Читать книгу Spain in 1830 (Vol. 1&2) - Henry D. Inglis - Страница 6

Table of Contents

Waggon travelling; Scenery; Bills of Fare, and Expenses; second Visit to Vittoria; Departure for Madrid; the Ebro; Privileges of the Military; Old Castile; Husbandry; Burgos; Beggars; Posadas; Traits of Misery in a Castilian Village; New Castile; Quixotic Adventure; the Somo-sierra and Approach to the Capital; Sketches of the Environs, and Arrival in Madrid; Information for Travellers.

Upon those roads in Spain where there are no diligences, the traveller may generally find an ordinario, or galera; two kinds of waggons, the former without, the latter commonly, but not always, with springs, in either of which he may be accommodated with a place—a seat I can scarcely call it—at a price, moderate in comparison with the enormous expense of hiring a private conveyance. In one of these ordinarios, I left Bilbao for Vittoria, by a road different from that by which I had already travelled. Nothing can be more luxurious than travelling by a waggon on springs during hot weather: neither diligence nor private carriage can be compared with it: it is open before and behind, so that there is a fine current of air; it is covered above, so that the sun is excluded, and the traveller may lie all his length upon clean straw. As for the rate of travelling, it is not indeed very rapid; but fifty miles a day is a sufficient distance for one who is desirous of seeing the country he passes through: waggons with springs, however, are much more rarely to be met with, than those without them; and the jolting, of course, neutralizes in part the other advantages I have named.

Leaving Bilbao, the road winds through a narrow valley among hills covered to the summit with oak, and rising to the height of between 2000 and 3000 feet; the valley, varying in breadth from one to two miles, is every where cultivated; the crops, even at this early period, were already partly reaped; and in many places the country people were busy in the fields. Every where around, there was much picturesque beauty and many rural pictures: a little rivulet flowed in capricious turnings through the valley; and as Biscayan industry always carries a road straight forward, whatever obstacles are encountered, the stream was spanned every few hundred yards by a stone bridge, built in the form of an aqueduct, and generally grown over with ivy: fine old Spanish chestnut trees were scattered over the meadows that bordered the stream, and here and there groups of cattle stood, or lay under them. This kind of scenery continued the same for about six leagues, when we stopped at a small town to dine, and refresh the mules. At this village we were destined to fare ill. We were ushered into a room where a priest, and two other persons, had finished what seemed by its wrecks to have been an excellent repast: and the table was immediately cleared to make way for our entertainment: silver spoons and forks, handsome wine decanters, of crystal gilt, and clean napkins, seemed to announce something respectable; but the dinner, when it appeared, consisted of a little cold fish, and the bones—literally the bones, of the chickens which the priest and his friends had picked! I made my way into the kitchen, and discovering a fine fat hen roasting, and almost ready for the table, I began to repent my too hasty condemnation of the entertainment; but upon telling the master that the fowl was sufficiently roasted, I was informed that it was not for me, but for the muleteer, who in Spain always fares better than those whom he conducts. I was forced, therefore, to return to the cold fish and chicken bones, for which the landlord had the effrontery to charge twelve reals. I paid him, however, only one half of his demand, and got into the waggon, followed only by a few Biscayan growls.

After leaving this town, we began to ascend the mountains which separate Biscay Proper from the province of Alava. In passing these mountains, a curious illusion is produced by the extreme whiteness of the stone which composes the peaks of some of the Biscayan range. It is scarcely possible to persuade oneself that these are not snow peaks; nothing indeed but a previous knowledge of the elevation of this range, and of the consequent impossibility of snow lying upon it, could dismiss the illusion. A little before dusk we alighted at the parador at Vittoria, where, as the Infante was no longer an inmate, I found comfortable accommodation. At this hotel, and at all the posadas between Bayonne and Madrid, in connexion with the establishment of the royal diligences, there is a tariff of prices, which I shall here transcribe, for the information of those who may wish to know something of the expenses of travelling in this part of Spain.

Desayuno, which means a slight morning’s repast, and which may consist either of a cup of chocolate, tea, or coffee, with bread; or of two eggs, with bread and wine, is charged two reals, or five pence.

