Spain in 1830, vol. 2

by Henry D. Inglis

I have to add to these notices of Barcellona and its inhabitants, the price of provisions. Beef sells at thirty-two quartos per pound, of thirty-six ounces. Mutton, thirty-five quartos; scarcely cheaper than in England. Pork, twenty quartos per pound of sixteen ounces; a good fowl costs twelve reals; and a pair of chickens the same—both as dear as in England. A turkey, thirty-two to forty reals. The best bread, seven quartos (2d.) per pound. The wages of artizans are, in general, 2s. 6d. per day; and field labour about 1½d., without including victuals.

Before finally quitting Barcellona, I resolved to pay a visit to Monserrat,—a place that has derived remarkable notoriety from the singularity of its situation. I accordingly left Barcellona at the early hour of four, in a galera, which passed within half a league of the foot of the mountain. The country between Barcellona and Martorrel is the same as I have described on my journey from Tarragona; and from Martorrel to the foot of Monserrat, the land is divided between corn and wine; it is every where populous, and every where exhibits proofs of Catalunian industry. The approach to Monserrat from this side, is not remarkably striking, owing to the elongated form of the mountain; but as we approach nearer, its height, and singular conformation, become sufficiently imposing. After quitting the galera, I walked to the small village that lies at the foot of the mountain; and having got some chocolate, and a guide, I began the ascent. A zig-zag path, of not less than a league and a half, leads up the mountain to the convent, which is not seen until at an abrupt turn it is discovered lying on a platform, in a recess of the rocks which rise in perpendicular cliffs directly behind it. The view from this platform is wild and imposing; towards the north, a long line of snowy summits marks the Pyrennean boundary of the Peninsula; towards Barcellona, the Mediterranean is seen beyond the rich and diversified country that lies between the mountains and the sea; while the mountain itself,—its lower part encircled by a belt of wood,—its grotesque range of rocky peaks above, and its convent, and hermitages, are not the least striking features of the landscape. In the interior of the convent I saw little deserving of notice; the occupation of it by the French, and other causes, have left it nearly a ruin; but its ruins shew its former extent. The architecture of the building is mixed; part of it is Gothic; while later parts were built in the time of Julius II., and of Philip III. There were formerly seventy monks in the convent; but now, it is inhabited by thirty only. I saw in the refectory, a pilgrim who had come all the way from St. Jago in the Asturias, and who was going to Rome. By the rules of the convent, a pilgrim is fed three days within it. He was a man past the middle age, and was rather reserved in his communications; not appearing willing to tell any more than where he had come from, and whither he was going. His habit was covered with scallops and little images.

Monserrat is not the interesting spot it was formerly. The numerous hermitages were then tenanted, and the convent possessed many curious and valuable things; but the French carried away the latter, and destroyed the former; and now, Monserrat is worthy of a visit only on account of its situation, the view enjoyed from it, and the singularity of its aspect and conformation. The mountain is said to be four thousand feet high; and the platform of the convent is two thousand five hundred feet above the Mediterranean; the lower parts are treeless, with the exception of a few scattered and stunted ilex; but its acclivities are covered with a thick carpet of box, juniper, rosemary, and a thousand fragrant shrubs.

I returned to the inn about dusk, and found the accommodation so bad, that I regretted I had not accepted the letter offered by the Conde de España, to the abbot; but I did not, at that time, purpose visiting Monserrat; and perhaps a dormitory in the convent might have been as comfortless as the quarto in the venta. Next morning, at day-break, I left the village on muleback, and arrived in Barcellona in sufficient time to make one at the hospitable board of Mr. Annesley, nephew of Earl Annesley, and his Britannic Majesty’s consul at Barcellona, whose many kindnesses, gentlemanly attentions, and unwearied hospitality, I eagerly and gratefully acknowledge.

My journey in Spain now approached its conclusion,—I had only to travel from Barcellona to the frontier; and as the general aspect of the country could be seen as well by rapid as by slow travelling, I resolved to take advantage of the public conveyance, and left Barcellona by the Diligence, for Perpignan, some hours before day-break. The year had already expired, but winter had scarcely made itself felt. The mornings and evenings, indeed, had been chilly enough to turn one’s thoughts towards the comforts of a fire; and once or twice at Barcellona, when I walked round the ramparts before breakfast, I observed a thin covering of ice upon the pools; but there had been no rains,—the days were clear and sun-shining; and one might liken the season to a dry month of March in England,—only with fewer clouds.

