead of the old hospitality of monk and hermit, which was paid for in charities, you will now have to sit at meat with travellers' and shiners, at a daily cost of thirty-five reals. I was somewliat disappointed to perceive, as I did at a glance, tliat mine host of the Oriente was no Spaniard. Like most of the better landlords of this part of the country, he was a native of Italy. But though foreign born, both he and liis household were in the country bred, and had taken so kindly and naturally to all good Span- ish ways, that his ollas were the envy of all lov- ers of hare in Barcelona. With many bows, I was ushered into the best rooms vacant ; and in the face of so much polite- ness on the part of my host, I could not think of 140 COSAS DE ESPANA. being so nncourteous as to turn up my nose at his accommodations. Bva^ native,__a ccugtom edto travel with bed and board at Ms, backj the apart- ments would^have be§n.Jh.Qjxgh4^prJiLcaixX_illiLi2- me, coming from a civilized country, they seomod but holes in the wall. However, I politely lim- ited my objections to the rooms to inquiring if there were any others at the moment unoccupied. The landlord's reply was, that he had others, but 'none so worthy of my acceptance. I therefore prudently made a virtue of necessity —besides a civil bow to my host, in return for a very large number of his own — and took possession. The door of my apartment, which opened into the corridor, was without a latch. It had, how- ever, a lock strong enough to resist a catapult. In case of an insurrection, then believed by many persons to be imminent, the lock and hinges of that good stout door, thought I, would be capable of doing me some service. I should have my barricade ready made at my hand. It had, be- sides, a certain monastic look, in harmony with the thick walls and low aisles of the once sacred BATHING. 141 edifice. At lirst sight, I felt a degree of respect for it ; and liave no doubt but what it will con- tinue to swing on its rusty hinges as long as the Spanish world stands. There was no bathing tub anj^vhere to be seen; but there was the possibility of ablution. For in one corner, concealed by a curtain, stood the slenderest of stands, supporting the narrowest of basins. I should be able, at least, to wash one eye open at once in it. But in a country so much better provided with wine than it is with water, — an d in a country where even the hig:hest dn.rjrtf„^ are said m erely to rub their faces with a jnoist napkin instead of laving them — wliat more could be expected ? T should have been thought as crazy as he of La Mancha to have found fault wdth such arrangements. As for the bed, it was clean — and that is say- ing a great deal in this country. The Spaniard is not accustomed to stretching himself on the soft pile of delights which is built up for his neigh- bor, the Frenchman. When he travels, he often has to* content himself with the stone floors of 142 COSAS DE ESPANA. Veritas and Posadas ; nor is lie always a great deal better off when he stays at home. His rug- ged country could ill supply the enormous sacks of down or feathers beneath which your German sleeps off the fumes of his beer, and seeks to sweat down the thick tallow of his kidneys. In Spain the traveller, accordingly, must be ready to curl himself up in straw with the same satis- faction with which, in his own country, he lies down to his repose in purple and fine linen. If even in the large towns he finds his mattress thin, he' should nevertheless return thanks that it is not a board. My bed, therefore, escaped without too close an inspection. I had only one fear in entering it ; and that I am bound in justice to the country to say, turned out to be utterly groundless. The floor was laid in tiles ; but it was tolerably well covered by a carpet. Yet not the purple rug which is spread in Turkish bed-chambers; nor the soft, velvety tapestry of English boudoirs ; but a mat woven of the canes of Spain. A simi- lar one hung rolled up above the windows on the BRAZIERS. 143 external wall of the house. This served to shield the room from the hot rays of summer ; while, within, a simple white muslin curtain sufficed to keep out the cold of winter. There were, indeed, windows and sliutters besides ; but so ill con- trived, so full of original and acquired defects that they afforded not a great deal more protec- tion than the open muslin. But among so many cracks and air-holes, thoie was not that one, the presence of w^hich would have counterbalanced all tlie others. There was no fire-place ! There was none in any of the rooms. There w^as none short of the kitclien. And what is more, there was but one, as I after- ward learned, in the whole town of Barcelona. That had been set up by an Englishman, of course. Still, there are two methods for warm- ing apartments in this part of the world. One is by sun-light, and the other by a pan of coals. The former is the more agreeg,ble and the more conducive to health. But the latter must be re- sorted to in cases of extremity and days of dark- ness. In the morning, I used to see several pans 144 ' COSAS DE ESPANA. being prepared by the servants in the court. They are filled with a superior kind of charcoal, which is fanned and stirred until the coals are so completely ignited as to cease giving off smoke. After having stood long enough to cover them- selves with a white film of ashes, they are brought in, and set in the middle of the room. There the pan stands without being disturbed all the morn- ing. At dinner-time, it is stirred up, so as to bring the bottom coals to the surface. Then it will continue to give off a moderate degree of heat until late in the evening. These fires are never allowed to remain through the night in sleeping rooms, but are not thought injurious to health during the day. Still, I observed that they would soon give a foreigner the headache ; and vfere it not for the cracks and crannies of their apartments, must long since have killed off all the natives. Whoever then goes to Barce- lona in winter, must make up his mind to sit sometimes over the pan of coals . As his feather- bed has not more than a couple of inches of thick- ness, he can not, like poor Goldsmith, crawl into PAN OF COALS. 145 that to get warm ; nor, however romantic it may be to sit out an evening in the chimney-corner of a country venta, will he find himself exactly at his ease among the flesh-pots and stew-pans of a city kitchen. Xll. MY BALCONY. But if there was no fireplace in my rooms, i n i,iii,i, j_j ■i ^ ii w i M IWi M M w ii . ii MLUUj iin L- '■' I I "" li^^iwiWiiM' W i Trm ii r ■" r" tuiiniiii,!!, ininm a i there was a balcony. A balcomr-Jn Spain ! What a charm in those words. With them are associated what tales of Andalusian love — what secret whisperings in the silent night between enamored souls — what sighing of soft, blue-rib- boned guitars^ and voices which_melt with ten- derness or rave with jealousy ! Let the traveller by all means put off his first visit to his balcony until evening. Then when the stars are shining in the sky, or the new moon reflects from her sil- ver horn a light not strong enough to discounte- nance love, let him step out upon that spot of enchantment. The flowers ranged around the railing, while they half conceal his person, wrap GUITARS. 147 his .senses in delicious odors. Thence he sees the muffled lover Avatcliing beneath some neigh- boring window. He hears the tinkling of a near guitar. He thinks he hears an opening shutter. He imagines he has cauglit a glimpse of a white mantilla. Again he listens. Voices float by on the softly breathing zephyrs of the night — now like to the trenil)liug accents of a fffst affc(5tioTi — now rescmblinji,- tiic deep-toned notes of impa- tient ]nis>ion. Tlicre is a witchery in the air. His own heart gradually catches contagion from the universal love. And, at last, his head com- pletely turned, he can resist no longer. Mastered by a passion like that which sent the hero of La Mancha out upon his expeditions of knight-errant- ry, he rushes to his bed — abstracts the cord — ties a ladder — and swinging himself from bal- cony to balcony, goes in quest of a Dulciiiea over half the town ! I unfortunately could not so far restrain my impatience as to wait for the evening. The mo- ment I had finished my toilette, I went to the balcony. It was the hour of the promenade ; and 148 COSAS DE ESPANA. the street upon which my windows opened was the famous E-ambla. This resembles the Unter den Linden of Berlin ; and, like that, has a spa- cious foot-walk in the centre, flanked on either side by carriage-ways. Rows of shade-trees in- termingled with shrubbery perpetually green, and even in mid-winter in full flower, separate the central from the side, avenues. These last are bounded by two lines, nearly a mile in length, of palaces, colleges, theatres, public offices, monas- teries now converted into hotels, and private mansion-houses. All are either bright with mar- ble, or gay with frescoes. Running through the centre of the city from gate to gate, this broad avenue is ever filled with entertainment for the observer of men and manners. At one extrem- ity of it he will meet the gay throng of pleasure's votaries' ; while at the other, he will find himself among beggars and laborers standing idle in the market-place. Here, may be seen groups of merchants " on 'change" well wrapped in cloaks of broadcloth ; there, collections of gipsy horse- jockeys clad in sheepskins. On this side, are PROMENADING. 149 markets for the sale of fruits, the golden orange and the purple fig ; on the other are stalls where pretty payesas are busy weaving the gayest of winter bouquets. It is a world in miniature — with the representatives of every grade of life, of all ages, and of different nations. And as work in this country has very much the appear- ance of idleness in others — at least those of the north — the costumes of business are more pictur- esque than the adornments of pleasure elsewhere. Thewhole scene wears an air of festivity and gala. At least, so it seemed to me as I stood^ in my balcony looking down upon it for the first time. It was an entertainment for the eye more attractive than the shows of state or stage ; and what it was the first day I saw it, it continued to be every day of my residence in Barcelona. It was my play-house, to which I resorted by day- light. For actors I had the plumed officer and the cowled priest, the white-gloved coxcomb and the veiled belle, boggar-boys who might have been transferred to the canvass of Murillo as they sat, and hidalgos standing with cloaks over their 150 COSAS DE ESPANA. shoulders after the fashion of the Aristicles in the museum at Naples. It was my opera even ; for every day at twelve o'clock, a battalion of guards came dashing down the avenue, with banners waving, and music filling the air with pleasant revelry. Yet sometimes they came with slower step, beating on muffled drums the march of the dead, and bearing a comrade to the sepulchre. Or a company of white-robed nuns and sisters of charity went by, chanting the sweet hymns of the church ; or a procession of priests in inky cloak, and faces veiled in black, bearing with solemn song the sacramental wafer to dying lips. Half an hour before, the cheerful chimes were calling the city to thanksgiving and praise ; now they are tolling the slow knell of some poor soul going to its long home. So full of life, and of its con- trasts, is this Barcelonese Rambla. XIII. MY TABLE. Fascinating as may be siglit-seeiDg from a Spanish balcon}^ it does not necessarily prevent one's hearing the dinner bell. In tlie midst of my waking revery, tliis summons at once brought me to my senses. I obeyed its voice, and de- scended to the dining-hall. It was rather a small one, with painted walls, and a floor of stone partially covered with a mat. But what partic- ularly attracted my attention was a modern im- provement which had recently been introduced into it. This consisted, not in a stove, but a stove-pipe. It was the only thing I noticed in the room which had not apparently come down from an earlier age. True, its calibre was of the very smallest; but as it passed up through the 152 COSAS DE ESPANA. floor to tlie ceiling on its way from the kitchen to the roof of the house, it took off tlie chill of the stone walls, and rendered the room much more comfortable than the larger dining-hall used in summer. The company assembled amounted to some five-and-twenty gentlemen and ladies, the majority of whom were Spaniards. Table dliote dinners are nearly the same thing in all the civilized parts of the continent. South of the Pyrenees, Jhej. are more remarkable for the number of the dishes than for their quality. In his lean country, the Spaniard can rarely get enough to eat. His pig-skin is generally toler- ably^ well filled ; but his larder is too often empty. The lower classes never taste meat — living ex- clusively on vegetables, fruit, and wine. There- fore your host goes generally for the main chance ; and thinks that if he can only give you a plenti- ful dinner, you will be sure to think it a good one. As it is a mark of a poor man to eat ve- getable food, he shows his respect for a rich one by serving hrai almost entirely with animal. Besides soup and fish, you are treated to beef MEATS. 153 boiled and beef roasted, to legs of mutton and joints of pork, to kid and wild boar, to hare and rabbit, to chickens and turkeys, to grouse and snipe. Not that all these dishes make their ap- pearance at every dinner ; but the number of courses is always great enough to render the en- tertainment gross and wearisome. As in all s outhern countries, the meats are of inferior qual- ity — excepting always the nut-fed pork. This surpasses even the flesh of the wild boar. If there be any truth in the. Italian saying that no man is fit to die until he has seen the bay of Naples, perhaps what the Spaniard says is no less true, that he ought first to taste a ham of the iUpujarras. But with this exception, I know of no kind of meat in the country for the sake of wliich one would at all care to defer his final hour. The poultry, though not bad, will not compare with that of France ; and the beef would pass in England for indifferent shoe-leather. The dried fritits are abundant rather than good. Yet the oranges from Malaga are well-flavored ; and the grapes of the country, which in some shel- 154 COSAS DB ESPANA. tered vinej^ards near Barcelona are allowed to hang upon the vines until February, are truly delicious. A Spanish dinner, then, is decidedly a heavy affair. Luckily the stranger is rarely asked to dine out. The natives seem to be aware that the dinner is their weak point. They are sensitive about exhibiting the leanness of their larders. • The closeness with which a Caballero -picks his bones, and the frequency with which, even as in the days of Don Quixote, he is obliged to content himself with greens and garlic, are matters not to be made known out of the family. And then his desire, whenever he does go to the expense of buying flesh or fowl, to smother it in onions, stands directly in the way of the entertaining of strangers. For he knows very well that all for- eigners have looked upon his national dish with, a certain degree of suspicion ever since the day when Gil Bias supped on a cat. On no account, therefore, could he venture to set a stew under any nostril not native. In short, the culinary art is not well under- GARLIC. 155 stood soutli of the Pyrenees. In half of the lar- ger hotels, your cook will turn out to be a Frencli or Italian refugee, a poor devil who has run his . >^ country, and who, having had at home more to do with politics than with pastry, has brought with him only a very imperfect knowledge of his art as practised in the kitchens of France and Italy. The greater number of his dishes will be bad im- itations of what you have eaten at Paris or Naples. As wlien jou go into the street, you see tlie French hat beginning to supplant the mantilla, and the French paletot the cloak ; or when you visit the theatre, you find the house, the music and the dancnig hoTonger Spanish, so at the din- ner-table you observe that the national taste is fast coming under the dominion of Joreign mas- ters in the culinary art. The Fondas are getting already to be ashamed of the oUa; and half a century hence the traveller will be ol)liged to de- scend to the ventorillo to get a taste of it. A word of advice to travellers respecting gar- lic. As Spanish cookery is nothing, if not a stew, and a stew is nothing, if not chiefly garlic, let 156 COSAS DE espaNa. the foreigner make up his mind at once to like it. Let him eat it — if he can — without making up wry faces. For do what he will, this bulb will be thrust down his throat by every cook in the country — peaceably if he can, forcibly if he must. Every sauce-pan in the Peninsula smacks of it ; and no conceivable amount of scouring would suffice to take it out. Therefore make a virtue of necessity. Daily practice in the swal- lowing of the delicacy will Cnally make one per- fect in it. At lea:st, all travellers who do not object to frogs, cabbage, or tobacco, ought surely to be capable of learning to digest garlic. Set down, then, the olla podrida as a good thing. And there is one other in Spain. It is the chocolate. This is made with either water or milk ; and always so thick that a spoon will almost stand up in it. The great secret of ma- king this beverage, however, consists in knowing how to drink it. Taken after dinner, it would be an abomination — with the breakfast a lafour- chette^ it would be no better. It is a meal by it- self — the smallest cup of it. Accepting it as CHOCOLATE. 157 such, setting apart a particular hour in the day for it, and giving it the honors of a regular and separate entertainment, you find this drink to be truly una de las delicias EspaTiolas. It is wor- thy of the fair lips which so dearly love and laud it. Hot, and foamy, and purple, it solaces the whole inner man. It satisfies at the same time the longings of the stomach and of the soul. But the early morning is the hour for this cup of consolation. When you have gotten your feet into your slippers, and have girded your dressing- gown around you, and have arranged the morn- ing's toilette — then, while the pleasant sun streams in at the open windows, and the morning air comes in to refresh your temples and regale your senses with the perfumes of the balcony — then as you throw yourself into the embrace of tlie capacious arm-chair, and open book or news- paper — then let your Hebe bring in the cup. A Spaniard will often have it handed to him by an old duenna while he is still in the sheets. Many a one can not get out of bed without help of it. He can not muster the courage, the force of will 158 COSAS DE ESPAPJA. to raise his head from the pillow, until he feels in his vitals the working of his accustomed stimu- lus. But the other arrangement is much to be preferred. You gain thereby the great advan- tage of being served by the younger and prettier hands of one of Spain's dark maidens — the morning dew still sparkling on the rose-leaves in her hair. For my part, I always thought it gave a better flavor to the chocolate, though it might have been mere fancy. The only thing which may be taken with choc- olate is a very delicate biscuit — a mere nothing. Anything else is a profanation, and spoils the en- tertainment. If a man is hungry, let him wait for his breakfast — or, in troth, let him eat it. But at that hour he ought not to be under the dominion of a rabid appetite. He should have a season of tranquil thoughtfulness after rising from his couch. He should give a few fleeting mo- ments to the quiet enjoyment of the golden light and fragrant air of tlie Spanish morning. • The duties, the amusements, of the day are to be calm- ly forecasted. Perhaps the follies of a nig-^lit are BREAKFAST. IT) 9 to be repented of. He has some theme to medi- tate — some scribbling- — letters — business. Let him drink his chocolate, and put oft* breakfasting till mid-day. Twelve o'clock is the latest hour for breakfast- ing a la fourcliette. For all good Spaniards are early up ; and they dine at five or tliereabouts. I speak of the higher classes. But as no travel- led man can breakfast anywhere satisfactorily out of Paris, it would not be of any use to de- scribe the Spanish performance. Itj_sj3iit.aj)qor_ second-handed affair. For it is an imitation of the tedious, many-coursed dejeuners of the south of France and the north of Italy. If you prefer to breakfast by yourself, as of course you do, you may order what you like — though you will not get it. The whole blessed day might be spent in calling for butter ; and the mozo would bring you oil. You might beg for cheese ; and he would give you a Dutch stone. You might order the lien-coop up, to watch with your own eyes the laying ; but the eggs would be stale by the time the cook had lioiled them. Tell him to 160 COSAS DE ESPANA. serve you an omelette ; and unless you give him pesetas as well as eggs to make it with, it will prove to be a great deal whiter than the linen of either the cocinero who stirred, or of the mozo who served it. The yolks will have been all left out to make the dinner's custards, and you will breakfast on mere albumen. You decide to have beef-steaks — you have been accustomed to them at home. Good. An hour afterward — should you live so long — you proceed to draw your boots on, and find one of them stripped of the un- derleather. • Then you awake to the conviction that you have breakfasted on your own heel-taps — you have eaten your own sole ! Still, I will give you, male-reader, a secret piece of advice about these matters. First, sup- posing that you have adopted the plan of feeing the chef de cuisine one morning, and threatening • to take his life if he do not serve you better the next — then I say to you, order your beef-steaks to be done in onions. That is the way the na- tives manage. They smother them until the leathery taste is completely taken out; and tliey OMELETTES. 161 have no idea at all of what they are eating. Serve your mutton-chops, the same way — only have them buried in mushrooms instead of onions. And if you insist on having an omelette for break- fast, and nothing will go right the whole day without it — 'vvhy, then, there is only one abso- lutely certain course that can be pursued. What a man does himself in any country, he may know to be well done. Therefore, not to beat the eggs and slice in the truf&es with your own hands, see it done at least with 3^our own eyes. Unless you actually stand over the cocinero with both eyes fixed upon him, he will be sure to whip the yolks out of the eggs, and to substitute giitta percha for truffles. And unless you dog the waiter's heels from the kitchen to the parlor, he will cer- tainly contrive on the way to exchange his pre- cious charge for an omelette rechaiiffee^ left over from the day before. But, if you will take these precautions, you may safely defy the cooks of all Christendom to produce any better omelettes than those made from Spanish eggs — and pese- tas. It is possible that the thing might be man- 162 COSAS DE ESPANA. aged by your own private servant ; thoiigh I doubt it. The ordinary wine of Spain^is bad. Whoever goes to San Luca to drink the delicate Manza- nilla, or to Xerez to taste in the bodega of Pedro Domecq, the genuine Amontillado, will certainly get good Sherris-sack. But I very much fear that he will find it nowhere else in the country. The vino ordinario^ wdien new, is too sweet ; . when old, it is too rough. This is true of all the wines of Spain in common use. Of course, I ex- cept the sweet Muscadels and Malvoisies, the las lagrimas of Malaga, w^hich, though not fit to be used as a beverage, are delicious as cordials. This general defect arises probably not so much from the quality of the grapes, as from lack of pains in the manufacture of the juice. Wines, which might be made almost as good as those which are exported, are drank new, because there is not sufacient enterprise or wealth to store and keep them. The sherries which are drank in England and America are next to never PIG-SKINS. 163 seen in Spain. The natives can not afford to pay the prices of them. As in his meat, so in his drhik, the Spaniard, provided he can get enough in quantity, is not very particular about the quality. Your mule- teer, when on his journeys he comes to a stream of water, wall lie down on his belly, and outdrink his beast; so, when at night-fall he reaches his inn, he wishes to sit down to an entire pig-skin. His countrymen all have the same disposition. They are afflicted with thirst as wdth a fever ; and they drink off their well-brimmed cups with- out stopping to criticise too closely their flavor. The Catalonian manages to swallow his wine without even taslino' it. He raises his leathern bottle with both hands — throws back his head — opens his mouth — and catches the " vinous para- bola," w^hich, issuing from an orifice a])out as large as the hole of a pipe-stem, passes directly from the neck of the bottle to that of the drinker. He is very expert at this trick of the porron; for, while a foreigner would be sure to inundate his nose and neckcloth, he never wastes a drop 164 COSAS DE ESPANA. of the precious liquid. Tlie boy just weaned will do almost as well, and seems to go from the breast to the bottle by a natural instinct. The Catalonian draught is necessarily a long one. Having once had the curiosity to time it, I found in the case of a very old fogy that it occupied two minutes. Even then he appeared to stop drinking, not because his gullet was full, but be- cause his arms were weary. But although the Spaniard loves to squeeze his porron^ he does not drink to intoxication. This is a vice of the North, not of wine-growing coun- tries. On the first day of Lent, the Barcelonese — men, women and children — all go out to the neighboring village of Gracia to " bury the car- nival." Tliis means to eat and drink enough to last them through the whole fast season. Yet, whoever at nightfall should take up his position at the Puerta del Angel to witness the returning thousands, would probably fail of detecting one single instance of gross and manifest intoxication. The Barcelonese is proud of his sobriety, and looks upon drunkenness as a disgrace. XIY. THE RAMBLA AND THE MURALLA DE TIERRA. Barcelona is the city of promenades. Let all amateurs of the walk go there, and they will find opportunities for their favorite amusement unsurpassed by those of any town in Europe. First is the inimitable Rambla. Here are the principal hotels, the theatres, the cafes, the post- office, the college, the library, the ^lubs, the reading-rooms, the fruit and flower markets ; and here at different hours of the day, or in different parts of the walk, are to be met all classes and conditions of men, from hidalgos to gipsies, from Dulcineas to ragazzas. Even the day-laborers who take up their stand at certain points in the spacious avenue, add to its picturesqueness. Of 166 COSAS DE ESPANA. these none are more noticeable than the white- washers, a group of whom may be seen at almost any hour at their particular rendezvous ; and whose long brushes rise in the air almost high enough to remind one of the masts in the great square of Venice. But picturesque as they are at a distance, on coming near enough to inspect their persons, one is tempted to suggest to them that they would do a very sensible thing if they would set to and whitewash one another. Yet whatever may be the condition of their persons,, their dress is always of the gayest. A white- washer's gambote, in which, during the winter months he stands wi^apped like a Roman in his toga, is bright with more colors — the red pre- dominating — than ever was Joseph's. A cloak by day, it is a blanket by night. It is wardrobe and bed-furniture ; mat and umbrella. He makes as much show with it as a peacock with his tail. And well may he be proud of it, for this and his brush constitute well nigh his earthly all. This winter cloak is worn by all the lower classes; and though used for all sorts of purposes, it must CATALANS. 