QUIET DAYS IN SPAIN 
 
I 
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/quietdaysinspainOOIuff 
 
QUIET DAYS IN 
 
 SPAIN 
 
 BY C. BOGUE LUFFMANN 
 
 AUTHOR OF "a VAGABOND IN SPAIN," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 
 
 31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 
 19IO 
 
^<?'^'^ 
 
 -^v* 
 
 First Ediiion . . . June igio 
 Reprinted before Publicaiicn 
 
 ///? 
 
 // 
 
PREFACE 
 
 ON taking my departure after telling some 
 true but adventurous stories to a family of 
 eager children, a little girl said to her mother, 
 ^' Wouldn't it be lovely if what he said were 
 true ! " 
 
 I am reminded of this remark as I write a pre- 
 face, but I offer no excuse for the appearance of 
 this book. It made itself ; it is a faithful tale, 
 and should it here and there read like fiction — 
 well, so much the better. 
 
 During portions of 1908-9 I wandered over 
 forty-two of the forty-nine provinces of Spain — I 
 had previously made acquaintance with many 
 of them — ^involving more than seven thousand 
 miles of land travel, and taking pot-luck with all 
 sorts of people. It would be odd had I not come 
 by a few interesting facts. These I have en- 
 deavoured to set down ; not always in the exact 
 order in which they presented themselves, but 
 ever with the desire to do justice to the Spaniard, 
 his life, his country, and my own mood. The 
 first chapter, in some way introductory, will 
 prepare the reader for what is to follow ; but 
 in the absence of any detailed expression of 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 opinion on Spain as a nation a few words may be 
 included here. 
 
 Poverty is the most painful and haunting fact 
 of Spain. 
 
 Millions of her people go hungry throughout 
 their lives. Gaudy pomp, reHgious ceremony, 
 debasing superstition, the brags of life and hope- 
 less, comfortless poverty are almost everywhere 
 jumbled. Great cities live on little churches, 
 and great churches live on little towns. All Spain 
 is odd, and it never can be even. Then who is to 
 blame ? The modern Spaniard is blamed for his 
 laziness. Outsiders point to what the Romans 
 and Moors did. These were colonists, and plun- 
 derers to boot. They brought vast treasures into 
 Spain, and when they settled down to depend 
 on the native store they did no better than the 
 modern Spaniard. There is not a single period 
 in the history of Spain when she was rich or drew 
 decent comfort out of her native store. 
 
 No British writer has written more enter- 
 tainingly of Spain than George Borrow, and no 
 man has created a more erroneous impression. 
 *' The most magnificent country in the world,'* 
 he proclaimed it, which is absurd, and proves 
 that Borrow knew but little about mother-earth. 
 Native life he understood, but even then his 
 imagination and ineradicable habit of exaggera- 
 tion caused him to place all his subjects in a false 
 light. Spain was great when the world was small. 
 She could produce adventurers by the thousand 
 
PREFACE vii 
 
 where she could not raise a score of administrators ; 
 and the characteristic still holds good. 
 
 Of the South, the Spaniard looks that way for 
 life. All his dreams are of the East and of the 
 Moorish period in the West. His old romances 
 are based almost entirely on Arabic themes ; his 
 modem stage characters hail from Morocco ; his 
 lover of fiction is under the spell of eyes which 
 have captivated him in Tangier. The Moor is 
 the '' eternal enemy/' and by a strange power of 
 fascination is the most admired as he is the best 
 hated man in the world of the Spaniards. 
 
 Some people want and even expect Spain to 
 change and become like the rest of Europe. 
 As if it were possible ! Rather let us be thankful 
 for the distinctiveness of the nations, for this 
 world will be a dull affair if the busybodies ever 
 succeed in making it '' much of a muchness.'' 
 
 If we are to criticise the Spaniard it is to say 
 that he is not so idle as lacking in administrative 
 qualities. He can often initiate where he cannot 
 grasp and carry through a concern. His poverty 
 has made him afraid, and a number of traits, 
 racial or acquired, leave him incapable of looking 
 on life and its concerns from the standpoint of 
 other European peoples. Nevertheless, he pre- 
 serves a fine soul. The Spanish countryman is a 
 splendid fellow, as eager, industrious, clean-living 
 and contented as any man on earth when he is 
 given a chance to live decently. 
 
 Spaniards are charged with being cruel. Let 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 us rather say they are hard. They do not go 
 about looking for the chance to do physical harm 
 to any one. The Spanish mind is not easily 
 understood. If we allow, as we may allow, that 
 the British Isles hold nearly twice the population 
 of Spain, then we may say that so far as ears, 
 eyes, and hearts may realise, we shall easily 
 discover ten times more misery in the British 
 Isles, directly due to cruelty, than the same 
 attention would reveal in Spain. The cruelties in- 
 flicted in the world are generally due to ignorance. 
 To cite parallel cases of English and Spanish forms 
 of cruelty would be of little value. Facts have 
 to be accounted for, and we see in the Spaniard 
 some justification for what he does or neglects to 
 do, and we cannot therefore separate a case from 
 its causes, or blame a nation for the inborn 
 defects of its individuals. 
 
 Let it be said that the bull-fight is not a true 
 reflex of Spanish character, any more than prize- 
 fighting is of the English, and leave it there. 
 
 A man never strikes a woman, or at least so 
 rarely that few can tell of witnessing such an act. 
 In the Asturias I once saw a man box his wife^s 
 ears ; and allowing for all the circumstances, I 
 think she thoroughly deserved it. 
 
 The Spaniards display a pecuHar indifference 
 to the feehngs of others. I have never seen a 
 weakling championed, or a bad act rebuked ; 
 but this grows out of respect for individual 
 liberty, a kind of consciousness that no one has a 
 
PREFACE ix 
 
 right to interfere. The habit of ridicule causes 
 much heart-pain in Spain, and it is the vice of 
 every class. It would be almost impossible to 
 make the best-educated Spaniard see the truth 
 of this statement, as he regards personal criticism 
 as one of the few spices of life. The theatre gives 
 abundant proof of the widespread habit of 
 '' digging '' at any and every one, wherever there 
 is the slightest chance. In their heated abuse the 
 people go beyond the bounds of truth and decency, 
 and the opprobrium heaped upon unquestionably 
 innocent girls by fiery mothers is as painful as 
 it is surprising. The spontaneity of the Spanish 
 character prevents anything like the nursing of a 
 grudge, but the ready thrust is no less trying. 
 My jealous hostess, seeing I admired a beautiful 
 woman, said to me in her presence, ** What do 
 you think of her ? " I could do no less than 
 exclaim, '' She is perfectly lovely ! '' Swift and 
 cold as a dagger came the shaft, '' She has no 
 back teeth ! " 
 
 The blight of Spain is in her system of govern- 
 ment. Her public men aspire to be dictators, and 
 negative every wholesome desire when it leaves 
 no room for their personal advancement. All 
 decrees are of a suppressive character : press 
 censorship ; no public meeting ; no free education ; 
 no unions or alliances ; no emigration without 
 permit ; no petitions for work nor demonstrations 
 against rapacious authority. With the placing of 
 Government supporters in every position of 
 
X PREFACE 
 
 profit, the taxation of every form of labour, 
 product, and enterprise, no more is done than 
 will raise revenue, fill the pockets and increase the 
 boasts of those in office, and add to the mountain 
 of make-believe composing the political and 
 social system of Spain. 
 
 As a number of self-governing states owning 
 allegiance to one monarch, Spain might do 
 infinitely better than she does under the present 
 system ; for there is an ineradicable vice in the 
 form of official place-making and political corrup- 
 tion, due largely to the size of the country and the 
 ease with which all offences may be hidden. 
 
 As Sancho Panza's grandmother remarked, 
 there are the haves and the have-nots, and all 
 Spain wants to be amongst the haves. 
 
 No remedy is in sight, for it is unthinkable 
 that any change can come from within until the 
 Church is virtually suppressed, free institutions 
 are not only tolerated, but supported by the 
 general government, and the bulk of the revenues 
 are spent in developing the provinces wherein 
 they are raised. 
 
 As things are, to win is to be in the right ; the 
 average official Spaniard has no higher sense of 
 morality. 
 
 Recent Governments have given more and 
 more to the Church and less and less to educa- 
 tion. The revolutionary spirit is fostered by a 
 desire to break through the chains of ignorance 
 and stifling superstition which weigh down, sap. 
 
PREFACE xi 
 
 and starve the bulk of the nation. Spain is 
 held to Europe solely by the vitalising stream 
 of commercial people from the north, and if 
 it were possible to reorganise and preserve her 
 public departments by an international com- 
 mission she would soon vastly improve her 
 status and estate. But the governing and the 
 grasping class of Spaniard is opposed to the 
 European ideal and trend. He is the child of 
 Europe, an ignorant, but astute, greedy, and 
 incurably vain child. 
 
 E'inally, we should not take Spain seriously, 
 for she is never in earnest, and as a country is 
 not worth foreign intervention. Foreign capital 
 and investments of one kind and another keep 
 her employed, and as the world's playground she 
 may still be reckoned with. So vast and varied, 
 so unknown, she will continue to lure and fascinate, 
 even to alarm. Spain remains the great unre- 
 vealed store of the South — a part of Europe, 
 a link with Asia, an offshoot of Africa, she leads 
 us from people to people, from clime to clime. 
 In race, language, and ideal, ever varying, she is 
 one only under the impulse of religious fervour ; 
 a mother land, yet everywhere with the un- 
 formed heart of a child ; a remnant of the age of 
 mysticism ; the victim of discredited institutions ; 
 a holder to faith without works ; misled by an 
 Eastern love of gauds, favours, and rewards ; 
 possessed of a fine soul, but savage by reason of 
 the hot blood coursing through her veins. If ever 
 
xii PREFACE 
 
 a nation was by all the laws of nature and cir- 
 cumstance divided against itself, it must be Spain. 
 Portions of ^' Third Class," '^Seville Fair," 
 '* The Home of Romance," '' A Great Shrine," 
 and various notes used in these pages have 
 already appeared in the Melhoiirne Age. For 
 permission to republish them I must express my 
 grateful thanks to Messrs. David Syme and Co. 
 
 C. B. L. 
 
 May^ 19 1 o. 
 
AN INVITATION 
 
 Come, ye who would be straying 
 From toil and heart-born care, 
 
 Where orange flowers are playing 
 With many a maiden's hair ; 
 
 Look where the sun is pointing 
 At noon across the sea. 
 
 Up ! for your soul's anointing, 
 And come along with me. 
 
 A respite beg or borrow 
 
 From worldly strife and strain. 
 We go where toil's " to-morrow," 
 
 The dreamy land of Spain. 
 
 There, idling for a season 
 Along her storied ways, 
 
 May we find peace with reason 
 In wealth of quiet days ! 
 
 jriii 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Preface .... 
 
 An Invitation 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. The Breath of Life . 
 
 II. Third Class . 
 
 III. A Winter in the Hills 
 
 IV, Maria the Mirth-maker 
 V. Diversions at Cabello 
 
 VI. A Love Story 
 
 VII. Gastronomia . 
 
 VIII. At Seville Fair 
 
 IX. In Cold and Warm Quarters . 
 
 X. The Seat of Mars 
 
 XL La Bella Sombra 
 
 XII. A Funeral and some Vital Concerns 
 
 XIII. The Home of Romance 
 
 XIV. Vagabond Discoveries and Reflections 
 XV. At the Deep Arches . 
 
 XVI. A Great Shrine 
 
 XVII. The Cradle of the Cid 
 
 XVIII. The City in the Fields 
 
 PAG« 
 
 v 
 xiii 
 
 I 
 20 
 28 
 42 
 
 55 
 68 
 88 
 
 100 
 112 
 138 
 
 151 
 160 
 172 
 186 
 
 198 
 206 
 223 
 232 
 
x\-i CONTENTS 
 
 CHAFTER FACE 
 
 XIX A Student in Salamanca . . . 243 
 
 o' 
 
 XX. The Pleasures of the West 
 
 XXI. A Pilgrim's Dole . ... 2-36 
 
 XXII. By Our Lady of the Road . . .283 
 
 XXIII. Now All is Done . . . . 294 
 
 The Northern Gate . . . . -31- 
 
 Index . . . . . . .^i^ 
 
QUIET DAYS IN SPAIN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 " One's self I sing— a simple separate person." 
 
 FROM a personal standpoint this book needs 
 no apology. It is a plain tale of incidents 
 and experiences in different times and places. 
 With much to be thankful for, tribute must be 
 offered to those patronesses of three Spanish 
 shrines who afford special protection and blessing 
 to vagabonds. Here thanks be given to '' Our 
 Lady of the Road " (Leon), to " Our Lady of 
 Health " (Taj ares), and to '' Our Lady of Rags 
 and Tatters " (Rio Negro). To be under the safe 
 guardianship of these three is to make confident 
 holiday. Once I served an apprenticeship in the 
 rural affairs of Spain ; applied the experience then 
 gained to life in a far-off land, where I remained, 
 a hard-worked exile, for fourteen years. 
 
 In youth I felt that the best intelligence was 
 shown in the capacity to create work and to in- 
 crease the world's food-supply, and to this joint 
 task I bent my back and my will. Then I dis- 
 
2 THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 cerned the body to be of little account, and work 
 criminal where it suppresses the demands of the 
 soul. If we did our utmost to develop ourselves 
 there would be less need to depend on others. I 
 came to see men hate me for daring to say that 
 poetry, beauty, and the broad face of the world 
 are the best things to be in love with. I was in 
 disgrace because I did not believe in work without 
 end. For employment, recreation, and sustenance 
 I would exhaust ruins and old cities, country-sides 
 and their populations ; I would gladly feast and as 
 willingly starve with them ; I would know again 
 the unsullied snows and the fight for life on the 
 high mountains, and the splendours of the burst- 
 ing valleys. These are clean, gratifying things, 
 conducive to pleasant days and peaceful slumbers. 
 
 Hearing the call I turned to Spain. It was 
 April, and such an April as the South had not 
 known for years. The winter had been wet and 
 mild ; and all the land was splendid to the eye, 
 though the crop was little more than weeds. 
 
 A train made haste to carry me inland by roads 
 and mountains I had trudged in earnest youth. 
 Broad plains of purple bugloss and crimson poppy 
 waved a wild welcome ; a high and wide sky of 
 flaming hues emitting a quickening heat overspread 
 all visible things, and the voice of the South that 
 is as wine rose to quicken and delight my heart. 
 I was at home again, and found reason to be glad. 
 We are all set towards some place or period in 
 time. We understand countries we have neither 
 
BE CALM AND LIVE 3 
 
 seen nor studied, where we cannot make head or 
 tail of what is about us. I have always known 
 and loved, even where I could not approve, 
 Spain ; perhaps she appeals because she is the land 
 of to-morrow and holds the gospel of never mind ! 
 So long in chains, I was almost tempted to hurry ; 
 but Spain forbids haste ; nothing shows more 
 folly or vulgarity than striving to get ahead ; so 
 catching the pulse of the country I moved to its 
 time and tune. Years ago I haunted churches, 
 galleries and places of fame ; now I was bent 
 on more homely fare. Neither art nor history 
 should claim much of my time. I desired to 
 estimate Spain's native resources and to live 
 with and know more of the everyday life of her 
 people. As a matter of fact, I wished that some 
 of the men and industries of Spain might find a 
 home in and aid the development of a far-distant 
 land ; and to this extent my wanderings had a 
 practical side. 
 
 Returning after an absence of many years, I 
 see — more in architecture ; less in painting ; 
 more in streets and windows than in domestic 
 interiors ; more in the few splendid, than in the 
 many poverty-stricken, regions ; more in the 
 peasants than in those who form the town popula- 
 tions ; and far more in the philosophic than in 
 the actual concerns of Spain as a nation. 
 
 It would be odd if this work, compiled from 
 notes made in almost every part of the vast 
 country, did not reveal some contradictions, for 
 
4 THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 Spain is full of them. The aim has been to write 
 provincially — to put the local fact on its ground. 
 The references to Spain's natural resources, 
 political and social conditions, have been compiled 
 with every desire to do justice to the Spanish 
 people and to inform the reader. Some important 
 provinces and phases of Spanish life are not dealt 
 with because they were included in the previous 
 book, '' A Vagabond in Spain.'* 
 
 A critic has said '' A traveller should make light 
 of his troubles." Had the same critic been for long 
 alone he might have known that an isolated man 
 is besieged by a passion to explain himself. The 
 world is in no haste to read books of facts ; and 
 seldom gets to know what a man's thoughts turn 
 to, and how he is sustained when left to himself. 
 He spends much of his time in looking backwards, 
 and away at the distances ; for if he did not so 
 he could make no comparisons ; everything that 
 was, becomes exaggerated, dwarfed, or altered, is 
 more drab or highly coloured. Then the manner 
 and the time of his thoughts change — he may not 
 be a busy Briton in a lotus land ; but instead, 
 falls into the leisurely seductive mood begotten 
 in the idle ways of quiet places. Wherever pos- 
 sible I have offered the sum of Spain's merriment 
 to the reader ; but as Spain is not always and 
 everywhere merry, there must be a sombre story 
 and a little sermonising now and then. 
 
 After Seville one is glad to escape to the quiet 
 of Cordova. I came there for the third time, but 
 
SOME SPLENDID MEMORIES 5 
 
 it is so old and full of interest as to be ever new 
 and unknown. A little girl wrote to me there, '' I 
 hope Poste Restante is a nice place, and that you 
 are very comfortable." That was a good beginning. 
 Once a tinsmith took an English sovereign from 
 me ; and on my return met me at the railway 
 station with the gold piece hanging from his 
 watch-chain and the welcome words, '' Amigo — 
 I am. rejoiced to see you." It was an accident 
 that we met ; but as he embraced me he held out 
 the gold ornament, and smiled, '' I have always 
 worn this in memory of you ! " He was pain- 
 fully cross-eyed ; but he knew his way about 
 Cordova, and I am indebted to him for many 
 little discoveries and pleasant hours. 
 
 At the Fonda I was again welcomed by a fat, 
 bow-legged, mutton-chopped waiter, who grabbed 
 my hand and shook it heartily, saying with a broad 
 beam of sunshine in his face, " I'm overjoyed to see 
 you back again." I felt he was humbugging me ; 
 but it took him little time to convince me that 
 he really remembered me. The awkward part of 
 this was that three or four other waiters were 
 brought along, and I was introduced as an old 
 friend of the house ! Later, I got into trouble for 
 not holding a friendly intercourse with all these 
 men before or after every meal. It can be nothing 
 short of vulgar, nay, worse, it is bestial, '' animal," 
 as they say, not to see or speak familiarly with 
 every one met. This is a nice trait, but it means 
 a lot of useless effort. 
 
6 THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 Cordova is the sleepiest town in Spain, but for 
 a few days I was kept busy, shaking hands and 
 drinking cafe with those whom I had never hither- 
 to spoken to but who '' remembered seeing me 
 before ! " I went into a shop, and the owner at 
 once said, " You were here years ago." Doubting 
 his memory I said " No " ; but he '' Yes," and 
 convinced me that he remembered me, though he 
 referred to fifteen years previously ! He talked 
 for half an hour, until I asked somewhat im- 
 patiently, '' Here, give me what I want and let 
 me go ? " 
 
 This hurt him, and in my embarrassment I went 
 off forgetting my walking-stick, which has a plant 
 spud at the end. Soon I missed it, and the mo- 
 ment I appeared in the doorway he called to one 
 of the half-dozen boys who stood to one side of 
 him, '' Here, Nino, get the busy foreign gentleman 
 his toothpick ! " 
 
 Cordova is full of fun, and chiefly so, I think, 
 because one has time to observe and to let the 
 humour sink in. In the market a small boy with 
 a big apron and a pompous manner was offering 
 half a mean kid to a woman for a peseta. She 
 objected that it was very small, and he fairly 
 smothered her with, *' Woman ! do you want half 
 a bull for tenpence ! " 
 
 On a piece of waste ground outside the town 
 were over eighty heaps of manure and litter, large 
 and small, suitable for dressing land. This had 
 been collected from the streets by men and boys. 
 
CONFLICTING EMOTIONS 7 
 
 who sell it to farmers and market-gardeners on 
 their homeward journeys. On one tiny heap, a 
 mere bucketful, was planted a card with '' Cheap ! 
 Quick ! Giving up business ! '' 
 
 This reminds me of some children who, born in 
 Cordova, were taken to America, and, returning 
 after years, said in an ecstasy, '' Oh, don't we love 
 it all ! — even the dear old smells ! " 
 
 A daily paper had this bit of news : '' Nine 
 boys playing with dynamite are friends no longer ; 
 their pieces are not likely to be identified and 
 obtain absolution." 
 
 At the post office I left fivepence, and calling the 
 next day recognised the man with whom I left it ; 
 he denied being present on the occasion ; he was, 
 but when sure that I knew him, he fumbled in his 
 pockets, and handing over the fivepence remarked, 
 '' My honour is worth more than fifty cents ! " 
 Quite so ; but that was his way of putting himself 
 in the right, for he wished me to believe that I had 
 swindled him. 
 
 My cross-eyed friend was named Hijos de 
 Cordova — Sons of Cordova ! To what remote 
 period does that name date ? Whether this 
 served as a passport I know not ; but he had no 
 difficulty in gaining an audience with the proud 
 
 Marchioness de O and persuading her to 
 
 allow me to inspect her apartments. This lady 
 was the wife of a great gamester, and, though 
 she had inherited three large fortunes, was very 
 poor, and lived by retailing the treasures of her 
 
8 THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 large old house ; a veritable museum, containing 
 beautiful furniture, old lace and silk by the hun- 
 dredweight, many rare cabinets, fine carvings, 
 and a rich collection of fans and rosaries in all 
 sorts of material. Unequal to purchasing any of 
 these, I made choice of some things which were 
 regarded as lumber — an immense tarima — an 
 octagonal wooden device, five feet across, of 
 carved wood ornamented with brass. This con- 
 trivance rests on the floor and supports the char- 
 coal brazier, while the company sits round and 
 uses the edge of the tarima as a footstool. A 
 more interesting find was a muga — ladies' palfrey 
 chair — in boxwood, with ivory and mother-of- 
 pearl, the arm-rests representing two swan-necks 
 and heads. The muga is no longer seen on the 
 roads of Spain ; the peasantry do not employ it, 
 and the ladies journey by private coach or train. 
 Among the lumber were some disahumadors — 
 incense burners used for sweetening and refreshing 
 rooms. They are brass bowls on stands and have 
 perforated covers. The custom was to macerate 
 rosemary, lavender, dry roses, and other sweets 
 of the garden and field, and, adding spices, mix 
 these with hot ashes placed in the disahumador. 
 The lumber-room also held broken statuary, win- 
 dow and door fittings containing heraldic figures 
 and coats-of-arms. It seemed as if the Marchioness 
 had taken and kept whatever would preserve 
 links with the past. There were some beautiful 
 azulejos — coloured tiles — from the celebrated 
 
PRIDE IN TWO HOMES 9 
 
 castle of Niebla, near Huelva, which, built in the 
 thirteenth century, was declared original in every 
 detail, and perfect in all. Here also lay several 
 partadors — curiously shaped brass rings large as 
 a cheese-plate ; they are still used to keep the 
 cloth clean when the puchero or other cooking 
 vessel is placed on the table. These, with some 
 others, I bought ; but the pride of the Marchioness 
 stood in the way of her taking money, and I was 
 told, in a roundabout fashion, that I might leave 
 it with the doorkeeper. It would be easy to 
 moralise over this collection of objects, dead and 
 alive ; but, after all — it is the history of the 
 world ! 
 
 One day a wizened, but pretty, old dame stood 
 at her door polishing a small copper bowl — a 
 diminutive puchero or pipkin ; the shape was 
 rare, the material of fine tone, and I determined 
 to buy it. The value was but a few pesetas ; I 
 offered as much, and she said, " We have no 
 bread, my man is away looking for some ; but 
 the bowl was my mother's.'' This was no excuse 
 for raising the price. It was evident she loved 
 the thing ; but the money was a small fortune, 
 so she took it and I went off. Later I was over- 
 taken by a decrepit old man, who held out his 
 hat in one hand and what I had paid for the bowl 
 in the other. I saw the situation, for he said as 
 plainly as possible, '' Here is your money, I want 
 my bowl." I asked '' Why ? " '' It is not pos- 
 sible that we sell it ; it was her mother's." The 
 
10 THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 duty was plain. I gave him back the bowl and 
 let him keep the money ; and felt I had had a 
 good day. 
 
 In spite of the many beautiful things to be found 
 in Spanish houses of the upper classes, there is 
 nothing to correspond with the dining, drawing- 
 room, or library of a British home. Ornaments 
 are rarely seen, and all small and beautiful things 
 are kept in vitrinas — glass cabinets — rinconeras — 
 corner closets — rare old chests, and boxes on high 
 legs. There is everywhere a craze for reflecting 
 glasses and gold-gilding ; in a small drawing-room 
 were fifteen deeply gilt-framed mirrors, four of 
 which were several feet in breadth and depth. 
 There were also, besides these mirrors, twenty- 
 two pieces of reflecting glass in furniture, so that it 
 was impossible to find any position where one 
 did not get side, back, and upside-down views of 
 oneself and the rest of the company ! 
 
 The most conspicuous want in Spain is domestic 
 comfort. The houses are always dangerously cold 
 and dank in winter ; there are no fireplaces, and 
 therefore no fires, except in charcoal braziers ; 
 and no hot bath is possible, or even a cold one, in 
 the average house. Easy chairs and couches are 
 only used in the best houses, cafes, and clubs. 
 Carpets and rugs are rarely seen, and there are 
 no books, hobbies, or personal employments to 
 give an air of ordered thought or individuality to 
 the home. Of social life in private houses there is 
 nothing. One is never introduced to a person 
 
PRACTICAL ADVERTISING ii 
 
 without the Spaniard saying, '' I hope I may see 
 you at your house ; it is in the Calle So-and-so, 
 and always open/' But should you go there he 
 will be taken aback ; and it is a thousand to one 
 he will regard the visit as a '' barbarity." What 
 is more, he has no gift of conversation at home, 
 and, as you may not see his wife or play with his 
 children, the call is generally a dull failure and 
 discomforting. I write this because I would not 
 have the reader blind to the shortcomings of 
 Spanish life. My concern is to make fair com- 
 parisons, for we hold very erroneous impressions 
 of the Spaniard, his country and its concerns. 
 
 Clothes-lines are too dear for many, and much 
 of the laundry is spread on roofs, floors, pavements, 
 and other space available. One wonders that the 
 garments can be perfectly clean, yet they are 
 surprisingly so. All the clothes are laved in cold 
 water, and but little soap is used, a powerfully 
 caustic lye — made by immersing wood ashes in 
 water — taking its place. The finest lady and the 
 grandest seiior have their clothes returned from 
 the laundry without any wrapping, and the well- 
 ironed garments are used as advertisements ; 
 boys, men, and women stop likely patrons in the 
 street and exhibit petticoats, shirts, and other 
 things ; all showing the deepest interest in the 
 garments and the lavanderas' work. 
 
 Cordova is the home of the torero — bullfighter. 
 Out of the ring the torero must live quietly ; and 
 from time immemorial this old city has been his 
 
12 THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 asylum during the winter season. Half the Calle 
 Gondomar is taken up with cafes, clubs, and ring 
 men. Their short jacketas, and peculiar walk, 
 generally proclaim them. Also, they shave their 
 temples ; but many other Spaniards do this ; so 
 to make sure it is a torero one looks at the back 
 of the head, as the bullfighter has his hair drawn 
 up like a woman to form a pigtail, which is 
 braided and pinned on his crown. 
 
