A VISIT TO A HACIENDA
ONE day in October, when the sun was shining in golden beauty, the
señora said to her husband:
"I should like to go to the _hacienda_ to-morrow, and take the children
with me, for _la niña_ has never seen the picking, and Fernando did not
go last year or the year before."
"It will give me pleasure to escort you," said the Señor de Guzman, in
the courtly manner which Spanish gentlemen use toward their wives. "At
what hour will it please you to start?"
"As early as you can," she answered. "So that we may arrive there in
plenty of time to see the picking before luncheon, and after a siesta,
drive back in the pleasant part of the afternoon."
"We shall start at nine, then," said her husband, "and should arrive
there by ten or a little after."
When Fernando returned from school and heard that he was to accompany
his mother next day, he was nearly beside himself with joy.
"Juanita," he cried, "you have no idea how delightful it is at the
fruit farm! I have not been there for two years, but I remember it
well. All the oranges one can eat, and such raisins! You will much
enjoy it, I am sure."
He was up bright and early next day, and impatient to start long before
his mother was ready, and even his father was waiting before the señora
made her appearance. She was a large woman, and very slow and graceful
in her movements. No one had ever seen her hurried, and every one
expected to wait for her, so that it was nearly half-past nine when
they started. The coachman whipped up the horses, and away they went
skimming over the rough stones. Fernando sat with Diego and Manuel on
the front seat of the carriage, while Dolores sat beside the señora,
holding Juanita on her lap. The señor rode upon his high-stepping
Andalusian horse beside the carriage, and pointed out places of
interest to the children as they drove along.
A gay young officer passed by them, young and slim, riding a handsome
horse, and some soldiers were manoeuvring on the Plaza. One poor
fellow, once a gay soldier, but now with an empty sleeve, dressed in a
faded army blouse and wearing a merit medal, was begging in the street,
and the señor stopped to give him a piece of silver, for Spaniards are
always generous and pitiful, and cannot resist a beggar. "He had served
in Cuba," said the señor to his wife, and she sighed as she thought of
the many lost to Spain and their dear ones in that useless war.
Fruit-venders passed along the street, and donkeys so laden with fruit
and flowers that almost nothing could be seen of them but their slim
little legs and their great waving ears. Water-carriers were there,
carrying huge jars which looked like those used by the old Moors; and a
travelling merchant, in gray garments, but with brightly dressed mules.
It was not so bright a party that they passed later, for a peasant
funeral passed by on its way to the cemetery. Four young men carried
the bier, upon which was the body of a child, covered all but its face,
which lay exposed to the sun.
"Take off your hat, son," said the señora. "Always do so to a passing
funeral, for maybe yours will be the last salute the dead will receive
on earth."
No sooner was the funeral passed than there came a straw and charcoal
merchant, crying, "_Paja! Carbon! Cabrito!_" So many people in Granada
have no way to warm themselves except by the _brazero_, in which
charcoal is burnt, that there is great need for the charcoal man, and
he drives a brisk trade.
Next they saw a priest on a sick call, for he bore the Blessed
Sacrament. A crowd of ragged urchins stopped in their play to kneel as
he passed, and Fernando and his father raised their hats.
By this time, the carriage had reached the outskirts of the city, and
the road wound along the banks of the Darro, a rushing stream which
gushes out of a deep mountain gorge, and passes through the town. Its
banks are lined with quaint old houses, leaning far over the river,
and Fernando saw women there, washing their linen in the water, and
spreading their clothes on the stones to dry.
Outside of the town their way lay along the beautiful Vega, which
stretches beyond Granada, in green and fertile loveliness, to the
far-away hills. Crossed by two rivers, the Darro and Genil, the plain
is dotted with whitewashed villas, nestling like birds in the soft
green of the olive and orange trees. Sloping gradually to the mountains
above, the Vega is green as emerald, and truly a fair sight beneath the
turquoise sky, and the mother-of-pearl of the snowy mountains.
Fernando's father owned large estates upon the hillsides, and raised
oranges and grapes. The last were used for raisins, the grapes from
which the finest wine is made, the _Amontillado_, for which Spain is
so famous, not reaching their greatest perfection in this part of the
land.
In an hour they reached the farm and drove down the long lane which
led to the house. The _Hacienda_ of Santa Eulalia was a large, low
building, with a broad porch and a tangle of vines and roses climbing
over it. Huge trees spread their arms over the roof, and from the
balcony one could see groves of cypress-trees, pines, oaks, and
poplars, beyond the fruit-trees, and, above all, the rose-coloured
peaks of the Sierras. Upon the slope of the hill, as it fell away
toward Granada, were the grape-vines, with huge clusters of grapes,
purple, white, and red, weighing down the vines. There were, too,
terraces where the raisins dried; and nearer the house were the
drying-sheds, where an army of packers pressed the raisins under
boards, and carefully sorted them before packing. The vineyards were
beautiful, but even more so were the orange groves, and one who has
seen a grove in full fruit never forgets the beautiful sight. The
trees are deep green in colour, and full of leaves, many of them
bearing at the same time flowers and green and ripe fruit.