Almuerzo (Dejeuné a la fourchette), eight reals.

Comida (Dinner), twelve reals, or 2s. 6d. This being the most important meal, the tariff specifies the articles of which it must consist, though, for some of these, equivalents are allowed. The following is the bill of fare:—Soup; an olla, or puchero, which is composed of fowl, bacon, beef, sausage, Spanish peas, and pot-herbs; a fritter, or ham and eggs; two dishes of dressed meat; a pudding; pepper in the pod, dressed with a sauce; small white beans (haricots); a roast; a salad; a dessert of three dishes; a glass of brandy; and bread and wine at discretion. Melon is not included in the dessert of three dishes; this fruit is not eaten in the north of Spain at the dessert, but is introduced after soup. The dinner, it must be admitted, is sufficiently abundant; but, considering the low price of provisions, it is not cheap. The only one of these dishes which a stranger can eat, is the most truly Spanish among them—the puchero—because it is the only one in which there is neither oil nor garlic. The tariff also provides for the traveller’s comfort in bed; this is charged at four reals (10d.), and the following articles are ordered to be provided: a straw mattress; another of wool; two clean sheets; two pillows, and clean pillow-cases; a quilt; and, in winter, a blanket. All that the tariff enjoins, is rigidly complied with; and, whereever there is a tariff, the traveller may always depend upon a sufficient meal, a clean bed, and a just charge.

Vittoria may at present be considered a decayed town. Ever since the war of independence, it has been a falling place; and this may be easily accounted for, from the insecurity of possessions in a town lying so near the French frontier. At the time when Napoleon threatened to annex to France all that part of Spain which lies to the north of the Ebro, many left Vittoria; and several persons exchanged their estates in that neighbourhood, for possessions farther in the interior. At present, there are numerous houses untenanted, and not a few in a state of ruin; and the manufactures of which Vittoria formerly could boast, now scarcely exist—no one being disposed to sink capital in establishing that which the first commotion upon the frontier might be the means of destroying.

I experienced some difficulties at Vittoria with my passport. I had intended to have entered Spain by Perpignan, but having changed my intention, I was in possession of only a French provisional passport, backed by the Spanish Consul at Bayonne. I was at first told, that I could not be allowed to proceed; but, upon producing a letter of recommendation, from Lord Aberdeen to Mr. Addington, the British Minister at Madrid, the difficulties were overcome, and I was permitted to proceed.

I was detained two days in Vittoria, waiting a vacant place in the Madrid diligence, which I stepped into at three o’clock on the morning of the third day; and, after a few hours’ drive through a well-cultivated corn country, we reached Miranda, and, crossing the Ebro, entered old Castile. The Ebro is here a very insignificant stream, little resembling the majestic river which I afterwards crossed in Catalunia; but the interest with which a river is regarded, is of a borrowed kind; even where the traveller is able to step over it, it is invested with a dignity commensurate with its future destinies. But the Ebro, even if it were possible to deprive it of that charm which is common to every great river when beheld near its source, has claims peculiarly its own; it is full of historic recollections—it gave its name to the whole of ancient Spain—and memory, set sail upon its waters, floats towards the empires of Carthage and of Rome. And the Ebro possesses still another source of interest to all who visit Spain; for it is upon its banks that we are first reminded of the exploits of the valorous Knight of La Mancha, and of the undying genius of Cervantes—one of whose happiest inventions is the fancy of his hero, that his boat, floating down the Ebro, has crossed the equinoctial; and the proof of this, which he demands of Sancho.

I had been told that on entering old Castile we should be subjected to a rigorous custom-house search; but in Spain, such matters always depend upon circumstances. A Colonel in the Spanish service chanced to occupy a seat in the diligence; and no custom-house officer in Spain, dare to put a person holding a military commission to a moment’s inconvenience. The consequence was, that in place of being detained three hours upon the bridge, until every package should be lowered and opened, the Colonel merely thrust his arm out of the window; and the custom-house officers, seeing around his wrist the proofs of his military rank, doffed their caps, and stood back; and the diligence passed on. Superior military rank in the Spanish service is not indicated by more gorgeous trappings: the Colonel discards the epaulets, and is known by two narrow stripes round the wrist, while the General merely invests his loins with a crimson girdle.