 The stranger is surprised at the toreros' quiet- 
 ness, the absence of noise and display. You realise 
 the truth of what the people of Verona said of 
 Dante, '' the man who has been in hell.*' 
 
 The bullfighter saves his smiles for the ring. In 
 private life he is the steadiest and most silent of 
 men. Night after night I have sat with them in 
 clubs and cafes to hear only the most conven- 
 tional talk. One night, I remember, eleven 
 prominent fighters sat together for over four 
 hours ; they drank coffee, and smoked puras — 
 cigars — incessantly. Now and then, one would 
 speak and be eloquent with gesture, but the 
 others would turn their heads, in a sign of in- 
 difference, and quiet would return. 
 
 I grow to like the Spaniard for saying, " To- 
 morrow will be soon enough." To-day he would 
 live. Every day he " takes the sun.'' That is the 
 mode of the South — not to take the air, but the 
 sun. The Spaniard fears air as if it were a pesti- 
 lence, as it is in some of the narrow winding 
 streets and deep-set windowless rooms. 
 
"SHE IS SO CIRCUMSPECT AND WHITE" 13 
 
 Idling through a long afternoon on a seat in 
 the Gran Capitan, I watched the crowd go to and 
 fro. There were hundreds of lovely eyes, but only 
 one pair of fresh pink cheeks. The dark rooms, 
 and the general use of the shawl over the head, 
 keep the skin very white ; and this is intensified 
 by the use of rice powder. Hats are supplanting 
 mantillas ; the mantilla may soon be a thing of 
 the past ; few young women wear it, excepting at 
 Mass and during seasons of merriment. The 
 southern walk is always alluring. One sees every 
 woman's petticoat, but never an ankle, for they 
 are wonderfully deft and circumspect in holding 
 their skirts, and when sitting never cross the 
 feet. These southern Spaniards — the business 
 folk of all grades — take their wives and children 
 for walks every afternoon, and leave their shops 
 and concerns to the care of others ; where no others 
 exist the shop is closed that the day may yield 
 some satisfying leisure. This may not be '' good 
 business," but it is more rational and less glutton- 
 ous than that of " enterprising " people. In this 
 old city are great open spaces, parks, drives, and 
 promenades where thousands of people strut, 
 stroll, and rest every day in the year. We Anglo- 
 Saxons often seem ashamed to rest, and it is 
 positively dangerous to admit that we do not 
 believe in work if it burdens and stifles us. The 
 Spaniards of the towns are incapable of slavery 
 to the loss of self. Their lives are narrow and 
 simple, but are not painful. Aspiring less they 
 
14 THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 do not complain as we do ; their ignorance does 
 not make them afraid ; whilst their sense of his- 
 tory imposes a philosophic calm. 
 
 If men feared not poverty and the misfortunes 
 they imagine money will keep away, we should 
 hear little of the cant of '' getting on/' There may 
 be neither wisdom nor happiness in doing nothing 
 and caring less, but surely there is a middle course 
 — a way by which we may earn our independence 
 and find time to enjoy life. I used to be impatient 
 of the slow-coach ; now I am impatient of those 
 who are rushing to get ahead. Greed is the 
 ugliest, as it is the most pitiful, thing on the face 
 of the earth ; and greed and ignorance are brothers. 
 The business side of Spanish life is full of interest ; 
 one finds much to admire in it. 
 
 A singular contrivance in the high towers takes 
 the place of bells on Good Friday ; this is the 
 '' mattraca " — three long boxes of heavy wood 
 arranged round a spindle, with several roughly 
 fashioned hammers with rings in their handles, 
 through which a rod is run to keep them in place. 
 At short intervals during the whole of Good 
 Friday the mattraca is turned round, grindstone 
 fashion, and creates a most awful din. The ham- 
 mers are laws unto themselves, and fall anyhow 
 on the boxes, according to their inclination and the 
 rate at which the spindle is turned. It is always 
 risky to guess at origins ; but as I can find no 
 clue to the origin of the mattraca, I fall back on 
 the belief that it was intended to inform the 
 
ACROSS THE YEARS 15 
 
 multitude of the building of, or nailing of Christ 
 to^ the cross. 
 
 To know cities I walk round them, and next 
 ascend their highest towers. Conscious that I can 
 never know Cordova thoroughly, I often climbed 
 to the Cathedral tower, which stands independent 
 of the Mosque— across a wide orange-planted patio 
 — where I could survey the city below ; the river 
 and the valley ; the cultivated uplands and the 
 wild Sierras — a world complete and rich with the 
 story of two thousand years. It is strange that 
 we see time's story more clearly in some lands 
 than in others. Few can picture life in the British 
 Islands two thousand years ago ; but it is easy to 
 see over twice that time in the lands around the 
 Mediterranean. The South is our cradle — we 
 had not our birth in Britain ; we evolved nothing 
 there ; the organised concerns came to us ; we 
 are nearer to the home of Lucan and Seneca than 
 to the tumulus which may be that of Boadicea on 
 Primrose Hill. 
 
 As I never could look on a hill without wishing 
 to see the prospect on the other side, Cordova's 
 tower led me to explore the country in all direc- 
 tions round. When looked down upon, the city 
 is the colour of curry powder — a soft yellow, 
 mingled with grey and white. The roofs are com- 
 posed of pale red tiles with a yellowish brown 
 lichen feeding upon them, and the city dust and 
 whitewash mingle to produce an unvarying tone. 
 The oleander, arbutus, gumcistus, rosemary, and 
 
i6 THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 lavender, cover vast areas, and in their season 
 make the mountains and valleys beautiful. Most 
 lovely of all are the purple and violet bugloss, the 
 corn-poppy and cornflower, the purple pea, the 
 iris olata, and a yellow cowslip-like flower whose 
 name I have forgotten. In Spain one sees to a great 
 distance ; for not only are the view points high, 
 but the light is strong and the atmosphere dry 
 and clear. To take to the hills in spring and look 
 upon the world round Cordova is to know some- 
 thing of the joy of life. 
 
 Early one morning I went to some high ground 
 on the Seville road, there to gather plants of iris 
 olata. The sun shone bright and warm, and the 
 bag filled ; I ate a crust and sat down to admire 
 the immense page of beautiful life that lay open 
 before me. Then I slept, and was aroused by a 
 pack of twenty-five lean lurcher dogs. They were 
 all coupled, save one, and controlled by a man 
 dressed in leather who had a rude horn slung at 
 the shoulder and was seated on a long-tailed white 
 barb. The dogs were a landowner's rabbit pack out 
 for exercise. After exchanging the time of the 
 day with the huntsman, and receiving a most 
 inquisitive sniffing from his dogs, I was left to 
 myself for the remainder of the day. But those 
 dogs and their primitive keeper gave wings to 
 my imagination. I studied the great landscape 
 again and again — as millions before me had done. 
 I saw Cordova spreading over what are now 
 fallow and hunting fields, debris, and the refuse 
 
A STORIED SCENE 17 
 
 left by the great ancient city. Full in view was 
 the site of Medina Azzahra, that wonderful palace 
 which Abdulraman the Third built for his slave 
 wife, the mother of the warrior Almanzor. To-day 
 no man knoweth for a surety where that palace 
 stood ; but it is believed to have been about four 
 miles distant from the present Cordova, on a 
 natural terrace at the foot of the Sierra Morena. 
 The great convent of San Geronimo (1405), built 
 from the coarser remains of the palace, is in its 
 turn in a state of ruin. 
 
 Following the river the eye caught the once 
 famous castle of Almodovar, and further on were 
 watch - towers, villages, and towns, heaps of 
 masonry, lines where roads had run, aqueducts, 
 vestiges of bridges and pillars, marking the way 
 to the great river. Further off stood the city ; 
 but so hoary as to show no signs of life. 
 
 I sat and mused quietly, happy in the reflection 
 that time, if it make ruin of all things, brings us 
 also to a sense of peace. Once or twice I felt guilty 
 of idling — felt I must be up and off and busy ; but 
 I checked myself as I said aloud, '' Shall I not 
 dare to lie at ease upon the grass, to be warmed 
 by the sun, to smell the odours of clean earth 
 and pungent weed ; may I not read my history 
 here, and for a time rest unconcerned ? What 
 need to care about news and the business of the 
 world ? Here is enough, for I can dream, and 
 ponder over the past.'' I protest because we have 
 no paper called *' The Past." If there were such 
 
iS THE BREATH OF LIFE 
 
 a blessed organ, I verily believe I could summon 
 energy enough to read it regularly — but that 
 word '' regularly " is to me the most scaring in 
 the dictionary ! Nothing scares me like the thought 
 of having to do anything regularly. Ugh ! 
 
 Soothed and made strong by the lessons of the 
 day, I passed the evening in a cafe where the 
 thr^e or four hundred men present were interested, 
 for an hour or two, by the curiosity of a box of 
 wooden matches of English manufacture ! These 
 are the children of Europe, and that is why one 
 rests with them. 
 
 The garden of the British Consul is somewhere 
 about two thousand years old ! It is in the heart 
 of early Roman Cordova, and has been occupied 
 in succession by Roman, Goth, Moor, and Span- 
 iard. The site would suggest human dwellings 
 from the beginnings of civilisation, for it is on 
 gently rising ground, safe from, yet near to, the 
 river. This old garden is surrounded by walls 
 as high as three-storeyed houses ; parts of it are 
 said to be Roman. I pruned the roses and the 
 vines, and did some digging, and grew to be 
 happy there. I wished to remain, cloistered 
 and confined ; a glad prisoner among scented 
 flowers ; the vine, the orange, and lemon ; 
 breadths of blue and white violets ; heliotrope 
 that climbed to the second-storey windows, and 
 the babbling of water-brooks which ran by the 
 brick-bordered paths and beds. Only the past 
 has a true voice. I idle that I may hear, and 
 
LIFE IS NOW OR NEVER 19 
 
 close my eyes that I may see the many-coloured 
 pageant of Time. 
 
 When I had worked myself out of a job in the 
 garden, the Consul came home, and with him, his 
 world. We fell to talking of living in the day and 
 looking back — my way — as against '' working to 
 save '' for the future (as if one could do any- 
 thing of the kind), and getting forward, as he 
 affects to persuade himself he does. Yet I notice 
 that he feels weighed with the cares of life more 
 than I. This may mean he has a higher moral 
 sense ; but perhaps it does not. Still, he cannot 
 alter his nature ; nor can I. Anyhow, I pruned 
 the roses, tied the weak ones to upright lines to 
 aid their flow of sap, and felt I had done a little 
 to revive waning life in Cordova's ancient bones. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THIRD CLASS 
 
 TAKE the first-class for comfort, the second 
 for dullness, the third for company; and 
 one is not likely to go wrong in Spain. To get 
 more animal heat, save money and know the 
 delights of good company, I travelled third. The 
 morning was intensely cold when we set out from 
 Ronda to Malaga, snow capping the heights and 
 hoar-frost spanghng the banks and timber wall 
 of the railway station. Here, as in Ireland, most 
 of the officials are employed in ringing bells and 
 blowing whistles, and yet many who intend to 
 travel lose the train, for there's a nasty habit of 
 ending the clanging and screeching five or ten 
 minutes before starting time, and then allowing 
 the train to steal out of the station quietly, like a 
 thief in the night ; and one can only imagine what 
 trouble and choice Spanish is caused thereby. 
 Our train was a particularly stealthy brute, and 
 fairly winked at its own cleverness in leaving some 
 poor wretch in the lurch at almost every stopping 
 place. But back to the thirds. 
 
 We are seventy-two in number, in an open 
 carriage of six divisions. 
 
THE MAID IN SPAIN 21 
 
 To keep us in order there are two military police, 
 two carabineers, or armed road guards, and two 
 other soldier-like policemen with three harmless- 
 looking prisoners. There are also five or six 
 soldiers in uniform, and as many more wearing — 
 that was all their uniform — forage caps — pre- 
 sumably these are recruits. The rest of the com- 
 pany is made up of small business men, farmers, 
 and market women, the latter with overflowing 
 baskets as big as themselves. Then there are boys 
 going from home for the first time, and looking 
 very sad as the familiar landscape fades away. 
 There are quite a number of young women, too, 
 for Malaga is a large city, and servants claim 
 higher wages there than in the country. The girls 
 are all in black — plain in style as the garments of 
 a nun, though they wear fine scarfs or shawls about 
 their shoulders, and have their hair beautifully 
 dressed with flowers, ribbons, or lace. The 
 Spanish women are born coiffeuses, and hold their 
 heads with such pride as to make the plainest face 
 amongst them in some way attractive. A girl 
 near us is a real Southern beauty of twenty. She 
 was married but six months ago, is now a widow, 
 and is going into service for a home and one dollar 
 a month. Three shillings and fourpence — no more 
 and no less. Little as she may know of the ways 
 of English housekeeping, she is so beautifully clean, 
 fresh, and strong, and has such a sweet, honest 
 face, that she would prove a godsend to the 
 average British household. This girl talked with 
 
22 THIRD CLASS 
 
 a neighbour ; the others sat quiet and were dis- 
 regarded by the men, for it is contrary to custom 
 and most improper for a man to enter into con- 
 versation with, or take the sHghtest notice of, a 
 girl when she is alone. The woman of Spain is 
 influenced by the Moorish occupation, which ex- 
 tended over nearly 800 years. Where the Moor 
 did not settle, the Spanish woman is a Latin in 
 the creed of custom ; but in the ancient strong- 
 hold of the Moor she is often found to be as 
 Moorish as the woman of Morocco. All the elderly 
 women wear black handkerchiefs over their heads, 
 and cover their noses with black shawls as 
 Moorish women do theirs with white. Spanish 
 women are mistresses of the needle, and few 
 nations equal them in the art of fine sewing. 
 Hence one can study embroideries and laces, 
 dainty collars, babies' caps and shoes, as well as 
 the flowered waistcoats and fancy shirt fronts 
 of the men. It is all very charming and true to 
 one's dream of the peasant and the life which 
 begins and ends in quiet labour. 
 
 The first part of the country is very poor, and 
 one literally shivers when looking on its churlish 
 slopes and half-impotent valleys, and realises the 
 splendid courage that keeps the people true to their 
 land and the labour which yields so little return. 
 Of all there is to see in rural Spain, nothing charms 
 one more than the faces of the peasant-folk, more 
 especially of the elderly men. They are nearly all 
 Lord Thurlows — they look so profoundly wise. 
 
THE CATETO— COUNTRYMAN 2^ 
 
 The Spanish peasant is always clean shaven — at 
 any rate, he gets a clean shave now and then. 
 Meet a company of country Spaniards passing into 
 a town, and they look like so many stage brigands. 
 Meet them returning, and they appear as so many 
 pleasant-faced human sheep. They are shaved 
 and clean again. 
 
 This same sheepish peasant has a mother wit 
 of great swiftness and charm. He never states 
 the simple fact, since he is always equal to a fine 
 figure of speech. Even his boasting is splendid ; 
 he does it with such cool conviction that you are 
 bound to believe him. Always a simple soul, he 
 has high courage, and is, I verily believe, the 
 peasant gentleman of Europe. He is profoundly 
 respectful to all tradition and custom, and shows 
 his real nature by the way he resents any offence 
 against his country. Having acquired the fine art 
 of starving gracefully, he must needs be thin, with 
 a clear eye, and alert for the chance of assisting in 
 the concerns of his neighbour ; neglect of social 
 duty being the crime he ranks highest. 
 
 Of words he is without end ; but as they are 
 either musical or eloquent of meaning the more he 
 talks the better one is pleased. 
 
 The conversation in the third-class carriage was 
 almost entirely of money — or the want of it, bar- 
 gains, and lack of work and bread, for the land 
 is very poor and the people in a chronic state of 
 want. It is a stock saying in Spain (goodness 
 knows how old) that '' the first element is bread " 
 
24 THIRD CLASS 
 
 — one hears the word '' pan " twenty times to that 
 of any other. Where friends recognised each other 
 or joined or left the train, there was always much 
 to please, and the soul warmed to the words of 
 parting — '' Always felicity/' and '' Be you with 
 God until we meet again/' For economy those 
 who could afford a bite had brought it with them. 
 One man, much better off than the others, had a 
 baked kid, and so we broke the Levitical law, as 
 we ate it in its mother's milk. Another man had 
 a small skin-sack of wine ; so we again happily 
 broke the law, this time of Mahomet. In spite of 
 these and other offences, the train kept to the 
 rails, and we travelled on. A mother, with several 
 children, had boiled eggs for their sustenance. The 
 eggs seemed of no account, as compared with the 
 shells, which they stuck on their noses, that they 
 might look beautiful or terrifying. Poorer folk ate 
 acorns, raw or roasted, also lupin seed, the turnip- 
 like stump of the native palm, and other odds and 
 ends in great variety. 
 
 Spaniards are good-natured, and never eat, 
 drink, or smoke without offering the lion's share 
 to the stranger and friend alike. It is polite and 
 customary to refuse till hard pressed, but the 
 stranger is expected to accept, and so we sampled 
 a good deal of stuff, good, bad, and indifferent. 
 In spite of this, at a change-station restaurant we 
 got a six-course meal of deliciously cooked food and 
 clean, sound wine, all for about is. 4d. in English 
 money. I mention this because the Spaniards have 
 
A MEAL AND SOME EXTRAS 25 
 
 before all others the art of serving a meal. In 
 England, unless one goes to a distinctly expensive 
 place, the aim seems to be to put as complete a 
 meal as possible on one or two plates. In Spain 
 a meal is a present joy and a help over the remain- 
 der of the road. Of course, we smelt garlic ; simply 
 smelt or scented it — that's the word. One should 
 not know that one scents or tastes garlic ; then 
 it is a most appetising and comforting factor in a 
 meal. Our only real grievance is roused by the 
 railway bell and the shrieking whistle. This in- 
 tolerable combination of noises began almost the 
 moment we sat down to dine, and did not end till 
 after the first course was disposed of. We got up 
 a row between the waiter and some of the band 
 so as to save our own time for the business of eat- 
 ing and drinking ; but as all the performers could 
 play and talk at the same time, we were not com- 
 forted much. Then the crowd took sides ; some 
 said the train would, and some that it wouldn't, 
 go without us. Anyhow, we caught it, and a good 
 many words in the vernacular of the province. 
 
 More than half our journey of 150 miles lay 
 through tunnels and across bridges, spanning splen- 
 did chasms, in wild and absolutely sterile moun- 
 tains. Here and there a torrent leapt or fell and 
 boiled, passing on with any particles of soil its 
 churning may have made, and never depositing a 
 grain which might be seized and husbanded by 
 the peasant. Then we passed into a stronger light, 
 and where the sun shone warm, and there were 
 
26 THIRD CLASS 
 
 wide, roaming purple hills dotted with pure white 
 cots and little squares, or irregular windings of 
 green olive and orange trees, growing wherever 
 sufficient soil and moisture might be found. The 
 train itself seemed glad to escape from the eternally 
 bare and blighted hills, and rattled on at a great 
 pace, fairly preening itself in the green warm light 
 which bathed the land of the orange and the vine. 
 Then once more we shot into hills, and climbed 
 and panted and choked in the tunnels, and on 
 coming forth again saw long winding valleys and 
 men far below, no larger than ants — and, like 
 them, busy — scratching at their mother earth. 
 Our final run was through a valley near the coast, 
 where oranges filled the railway platforms, and 
 boys and girls sat in rows packing the fruit into 
 cases. Six a penny, and very large and sweet. 
 This woke the desires of most of us, and the whole 
 company reeked of orange, even to the exclusion 
 of tobacco smoke, which is saying a good deal. 
 
 The houses are pretty and homelike now, for the 
 land is generous, and beautiful too. Everybody 
 seems a good deal richer and happier, and boast- 
 ing increases, as if all in sight were ours, and life 
 a perpetual journey and holiday. Ten miles from 
 our destination the women began to get their 
 parcels ready. Then the landscape faded, for we 
 were all self-centred and concerned for the uncer- 
 tain life ahead. Unused to train travel, nearly all 
 the men stood up, and so filled the carriage that 
 it was dark, stuffy, and horrible. By and by we 
 
THE ROAD ETERNAL 27 
 
 smelt the air of the ocean, saw masts and sails, and 
 a moment later the wide blue plain of the sea — 
 that Camino eternal, which is an everlastingly 
 open road and way of hope for us all. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A WINTER IN THE HILLS 
 
 TO gain a knowledge of the conditions of life 
 and the nature of some rural industries in 
 this locality, I passed a winter in the hills between 
 Malaga and Granada. The country ran up to 
 several thousand feet ; and the estate farmed lay 
 exposed to the snows and raw cold of the Sierra 
 Nevada. Our house occupied a gap in the ranges 
 whence we looked over numberless hills, deep 
 gorges, isolated houses, the mighty Sierras, and 
 in clear weather we could see the Mediterranean, 
 with its African shore sixty miles away. The in- 
 dustry of the region consisted of cultivating wine 
 grapes, the growing of olives, of evergreen oak 
 for timber and charcoal, and the cultivation of 
 a few vegetable crops for local consumption. 
 Estates of this character employ few regular hands. 
 It is the custom to engage a large number of men 
 to perform a seasonable operation, and then to 
 discharge them till they are wanted for the harvest. 
 In Spain rural employment does not run to more 
 than seven months in the year ; the rest of the 
 time is a terrible fight for the workers to keep 
 body and soul together. Over a hundred and 
 
 28 
 
THE PEASANTS' LOT 29 
 
 fifty men were brought together on the Pineda 
 estate. Where they came from seemed a mystery, 
 for looking out on the land it appeared almost 
 destitute of life ; but tucked away between the 
 hills were villages. It was the gente, or village 
 people, of these little communities who formed the 
 labour supply. The great majority of the men 
 came in rags ; their bodies lean. They looked 
 hungry and wore a hunted look, which made one 
 almost afraid of them . But they were good at 
 heart ; their only failing was an unconquerable 
 hatred for those whom they thought favoured 
 by an additional week's work or an extra penny 
 a day. 
 
 It was the custom to engage men in groups. 
 Each gente as it came along would elect its spokes- 
 man, with whom the manager dealt, sorting and 
 sizing-up the group and offering a price for each 
 man's labour according to what he judged he was 
 worth. Most of the men had been cold and hungry 
 for months, and were so weak as to be incapable 
 at the beginning of doing a good day's work. 
 Hence it became necessary to feed them well and 
 work them lightly for the first week or two. The 
 food consisted of fat bacon, cod-fish, olive oil, 
 chick-peas, rice, and potatoes, boiled into a slushy 
 soup. There was also bread, black figs, dried 
 plums, and a few other odds and ends of a filling 
 if not a fattening character. At six, or long before 
 daylight, the men would rise from the sheds where 
 they lay all night in their clothes, and covered 
 
30 A WINTER IN THE HILLS 
 
 \vith no more than a single blanket or plaited 
 string-rug, and without any sort of wash, would 
 each take a piece of bread and a handful of black 
 figs, and proceed to the work of the day. This 
 consisted of cleaning and pruning ^dnes, and cover- 
 ing the roots where the soil had been washed away 
 by the force of storm-water. Other groups pruned 
 trees, t\4ng the wood into pack-bundles, w^hilst 
 the inferior timber and brushwood were converted 
 into charcoal. 
 
 By the aid of these men over thirteen hundred 
 acres of land were cleaned and cultivated during 
 the \rinter. Not a single animal was employed by 
 us, except to carry food and water to the labourers 
 and to bring back timber or charcoal. All this 
 hand labour was a necessity, for the country was 
 so steep it was impossible to employ a plough or 
 any other draught implement. To get much work 
 done the groups from the various villages were 
 placed side by side. This led to their racing, and 
 trjdng to outdo each other — a habit which the 
 Capataz — overseer — approved, but which de- 
 veloped much bad blood and a good deal of strife. 
 In fact, the danger of rinas — rows — was so great 
 that a number of rural guards were employed with 
 guns to stand over the men. The morning would 
 see every group friendly with the others ; but as 
 the day wore on and six men of one group would 
 fail to keep in line with six of another, or where 
 two groups were of equal numbers, one often com- 
 posed of the 3^oung men and lusty, passed the 
 
JEALOUSY AND STRIFE 31 
 
 other, consisting of enfeebled or less capable 
 workers, blood and temper would boil. I noticed 
 that the crookedness of the human line across 
 the hill-side varied in proportion to the amount 
 of anger and jealousy abroad. I used to sit and 
 calculate where the onslaught would come from, 
 when I saw there were obvious signs. Sometimes 
 those who were lagging would start a song, and 
 show great courage in singing, though they failed 
 in physical strength. But more often the leading 
 men would start the singing, and at times one of 
 these would drop out and, standing erect, sing a 
 song in praise of his village. The comparison was 
 usually of rats and mice, or mules and donkeys : 
 thus : 
 
 " In my village we are rats, astute and strong ; 
 In other pueblos only weak mice are to be found "; 
 or, 
 
 " If you would have your cargo carried straight home, 
 The mules and men of my pueblo can see it done"; 
 or, 
 
 " I heard of a village where all the mules are donkeys, 
 And when the load slips the men are not strong enough to 
 put it straight again ! " 
 
 These couplets and snatches, sung with great 
 glee and well-directed expression, would send the 
 blood of the losing gentes to boiling-point. Lan- 
 guage is not necessary to the Spaniard ; with his 
 elbow alone he can communicate with fidelity 
 every thought and emotion. There would be a 
 looking along the lines ; tools would strike the 
 ground or grip the vine as if with bitter hate ; 
 
32 A WINTER IN THE HILLS 
 
 hats would be tipped back from foreheads ; hand- 
 kerchiefs retied on the head ; spitting would be- 
 come violent ; the men would chew rather than 
 smoke their cigarettes. Then with a '' Come men," 
 from one who could no longer endure the strain, 
 a group would rise like locusts and fly at the 
 antagonists. The tools became weapons — the 
 mattock-like spade — an immense hoe with a heavy 
 ring — and the pruning - knife — a hatchet, sickle 
 and sword in one, — a truly dreadful weapon ! 
 Whatever was in the hand was good enough to 
 do some damage with. 
 
 We had no serious fights during the whole winter, 
 but never a day went by without some display of 
 force and fury and appeal for fair play. A year or 
 two previously no fewer than four men had been 
 killed in feudal fights on the estate. A common 
 source of jealousy lay in the selection of the branch 
 overseers, for nearly every group claimed to be 
 made up of men born to direct the labours of 
 others. As only a few foremen were needed, the 
 favoured gentes were the best hated and most 
 maHgned. In selecting foremen we heard rare 
 tales of personal ability. The custom was to select 
 men for their swearing capacity ; for if a man 
 could not raise the saints or possessed a splendid 
 private vocabulary of epithets and ugly expres- 
 sions, he was distinctly unfitted for the duties of 
 a Capataz. For the fun of the thing, when we had 
 Hstened to a man's account of himself, we would 
 say discouragingly, '' But you are no good at 
 
THE ART OF CURSING 33 
 
 abuse." At this he would jump back, as far as 
 his legs and his indignation would carry him ; and 
 lifting his rag of a hat or handkerchief, make a 
 bow that was full of denial, obeisance, and appeal. 
 '' Seiior,'' he w^ould inquire, *' have you heard me ? 
 Is there anyone who has not heard me ? Am I 
 not known as the word-slinger ? My God, I am ! '' 
 Then, '' Stop, senor ; listen ! '' And no doubt we 
 had to ! Of course, it is impossible to give any idea 
 of the epithets and the string of abuse such a 
 master in the art would pour out upon an imaginary 
 group of lazy rascals working under his direction. 
 And sometimes he would praise us without a 
 blush, telling the men we were the best employers, 
 generous with food and pay, had the kindest 
 hearts, even lost money in our desire to support 
 those who had not the sense to know when they 
 were well off. No matter wherever else we failed 
 in our judgment, we were generally safe in choos- 
 ing men who could swear well. But this does not 
 shock much in Spain, where everybody swears, 
 and not always quietly ; the swear-words are 
 ugly, cruel, often quite terrifying, only that repeti- 
 tion through familiarising softens them, and it is 
 only when out of Spain that one realises its full 
 significance. 
 