1()7 be acknowledged, to the credit of the wearers, that it generally has a clean look. The colors seem too bright to be susceptible of tarnish. Add to this universal garment a pair of breeches, which may be plush — a pair of leggings, which may be leathern — white hempen sandals- — and a brilliant kerchief twisted gayly around the brows — and you have before you that coxcomb of day-laborers, the Barcelonese. But he has a rival in the Catalan peasant, who comes in from the country. This fellow is all velvet. He is nothing if not tag and tassel. And yet he might better be described as a walk- ing pair of trousers. These come fully up to his armpits, reducing the length of his suspender to a span ; and they descend to his feet with such ample folds that, if inflated with gas, they would bear aloft the wearer as in a double balloon. His feet are in sandals ; his breast is covered with a short, richly-wrought vest ; a braided and buttoned jacket is thrown jauntily over his left shoulder ; and a long woollen g-orro, red as heart's blood, or purple as the dye of Tyre, 168 COSAS DE ESPANA. either hangs down over one ear, or is folded re- gally up on the forehead. But more than bj the red gamhote of the hire- ling, or the dark velvets of the mountaineer, will the stranger's eye be attracted by the gay molados of the peasant-girls, and the unadorned heads of the town ragazzas. He will not fall in love in- deed with either of them— for they are just a hairbreadth too tall. To tell the truth, they border on the strapping. Not fitted to excite the passion of love in any but vulgar breasts, they are made to give suck to a half-gigantic race of hewers of wood and drawers of water. Still, if you look sharply enough, you will not fail of finding, here and there, a ragazza sufficiently picola to please your fancy, and to make the promenade graceful. . Unlike the maid of softer Andalusia, the Catalonian does not deck her hair with flowers. It is itself its . only ornament. Black, glossy, abundant, it needs no other adorn- ing. She wears her head uncovered by a veil. No mantilla graces her shoulders. Her robe is a simple calico. Only the large heavy Moorish A ra(;azza. 1G9 ear-rings of amethyst or emerald set off her natur- al beauty, and prove her not destitute of the van- ity of a woman. You are half pleased. And, at last, when you observe how well she walks — how easily and modestly she carries herself; when you get a chance of seeing how well her shoe fits, and how neatly lier hand is gloved, you hesitate no longer. Buying the neatest bouquet at hand, you despatch the first errand-boy you meet with after the fair promenader, to present with your ofi'ering of flowers the humble and respectful com- pliments of an Estrang-ero. Of course, the thing is utterly absurd — or would be out of Spain ; but you don't think twice of it, and go on your way as if nothing had happened. But let us pass the gate and leave the town behind. As we cross by the draw-bridge beyond moat and mound, we find ourselves on the prom- enade of the Mil rail a de tierra — a broad belt of green lying between the walls and the open country. This is thrown like a scarf around the city, encircling it on all sides excepting that which looks to the sea It makes a 8 170 COSAS DE ESPANA. spacious promenade for both pedestrians and equestrians ; while outside of it runs a road for carriages. It is a winter morning ; but the sun shines warmly out of a cloudless sky upon a greensward decked with daisies, and upon broad fields of waving wheat beyond. As we wind up the hill to the overhanging fortress of Monjuich, how fair the scene ! Below us in the near distance the limestone-built town reflects the yellow sunlight. On one side it is washed by the blue Mediterra- nean, and on the other it is skirted by the green fields of the country. In the harbor rides at an- chor a small fleet of vessels. In the offing are seen a goodly number of sails bearing in for the port ; a government-steamer is running up the coast to look for smugglers ; and the fishing-boats which went oif at daybreak, are already bringing in their freights for the hour of dinner. If turn- ing from the pleasant sight of the sea, we look along the winding shore, we see it thickly settled with bright colored tov/ns and villages. Ham- lets innumerable and cits' boxes -hang suspended TO MONJUICH. 171 half-way up tlie sides of the mountains, which here run parallel with the shore. And over the tops of the more distant ranges behind, hangs the white fringe of that mantle of snows which, now overspreads the North. Retracing our footsteps, we meet gentlemen prancing on Andalusian horses over the green ; we see companies of soldiers, both foot and horse, exercising on the broad parade-grounds ; we hear the roll of practising drummers ; and if we stop on our way too near the ramparts, we are ordered to move on by the sentinel stationed on tlie inner wall. Crowds of idlers arc attracted outside the gates to see the drill and listen to the music. Beggars, leaving their trade in town, come here to change the scene, and bask like vermin in the sunshine. Unemployed laborers come out to make a liolyday by sitting about in squads on the grass, or lying asleep on the sunny banks. And so gay and picturesque is the cos- tume of the lower classes, so graceful and easy are their attitudes, that wherever as many as three of them either sit or stand together, it 1T2 COSAS DE ESPANA. makes a group worthy of being transferred to canvass. At the hour of noon many of them will be seen in places a little retired from town collected in families around their dinner. The earthen pot has been set up on three stones, and a few sticks and dried grape-vines have been placed under it to make the fire. At first the stranger wonders how anything could be cooked by the use of so little fuel ; but he soon learns that it is the sun which makes the pot boil in this country. At any rate, by twelve o'clock the dinner is always forthcoming. Cloaks are spread on the turf around the steaming tripod. The father reclines on his elbow ; the children lie and sit about in every conceivable posture which is not constrained or awkward. The mother serves on plates of tin the simple pot-luck. It is probably beans. If not that, it is a vegetable olla^ in which all kinds of greens are commingled. The sijbstance of it will be cabbage ; but the soul and relish of it is garlic. An enormous tortell loaf furnishes a supply of bread ; oil is the only additional con- A DINNER PARTY. 173 diluent ; and wine takes tlie place of both meat and water. < The physiologists say the pure juice of the grape produces in. the animal economy the same ultimate effects as roast, beef. Napoleon's sol- diers, we know, made the tour of Europe on bis- cuit and brand}^ ; and these powerful Spanish frames are reared from wine and onions. One thing is certain, that the Catalonian is too poor to have his joint of meat at dinner ; and if he can get the same result from his bottle of vino ordi- nario, which costs him tuppence, it would be rather a hard case to bring him under any " tee- total" law. To take away his porron^ w^nild, in fact, l.)e taking the chicken out of his pot. Hovy- ever, the millennium of " total abstinence" not having yet dawned on the Spanish coasts, and being probably destined to bless only the brandy and whiskey latitudes, there is a prospect that the happy natives of these wdne-lands will con- tinue to sit for generations to come in the pleas- ant and, in their case, very innocent shade of their own vines and fig-trees. 174 COSAS DE ESPANA. But before entering tlie town, let us survey this crowd outside the Puerta del Angel. It is a liackney-coach stand — if such carriages as these may be described by so dignified an appellation. Strictly speaking, they are two-wheeled carts, with a leathern cover to keep oif sun and rain, and an entrance from behind like an omnibus. They are drawn by one horse or mule, or by half a dozen of them, and generally with a good de- gree of speed. Indeed, they go altogether too fast for comfort. For the carriage being well nigh destitute of springs, and the roads being for the most part, as uneven as the waves of the sea, the passenger is most unmercifully jolted. The natives seem to like the fun of being so " knocked into cocked hats ;" and go gayly over the road at a pace which would make a jelly of a foreign- er. My advice is always to keep out of them. For now the dust is wheel-rim deep — just about as deep as the mud on the Boulevards when I left Paris; and after the first rain — should it ever rain again in Barcelona — what is now dust will be turned to still deeper mire. HACKNKY-COACH STAND. 175 There are so many carriages on the station that the drivers of them, besides furnishing a cer- tain quota to sleep on their coach-boxes, and an- other to watch at the gate for passengers, lie about in such numbers as to cover half an acre of greensward. There they play at cards and coppers. They squeeze a bottle together or peel an onion. AVitli sunlight and a paper cigar they seem perfectly happy. Every one takes care to be ready for business when his turn comes, but until that time he is as independent as a beggar. The sunny day is never too long for him. If without work, he talks and sings. He cracks his whip. He trades horses. The sod is soft to his back ; and with his bright eyes, he can even look the noonday sun in the face with- out winking. Curling himself up in his faithful cloak, he sleeps the hours away, if he happens to be an old stager ; or wrapping it cavalierly around him, in case he is one of the b'hoys, he plays the gallant to the damsels who pass the gate. He may not earn us much money as his brother of Paris or London, but, surely, his is 176 COSAS DE ESPANA. no harder lot. He does not wear out either himself or his beast with too much work ; nor ever dies a broken-down hack — the one or the other. XV. THE MURALLA DPZL MAR AND L0VE-3IAKING. The walks about the city of Barcelona, such as those through the Rambla, around the Muralla de tierra, to Monjuich, to the Cementerio, to Gra- cia, to the gardens of San Bcitran, to the foun- tains oi' Trubada, to the tor res y liuertas, and to the mountains, may be enjoyed eveiy hue day in winter — that is to say, every nine days out of ten. But to go to the Muralla del Mar, one must select a holyday. Then all the beauty and fasliion of the town will be there. The walk ex- tends a distance of more than a quarter of a mile in a straight line, and is built on a mural rampart which protects the town from the sea. Broad, level, and strewn with clean sand, it is a perfect pathway to the feet. Commanding a view of the harbor, open in winter to the sun, and cooled in 8* 178 COSAS DE ESPANA. summer by a breeze from the sea, no more lux- urious lounge could be devised for leisure — no fairer scene imagined for the display of beauty by sunlight. On some state occasions there is a morning reception at the palace of the captain- general, which is connected with the terrace ; and then bands of music play in the balconies, while the crowd passes to and fro beneath. On all high festival days the throng is very great. The walk is resplendent with silks and velvets of the most brilliant colors. The dark mantilla and the white veil are mingled with the gay hats of France. Flowers vie in the hair with bril- liants. The plumes of the officers blend with the feathers of the fair. The air flashes with epau- lettes and jewelry ; and a thousand glancing eyes add to the brilliancy of even Spanish sunlight. There, in a saloon roofed by the sky, and walled in on one side by palaces, and on the other by the sea, one pays his morning court to the stately dames and gentle daughters of Barcelona. He salutes his acquaintances, makes his visits — and loses his heart. MODES OF WOIISHIP. 179 It is a peculiarity of Barcelonese manners, that the fashionable ladies never appear on this, their favorite promenade of the Muralla — rarely, in fact, are to be seen in the street at all — on any days not sacred to the memory of some eminent saint. But on all the high festivals of the church they always pass from the mass to the Muralla, They do not go to church to see and be seen, as i t is s ometimes said ladies do in Protestant coun- tries ; for they repair to the altar to pay their devotions, and aftoiward to the promenade to re- ceive them. The two modes of worship — not to say kinds ofi^Iatx^:;^arS„k.6£l_separate in Spain . Perhaps in the warmer Catholic climes there may be more frailties to compound for than in the cold Protestant North ; and the more exclusive appro- priation of the hour of public prayer to the duties of confession and penitence may be accounted for on a principle which will not compel us to ac- knowledge the inferiority of our own piety. Yet I must confess that I have nowhere been more impressed by lli^"~sorenTniiy Trf"6Mstian worship than iiitEe"'c!iurctiB^'of Spain. The 180 COSAS DE ESPANA. • very edifices a,re devotional — I mean the interiors of the finest cathedrals. I will not undertake to say whether the light of divine truth be not shut out ; but in no churches is the day so religiously excluded. A solemn twilight pervades the lofty, long-drawn aisles. Burning tapers are necessary at noonday to dissipate in part the gloom which shrouds the dying Christ above the altar. The deeply stained glass of the windows admits just light enough to reveal its own gorgeousness ; and only through the painted dove in the ceiling streams a single ray of sunshine into the general obscurity, now falling upon the white-clad priests, and now lighting up a Murillo or a Yelasquez on the wall. The beau can not therefore ogle the belle half-way across the church ; and should he even be permitted to kneel on the same square of pavement, he will scarcely recognise the be- loved form, wrapped in the dark mantilla ; nor hope to exchange more than quite a limited num^ ber of glances with eyes veiled in such very long black lashes. But let us proceed with the throng from the DRESS. 1.^1 church to the Miiralla. We shall there be able to see clearly the eyes of beauty beam- ing full upon us. The glorious sun will kiss away the penitential tear from off all cheeks. And tlie hand whicli could not be admired, nor even pressed with any sort of propriety in the consecrated shades, will now be revealed in all its fair proportions. Vamos — let us hasten. You are in white kids and patent leathers. Corriente — all is right. Now adjust your glass. Screw it firmly into your left eyebrow ; and make" it doubly secure by a well-set scowl which you have been so zealousy affecting since your arrival in Europe. Muy bien — that will do. Your cloak is thrown over your shoulder very grace- fully. But it is too warm this January day for that. Come out in blue and brass ; it is Spanish so to do. I see that you are fresh from Figaro. He has given you the last touch and pinch of his curling irons ; and every hair of your head is, as it should be, more or less started. Come on then. Give your moustache just one more twirl, 182 COSAS DE ESPANA. and you may even pass for one of the nosotros — that is to say, ive ourselves, the Spaniards. And now that I have set you fairly on the Miiralla, Mr. Bachelor,-! leave you to your fate. The first persons you meet may be a couple of stately dames in velvets and laces, respecting whom you simply observe that they are fat enough to be sold to the grand Turk. In Barcelona, a lady is fat as^ su£@^,^^^jhe is forty. Do what she will — paint her face, dye her hair, roll her eyes, play her fan — her age can not be disguised ; it is measured by the length of the ribbon around her waist. Dawdling her time away in the house, where the customs of society, or the jealousy of her husband, condemii^Ji^^to speiid-Ji©r._d^^ and rarely taking the air except when she goes to church, or passes with mincing steps over the easy promenade, she almost invariably becomes with advancing age a couple of stone or so too stout. Smoking paper cigarettes, drinking sour lemonade, dressing with pulleys, blood-letting — all are unavailing preventives. Good, easy na- ture will distend, and gradually get plumpy, and OLD -MAID^. 188 come to waddling. Fat and forty — 'tis the lot to which the slender maiden, whom you clasp in your arm as easily as a nosegay in your hand, looks forward as the certain end of earthly bliss and coquetry. Preas my hand quick, is, there- fore, the motto of her youth ; for she knows full well that after a few revolving Carnivals, the dear, dimpled little thing, with its rosy, tapering fingers, and nails of pink, will be laid up for ever in Number Eig-hts. Spanish nature admits of but one exception to this law of increment. The single spinster — Heaven help her I — who is now passing you with that look, half bashful, half imploring, is as scraggy as any of her cousins of the north. Whetlier it be by innumerable errands of charity, or of gossip, that she is so worn down to skin and bones ; whether it be in prayers for poor sin- ful souls, or from nursing her own melancholy, that s:ie has sighed her nose down to the sharp- ness of a knife-blade, is no business of mine to inquire. I simply state the fact as it came under my observation. But do what she will, it seems 184 COSAS DE ESPANA. certain that neither beef nor Benicarlo will make her fat. Three thousand ducats — everything she has in the world, excepting her hand — would she give for a " pound of man's flesh." But ca- pricious nature, which bestows on tlie married dame more muscle than she can carry, gives to the single one scarcely enough to stand up with. There is no help for it. But, fortunately, there are only a few of this class in Spain. The Span- ish ladies, for reasons best known to themselves, always accept the first offer of marriage ; and by following this excellent rule, they rarely fail of getting husbands. It would, no doubt, be so in all countries — excepting, perhaps, England, where " old maids" are a social necessity, and part of the civil constitution. Bat look out! Ave Maria purisima ! There's a veritable senorita coming ! An Andalusian maid, and child of the sun. Valg-ame Dios ! How airily she comes gliding on ; and with what a dainty movement of the feet. No graceless hat covers her head. Only the rose is in her hair. A black mantilla falls over her shoulders. Her OGLING. 185 waist is a chef cVoiuvre of art — her bosom of nature. And iu her little hand she is playing you her fan with a coquetry irresistible, fatal. All this you see at the very first glance, but as you get nearly abreast of her, the silken lash- es are raised ; and the large dark eyes are levelled full upon you. The sltaft goes to your heart. Now what do you propose to do ? There is but one thing to be done, considering the country vou ai'o in. You 02:le her. For the next fort- night you ogle her on the promenade, in the theatre, at the ball, any where you can find her. Perhaps even eight days will suffice ; for love is no laggard in those latitudes. At the end of that time, you slip your billet-doux into her hand as she is leaving the theatre. Or you may go on your knees to her duenna, if you prefer it. But, one way or ttio other, the thing is agreed upon between you. Night and hour are fixed. It is all plain sailing now. You have only to apply to the watchman, wlioF^e duty it is to go bawling out the hour of the night and the state 186 COSAS DE ESPANA. of the weather up and down the street, in which resides your Dulcinea : — " Want your ladder at twelve, sharp." ^' Happy to serve your worship." And, at the same time, you slip into his hand a persuader and cause of action. At the appointed hour, your man is at his post of duty. If the piece you gave him was a gold one, he will be there punctually. And, by the by, it may as well be observed here for the bei^efit of all travellers going to Spain, or even to Portugal, that most persons, in making an estimate of their probable expenses in the Peninsula, go very wrong in their calculations from taking into the account the cheapness of provisions there, but leaving out the very exorbitant prices usually paid for ladders. Verbum sat. You mount to the first balcony. Unfortunately young Misses in Spain are never allowed to sleep lower down than the third story. Still, where there is a will, there is a way — even to the top of the house. Your lady-love lets down to you her rope-ladder! One desperate eilbrt more — MAHRIACK. 187 don't look down, or you may have an attack of vertigo — and 3^ou are kneeling at the prettiest pair of feet that ever walked Spanish. For the first five minutes, you may be too much overcome by tlie climbing for speech. But the moment you do get your breatli, you pour out such a con- flagration of hot vows as would inevitably set the chinmey on fire, but luckily there are no such things in the country. You are now an accepted lover — and get down the ladder the same way you got up. You will next day be introduced to the family — enter- ing the house by the front door — when you will take care to observe most punctiliously all the formalities in such cases made and providea. From that point, the operations of courtship are carried on very nearly as in other Christian coun- tries. It is only the admission over the window- sill which is a cosa cle Espana. By the end of a twelve-month, or before, you are married ; and being thoroughly tired of the tosses and crosses of single travel, you settle down to the perform- ance of all domestic, social, and civil duties with 188 cos AS DE ESP AN A. a most exemplary fidelity. You become the head of a fine family of children. Your youngest, dear little I'ogue, fills up the measure of your delights, as, tugging away at the hair of your head with one hand, and ramming the fingers of the other up your nostrils, he charms you with his lisping of '^ papa, poor 'papaP 'Tis a con- summation of travel devoutly to be wished. BARCELONESE FISHERMEN. At Barcelona the winter generally lasts a fort- night. The perpetual sunshine of the year being interrupted for about that length of time in the month of January, this brief interval of cloud and damp, whitened once in a quarter of a cen- tury by a few snow-flakes, is termed in the lan- guage of courtesy el invierno. It was, I remember, a day or two after the close of this brief season, that I strolled out of town, one morning, to the beach, for the purpose of seeing the fishermen draw their nets. The first part of ray path lay along the Muralla del Mar, where the gorgeous scene was worthy of the pencil of a Turner. Out at sea, the horizon was a blaze of sunlight ; in the harbor, the ships 190 COSAS DE ESPANA. had Luifurled their sails to dry in the golden day ; and, in all directions, the white, brown and pur- ple of the canvas was vividly painted on the blue of the reposing waves. Directly before me was moored a large ship from the Levant, the sailors of which were climbing the shrouds in their pic- turesque but un sailor-like costume ; near the landing-place a goodly number of red-capped boatmen were lying upon their oars, idling away in unconscious delight the sunny hours ; porters in cool linen were piling high upon the wharf the yellow wheat from the Ebro ; and boys, with nothing but their s'^^irts on, v>^ere wading for mus- cles about the rocks on the shore. I leaned over the railing of the Muralla^ and gazed long at this beautiful sea scene, where the sailor, no longer tempest-tost, or drifting upon the rock-bound shore, was lying safely at anchor in a peaceful haven, and pouring out in laugh and song the natural gayety of a heart at ease. I lingered another half hour, too, in the garden del general. There, were gathered together birds from many climes, which were making the GARDEN DEL GENERAL. 191 morning resound with their sweet voices. So loudly were they vaunting the delights of their imprisoned life, that even tlie free wanderers of the air, attracted by the resounding joy, were fluttering in considerable numbers around — ap- parently itching to be caged. The cypress and myrtle here cast a mingled shade of melancholy and of love. Still the climbing rose peeping into every bower was smiling too brightly on the scone to leave any spot for sadness. The orange thick- ets were, at the same time, golden wdth fruit and white with flowers ; the pepper-tree hung out over the humbler foliage its delicate fringes ; and the palm, towering above all, spread against the sky its fan of leaves. Swans were arching their necks over the surface of sunny pools, in which gold and silver fish were gamboling ; and one could have the satisfaction of looking upon the play of fountains in mid-winter without exposing himself to an attack of the ague. The gates are open to all classes, from beggars to hidalgos. And hovv' luxurious is the life of the former in this bower of flowers ! In winter, 192 COSAS DE ESPANA. seeking out some warm bench, he basks with his fellows in the rays of the cheerful sun. In sum- mer, lying upon some fountain's sheltered bank, or beneath the protecting roof of overhanging branches, he woos the shade, and saves himself the cost of perspiration he can so ill afford to lose. 'He entertains his hours with the cheap music of birds and falling fountains. He sees the gay world go by. And with an onion and a crust under his jacket, he looks upon the well-fed lords and ladies less with envy than with sympa- thetic delight. He knows that, " for the love of God and the Blessed Yirgin," some pious souls will have pity on him in his extremities. His daily crumbs, therefore, are as sure as bond and mortgage. For, indeed, he will give all good Christians who come near his bower no peace until they pay toll to his beaver. You may plead poverty for the moment ; may put him off till Sunday, when you give to everybody ; may en- treat ; may threaten ; may get into a' passion, or may hold your peace, and affect not to notice him. It will not all do. He will stick closer to you, BEGGARS. 193 being a stranger, than a brother. Yet there is one formula which will stop his im}3ortunities, and is therefore in very general use among the na- tives. If you say to him with good Castilian ac- cent, Vhija con DicM — Be off^ and may the bles- sing of God go icith you^ he gives it up at once. I have often tried the experiment, and never known it to fail. And what is still more strange, I have found this Spanish form of words to suc- ceed even with your Irish mendicant. Whether it mystifies poor paddy, or whether it frightens him, and makes him think he has fallen in with the devil's first cousin, I know not. But in three cases out of four, I have found this Vaya con Dios to act as a perfect charm. I doubt, how- ever, whether a Scotch gabcrlunzie could be put off with any such nonsense ; and I have also ob- served that all old country beggars, once landed on the shores of Yankeedom, seem to regard the cabalistic words as no more than so much " pal- aver." Sauntering on through the garden I passed the town-gates, and soon gained the open shore. 