Upon first entering Castile, the country affords some promise of interest. We traverse a narrow defile, guarded by precipitous and majestic rocks, and are pleased by the picturesque views which are caught at intervals on both sides; but this defile does not extend more than a league in length, and we then enter upon an open and flat corn country, which stretches all the way to Burgos. The soil in this tract of land appeared to be very unequal. I saw whole fields covered with thistles, among which flocks of sheep were picking a scanty meal; and, although I was unable to judge of the productiveness of other parts by the growing crops, the harvest being in many places already gathered, I observed vast heaps of grain every half league or less; part of it thrashed and winnowed, and part going through these operations. All through both the Castiles, the grain is not housed; large flat spots, one or two hundred yards across, are selected for its reception—here it is thrashed and winnowed; the former operation being performed by passing over it a sledge with a curved bottom, drawn by one mule, which is guided by a woman who stands upon the sledge, and who facilitates the operation by her weight. This custom of keeping the grain in the open air, adds much to the labour of the husbandman: if rain come, there is no remedy but to cover the grain-heaps with cloths—a very ineffectual protection against the torrents that sometimes descend from Spanish skies; and when the rain ceases, it is necessary again to spread the grain, and expose it to the influence of the sun.

We reached Burgos early in the afternoon, and the short interval allowed us there, sufficed for a glance at the cathedral. In its exterior, the cathedral of Burgos will yield to no other in Spain: in the number, and elegance of the pinnacles which surmount it, it surpasses them all; but the interior, although remarkable for the beauty of the workmanship with which in some parts it is decorated, and although entitled to rank among the most magnificent temples dedicated to religion, is yet inferior to the cathedrals both of Toledo and of Seville, in grandeur, as well as in richness; and as I purposed seeing both of these cathedrals, I regreted less, the impossibility of examining minutely, the cathedral of Burgos. The little that I saw of Burgos pleased me; and had I not subsequently visited Toledo, I should have set down Burgos as the best specimen I had seen of an old Castilian city: but in this, Toledo stands unrivalled.

Between Burgos and Lerma, I passed through vast tracts of uncultivated, and much of it, uncultivable land, mostly covered with a thick underwood of aromatic and medicinal plants; in some parts, the perfume from these was so strong, that I could scarcely believe myself to be elsewhere than in an apothecary’s shop. I found all this part of Old Castile very scantily peopled; and the quantity of cultivated land seemed to be quite equal to the probable demand upon its produce. At night-fall we reached Lerma, where a comfortable posada received us. We were beset at the door by a crowd of ragged beggars, who however, urged their claims scarcely more obtrusively than the poor Franciscan monk of Sterne, who crossed his hands upon his breast, and retired. The Spanish beggar is unlike the beggar of every other country, in this—that he is easily repulsed; he seldom urges his claim twice; but indeed, his raggedness, and apparent destitution, often render a second appeal unnecessary. I observed that every one of these beggars wore three or four necklaces, and several rings—baubles, no doubt blessed at the shrine of some saint. In the posada at Lerma, I found iron bedsteads, a most acceptable discovery in a hot climate; and the supper table was both neatly laid out, and well provided. The miseries of an Andalusian Venta were yet in reserve. Between Vittoria and Madrid, the traveller has little cause of complaint; I always found a clean bed, and something upon the table, of which it was possible to make a tolerable meal. There is only one part of the arrangement defective: in place of supping when the diligence arrives, there is generally an interval of two hours, which might be spent in sleep, if the arrangements were better. In all the posadas upon this road, the traveller pays for dinner and supper whether he partakes of them or not: this is what the Spaniards call indemnificacion, which is charged at two-thirds of the price of the meal. This indemnification I think perfectly fair; were it otherwise, the traveller could find nothing upon his arrival; for upon a road where there are no travellers, the innkeeper dare not trust to the appetites, or will, of those who arrive by the diligence; because if his meal should be rejected, he could find no other market for it.