 When the men had become fairly sleek and 
 lusty, they would petition for a reduced ration. 
 This was in measured quantities of flour, peas, 
 rice, bacon-fat, and other articles allowed per man 
 or group. The petitioners would ask that they 
 
34 A WINTER IN THE HILLS 
 
 might be put on three-quarter or half rations, and 
 some as low as quarter rations, where the full 
 ration was barely sufficient to sustain. Their 
 object was to save and take home unused rations. 
 There is no Sunday in the country parts of 
 Spain, no fixed hours of labour or anything like a 
 full-stop to it. People work when they can or 
 must ; hence a young man will work from twenty- 
 five to thirty days on end, and then rest for two 
 or three days. An older man may work for a 
 fortnight or three weeks ; quite an old man will 
 take a rest once a week. But on our estate we 
 paid off every third week. The wages ran from 
 one to two reals a day — that is twopence to 
 fourpence — in addition to the rough food and 
 shelter ; but there were always some men who 
 worked for nothing, for when we could employ no 
 more they would say, '' I will stay for food only.'' 
 Even this was refused them, but sometimes they 
 could not be turned away. One man was a most 
 extraordinary character. He was mad ; but his 
 was the madness that keeps others to reason. He 
 was the biggest, liveliest, and most awesome 
 person in all the world, I believe. He was about 
 thirty years of age, nearly seven feet in height, 
 very straight-limbed, and had unusually long 
 arms. He did not shave, but clipped his beard 
 into a black stubble. His garments were nothing 
 but rags. A rag bound his hair into a shock ; a 
 sheepskin apron was split and tied round each 
 leg to as low as the knee. In the wildest weather, 
 
AN ENTHRALLING FIGURE 35 
 
 and it was always perishing, he wore no coat, 
 and his tattered shirt had no sleeves below his 
 muscles. His feet and ankles were swathed in 
 rags and leather straps ; and the dirt caked over 
 him would probably have weighed more than the 
 entire material of his garments. He came re- 
 peatedly before I told him he might stay for 
 a meal or two. 
 
 In front of the house, beyond a ravine, there 
 was a high promontory, planted with vines, and 
 an escarpment fully five hundred feet deep. A 
 track passed from its base, and it was customary 
 for the prunings of the vines to be thrown from 
 the cliff into the valley, and thence brought home 
 by pack-mules. I put my giant madman to 
 gather and tie the prunings into bundles ; and, 
 knowing how Spaniards detest working alone, I 
 thought that he, mad as he was, would soon tire 
 of solitude and clear off. Not a bit of it ! 
 He had a wonderful liking for work, and dis- 
 regarded the groups of men on the hill-sides. A 
 pay-day came, but he did not appear. He seemed 
 afraid to come in, lest he should be cleared off 
 with the rest. From the house I could see him 
 working like a slave, running at each necessary 
 piece of pruning as if it were alive and would escape 
 him ; tucking it with fury under his great long arm, 
 then twisting a binder round each bundle when it 
 was complete, and hurrying to the edge of the 
 cliff. Here he would raise it high above his head ; 
 and, with a mighty thrust, fling it clear of the 
 
36 A WINTER IN THE HILLS 
 
 rocks, and bend over to watch it fall light as a leaf 
 into the valley below. Words give no idea of the 
 strength of the picture or the emotions roused 
 by the behaviour of that man. First of all, the 
 reader should know something of Spanish gesture ; 
 he should know what a poor Spaniard feels when 
 he is giving and not asking ; he should know 
 something of that reason which is madness, and 
 of that madness which is reason. I knew my 
 man sufficiently well to imagine his face as he 
 stood out there on the edge of the cliff. He had 
 wonderful eyes, and all his face was full of ex- 
 pression. If mad within, he was eloquent without. 
 I felt I knew his thoughts and feelings, and grew 
 to be as fascinated by him as he was concerned for 
 himself. Yet he did not count. The work and his 
 strength were the only things that mattered. He 
 seemed mad only in his impatience to show that 
 he was neither mad nor incompetent. He could 
 work, he would work, and he did work. He was 
 out before day, never home before dark ; there 
 was for him no wet day, no snowy day, no Sunday. 
 Time after time he had to scratch through the 
 snow for his prunings ; he piled a heap of stones 
 at a point of the cliff, so that he might reach it in 
 safety when it was snow-capped and uncertain, 
 and throw from there his bundles into space ! 
 Pay-day came, and another three or more ; but 
 he never appeared. At times I confronted him, 
 and gave him a cigarette ; a shrug of the shoulders 
 was his thanks. When the prunings were gathered 
 
IN ALL THINGS TRUE 37 
 
 I felt I must keep him to other work on the ridge. 
 So I hinted that he might collect the loose stones 
 and make little supporting walls under vines, 
 which were liable to be denuded of soil. His joy 
 at finding his work recognised was beautiful to 
 see ; and though he never changed in his attitude, 
 all his words, which were few, and his gestures, 
 which were many, comprised a great boast of his 
 power to work. Whenever he shook his head as 
 a display of ability and strength I knew he was 
 right, to the extent that I trembled. From his 
 great height he would send a sweeping glance down 
 his ragged front, put out a foot, and v/ith a huge 
 hand smite his chest, as if to say, '' Is all this 
 mighty frame to go for nothing ? '' and there was 
 a look of contempt for the mere mice of men whose 
 claims were always recognised. He was as one 
 dumb, 3^et possessed of a great truth which must 
 be spoken. I became enthralled by him. I did not 
 want to understand any more of him, or to com- 
 pare him with other saner men ; I was content 
 with this wonderful animal, for such he was : 
 there was no trace of cunning, meanness, or 
 deception about him. He worked for four solid 
 months out on that ridge, often in the bitterest 
 weather ; alone, unfriended, and unpaid. One 
 morning he was told to come in ; there was no 
 more work, and he must go home. He bowed 
 with the dignity of an ambassador, and said 
 by a sign, ''It is your will." I intended paying 
 him as much as the others, but was called away, 
 
38 A WINTER IN THE HILLS 
 
 and returning, found him gone ! He had kept his 
 word, had worked for pan solo — for bread only — 
 and was satisfied. But I was not content to let 
 him go on those terms. I sent down to the pueblo, 
 where he had a crooning old mother, and asked 
 him to come back. Then I gave him money, 
 food, and a matchbox full of tobacco. He was 
 not overcome, for he was unalterable. His mad- 
 ness was complete in so far that it left him in- 
 capable of varying his emotions. But when he 
 had gone Pineda lost much of its charm for me. 
 I used often to look from my window, or from 
 the verandah, at all hours, but in vain ; not again 
 could I see that great rugged statue of a man 
 with his arms outstretched towards the bundles 
 of faggots as he hurled them over the edge of the 
 cliff. 
 
 When we decided to pay off we would send word 
 to Malaga and a cavalcade would set out with the 
 bullion. Two, sometimes four, mounted police 
 would be chosen ; there would be a cashier and 
 his assistant, also mounted. The four or six men 
 would guard a pack-mule laden with the cash. 
 The money, all in copper, was worth about forty 
 pounds sterling ; but judging by the faces of the 
 party, the display of guns, revolvers, and other 
 weapons, one might think the guard was in charge 
 of the Royal jewels of Spain, or of some far richer 
 country. On arriving, the money would be put 
 in a strong-room, and the premises fortified against 
 attack. This was nothing more than the survival 
 
PAY DAY 39 
 
 of custom, for there was nothing to fear from 
 brigands or from our own men. 
 
 Owing to the enormous number of copper coins 
 to be counted and tested — for there is a great deal 
 of bad money in Spain — it took from early morn- 
 ing to long past noon to pay out those forty 
 pounds. We had three rooms in a row ; in the 
 centre one were the money and the clerks. The 
 doorway on one side showed a room full of men 
 waiting to be paid ; in the doorway on the other 
 side was a huge stone which might have told a 
 long story. It was shaped something like a cottage 
 loaf and stood more than a foot high. The top was 
 hollowed partly by nature, partly by the beating 
 it got. Two men stood on either side of this stone, 
 and on a labourer receiving a hat full of coppers 
 he would go straight to the stone, with all eyes 
 watching him to see he did not make any exchange 
 of the coins. At the stone he would start testing 
 his money, casting down every coin with such 
 force as to cause it to rebound into his hand, when 
 if good he would toss it into another hat held to 
 accommodate him. This beating of the stone was 
 incessant, for as Spanish money runs down to the 
 tenth of a penny, the number of coins tested ran 
 to many thousands. Some men were clever 
 palmists, and would bring along bad coins and 
 substitute them for good ones. We often found it 
 necessary to strip men to detect fraud. One man 
 had his arm smeared with wax into which the coins 
 would sink and stick quite easily. This paying 
 
40 A WINTER IN THE HILLS 
 
 business was most fatiguing, and at the same time 
 genuinely amusing, though the humorous points 
 were sometimes too fine or too coarse to bear 
 telHng. When all had been paid they would form 
 into groups and collect what rations were due to 
 them from the kitchen. Numberless little leather 
 bags, bottles, and baskets of esparto-grass, would 
 be drawn forth, and the various amounts of oil, 
 rice, fat, and other food-stuffs poured into them. 
 Then marching parties would be formed, for in 
 their superstitious fear they were afraid to go 
 alone with such a burden of riches about them. 
 Their politeness and good feeling was touching. 
 Never shy, the Spaniard is always equal to ex- 
 pressing himself well ; and as we stood by the 
 verandah, or at the corner of the house whence ran 
 the mountain-path, man after man would come 
 forward and lifting his hat and voice at the same 
 time would call out, 'Xaballero!" and then turn- 
 ing to his comrades, '' This is the noble sehor. 
 This is the gentleman we have had pleasure in 
 working for. This is the real soul of Spain. This 
 is the time of the sun. These are the good days. 
 We have all been happy here. We have all been 
 well treated here. We are always glad to come 
 here ! We wish for a good harvest here ! Good 
 health here ! Good life here ! Is it not so, gentle- 
 men ? '* *' Yes ! Yes ! it is so ! '' they would 
 exclaim, breaking into further praise, salute, and 
 so away. As they journeyed down the first steep 
 mountain-path they would become more or less 
 
EACH BEARS HIS BURDEN HOME 41 
 
 detached and burst into hearty song, and this for 
 those of us who remained was the happiest time of 
 all. It was so gladdening to reflect on all the 
 homes that would be cheered that night by the 
 contents of those little sacks and baskets, hats, 
 handkerchiefs, and pockets. Half a mile or so 
 below, where the men looked small as children, 
 were three or four divergent paths ; there they 
 would gather to make up their private differences, 
 shake hands, wish each other God-speed and de- 
 part their several ways. Then the voices would 
 be heard in a different key, for the slopes and 
 ravines produced very hollow sounds, some of 
 which would come up long after the men were out 
 of sight. To tell the truth, I was always very sad 
 at the close of those pay-days ; there was nothing 
 hopeful in any of them for the men whose lives 
 depended on the little we had to offer. From 
 youths to old men they were all as slaves ; and 
 though skilful in their work, there was no chance 
 of bettering their lot. So in spite of an instructive 
 and in some ways a restful time, I was glad when 
 the winter was over to leave Pineda in the hills 
 and share the more genial life of the toilers in a 
 distant valley. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MARIA THE MIRTH-MAKER 
 
 I PASSED a summer on the Vega of Malaga. 
 Some friends would have kept me in their 
 large house, where were many servants, and ad- 
 vantages would have attended me ; but as I de- 
 sired to be alone or amongst the more primitive 
 Spaniards, I took up my quarters in a misrario — 
 penance-chamber — the last remaining portion of 
 an old Bernardine monastery standing among the 
 hills of Cabello. Two or three rooms had been 
 added to the place that it might accommodate a 
 rural guard. I arranged with an old woman to 
 keep house for me at nine pesetas fifty, a week — 
 about six-and-eightpence — and for this I was to 
 get bread and goat's milk in the early morning, a 
 breakfast of three plates at ten, and a dinner of 
 four plates at six. There were also to be wine and 
 coffee, and not less than a real was to be spent in 
 meat every day. A few bits of furniture and some 
 flesh-pots were hired, and we started to keep 
 house. Not over-impressed by Maria's personal 
 appearance and sense of order, I insisted on every- 
 thing being kept faultlessly clean and straight, 
 and strictly forbade her to interfere with my 
 
 42 
 
MEAT AND SOMETHING MORE 43 
 
 writing materials. So anxious was she, at first, to 
 please, that she regularly cleared off my blotting 
 paper if it showed the smallest spot, a most ex- 
 asperating experience, as it was very dear and 
 difficult to obtain at that time, black sand being 
 the only blotter in that part of Spain. Maria was 
 a great gossip, and, unable to get any local news 
 from me, she would go every morning to a spring, 
 there to wash the pots and pans with wisps of 
 esparto-grass and sand, clean and prepare the 
 vegetables, and wait for the butcher. This worthy 
 would appear sitting on the end of a Jack donkey, 
 with his bare feet kicking at the animal between 
 the long bags of meat w^hich hung from its sides. 
 When Maria had got all the news from him, and 
 he had extracted from her the eccentricities of the 
 foreign sehor, she would dive into one of his meat 
 bags for handfuls of the little bits of lean goat or 
 veal. In Spain animals are not jointed, but as 
 many of the slaughterers as can manage it, get 
 round the carcase, and literally pick the flesh from 
 the bones, putting the lean in one heap and the fat 
 and gristle in another. As a matter of fact, there 
 is never any fat, but a certain amount of skinny 
 tissue, cartilage, and rough matter, which is the 
 portion of the poor. We were rich in those days, 
 and ate a real's worth of lean meat every day. 
 After Maria had mauled, pulled about, and care- 
 fully examined scores of little pieces of meat, she 
 would decide on two or three, shove them in her 
 pocket, shoulder the pans and vegetables, tell the 
 
44 MARIA THE MIRTH-MAKER 
 
 butcher to ''Go with God," and clamber up the 
 rocky path and into my room. There she would 
 regale me with the news of the day, and rolling 
 from side to side on the little stool would exclaim, 
 *' What on earth am I sitting on ? " and then, 
 clapping her hand down, '' Lord, it's our meat ! " 
 I would shoo her out, and insist on its never being 
 put in her pocket again, but it made no difference. 
 Whatever vicissitudes the meat may have passed 
 through before it left the butcher, it got a rough 
 time afterwards, for Maria insisted on the carne 
 needing air. She would hang it on a nail in the 
 wall, and as it was hot weather and there were 
 any number of flies about, the stuff was filthy by 
 the time she took it down to dress it for the table. 
 Sometimes I would abuse her and ask why she had 
 been so long at the spring with the butcher, but 
 she always got out of it by saying, '' I was telling 
 him about you " ; and when I inquired what she 
 could possibly say about me, she would laugh out 
 defiantly, '' I was amusing him with your foolish- 
 ness of yesterday." In self-defence I must explain 
 that everything I did, which was new to Maria, 
 was tontoria, or absurdity. 
 
 When the meat was taken down from the wall, 
 Maria would wash it in vinegar and salt, until 
 every bit became steel-blue with terror; then she 
 would start to beat, stretch, and roll each piece, 
 until it was almost as thin as a sausage-skin, and 
 became a fritter, a kind of brown-paper pancake, 
 impregnated with most mysterious and appetis- 
 
MARIA SHINES AS A COOK 45 
 
 ing flavours and odours. It would be dipped 
 in oil, in capsicum juice, after that in a kind 
 of tomato sauce, once more in bruised almond 
 and garlic ; and lastly would be smeared with 
 the butter-like paste of boiled egg-plant. None 
 of these things, ^however, added to the sub- 
 stance or size of the piece of meat. It could be put 
 in the mouth easily if first rolled up, though in 
 Spain one is supposed to eat a crumb at a time, 
 offering thanks to God between each morsel. In 
 fact, nothing brings out the reverential spirit or 
 such hardy boasting as the consumption of meat. 
 It is not at all uncommon to meet adults among 
 the peasants who have never tasted meat except- 
 ing bacon, the chorizo, or a wild bird. 
 
 Another of Maria's favourite dishes was the 
 bolsillo — little purse. This she would make from 
 a mere film of meat filled with minced and very 
 delicately-flavoured vegetables mixed with yerba 
 buena — good herbs — selected by herself in the 
 Campo. This would be gathered into a kind of 
 Granny purse, deftly skewered and dropped into 
 boiling oil. Another of Maria's dishes, and the 
 most deceptive of all, was the berza — a mixture 
 of chopped meat and vegetables made into a rich 
 brown stew, and so cunningly manipulated that it 
 was almost impossible to tell one ingredient from 
 the other. Maria was very proud of this. 
 
 She was married; Don Luis, her husband, a tall, 
 gaunt old man, was nearly blind. He got his 
 living by plaiting esparto-grass and sack-making 
 
46 MARIA THE MIRTH-MAKER 
 
 on a large lagar, or farm, ten to twelve miles away. 
 Every few days he w^ould come home for a rest, 
 and when he was expected I usually gave Maria 
 an extra penny or two for meat and an additional 
 bottle of wine. Don Luis, though very thin and 
 with painfully weak eyes, remained a fine-looking 
 and attractive man, but as a true Spaniard he 
 must needs be a great boaster. I often waited his 
 coming before commencing the evening meal ; but 
 out of an innate politeness and respect he never 
 would sit down with me, but would lean against 
 the door and descant on the inexhaustible riches 
 and luxury of life in Spain, turning every now and 
 then to inquire if I did not approve his remark. 
 When the time came for him to have his supper, 
 Maria would seat him on a stool, place another 
 with the dish in front of him ; and then, standing 
 behind, with one hand on his shoulder, would feed 
 him as if he w^ere a child, all the time talking of 
 my generosity and asking if he tasted this and 
 that. She had a greedy love of meat, and when 
 the dish was a mixed one would say repeatedly, 
 '' Meat, meat, meat, man ! " and poke bits of 
 vegetable into his mouth ; then she would pick 
 out bits of meat, put them into her own mouth, 
 and wink at me ! And they had been married 
 thirty years ! 
 
 This stuffing so increased Don Luis' pride that 
 it constantly reminded him of the wealth and 
 prodigality of life in his own village. When he 
 could eat no more, or when Maria gave him 
 
VILLAGE CHAMPIONS 47 
 
 breathing space between the courses, he would 
 throw his head from side to side in a searching 
 manner — for in the house he was almost blind — 
 and would inquire ''Adonde, adonde, Don Car- 
 los ? Where are you, Don Carlos '' ; and then, 
 *' This reminds me of my village. When I was a 
 young man every one was so fat that very few 
 could walk as we walk nowadays, and the mules 
 and donkeys were all hollow-backed from carrying 
 the heavy crops of grain. All the meat was very 
 tender, because, with plenty to eat, everything got 
 fat very young." As he spoke Maria, standing 
 arms akimbo, would put out her tongue — ^jealousy 
 and disbelief personified — as if to say, ''You old 
 liar ! " Then, unable to bear the strain any longer, 
 she would yell at him, ''Anda!" — get out — and 
 then, flinging herself beseechingly at me, would 
 say, '' Listen, Don Carlos, it's not at all true,*' 
 and raising her voice, she would cap all his boasting 
 by shouting, '' In my village we have a fountain 
 with two spouts.'* This would fairly finish Don 
 Luis, for Maria's boast was unanswerable. As a 
 matter of fact, pure water and a continuous flow 
 through one mean spout is equal to great riches 
 in Spain. Another clincher of Maria's was that 
 she had seen as many as three bonfires in her 
 village on the eve of San Juan. 
 
 The simple truth amounted to this. Don Luis 
 and Maria were natives of two villages about six 
 miles apart. Once upon a time they travelled 
 half-way, met, and married ; and went off at a 
 
48 MARIA THE MIRTH-MAKER 
 
 tangent, where they had been ever since. They 
 had, at any rate, been in a constant state of war 
 regarding the merits and beauties of their re- 
 spective pueblos ; neither had ever seen the 
 other's village, and though so near to both, some 
 peculiar pride, or disinclination to condescend to 
 so much as a visit, kept this old couple divided, 
 and jealous to the verge of misery. Don Luis' 
 boast was in some way justified, for his village, 
 Alhourin, is known as one of the most beautiful in 
 Spain. It is Moorish, as its name implies, and 
 remains one of the finest examples of Moorish 
 small domestic architecture. So much admired is 
 Alhourin, that Maria must have heard its praises 
 sung a thousand times, which must have been 
 little short of a bitter grief to her, for her own 
 pueblo of Cartama was very pretty. Sometimes 
 I would offer to take her to Alhourin, at which 
 she would grow churlish, make elaborate excuses, 
 and find good reasons why we should go to Car- 
 tama instead. 
 
 About half a mile away were a few cottages, 
 the boys from which often came to stand in the 
 large doorway to watch the stranger eat meat. 
 These boys ranged from four or five to about ten, 
 and were practically naked. This did not matter 
 much, as it was decidedly hot weather. Curious, 
 hungry, and much afraid, they would grip each 
 other's hands tightly, and stand in a stiff row. 
 Maria was very jealous, and would throw water 
 or anything else at them, but once they were in 
 
MARIA GOES INTO BUSINESS 49 
 
 my presence I encouraged them to stay. As the 
 meal proceeded in full view of these boys, one 
 would say boastfully, '' Fve had it once " ; then 
 another would perk up with '' I've had it twice,'' 
 or '' three times " ; then a third miserable little 
 fellow would wipe his face in his only garment — his 
 shirt — and grizzle out, '' I haven't had it at all ! " 
 They were comparing notes of the times I had 
 given them meat. My memory was fairly good, 
 and I knew pretty well which boys had been most 
 favoured : then I would beckon to one, and they 
 would all advance in line, afraid to come singly, 
 each holding his hand as far in front of the others 
 as he possibly could, all of them saying in chorus, 
 '' I haven't had it at all, sefior," Whoever got the 
 bit of meat — and it was rarely bigger than a 
 walnut — would hold it in his curled forefinger, 
 lick it hard and industriously, then, rolling it in 
 the skirt of his shirt, he would grab the wad in 
 his hand, and fly down the bare slopes, anxious to 
 get home with the prize before his comrades 
 should wheedle or force it from him. There was 
 something ludicrous, but always much more that 
 was pathetic, in the behaviour of these children. 
 Like most women Maria longed to be rich. Out 
 of her ten pesetas a week she contrived to save, 
 and bought a sitting hen and a dozen eggs. In 
 due time ten or eleven chickens appeared, and 
 Maria grew to be as independent as she was over- 
 joyed. She neglected me in the most brutal 
 fashion, and made no better excuse than that 
 
^o MARIA THE MIRTH-MAKER 
 
 she must attend to her children. The chickens 
 were certainly a fine lot ; and I grew to live 
 almost entirely on the radiant happiness that 
 overspread Maria's wrinkled old face. It was a 
 large face, round, much sun-scorched, and sur- 
 mounted with a thin crop of straw-coloured hair. 
 Her eyes were deep-set and searching, and her' 
 mouth was a large red rosette, for her lips turned 
 outwards very much. She was not the least 
 Spanish in appearance. Quite a new language 
 came to Maria with her tribe of chickens, and she 
 used to forget herself so far as to talk to me as if 
 I were one of them. Then when she saw me 
 laughing, and remembered her mistake, she would 
 spurn me with something like, '' Bah ! you're 
 only a barren old rooster ! " 
 
 One morning at peep-of-day Maria burst into 
 my quarto, and with a horribly wailing moan 
 threw herself at the foot of my bed and collapsed. 
 I got up and laid her on the floor. As she breathed 
 heavily, and champed her mouth, I concluded 
 she was in a fit. I undid her dress at the throat, 
 and tried to bring her round, but got no more 
 result than a horrible fit of crying. She lay for an 
 hour or more in this state, and showed no signs 
 either of getting better, or of dying outright. 
 So I took a can, the domestic utensil of the country 
 which is used for cooling the floor in hot weather ; 
 and with this I watered her, first on the head and 
 chest, and then all over ! It made no difference. 
 She sighed, cried, and rolled about as if in great 
 
THE THIEF IN THE NIGHT 51 
 
 mental rather than physical agony ; and I became 
 aware that she knew of my presence, and how 
 I was behaving, but either could not or would 
 not stop her tears. 
 
 This mad grief went on for three solid days 
 and nights. What I got to eat doesn't matter. 
 All that I remember is that I was utterly worn out 
 from the starving and the unceasing yells and 
 complaints of Maria. Then, almost on a sudden, 
 she seemed to recover and regain her speech. The 
 very first words she uttered were, '' Ah ! I never 
 had but one chance to make a fortune, and now 
 that is taken from me ! *' I was still in the dark, 
 but the dawn soon appeared. The cause of all 
 this trouble was to be made plain. Maria had got 
 up as usual at peep-of-day, to find that a wolf, 
 or lynx, had come in the night and carried off the 
 hen and all her precious children. When this was 
 told to me, I could recall a fluttering, rubbing 
 noise during the night of the tragedy, but had 
 thought it came from mules, as they were in the 
 habit of rubbing themselves against the walls 
 outside. Poor Maria's face changed completely. 
 I never saw her smile with full-faced gladness 
 again. Instead of lifting things, she pushed them 
 about, she nursed a bitter grief, and would see 
 neither sweetness nor hope anywhere. 
 
 She had a son in South America. He had been 
 away for many years, and seldom or never wrote. 
 On my writing-table was the photo of a young girl, 
 also one of my mother — Maria always insisted that 
 
52 MARIA THE MIRTH-MAKER 
 
 the young girl was my no via — sweetheart. Coming 
 into my room one day, and standing over me as 
 I wrote, she said impatiently, '' Mad, mad; reading, 
 reading, writing, writing ; always this, always the 
 other ! '' I took no notice. Then, looking on the 
 two portraits, she inquired sadly, '' Which do you 
 love most ; your mother or your sweetheart ? " 
 I knew what was passing through her mind, and 
 said cruelly, '' Oh, my sweetheart, of course.'' 
 She turned away, and said with fury, '' Worst 
 curse of God be on you — you men are all the 
 same ! '' 
 
 There is a curious custom in Spain of stating 
 one's age in money ; thus, when I asked Maria 
 how old she might be, she replied, '' Three duros 
 and a little more." A duro contains twenty reals, 
 and allowing a real for each year she was over 
 sixty. 
 
 In spite of her good cooking I contracted a 
 fever. Every ailment is a fever in Spain. 
 
 As Maria professed to diagnose my case and 
 prescribe a cure, she started off to town, which 
 was some miles distant. The Spanish chemist 
 is a primitive individual. One wanting medicine 
 must take bottle or jar or box, and as Maria had 
 forgotten to take her vessel, and could not manage 
 to borrow or buy a bottle, my medicine was given 
 to her in a large basin. It was very hot weather, 
 with the road inches deep in dust. She managed 
 to bring home about two tablespoonfuls of muddy 
 liquid. She was quick to say, '' This is food and 
 
SUITED TO THE LIFE 53 
 
 drink for you '' ; but I refused to take either until 
 she had strained and re-strained the stuff through 
 the fancy flounces of my pillow. After that I soon 
 got well. I suppose the risks of delay were too 
 great. 
 
 For the sake of economy, suits of clothes are 
 roughly cut and just tacked together, with the 
 necessary linings, buttons, braidings, and thread 
 in a parcel all complete. Don Luis was head and 
 shoulders taller than I, but so lean as to call for 
 very narrow garments. Still saving out of my 
 six-and-eightpence a week, Maria was making Don 
 Luis a suit of clothes, and as she wanted to keep 
 the fact secret from him she used me as a lay 
 figure. This was a comic business. I used almost 
 to lie down and roll, so ludicrous were her remarks 
 and general behaviour when fitting me, and cal- 
 culating the allowance for the extra length and 
 the reduced width ; for instance, Luis's legs were 
 about half as thick as mine, so Maria would 
 drag the stuff round me and begin to sew it up, 
 and when I rebelled, chide me for my complaints, 
 telling me I ought to be proud to be decked in 
 such beautiful new garments ! When Don Luis 
 did come into possession of his clothes they cer- 
 tainly fitted him well ; and Maria was so pleased 
 with her work that she kept him at home for an 
 extra day or two, for the proud pleasure of seeing 
 him strut about. 
 