9 194 COSAS DE ESPANA. A gentle swell was riding into land, and break- ing in musical ripples on the winding beach. Bright-looking towns and villages were seen in the level distance ; and out at sea, for many a league, the vaporless expanse of water smiled in the sunlight. Just above the sea-mark on the shore stand the homes of the fishermen, built on the sands. They are mere huts of earth, and such timber as is to be gotten out of reeds, cactus leaves, corn-stalks, matting, and rags. The materials of this composite order of architecture are cemented together by a few rope- ends. A curtain made of a piece of sackcloth, or an old petticoat, does the office of a door, and closes at night the only entrance into this six-by- eight kennel. Nevertheless in each one whole families of men, women, and children, are stowed away. Like brutes they live — though they may die very good Catholics. The kitchen of one of these domestic establishments is, of course, out- side. It consists of three stones and a pot on the top of them. Under this vessel burn a. few vines, a few leaves, a little dirt. In it is the refuse SETTING THE NET. 195 of markets — wilted vegetables — garlic. Tlie grandmother sits o\Qr the kettle, keeping the three stones and the beach sand burning. In her intervals of leisure, she searches the heads of her grandchildren to expel from the family those su- perfluous members which therein do burrow. To facilitate this important labor, the urchins are kept closely cropped, like the beggar-boys of Murillo. The dark, glossy, silken locks are mer- cilessly shorn off ; and the little barbarian has nothing left him but his ears and his eyelashes. While the aged hag is thus occupied, the other members of the ftimily are at work upon the net. In the morning this is set about a mile out at sea ; and in the afternoon it is drawn into land. The two extremities of the net, when it is stretched out in the water, are about a quarter of a mile distant from each other. At these two outer ropes commences the work of drawing in tlie whole to the shore. In the early part of the operation, the labor is facilitated by the use of boats ; but later, it is done by the whole posse of men, women, and children, standing upon the 196 . COSAS DE ESPANA. beach. The two extremities gradually approach each other as they are hauled in, until at last they come together ; and the fish are brought to land in the centre of the net as in a bag. The operation being done slowly occupies a space of several hours. The drawing of nets is like the drawing of lot- teries. The result may be a fish, or it may be a stone. Hence, as in all occupations where the issues depend largely upon chance, the curiosity of the persons concerned is a good deal excited. Their imaginations are stimulated ; and the body derives new vigor from the cheerful action of the mind. The young fisherman, as he slowly draws to shore the innumerable meshes, ponders in his heart upon the possible value of his draught. If as imaginative as some fishers have been, he may see the treasures of half a sea coming in to shore. He may really catch only a few sardines, as long- as his finger ; but his fancy excludes from the net nothing short of behemoth and leviathan. There may be even dolphins and mermaids in it. He may have caught a nymph of the sea napping, DRAWING THE NKT. 11)7 and bring another Venus out of the foam. His dreamy thoughts wander down into the deep sea's caverns, and fish up pearls, corals, and ship- wrecked doubloons. In every fish's mouth he will find a piece of money. His interest rises with every additional pull at the ropes ; and only the sight of simple " cod and haddies," of crabs and herrings, of a flounder or two, or of a bushel of sardines, will at last convince him that his prizes are blanks, and that his treasures still lie in the deep bosom of the ocean buried. The drawing of nets, therefore, is gala-work. Boys like to have a hand in it. It is done with gayety and song, like the labors of the vin- tage. At any rate, it is so at Barcelona. The whole tribe of fishers, when I saw them at work on the beach, may have consisted of some forty or fifty men, women, and children. Though clad like gipsies, they were all as merry as the best of Christians. They sang ; they called and answered each other ; they laughed and jested ; they ate and drank and smoked at the ropes, as though the easy toil were no interruption of their 198 COSAS DE ESPANA. life of idleness and content. Their dress was as gay as their hearts were merry. All the men were in jackets which once, at least, had been velvet. Caps of all colors — white only excepted — graced their heads. Scarfs were bound around their loins ; and all were naked to the knees. I singled out one fellow for my special fa- vorite. His cap was red ; his jacket yellow ; his breeches green ; his sash purple. All were sadly the worse for wear ; and were nearly all gone except the colors. These stuck fast to him. Feet, legs, hands, breast, and face, w^ere bare — and were bronze. A short cord, which, passing over his shoulder and across his breast, formed a loop, was attached behind his back by means of a slip-knot to the main rope of the net. By this cord, easily fastened on to the cable, as he commenced drawing at the water's edge, and as easily detached, when he reached the limit of the upper beach, my man was harnessed to the com- mon load, and did his small proportion of the general labor. He ate his dinner at the same time that he did liis work. For his hands being DINING AT THE ROPES. IfU ffee, he had only to thrust one into one pocket and pull out a roll of bread ; and the other into another and fisli up an onion or a pepper. His bottle also was stowed away in his breeches, and was invariably brouglit out at the end of every course in the feast — that is, after every slice from his loaf and peel from his onion. There was no hurry in the service. It took about as much time for his bottle to get out of his pocket and back again, as it would for a decanter to go the rounds of a dinj^er table. He did not seem to begrudge the time. As he walked up the beach, harnessed to the cable, one foot followed the other with a slow and equal motion. It was evident that he was not walking for a wager. It was equally plain that he was swallowing his dinner no faster than he could comfortably di- gest it. When his repast was at last brought to a close, that is, when the bread had been eaten to the last crumb, and the bottle emptied to the last drop, he drew out of his pocket a smalfbook, as if to say his prayers. But he did no such thing. It was his smoking book. Having care- 200 COSAS DE ESP AN A. fully extracted a leaf, he placed on it a piiicli of tobacco, and neatly rolled up a cigarillo, which he smoked apparently with as much relish as any hidalgo could his Havana. By the time my barbarian had finished his cigarillo, the net had been nearly all dragged to the shore. In a short time the fish were seen fluttering in the meshes. The march of the men at the rope was now slightly quickened. Anoth- er pull — another, still — and the shining, scaly booty was brought to land. Idlers and fishermen all crowded eagerly around to see the day's re- sult. Their curiosity was soon satisfied, for the draught turned out to be a small one, and consist- ed only of a few bushels of sardines. But these poor people seemed well satisfied. If they earn ten or twelve cents a day, 'tis all they care for. With three or four, they can buy as much black bread as will suffice for a man a day. With as many more, a big-bellied bottle of wine can be purchased. The rest will pay for the garlic and the tobacco ; and any still remain- ing surplus may go to add another rag to their HAPPY LIFE. 201 backs, or their cabins. The whole tribe were foreigii-borii, having come, a few years before, from the neighboring province of Yalencia, in consequence of the higher wages, as they said, of the city of Barcelona. Happy are they. Every day of the year they draw their net. The sand of the beach makes them a soft couch at night. The murmuring of the sea soothes their slumbers. Their cabins look toward tlie terra caliente, the homes from wliich they have gone out, and whither they are too well ofl' ever to wish to return. Children of the sun, they ask for no higher enjoyment than to lie on the burning beach, and to bathe in the tepid wave. And through many a peaceful year may you continue to drag your nets to the shore, ye simple iishers ! The summer's sun, I know, will not be too hot for you ; may the winter never be too cold. When the rain descends and the floods come, may your huts not share the fate of the houses of greater sinners than you are. May you, at last, all die in your beds on the snnd, nnd 9* 202 cos AS DE ESPANA. your final sleep be only the sounder for the mur- muring waves which will break over your graves on the shore. Even if admitted into the cementerio^ these fishermen will not fail of being buried by their beloved Mediterranean. For this " God's acre" is situated hard by the sea, and near to the place of the drawing of nets. Only in this consecrated retreat, the dead sleep their sleep above ground. They are plastered into nichos in the walls ; and if they were to be baked, they could not be placed in sepulchres more resembling ovens. But, though in simple holes in the wall, they doubtless sleep well. In rough weather, the sea chants their re- quiem, and will continue to do so until its voice shall be drowned in the tumult of the final trum- pet. At ail other times, the gentle ripple which tosses its bubbles on the beach will not disturb so much as the dreams of an infant sleeper. And when, in the general resurrection of humanity, these bodies of the sons of God come forth, they will linger a moment, I am sure, ere taking their leave of this, their fair natal shore. Nor will GRAVES ON THE SHORE. 203 any souls, which, from the fpur quarters of the earth, shall then ascend the skies, find any short- er pathway to heaven than that travelled by the simple fishers, who, from this spot, shall climb the Southern Pyrenees. XVII. HOLYDAYS AT BARCELONA. Spanish life is pretty well filled up withjiob ^^ IP' The co untry is undfij:u4h@--^¥©laetignj^^ b^Lfcairfilledcal^nd^X-^^f^^ teiidom, Italy, pjilxaps^--,excepted^ But these guardians do not keep watch and ward for naught : they have each their " solid day" annu- ally set apart for them, or, at least, their after- noon, wherein to receive adoration and tribute money. The poor Spaniard is kept nearly half the year on his knees. His prayers cost him his pesetas, too ; for, neither the saints will in- tercede nor the priests will absolve, except for cash. But his time spent in ceremonies, the Spaniard counts as nothing. The fewer days the laborer has to work, the happier is he. These are the dull' prose of an existence essentially THE SIGHT-SEEING. 20 r> poetic. On holydays, on the contrary, the life of the lowest classes runs as smoothly as verses. If the poor man's j^grrpn only be well filled with wine, he cantrust to luck ^nd- the saints-ibr. a roll of bread and a few onions. Free from cni-e, he likes, three days in the week, to put on his best — more likely, his only bib-and-tucker — and go to mass, instead of field or wharf duty. He is well pleased at the gorgeous ceremonies of his venerable mother-church : at the sight of street processions, with crucifix and sacramental can- opy, and priests in cloth of purple and of gold. The spectacle also of the gay promenading, the music, the parade and mimic sliow of war, the free theatres, the bull-fights, the streets hung with tapestry, and the town-hall's front adorned with a flaming full length of Isabella the Second — these constitute the brilliant passages in the epic of his life. Taking no thought for the mor- row after the holyday, he is wiser than a philos- opher^ and enjoys _the_golden hours as they fly. Indeed, he can well afford to do so; for, in his sunny land of corn and wine, the common neces- 206 COSAS DE ESPANA. saries of life are procured with almost as little toil as in the bread-fruit islands of the Pacific. JlII the Spaniard's holydays are religious festi- vals. There is no Fourth of July in his year. His mirth, accordingly, is not independent and profane, like the Yankee's. Being more accus- tomed also to playtime, he is less tempted to fill it up with excesses. It is in the order of his holyday to go, first of all, to church ; and a cer- tain air of religious decorum is carried along into all the succeeding amusements. Neither is his the restless, capering enjoyment of the French- man, who begins and ends his holydays with dancing ; nor the chattering hilarity of the Ital- ian, who goes beside himself over a few roasted chestnuts and a monkey. The Spaniard wears a somewhat graver face. His happiness requires less muscular movement. To stand wrapped in his cloak, statue-like, in the public square ; to sit on sunny bank, or beneath shady bower, is about as much activity as suits his dignity. Only the sound of castanets can draw him from his propri- ety ; and the steps of the fandango work his THE MERRY-MAKING. 207 brain up to intoxication. Spanish festal-time, accordingly, is like the hazy, dreamy, voluptuous days of the Indian summer, when the air is as full of calm as it is of splendor, and when the pulses of Nature beat full, but feverless. The holyday is easily filled up with pleasures. -The peasant has no more to do than to throw back his head upon the turf, and tantalize his dissolving mouth by holding over it the purple clusters, torn from overhanging branches. The beggar lies down against a wall, and counts into the hand of his companion the pennies they have to spend together during the day — unconscious the while that the sand of half its hours has al- ready run out. The village-beauty twines roses in her hair, and looks out of the window, happy to see the gay-jacketed youngsters go smirking and ogling by. The belles of the town lean over their flower balconies, chatting with neighbors/ and raining glances on the throng of admirers who promenade below. Town and country wear their holyday attire with graceful, tranquil joy. Only from the cafes of the one, and the ventorillos 208 COSAS DE ESPANA. of the other, may perchance be heard the sounds of revelry ; where the guitar is thrummed with a gayety not heard in serenades ; where the violin leads youthful feet a round of pleasures, too fast for sureness of footing ; and where the claque of the castanets rings out merrily above laugh and song, firing the heart with passions which com- port not well with Castilian gravity. XVIII. THE ANNUAL FAIR. All days, says the proverb, are not feasts in Barcelona — there are some which are fairs. As sure as the twenty-first of December dawns on the city, there will be a grand market lield in it. The Rambla, the Paseo Nuevo, and all the broad- er streets and squares, will be filled with tempo- rary booths. Everything that can be wanted for the supply of a year's life, excepting daily bread, will there be spread out before the purdiaser. From silks to rags, from new platters to rusty nalis, from the books of the day to those printed in 1600, from the furniture for rich men's houses to the beggar's spoon and blanket, from every- thing at first hand to everything at third, wliat is there which can not here be bouo-ht for duros 21 U COSAS DE ESPANA. and for reals ? Nothing which is made for use- is ever cast off in this country as worthless. What is first manufactured for the rich is after- ward sold to the poor. A crooked, rusty nail has here a marketable value. A cracked kettle which will not hold the rich man's water, will cook the stews of a beggar ; and be prized as was the barber's basin by Don Quixote. To all lovers, therefore, of patched-up china- ware, broken-backed chairs, and out-of-joint chests of drawers — to all collectors of uncurrent coins, books in black-letter, swords well hacked upon the skulls of the infidel, and old pictures warrant- ed to be better than new — let me say Spain is your El Dorado. Bat hasten ; for the exchange- able value of all this ancient dust and lumber is rapidly rising in the home market. Already, in fact, if you ask a Spaniard to sell you any old stone of his, three times out of four he takes the alarm, and puts an " asking price" upon it which would go nigh to purchasing the fabled philoso- pher's. If a foreigner should propose to buy the clouted shoes off his feet, the suspicion would BAIUJAIN'IXC WITH A SPANIARD 211 flash across his mind that they were a pair of seven-league boots in disguise ; and he would sooner part with liis honor as an hidalgo than allow tlicm to go out of his possession. In fact, to drive a bargain with a native for any venera- ble heirloom, requires as much strategy as to conduct a campaign. You must approach the subject from as great a distance as you would if you were going to besiege a town. The first step to be taken is to make a direct allusion to the greatness of the Spanish nation — as it was in the days of the first Isabella — and promises to be in those of the second. Then, you may dilate at large on the fine climate of the country, the bravery of the army, the beauty of the women, the excellence of the vino ordinario, and on all the manifold attractions of the heaven of the Spains. At length, concentrating your forces, you may adroitly address a few rounds of compliments to the individual Spaniard before you ; and having first carried all his outworks, you will have every chance of capturing the citadel itself. To do this, perhaps no more will be necessary than sim- 212 COSAS DE ESPANA. ply to intimate that the possession' of any relic which bore his name, or had been for the last thousand years in the keeping of his family, would be esteemed by you an. honor of which you would be no less proud than of your own birth- right. He will now, out of personal regard for so polite a gentleman, be most happy to part v/ith the oldest parchment or porcelain in his family. You shall have it for courtesy's sake — and the good round sum you have offered. So that at last you walk off relieved of the load in your pockets, and the fortunate possessor of some old, worm-eaten volume of ghostly commentaries — som-C rusty Roman coin manufactured in the nine- teenth century — some antiquated three-legged stool, which formerly belonged to a duenna — some rickety set of drawers, once the property of a dilapidated old bachelor — a big carved stone, a piece of the rock of Gibraltar, or a pic- ture of a very renowned saint in a high state of ecstasy. But to return to the fair — one of the chief ar- ticles exposed for sale is live poultry. The Cat- COCKS OX Till-: WALK. 213 alonian peasants, men, women, and children, come down from the inonntains with stock enough to su])ply a fowl for every pot in the city. After daybreak, there is no such thing as sleeping in all the town for the chanticleering. You can not take your stroll through the Rambla for the num- ber of cocks on the walk. However, if a fowl fancier, you push your way through ; and have the satisfaction of seeing roosters carried off at a price far more reasonable than that which you had to pay for your Shanghais. While for one of these far-fetched crowers, you have been fondly giving a sum of money large enough to buy even the Gallic cock himself off the Yevy escutcheon of France, here you may pick up any number of Catalans, almost as big and twice as saucy, for less than it would cost in our large towns to sup- ply them with gravel-stones. They are cheaper than American dirt. You finally refuse to look at them, therefore, from sheer disgust ; and turn all your attention to the peasant-girls, who have them in charge. These hold themselves less cheap. They are. 214 COSAS DE ESPANA. in fact, prouder and more savage than any fight- ing cocks. You had better catch a Tartar than attempt to cage one of them for any purpose. They are perfect Amazons, and weaf daggers in their garters. Beware ! However, I will say this of them, that when it comes to fighting, they are no match for their mothers. The quarrels of these dames with each other are far more fierce, as well as amusing, than those of their own roost- ers, and reveal a peculiar feature of female man- ners in Catalonia. They do not end in words. They do not consist in pulling each other's hair. These are but the accidents of the combat. The great aim and effort always is to perform upon each other that operation which mothers are sometimes obliged to perform on crying babies. If they do not succeed in doing this, there is no victory — but merely a drawn game. But let us go over to the Paseo Nuevo, and see the turkeys. There you will find a greater number of these birds congregated than you sup- posed to exist in all Spain. They cover this extensive promenade completely over. The heav- A PROMENADE OF TURKEY?. 215 ens are filled with gobblings. Never was such an amount of strutting seen on any walk as this. A modest man might be humiliated in the pres- ence of so much pretension, and feel ashamed to hold his head up, lest he should be suspected of attempting to carry it over this immense roost of rivals. However, lie is kept in countenance by the haughty dames who in full dress come out from church to make their selections for the spiL. These pass from drove to drove, looking where to choose, and evidently driving close bargains. The peasant, aided by wife and children, all hav- ing long reed poles, keeps his brood together, and easily catches his gobblers as fast as they are wanted. The weighing is done by hand. When bought, the bird is carried off by a servant in at- tendance ; and the line lady, continuing her prom- enade, joins the company on the Muralla del Mar. XIX. THE PIG-KILLING. After the poultry has all been eaten up, comes the pig-killing. This, too, happening at the Christmas season, makes an occasion more or less festal in Barcelona. Your Spanish pig, who, by the way, is a no less important character in his country than is his cousin in Ireland, is not raised for the vulgar purpose of being fried to lard, or salted down to pork. He has, in fact, no more fat than he has hair on him. He is a long-legged, long-snouted, and long-tailed fellow, and would have been described by Plato as an animal without hairs. But though the pickings on his ribs be small, they are sweet. The Span- iard rolls the morsels under his tongue as he does his easily-besetting sins. It is nut-fed flesh ; and pk; is game. 217 has the flavor of acorns. Tliis taste is as much prized in the roasted joint as that of the skin in the sherry. Pig is game in Spain. The porker does not live here in the chimney-corner, and sit in the best arm-chair, as in Paddy's cabin ; but he roams the fields, and goes a-nutting with the boys and girls. He eats grass, as there are no cows to eat it ; and would milk the goats, doubt- less, if they would let him. He evidently knows more than the same animal in other countries ; and is, in consequence, more willing to be driven. He will squeal when he feels the knife, but for no other reason. Nor is his squeal the same as that heard at the North. There are more vowel sounds in it. It is also less through the nose than in New England ; and has some gutturals even farther down the throat than those of a Dutchman. Your wild boar is a monster com- pared with him. The flesh of the latter is to that of the former as the crisp brown of roast pig is to the tanned hide in your riding saddle. Ac- cordingly, to refuse pork at a Spanish table is to pronounce yourself " of the circumcision ;" and 10 218 COSAS DE ESPANA. should you decline a cut of a particularly nice ham, you would be set down as no better than a heathen. However, you never would do it — particularly after having read this essay. I as- sure you that when you may have eaten up all the chickens which were stowed away in your saddle- bags, you can not do better than to attack your landlord's roast pig — provided you can get it. Only it may cost you dear in the reckoning, as it is thought a dish to set before the king. You may like pork, or you may not ; but one thing is certain, it is the only meat in the peninsula which has juices in it. Mutton may have a very little ; and should you travel far in the country, you would see the day when you would be glad of a leg of it. But the beef is dry as " whit- tlings." An entire joint of roast beef would kill a man as effectually as a joist of timber. Who- ever should undertake to live on Spanish beef a twelvemonth, would become at the end of that time what he was, in fact, at the beginning — wooden-headed. Make up your mind, therefore, to eat the meat of the uncircumcised, if you have KILLED ON THE PASEO. 219 any thought of going to Spain. You will often have to take your choice between that and noth- ing ; and my word- for it, 'tis much preferable. For the land is leaner far than the pork ; and happy is that traveller who, when he is reduced to pickings, can find a spare-rib to work upon. Forewarned — forearmed. But first let us see how queerly the Spaniard goes to work to kill his pig. The thing is not done in the country, nor in a corner. It is a so- lemnity which is celebrated on one of the most fashionable promenades of the city. The ladies go to mass, and then to the sacrifice of hogs on the Paseo Nuevo. They may not take their walk for this particular purpose, as they may not go to church to say their prayers. But let them be walking, with one design or another — and they frequently have several in their heads at once — they can not go to this favorite promenade with- out hearing the squealing. Every traveller is bound to see the hogs on the Paseo, as they are among the lions of the city ; and every one- who would give an account of the cosas de Barcelona 220 COSAS DE ESPANA. is under the absolute necessity of describing the killing of them. One extremity of the esplanade, then, is covered with herds of swine, all as black as if they were possessed with devils. Your Spaniard himself is brown. Of course, his pig can not be white. He has been black ever since the country was in the possession of the Moors — if not longer. In- deed, a white porker would pass for a ghost — would make every native turn paler than himself — and would be driven out of the Peninsula with Pater-Nosters. Accordingly, the pigs on the Paseo are all black, and all catholic. The portion of the esplanade set apart for these sacrifices may be half an acre or more. Thither the predestined are driven by tens and by fifties from' the country. A certain number of them, called first to meet their fate, are coaxed into the slaugiiter-house, and then bound hand and foot. As for the house, it consists of a small circular portion of the sands of the Paseo ^ without a sin- gle board to cover them, and of. so much of the blue heavens as roofs the spot. There are no CHARRED. 221 floors, no clean straw, no hot water, no cross- beams, no pulleys. There are hogs and Span- iards — no more. And 'tis all that is necessary — as WG shall see. Of the sticking^ the less that is said, the bet- ter ; so of the squealing. The rule of the former operation seems to be Hioere ivell done^ if Hivere done quickly; and of the latter, where there is so little wool or hair, there should not be too much crying. The precious life-current is caught in platters, and goes into the puddings of the ayuntamiento, no doubt. Once the small soul of the porker fled through the bloody opening, a hook is struck into his snout, and the unresisting head is lifted up on to a small log as on to a pillow. Beyond this lies parallel another log, at the dis- tance of a couple of feet ; and between the two is a low fire of vine-fagots. The head is pulled over the flames, first this side and then that, until what little hair the animal had on his fore-top is singed, and the outer skin looks as if it were well crisped. This operation is continued from head to tail — one man pulling and turning by 222 COSAS DE ESPANA. means of tlie hook, and another doing the same by the natural handle of the hind feet. A nov- ice might suppose that the pig was about to be roasted in preparation for some great feast ; where- as he is simply to be charred a little, and scraped with a hoe. The animal, which went on to the fire black, comes off of it white. To make the transfiguration perfect, the body is dragged from the logs on to a few clean hurdles, and laid back upward, as natural as life. Then the cleaner mounts and seats himself astride the neck as cav- alierly as though he were going to run a race, or make a sally against the Jews. But, instead of that, he goes busily to work upon the head, re- moving by means of the scraper, together with a very small quantum of water, what had been left by the hoe. As he gains upon his task, he grad- ually removes his seat farther and farther back, until at last he rides by the tail, and may tumble off into the mud behind, if he be not careful. All this is the work of but a few minutes. The clean- ing process finished, the butcher approaches, and at a blow or two, cuts off, not the head, but the BRANDED. 223 half of it — being that portion attached to the upper jaw. Then down the back goes the quick knife — one or twice — and the bone is out, with the tail into the bargain. It is done in scarcely more time than it takes an old salt to split a cod- fish. Baskets are brought lined with clean white cloths to receive the entrails. The blood is neatly wiped out of the carcass by napkins. The knife goes down the belly as it had before the back. The officer of excise, whose dignity is supported by a tent, with a couple of chained bull-dogs, now comes forward and applies the red-hot brand to the two separated sides. Each of these is lifted by means of a pole laid across two men's shoul- ders, and is weighed. Then, finally, each man, shouldering his half, walks off with it out of the ring, and deposites it in a neighboring cart, which straightway rattles both off to the market. Every part of the process being done by experts, the whole is accomplislied with remarkable rapidity, and with greater neatness than could be expected, considering place and persons. Nothing short of a little broiling over their own logs, I am sure, 224 COSAS DE ESPANA. would suffice to whiten the hides of the pig-killers themselves. As it was, they were precisely the ^olor of hams, and had every appearance of being just from the smoke-hole. Not to say too little on this very Spanish theme, I will add that the porker has the liberty of the walk in Barcelona on one other occasion besides that when he is led out to slaughter. It is when he is put up in a raffle. Then you see him walk- ing over the course, escorted with fife and drum, and his tail tied up with ribbons. The musicians go before, and a driver with a big whip follows after. Thus in triumphal procession the decor- ated shote passes through the principal streets of the town. He moves on cheerfully, though slow — whether pleased with a music scarcely too scientific to gratify his ear, or stimulated by the cracks of a thong, of which he is perfectly able to appreciate the melody. All men give way to him. For the time being he is the hog of the walk. He deserves to be. For he has been picked out from all his fellows, as the biggest, the fattest, the handsomest. Like many gayer RAFFLED. 