The country to the south of Lerma is a desert; indeed it is nothing better than a desert that stretches between the Ebro and the Douro. I passed this latter river at Aranda; a small, wretched place, full of misery and rags; and afterwards traversed extensive woods of chestnut and ilex, which stretch three or four leagues to the foot of a low sierra, which is the natural boundary between Old and New Castile. Soon after entering this sierra, I passed through the most miserable village that I have seen in any part of Spain: it is quite impossible for one who has never seen the very lowest of the Spanish poor, to form the smallest conception of the general appearance of the inhabitants of this village. I saw between two and three hundred persons; and among these, there was not one, whose rags half covered his nakedness. Men and women were like bundles of ill-assorted shreds and patches of a hundred hues and sizes; and as for the children, I saw several entirely naked, and many that might as well have been without their tattered coverings. I threw a few biscuits among the children; and the eagerness with which they fought for, and devoured them, reminded me rather of young wolves than of human beings. The badness of the pavement, and the steepness of the street, made it necessary for the diligence to go slowly; and I profited by the delay to look into one or two of the miserable abodes of these unfortunate beings. I found a perfect unison between the dweller and his dwelling: I could not see one article of furniture; no table, no chair: a few large stones supplied the place of the latter; for the former there was no occasion; and something resembling a mattress upon the mud floor, was the bed of the family. Leaving this village, I noticed two stone pillars, and a wooden pole across, indicating that the proprietor possesses the power of life and death within his own domain. I forget the name of the grandee at whose door lies all this misery; but if the power of life and death be his, and if he cannot make the former more tolerable, it would be humanity to inflict the latter.

A short distance beyond this village, we passed into New Castile, and stopped for the night at a small hamlet at the entrance of the Somo Sierra. Here, I cannot refrain from relating a somewhat ludicrous incident that took place during the night. The chamber in which I slept, was divided from another smaller chamber merely by a curtain; and this inner room was occupied by a young Spaniard. We retired to our respective beds about the same hour, and I was speedily fast asleep. Some time during the night, I was awoke by loud, and most uncommon noises; and when I was sufficiently awake to be master of my senses, I discovered that the noises proceeded from the adjacent chamber; but the nature of the noise was such, as set at defiance all conjecture as to its cause. I heard the stamping of feet, the clanking of spurs, and the strokes of some heavy instrument; but the combatants, whoever they were, fought in silence, for not a word was uttered. I need scarcely say that sounds so unaccountable in my immediate vicinity, excited my utmost curiosity; and stealing out of bed, I groped my way to the door leading into the passage, that I might obtain a light; this, I soon procured, and returning to the scene of action, I found the noises as loud and as strange as ever. I cautiously drew aside the curtain, and a spectacle was revealed almost worthy of Don Quixote. There stood the Spaniard in his shirt, booted and spurred, his cloak thrown over one arm, and the other, dealing blows right and left with a naked sword. I was about to make a hasty retreat, conceiving the unfortunate gentleman to be in a state of derangement, when he called out to me to give him a light, and at the same time ceased battle. The explanation is this—not being able to get off his boots, my companion had lain down booted and spurred; and as was his usual custom, he had deposited a sword near his bed; he was awoke by the tread of several rats over his face; at least so he asserted; and in a state between sleeping and waking, he had jumped from bed, grasped his sword, seized his cloak as a buckler, and commenced warfare. But for my own part, I believe the action of the Spaniard to have begun in sleep, and to have been the result of a dream. We were afterwards intimately acquainted, and saw each other almost every day while I remained in Madrid; and we often laughed together at the recollection of the Quixotic adventure in the posada.

We left the village where we had slept, some hours before day-break. I never beheld a more refulgent moon than shone that night. I was never before able to distinguish colours by moonlight; but this night, the scene presented almost the distinctness and variety of a sunlit landscape, with the soft and dewy mellowness of a tenderer light. The scenery of the Somo-Sierra is rocky, wild and dreary; robbers are occasionally seen here; and the diligence had taken two additional guards from the last village. Before day-break we had passed the Sierra, and we then entered upon the wide arid desert, in the centre of which stands the capital of Spain. As we approached Madrid, we passed long trains of mules, laden with cut straw for the use of the mules in the metropolis; and we also passed some trains laden with bales of goods, every mule having a carabine slung by its side.