 I had two knickerbocker suits of soft brown 
 flannel, and in an unguarded moment I told 
 
54 MARIA THE MIRTH-MAKER 
 
 Maria she should have them the day I left. Here 
 was a dilemma ! She did not want me to go, and 
 if I stayed long the garments would be worn out ! 
 So she schemed and appealed to my vanity. There 
 were inkstains and other spots which would not 
 come out in the wash ; some parts were getting 
 threadbare, and patches were unbecoming to a 
 caballero. Her appeals were so frequent that I 
 gave her one suit. She put it on at once and 
 appeared before me. Shades of Bonnie Scotland ! 
 I had never seen anything like this ! Maria ever- 
 more went about the house and the hills outside, 
 when looking for her sweet herbs, as my double ! 
 Honestly, I grew almost to hate myself, for I was 
 always wondering if the difference in my height, 
 and one or two minor details, could make me 
 look any less absurd than Maria. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 DIVERSIONS AT CABELLO 
 
 AFTER leaving Maria, I went to an estate far 
 . famed for the production of muscatels, and 
 there I lived with a capataz and his family of 
 three sons and a daughter — Trinidad — who, with 
 the gente, provided many satisfying hours. Of 
 Trinidad I shall tell you much a little later. 
 
 The details of the muscatel industry are ex- 
 tremely interesting, for it is steeped in superstition 
 and quaint traditions. Saints and witches re- 
 spectively provide the good and the bad qualities 
 of every harvest. Santa Anna paints the grapes 
 on the tenth of August, and the quality of her 
 brush is gauged by the colours present in the sky. 
 Woe betide the harvest if the weather be overcast 
 and Santa Anna cannot get enough blue, chestnut, 
 and deep red for her palette, for these are the 
 desired colours in muscatels. 
 
 '' Bacchus loves the hills,'' muscatel is Queen of 
 the Valleys. She is the royal lady among fruits, 
 and runs no risk of being deposed from her court 
 at Malaga ; every nation supports her claims, with- 
 out her no ceremony is complete. The superior 
 
 55 
 
S6 Diversions at cabello 
 
 muscatel is ''mellow as autumn and fragrant as 
 the spring''; by a rare combination of climate, 
 soil, and technical skill Malaga alone can produce 
 this fruit to perfection. Stewards of many royal 
 households purchase direct from Spain, sending 
 their embossed and flowered silks and papers, 
 royal favours, national colours, arms, richly lined 
 cabinets, and all the rest of what is termed 
 '' etiquetta " to parcel and adorn the precious 
 fruit. Fashions in packing come and go at the 
 whim of a princess or court lady, for whatever she 
 chooses to dislike or to suggest is mentioned in the 
 royal order, and affects the '' get up '' of the fruit 
 for each country. 
 
 Muscatels are made from a large greenish-gold 
 grape named '' Gordo-blanco " — fat white — and 
 the more refined type of amber tone, '' Muscat of 
 Malaga.'' It may be hard to realise that these 
 grapes yield the deep blue-black dried fruit ; but 
 it is true ; no black grapes are converted into 
 muscatels. In the process of drying the fruit 
 takes on a black, chestnut, or dark red colour, 
 according to the soil and season ; the degree of 
 ripeness when cut ; the amount of sugar and iron 
 it contains, and the weather during the drying 
 season. The best fruit is obtained from *'vege- 
 tas," or well-drained terraces of sweet pulverous 
 earth. Low, rank, and undrained soils cannot 
 yield a high-class muscatel, and the discrimination 
 and skill used in the management often amounts 
 to genius. 
 
WHEN RUIN COMES IN CLOUDS 57 
 
 To the eye a lagar, hacienda, or finca — names 
 applied to fruit farms and other rural estates — 
 presents nothing attractive, being dry red or grey 
 patches of low-lying land covered with sprawling 
 bushes of dust-laden leaves ; but when the grapes 
 begin to ripen, men and boys seeking work 
 appear in swarms, and one loses sight of nature 
 in the crowds of hungry and variegated human 
 beings. 
 
 Dogs and goats are very fond of grapes, and are 
 only kept off them by rural guards ; but the 
 greatest enemy of all is the starling. This bird 
 flies over from Africa in such millions as literally 
 to darken the earth. Wherever they camp for the 
 night they leave a desert ; every particle of fruit, 
 leaf, tender shoot, and piece of soft bark vanishes. 
 As the saying is, '' Many crops spell various for- 
 tunes ; one crop of starlings spells ruin.'' The 
 blowing of a southern wind and the sound of wings 
 in the air produces panic, men's faces blanch with 
 terror. In despair, bells are rung, guns fired, 
 torches lighted, and donkeys, mules, and horses 
 are galloped up and down and round about to 
 scare '' los bichos " — the beasts — as they are 
 termed. Some calm souls rely on their appeals to 
 the Mother of God, or the promise of a priest, 
 who for a consideration has blessed and waved an 
 arm of protection over the estate ; others sit and 
 smoke, looking into their open hands and saying, 
 ''If it is to be, it will be. If it is not to be, it 
 will not be." 
 
58 DIVERSIONS AT CABELLO 
 
 Mucha sol — much sun, 
 Poca viento — little wind, 
 Nubes ninguna — clouds none, 
 
 is the desire of the muscatel grower. 
 
 To be able to judge when fruit is perfectly ripe 
 gives a man superior status ; and this, together 
 with a stentorian voice and a store of choice ex- 
 pletives, forms the ideal capataz. 
 
 The first work is to prepare the tordos — walled 
 beds of tamped earth and gravel on which the 
 fruit is dried. 
 
 No living tree or anything odorous is allowed 
 near ; the tordos are always placed away from 
 water in positions securing the maximum of heat 
 and a minimum of shade and moist air. All the 
 material of the tordos is turned and tamped, turned 
 and tamped, for muscatels may not be made on 
 damp or unclean ground. One man is drafted off 
 to watch the sky, and arrange for the placing and 
 protection of the fruit according to his weather 
 wisdom. 
 
 Near to Malaga, men seek work in thousands, 
 and whilst recognising their misfortunes it is im- 
 possible to avoid laughing at their darns and 
 patches. Spain, so often described as a land of 
 rags, is more truly a land of patches. Any one 
 may wear a patch and suffer no social declension ; 
 all the poor are patched, in infinite shapes, sizes, 
 and colours. In the towns are patch-shops, con- 
 taining piles of pieces of material of all colours ; 
 and the rule is to make a bargain as regards their 
 
THE COUNSEL OF PERFECTION 59 
 
 size and strength. Hence, one sees such incon- 
 gruities as a strip of Turkey red from a soldier's 
 trousers sewn on white drill or yellow cord. I was 
 at times so fascinated by the patchwork as to 
 feel I must engage men to enjoy the spectacle of 
 them ; once I bought the skirt of an old tramp 
 woman because it was made of hundreds of pieces 
 and was a work of ingenuity and art ; but, alas, 
 when I thought I had got it safely home, my 
 friends did not share my transports, and burnt 
 what they termed '' the beastly old thing ! " 
 
 There is great art in knowing when the muscatel 
 is ripe. It should not be cut till all its growth has 
 ceased ; then the stem and seed is brown, the 
 skin fine, the sugar at its maximum, and there is 
 no free juice. To prevent waste and secure the 
 highest quality, the men are carefully selected, 
 some to cut the first-class fruit, others the second- 
 class, and others the third. Here the capataz 
 shines in trying to put all others of his class in the 
 shade. His stock call was, '' Gentlemen, only the 
 ripe ones ! Only the ripe ones ! The ripe ones ! 
 Nothing more ! Solely the ripe ones ! By God, 
 ripe ones ! '' Variations of this theme employed 
 all his time, except when it was interlarded with 
 more vigorous language. A man's pride in being 
 placed among the firsts would be sweet to see, 
 till the capataz, detecting some fault in his work, 
 would send him to the second or third group. This 
 '4nsulf would usually stupefy and deprive the un- 
 fortunate of speech. He would show his wretched- 
 
6o DIVERSIONS AT CABELLO 
 
 ness by sulking and a silent gesture. Occasion- 
 ally a man would resent it by an oratorical appeal 
 to his fellows. 
 
 The jokes and pokes incidental to cutting grapes 
 are endless. The fruit should never be touched ; 
 if a man cannot find stem enough to handle, one 
 hears his mates remarking ironically of him that 
 he has the masterful dedos de Dios — fingers of 
 God ! The appearance of green fruit in a man's 
 basket gives all his mates the stomach-ache ; they 
 writhe and gesticulate in a fit of the gripes. Up- 
 setting the basket is a bad omen, and leads to the 
 erection of a stake or pile of stones as a monument ; 
 all coming near which preach a sermon, offer a 
 prayer, or make other bantering outpouring for 
 the soul of the lost grapes and of him who had 
 destroyed them. 
 
 Carried to the tordos the fruit is laid best side 
 downwards, and not disturbed till the major part 
 is dry. The grapes being unequal in size, some 
 dry sooner than others. Drying takes from nine 
 to twenty-one days. Rare skill is shown in judging 
 when the fruit is dry ; it involves continual watch- 
 ing to ensure lifting it at the right time. Dry fruit 
 is passive, but only an expert can detect this con- 
 dition to a nicety, and even an hour too much or 
 too little spoils what might have been a fine sample. 
 Once dried and cooled in a large airy shed, the 
 quaHty is discernible, and the class of packing is 
 decided upon. The bunches which appear so 
 natural to the consumer are all made artificially by 
 
HANDLING THE MUSCATEL 6i 
 
 hand ! The largest bunch of even-sized grapes 
 will yield no more than ten to fifteen granos — ^in- 
 dividual fruit — all the others being uneven or in 
 some way defective and cut away. The packer 
 chooses a shapely racema — bunch — and treating it 
 as a frame, hangs and twists it, and contrives to 
 weave a handsome cluster of even-sized and even- 
 toned fruit ; all this is done without handling it 
 other than with a little stick and a pair of 
 scissors. 
 
 To describe in further detail might prove tedious, 
 but there are scores of particulars of the highest 
 importance to be considered if the muscatel is to 
 be perfect. The Spanish method of eating this 
 fruit is unlike our own ; and at first appears dirty, 
 though it is not really so. A Spaniard breaks the 
 fruit at the stalk end, and with finger and thumb 
 presses steadily from the bottom, till the congealed 
 flesh exudes in a round ball, so that it can be taken 
 without the skin. To the connoisseur this is im- 
 portant, as the skin spoils the flavour of the 
 fruit. 
 
 The best class of cutters and packers receive but 
 six reals, or a fraction over a shilling, a day, with 
 two meals of soup, bread, oil, salad, and black 
 figs. The hours of labour are from daybreak till 
 dark, but long days of hot glaring sunshine and 
 concern for the harvest leave little room for com- 
 plaining or dullness. All the day long there is 
 singing — free, wild, heart-born singing — and cuen- 
 tas — stories — bawled abroad, as men pass to and 
 
62 DIVERSIONS AT CABELLO 
 
 fro or crouch over the tordos at the patient task 
 of laying or Hfting grapes. In the evenings are 
 games, songs, and tales. The Spanish do not play 
 cards as much as we do, but where a few men are 
 gathered together a pack is generally to be seen. 
 Spanish cards are composed of cups, swords, clubs, 
 and gold pieces. It appears that our spade is a 
 contracted sword, and our club an abbreviated 
 bludgeon ! 
 
 The sugar-cane furnishes the most convenient 
 form of mild gambling amongst poor youths and 
 boys. They contrive to split the cane by either 
 tossing it in the air and catching it on a knife, or 
 having it thrown violently towards them, when they 
 are supposed to catch it on the blade and divide 
 it from end to end. One wins what he succeeds 
 in splitting. We had plenty of this sport whenever 
 daylight afforded ; but more common were such 
 games as could be played by the aid of an oil lamp 
 or two. An amusing Andalusian game is the yard 
 race — sitting on the floor with legs and hands 
 in the air, one is supposed to lift oneself and bump 
 along for a yard, the first over the distance getting 
 the prize. Although so simple, and, as some may 
 think, so silly, it yields irresistibly comic situations, 
 and is so difficult of accomplishment that its 
 interest cannot wane. The only danger is that 
 one's trousers may give out before the yard has 
 been negotiated ! 
 
 Quail-callers are the most artistic of liars. They 
 have their home in Spain. The quail, or red- 
 
A MASTER CRAFTSMAN 63 
 
 legged partridge, is to Spain what the domestic 
 pigeon is to England, and the most popular Spanish 
 field-sport is quail shooting or trapping by aid 
 of a decoy. The quail-caller is one who makes 
 a speciality of decoying game. He is usually a 
 tatterdemalion, hardy in frame and possessed of 
 rare lore, but always spoiled by his gift of lying, 
 for the truth is never enough for him. He can 
 imitate a cock bird entrapped or calling to its 
 mate, a hen bird scared from her nest or alarmed 
 for her young; in fact, any and every bird-call 
 is known to him, so that at all seasons he can in- 
 duce birds to come to him through fogs or mists, 
 and to follow him even for miles across country, 
 entering his house to be entrapped. 
 
 I have never seen a quail follow in such manner, 
 but so frequently is it stated to have been done 
 that I have little doubt it is true. To assist the 
 mimicry a cordoniz — quill — with a piece of leather 
 lace bound round it, is carried in the mouth ; some 
 men use a piece of bone like a buckle with cotton 
 round it. We had two or three quail-callers of 
 repute amongst our gente, but, to write the truth, 
 we were only interested in them when they lied. 
 
 For variety, and to satisfy their curiosity, I 
 induced some men to take a turn at boxing ; and 
 after gloves had been rudely fashioned we set to 
 work ; but plucky as they were they disliked 
 falling on the hard floor, and the sleeping-sacks of 
 chaff were spread ; this meant rolling about and 
 innumerable falls, and produced great fun ; but 
 
64 DIVERSIONS AT CABELLO 
 
 there was constant danger of touching a man's 
 honour, as any suspicion of defeat angered him 
 almost to madness. Several times men volunteered 
 to show me how they could fight with the knife, 
 and the coat off and swung like lightning round 
 the left arm to form a guard. This was always 
 meant to let me know that if I was superior to 
 them in one way they were my equals in 
 another. 
 
 Occasionally the servants would come from the 
 great house, and then we had something like 
 musical evenings. The women would never 
 mingle amongst the men or sit down, but would 
 stand in the doorway of the packing-shed, or out 
 in the clear night, and, holding each other's hands, 
 would insistently encourage the men to tell tales 
 or to sing. Make no mistake, Spaniards have a 
 soul for music — a sense of feeling, power, and in- 
 terpretation which is most rare elsewhere. 
 
 There is a trembling, grieving, wavering, awful 
 fear, the agony rather than the joy of life, so sad, 
 so unavailing ; such clear vision ; such refine- 
 ment of emotion ; withal given in voices most full 
 of expression and delicacy of sound. 
 
 It takes time to discern the fidelity, which is 
 the beauty of Spanish song. The form is not 
 easily comprehended. Fleeting thoughts ; home 
 longings ; farewells ; visions ; memories ; love- 
 sighs ; labour ; fortune ; — these in couplet form 
 are so much in little as to escape the more dis- 
 passionate northern races. 
 
THE SOUL OF THE SOUTH 65 
 
 ANDALUSIAN COUPLETS 
 
 Dreaming of thee — dreaming of thee — dreaming of thee — 
 
 I fell asleep ; 
 And falling asleep I waked to love thee ! 
 
 I'll ask my confessor to make me a penitent, 
 That I may kneel to you always. 
 
 If they gave me the millions at which I value your person, 
 You might say to the world, you have a rich sweetheart. 
 
 I don't want any singing — singing of " tranquilUty " ! 
 I want light" songs of love that flow out of your soul ! 
 
 I'll ask the Evangelist to alter his teaching, — 
 
 For I know that your window is the way to Heaven. 
 
 Oh, nightingale ! Oh, nightingale ! Why sing you ? why 
 
 sing you ? 
 My heart is sad ! my love is gone ! Why sing you ? why 
 
 sing you ? 
 
 If you should doubt my love, my love will fade ; 
 The lyre will lose its music and the world its flowers. 
 
 Ay de Mi ! Ay de Mi ! Words tell not my sorrow, — 
 I know not my complaint ! Ay de Mi ! Ay de Mi ! 
 
 GITANESCOS 
 Gypsy couplets may be heard over all Spain, 
 but they are most common in Andalusia. The 
 following are some examples : — 
 
 As I sat under a tree without fruit I sighed, — 
 Sighed, as I thought — how poor is he who hath nothing 
 to give ! 
 
 I should never have thought that your love was poison. 
 Served in a cup of gold. 
 
66 DIVERSIONS AT CABELLO 
 
 Man is a serpent — a serpent with wings — 
 Which at times bear him up to the skies, 
 And at others bear him down to the ground. 
 
 The ass and the gypsy share a hard road, 
 
 Hard bed and hard fare. 
 
 Father Confessor, forgive their sins ? 
 
 I sing for I am happy — I am happy and must sing ; 
 For you have driven all care out of my heart. 
 
 Since I saw you in a lonely hour, 
 
 I have discovered a new world and am become its king. 
 
 I am under your window — and its bars are strong. 
 But our love will break all barriers down. 
 
 I believe the couplet and '* pensimiento *' reveal 
 the soul of Spain more truly than anything which 
 is done or said in the land. Romances and old- 
 fashioned stories are recited with as much freedom 
 as ever ; and to the call of '' Come now ! " every 
 man would contribute his share. 
 
 As the maidens retired, some of the younger men 
 would steal after them to play the part of '' iron 
 eaters." Lovers are so called because they talk 
 through the iron-barred or latticed windows. 
 
 One of our workmen died, and we took him in 
 his best clothes on a bier obtained from the church 
 porch, and buried him cofhnless in the deep square 
 pit which formed the common grave of his village. 
 The cimenterio was at the crown of a steep hill 
 above the church ; as we climbed a bell was 
 clanged and rattled at the will of two boys. The 
 
COOL CUSTOMERS 67 
 
 bells are hung in window-like spaces of the towers, 
 and have heavy wooden frames, enabling those 
 who ring them to turn the bells over and over. A 
 priest led the little procession, and tiring of the 
 hill he sat down and puffed at a cigarette. Then 
 the bell stopped, and we saw the two boys locked 
 round its frame, their legs gripping the tongue, 
 and by means of a hand and spare foot pressing 
 the wall and turning themselves over and over ! 
 The sight was sickening, but the boys betrayed 
 no fear till our calls reached them, and the priest 
 told them in forcible language to ''go on with 
 the music." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 A LOVE STORY 
 
 ONE day a friend asked me to accompany him 
 to a christening, and in support of his re- 
 quest he showed me this letter. 
 
 '' Dear friend Joseph, 
 
 ''Will you come to-night and be presented 
 to our first-born son ? If he cannot hold out his 
 hand, I will welcome you for him. Try and per- 
 suade your English friend to come. Father Julius 
 will be here till nightfall, and I pray most fer- 
 vently that his blessing will ever attend my boy. 
 With the priest out of the way we shall go in for 
 a high old time of ' Rats in the hole.' 
 
 *' Yours always, 
 
 '' Luis.*' 
 
 We went to the presentation. It is not mis- 
 called, for the baby is presented, and then you 
 present it with something. I gave a tiny pair of 
 shoes made of strips of coloured felt, ingeniously 
 plaited. There were a great many peasant women 
 present, and they criticised and admired the shoes 
 amazingly ; some went so far as to say before the 
 poor mother that the shoes were far too good for 
 her first-born son. Nearly an hour was spent in 
 trying to discover if any baby in all their ken had 
 
 68 
 
HIS HIGHNESS THE BABY 69 
 
 ever possessed a pair of shoes bought out of a 
 shop. 
 
 There was, at this christening, a kind of hired 
 clown, who played the violin whilst contorting 
 his body. He also made ingenious jokes, de- 
 manding forfeits which went to the baby. He 
 succeeded in playing an air with his hands behind 
 him, another with one hand in his pocket, and one 
 with an arm buttoned inside his waistcoat. Many 
 of his antics were vulgar in the extreme, whilst 
 others were clever, and he made some smart 
 rhymes on the company. Every one sat round the 
 walls of the two or three little rooms ; and, from 
 the oldest to the youngest, all drank the health of 
 the baby in tiny glass cups of white spirit. The 
 father of the child was a modeller in clay, and with 
 a basin of water and clay he sketched group after 
 group of those present on the whitewashed wall. 
 For delicacies we ate pine-kernels, lupin-seed, and 
 muscatels. Many women present had babies, and 
 some gave their infants poppy-water to keep them 
 quiet. This was not done in any mean spirit, but 
 because the poor mothers had not sufficient natural 
 food for their offspring. 
 
 Spain was frightfully poor at this time, and in 
 the most generous season of the year the majority 
 of the peasants were in a state of hopeless want. 
 Wherever I went on the road I was appealed to by 
 children for a little for God's sake, as their fathers 
 were in Buenos Aires. This appeal was so frequent 
 and unvarying that I thought there must be some 
 
70 A LOVE STORY 
 
 attractive catch in the statement that the father 
 was in Buenos Aires, but on asking, a man made 
 the reason clear. '' Yes, it is quite true their 
 fathers are in Buenos Aires. A few years ago some 
 rascals came to this province and induced thou- 
 sands of our best men to go to South America. 
 After a year or so they were to be joined by their 
 wives and families, but the scheme was a swindle, 
 and thousands of women and children are hus- 
 bandless and fatherless from this cause." 
 
 One night I came home to find the path to the 
 house illuminated. My host, the capataz, had 
 died. He had not been a strict churchman, and I 
 found the family holding an argument over the 
 wisdom or otherwise of calling in the priest. 
 Every available candle had been used to light up 
 the avenue between the road and the house, and 
 the wife and daughter had placed one or two near 
 the head of the dead man. In moving round to 
 condole with the members of the family I upset 
 one of these candles, and the faces of the women 
 became whiter than ever with holy terror. They 
 could not believe that their husband and father 
 could be in any way safe after this malventura. 
 I know it was remembered against me for months, 
 and the widow was especially bitter in accusing 
 me of adding to her grief. 
 
 An instructive chapter might be written on the 
 Lady in Spain, for she is the most distinctive and 
 unrelated woman in Europe. He would, indeed, 
 be a master who, knowing the subject, could make 
 
CLIMATE AND CHARACTER 71 
 
 her appear as she is and has her being. The mis- 
 tress of Cabello was a great lady, a direct de- 
 scendant of Peter the Cruel and his consort, Maria 
 Padilla. She was about thirty years of age ; 
 rather small, delicately formed, and beautiful ; 
 but not particularly Spanish in appearance. She 
 had married at eighteen, and at the time I write 
 of had a precocious son of ten. Her husband was 
 ten years her senior, a fine man of German ex- 
 traction ; where Germany mates with Spain one 
 sees the most absolute indifference to women and 
 her concerns. Don A. was fond of his wife and a 
 loyal husband, but he and she lived in different 
 worlds, as is so often the case in upper-class 
 Spain; the wife never going out, and the hus- 
 band never at home. This does not mean that all 
 the men are rakes, but that their social habits 
 keep them up at all hours, a custom forced by a 
 climate which makes the night more congenial 
 than the day, and when a man is employed through 
 the day, he works so easily, and takes his siesta so 
 often, that he can pass most of his nights in the 
 club or calle and not show signs of wanting more 
 rest. 
 
 Doha Maria was a devout churchwoman, her 
 only diversion consisted in going to Mass two 
 or three times a week, gathering a sheaf of polite 
 scandal and bringing it home for the benefit of 
 her servants. This is the most surprising, as it is 
 one of the most pleasing facts of Spanish life. 
 The greatest lady regards her maid in the light 
 
72 A LOVE STORY 
 
 of an intimate, and the maid, though reverencing 
 her mistress, speaks critically and frankly to her 
 on every subject. Dona Maria kept six maids, and 
 for a wonder they were maids, for it is most un- 
 usual for single women to act as servants. Mothers 
 and daughters go out together. If a girl has no 
 relations, she is adopted by an aunt or older 
 woman, who has absolute control of her. Only 
 in the rarest circumstances are young single 
 women found in a Spanish household. There are 
 two reasons for this. The girls are notoriously 
 weak and incapable of resisting the advances of 
 men ; and where they are servants their masters 
 invarably take advantage of them. The excep- 
 tional reputation of Don A. and his wife gave 
 them the privilege of keeping a number of young 
 servants. Only the cook was married, and she 
 was under thirty. A seventh, in the form of a 
 doncella, or lady's-maid, was a well-bred girl of 
 great wit and charm, and not a bit like a Spaniard ; 
 for she was educated, in no way superstitious, 
 petulant, or afraid of men — a fine girl and the life 
 and soul of the household. She was always in- 
 venting games and pitting Spain against the rest 
 of the world, bracketing herself with me, for she 
 had been partly educated in France. Our coach- 
 man weighed eighteen stone, and as Lola, the 
 familiar name for Dolores, and I together weighed 
 but a little more, it was her favourite challenge 
 that we should have a tug-of-war, and decide 
 which might be the weightiest part of the world ! 
 
WHERE SPAIN SHOWS WELL 73 
 
 Spain always won, for we found that the coach- 
 man tied himself to a post in the stable, and, pull 
 as we would, we could never get him out. This 
 had been his challenge, and Lola and I made any 
 number of trials before discovering the trick. At 
 first all were shocked at the masculine play of 
 Dolores and her near contact with a man, but after 
 a time the feeling wore off and the whole house- 
 hold gave way to this kind of diversion. 
 
 Dona Maria's interest in her maids, and their 
 affection for her, was quite beautiful. After 
 dinner it was her custom to pick a few sweets from 
 the table, small dried and crystallised fruits — for 
 there are no puddings of any kind — and rising 
 with the lightness and joy of a little girl, she would 
 call, " Ay, my girls ! Where are you ? '' At this 
 there would be a rustling and chattering in the 
 long passage leading to the kitchen, and Dofia 
 Maria would feed them out of her hand, as so many 
 twittering birds. This performance used to take 
 place almost daily, and one never thought it silly 
 or without value. The cook was almost too proud 
 to be fed, she got too much food as it was ; but 
 her mistress would never allow her to escape, and 
 in the end she took her share like the others. 
 