It is scarcely possible to conceive a more beautiful drive than between Barcellona and Gerona. The road keeps near to the sea all the way, and an enchanting country lies on the left. You pass through a succession of little plains, each from half a mile to three miles across, and each containing a village. These plains lie in little recesses of the mountains, which screen them behind, and separate them from each other, leaving one side open to the sea. They are covered with the finest vegetation, which advances within twenty yards of the sea, and are generally skirted by a hedge of aloes, that runs all along the coast. Between these plains the hills run forward into the sea, generally terminating in perpendicular cliffs; and the road, after traversing the green level, approaches close to the sea, and is carried along the front of the precipice, till having passed the barrier, it then descends into another of these little smiling recesses. These plains were covered with beautiful and promising crops when I passed through them; and round the villages, beds of every kind of vegetable,—cauliflower, cabbage, carrot, onion, and pease, shewed excellent crops, all ready for the kitchen. Every house, the centre of its own little farm, has a draw-well in its neighbourhood, from which the land is supplied. Some of these villages were singularly beautiful, particularly Cardetta, hanging upon some heights above the sea, with its little fertile plain,—all that the mountains would allow to it,—lying at its feet. These heights were entirely covered with the prickly pear, the last I saw; and near that village I also saw the last palm tree; but it was of stunted growth, not the stately and branchy palm of Elche.

The difference between the villages and cottages of Catalunia, and of the other provinces of Spain, is seen at a glance; and in the state of the inhabitants, the difference is equally striking. The houses and cottages have an air of greater neatness and comfort,—there is glass in the windows, and the insides display the articles of furniture in common use. No beggars, and fewer ragged people are seen,—industry is evidently active,—stones are removed from the ground, and collected in heaps,—fences are more general, and more neatly constructed,—nobody is seen basking in the sun,—even the women and girls who are tending the cattle, are not sitting idly wrapped up in plaids, but every one has her spindle in her hand. In short there is altogether a new order of things.

We breakfasted at Mataro, a considerable and once a flourishing sea-port, famous for the excellence of its wine; and, till lately, famous for its linens and laces, which were exported to the colonies; and about mid-day we left the sea-coast, and entered the mountains. New and charming scenes awaited us in passing through these mountains to Gerona. Covered with stately pine, their sides were also clothed with the richest underwood of evergreens, flowering shrubs, and fragrant plants; among which the beautiful arbutus was particularly distinguished. After emerging from the mountains, we entered the fertile and sheltered valley of Gerona, where we arrived about sunset. This was once a place of importance, now chiefly attested in the number of its religious edifices, for here there are no fewer than thirteen churches, besides the cathedral and eleven convents. The bishopric is richer than that of Barcellona. At Gerona we supped, and slept, and set out next morning about day-break.

Between Gerona and Figueras, I saw nothing that deserves to be recorded, excepting the change in temperature; a bitter wind blew off the Pyrennees, and reminded me that I had left the regions of the south behind; and when we reached Figueras I hailed a blazing fire upon the hearth, with the satisfaction of a northern traveller. The fuel here, attracted my notice; it was a thin dark cake, which, upon inquiry, I found to be the refuse of the olive, after it is pressed, and which, I have no doubt, might be given with advantage to the cattle. I learned, however, that it is not put to this purpose, though it is given to pigs and poultry. The price of this cake is sixteen reals (3s. 4d.) the 100 lb. It is singular, that at this town, so near the frontier, the inn should still be in all respects, the Spanish posada: it is just as little French as the posada of Murcia or Andalusia: the fire still blazes in the middle of the floor; coffee and tea are still unattainable; and meat is to be found not in the inn, but in the market: how numerous and expressive must be the shrugs of the Frenchman who makes Figueras his first halting place. Caffé au lait, or coutelettes, are alike out of the question.

From Figueras to Junquera, the last town in Spain, I passed through a pleasant undulating country, and then entered the valley that lies under the Pyrenees,—a valley not fertile, but picturesque, traversed by a small mountain stream, covered with the olive and the cork tree, and winding into the recesses of the mighty barrier that shuts out the Peninsula from the rest of the world. Rising above the valley, I found myself inclosed among the mountains, and leaving Spain behind; I had left the carriage, to walk up the steep ascent; and soon, Bellegarde, upon the summit of the pass, and the pillars that mark the boundary of the kingdoms, appeared in sight. The valley behind was still visible through the defile; and as I turned round to look upon Spain for the last time, a thousand recollections and vague fancies crowded upon my mind. I felt a sensation something like pride, in having traversed Spain. Much I had seen to interest, much to delight, much to lament, much to remember; and as I turned away, regret was not unmingled with my other feelings. As I pursued my way up the mountains, that had now shut out the view of the valleys below, Spain, as fancy had once pictured it—and Spain, as I had seen it, rose successively to my memory. But it pleased me to discover, that romance had outlived reality, or was mingled with it; for the fragrant, and palmy valleys of Spain, still lay among the regions of fiction; Seville retained in my mind, its character of a fabled city; the Sierra Morena was yet traversed by the knight of La Mancha; and Spain, with all its realities before me, was still the land of romance.