225 promcnaders, he takes his airing less to see than be seen. Not that he expects to attract the eyes of fair ladies, or the glasses of the beaux. It will better answer the purpose if a tailor look at him — if a cobbler be induced to l)uy one of his tickets — if a butcher or an innkeeper, or any person who may think it cheaper to purchase his meat by lottery than to go to market for it, shall be led from a sight of his fat points to go to one of the numerous lottery offices, and pay down his peseta for a chance at tlie " whole hog." These offices are located at convenient points about the town, and may be recognised by a sign over the door, containing the portrait of the identical ani- mal, drawn in chalk or charcoal. The passion for lotteries is strong in Spain. The government constantly helps out its unsatis- factory revenues by aid of them. Lottery tickets are exposed for sale in the principal streets. Traders in tickets are to be met with on the pub- lic walks. The numbers which have drawn prizes in the great national lotteries at Madrid are posted up at the street-corners by agents of 10* 226 COSAS DE ESPANA. the government ; and the fortunate drawer of the highest prize is heralded about in all the newspa- pers. The pig-rifas, however, are authorized by the authorities of the city ; and are always said to be granted for charitable purposes. Hence the luckless purchaser, who gives his good hard reals for a blank, may always comfort himself with the belief that his money has gone to the poor's box — though, for my part, I greatly fear lest a considerable percentage may have stopped in the pockets of the ayuntamiento . • Observe that your Spaniard does not set up a horse or an ox — not even a bull or a donkey in a raffle. He knows that no soul would buy a ticket. It would require double the number of musicians, and still worse music to attract the attention of the moneyed public. A few gipsies might look at a horse or an ass who was going to be put into a rifa, particularly if he were halt, or blind, or badly spavined. The populace might look at a bull, if it were one which showed fight and rendered it prudent for all but torreadores to get out of the way. Yet it could not be cer- BAPTIZED. 227 tain that anybody but idle beggars would take the trouble to run after any of the before-men- tioned quadrupeds. But show a native an animal capable of being converted into hams and bacon, and his mouth is at once dissolved in interest in him. He instinctively puts his hands into his pockets to see if he is rich enough to be the own- er of one peseta. _If so, he goes straight to the well-known office, and buys a ticket entitling him, by help of Santa Eulalia, to the animal entire. Such is the Spaniard's way of filling his pork barrel. But the distinctive peculiarity of the Barcelo- nese pig remains to be mentioned ; and could on no account be left out of any right description of him. It is not that he eats nuts. It is not that he is killed on the Paseo Nuevo. It is not that he is put into lotteries. It is that he is blessed by the priest. As soon as he gets his eyes open, he is a candidate for baptism. The quicker the better after the cutting of his eyeteeth, he is spritikled with holy water. That ceremony per- formed upon him, he is no longer an unclean an- 228 COSAS DE ESPANA. imal. He is held to be as good as regenerated. He is esteemed Christian, and as Catholic as Saint George of Catalonia. The act for ever shields him from all bad accidents. He is not liable to lose his appetite and refuse nuts. His supper is not likely to give him the nightmare. He is not exposed to the risk of breaking his nose off in rooting. He can not be spirited away by hobgoblins, or have his tail pulled out by the Old Nick. His meat is sure to be wholesome. No Christian can be choked in swallowing it, though the smallest morsel would strangle a Jew. It will not play tricks in the stomachs of true be- lievers, while it would work like poison in the bowels of a pilfering gipsy, and refuse to amal- gamate with the blood of any Moor or Infidel. Its juices rendered pure as holy water itself, it will not spoil the complexion of the most deli- cately-bred soDorita, nor make any caballero a shade blacker than he is by nature. By all means, then, let the pig be sprinkled. All quadrupeds are in Barcelona. If on the seventeenth day of January the Barcelonese will SAN ANTONIO ABAD. 229 ri(15 his horse or his ass three times around the church of San Antonio Abad — with braided tail and mane woven with flowers — with a huge tor- ^e// loaf of bread hung at his saddle-bow — and himself in a red cap, sheepskin jacket and leather shorts ; and if he will come to a halt before the church steps, while a priest reads a prayer over man and ass, and another throws holy water in both their faces ; and if he will then draw out his leathern pouch, and pay into the holy man's hands tuppence ha'penny ; and after having paid down his coppers and received into the bargain a picture of San Antonio Abad himself, together with a printed account of the good saint's power in interceding for all Cliristian muleteers and jackasses at the throne of the Blessed Virgin, he will then back out of the scene as quickly as whip and spur and heaven can help him so to do, and will moreover cut down the street and through half the town as if the devil himself were after him to wipe off the sacramental drops ere they were dry in the hair — then 1 say, that neither his horse, nor his ass, nor his mule shall 230 COSAS DE ESPANA. lit his foot against a stone from that day twetve- month. He shall not have horse-ail, nor stag- gers, nor any sort of murrain within the year. He shall not be fomidered, nor lose his wind. He shall not kick, nor bite, nor so much as flirt his tail, except in fly-time. San Antonio Abad answers for it all. Only one thing, unfortu- nately, he does not undertake to guaranty — and that is to stop a jackas.s from braying whenever it may suit his pleasure. Let the quadrupeds be blessed then. Only the ass, I think, might as well be left out. He is too stupid an animal to be at all afflicted by benedic- tions. He knows only one sort of water — and that is drinking water. Shake the holy broom over his head, or the cowhide, still he brays. Be the ground under his feet sacred or profane, it makes no difference, he brays still. When at the hour of vespers you are listening to the nun's low chant ; or when, the pealing organ done, the sol- emn silence is broken only by the whispered prayer of the kneeling worshippers — Enlalia Purisima! — what a di?tbolical concert is sud- BRAYING. 231 deiily set up by the asses waiting at the church doors ! Or when in the stillj^ night the melan- choly lover is pouring out his teaderest plaint beneath the balcony of his lady fair, and his spent soul is breathing forth its last soft sigh — Santa Maria Dolorosa! — what a longer drawn wail, what a more powerful sighing comes from the belly of some neighboring and no less distressed donkey ! In a country where so much time is spent either before the altar or beneath the bal- cony ; and where there is at least a pair of jack- asses to every couple of saints and lovers, this braying becomes an intolerable nuisance. If San Antonio Abad were worth a fig, he would put a stop to it. •*» XX. THE CARNIYAL. The Barcelonese Carnival is to that of Spain wliat the Roman is to Italy. Bacchus with a long retinue of Fauns and Satyrs always pays the Catalonian capital a visit at this season ; and Yenus is there too with her train of Loves and G-races. Both of them, however, conduct them- selves with so much more sobriety than they for- merly did at the Grecian festivals, that they can hardly be recognised as the same personages. Still, fun and frolic are let pretty freely loose in the streets ; and even Castilian gravity comes out in bells and a Tom-fool's cap. During the daytime there are processions through the streets, with masks, music and ban- ners. Fraternities of odd fellows, and good fel- lows, and all sorts of fellows, parade their youth- BALLS. 233 ful follies and idiosyncracies in the face of day and of all the people. And he is the very best fellow of them all who wears the most fantastic apparel, who bears the wittiest motto, who makes the most absurd harangues, who utters the most unpardonable puns. The gipsy beaux too are out on horseback ; not clad in rags and skins, but for once in ruffled shirts, plumed hats, jack- ets of broadclotli, and having their horses' tails braidgd with ribbons and roses. Colossal figures representing the g-enii loci, are borne about the town upon men's shoulders ; or are drawn in state in immense gilded chariots, hung with flow- ers. Bands of music go before ; the most gor- geous or the most grotesque of bodyguards ac- company the divinities ; and the whole rabble of the town comes after. The wheels of business are made for two or three days to stand still; and only the car of pleasure rolls unhindered through the city. At night, everybody goes to the assemblies. All the theatres and halls are converted into ball- rooms. Even the merchants are turned out of 234 COSAS DE ESPANA. the excliange, and its beautiful apartments are appropriated to the dancers. But the centre of attraction is the opera-house. This, which the Barcelonese will tell you is the largest one in the world, is fitted up with a temporary floor, and consecrated to masking from midnight until morn- ing. The galleries are crowded with spectators ; two orchestras, containing each a hundred per- formers, are placed at either extremity of the immense saloon ; and as gay a gallop goes over these boards as can be seen anywhere in Chris- tendom. The price of admission having formerly been higher, it was then attended only by the more fash- ionable classes of society. Now all the Barcelon- ese world is there, both high and low. The pleas- ure is participated in by a greater number ; but the ftin, if more vulgar, is none the less hearty. What the dresses may have lost in elegance they have gained in variety. The fashionable ladies, who now attend as spectators chiefly, do not mind if their silks be a little dingy ; and the ra^azza is only too happy to dance in cambric or in cal- RAGAZZAS. 235 ico. In ORG or the otlier she will be sure to bo there ; for she would go threadbare during half the year rather than not have a neat new dress for the carnival. She will be there, and polking it with an abandon^ the very grace of ecstasy. Though her skirts will not be of gauze, nor wrought with silver or with gold, still none will wave more briskly ; none will be thrown to a better elevation. She will not be clasped by a zone of gems, nor wear jewels in her hair ; but her curls will be fastened by the Catalonian bod- kin ; her ears will be hung with Moorish rings ; and her lover — for of course she is blessed with one — will have planted a nosegay in her well- rounded bosom. But our ragazza has already flown by in the waltz — and lo ! here comes a throng of dancers gayer than the rest. The ladies in it wear no disguise excepting the domino noir. But the gentlemen are in costumes the most bizarres. They are all nose, or all mustache. You see beards whicli arc longer than those of hermits ; shirt collars which overtop the ears ; coat-tails .236 COSAS DE ERPANA. which reach to the ankles ; conical caps a yard high ; harlequin's bells, devil's tails, satyr's hoofs, ox-horns. By two or three hours past midnight, the mirth grows a little boisterous. The laugh gets to be as loud as the music ; and for the rest of the night, the dance goes faster and faster round till morning. Let us escape to a box. There you can sit masked or unmasked — in burlesque or in black — and look down upon the furore of the gallop- ing. You will not sit long before those two ladies in black silk masks, and loose silk robes of the same material, will honor you with their salutations. You know by their dress that they are not here to dance, but simply to greet their acquaintances, and to tell under cover of a domi- no some truths which they might blush to confess ^ without one. They will endeavor to disguise their voices as well as their persons. But you will recognise the soft Andalusfan accent of one of them. Those lips never did betray, and can not now deceive you. You steal her secret out of her heart the moment she begins to speak. VIOLETS. 237 But ill return you pour forth a headlong torrent of Castilian vows and compliments. You kiss her hand — at least you may say so in Spanish; and when she takes her leave, not actually to throw yourself at her feet, you will address to her the polite adieu of A los pies de V. Senora. She is gone. But the wisp of violets left behind in your hand brings the pleasures of the night to their climax ; and with nothing further to wish or hope for, you straightway retire. XXL A MOCK BULL-FIGHT. The province of Catalonia hangs upon the Spanish monarchy by the eyelids, threatening upon the recurrence of every revolutionary agi- tation to fall off altogether. Especially the lower classes of the capital are turbulent, disloyal, and democratic. They always stand with their toes well over the mark of revolt ; and their passions once kindled into action, they would not at any time object to reddening their knives in the blood of the aristos who rule over them. Hence Bar- celona has been under martial law for the last quarter of a century ! The stranger who has re- sided perhaps a long time in the city, is some day surprised to learn the fact that the captain- general of the province has the power of arrest- CABBAGE REBELLION. 239 ing, trying and shooting, any inhabitant accused of conspiring against the public peace and the government of Queen Isabella. But so it is ; and so it may be for another quarter of a century. Life and property here require the constant pro- tection of from ten to twenty thousand bayonets ; and the loyalty of tbe province is secured by con- centrating in it about one half of the whole mili- tary force of the country. The winter I was in Barcelona, the town very narrowly escaped a cabbage rebellion. The gov- ernment at Madrid had raised the tariff of duties on vegetables at the gates of all the great towns. But as the lower classes eat no meats, the meas- ure operated as an increased tax on the food of the poor. The first effect of the very foolish as well as very wrongful edict was, that not a cab- bage or a potato was ])rought to the gates of a single Spanish city. The citizens had to go to the country to buy their vegetables as best they could of the peasantry, who, with great unanim- ity, refused to pay the additional tax for the priv- ilege of selling them in town. The peasants held 240 ' COSAS DE ESPANA. out until the populace were reduced to the bor- ders of desperation. The lower Barcelonese, taking the lead, were in commotion. They are always bloodthirsty, and now they were getting hungry besides. They were out of garlic. And had the news of the revocation of the obnoxious decrees not come in as it did to allay the popular , ferment, the lower classes would have risen upon the higher with the same knives with which they had peeled their last onions. So afraid are the Barcelonese authorities of this tendency to rebellion in the populace, that they no longer dare to grant them the entertain- ment of their favorite Fiestas de Toros, or festi- vals of bulls. They remember that a few years ago, the popular fury, aroused by the sight of the blood of beasts, could with difficulty be restrained from seeking to slake its thirst in that of men. Since that time there have been no bull-fights in Barcelona, except sham ones. These, as nobody is expected to be killed in them, neither bulls, horses, nor men, are not considered dangerous to the public peace. They do not rouse the blood TEATRO dp: toros. 241 of the spectiitors to the boiling point, as do the real bull-feasts. i\jid the more so, as they are not, like the latter entertainments, held in smn- mer, when the blood of both men and brutes is rarely much below fever heat, but in the cold- blooded season of winter. Accordingly, the traveller can have a chance of seeing the mock fiesta at Barcelona, if he likes ; though compared with the great national solem- nity as performed at Madrid or Seville, I fancy it must be something like a hanging at which the culprit is reprieved. However, I for one, went to the sham fight. And all the world of Barce- lona went with me. For hours before the com- mencement of the spectacle, the principal streets leading to tlie scene of combat were filled with a gay throng of all classes and ages, their steps quickened and their faces lighted up with antici- pated pleasure. As it was a Sunday afternoon, all the rout was in liolyday attire, making the march as gay as a triumpli. The city gates were hardly wide enough to let them out. The Teatro de Toros, whither the brilliantly clad column was 11 242 COSAS DE ESPANA. tending', is an am|)hi theatre situated just without one of the city gates, and near the station house of the first railway constructed in Spain. Strange that the barbaric shows of times gone by can still be set up within sound of the whistle of modern civilization ! But here is the theatre of the bull- fight within a stone's throw of the railway, the gas works, and the grand quay of the port. So tenacious is the Spaniard of old customs, and the game of blood ! The edifice is built on the model of the Roman amphitheatre, and is capable of containing several thousand spectators. Yet it is a wooden coliseum, with no pretensions to any beauty of architectural details. Its only ornament is the gayly dressed crowd — the red cap, cloak, and mocado of the lower classes ; the silks, velvets, and laces of the higher ; the uniform and bayonets of the guardsmen ; the tapestry and gilded state of the loge gubernatorial. The prices are arranged to suit all purses, from the caballero's to the beg- gar's. The one sits in the shade at many more times the expense of the other in the sun. The sun, in fact, is always on the side of the beggar BULL!^. 2-13 in Spain — its light being so common tliat it is considered a mark of gentility to keep out of it. In summer the hidalgo may be on the right side of the question; but, by the well-adjusted laws of compensation, the pobre who goes to the feast of bulls in winter, has decidedly the best of the bargain. At any rate, there they sit : the poor fellow in light, and the rich one in shade, impatient botli for the beginning of the entertainment. At length, the bugles sound. The chulos, in fantas- tic dress, and bearing banners, enter by a side door, and march up to the corregidor's seat to make their obeisance. These having afterward taken their places in the arena, another flourish of trumpets announces the entrance of the picador on a gayly-caparisoned steed. With plumed hat in hand, he rides up to the gubernatorial seat, where he presents his knightly homage ; and then galloping around the circuit of the ring, he receives, in return, the applause of the populace. Again the trumpets bray out — the folding gates are opened — and in bounds the bull. He is a 244 COSAS DE ESPAIS'A. novillo, and has his horns tipt with balls. There- fore, let no gentle reader faint. There may be some little show of blood, and some ugly sensa- tions felt about the ribs of a chulo or two. But no lives will be taken ; for the buttoned horns can not gore the charger's flanks ; and the two or three years old hoofs have not the heavy tread of those of a leader of the herd. So, courage — and let us see the fight. The furious animal rushes through the gates, head down and tail in the air. But at either side of the entrance his tormentors lie in wait for him. They have their hands full of small barbed darts, with short handles, decked with ribbons. These are to be hurled into the sides of the bull's neck, to worry him. At his very first bound into the arena, he receives one of these missiles on either side. Maddened by the sting, he turns upon his persecutors. They fly — they dodge his thrusts — they leap over the barriers. A chulo, in harlequin's dress and bells, waves his red ban- ner to attract the enraged animal away from the fugitives. Another shakes his scarf at him, just STEEDS. 245 as he is making a sally against the banner. A cloak is thrown in to save the scarf. Meanwhile, the barbed shafts are flying thick and fast into the poor brute's neck. He roars with rage and agony. He scatters his foes in all directions. He drives them out of the ring. Then comes to the charge the mounted picador. He, too, is armed with javelins ; and riding boldly by the side of tlie cantering beast, with well- directed aim, lie drives them home, until the bleeding neck is hung with arrows as with a double mane. At intervals, the bull, fearless of the threatening spear, makes an onset, witli all his forces. But for the preventing balls, his horns would gore and rip uj) the unprotected flanks of his enemy, letting out his entrails to drag upon the ground, and be torn by the noble steed's own hoofs. As it is, the blood which stains the charger's sides comes from the bull's neck, and not out of his own belly. Horse and . rider easily escape unharmed from the well-balled horns. Only the too venturesome chulo^ who seizes tlie novillo by the horns, may be thrown 246 COSAS DE ESP AN A. down, and even trodden under foot, if he be over- mastered. 'In that case, he is withdrawn from his perilous situation, as soon as may be, by his companions, and carried off to the room of the attending surgeon, who, armed, as in the days of Dr. Sangrado, with lancet and hot water, stands ready to finish the task commenced in the arena. ^ When the poor bull has been bullied to all hearts' content, he is given over to the Matadores and their assistants. These rush in upon him ; and seizing him, one by the horns, another by the tail, and the rest as best they can, they hold him fast. The arrows are then drawn out of his bleeding neck ; and relieved of these uncomfort- able ornaments, he is dragged or driven off the scene of action. The hurrahs or the hoots of the populace follow him to the gates, according as he has shown the red feather or the white one. For only two or three out of the half dozen tyros which were exhibited, proved themselves to be from the pastures of the Jarama. The rest evinced a marked dislike of the part they were HARLEQUINS. 247 invited to play in. One, the very moment of en- tering the arena, looked around upon the hissing and hooting crowd, as if amazed and confounded by the unusual spectacle, or by the unfavorable reception. Another, after receiving a javelin or two, turned out to be an arrant coward, and would not fight on any terms whatever. A third ran roaring away from his pursuers, seeking in vain at every gate to get out of a scrape he had no fancy for, and only turning from sheer disgust "* to make an occasional onset on the harlequins who took indecent liberties with the tail of his person. On the whole, the play went off to the general satisfaction. A battalion of soldiers kept the red-caps from drawing knives, and made them rest contented witli what little blood ran down the necks of tlie embolados. They had besides the pleasure of seeing one poor fellow's ribs roughly tickled ; one fooFs cap tossed into the air ; a scarf or two badly ripped up ; and the cloak of a terrified chulo pinned to the wall by the bull's liorns, as the fugitive was clambering 248 cos AS DE ESPANA. ' for safety over tlie barrier. Every home thrust was acknowledged with applause ; every feat of dexterity or show of courage, whether on the part of the four or the two-legged animals, drew forth a peal of bravos and bravisimos. As nobody was killed or run through, no lady had a pretext for fainting. Not a scream was heard. Not a fan was raised before the eyes. Even the English ladies present did not go into hysterics, but looked on with the sang- froid for which they are so celebrated on the continent. Still, unless I am greatly mistaken, there was some killing done in the boxes. There were no- bler hearts struck there than any which were ex- posed in the ring. For the bull-iight, be it mock or serious, is not an occasion to be let slip by the fair one, who goes to it armed with daggers both in her eyes and garters. I met there also belles from other climes, the fairest blondes of the north- ern winter, who, mingling with the brunettes of the terra caliente, had learned^ their arts', and went likewise armed to the knees. These, too, are dangerous to be met with at bull-fights. In FANS. 249 fact, ail addition of a few heads of auburn, and eyes of blue to the dark beauty of a gallery of Spanish Seiioras and Senoritas, makes a battery of charms the most formidable that can be imag- ined. The principal instrument, however, of Spanish coquetry, whether at the feast of bulls, or any other sort of feasts, is the fan. In the little hand of a Seilora of the South, the abanico is as wonder-working an instrument as a rod in the grasp of a wizard, or a sceptre in that of a king. It signifies everything — it signifies noth- ing. All depends on the way in which it is flirt- ed. And there are a thousand ways. Yet not one of them can be described in words. Utterly impossible ! But when you see a fan beckoning to you, you know at once what it means. Only a simpleton would fail of understanding this lan- guage of natural signs the very first lesson that was given him in it. You must be a perfect blockhead to force a lady to drop her fan, in order to intimate to you that she takes a lively interest in your welfare. That is the last motion she ever gives it. It is the greatest manoeuvre n* 250 COSAS DE ESPANA. capable of being executed with a fan — to drop it. If it is in a war of self-defence that she re- sorts to this use of the weapon, you ought to know that she has come to the final struggle. In fact, it is no more nor less than a proposition to surrender. It is the hauling down of the flag of the fortress. Then is your time ! Seize it like a man — for in another moment you may be for ever too late. Rush in at the open gates of the citadel of the heart : aiid hold it against all comers — as long as you can. XXII. OLLA PODRIDA. For the rest — the Catalonian is not a Span- iard. Put to him the question, V. es Espanol? and he will reply, iVo, soi Catalan. He is more proud of his province than of his country ; and esteems himself better and braver than any full- blooded Castilian. Neither were his fathers ever Spaniards. He traces his pedigree back to the Celtiberian family ; he boasts that his province, after the expulsion of the Moors, enjoyed a cen- tury of sovereignty ; and he regrets to this day the marriage of Ramon Berenguer lY. with the heiress of Ramiro el Monje, whereby Catalonia became united with Aragon. The Catalonian speaks a language which is not a dialect of the Spanish, as is the case in the 252 COSAS DE E8PANA. other provinces, but an independent tongue, with a separate literature. Formed in the process of time by a mingling of the Gallic and. the Iberian, mainly, it is a mixed border language. It is always used by the Catalonians in their inter- course with each other; though in conversing with Spaniards, they employ the Castilian. This latter is taught in the schools, as a foreign tongue, and is not understood by a considerable portion of the peasantry. This difference of language is one of the prin- cipal reasons of the comparative feebleness of the bond by which this province is bound up in the bundle of the once independent states which now compose the kingdom of the Spains. Another cause of estrangement is to be found in a sup- posed conflict of interests betweenllie manufac- turing district, of which Barcelona is the ca|3ital, and the rest of the country, which is mainly agri- cultural. The northeast of Spain is its. Jia5F England. This is emphatically the seat of Span- ish industry, compared with which the Andalu- sian South is a land of rnQrefaineans. The Bar- CATALONIAN INDUSTRY. 