We drive to see the queen's garden, where is every tropical tree and flower. This, with other gardens, borders upon the Alameda, a broad, shady promenade extending three miles to the sea. There is another promenade called the "Glorieta," where the band plays every morning from nine to eleven. We see, also, the Plaza de Toros, (the arena for the bull-fights,) one of the finest in Spain, capable of holding twenty thousand people; built so exactly like a Roman amphitheatre that we feel as if we looked upon the Colosseum in the days of its glory. It is evident that these people inherit the love of this their national pastime from their Roman ancestors. Happily, the fashion is dying out. In Valencia, the bull-fights occur but once or twice a year. They are now making preparations for a three days' "funcion," to begin on the 24th. We saw the poor horses doomed to death. Forty a day is the average number. The men are rarely killed, but often badly hurt.
Wednesday, September 16.
This morning we go to the markets to see the wonderful display of fruits for which Valencia is so famous. Never were such grapes and peaches, melons and figs, oranges and lemons, apples and pears, the last as fine as could be seen in all New England; the nuts and vegetables equally good. Potatoes, and tomatoes, and peppers, of mammoth size, and even the Indian corn and rice as good as those of America. But even the Spanish gravity is here upset at sight of our round hats, short veils, and parasols. The women hold their their sides with laughter, and we are driven to resolve upon wearing mantillas and fans, which fashion we soon after, in self-defence, adopt. We go to the shops to buy fans, which are a specialty of Valencia, as are also the beautiful striped blankets, (mantas,) which are as indispensable to a Valencian as the fan is to the Valencienne; and is at once his cloak, his bag, his bed, his coverlet, and his towel. They say of a Valencian, that he has two uses for a watermelon—to eat his dinner, and make his toilette. After eating the melon, he washes his face with the rind, and wipes upon his manta. They wear it slung gracefully over the left shoulder, or over both shoulders, the ends falling behind; and over the head-handkerchief is often worn the pointed hat of Philip II.'s time, with wide, turned-up brim.
To-day we visit the cathedral and San Juanes. Like most of the great churches of Spain, the cathedral occupies the site of a Roman temple. This, made into a church by the Goths, was changed to a mosque by the Arabs, and now (since 1240) it is again a Christian church. Some of the doors, and many of the ornaments, are Moorish. The gratings—of brass—are very handsome; as are the altars and screen, of marble and alabaster. This last is most abundant in Spain. A palace opposite to our hotel (that of the Marquis de los Aguas) is beautifully adorned on the outside with statues, and vases, and flowers of alabaster in relievo.
All these Spanish churches are much ornamented with stucco and gilding, according to the taste of the time in which they were built. The cathedral has some good pictures in the sacristy; and within the sanctuary hang the spurs of Don Jaime upon his shield. His body is in one of the chapels.
In an old chapter-house we were shown some great chains taken from the Moors, and a series of portraits of all the archbishops of Valencia; and so much is it the habit to gesticulate in this country, that even these dignitaries, instead of being painted in ecclesiastical attitudes, have their fingers in every imaginable position. One must know their expressive language to read what each of these worthies may be saying.
After some shopping, we go to call upon the present archbishop, a graceful and dignified person, who received us most kindly, and presented us each a chapelette and scapular. He has a grand old palace, very plainly furnished; a pretty chapel; and, in a fine old hall, with groined roof, were portraits of his predecessors from the sixth century to the present day.
We have a visit from the English consul, to whom we brought letters. He is very kind and friendly, and full of offers of service. The Spanish sun seems to have warmed the English heart, which seldom gives out so much, save in its own foggy island. He sends us some fine wine, which, with some iced orgeat, secures us a merry evening.
Thursday, 17.
This morning we hear mass in the Church of the Patriarch, into which no woman may enter without being veiled. Then we visit the house in which St. Vincent Ferrer, the patron of Valencia, was born, and where is a fountain greatly esteemed for its miraculous powers.