CONSIDERATIONS ON SANITARY MATTERS.--THE MEDICAL PROFESSION IN
SPAIN.--THE ART OF PACKING.--NIGHT SIGNALS.--EL GRAO.--CHASSE
AUX CALEÇONS ROUGES.--VALENCIA.--DRIVE THROUGH THE CITY.--THE
CATHEDRAL.
Throughout Spain, as we have observed, and as all travellers will
notice when they visit that country, innumerable vile odours prevail
everywhere and are one of the most unpleasant characteristics of the
country. This, together with a general ignorance or carelessness of all
household draining, of course proves one of the most fruitful causes of
the cholera which periodically creates such awful ravages throughout
the land. It is quite curious how callous a Spaniard appears in the
midst of the most frightful odours that can be imagined. While we can
scarcely breathe, being compelled to hold our noses in such a way
that we are almost suffocated, the dignified Spaniard moves along as
serene and untroubled as if he were amidst the rose-gardens of "Gul in
her bloom." In fact, he seems rather to like odours that to others are
insupportable. If his opinion coincided with that of some medical men,
who consider bad smells good for health, he could not endure them with
greater equanimity.
Majorca is comparatively free from this pest, although the sanitary
arrangements of Palma are still very primitive. Two years ago, cholera
raged furiously in the city, and on many of the doors of the houses
and palaces one still sees notices which were written in chalk at the
time, for the dead-cart to wait for a load as it passed through the
streets--exactly as in London during the plague two hundred years
ago. On the fine old doorway of the palace belonging to an English
gentleman--a post-captain in the British navy--to whom we were much
indebted for great kindness and hospitality tendered to us during our
sojourn at Palma,--we found the following inscription scratched in
chalk:--"Muertos: Juan. Lorenzo. Faustina."
Many years ago, in order to force the Spanish doctors to be more
assiduous in the study of their profession, it was ordered by
Government that on the door of the house of a medical man there should
be traced as many red marks or crosses as the number of patients who
died under his treatment. A nervous Englishman arriving in Madrid
became indisposed, and sent his servant to explore the whole city in
quest of a doctor who, having the fewest red marks chalked on his
door, must consequently have--as he concluded--the fewest deaths to
answer for. A medical gentleman was thus discovered whose residence
was distinguished by only one mark, and him the Englishman immediately
retained. The invalid congratulating himself before some friends on
what he considered a "treasure trove," they clasped their hands, and
exclaimed--"Dios! What have you done? You have chosen the worst doctor
in Spain! He never had but one patient in his life, and he died under
him!"
It is astonishing the horror of fresh air entertained by Spaniards. On
one blazing day--the day before our departure from Palma--while we were
undergoing the agonies of packing our portmanteau, an old lady rushed
violently into our bedroom without "with your leave," or "by your
leave," and, while giving utterance to a torrent of incoherent sounds,
expressive either of remonstrance or resentment, slammed together the
window-frames, the greatest anxiety being at the same time depicted on
her countenance, and her eyes looking at us with a glance which seemed
to say "Are you mad?"
Packing is a great art quite as much so as the comprehension of
Bradshaw. In our opinion the art of packing, Bradshaw, carving, and
manners should be taught at all schools as distinct branches of
education, in order to render a man what Mrs. Malaprop would have
called an "Admiral Crichton." It is very curious that at every place
one leaves one finds that the portmanteau holds less than ever, and
has become smaller in spite of having generally left something behind
at the last place, until, in very despair, one simply uses very bad
language, takes up all the things, and flings them _en masse_ into the
trunk; and then, having danced a little war-dance on the lid, sits
moodily down upon the same like a perspiring Banshee on a wall, and
smokes a cigarillo, or makes one's notes.
What a blessing have those men lost in these climes who bathe not,
neither do they swim! The bathing is perfect at Palma, in that red-hot
climate and dark blue sea. The water is warm, and to good swimmers, as
buoyant as a feather-bed, with the advantage of having no fleas; though
perhaps, now and then, so they say, with the little inconvenience of
a stray shark or two. The length of time one may remain in the water
without experiencing any chill, is remarkable. One can, in fact, lie on
his back, with face upturned to the soft blue skies and almost go to
sleep. Indeed, the astonishing thing seems to be how anyone can sink in
this heavy medium. It is so transparent at the entrance of the Bay of
Palma, that, during a calm, weeds can be distinctly seen at the depth
of forty fathoms, waving at the bottom among the stones and shells.