253 celoncse aver that the annual import of raw cot- ton into their port amounts to. some thirty or forty thousand bales. Their factories, originally set up by English artisans, are stocked with the best of English machinery, and are as well man- aged as similar establishments in other countries. The annual exhibition of goods manufactured in the city and province makes a display of cottons, woollens, and silks, which promise ere long to rival in quality those of France and England. The CaMonians^ therefore, are great clamor- ers for the protection of home industry by means of a high tariff of duties. On the other hand, the vine-growing districts of the South, and the corn- producing provinces of the North, prefer to be dependent on foreign manufactures. They, also, accuse the Barcelonese of being more engaged in smuggling than they are in manufacturing ; and of using their factories as blinds for introdu- cing the products of France contrary to law. The charge may not be altogether groundless. But as smuggling is a great and established business in Spain— a business which is said to fill the 254 COSAS DE espaNa. p^ockets of the government officials, from the first minister of the crown down to the janitor of the customhouse — it is not incredible that the man- ufacturers, likewise, may be more or less engaged m^lX'. Formerly, the foreign goods were intro- duced principally through Gibraltar and the Pyr- enees ; but now that the illicit traffic has become so little disreputable, it is said to be carried on by connivance of the keepers of the customs. In a population of .a^bimtQMhttMK.g^^^ fifty thousan^j Barcelona contains from twenty to thirty thousand permanent French residents, who render the' city still less Spanish than it would be otherwise. These immigrants brins* with them the arts and fashions of a civilization superior to rhat of the peninsula. Egj£tatg»aai[i.Mnnets, ae- cordingly, are nowadays seen mingled with the cloaks and the mantillas. Coffee is getting to be more drank than chocolate. The fricassee is ri- valling the oUa. The French doctor is bringing his eau de Seltz into competition with the hot water of Dr. Sangrado ; and the French social- ist is nightly haranguing at tlie cafes against tlie ATTACK ON QUEEN's LIFE. 255 priests, wlio, in turn, are weekly warning their flocks not to desert the ancient standards of re- ligion and loyalty. Indeed, opinions more or less socialistic have of late years become difiused not only in Barcelona, but through many of the larger commercial towns. Foreign politics have followed in the train of foreign trade and fash- ions. Still, as the great majority of the people continues to adhere to the reds and yellows of the national costume, so does it promise long to maintain its loyalty to the faith and throne of the Most Catholic of Majesties. The late attempt against the life of Queen Isa bella awoke a momentary feeling of loyal devo- tion even in the Barcelonese heart. The death of the sovereign, if unfortunately it had occurred in consequence of the assassin's blow, would have led to a most serious agitation throughout the country, if not to a revolution of the state. The first feeling would have been an irresistible de- sire, on the part of the lower classes, to avenge her murder. Strange as it may seem, not a priest's head would liave been safe in Catalonia, 256 COSAS DE ESP AN A, if in Spain. As it was, the moment it was known in Barcelona that the ineffectual blow had been dealt by a consecrated hand, the clergy were in so great trepidation that many of them went to the ofdces of the foreign consuls to seek that pro- tection for their lives which they feared could not be afforded by their own sanctuaries. So blind, in truth, is the superstition of the lower classes throughout the country that the same fanaticism which holds all foreign faiths in abom- ination, may be led, in a moment of passion, to plunge its knife into the breast of its own mother church. As none would have been more ready than the Barcelonese to avenge the assassination of their sovereign, so none were more disposed for a holy- day, on the late occasion of the birth of an heiress to the throne. A stranger who did not know that all the piping was paid for by the authorities of the city, might have been led to believe tlie citizens the most loyal of subjects. Days before the birth of the Infanta, the gazettes were filled with articles designed to prepare the public mlv.d BIRTH OF INFANTA. 257 for what was to happen. Every morning for a week, it was announced by telegraph from Madrid that the interesting event had not taken place. Several false alarms were propagated in conse- quence of reports that her majesty was sick at the stomach, or had not taken her usual airing on the Prado. At Gerona, fondly called by all good haters of the French, the Immortal, the birth of a royal heir was prematurely announced by an impatient telegraph ; and before the error could be correct- ed, the guns had been fired, and all the cakes and ale consumed there were in the whole city. The Geronese, as it was surmised, fearing from the long delay tjiat the event might not come rightly off, were determined to make sure of a holyday. Then come a man-child, or come a mus, they could not be cheated out of the "jolli- fication" they had enjoyed in advance. The Barcelonese contrived to retain a little more patience. They had read in the principal newspaper of the town that the Holy Girdle of Tortosahad been recently presented to the queen 258 COSAS DE ESPANA. — that famous girdle which had been originally left in the parish church of Tortosa by the Bles- sed Virgin, as a reward of the prayers and vigils of a certain pious monk of the olden time, and which had before been brought to the royal pal- ace by the Tortosa doctors of divinity to the great relief of majesties in perils of childbirth ! The Barcelonese, therefore, waited in faith of a certain and safe delivery — though holding their breath the while, as the time drew nearer. When at last, the long desired event was announced by gubernatorial proclamation, the guns were all let off at once ; the bells were rung ; the flags were hoisted ; the tapestry was hung out of the win- dows ; and the happy day was devoted to univer- sal merry-making. Everybody went to the Te Deum ; everybody went to the review of the gar- rison ; everybody put on their best doublet and hose, and went to the promenade. There was feasting in all the ventas ; there were stews in all the kitchens ; and there was a beggar's pot boiling wherever three stones could be laid to- gether. The evening brought a change of enter- CITY ILLUMIJfATED. 259 tainmcnts, but no cessation. Then a grand illii- niiiiation took place, with a hanging out of tlic royal portraits in tJie Plaza de la Constitucion, together with the playing of all the national airs by the bands of the garrison. Amateur musi- cians, likewise, paraded the principal streets, all of wliicli were more or less lugubriously lighted up by huge wax tapers, apparently designed to last as long as Queen Isabella sliould bring forth children. In some situations where the lights were exposed to too much wind, the whole sur- face of the taper took fire ; and the populace were treated to the additional entertainment of seeing the awkward attempts of the menials to extin- guish them by means of wet mops. Several pal- aces, greatly to the popular delight, were decked out with colored lamps ; and that of the captain- general attracted great crowds to witness the mysterious writing on its walls in letters of gas. The whole population appeared to be let loose in the streets. And yet there were almost as many dancing within doors. Wherever there was elbow room enough to thrum a guitar or scrape 260 COSAS DE ESP ANA. a fiddle, there was a fandango. In both halls and tents was heard the click, clack of castanets ; the dance went briskly rounds; the sandalled feet flew ; and '' no sleep till morn" was everywhere breathed from panting lips. XXIII. ADIEU, BARCELONA. And now in the midst of all thy gayeties, adieu, Barcelona — fairest of the^towns of Spain] I leave thy Rambla and thy sea-washed walk, thy green-swarded ramparts and thy Catalonian tow- ers, thy vine-hills and thy mountain tops of snow. Softer, they tell me, are the maids of Andalusia, and milder the airs of the Murcian shore. But thy Pyrenean skies have been a heaven to me, and the grace o£jhj veiled daughters has held my roving heart captive for ninety days ! Now ihoRvamos. Already I see before me, rismg up out of the southern sea, and beckoning me on, the minarets and the palm-trees of Valen- ciaT'^ XXIY. TO VALENCIA. The starting of the Yalencian diligencia from the great square of Barcelona is a spectacle for men and boys, if not for angels. The huge, pon- derous vehicle is itself a piece of joinery which, if exhibited as a curiosity in any of our states, not too far south, or west, would bring a shilling per head quick. It has the air of an old stager, indeed. Yet, though on its last spokes, it, like all veterans, dies hard. Its well-patched ap- pearance indicates that it has passed through many hair-breadth 'scapes, and accidents by flood and field. But no turning of somersets, no get- ting stuck in the mud, no involuntary voyages down the mountain torrents have ever succeeded in dislocating its original timbers. There it A DIL.GKNCIA. 21)3 stands — its leathern top clouted like old shoes — its body as unwashed as the great body of the Spanish people — and its interior crammed full of men, women and babies, every one of the for- mer of whom, before taking his place, has made his last will and testament, and got an insurance on his ribs for double theii' value. For the last hour, all have been packed, pas- sengers and luggage. But there is bad luck in starting in a hurry in Spain. No cor re priesa. The postillions are mounted; — let them have their nap out. The mules, too, the whole eight of them, are asleep, each on his three legs. All — passengers, postillions and mules — are waiting for the conductor, with his mail-bags. Here he comes. One leap — and he is on his box. The tail of his cap reaches the small of his back ; and his moustache mounts, scarcely less than the length of his cap, in the air. A volley of preparatory oaths and invocations clears the road of boys, beggars, and bystanders. And 410W vamos I Crack your whip, cochero ; go it, ropes ! The conductor swears and shouts at the 264 COSAS DE ESPANA. top of his voice ; the postillions put the spurs into the poor brutes' sides ; and a runner, keeping- pace with the cantering caravan, plays the lash most dexterously about backs and bellies. The whole affair sweeps down the avenue " like mad." And, possibly, before they are well off the pave- ment, as uneven, in many parts of the town, as the rolling sea, a movement will take place in the stomachs of some of th^ travellers, analogous to that experienced by the passengers of a Dover and Calais steam-packet, on leaving the quay. A couple of heads, may be, are seen dangling out of each window in such a state of wretchedness as must throw the most compassionate and deco- rous of observers into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. So they go out of the town-gates — the passengers cascading — the postillions crack- ing their whips — the exhausted runner laying on his last blows — the conductor still calling upon the saints, and uttering over his poor brutes' heads half the imprecations contained in the ver- nacular. Once on the Queen's highway, the whole con- SCREW LOOSE. 265 cci'ii would soon be lost sight of; for it goes down in the holes of the road like a ship in the troughs of the sea. You think they have all descended into the pit which has no bottom — mules, riders, and diligence. But, anon, you see them slowly staggering lip the next summit of the billowy road, all tight and right. Herein lies the great peculiarity of the Spanish stage-coach, that when it goes into the miref deep enough to bring it to a complete stand-still, everything about the machine gives, nothing breaks. The ropes stretch a point ; they don't part. The braces settle ; but the superincumbent body does not come to the ground. Anywhere out of Spain, a single screw left loose will bring a fall to the best-contrived vehicle, as well as the* most upright-standing man or woman ; but, here, nothing is more common, at least, in the case of diligences, than for them to have all their screws loose at once. Then they go the fastest. Tlie matter may not be quite comprehensible — 'tis a cosa de Espana. Of course, I did not myself go to Valencia in the diligencia. By no means. I waited a week, 12 266 COSAS DE ESPANA. and went by my good ship, the Barcino. I was desirous of making one more voyage in company with my friend, the Don. And there, sure enough, he still was, doing battle on the panel with the pig-skins ; and there was Sancho Panza standing aghast alike at the fury of his master, and the loss of the liquor. The good knight, now that I had become familiar with him, and his trusty squire, in the streets of Barcelona, seemed to me more like life — Spanish life — than ever. This was true also of the innkeeper, and the innkeeper's two princesses, and the half dozen fellows who had tossed Sancho Panza in the blan- ket. Accordingly, we were at once " hale fellow well met." After the other passengers had retired for the night, the cloth was laid for our supper. The Don came down from his door, and was placed at the head of the table, though in his shirt-tails. An Ostende rabbit had been ordered to be stewed expressly for Sancho Panza, as the best thing to stop his mouth, and put an end to his proverbs. Sancho at sea, by the way, proved to DON QUIXOTE AGAIN. 2It7 be a good deal of a Jonah, and would inevitably have sunk the ship from the exceeding weight of his sayings, had not his attention been adroitly turned to something he relished even better than his own puns. The innkeeper, after placing his damsels each on one side of the worshipful, though somewhat disconcerted knight of La Mancha, set himself down as my right-hand man ; and the way in which we all drew on the only remaining skin of his well-preserved Benicarlo was worthy of the very best days of Spanish history. I must do mine host the justice to say — and I do it most cheerfully — that excepting myself, of course, he was the last of the party to go under the table ; while Sancho Panza, I regret to add, led the way — falling off with a half-finished proverb on his lips, and in a manner highly derogatory to the dignity of a personage who was one day to be the governor of an island. The Don disappeared from the table soon after the ladies ; and it is not known what became of him. Not a little nettled he seemed, as I thought, toward the close of the 'sitting, that nobody would believe a word of wha,t 268 COSAS DE ESPANA. he repeatedly affirmed respecting the beautiful foot of Dulcinea del Toboso. Yery likely, he went back before morning to his panel. I can simply say that when I arose from my seat at the supper-table, neither he, nor any other of the guests, was there to wish me buenas tardes ; and that on awaking next morning, the only thing I noticed was the fact that the Barcino was drop- ping anchor in the roadstead of Valencia. XXY. SPANISH BREAKERS. It was blowing a small gale of wind ; for the Mediterranean is a moody sea, changing some- times very quickly from smiles to frowns. A gale of wind, and no harbor at Valencia, or with- in a hundred miles of it ; such is the inhospitality of this rock-bound, though beautiful coast. There- fore, I had my choice between continuing on to Alicante, witli a chance of meeting no better luck, and being obliged to go even to Cartegena, and the extremest south, or of landing in an open boat in the breakers. I had much more time for reflection than was needed for decirling a ques- tion which had for me, in fact, but one side to it. Yet, hour after hour passed away ; and no boat 270 COSAS DE ESPANA. was seen pushing off from the shore. No good comes from hurrying in Spain. El que se apre- sura se muere ; y el que no, tarn Men. He who hurries, dies ; and he who does not, dies too. The sea was running so high on the beach that the boatmen had a good excuse for their dilatoriness, and kept us waiting full half a day. At length, just as I was making up my mind that they would not come at all, off they shoved. It was a good-sized barge, with a dozen or twen- ty lusty fellows, in red caps, at the oars. We were lying about three quarters of a mile from the shore ; and the boat, now tossed to the top of the waves, and now completely lost to view in the hollow, took, as it seemed to our impatience, a small fraction of an eternity to get to us. The rowers were, doubtless, taking it fair and easy, and husbanding their strength for the final pull among the breakers, on their return. At last they got alongside, when began the labor of let- ting down the ship's sides into the uneasy barge below the luggage and the ladies. The former was badly thumped, and the latter worse fright- A SEA-SICK VALENCIANA. 271 ened. It took the Spanish brown out of a good many cheeks — making one or two, in particu- lar, as white as if they had been washed in good soap and water. ^ Everything, at last, was tumbled into the boat, and stowed away — men, women, trunks, boxes, bags, and umbrellas. I was so seated as to have one of the latter articles, belonging to a very ner- vous native, playing, at intervals, the amusing part of a catapult against my right flank. But to distract my attention from these attacks, I had, on the side nearest my heart, the most.gracje&iL- littla^Yalgjiciana I ever came jn^contact with. At the very first pitch of the boat after leaving the steamer, she began to cling to me as for dear life. Another pitch — and if it had been for dear . love, she could not have grasped my arm tighter. One more — 0, frailty, thy name is woman — the left leg of my trousers was ruined for ever ! Cloak, trouser, and boot, all deluged by a cascade from lips^ which, a moment before, seemed to have been made only for kissing ! My interest in a damsel, the loveliest jn_a^land 272 cos AS DE ESPANA. where all are fair, in an instant of time com- pletely " swamped;" and my left leg worse than water-logged ! It is said to be one of the virtues of a travelled man to take things as they come. So did I take this. Had all my best china ware come down at a crash, I could not have received the shock with more sang- froid. The most critical observer would not have known by any twitch of my face- muscles that the avalanche of so great a misfor- tune had fallen upon me. I knew that my left trouser leg was inevitably ruined, but I made no sign. I simply held myself the firmer up under the weight of the leaning beauty, who was thus making me the recipient of a shower of favors I had not solicited. However, some little relief was destined to come speedily. The barge was now nearing the shore. We were getting into the breakers. " Pull, boys, pull !" cried half a dozen helmsmen at once. Now, indeed, is your time — the wave is after us — the roaring wave is close upon us — another instant, and we sliall be whelmed in the deep. TERRA f'ALIENTE. 273 " Pull right ! pull left ! pull, for the love of God ! pull !" We escaped. Just the curling crest of the heavy billow broke over the boat's stern — as Tarn O'Shanter's mare saved herself from the curlin with loss of her tail. But it was in the stern that I sat with my fair burden ; and as the good sea-nymph would have it, there was sufficient brine thrown over me to wash well my soiled garments. I had, in fact^ a lapful of it. But I never in my life was more in need of a ducking ; and took it, under the cir- cumstances, as a special favor of the Naiad charged with doing the washing of the Mediter- ranean. Safe, at length, from the perils of the sea, and the perils of beauty, I set my foot on the Yalen- cian shore, a grateful, though thoroughly-drenched man. To tell the truth, I planted my foot on the terra caliente with something analogous to a shiver. There was no help for me. At least, there was none on the beach, where I had to fight my way through the ranks of almost as bad a set 12* 274 COSAS DE ESP AN A. of beggars as those who made the attack on me at the port of Barcelona. But this time I con- tended with the desperation of a man having his lap full of cold sea-water. I put the whole legion to route with simply my umbrella ; and pitching into the first cart which offered itself, I cried out to the cochero to let loose his leader. Vain attempt to hurry a native-born Iberian. El que se apresura se muere; y el que no ^ tarn bien. Belies, the road win'ch led to the city ^was so shockingly bad, and the cart in which I was conveyed thither so destitute of springs, that to drive at any other pace than a walk would have been probable death both to horse and pas- senger. Yet the stranger is told that this is the favorite summer promenade of the fashion of Valencia. Everybody then goes to the Grao to bathe in the blue, now mud-colored waters of the sea. The ladies hold their court in the pellucid waves; and a revelry is kept up in the cooling element equal to any gambolling of the ancient nymphs and sea-gods. But my case was differ- ent. My bath had been an involuntary one, and FONDA DEL CID. 276 had been taken at an altogether too low a tem- perature to be agreeable. As I sat in my cart, wet and dripping, the way seemed to me any- thing but a pleasure-drive ; and as I passed through the gates of this heaven of the Moors, my bones shook like those of a poor soul enter- ing a polar purgatory. What happened to Cas- sar " when he was in Spain," happened likewise to me. " 'Tis true this god did shake." The Fonda del Cid received and restored me. No blazing fire, indeed, welcomed me to a hospi- table hearth ; nor any register let in upon me a drying summer gale. But a simple change of raiment set me up ; and a Spanish dinner, washed down by a bottle of French wine, made me as brave as the Cid, and twice as merry. I retired that night as good-natured a man as if I had not been dipped in cold sea-water in the course of the morning ; and lay cheerfully down to dream of the gorgeous days when the Moor her;} held his gilded court, mid flowers and fountains, and finally passed hence by an easy 21^ cos AS DE ESP AN A. transit to the houris who beckoned to him from the walls of their overhanging heaven. "For," saith the record, " the Moors did locate their Paradise on the Yalencian shore, which was a fragment fallen from the Paradise in the sky." XXYL THE HUERTA AND THE ALAMEDA. Glorious dawn after showers ! How, as I awoke for the first time in Yalencia, the rising- sun streamed in at my eastern windows, gilding- whatever it touched, and lighting up with the full blaze of the southern morning both house and town. On my balcony of flowers, the rose leaves and the carnation cups were hung with drops as with diamondg. The fresh air had the sweet perfume of orange orchards and mountain violets. The firmament was transparent azure. It was my welcome to Valencia by the hourisj returned in the chariot of the rising sun from the distant skies whither they had gone to a revel on the day of my arrival. Though not given to steeple-chasing, I went 278 COSAS DE ESP ANA. without loss of time to the top of the cathedral, to get a view of the town and surrounding coun- try. Imagine a large semi-circular plain, the circumference of which is hedged in by moun- tains, and the diameter formed by the sea. A radius drawn from the town to the mountains would be from fifteen to twenty miles in length, while the distance to the shore is from two to three. Valencia, accordingly, is situated iii an immense level garden, or huerta, sheltered on the north and west by a mountain range, and having a southeastern exposure to the Mediter- ranean. This whole huerta is irrigated by a net- work of canals, which are connected with the up- per springs and torrents — the work of the Moors. Hereby, every foot of land is supplied with abun- dant moisture, and being acted upon by the rays of an almost tropical sun, scarcely yields in pro- ductiveness to the banks of the Nile. When I saw the huerta, it being in early spring, a large pro- portion of that part of it lying in the immediate neighborhood of the town was waving with deep green wheat, about two feet in height. No fences PALM-TREES. 279 divided tlie fields, but simply rows of mulberry and olive trees, with here and there a rose or cactus hedge. The straight, tapering stems of the palm-tree towered up out of many isolated groves, and hung out their tufted crowns over the city walls. Villas, villages, and towns, were thickly scattered over the plain ; while at its southern extremity stretched out the broad lake of Albufera. Nor was the city itself less picturesque. The flat roofs, and the movement on the house-tops, gave it an oriental aspect. I ts gild ed domes and minarets, piercing with a hundred points the sky, showed that it had once been the city of the Moor, who had left traces of his taste, as well as of his blood, behind him. The hum of business was scarcely loud enough to reach the cathedral's top ; but chimes of bells calling to prayer rang sweetly out of many a spire upon the sunny air. The scene — comprising town, plain, mountains, and the sea — remains one of the pleasantest of those daguerreotyped on my memory in Spain. Soon after my descent, the clock struck five — 280 COSAS DE ESPANA. the liour for going to the Alameda. In Yalen- cia the world of fashion goes out of town to prom- enade on the banks of the Turia every day in the year between the hours of five and six. A tar- tana is waiting at the inn-door to take you thith- er. Indeed, there is always one waiting for you. Even after a whole morning spent in strolling, you will be accosted on your return with the question, if your Honor does not wish for a tar- tana. In other countries one is solicited to take a coach on going out of his hotel ; here, when coming into it. For the promenade to the Turia you accept the tartana, for it is not the ton to go on foot. All the gentle folk of Valencia keep carriages for the afternoon airing, and all of this particular species. But what, pray, is a tartana ? It is no more nor less than a covered two-wheeled cart. With- out springs, or with but apologies for them, with a polished leather top, a seat on either side, a window in front, and a door behind, it is the araha of the Orientals ; or, if you will, an omni- bus on two wheels, less the side windows. No CUPIDS. 281 vehicle can well be conceived of more ugly, or inconvenient. Only the two persons sitting by the front windows have any chance of seeing or being seen — excepting such as may be contented to sit by the door, and survey the world from be- hind. Of the half a dozen seats, therefore, the two forward ones are the places of honor. Here are always placed the prettiest and most present- able ladies of the party. The plainer or inferior personages occupy the places next below ; and by the door sit the domestics and the duennas. In this cart the city belles promenade daily on tlie Alameda ; and never at any faster gait than a walk. But the Yalcncianas, if not fast, are fair. Sitting half hid behind their cart windows, and half concealed in their dai'k mantillas, they never fail of recognising all their acquaintances, or of showing themselves to all their admirers, and from their convenient ambush, they let fly their tiny, but fatal shafts right and left. Their eyes are reckoned among the most dangerous in all the.Spains. They are, indeed, the fit portals of 282 COSAS DE ESPANA. Love, whence winged messengers fly out bearing invisible torches to inflame men's hearts. In the terra caliente hearts burn like stubble in the fields. Before a man's span of life has half run out, his left breast is like an exhausted crater, a mere receptacle for ashes. Nor even then — at least, if he comes to the Alameda — will the lovely cease from troubling him. They will inflame his very cinders. Kindled by a spark from their vestal orbs, the merest ash-heap of a bosom glows like a furnace. Nor is there any relief in sighing —it only blows the fire. As for tears, they can not be shed in Spain — they are so hot they pass ofi" in vapors ere getting half the length of your nose. The only efi'ectual remedy I ever heard of is, to run the country — and even that will sometimes fail. As I was saying, the Alameda lies on the banks of the Turia. In the narrow streets of the town, as closely packed as it was in the days of the Moors, and now containing upward of a hundred thousand inhabitants, there would be no room for the promenade. Hence the necessity for the -tar- FLOWERS. 