We had made considerable progress, and were now about seventy miles from our journey's end,
With the morning upon us so fresh and fair,
While a breeze sings soft through the ambient air,
People wonder to find it there,—
In a place so hot as Almanza.
About twenty miles beyond that place, as well as we could judge in our rapid course, the vegetation began to improve, and the olives appeared to have a fresher hue, a more vigorous growth. The country, too, became more picturesque, diversified as it was occasionally by rocky hills. We passed, also, what appeared to be deserted villages. For a time, however, this part of the country could not be seen to great advantage, as we had frequently to pass through dark tunnels and deep cuttings. Here and there was an attempt at a vineyard or two, in which the stunted shrubs seemed to grow with great difficulty among the stones and sand. One village which we remarked, pitched on a mountain slope, seemed to be the very place for a band of bandits. The gaps of savage highlands were backed in the distance by purple lines of remote scenery, pencilled, as it seemed, along the sky. The nakedness of the hills was concealed by the pine trees with which their slopes were covered.
The next place we reached was the old brown, tumble-down town of Mogente, basking in a sunlit valley, where grow Indian corn and the prickly pear. Low, whitewashed, terraced cortijos, or farm-houses, are scattered upon the rocky slopes, while high over the vale topple some broken towers of the ancient Moor. Onwards we went, across ravines, dry watercourses, and long, straight, white roads, bordered by stone-pines, the olive, and the mulberry. Country people of an Arab-looking aspect, brown, red-sashed, and semi-nude, were jogging along in the sun and dust on sturdy, gaily-dressed mules. Bold peaks, topped with ruined castles, frequently appeared suspended above us as we moved onwards at a rapid rate. The abundant vegetation afforded evidence that we were now in the midst of a more luxuriant soil; while from across the wide garden-like plains, distinguished by that long dark line of sapphire in the distance, the breath of the Mediterranean at length fell soothingly upon the brow.
As we drew towards our journey's end we passed several more towns, but so rapidly that they seemed like the phantoms of a dream. We could descry, however, their rich churches and spiring campanarios nestling amongst deep green bowers. At one point of our progress we observed a long Moorish wall, with its ancient battlements, scaling in yellow zig-zags the steep mountain's side, till it joined a fortress on the summit. White tombs, shaded by mournful cypress, sometimes reminded us of Eastern lands. In all directions the stately palm-tree waves aloft its graceful plumage, and the orange first greets the eye, while lonely convents are seen perched like eagles' eyries high on rocky summits, looking down upon a paradise of brilliant green, and fruits of gold, spread in the fertile vale below. The glowing plains, and the waving lines of the light grey hills, are all lit up by sparkling villages, silver streamlets, and the rays of the glorious sun. Onwards we speed through groves of the feathering palm, with their grape-like clusters of yellow dates, through bowers of deep green foliage, and through corn and rice-fields. We dash rapidly through high walled Moorish towns, with the palm-trees rising in their warm streets, in which are reposing from their toil Bedouin-like figures; and over patches of stony waste land, sown with great aloes and the Indian fig. On one side are thick plantations of bamboo and cane, and on the other gardens of lemons, melons, and rosy pomegranate. In fact, the approach to Valencia, the Sultana of Spanish cities, is in Europe, perhaps, well-nigh unrivalled. The curtain rises, as we have seen, upon stony wastes and desert plains, and falls upon all that tropical vegetation which is peculiar to the beauteous climate and rich soil of Eastern Spain. This is the busiest part of the country; and besides the orange, lemon, palm, cactus, and pomegranate, we find rice, flax, corn, pepper, and tobacco growing in wild luxuriance, until the white gates of Valencia open to receive us.
On descending from the train, near the beautiful classic circle of the Plaza de los Toros, we jumped into a Tartana [21]—a wonderful black vehicle, hooded over, like a gondola on wheels, or a cart in which they carry away the dead in time of plague—and on we rattled, trying very hard to look as if we enjoyed the peculiar sensation produced by the absence of springs. The pavement resembled nothing on earth, unless it were the roadway of Regent Street as it might appear strewn with stones from a druidical circle. It was perfectly useless attempting to smoke, for the cigarette was just as likely to enter the eye or the ear as the mouth. Thus we jolted and bumped on through cool lofty streets, so narrow that the rays of the sun, save for one hour of the day, can never visit their depths. Here we were again in a thoroughly Spanish town. The houses were painted in brilliant colours, pink, blue, green, and red, and there were numerous balconies, from which blinds, and mats, and carpets, of every hue, were drooping.
On we jolted, swinging round sharp angles, bringing quaint old houses of ancient grandees into sudden view before us, and ever and anon coming upon noble churches, sculptured over with wondrous devices up to the topmost towers, that reeled with the clang of bells. Again we dived sharply into a labyrinth of dark narrow alleys, swarming with busy crowds, with all the goods and wares half out into the street, and filling the dilapidated balconies—a scene of life and bustle which nothing can rival, save the bazaars of Smyrna or Stamboul. With a fearful bump we swung round a church corner in the bright, gay, open sunlight into squares whose spacious mansions look down upon gardens of palms, trumpet-flowers, aloes, acacias, and oleanders, all watered by the spray from marble fountains, springing up high in the midst. In a few minutes, however, we were down again into a narrow, picturesque, and dirty calle, filled with priests with shovel-hats, Murillo-like urchins, all rags and grins, gaudy mules, and men dressed in breeches, sash, and broad velvet sombreros, with long coloured mantas thrown gracefully across their shoulders; while, high above, the opposite eaves of the dark wooden houses nearly meet, exhibiting between them only a long band of deep blue sky.