In the Middle Ages, Majorca suffered much from the inroads of the
Barbary pirates. Even now the old custom is kept up of lighting
beacons every night all round the island. As soon as one is lit,
the next follows until the entire circle display their signals. All
remain lighted one hour after the last has been trimmed, and are then
extinguished to show that the island is in perfect security.
We were sorry when the time for our departure from Majorca arrived. As
we left its shores, we looked back with regret on the bright villages
nestling amongst the orange groves and olive lands. We felt sad when
the pretty city of Palma, with its towers, terraces, and cathedral,
was hidden for ever by a projecting headland. Our gaze lingered with
a melancholy feeling on the Great Dragonera Rock, with its flaming
beacon--the westernmost point of Majorca--and on those mountain peaks
with which we had become so familiar, as they melted away into the warm
haze of the Mediterranean.
"On the wide waste of waters was no living thing,
Save the vanishing gleam of the sea-bird's white wing."
And the Evening Star looked down on the wave like the eye of the
mariner's guardian angel. The night was calm and balmy, scarce a breath
disturbed the surface of the waters, and enwrapped in a Valencian
_manta_, we lay down to rest under the clear firmament, and were lulled
to sleep by the Arabic drone of the man at the wheel.
The early rays of the dawn as we awoke were lying warm on the white
walls of a place with which we were familiar, the port of El Grao, and
lighting up the distant towers and spires of Valencia. El Grao, with
its flat-roofed eastern houses, and its long line of white meeting the
blue sea below, together with the lofty lateen sails of its shipping,
and the palm-trees fringing the coast, might have been, as far as
appearance went, some Syrian port.
I was again compelled to incur the pity and contempt of the good
Spaniards by getting into a boat to do a little natation before
landing. I excited their astonishment, if not wrath, by climbing out of
the water up the side of a vessel at anchor, for the purpose of taking
a header from its bowsprit. On the sudden appearance of my naked form
and red _caleçons_ upon the deck, the mariners at once came to the
conclusion that I was either a maniac or an Englishman, an idea which
emboldened them so much that they chased me from one end of the ship
to the other, uttering loud cries. The _chasse aux caleçons rouges_,
however, soon came to an end; for on arriving at the figure-head of
the vessel, I simply disappeared, head foremost, overboard, to the
undisguised amazement of my pursuers. On rising to the surface I saw
seven men, and a marine with fixed bayonet, staring dumbly at me over
the bulwarks. "Addios, Señores," cried I, and swam off to my friend in
the boat, who also had been sporting like a dolphin in the deep while
taking his bath.
In Valencia cows' milk is as great a luxury as ginger-beer in Yucatan.
The milk of goats and mares is the staple commodity--that of cows, when
it is to be procured, being advertised about the town on placards at
a heavy price to tempt the rich, in the same manner as one sees rare
wines announced in London. In fact, to the common herd of mortals,
Spain is not a land flowing with milk and butter. Oil, however, is
universal, being found in cakes, in pastry, in soup, in fact in every
dish, betraying its presence even in the very air itself.
Amongst the rules of etiquette in vogue with the lower classes in
Spain, is the custom of offering you a mouthful of whatever they may be
eating while you are holding intercourse with them. We are happy to
add, however, that it is equally the custom to refuse. It is bad enough
to have to astonish our organs of digestion by eating all the strange
compounds we do eat at _la mesa redonda_, or _table d'hôte_, in the
hotels of Spain. What a doom must it be for a member of the Reform Club
to travel for a few weeks in the Peninsula! The very idea would make
Soyer turn in agony in his tomb in that country whose stomach he left
his native land on purpose to benefit.