The children were wild with delight, and ran about eager to see the
picking and sorting of the fine fruit, for the oranges of Santa
Eulalia were famous for size and quality. The trees grew rather low
to the ground, and were covered with fruit which the pickers were
gathering. Ladders were put up to the lower branches, and each picker
carried a basket swung to his neck by a cord. He carefully picked the
oranges, one at a time, and dropped them in his basket, and so expert
were many of them that it seemed as if they had scarcely mounted the
ladder before the basket was full. Many young girls were employed as
pickers, and they were particularly skilful, vying with the men in
their swiftness. Very gay were their voices, and merry jest and song
enlivened the work, until it seemed as if it were not work but play.
Fernando and Juanita hopped about like little rabbits, eating the fruit
which rolled to the ground, for often the golden globes fell from the
trees, as they were shaken by the picking.
When the baskets were filled, the oranges were carried to the sheds
and left overnight to harden the skins a little, when each orange was
wrapped in soft tissue-paper. For this are employed young boys and
girls, and very expert they grow in the wrapping of the oranges, each
one being properly wrapped with but a twist of the hand. The next thing
is the packing, and the oranges are stored away in wooden boxes, and
are ready to be shipped to market.
The children ate so many oranges that they scarcely wanted any of the
luncheon prepared for them at the _hacienda_. There was an omelet with
green peppers, a delicious salad, some fowl, and tiny round potato
balls, all sprinkled over with chopped parsley, with a huge dish of
oranges and grapes for dessert.
The señora insisted upon a little siesta after luncheon, but Fernando's
eyes were so wide open that he could not close them as he swung to
and fro in the great hammock between two orange-trees in front of the
house. He was delighted when his father sat down beside him, in one of
the big easy chairs, and said:
"You look to me like a boy who would like to hear a story."
"Indeed I would; please tell me one," said Fernando.
"Have you ever heard about the judges of Pedro the Cruel?"
"No, papa," said Fernando, all interest.
"A long time ago, there ruled over Andalusia a king named Pedro, and
he was so disliked by his subjects, and did so many wicked things,
that he was called Pedro the Cruel. He lived in the city of Sevilla,
and though he was cruel, and often heartless, still he had a strong
sense of justice, which would not allow the common people to be badly
treated. He found out one day that four of his judges had been cheating
the people and taking bribes, and he determined to teach them a lesson.
He went to his favourite gardens, those of the Alcazar, and sent for
the judges to come to him there. It is a wonderful place even to-day,
and then it must have been very beautiful. Huge banana-trees waved
their rough green leaves above the tangled beauty of the flower-beds,
where jasmine and violets and roses grew in profusion. In the midst
was a fountain, and Don Pedro knelt beside it, smiling wickedly as he
placed upon the perfumed waters, five oranges cut in halves, and placed
flat-side down. The reflection was so perfect that any one would be
deceived, and think they were whole oranges floating upon the water.
"'How many oranges are there here?' asked the king, smiling genially,
and the judges replied:
"'Ten, may it please your Gracious Majesty.'
"'Nay, but it does not please my Gracious Majesty to have four fools
for judges,' he said. 'Liars! Can you not see that there are but five?'
and he raised two of the halves and held them together. 'Know, oh,
unjust judges,' he said, sternly, 'that the king's servants must see
more than the surface of things if they are to conduct that portion of
the realm which it is their business to attend to, and since you cannot
tell a half from a whole, perchance that is the reason of the tales I
hear of your ill-dealings with the property of some of my subjects!'
"He ordered them to be beheaded and their places filled with better
men, and the poor people whom they had defrauded had their property
restored to them. There are many other stories of King Pedro which are
not pleasant to tell, and it is good to remember that he sometimes did
kind things."
"Thank you," said Fernando. "What is the Alcazar where the gardens
were?"
"It is a very remarkable place, and when you go to Sevilla you will see
it. At first, hundreds of years ago, when the Romans were in Spain, it
was the house of Cæsar; afterward the Moors turned it into a fortress,
and it is a perfect example of Moorish work. Don Pedro rebuilt it,
and spent a great deal of money upon it, making it the most beautiful
palace in all Spain. All manner of things happened there, among them
the murder of Don Pedro's half-brother, Don Fadrique, who he was afraid
would lay claim to the throne.
"But here come your mother and Juanita, and I think your rest time is
about over. Go and play, and tell Manuel we return at four o'clock, so
you must be on time."
So Fernando spent a delightful afternoon in the orange grove, and drove
home through the cool twilight, passing the _paseo_ just as the band
was playing the _Marche Real_, the national song, which he hummed until
he went to bed.
[Illustration: Music]