283 tanas, to take 3"oii through the unpaved streets, out of the gate of la Glorieta, and over the bridge del Mar to the pleasant river bank. Here within sight of the picturesque towers of Valen- cia's walls of tapia, you pass up and down the long avenues in one of a hundred carriages. The willow's graceful tresses droop by the way- side ; the tall pine spreads overhead its deep green foliage ; the silver poplars uncurl their leaves among the earliest of the spring ; the bam- boo shoots up its slender form ; and the palm, bearing on its head the glory of a hundred sea- sons, towers high above all. Or, leaving your carriage, you walk through the beautiful grounds and gardens, between rose and LemjDJi hedges^ beneath the fruit and flowers of the orange trees, mid beds of pinks and pop- pies, mid. geraniums, cactuses, and honej^suckles. Here, with the setting sun pouring its glowing rays into bower and arbor, gilding the city's domes, turning the mountain tops to purple and the sea to gold, how fair the scene of the Ya- lencian promenade ! A walk in this sylvan re- 284 COSAS DE ESPANA. treat is very dijfferent from going down Broadway a-shopping. As to this New York alameda, it has now be- come to such a degree a thoroughfare for business that the most graceful lady can not pass along it — I'll except the upper part — without having the air of walking for a bargain. With one eye on the beaux, she has the other on the shop windows. She is evidently bent on spending her pin-money. Her pockets are full of ribbons ; and her boddice is stuffed — for aught you know — with unpaid shopkeepers' bills. If she passes you without notice do not deem it a slight — she is thinking of a purchase of laces. . If the smile of her greet- ing wear not its customary sweetness — ten to one, 'tis not because you have not called to pay your respects within the last fortnight, but merely because a silk she had set her heart upon has been sold to another. A lady's face in Broadway is no certain index to the state of her afiections, but is always liable to change its expression with the fluctuations of the markets. But the Yalencian alameda has nothing of the GREETINGS. 285 market-place about it, save its greetings. Only the news of the day is told ; the pleasures of the evening are agreed upon. Here is society without ceremony ; and entertainment without expense. Within a few minut6s' drive, there is a pleasant change of air. The town is left behind with its cares and confinement ;. and the country receives you to groves and gardens. Beautiful Alamada.L Would that similar retreats could be planted in the neighborhood of our American towns, where a lady mi^lit take lior daily airifig^ without being covered ^^ith llie dust of the streets, "oFTiaving lersweet face croTrd^3ESEu^a^-5nanciaT.~ XXVIl. COCK-FIGHTING AND PIGEON-SHOOTING. In Yalencia, it is comme il faut to go to the cock-pit. This is a handsome little theatre on the banks of the Turia, where on two days in the week, particularly if they happen to be saints' days, the stranger may be entertained or disgust- ed with this very Spanish amusement. Cock- fighting here is second only to bull-fighting, to which all things are second. It makes the blood run ; and your Iberian is a lover of it, even though It be chicken's blood. Attached to the theatre is a large hennery, where clipped roosters are kept to fight against each other and all comers. The John Bulls are esteemed the most pugnacious, being fed on roast beef and plum-pudding, probably. There being CROWING. 287 uo Yankees in the roost, the Britisher is war- ranted to lick any cocks, Christian or infidel, that may presume to crow at him. He is understood to beat the Gallic cock out and out, except it be in crowing. His own neck he rarely deigns to use for this purpose on more than two occasions — ; first, when he goes into the ring, and last, when, having struck his antagonist the fatal blow, he goes out of it. The process of cock-fighting, being a feat at arms which has delighted every boy who has ever seen a barnyard, needs no description. The only difference is that what at the farmhouse is done according to nature, is done in the pit on scientific principles, and after the rules laid down in the books. The champions must be duly and shockingly clipped. Particularly, their tail-feath- ers must be cut off short. All their beautiful plumage must be sacrificed on the altar of Mars before they are deemed worthy to fight his battles. They are not even allowed comts, crowns or top- knots. The wretched plight they have been re- duced to before entering the arena, takes away 288 COSAS DE ESPANA. well nigh all the beholder's pity for them. Such hideous looking brutes might fight till doomsday, and all Spanish eyes, at least, would retain their constitutional dryness. Should the contest last so long as a quarter of an hour, or more, there will be so much the more time for betting ; and at the end of it the duros will be tossed across the pit from loser to winner as thick and fast as hailstones. There are judges present sitting in seats of authority to decide all nice points. But the well-practised eyes of the audience rarely make a mistake, and quickly detect any attempt at foul play. All is done decently and in order. The birds are either killed outright, or are with- drawn when disabled. In a drawn game, they are parted; and they are hooted out of the pit when they decline taking part in the performan- ces. This, however, rarely happens. For cocks in Spain are always as mad as March hares » They will fight and crow as long as they can stand, and often much longer than they can see. Poor things ! their little life was not given them to be thus sported away ; they were made to THROWING THE PIGEON. 280 have their heads cut off at a single blow. But 'tis j^artly their own fault — if they will keep such dreadful tempers ! Whoever may not fancy going to the cock-fight may go down to the dip of the Turia to witness the pigeon-shooting. 'Tis more humane ; and is done in no theatre's w^alls, but in the open face of day. Of a holyday afternoon, all the VYorld is there looking on. The river's bed is dry and grassy ; for it is only at a season of unusual rains that the slender mountain torrent rises sufficiently high to fill its banks. Here, below the bridge del Mar, is a broad open space well suited to the game of el tiro de las palomas. The birds are thrown up into the air by their owner ; and whoever has a gun and pesetas may have a shot at them. The person who has the privilege of firing first, and has the advantage of a position nearest the thrower, pays a fee of a peseta, provided his shot proves a successful one. In that case he is also entitled to the pigeon. If he misses his mark, he pays nothing and gets nothing. Thereupon as many persons as choose 13 290 cos AS DE ESPANA. to give a couple of reals for the privilege of a shot, may fire as fast as they like, until the poor bird either falls or gets away. If killed, it be- longs to the successful marksman ; and is brought in by small boys, aided by dogs, whose share of the sport is by no means the least. As half a dozen guns may be let off the same moment, there is a judge present to decide all disputed claims among the sportsmen. His interference, how- ever, is rarely necessary ; for the boys, and even the dogs seem always to know, as if by instinct, to which one of the guns belong the honors of the victory and the prize. Most birds which get off out of the range of the guns in the bed of the river, are brought down by the peasants who lie in wait under the neighboring trees for chance shots, and who are allowed to fire at any fugitive coming within their limits. Occasionally, a for- tunate jDigeon soars high in the air above the reach of all missiles, and after describing a few circles in mid heaven, shapes its course to its well-remembered home on some house-top in the CHEAP AMUSEMENT. 291 city. 'Tis so much clear gain to the owner ; be- sides a life saved to the poor bird. This game of pigeon-shooting is a favorite di- version ^Yith the Yalencians. The marksmen vie with each other in showing their skill ; and the best shot carries off a load of popular lienors, besides birds enougli to make a stew-pie. A holyday at the same time is made for hundreds and even thousands of spectators, who cover the river-bed, the quays and the bridges. So idle, so easily amused are the dwellers on these happy shores. With trifling toil, the earth yields them its increase. Their wants are few and simple. They think not of the morrow. Grant them but an occasional pigeon-shooting or a bull-fight, a procession of priests, or a pa- rade of soldiers, the sight of a prince or even of an elephant and monkeys — and their happy, heedless hearts will want no more to render life a perpetual merry-making. XXVIII. PENITENTIARIES AND COURTS OF LAW. There are some poor fellows in Yalencia who do not attend the pigeon-shootmg. The peniten- tiary keeps a thousand persons from going to the fetes — and this,- doubtless, must be the most ag- gravating part of their punishment. I took a day when there was no special merry-making in the streets to visit these unfortunates, and see what sort of a place a prison might be in the land of the Holy Inquisition. Never was I more agreeably disappointed. The building now con- verted into a presidio correcional was formerly a convent, with a multitude of cells and corridors, and an inner court. These numerous apartments are now filled with convicts, all busy at their dif- SILENT SYSTEM. 293 ferent trades. Eveiy sort of mechanical work is here prosecuted from shoe-making to silk-weav- ing. The nicest processes of art are executed as successfully as the simplest tasks of manual labor. The silent system is adopted ; and quiet and order reign throughout the establishment. The overseers and guards, who are on duty in ail parts of the extensive building, are mostly select- ed from the more worthy of tlic convicts them- selves. The universal neatness makes the visiter forget, for the moment, that he is in Spain. Be- sides a chapel in which the transgressors are daily gathered for religious service, tliere is a school-room where the more intelligent are taught to read, write, and keep accounts ; and a select few of higher capacities are instructed even in drawing and painting. Surely, if the hardened offender against his country's laws could be brought back to virtue by kind treatment, it would be in a retreat like this. He has every necessity of life supplied him ; he has instruc- tion ; religious teaching ; the discipline of silent task-work ; and the prospect of returning to the 294 cos AS DE ESP AN A. world with a good coat to his back, and some pesetas in his pocket. But, alas ! there were many heads I passed in review within those walls which could never be converted, I am sure, by any instrumentality merely human. Their skulls had been shaped by the original sin in which they were begotten ; and their visages were written over with charac- ters of guilt and shame. Early training, a hap- pier lot might have saved them from lighting the torch of the incendiary, or presenting the blun- derbus of the highwaymen ; but now no power will suffice to keep their hands out of crime, ex- cept by keeping them in fetters, Never, how- ever, did I leave a place of confinement like this more satisfied with the manner in which justice was judiciously tempered with mercy. Would that it were equally so in some lands which have never seen the Spanish Inquisition. One goes naturally enough from the peniten- tiary to the courts of justice. My next visit, accordingly, was paid to the audiencia. It was similar to the courts I had seen in Barcelona. LEGAL FORMALITIES. 295 The five judges sit decently robed in black, but without wigs. The clerks are iii black coats, and white neck-cloths ; wearing their faces no less long than the very grave and reverend seignors on the bench behind. There are two of them ; and between sits the reporter, whose business consists in presenting to the judges a brief analysis of the written pleadings of the ad- vocates in all cases where such a concise state- ment of the arguments might serve to abridge the labors of their honors. This ofi&ce is filled by some eminent lawyer who aspires to a seat on the bench, and uses it as a stepping-stone. The pleadings are submitted in writing after the sub- stance of them has been delivered in court viva voce by the advocates. These, two in number, sit on a platform near the judges ; one on the right side, and the other on the left. They ad- dress the court from their seats ; and rise only to make their bow at the conclusion of their ar- guments. They do not transact business in sep- arate offices about the town, but assemble daily in a large room under the same roof as the courts 296 cos AS DE ESPANA. of law, where they sit for clients in boxes marked with their names, and but little bigger than con- fessionals. The tribunal of the Holy Inquisition itself could not have been held with more gravity and stricter observance of forms than are these mod- ern courts. It is said, however, that the plead- ings also are merely a part of the formalities ; and that cases are generally decided not by the weight of the testimony so much as by the amount of the bribes. But I will not answer for the truth of it. Spectators are confined to a small portion of the floor near the entrance, and separated by a railing from the main body of the court-room. It is a sort of outer temple, where only a few per- sons are admitted at a time. They are expected to make a low bow to the court on coming in ; and turning completely round, to do the same on going out. Advocates, clerks, and attendants, make similar obeisance. The spectator, more- over, must leave his cane or his umbrella outside. He must be well-dressed, or he will not get in even then. And when once admitted and seated AN AMERICAN CONTRAST. 297 on a plain Avoodcn bench, without a back to it, he must take good care to behave himself as re- spectfully as if he were in the presence of Minos or Rhadamanthus. He must remember that be- sides the dio'iiified arbiters of the law, he is face to face with all their most Catholic Majesties, who look down upon him from their canvass on the walls. Accordingly, if he has the misfortune to be a little weak in the back, and leans on his hand to ease himself, the alguazils will be down upon him with an order to sit up straight. Cros- sing his legs might perhaps be overlooked ; but the first ejection of tobacco juice w^ould be fol- lowed by immediate eixpulsion — as well it might. It occurred to me one day while sitting in the audiencia at Barcelona that the last court of law I had seen before leaving " the States" was the supreme court, in the city of New York. The contrast between the two struck rae as sufficiently amusing. The case before the American tribunal at the time was one of great popular interest. An hour, therefore, before it was to be called, the room began to be filled by the public, and the 12* 298 COSAS DE ESPANA. members of the bar. To say no tiling of tlie ap- pearance of the crowd outside the rails, the dress and manners of the legal gentlemen would have astonished all good Spaniards. They came in with their sticks and their umbrellas. They stood about in boxcoats and Mackintoshes. They chatted familiarly with each other, and read the newspapers. In addressing the court, they leaned over the judicial desk ns much at their ease as they would over a fence in talking to a farmer ; and their argument finished, they turned their backs on their honors, as if tliere were nobody behind them. One I remember was eating pea-nuts. A good many were eating tobacco. And to cap the climax of singularities, when after having dis- posed of the preliminary business of the morning, tlie judge ordered the calling of the case which was to occupy the attention of tlie court for the day, he added with emphasis, as if to prevent a row by overawing the multitude, '' The door- keepers and guardians of the court will now do their duty !" They do things differently in Spain. XXIX. PAINTERS, PRIESTS, AND BEGGARS. The lover of art will not fail of visiting the Valencian churches and picture galleries, inclu- ding the famous collection of Pedro Perez, the hair-dresser. As this city was the seat of one of the three Spanish schools of painting, the num- ber of pictures here is very largQ. It is the only place where the great Valencian masters can be seen to advantage. Velasquez and Murillo belong- ed to the school of Seville ; but that of Valencia can boast of Vicente Juanes, called the Spanish Raphael, and of Francisco de Ribalta, the teacher of Spagnoletto. Several of the best pictures of Juanes may be seen at the Museum ; but they will hardly warrant the encomiums of the Spanish critic of art. Palomino, who placed their author 800 cos AS DE ESP AN A. above Raphael. In the drawing, they are not en- tirely free from the restraint of the elder masters ; and, they are also marked by a certain degree of the same mild and serions enthusiasm of charac- ter. In general, however, the style of Jnanes re&embles that of the school of Florence. He gave such an impulse to art in Valencia as raised up a large number of pupils ; but it was half a century later that the city was adorned by the productions of its second and last great artist. Francisco de Ribalta aimed at uniting the bold drawing of the Florentines with the brilliant col- oring of the Yenitians ; and with a good degree of success. A considerable number of his works are to be seen in the Colegio de Corpus ; but the rest must be searched for in different churches and galleries, and frequently on walls covered with canvass well nigh worthless. A large pro- portion of the six or seven hundred pictures of the Museum possess only an historical value. Galleries upon galleries are filled with nothing but altar-pieces, with such a deplorable looking set of virgins, saints, and priests, as must ex- PAINTED SAINTS. 301 cite rather tlie risibles than the respect of posterity. Surely, there would be priests enough left in Valencia if these painted ones were for ever put out of sight. You see them everywhere. Not only on the canvass of galleries and churches, they stand also in stone on the bridges of the Turia. They are carved on the city-gates ; they have nitches in all the streets ; they are frescoed on the walls of houses and gardens. In the hun- dred churches of the city, likewise, besides in all the schools and hospitals, the priest is present — no pictured shape, or sculptured stone, but some twenty stone of the very fattest and warmest flesh in all Valencia. You meet hira at every turn and corner. Well, tlierefore, did the city select a bat for its emblem ; and riglitly did it tlirow a veil over the eyes of the Sphinx which sits at its gateways! Before the last revolution Valencia was a per- fect hive of monks and nuns. The buildings which now are hotels, academies, museums, palaces, and prisons, were then the property of the church. 302 COSAS DE ESP AN A. The large, high-walled gardens within the city were laid out by the holy men of old. Their hands planted the palm-trees which still overhang the town. Theirs were the now aged fig-trees, and theirs the vine-stocks, which at present poui out their juices to slake the thirst of lips unbe- lieving. Poor fellows ! They have now to stow themselves away in narrow quarters, living by charities scanty and uncertain, compared with the fat things of the good olden time. Then they were the lords of the soil, being rich in corn and wine. All ate ojff of broad platters, and drank out of deep cups. Alas ! they have now to make themselves as comfortable as they can on stolen pleasures, and to swallow their forbidden fruit in the strictest privacy. Were it not that a cer- tain irrepressible and undisguisable rotundity, a certain puffed and oily condition of the skin, a certain air of fleshly well-being, can not be entire- ly covered up by the most sanctimonious sack- cloth, these good Spanish fathers might pass for the deserving beggars which, professionally, they pretend to be. No doubt, many of them really THE FOUR ORDERS. 303 are such ; and for the rest — charity may hope that they are no greater sinners than other men. Bishops, priests, deacons, and beggars — there are four orders in the Valencian hierarchy. Your beggar is as indispensable in the churches as any of their other officers ; and is as much a fixture there as the saints on the walls. In all other Christian countries he begs at the gate ; here he stands within the holy precincts. He asks for alms up and down the aisles. He puts the charity of the worshipper to the test the mo- ment the latter leaves his knees. The preacher inculcates the eleemosynary virtues ; and the beg- gar seconds his arguments by showing his sores. Whoever goes about during the time of service looking at the saints and angels on the walls, will be and thereby is excommunicated, according to notice duly posted up ; but he may walk around surveying the mendicants, and doling out alms, without sin. Nor is the Valencian beggar any Madonna, or the image of any saint in the calen- dar, tliat one should prefer to look upon her or him instead of the pictures of Juanes, Ribalta, or 304 cos AS DE ESP AN A. Morales. On the contrary, she is the most hide- ous hag ever born of woman ; and he bears upon him the marks of the foulest sinner since Cain. They present an array of monstrosities begotten of nature in moods the most wilful or the most thoughtless. Such unfortunates should be ex- cluded not only from the churches, but from the streets ; and be maintained at the public expense in retreats where they would not shock the pub- lic sight, and daily wound the souls of all men having human sympathies. If there must be beggars running at large, let them rather be the pretty flower-girls who offer pinks and violets ; or singing boys with their roguish pockets stuffed with rolls and raisins ; or decent-looking blind persons ; or veterans well hacked to pieces in the wars. But as for encour- aging the parading about in the face of day of revolting deformities, it is a method for multiply- ing the distresses of humanity much more than for relieving them. However, people do not think so in Valencia. There, no place is too holy, or too clean for the unwashed feet of the BKGGAR^ IX CHURCH. -iOo mendicant. Besides in the churches, he has his stations in the public squares. Ho goes his rounds in the most fashionable streets. Wherever there is a pleasant sunny wall, he is its principal flower. All the salient positions, as well as all the most delicious retreats, he selects for himself with an instinct as unerring as an artist's or a lover's. In short, he is almost as great a nui- sance in this old paradise of the Moors as was the devil himself in Eden. Doubtless, he is set on, and kept in countenance by this bad person- age. For the stranger in Valencia, each lies in wait ; and one or the other is pretty sure to catch him. The only way of escape is to fee both of them. XXX. THE LAKE OF ALBUFERA. Whoever goes to Valencia goes to the lake of Albufera. It is a drive of two full hours, going at a brisk walk. Not for love, nor for money, can one compass the distan'^ce in less time — for neither horse nor huerta are made for trot- ting. But hire a tartana, and put into it the most agreeable persons you can find. Also, lay in a stock of cold fowl, together with generous Yaldepenas, or rich vino de Toro ; for it is not safe to trust oneself on any road in this country without having something in the saddle-bags to fall back upon, in case of necessity. One might as well be murdered by banditti as starved to death by the road-side for the lack of a pair of chickens. Therefore go to Albufera provided THE START. 307 with something to comfort both body and soul, and keep tliem well together. Having then selected a clean cart, in wliich tliere are no fleas, and a horse which is not bro- ken-winded, place your dark-eyed seiiora in the seat of honor, and tell your boy in the red cap to crack his whip. His horse being good for one mile, at least; he will take you through the streets at a rate which makes you say to your friends, *' We shall be there in half an hour." Thus you go on very promisingly until you get to the mud and sand of the plain. Then your cart comes to a full stop. You look out of the window in sur- prise ; and the boy on the box quietly tells you that his animal is recovering his wind before at- tacking the huerta. Knowing that he has got to go to Albufera, and knowing from unhappy ex- perience the state of the roads in that direction, the brute means to have the benefit of one long breath before taking another step. For God's sake, let the caballo have his own Avay — don't hurry him. He will tell you, and in just about as good Castilian as his driver's, that in Spain 808 COSAS DE ESPANA. the slowest pace soonest reaches the goal. Pie may even acid that. El que se apresura se muere ; y el que no^ tamhien. I say then let him do the thing as it is done in his country, if you wish ever to arrive at Albufera. Besides, before starting upon any such difficult expedition, whoever is both generous and wise will give a good hard duro to the cochero for filling his pockets with loaf-sugar to coax his horse on. A horse or mule which has been brought up in the service of the dilig^ncia will get over the ground fast enoiigh ; but I never knew one accustomed to a tartana who expected to go any great distance at a pace beyond a walk. Nor have I known one that did not count on being humored, or that would not do anything in the bounds of reason for a stick of sugar-candy. Our nag finally took the road — and we did the same. For it was pleasanter walking than driving. The morning was the fairest of all the year. The sun was climbing the sky with azure footsteps ; while his face beamed upon the Spanish sea, and the wide-spread Moorish garden with SPRING MORNING. 