From the Somo-Sierra to the gates of Madrid, a distance of nearly thirty miles, there is not a tree to be seen: not a garden; not one country house; scarcely an isolated farm-house or cottage, and only three or four very inconsiderable villages. Great part of the land is uncultivated, and that part of it which is laboured, and which produces grain, is mostly covered with weeds and stones. In the midst of this desert stands Madrid, which is not visible until you approach within less than two leagues of the gate. Its appearance from this side is not striking: the city seems small; and although we may count upwards of 50 spires and towers, none of these are so elevated or imposing, as to awaken curiosity like that which is felt when we first discover the towers of some of the temples dedicated to religion, in others of the Spanish cities. If the traveller turned his back upon Madrid when within half a mile of the gates, he might still believe himself to be a hundred miles from any habitation: the road stretches away, speckled only by a few mules; there are no carriages; no horsemen; scarcely even a pedestrian: there is, in fact, not one sign of vicinity to a great city.

I entered Madrid about mid-day, and after a very slight examination of luggage at the custom-house, I took up my residence at the Cruz de Malta. There are only two hotels in Madrid that are habitable—the Cruz de Malta, and the Fontaña de Oro—but both of these are as far as possible from being comfortable. I was charged at the Cruz de Malta, the extraordinary sum of 60 reals, 12s. 6d., for one room, for one day; a charge that immediately suggested to me the propriety of establishing myself in private lodgings as speedily as possible.

Before concluding this chapter, let me say a single word respecting the mode and conveniences, and expenses of travelling from Bayonne to Madrid. There are only a few roads in Spain that are passable for carriages, and these of course connect the great towns. These roads are, from Madrid to Bayonne—from Madrid to Seville—from Madrid to Zaragossa and Barcellona—from Madrid to Valentia—from Madrid to Salamanca—and from Madrid to Portugal. There are also a few others from one provincial town to another; such as from Valencia to Barcellona—from Barcellona to the frontier—from Burgos to Valladolid, and perhaps two or three others. There are not more than twelve roads in Spain passable for a four-wheeled carriage; and upon all of these, there are now diligences established; of which, the accommodation and conveniences are nearly equal. I confine my remarks at present to diligence travelling; I shall by and by, have many opportunities of enlarging upon the very different modes of travelling in Andalusia, Murcia, and Granada. I have no hesitation in affirming, that the Spanish diligences are the best in the world; they are extremely commodious, well cushioned, and well hung, and are admirably contrived for the exclusion of both heat and cold. Like the French diligences, they have a coupé, in all respects as good as a postchaise, and generally they have no rotonde: they are drawn by seven, eight, or nine mules, according to the nature of the road, and travel at the rate of seven miles an hour. The conductors are remarkably civil; and in punctuality as to the hours of departure and arrival, and in every arrangement that can conduce to the comfort of the passengers, there is no room for improvement. When a passenger secures his seat, he receives a paper from the bureau, specifying the precise place he is to occupy; and when he delivers his baggage, he is presented with a receipt for the articles delivered, and for which the proprietors are responsible. The price of places in the Spanish diligences varies greatly. In some roads the fare is as low as in France or England; on others, it is more expensive than travelling post. From Bayonne to Madrid, the fare, including conductor and postilions, is something less than 5l.; but from Madrid to Seville, about one-fourth greater distance, the expense is nearly double; and it may be right to mention that each passenger is allowed 25 lb. weight of baggage; for every pound beyond this, he pays one real, 2½d. These details may appear to some to be insignificant; but independently of the obligation that lies upon a traveller, to withhold no useful information, I cannot but think that such details may occasionally throw some light upon the state of a country. For my own part, I may say most truly, that the regularity and order, I might almost say, the perfection, visible in every department of the establishment of public conveyances throughout Spain, struck me with astonishment, and may perhaps afford some data by which we may judge of the improvement of which Spain might be susceptible under more favourable circumstances.