After landing at El Grao from our swim, we again jumped into the
"taratana," and once more were bumping through the dust, stones, and
ruts of that ridiculously bad road under the acacias, towards the
pest-house hotel, where we supposed the one-eyed beggars would be
awaiting us, not only on the stairs, but at the very doors of our
bedrooms. On we went through the green avenue, past the battalions of
red-legged, white-capped soldiery, drilling on the broiling sand and
under a vertical sun. We crossed the yellow bridge of the Guadalaviar,
with the statues of virgin and saint with tin hats on their marble
brows. Again we were in the midst of the long, dark, cool streets,
in which resounded the clanging of church bells, and looking up at
houses behind the coloured awnings and blinds of which dark, laughing,
wicked eyes gleam like those of snakes from the obscurity within the
half-curtained windows. We rode quickly past the arabesque buildings,
the rich Gothic churches, the sculptured palaces, and the Moorish
courts, through the gaudy, noisy market-place, with its stirring crowd,
in garb as bright and various as that of a harlequinade, and out into
the blazing white squares and sunny gardens, until the cool dim vault
of the old cathedral once more hung over us like a grey cloud of stone.
In the interior of the cathedral are hung the spurs and horse-bit of
the Cid. When Valencia was conquered from the Moor, those pieces of
rusty iron were placed there by the hero's hand hundreds of years ago,
and remain till now as witnesses of his immortal chivalry. He died in
Valencia in 1099.
Within the old cathedral are noble classic arches composed of rare and
various marbles. Lofty Corinthian columns support magnificent domes,
from the coloured windows of which the sun-rays stream upon the
curling smoke of incense which, rising in circling clouds, gradually
disappears in the immense arched vault above. The choir, so richly
adorned with carved oak, is filled with crimson-clad priests, attended
by dark-eyed boys swinging silver censers, and bearing aloft great
flaming candles. Besides the display of wonderful carving and gilding,
there are brazen railings of the finest workmanship, a multitude of
gems of dazzling brightness, and figures of the Virgin Mother and
Christ arrayed in robes of unexampled magnificence--altogether such a
display of ecclesiastical wealth as is seen nowhere but in Spain in
these modern days. On the walls are portraits of saints and paintings
of scenes from sacred history, most of them, if not all, works of great
value.
In strange contrast to the wealth of the church are the crowds of
beggars crawling in an unutterable state along the marble pavements, on
which all sorts of foul abomination are allowed to lie for days. In the
midst of this ecclesiastical splendour, the altars are specially to be
noted for the wealth that has been expended on them, and for the beauty
of their design. But from these we turn to the arches and pillars of
stone which carry us back to that remote era, darkened by ages, when
the church was founded. The organ too is evidently a noble instrument,
as we can judge by the fine tones which it emits while accompanying
the monotonous chaunt of the priests. The rich coloured glass of the
windows gives such variety to the hue of the light which it admits, as
to add very much to the solemn impression produced by so magnificent a
temple.
We climbed up to the summit of the cathedral tower, panting in the
hot air and dust, and amidst those sour unpleasant odours which seem
to be a _sine quâ non_ with all the interiors of Spanish and Italian
churches, not excepting the towers. If these are the odours of sanctity
of which we hear so much, they are certainly far from agreeable.
Arrived on the summit of the old lofty yellow belfry, from which a
beautiful young woman had thrown herself for love a week before, a view
of fairy beauty was spread out before us. Beneath lay the city with
all its domes, towers, and pinnacles, its fantastic architecture, its
gloomy Moorish gateways, and its piles of Saracenic ruin towering in
melancholy grandeur, like ghosts of departed power, amidst the downfall
of all their pride.
There lay the green gardens, gleaming with marble fountains and
statues. The houses are of every hue. Noble mansions are flecked all
over with white lace-like arabesque decorations. Spacious squares and
teeming market-place are seen amid the confusion of the labyrinthine
streets, rendered sombre and cool by their overhanging eaves, almost
apparently touching each other, and thus shading the winding way below
from the burning rays of the sun. Away in the distance, all around the
yellow walls of the city, are fruitful plains, with here and there
masses of deep green foliage streaked with the grey of the olive. From
north, west, and south, a noble amphitheatre of purpling mountains
surrounds the city. In all directions orange groves, with their golden
burden, and shrubs of gaudy hue, give a rich appearance to the land.
The splendid chestnut and the tall palm-tree wave their branches,
fanned by the warm and scented air. Sparkling villas, slender spires,
and sunny villages, scattered far and near, are shining in the midst
of the green and smiling plain, while afar off, bright, broad, blue,
and beautiful, appears the hushed and trembling sea. Truly nowhere is
a nobler view to be seen than that around Valencia, the fairest of
Mediterranean cities.
[Illustration: [++] Decorative Image]
[Illustration: [++] Decorative Image]