A little further on we came upon an avenue of dry poplars, bordering a small sluggish stream, through which was seen a telescopic view of hot, yellow hills beyond, dotted here and there with rare patches of green, as if the genius of fecundity, in flying over them, had by accident occasionally dropped from his cornucopia a huge bunch of cress. By the side of a ditch, we observed hundreds of washerwomen on their knees, washing shirts in mud, with a large stone. The chattering they made induced "our bore," whom we suddenly met on the bridge, to observe that "there seemed to be a great deal more talking about one thing and another than about anything else." What he meant, goodness knows! A little beyond, was a boy on his stomach, drinking from the stream, not, like the wolf in the fable, above the lamb, here typified by the washerwomen, but below. No wonder cholera is more than usually fatal in Spain, for, certainly, many of their practices invite the approach of pestilence!
It seems an innocent practice enough, the taking notes occasionally in a pocket-book; but here, in the Peninsula, it is rather nervous work. For example, we had scarcely finished a few lines in pencil on one occasion, when we became aware of the close proximity of two gendarmes, who were both looking aslant over our shoulder, into the book. For half an hour or so, they followed us persistently wherever we went, occasionally stopping and conferring earnestly together, until we feared we were going to be apprehended and thrown into a dungeon for plotting against Queen Isabel, now dethroned, and taking notes of the weak points in the character of her government and people, of which, by the way, the mode of washing linen is one.
In all the walks outside Valladolid, everything reminds us forcibly of the East, and affords evidence of the Oriental descent of the Spaniard. There is, in fact, much truth in the assertion that Spain is but l'Afrique qui continue. There are the same hot, white, dusty roads, bordered by feathery acacias, and giving birth to the aloe; the same brazen, dry, and wide sandy plains and stunted trees. There are many of the same flat-roofed houses, against whose dazzling walls the fig and oleander cast their shadows. There are the same brown, semi-nude urchins, shouting Arabic-sounding words and whacking mules harnessed with coloured drapery.
When we look towards the town, we see vast convent walls standing defiantly, as those of fortresses, and pile after pile of great square buildings, domes, and towers, rising against the blue, sleepy sky in all their solemn beauty. When we enter the city, and walk along the cool high streets, leaving the sultry plains behind us baking in dust and glare, the eye turns upon old palaces converted into barracks and alms-houses, and upon Moorish courts and Gothic halls, apparently tenantless of any one save flea-bitten beggars, mumbling Babel only knows what language, who crawl about, scratching themselves, half asleep, amidst princely porticoes and noble columns. Everywhere we observe groups of graceful, hooded women, men swathed in red sash, striped cloak, and yellow shirt, looking out keenly from beneath the sombrero's shade. The Spaniard seems to delight in gaudy hues. Mules are clad in gay trappings, and the houses are painted in bright colours; yet everywhere, too, we see dirt, decay, and sloth, and are repelled by abominable smells.
In our rambles we went past the façade of the church of San Pablo, the stone ornaments of which are like lace-work executed three hundred years ago. This, one of the finest façades in Castile, was begun in the fifteenth century by the Abbot of Valladolid, Fr. Juan de Torquemada, and finished by the Duke of Lerma at the beginning of the seventeenth century. We passed into the beautiful patio and court of the Colegio de San Gregorio, and walked amidst the tall spiral pillarets, supporting Gothic arches, light and lovely. We then sauntered up the rich staircase, with its carved stone balustrades, diminishing away in needle-like delicacy, and looked out upon the open court with all its chiselled galleries. Even in these beautiful structures neglect was visible. Weeds in many places covered the marble, and the smell of death seemed somehow to linger around.
To a dreamy mind, or to one which easily vibrates to a touch of poetry, it is a grand luxury to turn into those fine old churches, where the light is subdued and the air is cool, from the scorching sun and glare without. We thus, occasionally, lifted the curtain, and passed under the porch of the cathedral of Valladolid. Its enormous square Corinthian columns stand in all their granite strength, as if to outwatch the world. The colour prevailing in this church is grey and sober. There is something grand and harmonious in its huge proportions; but in its simplicity it appears more like some massive sepulchre of the past than the temple of an ostentatious religion. Scattered groups of women are kneeling before the altars, and the still forms of devotees are bending on the cold pavement. Brazen gates and lofty railings surround the choir, through which coloured figures move indistinctly, as in a dream. There is some magnificent dark oak carving. Clusters of tapers pierce through the gloom, and the melancholy chaunt of distant choristers echoes softly through the aisles. Out again into a sunny market-place, with gipsy-like women squatting on the ground, amongst the melons and tomatoes, the pots and pans. Dirty though graceful men, smoking cigarettes, and entangled in rusty cloaks, with their heads tied up in gaudy kerchiefs, are lounging about in picturesque squalor; while others in black sombrero, velveteen breeches, and jacket adorned with metal buttons, are lading great mules, decked in vivid housings. Farther on are more Moorish-looking women, with pitcher on head, resting by a fountain side; and above are little boys, perched in the belfries, clanging the church bells with hearty good-will.
The Spaniard is certainly very courteous by nature, and although generally shy of foreigners, most anxious to please them when he finds them chez lui, and to send them away with good impressions both of his country and of himself. We were looking, on one occasion, at some monument in the town, when two young gentlemen of finished manners suddenly addressed us by raising their hats, and after politely offering us cigarettes, requested us to oblige them by an inspection of their club. Of course we were glad to do so. This establishment, which we found to be cool and comfortable enough, consisted of a suite of lofty rooms, decorated à la Watteau, filled with little knots of polite young men of easy manners, all dressed very soberly in black cloth, and with remarkably tall hats of the latest Parisian fashion. Most of them were chatting, playing cards, or smoking the cigarette, around a small billiard table, with very large balls and a set of skittles in the centre. A small fireplace, recently put up, was introduced to our notice, and we were favoured with a description of its functions, which could not have been given with greater pride if it had been some grand scientific discovery intended to enlighten and benefit the world. After we had been entertained for a short time, we took leave of this society of very pleasant young gentlemen, who again took off their tall hats as we bowed to them, exchanged expressions of undying respect, and favoured us with a few more cigarillos.
Spaniards seem to be generally very accommodating persons; but they must never be hurried, and never asked twice for a light for the same cigarette. They are ordinarily reserved, and have a keen sense of private dignity; but when treated with perfect consideration, are most gracious in return. Their politeness may proceed, perhaps, from a sense of patriotic obligation more than from any serious love for your person.
The ladies possess the same characteristics, and although exacting as to formalities, are generally agreeable and good-natured. It must be admitted, however, that they are very idle, entirely lacking the quick vivacity and wit of their lively neighbours, the French. The languid blood of their Moorish ancestors, and their sultry, oppressive climate, may account greatly for the indolence which is common to both sexes.