 What might be called the Mass meeting was 
 always entertaining. Twenty-four hours before 
 the time of starting every maid and man would 
 be saying excitedly, '' Doha Maria's going to Mass 
 to-morrow ! " *' Oh, my ! Doha Maria's going to 
 Mass to-morrow ! " '' Much favour of God on 
 
74 A LOVE STORY 
 
 Dona Maria ! '' '' Oh, a good time on the road for 
 Doiia Maria ! " and a hundred other exclamations 
 of hope and well-wdshing. Then, when the morn- 
 ing came, a great lumbering coach would be rolled 
 out, a pair of most beautiful mouse-coloured mules 
 attached, and the eighteen-stone coachman would 
 climb aloft to the envy of all who stood round- 
 He usually got on his perch an hour before starting- 
 time, for he liked to be admired and envied. The 
 church was but three miles away, it might have 
 been three hundred judging by the preparation 
 and the ceremony of saying good-bye. The house 
 overlooked the courtyard where the coachman 
 sat in waiting, and for an hour or more feminine 
 heads would be poked out of every \\indow^ all 
 shouting and calhng at the same time, " Have 
 you got this ? Have you got that for Dona 
 Maria ? " There were always a score or two of 
 men about at this early morning hour, and these, 
 too, caught the contagion and spoke of nothing 
 but Mass, coachman, the making of journe^^s, and 
 the monumental goodness of Doiia Maria. I con- 
 fess to liking her as much as the others ; but I got 
 almost sick of the everlasting repetition of her 
 name. When at last she appeared — garbed as a 
 simple little nun, with a long jet rosary on her 
 arm, a small black fan, and a little black bag- 
 purse, one had a feeling of disappointment ; but 
 she was the great lady after all, there could be no 
 mistake about that. Two or three of the maids 
 would always be in close attendance, eyeing her 
 
ON GOING TO MASS 75 
 
 from top to toe for threads or anything that might 
 possibly be out of place. Doha Maria and the 
 coachman would exchange compliments, as if they 
 had not seen each other for years, she inquiring 
 after his and his family's health and all his worldly 
 concerns, and he of hers in exactly the same terms 
 and manner. Then the excitement would begin 
 to brew ; the maids would say dejectedly to them- 
 selves, and to each other, and up to the sky, '' Oh, 
 Doha Maria's going away." '* Oh, Dofia Maria's 
 going to see the padre." '* Oh, how sad I am, 
 Dofia Maria's going away ! " There would be a 
 commingling of complaints, sad shakings of heads, 
 and no end of expressions of hope for a safe journey. 
 Of course, there could be no hurry ! Hurry is im- 
 possible in Spain, sheer madness, a thing to dis- 
 gust one, and put one to shame. So Maria would 
 let them have their wail out, then she would look 
 at the coach and the coachman, as if she had for- 
 gotten his presence, and say, '' Oh, Pedro, I think 
 I'll get you to take me to Mass this morning." 
 The coachman would bow and the maids would 
 grab and lift Doha Maria into her seat. Some 
 would kiss her ; all would raise their hands in 
 good-bye when the coach lumbered off. She would 
 be away about three hours ! How could that time 
 be endured ? There was no housekeeper, every 
 maid was a law unto herself, and as such incapable 
 of work whilst her mistress was away. They would 
 hang about in a group, chattering and twittering, 
 going the round of the gardens and climbing to 
 
76 A LOVE STORY 
 
 view-points whence they might look along the 
 road. 
 
 About half a mile on this road was a wooden 
 bridge, and on crossing it our coach might be 
 detected from its sound. False alarms there were 
 to no end, and the words " bridge " and " coach '* 
 were constantly heard from the time Doiia Maria 
 was due to return. When she did at last arrive, 
 the maids would rush down to the entrance gates, 
 stop the coach, pull their mistress out, and almost 
 stifle her with embraces and inquiries and con- 
 gratulations. She always seemed tired of the ad- 
 venture, apart from this home reception, and often 
 had actually to beat them off with her fan. Of 
 course, she lived on this unstinted devotion, and 
 when at last they got her home, they would sit 
 round and listen patiently to what she had to tell 
 in the way of news. This was generally very simple 
 and old-fashioned, for after Mass she always break- 
 fasted with an old aunt, a rigid church woman, and 
 the subjects dealt with were chiefly of the Church 
 and its superstitions. 
 
 After the death of Trinidad's father I succeeded 
 to some of his duties, and lived partly in the great 
 house and partly in that of Trinny's mother. 
 Dolores and Trinny were fast friends, and as I 
 confess to a real fondness for Trinny, the three of 
 us passed a deal of time together. It is simply 
 impossible for a man and woman of any age to 
 walk or be alone together in Southern Spain. But 
 on the principle that there is safety in numbers. 
 
THE HUMOROUS CHAMELEON jy 
 
 and that foreigners don't count, I often found 
 myself with Dolores and Trinidad, and we went so 
 far as to take long walks in the campo, gathering 
 the lovely caper flowers and their seed-pods — 
 alcaparas — for pickling. At other times we went 
 exploring the hills ; and it was very interesting to 
 observe how these Spanish women revealed their 
 sense of freedom when they found themselves 
 alone, and at the same time how they wore looks 
 of awful dread as they contemplated the return, 
 for they were afraid of being scandalised and losing 
 their reputation. But fear as they might, one 
 class of adventure never failed to draw them forth. 
 It was that of chameleon catching. 
 
 The chameleon is the delight of the world once 
 you have fairly caught and tamed and known 
 him. In Europe chameleons are found only in the 
 extreme south ; and they vary a good deal in size 
 and form, the season of the year, the food and the 
 light influencing their colour and behaviour. In 
 their native state they are not remarkable for any- 
 thing more than their extraordinary swiftness of 
 movement. They live in dry rocky country and 
 feed on flies and other small insects. They are 
 seldom out of their holes and crannies, excepting 
 during bright and hot weather ; for they are of a 
 hibernating and torpid character, and such good 
 Spaniards that they don't mind whether they get 
 a meal to-day or next year. They are becoming 
 scarce, for a country boy is sure of a peseta for a 
 live chameleon. To catch them, the best means is 
 
78 A LOVE STORY 
 
 a flying net, held in such a way that it can be 
 thrown over the rock on which the chameleon is 
 lying. They seem to know that they are a prize, 
 and avoid small rocks or any place which may be 
 easily netted. During the heat of the day a chame- 
 leon may be seen working round the edge of a 
 broad flat rock. He conceals part of his body and 
 tail by letting it hang over the edge, for he is 
 anxious to secure a fly for a meal. You may see 
 the fly and the chameleon ten feet apart and look 
 with all your eyes and then see nothing ; the 
 chameleon has gone and the fly has gone, and the 
 fly won't come back ; the chameleon may, but not 
 to-day ; he has dined, is satisfied, and has gone 
 home. 
 
 Now it seems impossible that this could be, but 
 I am stating the literal truth when I write that I 
 have seen a chameleon a foot or more in length on 
 one side of a stone and a fly in the middle or on the 
 other side of it, and have seen them both vanish, 
 and been certain that the chameleon caught the 
 fly, though I never could see him make the capture 
 or the way of his going. The only clue to the fact 
 comes a moment before the rush is made — the tail 
 moves up into a convex curve, the spine becomes 
 rigid, and the head flattens on the stone. 
 
 As a pet and source of pure fun, the chameleon 
 can have few equals ; he has, moreover, the al- 
 most priceless advantage over most members of a 
 household in that he calls for no special quarters 
 or attention. Give him a curtain-pole or a piece of 
 
THE EYE OF THE WORLD 79 
 
 string hanging in an airy position that he may 
 survey the world from, and heTl look after himself 
 and bother no one. His eyeballs are practically 
 outside his head, and he has a marvellous power 
 of rolling them and looking all ways at once. Each 
 eye is about the size of a pea, a grey disk as of 
 indiarubber, and down a narrow hole one discerns 
 a black diamond glistening, quivering, almost 
 speaking, shooting out its emotions, and at the 
 same time keeping a wonderful gaze on everything 
 within range. 
 
 I kept a chameleon through a long summer, and 
 in common fairness can but thank him for hun- 
 dreds of merry hours. I hung a string from the 
 ceiling, tied a few knots in it for perches, and told 
 my chameleon to make himself at home. He did 
 so. For the first three weeks the weather was not 
 to his liking, and he slept, at least I never saw him 
 move or show a sign of life. I would catch flies and 
 gum a wing to a piece of wood or paper in the hope 
 of tempting him to wake up. But he was quite 
 superior to my attention and would take only 
 such flies as he caught for himself. All the fun and 
 mystery of this creature and others of his race lies 
 in the roll and glance of the eyes. When on the 
 watch for a meal, the eyeballs sweep round like a 
 telescope searching the heavens, and the black 
 diamond of a pupil fixes the poor fly, until it loses 
 all power of flight and is simply mopped up by the 
 great mouth. The wonderful colouring of the 
 chameleon is to be seen chiefly in literature, for 
 
8o A LOVE STORY 
 
 they are not otherwise remarkable. I have 
 handled these animals in various situations and 
 seasons, and seen no more than a slight increase of 
 purple, violet, green and gold when the weather is 
 very hot and the skin is distended about the neck 
 and inside the legs and arms. 
 
 Trinny, who was all heart, often regaled me 
 with the love affairs of her family and friends, till 
 one day I was emboldened to ask her if she never 
 had a sweetheart of her own. With much spirit 
 and sign of emotion she indignantly asserted she 
 had been truly loved. But as she phrased it, ''A 
 cruel world prevented the right things to happen. '* 
 She was short-waisted, full-bosomed, and a very 
 animate little figure, all movement from the waist 
 upwards. Her lips were a beautiful cherry-red, 
 her teeth perfect, and she had the most kindly 
 eyes. She moved up and down the room, her 
 hands on her breast, though haughty in bearing, 
 racked with longing to express and rid herself of 
 the pain still gnawing at her heart. '' Come," I 
 pleaded, '' tell me all about it." Half tearful, half 
 fearful, she went to the door. Her mother sat 
 sewing in the great arched entrance to the patio. 
 Trinny felt the coast to be clear, and signed to me 
 to stand in the safe position of the doorway. 
 '' You are true ? You would like to know ? " she 
 inquired, and seeing my nod, she began : *' Eigh- 
 teen I, and that was six years ago. Oh, by my 
 soul, the years have wings ! A brother of mine 
 was a lieutenant of Engineers, and quartered in the 
 
THE TALE OF THE HEART 8i 
 
 north. On a special mission he came to his own 
 pueblo, and we knew not of this till one morning 
 he came very early and surprised my mother by 
 saluting her at her own door. ' Keep your hat on 
 and come in/ said my mother. And he entered a 
 soldier complete, erect, in beautiful dress, and all 
 much adorned. One kiss my mother gave him, 
 and to me he bowed and called me an improved 
 little girl, for he had been absent for three years. 
 Then he said, ' I have a friend, a brother officer, 
 with me. Permit me, mother mine, to ask a favour 
 for this distinguished sefior to enter your house.' 
 ' Con muchas gusto,' replied my mother, and my 
 brother went to introduce his friend. Oh, soul of 
 me for a handsome man ! Six feet, young, strong, 
 full of grace, animation, and courage, eyes bril- 
 liant, and a whole body full of love quite noble. 
 All this I saw in a moment. With a profound bow 
 he uncovered, but my mother said, ' Enter, enter, 
 and cover you, this is your house.' At this mo- 
 ment I stood hiding my breasts with all my hands, 
 for I felt my heart escaping, and there in the dark 
 corner of the room I did not want to be noticed. 
 But my brother said, ' Friend Sebastiano, this is 
 my sister.' Then when I saw the handsome sehor 
 look at me, I was covered with shame and said 
 but a small word to his salutation. But in this 
 moment he was more than the friend of my 
 brother, he was the world to me. My mother's 
 eyes were upon us, and I was timid, but wilful in a 
 way I had not felt before. After some talk my 
 
82 A LOVE STORY 
 
 brother rose to salute my mother and retire. ' To- 
 morrow, with your favour, I will with Don Sebas- 
 tiano come again, for our work will be over, and 
 we shall need to bid you adios/ My mother gave 
 a kiss to my brother and her hand to Don Sebas- 
 tiano. But he gave me his eyes and a sign of the 
 hand. With this display of affection and a mili- 
 tary salute he left us. Ay, Mother of God, that 
 was a painful day ! My mother was always cold 
 and not wanting a lover for me ; but early in the 
 morning I gathered jasmine for my hair, and put 
 a handkerchief of coloured flowers over my shoul- 
 ders, and at the same moment the two soldiers 
 appeared at the portal. ' Mother of mine, sister 
 of mine, I hope you're well,' spoke my brother, 
 and Don Sebastiano the same. * Enter, enter, 
 gentlemen, and keep covered,' called my mother. 
 All agitation I stood by the door, the courage of a 
 wild animal in all my frame. Not fearing my 
 mother I said to the noble one, ' When do you 
 march ? ' * At this hour ! ' ' When do you come 
 again ? ' 'I am a soldier and cannot say.' ' But 
 I want you.' ' I also want.' ' What is possible ? ' 
 ' Esperanza— Bonita nina — Esperanza is possible.' 
 They stayed but a moment longer, and then 
 saluted. ' Adios ' and ' Adios ' we all said, and I 
 all sad made one plea for them to stay longer or 
 come once more. But Sebastiano said ' Impos- 
 sible,' and with more adios and much talk from 
 the hand they marched from the room ! Oh, that 
 moment, and that day! I could not speak nor 
 
THE WAYS OF MAN AND MAID 83 
 
 work, nor find tears nor think of any remedy ! 
 All my heart was in pain. I went to my quarto 
 and held my breast tightly, oh, very tightly ! but 
 my heart broke ! " Don Sebastiano never re- 
 turned, and that was all her story. 
 
 The breasts of a Spanish woman are sacred, and 
 as her heart may be read through them it is unfair 
 and always rude to look beyond her face. A man's 
 eye resting on a flower or ornament on the throat 
 or breast may provoke the remark, '' You are 
 searching ! " or '' You have mean thoughts of 
 me ! " The breasts are held pressed or covered 
 with crossed hands as signs of modesty, shame, 
 truth, fear, and deep emotion. 
 
 '' He gave me his eyes and a sign of the hand.'* 
 This reveals the whole man. The lover of the 
 South has no use for his tongue, the hand express- 
 ing every thought and shade of emotion. 
 
 This story may appear too precipitate and 
 abrupt, but therein is it true to the way of love 
 in Spain. The time involved, less than an hour — 
 a halt ! front ! right about turn ! march ! sort 
 of visit, for the men were on military duty. The 
 swift feeling and sure speech are both in the 
 Andalusian way, and the collapse of Trinny, in 
 spite of her holding her breast very tightly — but 
 her heart broke — her own words — shows how 
 strong was the flood, and how soon and com- 
 pletely life was changed for ever. 
 
 These incidents occurred fifteen years ago, and 
 now I come again to Cabello to find the children 
 
84 A LOVE STORY 
 
 I knew grown to men and women, to learn that 
 my poor old Maria is in an asylum, and that Don 
 Luis, though very old, is in South America with 
 his son. And Trinny ? Well, she is married. 
 After some hunting I found her eldest brother 
 Paco, the best educated and therefore the ne'er- 
 do-well and the most likeable ; and after a day's 
 yarn we decided to call on another brother who 
 lived in the country on his own farm. This journey 
 meant a trudge from morn to night over ver}^ 
 rough and tiring land, but I walked every inch 
 with a feeling of profound joy, for I knew I should 
 be welcomed. Pepe, the brother whom we went 
 to see, was waiting in an olive grove — he had been 
 there the best part of two days — and when he 
 saw me afar off he ran like a mad thing and fell on 
 my neck, and hugged and kissed me, and cried 
 and sobbed, till I had to cry also, and in real 
 earnest, for I was overcome by this display of 
 human feeling. I had never seen its like before. 
 It was really splendid, and I could hardly believe 
 it genuine, for I had done nothing to aid him in 
 any way. We sat for hours talking, he holding my 
 hands and rubbing them as if he were a mother 
 and I a long-lost son. His wife, whom I had not 
 seen before, was very kind, and not in the least 
 jealous. I have indeed got a moral lift here, for 
 I discern absolute affection where there is no 
 possible chance of mercenary reward. 
 
 Trinny is married to a farmer, an exceedingly 
 kind and intelligent man, but with a poor bit of 
 
so LIKE A JOYOUS DREAM 85 
 
 country, and so has to struggle for a livelihood. 
 Paco and I decided to call on Trinny together. On 
 the road we met an elder sister, who told me that 
 Trinny was happy though married, and with this 
 as a refreshing draught we went on. We walked 
 for hours over stony rises, down into dry gullies, 
 and along wearying naked ranges ; then past an 
 old monastery and through olive and carob and 
 raisin plantations, all the time looking at towering 
 mountains, with here and there green lawns — 
 oranges — plantations in the watered valleys. 
 Always, or nearly always, we were in sight of the 
 sea, and with Trinny' s house of pure white, with 
 a few upright trees about it, showing on the side 
 of a mighty chocolate-red hill. Absolute stillness 
 everywhere. We alone made a sound. Oh, I for- 
 got ; there were mobs of goats with clinking bells 
 at times, and also a mule or pig or donkey with 
 its bell. It was a long climb up the last hill, and 
 as we got near the house we feared we were making 
 the journey in vain, for the place was shut up. 
 But the folk were taking their siesta, and a big 
 rattle of the door from Paco woke them. Trinny 
 came forward, almost the same in face, though 
 grown stouter and more matronly in figure. She 
 is rather short and thick-set, but not in the least 
 ungainly. May I confess she was glad to see me ? 
 I do confess, because though I never loved her or 
 thought of her more than as a kind and agreeable 
 little friend, I was always convinced that a deep- 
 seated affection existed between us. She showed 
 
S6 A LOVE STORY 
 
 me all her house. It is in two parts, for her 
 husband's brother and his family are joint owners, 
 and when the old father died he divided the house 
 in such a way as to make it impossible for either 
 family to respect the other's preserves. Trinny's 
 account of where she could and could not legally 
 walk in her own house was most amusing. She 
 is very quick-witted, and enjoys the fun of the 
 situation eternally. Her husband was from home, 
 and her only boy away at school, so I missed 
 seeing them both. She has lost two children, has 
 been married ten years, and is forty-one. These 
 figures reversed give a better idea of her face, 
 which is a most unusual statement to make of 
 any Spanish woman. I put in most of the after- 
 noon nursing and playing with twin babies — boy 
 and girl — her brother-in-law's children. We had 
 a meal, and drank white spirit which I had taken 
 care to bring with me. Altogether it was a clean 
 and blessed time. I had never kissed Trinny, 
 but when we came away, as she kissed Paco I 
 thought I might have one, so I kissed her on the 
 forehead. I felt her tremble terribly, and she 
 looked frightened when I let her go ; but that 
 was only Spain, the woman did not mind. And 
 now I have left her, a link, a strong link to a 
 bright and rare bit of life I lived here in the long 
 ago. I could not ignore her. I have no wish to 
 forget her. I never shall. She told me she was 
 very poor, but she had a kind man for mate and 
 a beautiful boy, and was content. That is much. 
 
A RARE AND BLESSED TIME ^7 
 
 As we went homewards the hills and the moun- 
 tains blended into one tone of deep copper, and 
 the vales beneath them were streaked with lines 
 of grey mist. The crown of the world was a rim 
 of gold caused by the reflected light of the setting 
 sun on the mountain-tops. Trinny's house was 
 a little white ghost peeping out of the shadow of 
 the great hill, and I ? Well, I felt like a parchment 
 ghost — cold and homeless in the evening air — out 
 before my time, and going nowhere ! I looked 
 back many times and thought as often. No 
 words will reveal what I thought — chiefly, I sup- 
 pose, of the mystery of human life, of its comings 
 and goings, of the labour and the pain, the loving 
 and losing, and that unfailing force which impels 
 us to move on and lose sight and grasp of what we 
 have at one time or another deemed the best. 
 
CHAPTER Vn 
 
 GASTRONOMIA 
 
 AS this book deals largely with domestic life, 
 L it may be as well to devote a few words to 
 Spanish fare. The Spaniards talk much of food, 
 but eat little. They also say much in praise of 
 wine, and remain the most abstemious people in 
 the world. There is absolutely no drinking on the 
 part of the well-to-do beyond their actual needs. 
 At holiday times the very poor may, with the 
 chance given then, drink to excess, but sobriety is 
 virtually a reUgion \\ith them. There is no \dce 
 so condemned or regarded with more shame than 
 that of drinking. One sees the Moorish character 
 in this distaste for drink ; but if coffee were an 
 intoxicant Spain would be a nation of drunkards, 
 for cafe is consumed by all who can afford it. The 
 quality is on the whole excellent, but in many pro- 
 vinces the beans are over-roasted and indigestion 
 is promoted. In the extreme south, one gets ex- 
 cellent cafe for a real, with a penny to the waiter. 
 Tea is gaining ground there ; many men take 
 it in the cafes, and it has become the recognised 
 thing at live o'clock in all houses with any pre- 
 tensions to social form. Spain was one of the 
 
GOOD TEA AN IMPOSSIBILITY 89 
 
 first European countries to acquire the tea-drinking 
 habit from the East, and in the seventeenth cen- 
 tury she produced a rare lot of metal and other 
 ware in the form of tea-services. But the tea habit 
 did not last then, nor does it seem likely ever to be 
 more than a fashion in Spain ; the people cannot 
 command the hot water, nor the instinct necessary 
 to the making of a good pot of tea. There is 
 nothing but goat's milk, and neither with lemon- 
 juice nor beet-sugar can a decent cup of tea be 
 secured. The natural conditions are against pro- 
 per tea-making, and the perpetuation of the habit 
 in Spain. Then tea is frightfully dear, the cheapest 
 runs from four to five shillings a pound ; and to 
 buy a sealed packet of the genuine article runs to 
 six or eight shillings a pound. Chocolate is taken 
 as a thick stodge only, and in very small cups. 
 
 The food and feeding habits of the Spaniards are 
 in nearly all ways distinct from those of the peoples 
 further north. Excepting hotels, cafes, and the 
 best private houses, there are neither tables nor 
 chairs, but stools for sitting on and holding the 
 dish. In town and country the common people 
 frequently stand or crouch about whilst taking 
 their meals. Then the food is served in one dish 
 for all. I am here dealing with simple homes ; 
 but in what in England would be known as middle- 
 class households, the food is often served in a 
 single dish or bowl, with forks or spoons laid 
 round. Knives are unnecessary, excepting to cut 
 the bread, for should there by any chance be meat, 
 
90 GASTROXOMIA 
 
 it will be cut up or picked to pieces by whoever 
 serves the meal. 
 
 Most strangers imagine that Spain reeks of 
 garhc. As a matter of fact the people of large 
 parts of the countr}^ know nothing of this vege- 
 table. And even where used, it is never to \Tilgar- 
 ise the dish, or the consumer. For months I have 
 travelled without tasting or scenting garhc, and 
 I have been unable to obtain it when seeking it in 
 large towns. In Granada, for example, I stayed 
 in a thoroughly native fonda, where the cooking 
 was varied and excellent, and the company drawn 
 from several provinces of Spain. But no garlic was 
 employed, and on my mentioning the fact at table, 
 some commercial travellers were able to confirm 
 my opinion that its virtues w^ere far too little 
 known, since to those who know how it should be 
 prepared it is one of the most appetising things 
 in the cuisine. 
 
 Spain is covered with sweet herbs ; not only 
 th^^me, sage, marjoram, rosemary, lavender, mints, 
 and fennel, but scores besides of dainty little 
 aromatic plants which yield a scent, flavour, or 
 appetising qualit}' to the otherwise plain fare of 
 the land. Then it contains some native vegetables 
 of substance — cardoon, fennel, seakale, asparagus, 
 and dandelion, all of which are made the most of 
 in their respective seasons. Quite a long chapter 
 might be written on the dishes which are distinc- 
 tive, as they are made from materials found in 
 combination in no other part of Europe. 
 
IN PRAISE OF CHORIZO 91 
 
 Nearly every province is famed for some dish, 
 vegetable, fruit, or joint — the most notable in the 
 form of hams and sausages. The salami is made 
 in Spain, but is not the national sausage. That 
 honour belongs to the chorizo, a little capsicum- 
 red fellow, and usually with a mouldy exterior 
 which makes him unattractive and costly to the 
 uninitiated. But to those who know, age and 
 shabbiness are everything. You cannot have a 
 chorizo too old, if made of genuine materials. 
 These consist of macerated lean and very old ham, 
 and the fat of old ham which has been rubbed 
 down with capsicum powder until it is of the con- 
 sistency of cheese. Into this is worked some garlic- 
 juice — not a flood, but a flavouring breath. Next, 
 some peppercorns and one or two fragments of 
 sweet herbs, drawn from the campo, are used. 
 These things are well mixed and stuffed into stout 
 skins, and if the best results are desired the chorizo 
 is put into a jar and covered with boiling lard well 
 impregnated with garlic, peppercorns, capsicum, 
 and green rosemary. Thus prepared the chorizo 
 is an immortal, and, like heavy wine, it improves 
 with age. The best I ever tasted was twenty-seven 
 years old. What one buys in an ordinary way are 
 no more than a few months old, but even these 
 youngsters are perfection to those who can accept 
 Spanish fare for all and sufficient. Of course, the 
 character of the meat and the method of prepara- 
 tion have all to do with the quality of the chorizo, 
 but at its best it is the finest dainty of its kind to 
 
92 GASTRONOMIA 
 
 be bought in Europe. You can use the chorizo 
 with everything, and nothing seems quite perfect 
 without it, especially boiled joints, soups, and 
 made dishes. The chorizo, like the garlic, is not to 
 be taken as a meal, but as the appetising item, to 
 make every dish a blessing. And that word bless- 
 ing reminds me that in Spain one is always hungry, 
 and that it is the aroma and appetising proper- 
 ties of the chorizo which place it so high in one's 
 estimation. 
 
 The things absent from Spain make one wonder 
 what can be present to sustain its people. There 
 is no such thing as a joint. The biggest piece of 
 meat one is likely to see will be a baked kid, and 
 this but rarely. The meat of the largest animals 
 is cut and served in the tiniest pieces. Turkeys 
 and fowls also are cut to bits and fried and stewed, 
 and lost in the vegetable savoury which surrounds 
 them. And the pig, ubiquitous in Spain, is never 
 seen in the form of a boiled ham or a rasher of 
 bacon. It is true that Granada is celebrated for 
 its hams ; very old and cooked in white wine 
 which has been first delicately spiced. In fact, 
 whole hams are not so treated, but small pieces, 
 and these are obtainable only in the cook-shops 
 and fondas. Then Spain has no pie of any sort. 
 Nor is there a baked or boiled pudding, nor a cake, 
 nor a tart, nor anything in the form of stewed 
 fruit, a custard, or a substantial dish which we 
 know as a '' sweet.'' 
 
 Cabbage, and several other more or less sub- 
 
THE SUM OF THE LARDER 93 
 
 stantial vegetables, have no place in Spanish fare. 
 In a land without heavy fires, butter, or cow's milk 
 there can be neither big joints, good pastry, nor 
 light puddings, and the dearness of meat makes 
 its general consumption practically impossible. 
 The true meat of Spain is the olive and its oil, and 
 next the bacalao or cod-fish, of which the Spaniards 
 are large consumers. With a slow charcoal fire, a 
 little oil, cod, a handful of rice, another of chick- 
 peas, a remnant of bacon-fat, a thread of saffron, 
 and a gota or tear-drop of garlic, a meal is secured 
 for a family. In Spain no one tires of repetition. 
 Here, if anywhere, Wordsworth's lines are true, 
 for at table their whole vocation is endless imita- 
 tion. Soup, similar soup, and even more similar 
 soup is consumed the year round. 
 
 The stock ingredients of the Spanish kitchen 
 are, so far as the common people are concerned, 
 very inferior beef and mutton, goat's flesh, bacon- 
 fat, seasoned lard, sausages, cod-fish, eggs, oil, 
 and, on the coast, fresh fish. Vegetables — chick- 
 peas, rice, potatoes, pumpkins, egg-plant, toma- 
 toes, giant radishes, artichokes, cucumbers, car- 
 doons, onions, asparagus, olives. The flavourings 
 — saffron, garlic, and capsicum, one or other of 
 these present in every dish. The capsicum is used 
 everywhere. In the north the fruits are like our 
 own, though of inferior quality, and in the south 
 and east, melons, oranges, grapes, pomegranates, 
 dates, olives, and prickly pears are largely con- 
 sumed. The national drink is wine, and the pick- 
 
94 GASTRONOMIA 
 
 me-up aguardiente — white spirit — a crude form of 
 absinthe but more wholesome, and doing no harm 
 to the Spaniards, as they drink with such modera- 
 tion. Their sweets are coils of batter fried in oil, 
 rice boiled in goat's milk, meringues of sugar, and 
 dainty little biscuits. Their quince and fig breads, 
 made from the pulp of these fruits and pressed hard 
 as cheese, are very nice, but too dear to fall to the 
 lot of the common people. Spanish bread is every- 
 where good but dear, and soup is often obtainable 
 where bread is impossible. Globe artichokes, the 
 outer petals removed, and the cores steamed with 
 an onion and served with thin mayonnaise, are, so 
 far as I have tasted, at their best. Baked kid or 
 lamb in macerated kidney gravy, thick, and a rich 
 brown colour, makes a dish to dissipate all idea of 
 dying. The puzzle is to find the contents of this 
 gravy ! 
 