309 rays of love. It was a pure delight to stand in the warm sunshine.. The soul in its depths felt a sympathetic glow, and shared in this mutual rejoicing of heaven and earth. This was indeed spring. The fig was already showing its fruit; the orange glowed with a deep yellow from its boughs of green ; the willow was hanging out its dishevelled grace over the grassy banks ; the fields were covered with growing wheat ; the birds were singing in the budding branches ; and both man and all living things were penetrated with those genial influences with which nature ushers in the new-borii year. Our way wound around among the cottages of the peasantry. They were small, neatly white- washed houses. The floors were made of earth ; the walls of reeds and clay ; the roofs of straw or dried grass ; and the whole was surmounted by a small wooden cross. This sacred emblem keeps the dwelling safe from all bad spirits ; and is thought better than any rod of metal to ward off the bolts of Jove. Without this protection, not a gude-wife could sleep o' nights ; and every 310 COSAS DE ESP AN A, peasant would see ghost or goblin as sure as he drew on his night-cap. It is probably ta prevent witches from coming down the chimneys that the houses are built without any ; for the good peo- ple are not a little superstitious on this huerta. The family stews are cooked on stones ; and the bread is baked in a large mud oven situated out of doors. Human nature is the same the world over ; and so are your Yalencian oven and your Dutch oven of one kidney. They are both, like the Dutclnnan who invented them, and who must have derived the original pattern from his own per- son, all belly. A batch of bread baked in one of these huge deformities will last a family a month. Externally the cottages looked neat with white- wash; and whoever does not venture inside of them will be sure to carry away pleasant impres- sions. The fields appeared to be well tilled. The trees were pruned, and the vines carefully trained. Still there was that in the general as- pect of things which seemed to indicate that Nature, when she fully resumed her powers, would over-rule the labor of man ; that her luxu- MOORISH HOURIS. -"511 riant growths would throw an air of negligent grace over grounds the most diligently tended ; and that the great power of the summer's heat would cover the well-watered fields with plants and foliage as exuberant as ever grew in the fabled gardens of the Hesperides. The fields were divided by rows of olive and mulberry trees, the latter making food for worms which in turn make silk for man. In the city, by-the-by, I visited some large factories where the material is wound and woven. The work- manship rivals that of France, while the looms are tended by young girls twice as pretty as the Lyonnaises. There are some of the descendants of the Moorish honris among them. Moreover, being a lover of the beautiful in architecture as well as in the human form divine, you will visit not only the silk factories, but the silk hall, or exchange. Here the merchants expose the gold- en skeins for sale beneath one of the finest roofs which was ever reared on pillars. Go once, twice, thrice, to admire it. It may be a long time before your eyes will rest upon another so beautiful. 312 COSAS DE ESP AN A. But we are outwalking our cahallo. Still, having now reached the rice-grounds, we shall have a new feature in the landscape to occupy our attention until the arrival of our cart and one. 'Here, where the land has been made level as the house floor, and where it can be flooded by the waters of the lake, good crops of rice are raised. The fields are divided into small, regu- lar spaces, some of which were still under water, while others had been already broken up by hand. A goodly number of peasants were at work in bands, turning up the soil by means of broad hoes with short handles. This instrument seemed to me sufficiently inconvenient, as it required the laborer to break his back with incessant stoop- ing. I think a good English or Yankee spade would answer a better purpose. But no true Spaniard would think of using any other utensil than the hereditary hoe. A spade would break Ms back for very want of stooping. By all means, then, leave him to his own tools. When railways shall connect Spain with civilized coun- tries, perhaps the foreigner's spades and shovels VIEW OF THE LAKE. 313 will get introduced. But should you offer him one at the present day, he would be quite as like- ly to cleave your liead with it as put it to any better purpose. Nearer town we had passed several rice-beds w^hich were being prepared for sprouting the plants. A small space of ground having been dug up, enriclied w^ith manure, and saturated witli water, the whole is mixed and trodden to- gether by a horse kept walking round in a circle. When the soil has been brought to about the con- sistency of thick cream, though not its color, the rice is sown. The plants soon spring up; and after they have grown to be a foot high, they are transplanted into the fields. This occurs some time in the month of May. The crop requires great labor in its preparation, but yields a good return. . At length we came in view of the lake, which we greeted as did the soldiers of Xenophon the sea. On our arrival, the host of the principal inn showed us at once to tlie top of the house to see the landscape. This to my mind was proof 14 314 COSAS DE ESPANA. positive that he had nothing very inviting to ex- hibit in his larder. When finally put to the ques- tion, he came out with the confession that there vi^as nothing in that department, save potatoes and onions. This was so characteristic of the country that I could .scarcely refrain from laugh- ing in his face. Not a loaf of bread was to be had within half a dozen miles ; though I must do the posadero the justice to say that there were a few fish, about as long as one's finger, in a basket on the shore. His Royal Highness, the Duke de Montpensier, had been there a couple of days be- fore, and had eaten up everything in the estab- lishment, said the landlord. However, his pota- toes, his onions, and his fish, were good enough any day for a prince ; and if we did not like them, it would be entirely out of his power to do us the honors of his kitchen. But he could serve us in another way ; he could show us the tub in which the prince had gone out on the lake, wild-fowl shooting. He actually in- sisted on taking us to see this tub, in which, no longer than two days before, had floated a Mont- THE TUB OF A MONTPENSIER. Slo pensier. He got into the tub, and stood up in it. Will you believe it ? The very tub in which only forty-eight hours before had stood a son of a king ! I was shocked, and got out of the way as quickly as possible — though not until the loqua- cious host had described the process of duck-shoot- ing on the lake. Still standing in his tub, he informed us that it was necessary for the fowler to row off before daybreak to a favorable hiding- place amid the reeds and grasses. Here, after having set his decoys, he conceals himself and his tub, as well as he can, and awaits the arrival of the birds on their feeding grounds. From his ambush he fires upon them as they come within gunshot, keeping up the sport for several hours after sunrise. So had done the duke. So do a large number of Yalencian cockneys, who, during six months of the year, come out here, more or less duly equipped with rusty fowl- ing pieces, and licenses to shoot ducks, if they can hit them. I left the posadero sitting in his tub, and show- 316 COSAS DE ESPANA. iiig, by example, the exact attitude which had been assumed by the duke, that I might once more enjoy the prospect from the roof. It was truly beautiful. The broad lake lay spread out before me some twenty miles in circumference. . Its shores and edges were mostly covered with rushes ; while a ra,ther low beach, tufted with tall grass walled out the sea, except at one narrow opening five or six miles distant. Through this a considerable number of boats, their decks piled high with reeds and rushes, were entering the lake. Their sails not being half filled with air were lazily aided by oars. Not the slightest haze rested upon the surface of the placid water, and only a barely perceptible veil of blue hung over the distant mountains. The huts of the fish- ermen shone out distinctly upon the remotest shores ; and the white towns and villages of the huerta, less obscured at this early season by trees, could be seen in great numbers in the transparent atmosphere. The distant walls of Valencia were below the level of sight ; but its domes and towers and steeples rose up out of the plain as those of FROGS AND LEECHES. 317 Venice appear to the approaching traveller to spring up out of the sea. I descended and walked the shores. Boys naked to the thighs were wading in search of leeches — " Spanish leeches." And along the ca- nals which were connected with the lake, men in similar undress were fishing for frogs. With legs bare, they nevertheless had the everlasting cloak on their shoulders. The Yalencian will go in linen shorts as loose as the trousers of a Turk ; his stockings may be without feet, leaving knees and ankles more exposed than a Scotch Highlander's ; but in any case he must have his cloak on. Without that he would be no Span- iard. It seems to be no more an incumbrance to him that if he had been born with it. Baskets, as well as cloaks, were slung over the backs of the fishermen ; and it was surprising to see how fast they whipped the frogs into them. They were clearly experts. Walking slowly along, they constantly cast their short line, like a fly- fisher, and every time brought it out of the water with the dangling game at the end of it. Out of 318 COSAS DE ESPANA. tlie water, and into the basket, was tlie work of one and the same instant. Frogs seemed to be as numerous as formerly in Egypt ; and, stupid things, one bait served them the whole day long. Besides these leech and frog catchers, there were a few fowlers lying about in the grass, and looking as though nothing would come amiss to their bag, whether ducks or travellers. We strolled about an hour or two seeing no other signs of life, but admiring the beautiful reflections of bank and cottage, of tapering spires and moun- tain sides on the still water, until the sun descend- ing fast from the zenith warned us of the neces- sity of " taking cart" for town. XXXI. A CLIMATE FOR INVALIDS. The climate of the eastern and southern coasts of Spain has never been fully appreciated by for- eigners. Here is to be found the very best win- ter refuge in western Europe. At Barcelona, the weather, with the exception of about a fortnight in mid-winter, is uniformly fine. 'In this brief period there may occur rains, with high winds ; but during the rest of the winter months, the sky is clear and the air is still. The warmth is just sufficient to render exercise in the open air agreeable. In March, the winds here as every- where are liable to play a few antics ; but the coming on of spring, though slow as in all south- ern countries, is exceedingly beautiful. The au- tumn is mellow and golden as its own fruits. 320 COSAS DE ESPANA. The summer's heat is tempered by the sea-breeze ; the narrow streets exclude the sun ; the high, thick-walled houses are cool ; and the evenings on the promenades are truly delightful. Once the sun sunk below the horizon, one half the town go to the Muralla to drink in the refreshing air from the sea ; while the other half, sitting on chairs in the ample spaces of the Rambla, keep their hearts cool by eating ices. Meanwhile the moon rides "up through a heaven of blue ; the air is full of soft, love-favoring beams ; the eyes and the jewels of the fair promenaders sparkle equally out of the night ; and a spell of happy enchant- ment hangs over the town, as over the palm-cities of the East. Compared with the climate of Nice, that of Barcelona has decidedly the advantage for most invalids wishing to pass the winter near the sun. The Italian city, though well sheltered from all the other northern winds, is often terribly whip- ped by the tail of the bise^ which rushes with fury down the Rhone. It is also exposed to fre^ quent variations of temperature, according as the NICE OUTDONE. 321 wind l)lows from the mountains, or the sea. In the former case, the air is dry and cool ; in the latter, moist and warm. The evenings and morn- ings are apt to be chilly, even when the soft Fa- vonian breezes blow from the south through the day. One is always cold in the shade, and often uncomfortably warm in the sun. To pass from one side of the house to the other, is to make the journey from Siberia to the tropics. On the Spanish coast, this difference of tempera- ture between sun and shade is not so great, I think ; though more marked than at the north. There is, moreover, no mistral. A greater still- ness reigns in the atmosphere, which is rarely disturbed by those severe, though short conflicts of the winds that so often shake the nerves of the invalids of Nice. Equally bracing, the air at Barcelona' is less inconstant. Whoever finds himself too strongly oxygenated in the dry, electric air of Barcelona, can drop down to Valencia. Here he will live under softer influences. The winter atmosphere is a degree or two milder ; and in summer there is 14* 322 COSAS DE ESPANA. excellent bathing at the Grao. All amateurs of salt-water bathing should go for the enjoyment of this luxury in its perfection to the Mediterra- nean. The water is much more potent than that of the ocean. Whether from the action of the warm sun of the south on this confined sea, or from whatever other cause, a plunge into its waves refreshes and invigorates the limbs much more than a dip into the waters of the Atlantic. Still one should hardly gambol by the hour in this delight- ful element. Water may be burned as fuel, we are nowadays taught to believe ; and certainly these Mediterranean waves, if too much caressed, will occasion internal congestions and heart-burn- ings. Those delicate persons who shiver at the faintest touch of winter's frosty fingers, and can not bear to inhale even a slightly-bracing air, may go still farther south, and fix their residence in the sunny Malaga. Here one is well nigh as safe from cold as in the tropics. A strong man in full health finds the air enervating ; but for the tender, stricken invalid, it is a balm and balsam. Who- CHATEAUX d'ESPAGNE. 323 ever chooses so to do can live on grapes and sweet oranges ; while there are malvoisies for the ladies. The earth yields naught but sweets, and life is a pleasing day-dream — comme dans les chateaux d'Espagne. The only thing lacking in these delightful towns is in-door comfort. The Spaniard lias no notion of what constitutes an English home, and makes it more comfortable in perpetual fogs than any habitations beneath the bright skies of the peninsula. His happiness lies out of doors. The sun is his patron, before all the saints. He goes into the streets, to the public rendezvous for his entertainments. He returns home only to eat and sleep ; and without any great enjoyment in either. Spain is as destitute at the present day of household comforts as was Italy at the beginning of the century. It is only in consequence of the great influx of travellers, particularly the English, that this latter country is now so well supplied with decent inns and lodging-houses. Fifty years ago there were here no nicely furnished apart- 324 COSAS DE ESPANA. ments to be let — no fireplaces — no carpets on tlie floors — no ample wash-basins — no dry sheets — no closely-shutting doors and windows. Sim- ilar is the state of things in Spain at the present day. Whoever goes to pass a winter in Barce- lona, or any other of her sister-cities, must live in a public inn. Furnished apartments are rarely to be met with. Houses without furniture can be rendered habitable only with great expense and trouble. There are, indeed, boarding-houses casas de pupillos ; but I fancy that no foreigner could make himself at home in them. They are probably altogether too Spanish. At Barcelona the traveller will find two hotels which may be pronounced good, considering the country they are in. There is one in Valencia. So in all the larger towns there is generally one house where the foreigner can live after a tolerably civilized fashion. But nobody should go to Spain with the inten- tion of staying in-doors. It would not be doing among the Romans as the Romans do. An ama- teur of the fireside should sooner spend his win- SANGRADOS. 825 tors ill his own liome, though it were Quebec oi St. Petersburgh. Spain is a country only for the lovers of the sun. Those invalids also who much affect doctors and their remedies would do well not to set foot in it. For the Spanish Sangrados still have a bad reputation. But whoever relies for the recovery of his health on the recupera- tive force of his own nature, aided by the medi- cine of the open air, and wants only cheerful skies, pleasant scenes, and simple living, God speed him to the southeastern shores of Spain. XXXII. OPENING OF A RAILWAY. The opening of the railway from Valencia to Grao occurred during my stay in the city, and was an event to be chronicled. Never but twice before had such a thing happened in the penin- sula. Should Don Quixote or Gil Bias return at the present day to their country, the three rail- ways would be about the only changes they would notice. There is indeed no other new thing under the Spanish sun. First came the railway from Madrid to Aranjuez, twenty-five miles in length ; next that from Barcelona to Mataro, thirty miles ; and last and least, this from Valen- cia to Grao. It Would be more respectful, per- haps, to say nothing of its length ; but the simple truth is, that it is two miles. Nevertheless it is TWO MILES OF RAIL. 327 a railway ; and tlie first ever seen by the Yalen- cians. Therefore it could not be opened without some ado. Indeed, to Spaniards it must have seemed a great affair. The railway to Grao, accordingly, was opened with a loud flourish of trumpets. The small station-house was crowded to overflowing hours before the departure of the train. This was the company of invited guests. But the outsiders were in number equal to all the rest of the inhab- itants of the town, and half of the province, into the bargain. The peasant had come in from the huerta, and the shepherd had descended from his mountains. All were in holyday attire. The Spanish colors were flying from staff and house- top ; and the whole city was garlanded as for a fete. But it was within the station-house that the principal ceremonies were to be witnessed. All the to}i of the town was there gathered to- gether. Spanish ladies are not destitute of curi- osity ; and here was something new to be seen. The fair, therefore, were out in all their force and feather. The hiah functionaries of state also 328 COSAS DE ESPANA. were present with their ensigns of office, and the dignitaries of the church came in their robes of ceremony. The latter had the principal act of the day to perform, which consisted in sprinkling the engines with holy water, and lifting up holy hands over them. Without this consecration, no Spaniard would risk his bones on a railway, though but two miles long. The benediction therefore was duly pronounced. To all believers it was a guaranty that the engines should not run off the track, nor come in collision," nor fail to whistle, nor even have a screw get loose ; though I am not sure that it was understood as insuring the earning of six per cent, dividends. But the blessing of the engines did not make up the whole of the ceremony. On an occasion so flattering to the national pride, this strong Spanish feeling had to get vent in odes and verses. The poet was there to give it tongue. To listen to his magniloquent measures, one would have thought that the newly-finished railway was to connect Valencia with the road, to heaven ; or at the very least, witli the GET OFF THE TRACK. 329 capital of the country, instead of the port of Grao. "Bajo un ciel de azul, puro y serono" — " Under a heaven of azure, pure and serene," began the ode ; and meanwhile preparations were being made overhead as if for bringing in a sec- ond deluge. It was all the same to the elated Valencians. They soared on the wings of poesy above all the clouds ; and coming down, after the reading of the verses, they stepped intb the carriages, and in five minutes were at the end of their journey. As the train came out of the station-house, the populace set up a small shout. The drums beat ; the trumpets brayed ; the engine whis- tled. Get off the track was now the cry ; for the people, though not sovereign in this coun- try, had crowded on to the rails in great num- bers, spite of alguazils. Get off the track shouted one and all. This, with the help of a few squads of soldiers, stationed bayonet in hand along the road, finally cleared the way, saving the unprofit- able lives of scores of beggars. 330 COSAS DE espaNa. The train made a start on the principle of " slow and sure," or as the Spaniard still better has it, of No corre priesa. The engineer, doubt- less, was afraid of getting his steam up very high, lest, with all his brakes, the shortness of the road should render it impossible to stop the iron steed before he had leaped into the sea, dragging all the beauty and notability of Valen- cia after him. This tame go-off encouraged the small boys to give chase, who did their best to climb up behind the carriages, as if they had been carts in the streets. They were mostly choked off, however ; and the whole affair suc- ceeded in getting to the port of Grao with no bones broken. But on returning in the edge of the evening, it fared worse. The muleteers, donkey-drivers, and banditti, thinking their occupation for ever gone, assembled on the road, and pelted the carriages with stones and brick-bats. Happily, few hit the mark, the rascals taking to their heels while in the act of discharging their mis- siles. I never heard that they had the cour- ATTACK BY BANDITTI. 331 age to repeat the attack ; and to this day, no doubt, tlie trains pass over the " two miles," unmolested by muleteers, and unchallenged by highwaymen. XXXIII. FROM VALENCIA TO MADRID. I HAD my choice of four ways of going from Valencia to Madrid. There was the " el correo" or mail-coachj the " diligencia," the " coche de coUeras," and the back of Eiosinante. As to the last, I should have chances enough of trying the Spanish saddle on the bridle-roads of Andalusia ; and the enjoyment of the equestrian sensation might well be deferred until it would come as a matter of course. To anticipate it at Valencia would be not to take the pleasures of peninsular travel in their natural order. On the other hand, the first mode of conveyance was too French to be thought of; the "el correo" being nothing more than the malle-poste of France transported across the Pyrenees. It answered very well for COCHE DE COLLERAS. 333 the Duke de Montpensier to go up to Madrid, as he did a few days before me, by this coach, for he was a Frenchman ; but if it were worth while for me to travel in Spain at all, it certainly be- hooved me not to post day and night through the country in a vehicle so newly brought in by the foreigner. The " diligencia" also was originally a trans-Pyrenean invention ; but it has now be- come thoroughly acclimated, and put on that brown hue which characterizes all things Span- ish. It has indeed been so completely adapted to native uses that it might even pass for a cosa de Espana, and is believed by the great majority of the nation, no doubt, to be only an improve- ment upon the ancient galera or cart of the " We ourselves, the Spaniards." In this vehicle then I resolved to go to Madrid. The coche de col- leras was entirely out of the question ; because, in the first place, by that conveyance I should have grown old before reaching my destination ; in the second, it would cost a small fortune in disbursements and gratificacioncitas ; and third, if caught travelling through tlie country in a 334 COSAS DE ESPANA. coach and four, I should certainly be robbed and carried off to a cave, as a rich Californian, not to be ransomed short of half the dust in El Dora- do. At Barcelona I had shirked the diligencia ; but now the time had evidently come when it was necessary to put myself under the protection of the Mayoral. He would pay the black-mail, charging my proportion in the passage-ticket; and I should be saved the trouble of standing and delivering on the road. I even went one step farther. The price of bed and board for the journey being included in the fare, I determine^ to set off without wallet ; and in case of being hard pinched with hunger, to regard it as so much interesting Spanish experience. It would cost me a struggle ; for my Yalencian landlord's Bor- deaux was not bad, and nothing but the villanous vino ordinario would be met with at the posadas. His cold chickens also were undeniable ; but what sort of stews might not a foreigner expect would be set before him in such provinces as La Mancha and New Castile ? Still, said I to my- self, face the oUa, if needs be, and bravely take EIBS AT MY OWN RISK. 335 the chances of the journey like a native-born Spaniard. The day — the hour of departure at length ar- rived ; and I boldly took my seat in the herlina. I was not to be robbed ; not to be starved ; not even to lose my luggage, except in case of cap- ture vi et armis ; and had the company's guar- anty for it all in my pocket. My ribs, to be sure, were at my own risk. My temper also was in my own keeping ; but in any event I felt sure of that. My heart had already been deposited in a safe place. As to my time, I was disposed to rate it at the same value as a native's, which is just nothing at all. Whoever should steal my purse would steal trash. Indeed the papers re- ceived from the office cautioned me against car- rying much money ; and just then I found it very convenient to comply with this suggestion. All told, therefore, my risks were not sufficient to give me any uneasiness. I should arrive at Madrid at the same time and in the same condi- tion as the Spaniards, my fellow-passengers ; and that was all I cared for. 336 COSAS DE ESPANA. We dashed through the streets with the usual shoutmg, cursing and whip-cracking. On passing the gates I kissed my hand, as in duty bound, to all the pretty Valencianas left behind — and the conductor, I observed, did the same. One belle, however, we co.rried off with us. She was my vis-a-vis in the berlina^ and was the daughter of a silk-merchant, who was taking her and her moth- er with him up to Madrid. Here, indeed, was a danger I had not anticipated ; for every time the seiiorita raised her lashes I should be bored through ; and it would be fire and load again with her eyes, doubtless, all the way to Madrid. However, as retreat was impossible I could only accept my fate, though it were to be riddled like a target at Christmas. Nor did it appear that I was to be the only victim. For opposite the Mamma sat a young ecclesiastic, the fifth of our party in the berlina; and it was clear that unless he kept his eyes pretty steadily upon the volume of St. Augustine he held in his hand, the battery opposite would do them more or less damage. But he faced the enemy with more nerve than DRIVE TO thl: hills. 387 was to have been expected from his clotli ; and like myself, survived, I have no doubt, to tell his own tale. The drive through the huerta to the hills was a charming one. The morning air was fragrant with the spring flowers which reared their gor- geous heads wherever the hoe or scythe tolerated them ; for the power of vegetation here, if not constantly repressed, bursts forth with perpetual beauty and sweet odors. The peasants were at work in the fields no less cheerfully than Nature herself, nor less deliberately. I saw neither hur- ry nor idling, but a steady and natural movement everywhere. Here a carolling Adne-dresser was pruning his exuberant branches, himself no le^ss full of the sap of life than they. There the mower stood knee-deep in newly cut grass, whet- ting his blade with measured strokes as if play- ing an accompaniment to his voice. The bright- colored handkerchief with which the laborers' heads were bound about, their open-sleeved vel- vet jacket, and red sash, gave their work the ap- pearance of merry-making. Generally they were 15 338 COSAS DE ESPAi^A. without the striped blanket ; but all were in short linen drawers, and leggings open at both knee and ankle ; and had their feet shod with hempen sandals tied with strings of red or purple. Beneath such a costume the heart could not be otherwise than gay. The quick-stepping donkey went by laden with grass or grape leaves ; the long-horned oxen were turning a sluggish furrow in the fields ; while occ asionally we would over- take a gipsy-looking pedlar, or contrabandista, bending under his pack, and bound to a fair in the hill country. On either hand, neat, white- washed cottages peeped out of the green land- scape ; and almost a score of spires could be counted rising up from the well-populated plains. Where the vine vies with the mulberry in the purple of its berries ; where the honey made from innumerable wild flowers is famed for its sweet- ness ; where the orange, the fig, the almond, and the pomegranate are heaped up together on tjie board of the humblest cottager ; and where of corn, and wine, and oil, there is a plenty for all ; how does human life naturally take the purple LA MANCHA AND CASTILE. 