The source from which the drinkers fill their goblets is open to all comers, and any one may bottle and carry off the precious water ad libitum. A considerable quantity is sent in stone jars to the neighbouring towns; but Tio Juan maintained—and I believe not without good reason—that it lost all its properties on the journey “amen del mal olor.”[84]
The situation of the new village would have been more agreeable had it been built somewhat higher up the side of the sierra, instead of on the immediate bank of the rivulet, where it is excluded from the fine view it might otherwise command, and is sheltered from every breath of air. It is not, however, so sultry as might be expected, considering its confined situation; for the mountain behind screens it from the sun’s rays at an early hour after noon, and the opposite bank of the ravine, by sloping down gradually to the stream, and being clothed to the water’s edge with vines, fig, and other fruit-trees, throws back no reflected heat upon the dwellings.
The manner of life of the visiters of the hedionda is not less different from that of the watering places of other countries, than the place itself is from Cheltenham or Carlsbad. They rise with the sun; drink their first glass of water at the spring on their way to chapel; a second glass, in returning from their devotions; and then take a paseito[85] in the huerta: but not until after the third dose do they venture on their usual breakfast of a cup of chocolate. The bath and the toilette occupy the rest of the morning. Dinner is taken at one or two o’clock; the Siesta follows, and before sunset another bath, perhaps. The Paseo comes next—that is quite indispensable—and the Tertulia concludes the arrangements for the day.
This, at the baths, is a kind of public assembly held in the open air, and generally in one of the vine-sheltered streets of the modern village. A guitar, cards, dancing, and games of forfeit, are the various resources of the réunion; which breaks up at an early hour.
Tio Juan, in his shirt-sleeves and slippers, is a constant attendant at the Tertulia, usually looking on at the sports and pastimes with becoming gravity, but occasionally taking a hand at Malilla,[86] or joining the noisy circle playing at El Enfermo;[87] in which, when the usual question is asked, “What will you give the sick man?” he invariably answers, “El Agua—nada mas que el agua—que no hay cosa mas sano en el mundo,”[88] puffing away at his paper cigar all the while with the most imperturbable gravity, and casting a side glance at me, as much as to say—“not a word of our nightly symposium, if you please.”
The company on these occasions is, as may be supposed, of a very mixed kind. Let it not be imagined, however, that because “Señor Juan” presents himself with bare elbows, that it is altogether of a secondary order—far from it—for such is the caprice of fashion, such the love of change, that even the noblest of the land are ofttimes inmates of the little inconvenient hovels that I have described; but Tio Juan is a privileged person—every body consults him, every one makes him his or her confidant. And so curiously is Spanish society constituted, that though considered the proudest people in the world, yet, on occasions like this, Spaniards lay aside the distinction of rank, and mix together in the most unceremonious manner. Indeed, no people I have ever seen treat their inferiors with greater respect than the Spanish Nobles. They enter familiarly into conversation with the servants standing behind their chair; and, strange as it may appear, this freedom is never taken advantage of, nor are they less respected, nor worse served in consequence.
The custom of kneeling down in common at their places of public worship may have a tendency to keep up this feeling, warning the rich and powerful of the earth that, though placed temporarily above the peasant in the world’s estimation, yet that he is their equal in the sight of the Creator of all; an accountable being like themselves, and deserving of the treatment of a human being.
The Spanish nobles certainly find their reward in adopting such a line of conduct, for they are served with extraordinary fidelity; and the horrors which were perpetrated through the instrumentality of servants, during the French revolution, is little to be apprehended in this country; perhaps, indeed, this good understanding between master and man has hitherto saved Spain from its reign of terror.
The chapel of the bathing village is generally thronged with penitents; for people become very devout when they have, or fancy they have, one foot in the grave. The little edifice may be considered the repository of the archives of the Hedionda, for countless are the legs, arms, heads, and bodies, moulded in wax, or carved in wood, and telling of wondrous cures, that have been offered at the shrine of Our Lady of Los Remedios.
Leaving the good Romanists at their devotions within the crowded chapel, and Tio Juan, with one knee and his pitcher of water on the ground, and his staff in hand, offering a passing prayer behind the throng collected outside the open door, we will devote the morning to a scramble to the summit of the steep mountain that rises at the back of the baths.