 As cooks the Spanish poor have not received 
 their proper share of praise. They have a real 
 faculty for cooking, knowing, as by instinct, what 
 things and proportions will blend and make an 
 appetising meal. From end to end of Spain I 
 have never detected anything I might regard as 
 stupid, wasteful, or badly done. I have growled 
 within — for it is useless to complain out loud — at 
 the hours on hours which I have waited, but I 
 never could discern that any more might have 
 been made of the material composing the dish. 
 This is a rare statement, and, excepting the French, 
 could be truly said of no other people in Europe. 
 
SOME POINTED ALLUSIONS 95 
 
 The asparagus, natural to Spain, grows no 
 thicker than a rush in its wild state. It is so un- 
 substantial as to be included in many proverbs and 
 couplets. One of the best known of these runs : 
 
 He who eats medlars, drinks beer, sucks asparagus, and kisses 
 
 an old woman — 
 Neither eats, drinks, sucks, nor kisses. 
 
 These are known to be unsubstantial things. The 
 thin green asparagus, fried in oil and then rolled 
 in egg-batter, makes a most tasty omelette, and is 
 a dish prized by every Spaniard. Once entering a 
 village with three or four stalks of asparagus, I 
 offered them to a tiny girl v/ho was sitting on a 
 doorstep. She took them, and thanking me said, 
 with great deliberation, '' This is well, sehor ! But 
 where is the egg ? " 
 
 When one goes into a Spanish comedor, the 
 waiter calls to the cook, '' One breakfast for a real 
 gentleman." This means special cooking for each 
 individual, and nothing stale, dry, or cold. And 
 in parenthesis it is never hot — nor should it be. 
 I have never seen steam escaping from anything 
 in Spain — for which I'm inclined to say, thank 
 God ! For of all things raised and praised by man, 
 I dislike most his steam, especially when it hangs 
 about his food. England produces some excellent 
 fare, but it is too often a vulgar sight, and as 
 regularly dangerous in its consequences. Man 
 doesn't want hot food — scalding hot, steaming hot 
 food — in order to get the best of health and the 
 joy of life. In Spain the whole business of man is 
 
96 GASTRONOMIA 
 
 to keep cool, where in England it is to keep hot 
 and blow it ! 
 
 Nearly all Spaniards take deep draughts of 
 crystal - clear water before and with their food. 
 They also have a less rational habit of '' cleaning 
 the mouth " with a cigarette between the courses. 
 This does not offend the w^omen folk, for unless 
 they are travellers they rarely, if ever, sit down 
 with the men — a boy of ten having more right to 
 the table than a woman of any age. The Spaniards 
 eat and drink very slowly, as if bent on killing 
 rather than improving time, and it is an odd fact 
 that the peasants eat and drink with far more 
 grace than their richer relations. The fingers are 
 used alike by rich and poor in carrying food to the 
 mouth, and where knives are employed, as they 
 are in the north and west, they are poked into the 
 mouth as readily as any other table article. In the 
 highest society food is handled a great deal, and 
 it is a mark of attention to be fed from the fingers. 
 
 The domestic habits are primitive rather than 
 objectionable. The toothpicks of southern Spain 
 are often made from petroleum cases, because the 
 wood splits well ! Result, one finishes the meal 
 with a taste of lamp-oil in nose or mouth. I'm 
 an uncultivated dog because I don't like the 
 flavour or the '' perfume." The Spaniards do ! 
 
 In Spain it is vulgar to leave anything on one's 
 plate, and in taking fried eggs it is customary to 
 mop up the yolks with bread held in the fingers. 
 Using a knife and fork, a waiter looking at me 
 
NOR TIME NOR ORDER 97 
 
 inquired cynically, '' Are there no eggs in your 
 country ? '' '' Oh, yes/' *' I thought there were 
 not, by the mess you are making of that one/' 
 
 The two-meal system would answer well enough 
 if the food were abundant and served punctually. 
 But these advantages are never found together ; 
 hours for breakfast and dinner cover the whole 
 range of the clock. And one is always deceived, for 
 Spanish cooks will promise anything. On asking 
 when you may have a meal they reply, '' When 
 you wish.'' Should you say, '' Well, I'll have my 
 breakfast at ten," you have done nothing more 
 than waste words and invite disappointment, nor 
 would the choice of another hour be any better. 
 I have often had my breakfast so late as to think 
 it an early dinner, and my dinner so far into the 
 night as to regard it as an early breakfast. On 
 this subject I confess to have lost patience. The 
 Spaniards cannot conceive any difference between 
 early and late, punctual or unpunctual meals. 
 
 In domestic, as in other affairs, there is no con- 
 cern for time nor sense of order in work. The 
 church bells, the appearance of certain hawkers, 
 or more or less regular passers-by, provide a rude 
 clock. And in the matter of a meal, well, you will 
 be told when it is ready. The patience of the men 
 is extraordinary; in fact, no one could imagine such 
 patience in a hungry and independent soul, and 
 the Spaniard is both. Men will enter an eating- 
 house and say, " When can we have a meal ? " and 
 the housekeeper replies, *' At this moment." The 
 
98 GASTRONOMIA 
 
 men will sit, talk, and look round, roll and ex- 
 change cigarettes, and start subject after subject, 
 putting in two or three solid hours, and never 
 show signs of impatience or utter a word to urge 
 the housekeeper or complain in any way. I have 
 seen this scores of times, and have been the victim 
 as often myself. And by way of exception I have 
 heard but one man complain, and he a commercial 
 traveller who had to think about trains. On going 
 into a new house one may ask for mere form's 
 sake, '' When are the meal times ? " to be met 
 with, ''When you please." And supposing you 
 say, '' Well, breakfast at ten, dinner at six," the 
 seiiora agrees with evident delight. But that is 
 nothing. Something has to be said, so why not 
 agree with the sefior ! At ten there will be no 
 breakfast, nor at eleven ; there may be at one, 
 but it is more likely to be at two. xAnd if you 
 complain 3^ou are silenced with the inquiry, 
 ''What is the difference?" Argue, abuse, con- 
 demn, threaten to leave, and do so, you will make 
 no change in that establishment or find it different 
 in the next. Our cooks are always in a fume ; a 
 Spanish cook is as imperturbable as an oyster, 
 and enters on the task of cooking for twenty with 
 no more concern than if there were but one. 
 
 The Spaniards are shockingly under-fed, and 
 where they get enough in quantity it is often of an 
 unsubstantial nature. It is to this shortness of 
 fare that one must look to their attitude towards 
 eating and drinking. Nationally there is never 
 
THE GAINS OF POVERTY 99 
 
 enough, and the greater number are perpetually 
 on short commons. And this is no new situation ; 
 it has existed for centuries, and there is no evidence 
 to encourage the hope that there can be any lasting 
 improvement. Out of all this long-lived poverty 
 has arisen a sort of philosophic restraint, and a 
 positive repugnance to complaining or even to 
 feeling such an absurd thing as hunger. To want 
 food is a sign of the lowest vulgarity ; to boast of 
 a superfluity where there is none, is a sign of good 
 breeding, and be sure the Spaniard would be well- 
 bred. Thus one sees only the poorest peasant and 
 the tramp plead for food, or express the fact that 
 he is hungry. In the crowd all are well off. It 
 would be lowering to hint at poverty, it would be a 
 mistake not to mention that the excess of good 
 fare makes life a burden ! As outsiders we discern 
 and laugh at this boast, but only for a time, for 
 we come to see that there is wisdom in boasting. 
 It is justified by the calm and the simplicity it 
 gives to life. '' Busy '' people almost hate the 
 Spaniard for his sublime indifference, whilst if he 
 had steam he would hate them for their mad con- 
 cern. He will not have any concern. He says, 
 '' Todas es mismo " — all is the same. He is nearer 
 to China in his thoughts and attitude towards life 
 than the Frenchman or Englishman who are at his 
 elbow. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AT SEVILLE FAIR 
 
 I ARRIVED at Seville on the Sunday termi- 
 nating Sennana Santa — Holy Week — and the 
 opening day of the Great Fair. Shall I say that 
 the town was merely crowded, when I mean that 
 it was jammed, packed, overwhelmed, with a 
 noisy and animated humanity ? The religious 
 functions had failed completely, owing to the ex- 
 cessive rains and cold weather, scaring those in 
 authority and responsible for the precious robes 
 and vestments, and all the coloured and be- 
 jewelled splendour which is usually carried through 
 the streets at this season ; but to-day it is fine 
 and warm, and a corrida — bull-fight — ^is about to 
 mark the passing of Semana Santa and the com- 
 mencement of the Fair. Ere I reach the great 
 national playground, let me say that to live in 
 Seville in these Fair days costs money. A pro- 
 clamation announces that begging is not per- 
 mitted at this season, and the residents of Seville 
 are called upon to show all the hospitality within 
 their power to the visitor and stranger within 
 their gates ; but there is no word to the effect 
 that normal charges only are to be made at the 
 
DRIVING A BARGAIN loi 
 
 rest-houses and hotels. I was asked about twelve 
 shilHngs and sixpence for a very third-rate room 
 and two meals a day, and given a hint that there 
 would be extras (not for me, but in the bill). I 
 dislike extras. We all do, for we never know 
 what they are, or if they are necessary and an 
 advantage. Catching the eye of an official at the 
 General Post Office, I asked him of a good casa 
 de huespedes — a native lodging-house. He said, 
 without a moment's hesitation, '' Do you want 
 the best bed in Seville ? '' '' Yes, if it's not too 
 dear." Then he signed to me, and I followed him 
 across the beautiful old patio or hollow square 
 of the post office. He led to where a woman sat 
 at a door sewing, and to her explained my wants. 
 '' A dollar and a half is the price of my bed," said 
 she, and the gaily garbed official immediately 
 said " cheap." I immediately said '' dear." 
 Then the pair wanted to habla — talk. But it 
 was no use. Expressive glances convinced me 
 that I was regarded as a *' lamb," so I returned 
 to the street ; here a boy literally took me by 
 the hand, and with a most paternal gesture led 
 me to a casa de huespedes in the Calle Venera. 
 I am glad I did not resist the boy. At normal 
 seasons this house takes in all who call with 
 money and who will pay at the rate of five pesetas, 
 or about three shillings and sixpence a day ; but 
 now it doubles its charges, and so I am, I trust, 
 safely lodged in Seville at seven shillings a day. 
 I made the bargain before seeing the room I 
 
102 AT SEVILLE FAIR 
 
 was to occupy, at which I laughed out loud, and 
 then fell to abusing myself for my credulity. I 
 have slept in some queer quarters, and often 
 where there were no walls to make quarters, but 
 in no case had I seen a bed in a place like this. 
 This Se\Tlle room is about ten by six feet. No 
 two walls are parallel ; the floor slopes as if it 
 had once been a roof ; the ceiling is nowhere six 
 feet high, and it roams about as if looking for the 
 easiest place to flop down and crush one. The 
 window is quite tiny, and looks out upon a blank 
 wall which is not four feet away. I was led to 
 expect a curious chamber by the way I got to it, 
 for the house, narrow in the extreme on the 
 ground floor, wound upwards in corkscrew fashion, 
 and I am certain that it rests here and there, sits 
 down, so to speak, on other houses, as a means of 
 supporting its six rickety stories. I was amused 
 and disgusted, and my disgust determined me to 
 make a row and, if possible, beat down the terms 
 of the posadera. She was a woman of a most 
 agreeable countenance and very kindly eyes, 
 which made it all the harder ; but I had no diffi- 
 culty in abusing my room. She valued it at three 
 pesetas a day, and this was her answer to my 
 complaint : '' We have to wash the room before 
 and after you. We have to sit up and open the 
 door to you when you come home late. We have 
 to give you time to speak and to think about 
 your comfort. We are taking the place of your 
 mother and all your family and friends, and for 
 
THE GATHERING OF THE TRIBES 103 
 
 this you — a gentleman — begrudge giving three 
 pesetas/* Then, with all the pride and mock 
 heroics of her race : '' This is no place for robbers " 
 (implying I should be safe) ; " this is no place for 
 the poor ; this is no place for other than caballero — 
 gentlemen — this is the house of perfection. What 
 more do you want for three little pesetas ? " 
 And then, oh, undying universal touch, she sighed, 
 '' Ay, di-mi, I am a widow ! '' and with her white 
 apron wiped away my last chance of arguing 
 further. 
 
 Proud of her victory, the widow Perez was as 
 good as her boast, and cared for me extremely 
 well ; and if any one of small means and desirous 
 of living the simple Spanish life should go to 
 Seville, he or she may find it at La Sevillana, 
 Venera. 
 
 In point of national display, solid business, and 
 whole-hearted enthusiasm, Seville Fair takes first 
 place in Europe. This is due to the fact that 
 Spain has by far the most primitive everyday 
 existence, and is the most anxious to preserve 
 her mediaeval forms of trading, ceremony, and 
 jubilation. She is not composed of one common 
 and familiar race, but of many, and all as strange 
 as so many groups of foreigners, and the fascina- 
 tion of the unknown and the unlike leads to the 
 making of a festival as cosmopolitan and spirited 
 as any one could possibly desire. That nothing 
 shall be wanting to make this a truly national 
 gathering, the hat has been passed round from 
 
104 AT SEVILLE FAIR 
 
 province to province, and private donors, various 
 societies, and clubs have contributed. The mayor 
 and corporation of the city of Seville have voted 
 large sums for the improvement of the Fair- 
 ground, for the illuminating and decorating of 
 streets, and have paid no less than fifteen hundred 
 pounds to railway companies for the carriage of 
 costumed bands from the various provinces and 
 centres of old-fashioned life. These regiones, as 
 they are called, are the great public attraction of 
 the Fair, since they exhibit and delight the heart 
 of Spain, and young and old of every station and 
 estate are carried away by the singing of the 
 quaint old songs, couplets and historyettas, and 
 the dancing to different times and tunes. 
 
 Each group is made up of men and women, and 
 none are very young, for it takes time to com- 
 prehend and interpret the subtleties of the 
 Spanish song and dance. But one thing is un- 
 mistakable — all look and play their part. The 
 dresses are charming, but they never hide the 
 singer or the dancer. Spaniards have the most 
 expressive faces, and these rude country-folk — 
 who not a week ago were farmers and grain- 
 millers in Leon ; vine-dressers in La Mancha ; 
 muleteers and water-carriers in x\rragon ; goat- 
 herds in the Castilles ; fishers from the coast of 
 Catalonia or Valencia ; nomadic shepherds and 
 esparto gatherers from the southern mountains ; 
 raisin and orange growers from Malaga ; oliveros 
 from Granada ; or a troupe of merry men and 
 
PROVINCIAL DANCES 105 
 
 women from the cork forests round Cadiz, plain, 
 working, peasant-folk as they all are — go through 
 their performances with such precision and finish 
 as to lead one to doubt whether they have ever 
 done aught but sing, dance, make jokes and 
 elaborate gestures, and generally entertain their 
 fellow-countrymen. 
 
 Prizes are given to the most picturesque and 
 accomplished among them, and here we may see 
 Spanish national dancing in all its forms. They 
 usually take the name of the province which 
 originated them ; thus there is the Arragonessa — 
 commonly named the Jota. It may not be de- 
 scribed, but it is probably the most proud and 
 stately dance of all. The Malaguena is the dance 
 of Malaga ; the Gaditana, that of Cadiz ; the 
 Manchego, that of La Mancha ; and the Sevillana, 
 that of Seville. The Bolero is said to have its 
 home in Leon, but it has long been danced in 
 many regions of Spain. The Murciana is the 
 dance of Murcia ; and the Valenciana and Cata- 
 lana proclaim their places of origin. The Fla- 
 menca is a wild, hot-blooded dance of the south, 
 in imitation of a dance of the Flemings, of which 
 word Flamenca is a corruption. El Vito and 
 the Jonda are types of Andaluz. The Tango is 
 the lowest form of dance, a kind of khan-khan, 
 or hop-and-kick affair without any special time 
 or pose. These pretty well exhaust what we may 
 hope to see in Spain to-day, and here at this Fair 
 none but the best performers are on view. 
 
io6 AT SEVILLE FAIR 
 
 The Fair-ground is practically a mile square. 
 Within the city Hes a large open space margined 
 on one side by extensive and beautiful park-like 
 pubhc gardens ; next is the fashionable prome- 
 nade and drive of La Dehcias which follows the 
 storied stream of the Wad-el-ke-veer — written as 
 pronounced. These three spaces form the site of 
 the Fair, though the whole city is en fete, and all 
 the streets and roads bordering or leading to the 
 central point \-ie with each other in producing 
 the greatest show and the biggest crowd. Count- 
 ing the houses of wood and canvas which have 
 been erected specially for this festival, as well as 
 those which are within the Fair zone, there must 
 be fully thirty miles of streets new and strange. 
 No other people go so far in the use of bunting, 
 greenery^ and such material as will put a new face 
 on the fronts of their dear old houses. Every- 
 thing that the house holds in the way of colour 
 and braver}' is hung outside, and where paint, 
 whitewash, coloured papers, and flowers in many 
 hands would be weak gauds, they become in 
 those of a Spaniard veritable triumphs in the 
 way of decoration and general effect. The powers 
 that be have laid out the site as if for a permanent 
 town, and all the streets and footpaths are pro- 
 perly formed and laid \rith a warm, bro\STiish 
 yellow sand which agrees excellently \rith the 
 buildings and the general display of colour. 
 Gardens have been made months in advance, and 
 to-day are beautiful \rith masses of roses, gera- 
 
THE WORLD IN MINIATURE 107 
 
 niums, blue cornflowers, carnations, and mignon- 
 ette, whilst climbing plants in pots and tubs ap- 
 pear by the thousand. Whoever can afford it 
 has a caseta, or private house, at the Fair. These 
 are perfectly appointed little houses of reception 
 and merriment ; this year there must be miles of 
 them, each numbered and generally ordered as if 
 it were meant to last a century rather than a 
 week. One gets Spanish history at all points 
 here. Every type of house, ancient and modern, 
 is to be seen in miniature in these casetas. Vari- 
 ous clubs and societies have quite palatial build- 
 ings, with spacious ball-rooms, promenades, and 
 all the dainty luxurious appointments so beloved 
 by the Spaniard. 
 
 The people bent on doing business are a vast 
 army, and are from every part of the Peninsula. 
 Thousands of horses, mules, and donkeys are on 
 exhibition, and each in turn is haggled over in 
 such fashion as to cause a bargain in the making 
 to be one of the sights and best bits of fun of the 
 Fair. Spanish mules are famous the world over, 
 and here one sees the best of their kind. 
 
 The mule-dealers are wild, picturesque-looking 
 men, with any amount of character in their dress 
 and bearing. This they somehow convey to their 
 animals, for the mules are clipped, curled, and 
 even shaved in the most fanciful fashion, and 
 have ornaments of wool and plaited straw about 
 their heads and tails which make them look 
 quaint and old-fashioned in the extreme. There 
 
io8 AT SEVILLE FAIR 
 
 are gypsies, of course, in thousands, but they 
 have lost much of their old-time appearance and 
 fascination. European gypsies of to-day live too 
 near to the great centres of civilisation. One does 
 not see the native wild expression any more. It 
 has given place to a city-bred type of cunning 
 which is repellent rather than attractive. 
 
 Spain never had many toys of her own. Here the 
 toys must run to scores of tons. Over one hundred 
 and fifty toy-shops are arranged in a straight and 
 unbroken line. Most of the things come from 
 Germany, France, and America, and few but are 
 common and without interest. Spain contributes 
 fans, beads in great variety, garter buckles — as 
 emblems of fidelity — models of all her utensils 
 and implements, castanets and strings of bells, 
 ribbons, sashes and handkerchiefs as souvenirs of 
 the Fair, as well as a great many models of the 
 peasants and their costumes. 
 
 Of foodstuff there is no end — its odours fill the 
 air. There are such things as national odours, 
 the outcome of chmate, food, cooking, and the 
 manner of eating and drinking. The odour of 
 the Spanish crowd is pronounced but agreeable, 
 and at the Fair the semi open-air kitchens create 
 the feeling of abundance and comfort. Every one 
 is eating something, for pine-kernels, various nuts 
 and sweetmeats, olives, figs, almonds, raisins, and 
 fresh fruit are desired by all. The local country- 
 folk may be easily detected by their pillow-cases 
 of food. They stroll about with bag and baggage 
 
OLD-FASHIONED GARB 109 
 
 all complete, having heavy coats, rugs or squares 
 of sackcloth, and a supply of food which enables 
 them to squat down, eat, sleep, and be at home 
 in any part of the Fair. Those who are sleeping 
 in the open air without tent or awning of any 
 kind must run to thousands, and this great 
 national gathering is marred for want of sanitary 
 arrangements, for the authorities do not recognise 
 any form of indecency as a nuisance, and there is 
 no water as a means of cleansing and sweetening 
 the many thousands who live entirely on the 
 Fair-ground. The costumes and accoutrements 
 are of unending interest, and carry one over cen- 
 turies of eventful time. The men are ever more 
 old-fashioned than the women, and wear gar- 
 ments and head-gear which can be traced to other 
 and far-off lands. Thus there is the montero, or 
 helmet-shaped sheepskin hat, which is said to 
 have its origin in early Greece, and the curiously 
 small-topped and wide-brimmed sombrero, which 
 in some unknown way came from ancient Thes- 
 saly, and is now worn by the picador in his bouts 
 with the Andalusian bulls. The jackets, breeches, 
 and vestments are of silk, cotton, plush, velvet, 
 and cord, and the dominating colours violet, 
 yellow, purple, green, and brown. The quaintness 
 of design and the amount of ingenuity and 
 patience displayed in these hand-made garments 
 is past description, but one never tires of looking 
 at and admiring the variety of the crowd. Blood 
 and gold the Spaniards call their flag, and the 
 colours are everywhere. 
 
no AT SEVILLE FAIR 
 
 Scores of miles of ribbons, flags, and streamers 
 of these colours are flying in the air or decorating 
 the festive band. Under all this show of bravery 
 old Spain is aroused to her utmost ; the national 
 spirit is awake, so that every one seems bent on 
 being generous and having a royal time, and there 
 is no class but comes and throws in its lot with 
 the rest. The highest of the aristocracy, the most 
 beautiful women and gallant and elegant men 
 join the crowd and take all things in common. 
 There is a set programme of events for each day, 
 but, as usual, the most delightful and lasting 
 features are the unrehearsed. Jugglers, tricksters, 
 singers, and story-tellers — this last an almost 
 unique sur\dval in Spain — meet one at every 
 turn, and, strangest feature of all, there is neither 
 night nor da}', but one unbroken round of half- 
 Oriental merriment. True, the serious side of 
 life is seen in the faces of many of the stall- 
 holders and continuously-worked servants and 
 directors of the show ; but even these must enjoy 
 the wild jousts now and then, and by turns the 
 Fair comes home to each and all as the time of a 
 life ; and further proof, if it were needed, that 
 Spain is what all her people truly believe her to 
 be, the richest and most splendid country in the 
 world ! The bands are all doing their best to 
 drown the roaring and bell and clapper-clanging 
 of the showmen, and the crowds are shrieking 
 that they too may be heard. The spaces round 
 the platforms assigned to the regiones are crowded 
 
BY SONG AND DANCE MADE ONE in 
 
 with shouting, applauding, and wildly-excited 
 humanity, for here rush out like fiery torrents 
 the passionate songs and aspirations of the lover 
 of the warm south. There is magic in the click 
 and squirl of castanets, and the rattle and stamp 
 of nimble feet. Here is gesture, which is under- 
 stood of all the world. Here is a singer inter- 
 preting the lover's exquisite pain ; and here a 
 soul sighing audibly in the tremulous voice of a 
 mandoline. So that one is fired and calmed and 
 made almost sorrowful by turns ; one grows 
 weary, longs to escape, and counts it a blessing 
 that all days are not for merry-making, and that 
 when all is seen, said, and done, the supreme joy 
 of life is not found in crowds, but in quietness. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 DURING a spell of intensely cold weather I 
 went in a train, that was as open and perish- 
 ing as a cattle truck, from Alcazar San Juan to 
 Albacete— eighty miles of flat, open, and bare 
 highlands. Here and there a small town or village 
 community struggles with a bit of churlish soil 
 yielding wheat or wine, but in no place is there a 
 sign of sufficient creature comforts. 
 
 Pastores — shepherds — and cabreros— goatherds 
 — roam the country, staying out for weeks or 
 months with their flocks, folding them at night and 
 during rough weather in corals— walled enclosures 
 — against wolves, lynxes, and other beasts of 
 prey. 
 
 These, Hke the rest of the peons del campo— or 
 nomadic countrymen— are the most wildly pic- 
 turesque class of people to be met with in Spain. 
 They are always a mixture of leather, cord, raw 
 hide, velvet, plush, cotton, and esparto grass, and 
 all so reduced to tatters, or merged in each other 
 and the wearer, that any attempt at accurate de- 
 scription must surely fail. 
 
 Cold and hunger suppress the vanities, and the 
 
A WARM RECEPTION 113 
 
 main concern is to be protected against the long 
 season of hard weather. 
 
 Albacete is probably the most colourless town 
 and province of Spain. The inhabitants are robust, 
 hardy, and remarkably quiet, employing few ges- 
 tures and no loud speech. Their town is poor to 
 meanness. It has no fine or interesting building, 
 excepting the large church of San Juan, which, 
 almost square in form, has its roof supported by 
 two columns only. 
 
 Albacete is famous for its pocket and flaying 
 knives. These are crude but useful articles, made 
 by men and boys who sit in porches and more open 
 places, working the steel and horn parts by hand, 
 and making up each weapon without any outside 
 assistance. The town promised to be lively, for 
 at the station I was met by about a dozen men with 
 their breasts and loins girt about with blades. 
 They carry their wares in curiously-fashioned 
 wallets of lynx-skin spread over their foreparts. 
 Beside a shop door two domestic white rabbits 
 were suspended by a cord tied round their hind 
 legs. Every one who went by either tested their 
 weight or inquired the price, but no one seemed to 
 pity the poor little creatures hanging head down- 
 wards in the horribly cold weather. 
 
 During a walk I was accosted by a man who was 
 garbed solely in leather and rags, and had for his 
 business the hawking of two lynx skins, soft and 
 gory, which he said would make me a splendid 
 waistcoat. Whilst I was debating with the lynx- 
 
114 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 hunter, a man came up who struck me as wonder- 
 fully like myself. He had a wooden leg ; at sight 
 of this I laughed quietly, as I had often been told 
 that nothing less than a wooden leg would ever 
 keep me at home. 
 
 Many dug-out dwellings are to be seen here in 
 the form of tunnels and pigeon-hole excavations 
 in the sandstone, soft limestone, and masses of 
 clay, which form natural hummocks around the 
 town. Beaver-like mounds are to be seen by the 
 score projecting above the dug-outs. These are 
 the chimneys ; and as the cold was intense, boys 
 who had no fire at home were sitting on the mounds 
 with their legs down the chimneys. 
 