339 hues of joy and gladness reflected from all things that lie around it. Alas ! I was to see different landscapes beyond the Cabreras. Indeed, from the point where the road left the province of Yalencia it became monotonous and dreary, and continued such, with few exceptions, up to the very gates of Madrid. The level table- lands of La Mancha and Castile oppress the mind of the traveller with something of the sadness which steals over him on the central savannas of America, and the steppes of Russia or Hungary. At one time, he finds himself in the midst of boundless pastures, but so barren from surface stones and gravel that the few roving flocks of sheep or goats, occasionally met with, seem to pick up with difficulty a scanty subsistence ; and the shepherds who tend them look completely forlorn, compared with the piping boys and car- olling maids that watch their flocks on the green slopes of the Alps or the Grampians. At other times, the traveller looks out upon endless grain- fields, where the soil is indeed fertile, but the 840 COSAS DE ESPlNA. prospect scarcely less blank and monotonous, from the almost complete absence of human habitations. The tillers of these plains live huddled together for protection in small villages remote from the scene of their daily toils ; and in the distance, the clusters of cottages look no bigger than ham- lets. In these dull spaces are no trees ; no hedges or fences ; no lakes or rivers. The win- try winds have full sweep from sierra to sierra ; and the summer's sun parches the naked surface as dry as powder. Accordingly, the lightest zephyr roves along the plain with wings dusted like the butterfly's ; the rays of the sun are full of myriads of imponderable particles floating in - the atmosphere ; and a heavy coating of powder weighs upon the head of every spear of grass and grain stalk. The native brown is burnt out of the surface of the earth ; and all things are chalk-colored. For nearly half the year, the fla- ming god rules with a rod of fire the expanse which, during the other half, is whipped by the bitter ice-blasts of the inland mountain ranges. Thus, Nature is here fierce in both her love and TABLE LANDS. 341 hate ; and the traveller wonders that man should think it worth while to dispute with her the pos- session of realms scarcely intended by the Crea- tor to be his. Consequently, the cultivators of these inland provinces are noticeably unlike the gay-hearted inhabitants of the Valencian coasts, or the Anda- lusian valleys. Here the Spaniard is grown in all his gravity ; and his poverty is abundantly suf- ficient to furnish the requisite basis for his pride. The American Indian roaming the woods without a home, is scarcely more haughty, or saturnine. In comparison with the peasant of La Mancha and Castile, his fellow who dwells on the river bank or the sea-side, in the northern mountain vales or upon the southern undulations, is a merry-Andrew, his guitar slung to his back with blue ribbons, his cap ringing with bells, and his hands full of castanets. On these bald table- lands life is a constant struggle for daily bread, if not a hard one. Here the Spaniard can not throw himself heedlessly upon the bosom of Na- ture for sustenance, but must wrestle with her as 342 COSAS DE espaNa. Jacob with the angel. Instead of living upon the natural elements of air, earth, and water, like the Andalusian, he has to rely mainly upon his stew-pans. He must indeed eat pucheros, for there is no bread-fruit in La Mancha. More bacon and fewer peas become indispensable. The peasant of these provinces, therefore, is a grosser feeder, and sets out his marriage feast with as many dishes as went to distend the jacket of Sancho Panza at the wedding of Camacho. But to bring anything more costly than greens to his pot, he must be diligent at his labors. He must put one foot before the other with less delibera- tion than is done on the banks of the Guadiana or the Guadalquiver. Without some little fore- thought even the chick-peas will fail. However, the Castilian mouth, is always full of proverbs, if not of garbanzos ; a certain vein of good humor is said to run through this steppean life ; there is no lack of dancing to clarionets, even though there be few guitars ; and a strong native wine reddens the lips of those who never taste Benicarlo and Manzanilla. DINING ON THE KOAD. 343 But I am getting far ahead of the diligencia, whicli stopped at Siete Agnas for our first dinner. My expectations of the provend to be furnished on the road were very moderate, notwithstanding the pretty high price paid for it ; and the humble appearance of the hostlery at which we pulled up was not calculated to raise them. In quitting Valencia, I well knew that I was leaving behind its pilafs £ii\d pol/os con arroz, its turr ones and orchatas ; and deliberately made up my mind that I would eat my way through the country up to Madrid like a native, even thcugli I should be brought down to pulse and carob-pods. This confidence in the resources of the provinces was amply repaid. Tliroughout the journey, the tliree meals per diem came as certainly as the day itself. They sometimes fell at odd hours, and after delays which would have been vexa- tious to travellers over sharp-set. But when the board was finally spread, it never failed of having enough on it. We were always served with two soups in the course of the dinner, one fat and the other lean ; nor were there ever less than two 344 COSAS DE ESPANA. stews. The breakfast contained un postre, one sweet ; the supper dos postres, two sweets ; and the dinner tres postres, three svyeets. The latter meal differed from the other mainly in the addi- tion of the olla. This made it the meal of honor. Chicken, bacon, sausage, peas, and other vegeta- bles, made up the substantial, the earthly ingre- dients ; while the heavenly and ambrosial were garlic, onions, saffron, and peppers red and green. Even served cold, this dish would burn up the mouth of a foreigner. But the Spanish throat being itself hotter than anything that can be put into it, suffers no damage. I remember that Sancho Panza, after eating his stew on board the " Barcino," told me it made him feel just com- fortably warm ; and I once met with a Castilian who assured me that the olla rather served to cool him off than otherwise. The first, and for a considerable time, the only dish of this kind I myself dipped into in Spain was found to contain at the bottom an enormous tin pepper-box. But the cook swore by all the saints it was not his. Whenever I passed the olla, my fellow-passengers ' ROBBERS. 345 stared with amazement at me, seeming to say l)y their looks, " Surely he will partake this time." Without any help of mine, however, I observed that they almost invariably saw the bottom of the pot. The bread, I will bear witness, was always good — imn de Dios. The chocolate was good. And the wine, though not to my taste, was sto- machic and invigorating. Of course, there were no evidences of any high state of the culinary art on the road ; but who that travels in the peni;i- sula expects to do anything more than keep body and soul together ? That could be effected, on a pinch, with even the garrofas^ beloved of asses, and arrieros. I can, therefore, recommend the road from Valencia to Madrid as safe for all trav- • ellers, who are not gastronomers. The danger from robbers is another affair — but with a roast, and a salad under a man's jacket, he must be a* poltroon indeed who can not face that. Only when there is no puchero to be had on the road, do Spanish hearts fail. One night, when we were kept longer than usual from our supper, in consequence of some injury to the car- 15* 346 CQSAS DE ESPANA. riage sustained in the defiles of the Contreras, I observed that the conversation turned rather seri- ously upon the possibility of our being stopped by highwaymen. But for my part, the regular bandit face of the tall fellows who composed our escort through those mountains gave me entire confidence in them. Their very mustaches looked daggers ; and there was not a doubt in my mind but what they were followers of the road by pro- fession, but who, for the time being, had sold them- selves to the government. Double the number of honest men, therefore, could not have made good their places. I would have insured the lives, watches, and purses, of our whole travel- ling party for the very inconsiderable sum which could probably have been got together by empty- ing the latter. However, the hour being late, the night dark, and the road bad, the conductor, some ten or twelve* miles before reaching our appointed rest- ing-place for the night, drew up his steeds before the meson of a road-side village, and declared that he would not go another step till morning, NIGHT IN A KHAN. 347 SO help him Santa Barbara. Had not the con- ductor's mustache been in the way, I could have embraced him for that resolution ! For one, I was tired of getting my three meals a day with such regularity, and had slept the night before in a bed so clean and comfortable as to make me doubt that I was on the road to Madrid, or even in Spain. But this lying over for the night in a meson, had little more of the look of an adventure about it. I eagerly led the way, therefore, into this Iberian khan, and was received by the 7)iesonero with a long succession of bows, night- cap in hand. " What now for supper, landlord ?" " Hai/ de todo. Everything is at the service of Vuestra Merced." " Give me then a roast chicken, and a — " " There is no roast chicken,. Seiior," interrupt- ed the inn-keeper, hanging his head by way of obeisance. '' Give me a rabbit — with his feet on — " *' No rabbit, Sefior." And the innkeeper let his chops fall as well os his head. 348 COSAS DE ESP AN A. *'But you have a roast pig — a cut of cold beef — mutton cutlets — a partridge — pigeon pie?" The mesonero shook his head at each question. I then came to a full stop, thinking it better to give the poor man time to tell what he had got. Whereupon, he went on to.describe a large party which had dined in his house that day, and had eaten up eterything, even to his ham and eggs. To the inquiry whether any supplies were to be bought in the village, he replied by enumerating the hares and partridges and pigeons, which had been offered at the inn-door the day preceding, by peasants from a neighboring hamlet. By this time, I understood that his hay de todo meant simply that he had the means of cooking and serving whatever we might have brought in our wallets. He was to furnish the stew-pans ; we the stew. However, a foraging party was sent out, which after some difficulty succeeded in pur- chasing eggs sufficient to give every man an ome- lette. The mesonero brought out a pig-skin of wine. There were roasted potatoes to help out SLEEPING IN A HAYLOFT. 349 the lack of bread. A sort of vegetable olla was got together for those who could not sleep except after onions and peppers. And, thus, after sonic little delay every guest supped like a king. Had there been a tamhoril or a dulzayna at hand, we should have ordered another pig-skin, and had a "roundabout." But some of the guests — and we were a full dozen — suggesting that the noise which we had already made would probably cost the conductor dear in the morrow's reck- oning — for guests are charged for " noise" in this part of the country — we squeezed our first skin once more, and wished each other buenas tardes. Like cena^ like cama. I had my choice of sleeping with the mules on the first floor, or with their sacks of fodder on the second. Of course, I went into the oats and barley. Now you are in Spain, said I to myself, as I made my bed be- tween two trusses. The newly-gathered grain was fragrant ; my head reclined at the angle of comfort ; and I closed my eyes, happy in having surrendered the only private room in the stabii- 350 COSAS DE ESPANA. lum to the ladies, and envying no man in Chris- tendom his down or lavender. Sleep in a manger is sweet — provided always there be no braying. Luckily in these stalls no donkeys were kept, so that I slept like a beggar until daybreak. But with the dawn came forth the muleteers from their straw below stairs ; a chorus of mule- bells came tinkling up into the hayloft; some cursing on the part of their drivers helped out the din ; and sleep was straightway shaken out of all eyelids, by the calling horn of the con- ductor. With another day my journey drew to its close — terminating, I am sorry to say, without a sin- gle adventure the narration of which could aid in winning a Desdemona. I had been very civil to my voisine, who in turn was so much entertained by my descriptions of the life of young ladies in America that she even expressed a desire to visit that country. The youthful padre made but little progress in his St. Augustine ; and seemed to think there was more to be learned from a living woman than from any dead saint and doctor of ARRIVAL AT MADRID. 351 divinity. The. silk merchant Avas very sleepy throughout tlie journey. On arriving at the gates of tlie capital, we opened them with the usual silver key ; and shortly afterward, something more than the usual fees relieved me from my obligations to the mayoral and all connected with the dilig-encia. Then came a formal but kindly leave-taking on the part of the herlina passengers, when each bade the other to " go with God." But for myself, I set off under the humbler, and less trustworthy protection of a hotel-commissioner, who finally ushered me with a certain degree of ceremony into what he pro- nounced to be the only respectable*/o^io?a in the city. As the clock struck twelve, I took posses- sion of one of its dog-holes ; and after having adjusted my portmanteau under my head to help out the deficiency of pillows, said to myself with a smile — Now, you are in the heaven of all " the Spains ;" you are in occupation of an apartment in one of its famous chateaux ; to-morrow you will go to court in a velvet coat, as great a wonder as a newlv arrived Arabian knio-ht ; voii will live on 352 COSAS DE ESPANA. bull- easts ; you will daily captivate your princess on tlie Prado ; and then, at the expiration of thirty days — say forty — you will be off for Seville, and vales Andalusian. THE END THE NOCTES AMBROSIANyE; Wjth Portraits of ^YILso^•, Lockhart, jMaginn, Hogg, and fac-slmiles. EDITED, WITH MEMOIRS, NOTES, AND ILLUSTRATIONS, BY DR. SHELTON MACKENZIE, Editor of Shcil's " Sketches of thb Irish Bak." 5 Vols., I'imo., cloth. Price ifo.OO. The Noctes were commenced in 18*22, and closed in IS'3.5. Even in England, the lanse Dl" years has obscured many circumstances which were well known thirty v^'ars a"-o. Dr. Shklton Mackenzie, already favorably known as editor of Shell's '•Sketches of the Irish Bar," has undertaken the editorship of TuE Noctes Ambkosiax.e, for which i. familiar acquaintance, during the last twenty-five years, with the persons, events, and places therein noticed may be assumed to qualify him. He has been on terms of intimacy with most of the eminent political and literary characters treated of in the '"Noctes " and his annotation of the text will include personal recollections of them. Besides this. Dr. Mackenzie has written for this edition a ''History of the Rise and Pro- gress of Blackwood's Magazine," with original memoirs of the principal accredited author? of the "Noctes," via :— Professor Wilson, The Ettriclc Shepherd, J. G. Lockhart, and Dr. Maginn. ^ He will also give the celebrated " Chaldee Manuscript," published in 1817, instantly suppressed, and so scarce that the only copy which the editor h-as ever seen is that frorn which he makes the present reprint. There will also be given the three articles, entitled "Christopher in the Tent," (in August and September, 1819), never before printed, in any shape, in this country. The interlocutors in " The Tent," include the greater number of those afterwards introduced in the " Noctes." The "Metricum Symphosium Ambrosianum," — an addendum to No. HI. of "The Noctes," (and which notices every living author of note, is the year 1822), will be in corporated in this edition. This has never before been reprinted here. Nearly Ready, in Two Volumes. THE ODOHERTY PAPERS, forming the first portion ok the miscellaneous writings of the late BR. MAGINN. WITH AN original MEMOIR AND COPIOUS NOTES, BT DR. SHEL"TON MACKENZIE. For more than a quarter of a century, the most remarkable magazine writer of his time, was the late William Maginn, LL.T)., well-known as the Sir Morgan Odoher»y of Blac/cu'oo'Vs Magazine, and as the principal contributor, for many years, to Fraaer'f. and other periodicals. The combined learning, wit, eloquence, eccentricity, and luin:oi of -Maginn. had obtained for him, long before his death, (in 1843), the title of The Modern Rabelais. His magazine articles possess extraordinary merit. He had the art of putting a vast quantity of animal spirits upon paper, but his graver articles — which contain sound and serious principles of criticism — are earnest and well-reasoned. The collection now in hand will contain his Facetiae (in a variety of languages). Trans- lations, Travesties, and Original Poetry, also his prose Tales, which are eminently beauti- fal , the best of his critical articles, (^including his celebrated Shakspeare Papers), and ills Homeric Ballads. The periodicals in which he wrote have been ransacked, from '' Blackwood" to "Punch."' and the result will be a .series of great interest. Dr. Shelton Mackekzie, who has undertaken the editorship of these writings of his distinguished countryman, will spare neither labor nor at:ention in the work. The first volume will contain an original Memoir of Dr. Maginn, written by Dr Mackenzie, *nd a characteristic Portrait, with fac-similQ. Published by 5. S. REDFIELD, 110 (fr 112 Nassan-atreei, New York. Memoirs of a Distinguislied Financier. FIFTY YEARS IIST BOTH HEMIISPHEEES; OR, REMINISCENCES OF a' MERCHANT'S LIFE. By Vincent Nolte. 12mo. Price $1.25. [Eighth Edition] The following, being a few of the more prominent -names introduced in the work, will show the nature and extent of personal and anecdotal inter- est exhibited in its pages : — Aaron Burr; General Jackson; John Jacob Astor ; Stephen Girard; La Fayette ; Audubon ; the Barings ; Robert Fulton ; David Parish ; Sam- uel Swartwout ; Lord Aberdeen ; Peter K. Wagner ; Napoleon ; Paul Delaroche ; Sir Francis Chantry ; Queen Victoria ; Horace Vernet ; Major General Scott ; Mr. Saul ; Lafitte ; John Quincy Adams ; Edward Living- ston ; John R. Grymes ;.Auguste Davezac ; General Moreau ; Gouverneur Morris ; J. J. Ouvrard ; Messrs. Hope & Co. ; General Claiborne ; Marshal Soult ; Chateaubriand ; Le Roy de Chaumont ; Duke of Wellington ; Wil- liam M. Price ; P. C. Labouchere ; Ingres ; Charles VI., of Spain ; Mar- shal Blucher ; Nicholas Biddle ; Manuel Godoy ; Villele ; Lord Eldon ; Emperor Alexander, etc. etc. " He seldom looks at the bright side of a character, and dearly loves— he confesses it — a bit of scandal. But he paints well, describes well, seizes characteristics which make clear to the reader the nature of the man whom they illustrate." The memoirs of a man of a singularly adventurous and speculative turn, who entered upon the occupations of manhood early, and retained its energies late ; has been an eye- witness of not a few of the important events that occurred in Europe and America be- tween the years 1796 and 1850, and himself a sharer in more than one of them ; v/ho has been associated, or an agent in some of the largest com.mercial and financial operations that British and Dutch capital and enterprise ever ventured upon, and has been brought into contact and acquaintance — not unfrequently into intimacy — with a number of the r.'markable men of his tirrie. Seldom, either in print or in the flesh, have we fallen in with so restless, versatile and excursive a genius as Vincent Nolte, Esq., of Europe and America — no more limited address will sufiiciently express his cosmopolitan domicile. — Blackwood''s Magazine. As a reflection of real life, a book stamped with a strong personal character, and filled with unique details of a large experience of private and public interest, we unhesita- tingly call attention to it as one of the most note-worthy productions of the day. — J\l'eic York Churchman. Our old merchants and politicians will find it very amusing, and it will excite vivid reminiscences of men and things forty years ago. We might criticise the hap- hazard and dare-devil spirit of the author, but the raciness of his anecdotes is the result of these very defects. — Boston Transcript. His autobiography presents a spicy variety of incident and adventure, and a great deal of really useful and interesting information, all the more acceptable for the profusion of anecdote and piquant scandal with which it is interspersed. — JV. Y. Jour, of Commerce. Not the least interesting portion of the work, to us here, is the narration of Nolte's intercourse with our great men, and his piquant and occasionally ill-natured notice of their faults and foibles. — JV. Y. Herald. It is a vivid chronicle of varied and remarkable experiences, and will seirve to rectify the errors which too often pass among men as veritable history. — Evenivn- Post. The anecdotes, declamations, sentiments, descriptions, a,nd whole tone of the book, are vivacious and genuine, -and, making allowance for obvious prejudices, graphic and reliable. To the old it will be wonderfully suggestive, to the young curiously inform- ing, and to both rich in entertainment. — Boston Mlas. As an amusing narrative, it would be difficult to find its superior ; but the book has peculiar interest from the freedom with which the author shows up our American noto- rieties of I he pa.st forty years — Courier RKDFIK.LD'S NEW AND POPULAR PUBLICATIC \S. SIMMS' REVOLUTIONARY TALES. UNIFORM SERIES. New and entirely Revised Edition of William Gilmore Sim»18' Ronnances of the Revo ution, with Illustrations by Uarllv. Each complete \\\ one vol., l'2mo, cloth ; price $1.25. I. THE PARTISAN. III. KATHARINE WALTON. (I<> pre«) II. MELLICHAMPE. IV. THE SCOUT. (In pres.s) V. WOODCRAFT. (In pres^.) "The field of Rovolutionaiy Romance was a rich one, and Mr. Simms has workfu^ il admirably." — LonhtUlc Journal. "But ftnv novelists of tiie age evinci"^ more power in the conception of a story, nin>e artistic skill in its management, or more nalarnlnesa in the final denouement than Air Simms." — Mobile Daily Advertiser. " Not only par excellence ihc literary man of tlie South, but next to no romance writer in America." — Albany Kvickerbocker. "Simms is a popular writer, and his romances are highly creditable to Aroeiican literature." — Boston Olive Branch. 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None i)f our poets offer so great H variety of style or a more original choice of subjects." — Boston Traveller. " His versification is tluent and mellifluous, yet not lacking in point of vigor when an eneriretic style is requisite to the subject."— lY. Y. Commercial Advertiser. "Mr. Simms ranks among the first poets of our country, and t!ie-e well-printed W);an»es conteiin poetical productions of rare merit." — IVaskington (V. C.) Star. KEDMELDS N F,W AND POPUF.AIJ I'lJ RLTC ATIOxNS MOORE'S LIFE OF SHERIDAN. feJemoirs of the Life of the Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley .Shc.id&n by Thomas Moore, wirh Portrait after Sir Joshua Reynolds. Two vols., 12rao, cloth, $2.00. " One of the most brilliant biographies in English literature. It is the life of a -n \i written by a wit, and few of Tom Moore's most sparkling poems are more brilliant ai.d ""ascinatina; than this biography." — Boston Transcript. " This is at once a most valuable biography of the most celebrated wit of the times. nJ one of the most entertaining works of its gifted author." — Springfield Rtpnblican. " The Life of Sh.°ridan, the wit, contains as much food for serious thought as the best sermon that was ever penned." — Arthur's Home Gazette. " The sketch of such a character and career as Sheridan's by sue "land as Moore's, ean never cease to be attractive." — N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. " The work is instructive and full of interest." — Chriliow much research, and possess that interest vvhicli attaches to the private life of those whose names are known to fame." — New Haven Journal and Courier. "They are comprehensive, well-written, and judicious, both in the selection of sub- jects and the manner of treating them." — Boston Atlas. " The author has painted in minute touches the characteristics of each with varioua personal details, all interesting, and all calculated to furnish to the mind's eye a complete portraiture of the individual described." — Albany Knickerbocker. " 'J'he sketches are full and graphic, many authorities having evidently been consulted by the author in tlieir preparation." — Boston Journal. ~ ir^%^ THE WORKINGMAN'S WAY IN THE WORLD. Being the Autobiography of a Journeyman Printer. By Charles Manby Smith, author of "Curiosities of London Life." 12mo, cloth, Si 00. "Written by a man of genius and of most extraordinaiy powers of description. "- Boston Traveller. " It will be read with no small degree of interest by the professional brethren of the suthor, as well as by all who find attractions in a well-told tale of a workingman."— Boston Atlas. "An amusing as "well as instructive book, telling how humble obscurity cuts its way through the world with energy, perseverance, and integrity." — Albany Knickerbocker. " The book is the most entertaining we have met with for months." — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. ■' He has evidently moved through the world with his eyep njy^r nnd having a vein of humor in his nature, has written one of the most readable uooKs ol the seaooD * Zio'ts Herald. nKDilKLDS NEW AND POPUIAR PUBLIC ATIOx\S. NOTES AND EMENDATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE. Notes and Emendations to the Text of Shakespeare's Plays, from the Early Manuscript Corrections in a copy of the folio of 1632, in the possession of John Payne Collier, Esq., F.S.A. Third edition with a fac-simile of the Manuscript Corrections. 1 vol., 12mo, cloth, $1.50. " It is not for a moment to be doubted, we think, that in this vohTme a contribution has been made to the clearness and accuracy of Shakespeare's text, by far the most im- portant of any offered or attempted since Shakespeare lived and wrote." — Lond. Exam. "The corrections which JMr. Collier has here given to the world are, we venture to think, of more value than the labors of nearly all the critics on Shakespeare's text put together." — London Literary Gazette. " It is a rare gem in the history of literature, and can not fail to command the atten- tion of all the amateurs of the writings of the immortal dramatic poet." — CKston Cour. '• It is a bock absolutely indispensable to every admirer of Shakespeare who wishes to read him understandingly." — Lotdsville Courier. "It is clear from internal evidence, that for the most part they are genuine i-estora- fions of the original plays. They carry conviction with them." — Home Journal. "This volume is an almost indispensable companion to any of the editions of Shakespeare, so numerous and often important are many of the corrections." — Register, Philadelphia. THE HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. By Joseph Francois Michaud. Translated by W. Robson, 3 vols. 12mo., maps, $3 75. "It is comprehensive and accurate in the- detail of facts, methodical and lucid in ar- rangement, with a lively and flowing narrative." — .Journal of Commerce. " We need not say that the work of Michaud has superseded all other histories of the Crusades. This history has long been the standard work with all who could read it in its original language. Another work on the same subject is as improbable as a new history of the 'Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.' " — Salem Freeman. " The most faithful and masterly history ever written of the wild wars for the Holy Land." — Philadelphia American^ Courier. " The ability, diligence, and faithfulness, with which Michaud has executed his great task, are undisputed ; and it is to his well-filled volumes that the hiatorica) stu- dent must now resort for copious and authentic facts, and luminous views respecting this most romantic and wonderful period in the annals of the Old World." — Boston Daily Courier. MARMADUKE WYVIL. An Historical Romance of 3 651, by Hei^ry W. Herbert, authoi of the " Cavaliers of England," (fee, &c. Fourteenth Edition. Revised and Corrected. " This is one of the best works of the kind we have ever read— full of thrilling inci- dents and adventures in the stirring times of Cromwell, and in that style which has made the works of Mr. Herbert so popular."— C%r2s t <. # "* • < •lA. ; * ■ J L'V'i ' * ^ • J '--♦ ♦ 4 * *- '■ ' *k A <• . "tV 4 ' i * « * . t ; k -^ \\* :.;^:::*:> >',• ^•x)' ^S!5^v'>* />.?^: '.♦.", V *: