The sittings of this singular court are the most interesting sight in Valencia. In the plaza a crowd of countryfolk are collected, furiously discussing their affairs and pleading their cases in advance, after the manner of litigants all the world over. Meanwhile the alguazil of the tribunal has disposed an ancient sofa in the shadow of the great Gothic portal and marked off a space before it with a railing. Presently the seven judges arrive—one for each canal. They have the air of well-to-do peasants, and such they are—grave, stoutly-built men, with tanned faces and close-cropped hair. They wear black, the colour beloved by the comfortably-situated working man all the world over; but they have not discarded the native handkerchief round their polished brows or the espadrilla, or Valencian shoe. Each is known by the name of the canal which he represents—Mislata, Cuarte, and so forth. These peasant-magistrates having taken their seats, the oldest pronounces the words "Se obri el tribunal" (The tribunal is open). For a moment absolute silence reigns. Then those who have the right to be heard first are introduced within the railing and plead their cause bare-headed before the court. Woe to the insolent wight that dare stand covered in its presence! The alguazil will tear the handkerchief off his head, and he will be mulcted, moreover, in a fine. Anyone who speaks before his turn is fined. The discipline is severe. Each must wait till the president indicates with his foot that it is his turn to be heard. Notwithstanding, the fiery Valencians find it hard to restrain their feelings. At every moment there is an explosion of wrath or indignation, a heated expostulation from one or the other of the parties. The fines thus accumulated must represent a considerable sum. The procedure is entirely verbal; even the judgments are not recorded. But no court exercises more absolute power than the Tribunal de las Aguas of Valencia.
Life in the fertile huerta of Valencia is beautifully described by the great novelist, Blasco Ibañez, a native of the city. The following roughly translated passages, though they convey little idea of the forceful and elegant style of the original, will at least enable the reader to picture a summer in the South:
"When the vast plain awakes in the bluish light of dawn, the last of the nightingales that have sang through the night breaks off abruptly in his final trill, as though he had been stricken by the steely shaft of day. Sparrows in whole coveys burst forth from the thatched roofs, and beneath this aerial rabble preening their wings, the trees shake and nod.
"One by one the murmurs of the night subside—the trickling of watercourses, the sighing of the reeds, the barking of the watchful dogs. Other sounds belonging to the day grow louder and fill the huerta. The crow of the cock is heard from every farm; the village bells re-echo the call to prayer borne across from the towers of Valencia, which are yet misty in the distance; from the farmyards arises a discordant animal concert—the neighing of horses, the bellowing of oxen, the clucking of hens, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of swine—the sounds produced by beasts that scent the keen odour of vegetation in the morning breeze and are hungry for the fields.
"The sky is suffused with light, and with light, life inundates the plain and penetrates to the interior of human and animal abodes. Doors open creaking. In the porches white figures appear, their hands clasped behind their necks, scanning the horizon. From the stables issue towards the city, milch cows, flocks of goats, manure carts. Bells tinkle between the dwarf trees bordering the high road, and every now and again is heard the sharp 'Arre, Aca!' of the drivers.
"On the thresholds of the cottages those bound for the town exchange greetings with those that stay in the fields: 'Bon dia nos done Deu!' (May God give us a good day!) 'Bon dia.'
"Immense is the energy, the explosion of life, at midsummer, the best season of the year, the time of harvest and abundance. Space throbs with light and heat. The African sun rains torrents of fire on the land already cracked and wrinkled by its burning caresses, and its golden beams pierce the dense foliage, beneath which are hidden the canals and trenches to save them from the all-powerful vivifying heat.
"The branches of the trees are heavy with fruit. They bend beneath the weight of yellow grapes covered with glazed leaves. Like the pink cheeks of a child glow the apricots amid the verdure. Children greedily eye the luscious burden of the fig trees. From the gardens is wafted the scent of the jasmin, and the magnolias dispense their incense in the burning air laden with the perfume of the cereals.
"The gleaming scythe has already sheared the land, levelling the golden fields of wheat and the tall corn stalks, which bowed beneath their heavy load of life. The hay forms yellow hills which reflect the colour of the sun. The wheat is winnowed in a whirlwind of dust; in the naked fields among the stubble, sparrows hop from spot to spot in search of stray gleanings. Everywhere are happiness and joyous labour. Waggons go groaning down the road; children frolic in the fields and among the sheaves, thinking of the wheaten cakes in prospect and of the lazy, pleasant life which begins for the farmer when his barn is filled. Even the old horses stride along more gaily, cheered by the smell of the golden grain which will flow steadily into their mangers as the year rolls on.