 Albacete is the centre of the saffron industry, 
 thousands of acres being devoted to the cultiva- 
 tion of the crocus whose stamens provide the 
 saffron of commerce. The flowers appear in 
 autumn, and the plucked stamens are laid to dry 
 on smooth earth floors, and covered if necessary 
 against wind and rain. The saffron is a very old 
 industry of Spain. Apart from flavouring and 
 colouring, saffron is grown largely for the pro- 
 duction of laudanum. The growers sell the saffron 
 at from twenty to thirty English shillings per 
 pound. The crop equals about tw^enty pounds per 
 acre, but an enormous amount of patient labour 
 is involved, and the saffron must be classed 
 as a peasant industry. As the Spaniards say, 
 ''only the patient and the poor" can be satisfied 
 with it. 
 
A SHARP CONTRAST 115 
 
 The country eastward of Albacete is high, wind- 
 swept, and very poor. Little patches of native 
 pine nestle in some of the ravines and on pro- 
 tected hill-sides ; and there are a few strongly 
 built villages and the sky-kissing castle of Los 
 Llanos to engage one till the Segura is reached — a 
 blood-red river which boils, and turns, and tum- 
 bles, through gorges and amid hills of leaden grey 
 and reddish brown. The descent is so rapid that 
 the climate changes within an hour from raw winter 
 to hot summer. I left Albacete wearing prac- 
 tically all I possessed — about three complete suits, 
 and on arriving at Hellin I was so faint with the 
 heat that I had to get assistance to unload my 
 burden of clothes. 
 
 The vega or vale of Murcia is renowned through- 
 out Spain for its richness and beauty. Carefully 
 examined it is wealthy by contrast, for the rich 
 land is but fifteen by nine miles, and the surround- 
 ing area is made up of absolutely bare and un- 
 profitable hills an^ mountains. The vale is treated 
 as a market-garden — fruit trees, the mulberry for 
 silk, and flowers and vegetables crowding every 
 inch of space. The thrift and skill of these people 
 are equally splendid, and it is a hard fact that with 
 all their toil they never get far beyond the reach 
 of poverty. The vegetables grown are on the 
 whole old-fashioned and poor types, but their 
 violets and oranges are unsurpassed by those of 
 any province in Europe. Murcia violets are sent 
 to Madrid and to Paris ; but the choicest oranges 
 
ii6 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 are consumed within the country — the ** Imperial'* 
 orange is in all respects a splendid fruit. Of 
 medium size only, but of surpassing flavour. 
 
 So valuable is land, and so enterprising are the 
 Murcians, that one cannot easily obtain a good 
 walk. The huerta or garden is all dykes, ditches, 
 heaps of manure and drift-sand, cesspits, pigs, 
 poultry, tiny adobe and thatched cots, trellises 
 and trees — a confused tangle, which makes a paseo 
 more fatiguing than refreshing. The whole area 
 is subject to flooding, and the making and main- 
 tenance of roads presents a perpetual problem. 
 
 Raw silk is produced here in large quantities, 
 and the white mulberry is trained as a high stan- 
 dard tree, so that fruits, vegetables, flower, and 
 farm crops may be grown beneath it. 
 
 This is the spring season, and the time for 
 cleaning all the wells and flood conduits of Murcia. 
 The silt and black mud fill the narrow streets to 
 the extent of tens of thousands of tons. 
 
 A town guard says gravely that the work is 
 done at this season because the people of the vega 
 want manure ! And he vows that nothing else 
 would stimulate to all this labour, mess and pollu- 
 tion. Luckily, these wells provide only house 
 water, and I am glad to be shown that the water 
 used at table and for washing costs about a far- 
 thing a gallon, and is brought to the house every 
 day in enormous jars, which are filled from a 
 spring in the hills. The Spaniards are among the 
 few European peoples who know how to conserve 
 
SANE AND SILLY AFFAIRS 117 
 
 and guard drinking water. They seek it direct 
 from the rock, and avoid the possibility of con- 
 tamination till it is safe in the pitcher. 
 
 Around Murcia the andado or cradle is a wicker- 
 work bell-shaped contrivance, which, broadest at 
 its base, has small wooden rollers, so that whilst 
 the baby is always safe it is amused in pushing the 
 andado about and teaching itself to walk. Un- 
 like the stiff and immovable stocks which fall to 
 the lot of the babies of northern Spain, the cradle 
 of the south is a very comfortable and pleasing 
 contrivance, well worth imitating by other coun- 
 tries. As no community can be sensible in all 
 things, the Murcians sling up their draught animals 
 when fitting them with shoes. Outside the farriers' 
 shop are four heavy posts arranged like a byre. 
 Into this the horse, mule, or donkey is led, and 
 by means of belts, straps, and levers is hoisted 
 into the air. What follows is a sort of tragi- 
 comedy, for the animals are always frantic, whilst 
 the people consider the matter as a desperate and 
 necessary joke. Where an animal is known to be 
 trustworthy, two men may undertake to shoe it, 
 one holding the hoof whilst the other prepares it 
 and fixes the shoe. 
 
 The clay vessels for holding the water, wine, oil, 
 and drysaltery of this region are still made on Greek 
 and Roman models, and the forms are nearly all 
 perfect. There is also the Eastern type of pitcher, 
 with a pointed base, intended to rest in a frame 
 or cavity of the wall. The street carts, laden 
 
ii8 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 with these picturesque ewers, pitchers, and jars, 
 and the quaint fittings of the houses, are primitive 
 and interesting in the extreme. In a small farm- 
 house were three tenajas, or immense, almost- 
 round jars, forming one side of the kitchen. They 
 were of splendid design, and made of the finest 
 glazed terra-cotta ; they looked hard and durable 
 as copper or red marble. 
 
 The Segura river makes two leaps within the 
 heart of Murcia, and boils and thunders along with 
 an unceasing roar. 
 
 The women of Murcia are undeniably beautiful, 
 and the poorer and shopkeeping class furnish the 
 best average. In some regions the well-to-do are 
 the most beautiful ; in other parts it is the 
 peasants ; and again, it may be the factory girl, 
 the shop assistant or the employer's daughter. In 
 this part of Spain the shopkeeping class have the 
 largest share of physical beauty. Eyes, hair, 
 teeth, and skin are often perfectly enchanting. 
 
 Like most Spaniards, the Murcianas grow fat 
 early, from too much sitting about. But certain 
 charms seem to increase rather than diminish 
 with age. The eyes of the elderly women are 
 often more attractive than those of their daugh- 
 ters or grandchildren ; this may be due to an 
 increase of knowledge and the absence of any 
 strain, for they do little or no reading, and tax 
 their sight only in so far as they engage in fine 
 sewing. 
 
 A large proportion of the Murcian women have 
 
A QUAINT CUSTOM 119 
 
 bright brown hair, and this obtains among all 
 classes, and it is as common in the country as the 
 town. This, with some other racial characteristics, 
 leads one to believe that the Murcians represent a 
 very old stock, for country types do not change 
 so rapidly as do those of towns. 
 
 There is a gypsy type of woman in the road- 
 side cottages round Murcia, who wears a large 
 handkerchief over a shell-like coil of hair, tied 
 curiously at the nape of the neck. She takes no 
 end of pride in the coloured earthenware utensils 
 which adorn her best chamber, but her especial 
 vanity is a hand-worked towel, long and narrow 
 as a scarf, which hangs from a specially made sup- 
 port high on the wall. An elegant hand-basin on 
 an upright hand- wrought iron stand rests beneath. 
 This is something like a discovery, for the care 
 these women take to keep the water pure, and the 
 towel spotless, leads one to infer that it is con- 
 nected with some old superstition. No one is 
 expected to use, or even dares to think of using, 
 either water or towel, and there is a look of terror 
 on the faces of parents and children alike should 
 the stranger go near the toalla y agua. 
 
 The most pronounced defect of the Spanish 
 woman is her harsh and uncultivated voice. Here 
 in Murcia the impression produced by many is 
 ruined the moment they speak. The voice is 
 naturally good, and pure Castilian with the idioms 
 of the provinces may be spoken with great charm ; 
 but whispering and quiet speech are bad form in 
 
120 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 Spain. One must speak to a distance. This strains 
 and ruins many fine voices. 
 
 Then the singing of purely native song — and 
 there is no knowledge of any other — demands a 
 broken voice. Little girls and beautiful women 
 often have voices as deep and harsh as their 
 brothers. The rice powder, which literally coats 
 the face of the Andalusian woman, and which she 
 uses '' to keep off the sun," is seldom seen in 
 Murcia, though the climate is equally hot. The 
 Spanish woman is a striking example of what may 
 be accomplished in the way of securing regard 
 without the exercise of much brain. The way she 
 does her hair, uses her eyes, dresses, holds things, 
 walks, and remains superbly feminine, more than 
 compensates for her utter ignorance of what we 
 know as education, and provides her with a power 
 of commanding more than is enjoyed by the 
 majority of her northern sisters. 
 
 It is hard to discover the difference between 
 pride, fear, shyness, and sense of female honour 
 in southern Spain. Women are most outspoken ; 
 no subject is barred, yet they will suddenly freeze 
 into silence as if something terrible had been pro- 
 posed. I accidentally touched the elbow of a 
 young married woman. She had been unusually 
 frank and agreeable, but at this she turned away 
 and pouted like a sulky child. Then she went and 
 spoke in the ear of a much older woman, and the 
 pair walked off in silence. This is due to what 
 we would hastily sum up as ignorance; but may be 
 
DRESSING THE HAIR 121 
 
 more correctly explained as a subtle fear or mode 
 of caution imposed upon them by the men. And 
 the man is equally hard to estimate, for whilst he 
 is all eyes and jealousy, he affects contempt for 
 women and is never detected in a serious conversa- 
 tion. It is true that the lover stands at the window 
 or under it, and gesticulates and articulates for 
 hours on hours — and as much through the day as 
 the night — but as he does this sort of thing for 
 years, he may get out all his laws and decrees 
 during the calf period. 
 
 In Murcia the women dress their hair even better 
 than do many in Andalusia, and nothing more 
 need be said. Here one sees marvellously perfect 
 and effective arrangements, and women who visit 
 this part of the country must be exasperated to 
 know that the best professional peinadoras (hair- 
 dressers) will attend daily for four pesetas, or 
 about three shillings a month. Those who cannot 
 afford a penny a day, dress each other's hair. 
 Many young girls look charming by having their 
 hair parted low on one side and waved over the 
 forehead — a soft billowy mass, dry, yet not a hair 
 out of place. Over the crowns of the head stretch 
 wide black silk bands, with large rosettes just above 
 or behind each ear. This does not age, but gives a 
 fine character to the young faces, and surpasses 
 anything of the kind I remember to have seen. 
 
 The short-frocked girls here wear full round 
 knickerbockers tied below the knee with coarse 
 white cords, from which depend large tassels. 
 
122 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 The old-fashioned dress of the Murcia men is a 
 shawl and petticoat, so that at a little distance 
 they are indistinguishable from women. The 
 manta, or shawl, is an exaggerated neck wrap, and 
 has become more of a mode than a comforter. It 
 is twisted round and round the neck and head, 
 and under the arms, and brought over and across, 
 tucked and curled, in a quite extraordinary fash- 
 ion ; yet the wearer may be barefoot or wearing 
 nothing more comforting than grass slippers. 
 
 The manta is often of barbaric colouring, and 
 reveals association with Africa and Asia. Imitation 
 leopard and tiger skins are much worn, and there 
 are strips and stripes of felt, leather, and horse-cloth 
 sewn together, much as one sees in Morocco, 
 Egypt, and the Levant. Apart from the manta, 
 and an occasional lynx-skin cap, the dress of the 
 men is singularly plain. Nearly all wear a long 
 black or cream linen blouse, with little or no fancy 
 stitching, the same cut as that of a Paris work- 
 man. Pimento — the red capsicum — is grown here 
 in great quantities, and large mills are employed 
 the year round in grinding the dried fruit into 
 powder. This industry is so large that it imposes 
 the colour of the pimento red upon the whole popu- 
 lation. Slippers, shoes, stockings, handkerchiefs 
 are dyed to the same shade ; and so much of it 
 is about that one does not find time to detect who 
 is wearing the artificially dyed garments and who 
 is a genuine worker at the mills. The market-folk 
 are surprisingly quiet, and do not use their eyes 
 
A FAMILY COACH 123 
 
 or gesticulate in the ways common to most 
 Spaniards. In fact, the Murcians stand stock still 
 before their wares, or crawl round under immense 
 burdens of provender, and seem afraid to open 
 their mouths lest they should have to close them 
 on a bad bargain. One boy was so venturesome 
 as to bawl, ''Garlic, a penny a bunch. Come now, 
 do you want more for less?" It was a fair argu- 
 ment. 
 
 Nearly all the houses have flat roofs, and the 
 fowls have these as their particular and private 
 domain; in Castilian the word ''particular" means 
 private. One sees birds perched on every bit of 
 battlement and roof ornament, and very quaint 
 they look, peering wisely down upon the human 
 crowd. 
 
 The tartana, a long low van with a heavy, 
 richly glazed and bright brown tilt, is the fashion- 
 able conveyance of this region. It is found a 
 little further south and runs north to Catalunia, 
 but is never seen far inland. 
 
 As a family coach it is most accommodating, 
 but only those near the ends can see out of it or 
 get a breath of fresh air. Truly superb horses 
 draw these tartanas, and the animals have their 
 manes parted and trained to fall on both sides of 
 the neck, with very fine effect. Although so small, 
 this town sports upwards of three hundred 
 carriages — loaded from the shafts to the back 
 steps. Every afternoon the visitor can be inter- 
 ested and amused in watching young love at play. 
 
124 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 Youths of wealth must always show their courage, 
 '' monte '' — on horseback — and wherever a family 
 of pretty girls is huddled together in a tartana, a 
 dozen horsemen are to be seen elbowing and jost- 
 ling each other at the rear. Pushing and crowding 
 is a crime in Spain — unless one is mounted, and 
 then it is the correct thing to ride roughshod over 
 everything and everybody. The ride over, and 
 the ladies safely lodged in the houses, there is a 
 great deal of racing up and down to attract faces 
 to the windows. In a manner unknown in other 
 European lands, love is the prime concern amongst 
 Spaniards of all ages. They are curious and inter- 
 ested in every one's love affairs. No men or w^omen 
 are too old, nor are any too shy or busy to talk 
 about and observe the progress of the grande 
 passion. Hence one gets music as the confession 
 of love in all places and seasons ; and in Murcia it 
 is particularly well rendered. 
 
 At first this music is almost inaudible, and one 
 wonders when the real plajdng will begin. This 
 feeling is helped out by a peculiar hesitancy on the 
 part of the player — ^he cannot find the right note 
 or make up his mind how to interpret his feelings. 
 He twangs the strings two, three, or all together, 
 and then promptly stifles the sound by the pressure 
 of his hand. He looks up to the window, down the 
 street, over his shoulder, away at the sky, he hugs 
 and he half rejects the instrument, and shakes at 
 the shoulders. He speaks deep emotional words 
 down in his chest, and tang and tinkle escape the 
 
CAFE LIFE 125 
 
 strings. Then his eyes close, he turns his head away 
 from the guitar, and utters a plaintive appeal : 
 
 " Come to me awake as I know you in dreams, 
 Bright as the summer cloud, pure as fountain water " ; 
 
 or : 
 
 " Nor with thee, nor without thee 
 Have my troubles any remedy." 
 
 He is passionate, primitive, almost barbaric, but 
 so convincing that one is made to feel rapturous 
 by this lover who expresses himself to the music of 
 south-eastern Spain. 
 
 Cafe life in some provinces is full of interest ; 
 in Murcia it is extremely dull. The patrons are 
 content with cafe and small talk. Taking Spain 
 as a whole, the cafe has gone up in the world — it 
 has grown sober and silent ; not that Spaniards 
 ever drank to excess, but the cafe once provided 
 all their diversion. Now cheap theatres, cinemato- 
 graph shows, and most of all, " circulos '* or clubs, 
 have reduced the cafe to a rest-house, and no 
 more. 
 
 Dancing, singing, and music, once so attractive 
 and easily enjoyed, are now limited to a few dis- 
 tinctly low places, where they are neither national, 
 nor natural, nor pretty, nor strange, nor have 
 they — as Ford remarked — *' the merit of being 
 improper." 
 
 At the best cafe in Murcia a man of about fifty 
 played the piano remarkably well. He had a 
 splendid head and fine eyes, and I thought him 
 too good for his task, he looked a man born to rule 
 
126 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 and act in a great cause. One day I saw him led 
 to his place by a youth, and I was made aware 
 that my hero was totally blind. 
 
 In this little town there is a club which for 
 beauty, comfort, and completeness can have few 
 equals outside Spain. The Spaniards are past 
 masters in the art of making sensible and success- 
 ful club quarters. They provide baths, gymna- 
 siums, gaming rooms of all kinds, cafes, smoking- 
 and ball-rooms — every luxury and convenience of 
 a club, except a library, for they do not believe in 
 racking their brains. The principal club in Murcia 
 has over six hundred members, and the whole 
 secret of the success of this and all other Spanish 
 clubs is that the members pay monthly. 
 
 Usually a duro — three-and-ninepence — and cash 
 down for everything they consume or employ on 
 the club premises. So one is able to say that the 
 Spaniards are very careful in their pleasures and 
 very careless in their business. The '' Circulo 
 Mercantil '' of Malaga is the finest club I have 
 seen, and I have examined many in detail in 
 several countries. The Malaga Circulo has over 
 two thousand members, and again its success is 
 due to monthly subscriptions. The British may 
 object that such clubs cannot be exclusive. No, 
 they are not so ; but it is well to observe that 
 there is more general politeness and kindly support 
 in the '' Circulos " of Spain, than one is ever likely 
 to discover in the most exclusive of British clubs. 
 I make these remarks because it is evident that we 
 
IN CLUB AND CASA 127 
 
 have a lot to learn in the way of providing a 
 rational resort for men who must seek relaxation, 
 and yet can make choice of nothing better than 
 the public-house or theatre-bar. Excepting such 
 cities as Barcelona and Madrid, which are largely 
 supported by foreigners, Spain has no bars or 
 mere drink shops. 
 
 The Spaniard enjoys company. He does not 
 desire to drink unless he is thirsty. He does not 
 ask his neighbours to drink, though he never fails 
 to offer to the stranger whatsoever it is within 
 his power to give. With an assured income, be it 
 never so small, he joins a club, and but for the 
 danger of his being led into gambling, he gains all 
 he desires in the form of recreation at a very 
 cheap rate. 
 
 I never was one for gaiety, nor can I recall a 
 time or place which I thought dull. True, I knew 
 some things almost to surfeit, but could always 
 look or feel or hope away from what was about 
 me or insufficient. I write this because Murcia is 
 extremely quiet, and if I had not thought about it 
 carefully I might instead have written dull. The 
 average visitor would say, '' there is nothing to 
 see and nowhere to go,'' facts I will not dispute ; 
 but you cannot have eighty thousand human souls 
 huddled within half a square mile with nothing 
 to see or feel or think about. So I am just brows- 
 ing, and in a pleasant way content to be here ; and 
 not without some definable reasons. 
 
 I am lodged in a poor but very clean household. 
 
128 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 where I can study human Ufe in variety. I should 
 also say that I feel well off, which naany with more 
 money cannot feel, because they are incapable of 
 surrounding themselves with proper company. I 
 pay about half a crown a day, and the capacity to 
 do this and not talk about where it is to come 
 from, makes me a veritable monarch of wealth, 
 worthy the love and devotion of all about me. I 
 would not own money or anything which might 
 make me envied of my fellows ; but I like to feel 
 I am envied for myself, and as I stand there is 
 nothing to be desired of me. Still, here the bread 
 is very sweet, and the simple bed the lap of luxury. 
 
 I wish I could lay bare the secret of this ; but 
 I cannot — to get the best of poor quarters and the 
 absolute sympathy and attention of poor folk is 
 somewhere near what I feel to be the most restful 
 and joyous time in life ; that is, if we have 
 sickened of the fawnings and insincerities of the 
 crowd or felt the burden of toil-spent years. By 
 paying a little more I could stay in a pretentious 
 fonda, where I should feel poor, out of place, and 
 a nuisance to every one whom I did not tip or 
 tumble to. So one secret of being well off depends 
 on living among those who are in some ways 
 poorer than ourselves. 
 
 This is a highly organised community, and like 
 Schopenhauer's family of porcupines, they are so 
 closely huddled together that they must needs 
 prick or irritate, turn, scratch, and bleed each 
 other. I saw four half-tragic rows in less than an 
 
CRIME AND COMEDY 129 
 
 hour — at least, I feared tragedy would happen, 
 but all ended in words. Loud and furious speech 
 pays almost every debt in Spain. 
 
 I had no sooner written this than my diminutive 
 host came and invited me to witness the murder 
 " funcion '' round the corner. 
 
 Out of jealousy, a handsome young married 
 woman had killed her maid. I asked what the 
 punishment would be, and was told in all serious- 
 ness that the maid had paid the debt. The mur- 
 deress might be formally charged, but as she took 
 the only possible course open to her she was bound 
 to be acquitted. The comic opera element was 
 apparent in this case, for the murderess's husband 
 was the State Attorney for the province, and alone 
 held the power to issue a warrant for his wife's 
 arrest ; then he could not be suspended for any 
 dereliction of duty without making a formal com- 
 plaint against himself to the authorities at Madrid, 
 and as he was not likely to do that, the public 
 tongue was the only matter that moved in the 
 vale of Murcia. 
 
 My life in this old city centres round two women 
 — Manuela, my landlady, and Rosario, one of her 
 lodgers. Manuela was a well-formed and clever- 
 faced woman of about forty, and had for a 
 marido, or husband, one Don Anisetto, who had 
 the appearance of an ancient mouse, for he was 
 grey, wizened, and about three feet and three 
 stone. In all seriousness, he was a man small in 
 every way, and possessed of a cunning and rapacity 
 
I30 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 he had not sufficient art to conceal. Manuela was 
 more astute and had a better nature, though she, 
 too, was greedy and abnormally jealous even for 
 a Spaniard. 
 
 Rosario was a girl entirely without means and 
 in such poor health that it was impossible for her 
 to earn a living. A brother had paid a crown or 
 so a week to keep a roof over her head ; but lately 
 he had been drawn by the conscription, and 
 Rosario was in a hopeless state of want. Apart 
 from a pale and sad face, she was a beautiful girl ; 
 about twenty-eight, of good height and fine figure ; 
 her eyes, teeth, and hair were each and all per- 
 fect and bewitching. What is more, she had a rich, 
 sweet voice and a very attractive wit. 
 
 A still more charming woman in the house was 
 Teresa, a watchmaker's wife. She, too, was 
 twenty-eight, had four children, and was a per- 
 fect example of Spanish beauty. Manuela watched 
 me like forty cats, and after a day or two came 
 out with — '' Cual si gusto mas ? " (Whom do you 
 like best ?) Partly to avoid strife, and partly from 
 instinctive choice, I named Rosario. " She is 
 yours. I give her to you," came from Manuela ; 
 but if not innocent I was indifferent to her offer. 
 Rosario's fare consisted almost entirely of a potato 
 or two, sliced and partly boiled, partly fried in a 
 little water and oil. I saw this, and cudgelled my 
 brains and wondered how I might assist her with- 
 out attracting the notice of Manuela. The hostess' 
 quarters were on the top floor, Rosario' s on the 
 
THE WILES O' WOMAN 131 
 
 basement, mine were in the middle. I felt I could 
 spare a few pesetas, so putting the money in an 
 envelope I awaited Rosario on the stairs. When 
 I pressed the packet into her hand, and she felt 
 its contents, she almost fainted, and implored me 
 by old-fashioned speech, gestures, and sighs not 
 to rob her of her last shred of reputation. 
 
 She was in earnest, and her behaviour, as I 
 saw it, was truly splendid. She was stupid, and 
 yet she was right. She was a woman of Spain, 
 and acting according to her lights. I withdrew 
 to my room, feeling that I was a better-informed 
 man. I had seen a woman at her best, and my 
 heart went out to her. I had put my forefinger 
 on my lips as a sign of silence, and she had under- 
 stood. I went out and bought wine, biscuits, and 
 chocolate, and rapping, put them at her door. 
 
 The next morning I was surprised to be met 
 with a black scowl from Rosario when I saw her 
 with Manuela, ''Oh, dear,'' thought I, ''when shall 
 I know anything of the ways of women, and especi- 
 ally of these of Spain ? " But later she gave me 
 the kindest of glances, and I saw that the scowl 
 was the protection against Manuela. 
 
 I provided afternoon tea for the household, 
 solely that Rosario might get a little more food 
 and company. Manuela enjoyed the *' feasts," 
 as she termed them, but she openly hated the in- 
 clusion of Rosario, and her jealousy was so pro- 
 nounced that at times it made her quite ugly and 
 miserable. As I was determined not to notice 
 
132 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 these heart-burnings a new scheme was put in 
 force. 
 
 Don Anisetto suddenly departed. He had 
 " urgent business " in Cartagena, and after hug- 
 ging me at the shoulders and shouting '' Adios " 
 up and down the street, he shouldered a bag as 
 lean as himself and vanished. 
 
 Out of sight, out of mind ! Manuela waited not 
 an hour before making love to me. But I was a 
 brute, and dilated on the charms and good qualities 
 of Rosario. A bad cold laid me low ; but Manuela 
 proved a splendid nurse and had me right in next 
 to no time. Teresa and Rosario w^ere all sympathy, 
 but being on the young side they dared not break 
 through the law of custom, so I never saw them 
 in my room, though they would twitter and call, 
 as they held hands, like two shy children, in the 
 doorway. 
 
 Manuela, finding me too senseless to fall in love 
 with her, let Don xAnisetto know that the finances 
 did not improve by their keeping two homes, so 
 back he came. Where he had been to, goodness 
 only knows. Certainly not to Cartagena. I 
 imagine he had been li\dng in a sewer, or up in the 
 belfry of the cathedral. He was all unshaven, un- 
 kempt, and unfed. He was pitiable, yet I laughed 
 (I affected to do so with joy) at his return. 
 
 His little face had gone all to pieces during his 
 few days '' urgent business." Poor little devil, I 
 do not think he had had one decent meal or wash 
 all the time. Whatever he took in the bag 
 
"THE LITTLE PATH OF LOVE" 133 
 
 amounted to little, for it came back much as it 
 went forth. The blackmailing coup had failed 
 badly. I watched them with what I presume to 
 call splendid indifference, and made all I could 
 of Rosario, both before her face and behind her 
 back. 
 
 In Castilian a green footpath is called a bereda. 
 A more refined name for a narrow path or country 
 track is senda, and one who takes it is named a 
 peaton. In Spanish poetry the senda is known 
 as '* the little path of love.'' I did not take it, 
 but I will own I often thought of the saying, and 
 of the luna de miel or honeymoon of Spain, and 
 still more of the German Flugende Wochen (flying 
 weeks), which seem the most expressive of all. 
 Rosario and I were peatons. I knew I should soon 
 be gone. There was a rare joy in associating with 
 this sweet, sad girl. All around were nothing but 
 dykes, gardens, and orange groves ; and Rosario 
 and I went out into the fresh air and gathered 
 oranges, and ate them too as often as we could 
 induce Manuela and Teresa to accompany us, for 
 it was unthinkable for us to go alone, even had 
 she been twice the age of Manuela, and I but half 
 the size of Don Anisetto. 
 
 St. Patrick is the patron saint of Murcia, and as 
 the seventeenth of March meant holiday feasting 
 and jubilating in true Spanish fashion — which 
 means walking up and down and talking about 
 manana (to-morrow) — I had a good chance to pro- 
 vide an additional feast for Rosario. Then we 
 
134 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 went to the huerta, and though the day was 
 lovely, and the world a paradise, she fainted, the 
 walk and the joy of it were too much for her. 
 With wine and such light food as I could buy I 
 tried to sustain her, but I grew sad as I pondered 
 over her fate. She had '' friends " in Alicante, 
 Valencia, or some town to the north. I was 
 journeying in that direction. Could I help her ? 
 Laughingly she would say '^ Yes,'' but I never 
 knew how far she trusted me. As a Spaniard I 
 should say not very far. 
 
 One day when we were trespassing on a little 
 estate, the rural guard, knowing I was a stranger, 
 demanded my papers. At the sight of the word 
 '' Professor " he lifted his eyebrows, folded the 
 paper, and handing it back said with quiet de- 
 cision, '' I have a brother a Professor — of dress- 
 cutting ! '' 
 
 Coming home, we fell in with a painter who had 
 been out sketching spring scenes, which he in- 
 tended hawking and offering for a few pesetas 
 each in the clubs and cafes of the town. He was 
 a very interesting man, and amongst others made 
 the remark, " It's fortunate that the painter works 
 in heaven, for he lives in hell ! " 
 
 I recall a most charming boy in Murcia. His 
 parents lived on a floor below mine and were 
 tenants of Manuela. This boy of four or five was 
 beautifully formed, with a round but well-drawn 
 face and great melting black eyes. Usually, when 
 I was at meals, he would climb — for he was not 
 
A MURCIAN BOY 135 
 
 man enough to walk — up the steep stairs, and, 
 arriving at the landing where the kitchen and 
 dining crib were both open to him, for neither had 
 a door, he would fall, fairly puffed, over the top 
 step, and with his chin on the floor say, in the 
 most august and fascinating tone, as if he were 
 playing bear or bogey-man, '' Buen provecho,'' 
 or, May it do you good ! 
 
 I always thanked him and asked him if he 
 would share the meal, when he would thank me 
 for my offer, and giving me a profound side bow, 
 he would pass into the kitchen to borrow or return 
 some utensil or scrap for his mother. Once I gave 
 him a biscuit, and he sat in a high chair and ate 
 it. As I left the room it was my turn to say '' Buen 
 provecho." He immediately wriggled down out 
 of the chair and said with the calm and pose of a 
 courtier, ''Igualmente'' — The same to you — for I 
 had just dined. Nothing could disturb or show 
 this child in other than a splendid light. 
 
 He must have had a fine mother, but I never 
 saw her. I often remarked to Manuela that he was 
 a lovely boy, but she either showed signs of 
 jealousy or went off on another tack. Once she 
 paid him a scarcely accurate compliment when she 
 said, '' El es muy listo " — He is very sharp. 
 
 Manuela was in some ways a masterful woman, 
 and positively grieved because she could not bring 
 me to her feet. All she wished was that I should 
 stay in Murcia and keep the house going, for she 
 either affected to be, or was, very poor, and con- 
 
136 IN COLD AND WARM QUARTERS 
 
 sidered that an eccentric '' Ingles'' with a weak- 
 ness for throwing money about must be retained 
 at all hazards. She had travelled as far north as 
 Paris, and as far south as Algiers. She knew a 
 little French and some Arabic, had a real faculty 
 for speaking, was splendidly domesticated, yet she 
 could neither read nor write a single word in any 
 tongue. So anxious was she to impress me that 
 her slightest favours took this form. '' I am going 
 to oblige you.'' '' I am obliging you." '' I have 
 obliged you." She was a real, if not in all ways 
 attractive, character ; and so I dwell upon her — 
 though not in the same way that she dwelt on me ! 
 One day she brought home a jug of olives of extra 
 poor quality, but amongst them one crescent- 
 shaped little fellow, known through all the Medi- 
 terranean countries as the cuerno cabra, or goat's- 
 horn. 
 
 I remarked to Manuela that this kind when well 
 grown and preserved was the most favoured and 
 the dearest of all olives. '' Yes," she said ; ** I 
 know, and that's why I bought them for you ! " 
 
 Once I inquired for my table-napkin, and 
 Manuela snapped, '' Patience, it's washing day ! " 
 which shows that if poverty is no sin it is some- 
 times an inconvenience. 
 
 _When it was decided that I should leave Murcia, 
 great preparations were made to give me a proper 
 send-off. Manuela named all her favourite cakes 
 and other confections, and told me of the shops 
 where they could be bought. Don Anisetto said 
 
FUN AND FAREWELL 137 
 
 there must be a real burst or " buen cargo '' of 
 wine, and he went out and brought back bottles 
 of three or four splendid brands. I found he 
 bought or borrowed bottles only, and filled them 
 from the remainder of my stock of common stuff 
 in the kitchen. I looked at him as much as to 
 say, ''You're a daylight swindler,'' and he looked 
 me full in the face as if to say, ''Am I not a clever 
 dog ?" At least, I enjoyed some aspects of this 
 house and its inmates ; and among them Murcia 
 has a fixed place in my memory. We toasted and 
 wished each other good-bye, and "You will return, 
 Sir Carlos," were the last words I heard from 
 Rosario, as long after midnight she pressed my 
 hand and passed down the dark stairs. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE SEAT OF MARS 
 
 NEARLY all the country between Murcia and 
 Cartagena is irretrievably sterile. I found 
 a lodging at the fonda " La Piha," in the Calle del 
 Aire — the first time I have observed Spaniards 
 honour a house with that element. This is not 
 intended for a guide-book, but I may say, for the 
 benefit of those who do not know, that Cartagena 
 was founded by Hasdrubal — from Carthage — as a 
 rival and menace to Rome. It was used as a 
 striking base after the first Punic War in which 
 the Carthaginians in Sicily failed. From this 
 New Carthage, Hannibal set out to end the dis- 
 pute over Saguntum ; thence taking the coastal 
 route he passed into Gaul and on to Italy, intend- 
 ing to subdue Rome, In those times Cartagena 
 had a much larger bay or harbour than at present. 
 The old city stood on what was practically an 
 island ; but by reclamation and the silting-up of 
 rivers and lagoons the water area has been greatly 
 reduced. The surrounding hills which tower al- 
 most to the height of mountains, and also the 
 site of Cartagena, are of very hard stone ; but so 
 much cutting and carving has been done that 
 
 138 
 
CARTAGENA IN OUTLINE 139 
 
 little or nothing remains of the actual surfaces of 
 early times. On the other hand, the outlying 
 hills and their forts and farolas — lighthouses — are 
 much as they were two thousand years ago. 
 Nothing is discernible or discoverable of the first 
 military builders. Digging yields nothing earlier 
 than Roman. The situation is wonderfully 
 strong. The mountain-girt harbour is still re- 
 nowned, and it must have been even more im- 
 pressive and impregnable in the days when galleys 
 were the greatest ships of war. All the walls of 
 rock are of the mighty kind. They are inscrutable, 
 and in all seasons wear a hard steel-grey tone — the 
 face of relentless war. 
 
 The T-shaped harbour within the narrow strait 
 is not more than a mile or so in length or breadth, 
 but is deep and rock-bound on every shore, and 
 its waters are as blue, soft, and odourless as a 
 fresh- water lake. 
 
 As a town, Cartagena shows few signs of age. 
 Comparatively soft stone has been used, and re- 
 pairs are so frequent and haphazard, that, whilst 
 they produce colour and a cheap picturesqueness, 
 they do not carry one to a remote past. The 
 oldest and quaintest things in sight, apart from 
 the many ruined towers and forts, are the wind- 
 mills with six to eight triangular and boat-like 
 canvas sails. They are used for hoisting water, 
 and one may count sixteen or eighteen in a single 
 direction. 
 
 At Cartagena one feels that the land has been 
 
I40 THE SEAT OF MARS 
 
 made solely for defence, and the sea for no more 
 than ships of war. There is no sand or strand, no 
 landing-places, little bays, calm coves, or any sign 
 of a foothold for man. Any novelist wishing to 
 develop a rugged hero should come under the in- 
 fluence of this grim spot. 
 
 One evening I stood at the very gate of this 
 storied harbour and fortress, and saw the night 
 fall upon land and sea. 
 
 Landwards were wonderful mounts of rock — 
 fortresses terrible in their strength. The lower 
 inland hills were in ruin, so many poundings and 
 shakings had they received from little man. 
 Over twenty ruined towers show from as many 
 mouldering heights, and the city is sufficiently far 
 off to look like the spirit of night rising out of the 
 grey womb of the world. The composition of this 
 picture is perfect ; it is an almost stupefying scene 
 yet comprehensible ; and somehow it makes for 
 peace of mind, and that sober gladness we know 
 when isolated and alone. Here are the highest 
 and most defiant of forts. Here the safest refuge 
 close to the open sea. Here the beetling rocks 
 defy further advance of the ocean, and though the 
 waters look angry, the shores are dumb. The city 
 sinks under a warm haze ; it is too tired to say 
 good night, and there is not a sound. The air 
 over the ocean breathes like a spirit, and far away 
 across its leaden surface lies a low line of sullen 
 blue — the night curtain running down on the 
 African shore. The clouds above are in motion, 
 
LIFE AT THE FLOOD 141 
 
 and as they move and change the pictures alter 
 their size and character, seeming to cause the 
 whole world to move silently towards the west. 
 
 A row-boat or two shoots into the strait. These, 
 too, are silent, save for the thud of the oar in the 
 rowlock. Short Tyrian boats these, with a curved 
 blade prow-piece, no rudder, but a stern which 
 runs into the water like a tail. The dark cavernous 
 waters by the shore look alarming, but the tiny 
 craft approach them with no sign of fear. 
 
 It is a coast without a river ; hence there are 
 but few fish and these always close to shore, where 
 the walls foster a little sustenance for the creatures 
 of the deep. As the night descends, the air over 
 the ocean becomes an audible voice — a kind of 
 music, a dirge or descanting of the story of past 
 years. I know for a moment the peace that is felt 
 only at evening. Then a fisherman calls, and I 
 am brought back to myself ; before I decide what 
 to do a bugle speaks from a fortified height. This 
 tells me to retire ; it is the end of day, and pro- 
 claims a season of quiet and rest. 
 
 But did I retire ? No ! I had leaned against the 
 bulwark of rock which keeps the angriest wave 
 from the blue haven. I stretched out my hands 
 to make the grip more sure, for there is comfort 
 in grasping at masses of rock which jar and throb 
 under the pulse of the relentless sea. My hands 
 were rugged and work-worn, pulled out of shape 
 by years of toil in the service of a heedless and 
 hungry world. Tears hot as fire welled up, as I 
 
142 THE SEAT OF MARS 
 
 thought of my slavery days and the precious time 
 I had lost. 
 
 I leaned further over the bulwark of stone, 
 stretching panther-like, as if expecting some quarry 
 to spring out of the darkening folds of the sea. I 
 looked to right and left — to be frowned upon by 
 piles of forbidding stone. I looked back now to the 
 ghostly city, with here and there an eye that shed 
 its fiery gleam across the waters. I turned again 
 to the sea — ^it was peopled, and the numbers grew ! 
 Ships I saw — ships of many forms, all unlike those 
 of our time and clime. 
 
 How old are they ! Ships of early Greece. 
 Ships of Phoenicia — from Tyre and Sidon, from 
 classic Carthage ; and lo, there is one bearing 
 Hannibal, that warrior and war lord. He comes 
 hither to gird himself and march again^^ Imperial 
 Rome. So proud, so strong, so gay was this 
 Carthaginian company, that I failed to notice the 
 varied train which peopled the seas behind them. 
 I was precipitated into the Roman wars, and 
 though all about me was strange I was a willing 
 soldier and unafraid. Half entranced, half asleep, 
 I lay over the rock. 
 
 Not a soul or a sound disturbed me. I breathed 
 out of ages on ages of time. I stayed till lost in the 
 fathomless past, bound in the chains of time's story. 
 I was alone with the stars and the sea, the rocks 
 and the warriors of Carthage ; I was part of so 
 many adventures as to feel indescribably old and 
 averse to returning towards the few lights, which 
 
BARE EARTH AND FISHLESS SEA 143 
 
 shone out to remind me that Cartagena survived 
 the rack and offered me a bed. 
 
 I took other walks, always to feel that the pre- 
 sent did not count beyond providing time for con- 
 templating the life of the past. The stern brutality 
 of the place exercises a positive fascination. The 
 rocks are like steel in their hardness and yield no 
 sand. Where they are laved by the sea they are 
 licked into such fine particles as allows one to say 
 they dissolve into water. Their smooth inacces- 
 sible faces jut out into terrible depths. In the 
 absence of land vegetation, nothing is provided 
 for the growth of seaweed, and there is none. 
 
 The Spaniards, given to praise even the faults of 
 their land, say here, '' Sea without fish. River- 
 beds without water. Country without soil. Women 
 without shame." 
 
 Truly there is little for the virtues to thrive on. 
 The sea makes no perceptible ebb and flow ; and 
 although there is a wealth of glorious colouring 
 over all in sight, it is a churlish and brutalising 
 line of coast. No corsair but would find this a fit 
 home for his soul to live in ; but to the landsman 
 it offers nothing better than a spirit of opposition. 
 
 Everything stands off and refuses to be sub- 
 dued and turned to use. One may wander for 
 miles, try for hours and yet be unable to get with- 
 in a quarter or half a mile of the sea. The bare 
 smooth mountains and walls oppose one at every 
 turn. Truly, this is a fit place for war, since it 
 gives so little opportunity for the arts of peace. 
 
144 THE SEAT OF MARS 
 
 I had expected Cartagena to prove more con- 
 servative in its fishing craft than the ports further 
 south ; but it is not so. No fishing fleet exists, 
 but a few small row-boats hang about the harbour, 
 and hook and drag along the coast outside. In 
 the strait, and where there are most fish, the wind 
 is treacherous, and few can handle a sail there with 
 safety. As one watches the few venturesome 
 craft, taking the strait in the evening light, turning 
 into the dark recesses, overawed by the cliffs 
 which hang like thunderclouds above them, one 
 thrills and fears the boatmen are passing to certain 
 death in the cruel depths of ocean. 
 
 Apart from the arsenal, naval docks, and a cer- 
 tain amount of commercial activity, modern 
 Cartagena counts for very little. One should go 
 to see and feel something of the spirit of the old 
 city, and I will confess that alone had interest 
 for me. 
 
 Taking a stroll I fell in with Manuela. She told 
 me a plausible story of an actor who owed her 
 money and was sailing for Or an in French Africa. 
 She had come to Cartagena to make a claim 
 through the French Consul, and the ride from 
 Murcia had absorbed all the cash she possessed. 
 
 She must stay in Cartagena for a night at least. 
 How could she pay her way ? In her best black, 
 which included a soft silk shawl arranged like a 
 hood over her head and shoulders, Manuela was a 
 combination of mystery and attractiveness, and 
 her attitude towards me was full of confidence. To 
 
A DELICATE PROPOSAL 145 
 
 my inquiry after the health of Don Anisetto she 
 remarked laconically, '' The little rat is just alive/' 
 As ''La Piha '' was a comfortable house, and as 
 Manuela had no scruples, I offered her bed and 
 board whilst she should find it necessary to remain 
 in Cartagena. This she accepted con gusto, but 
 she must return to Murcia on the morrow. 
 
 Callous and careful, I allowed nothing to trans- 
 pire which might cause Manuela to feel I was 
 pleased to have her about me. Detecting my in- 
 difference, she assured me of Rosario's unfailing 
 charm and affection, and proposed that I should 
 take her as far as Barcelona, contending she would 
 minister to my wants, make travelling cheaper, 
 and prove the delight of my life. Said she, *' Two 
 can live cheaper than one, and live better.'' It is 
 an old contention, but I had grounds for doubting 
 if it could be true. 
 
 I could with gladness take Rosario, but could I 
 leave her ? What did I want of her or she with 
 me ? I went so far as to tell Manuela that if 
 Rosario had friends whom she desired to reach I 
 would pay her travelling expenses. This pleased 
 Manuela mightily, and she proceeded to talk as if 
 we had arranged to return to Murcia on the morrow. 
 But I had no such intention. The train left early, 
 some time before seven ; and I was determined she 
 should not miss it through any neglect of mine. 
 
 Mine was a comfortable room ; so was hers ; 
 what need of two '' quartos," as we were friends 
 and alone ! Conscious that Don Anisetto was at 
 
146 THE SEAT OF MARS 
 
 least big enough to cause trouble, I kept to my 
 own quarto, and had Manuela up and in the train 
 half an hour before starting-time. To pacify her — 
 I agreed it was possible for me to return to Murcia, 
 for I had to go within a few miles of it to join a 
 train for Elche. I bought her a ticket and proven- 
 der, and got an unusual amount of affection in 
 return. 
 
 The next day I received the following letter ; 
 which receives a literal translation : — 
 
 ''Murcia, 28th March, 1909. 
 " Sir Carlos, 
 
 '' When Dofia Manuela returned and told 
 me she had seen you I was rejoiced at the en- 
 counter, but I fully expected you to come to me 
 on Sunday. I was overjoyed to know that the 
 door of my house stood open, and that a beautiful 
 repast had been prepared for you, and then I was 
 sad that you did not come. In your absence I 
 must write and present my appeal that you will 
 come to me, that I may talk with you over a sub- 
 ject of interest to us both. 
 
 '' Understand you, I am, with due appreciation, 
 your friend, .< Rosario." 
 
 This letter, though fully addressed, had no 
 stamp, but a note that payment was to be made 
 on delivery. It had no postmark, and had evi- 
 dently been brought by Manuela and left for de- 
 livery to me after she had gone. 
 
 Doubting the genuineness of this letter, I waited 
 a day or two and then sent a guarded reply, to 
 which came the following : — 
 
FOR LOVE OR LUCRE? 147 
 
 '' Murcia, 3rd April, 1909. 
 
 ''Appreciable Sir Carlos, 
 
 ._<f^ '' Seeing that I had written you and you 
 had not repHed, I was very sad, beheving that you 
 had no longer remembered me as I did you. But 
 I see that I was mistaken in the moment that 
 to-day I had the joy to receive your kind letter. 
 Agreeably with what you tell me, I will go to 
 Alicante or Valencia, wheresoever you may await 
 me, but you know my situation, since you were 
 here. I am a woman who wants to be good, and 
 because of being so I find myself thus, for were it 
 not for Doiia Manuela and her husband I should 
 have neither lodging nor food, and, thanks to 
 them, I have both. 
 
 '' To-day I owe them fifty pesetas, and before I 
 leave I desire to pay them, because they are poor ; 
 and I, whilst accepting and thanking you for what 
 you offer me, should be obliged if you would send 
 me the said amount of fifty pesetas, that I may 
 be able to do my duty to this good family who 
 have been so generous towards me. 
 
 '' I repeat that I should be much obliged to 
 you for it. That is all I can tell you to-day. 
 
 '' The day I am at your side I will tell you more. 
 I hope you will answer me at once, because my 
 situation is very sad, and you can brighten it. 
 
 " Without more to-day, receive you my most 
 sincere affection. 
 
 *' I am, with all appreciation, 
 
 " RosARio Sanchez.'' 
 
 So convinced was I that these letters were con- 
 cocted by Don Anisette and Manuela, and that 
 Rosario was in utter ignorance of them, that I 
 called in an assistant, and much as we debated 
 
148 THE SEAT OF MARS 
 
 the subject, he was inclined to think the letters 
 genuine, and advised me to risk sending fifty 
 pesetas. I did not do so, and the sequel must be 
 told in a later chapter. 
 
 In this province unruly children are still told 
 that '' Suleyman " is coming, and though he 
 dwells just across the strait the custom dates 
 from the time of the Moors in Spain. 
 
 In Andalusia I have heard parents tell their 
 children that the Carthaginians are coming ; and, 
 '' Oh, go and live with the Moors,'* is an every- 
 day expression amongst the peasants, when in an 
 angry mood. 
 
 All along the south-east coast the cottages and 
 solitary houses have primitive wooden crosses fixed 
 at their gables, a survival of a custom amongst 
 the Moors when the Christians had regained the 
 mastery, and it was politic to hoist a sign of con- 
 formity to the faith of Rome. 
 
 Cartagena is in some respects the most de- 
 tached city of Spain, for it is so near to Algiers, 
 Oran, Melilla, Ceuta, and the native ports of 
 Morocco, and so many foreigners are engaged in 
 trade between these places, that the population 
 is much mixed and more of the nature of southern 
 France than Spain. Nearly all the utensils and 
 the trappings of draught animals are Moorish or 
 Eastern in design, and where horses or mules are 
 in pairs a pole projects above their heads and a 
 yoke is let down on the necks, so that they pull 
 from above instead of below. 
 
 I 
 
SOME BUSINESS VIEWS 149 
 
 One Sunday, Cartagena was en fete over the 
 Misa de Campana — the military ceremony at which 
 the young soldiers kiss the sword and flag of Spain. 
 It takes the form of a parade and picturesque 
 disposition of the troops on a wide promenade 
 near the town. A cynic at my side remarked that 
 '' Spain had seventy thousand men with the 
 colours on paper — and newspaper at that ! There 
 are nearly thirteen thousand officers employed in 
 keeping the game up, the books straight, and 
 their pay sure ! Otherwise, why all this flag- 
 flying, bright steel, and blare ? '' I agree with 
 him. Spain wants a small army to keep the peace 
 at home, and no more. A thousand officers and 
 twenty thousand men could do this work with 
 ease and find ample time for play. Still, I confess 
 that if I had to dwell in Cartagena I should want 
 to be a soldier, so many are the temptations to 
 climb to heights of vantage and growing cheeky 
 yell, '' Come and turn me out ! '' 
 
 Getting up for an early morning walk, I usu- 
 ally found the waiter sleeping in the passage or 
 with his chair-bed blocking the main doorway. 
 This was puzzling, for the house was half empty. 
 On putting a question to him he admitted he was 
 '' the dog with the open eye,'' sleeping in the pas- 
 sage to prevent the lodgers from bolting before 
 paying their bills. 
 
 Returning by the route I had come I journeyed to 
 within sight of the towers of Murcia, smelt again 
 the strong odours of its violets and orange flowers, 
 
ISO THE SEAT OF MARS 
 
 and I have no doubt I thought of Rosario; but I 
 was bent on the sober task of examining some other 
 bits of peopled land, which took me to Molina and 
 Orihuela. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 LA BELLA SOMBRA 
 
 ORIHUELA, like the vale of Murcia, reveals 
 a wonderful example of intense culture. No 
 particle of earth is left untilled, and every dyke, 
 ditch, and water-hole carries a reed or rush of use 
 in thatching the mean mud huts of the peasants. 
 The climate is so mild that the land is never idle, 
 and the people are everlastingly employed in 
 putting in seed or tending the crops above ground. 
 The holdings are all small — two or three acres — 
 and every one carries a certain amount of flax, 
 which, after being soaked in a water-hole, is 
 retted and sold to the spinners of Elche. As all 
 this region is irrigated, there are banks and ridges 
 unending, and the most permanent are clothed 
 with oranges, date palms, figs, and mulberries, 
 producing a most charming effect. Towards the 
 north are salt marshes and mirage-like lagoons, 
 enclosed by sandspits from the neighbouring sea. 
 Here the scenes are quite Oriental. Grey, sun- 
 parched hills, dry, quaking earth, steel-blue skies, 
 and clumps and belts of towering palms, so 
 numerous as to create forests. 
 
 Elche is the most tropical and Eastern in ap- 
 
 151 
 
152 LA BELLA SOMBRA 
 
 pearance of all the districts of Spain. In fact, it 
 is hard to realize that it is a part of Europe. One 
 can walk abroad at all hours, and in every direc- 
 tion, and believe oneself to be enjoying some fast- 
 ness in Asia or North Africa. The little town is 
 grimy, and in every way old ; but the grime is not 
 bad dirt, only dust confined by the belt of palms 
 w^hich stretches out for two or three miles on all 
 sides. This is the only spot in Europe where the 
 date palm is grown for profit. All the palm area is 
 held by peasants, who work from two to three acres 
 of irrigated land, gro\\ing artichokes, corn, maize, 
 potatoes, madder, lucerne, and other crops ; and, 
 excepting the date, their chief fruit is the pome- 
 granate, which succeeds well within the shade of 
 the palms. The palms occupy the boundaries and 
 margins of paths only, but rise so high, and are 
 so evenly distributed, as to make an unbroken 
 forest of pei-petual shade. 
 
 The roadway leading to each house is a rope- 
 walk, as flax yarn-spinning is the chief employ- 
 ment and mainstay of those who farm the land. 
 
 Big families are desired and frequently seen, for 
 the more sons and daughters there are, the more 
 cord can be made, and this sells readily on the spot, 
 for the town of Elche lives by making canvas 
 sHppers and boots of various kinds, all of which 
 have flax soles. The house paths are true Arcadian 
 ways. The high, sighing branches overhead, with 
 their enormous bunches of golden fruit, the rip- 
 pling streams of irrigation water which awaken an 
 
A SWEET SINGER 153 
 
 almost audible response in every expanding leaf 
 and flower ; the shouts, chants, and sighs of the 
 busy workers — for their tongues are never a 
 moment idle, make a picture rare indeed, and 
 nearer to idyllic happiness than can be described. 
 I hear one truly lovely voice here. It comes not 
 from a cord- but a slipper-maker, who sits in a 
 yard under my window and gives me my fill of 
 perfect soul-music. I feel inclined to interview the 
 man, but think I may disturb and injure him if I 
 dared to tell him what I think of his voice. He 
 sings bits from the best operas, and apart from 
 the voice being well under control, it has a richness 
 and appealing quality which is most rare. This 
 master of song is fat, bullet-headed, round-faced, 
 and about twenty-four. Will any one take him 
 on ? 
 
 One feels that great singers should come out of 
 Elche, for the whole community is bent on trying 
 its voice ; and if we liken the towering stems of 
 the palms to the shafts in a great cathedral, it 
 seems natural that those whose lives are cast within 
 this spirit-haunted shade should always be trying 
 to make themselves heard, as they do. 
 
 One old cord-spinnner every time he ran towards 
 the wheel to attach the flax end, would look up and 
 in an almost praying voice send a strong, clear 
 appeal among the heads of the high palms, till one 
 could hear his song rising and falling as an echo, 
 floating away among the shadows and the curtain 
 of evening mist w^hich was hanging low. 
 
154 LA BELLA SOMBRA 
 
 The flax-spinner travels, in actual walking, from 
 twenty-four to forty miles a day, for his work de- 
 mands very rapid movement. What is more, a 
 man must hurry if he would earn fifteen pence 
 in a ten to twelve-hour day. Over five hundred 
 men are always making cord among the palms, 
 whilst their wives and daughters sit in the door- 
 ways, making up some parts of the slippers. Then 
 there are at least a thousand little boys who have 
 for their task the turning of the huge box wheels, 
 which generate the spinning power. Some boys 
 have two wheels to look after — one at each end of 
 the walk, that the man may work from both ends 
 and waste no time in either direction. This forces 
 the boy to rush from one end of the walk to the 
 other — about fifty yards — with never a moment's 
 rest, except when the man may stop to tie a new 
 coil of flax about his waist. It is most amusing to 
 watch the ingenuity of these boys as they con- 
 trive to steal a moment from what comes near to 
 being an *' eternal grind.'* Where two walks are 
 near together the boys pelt each other with clods 
 or bean pods — after eating the beans — and 
 then, spoihng for a fight, they give the wheels 
 an extra sharp turn or two, rush at and stroke 
 each other down, which is their best -known 
 method of doing damage to the person, for they 
 have no idea of using their fists. In all their heat 
 and haste they keep a reserve of calm, for the 
 fathers and big brothers are always shouting 
 ''faster," ''steady," or "stop," and if the boy is 
 
NEAR TO HAPPINESS 155 
 
 caught away from his wheel, there is a real and a 
 most unequal Spanish fight. 
 
 When there is no chance of getting up a row, the 
 boys shin up the lowest palms and snatch hand- 
 fuls of the small and husky fruit — for Elche dates 
 are not perfection — and in their haste drop many 
 feet to the ground, and maintain the motion of the 
 wheels by movements and a display of concern at 
 which one is bound to laugh. 
 
 This is all very simple, human, and yet most 
 rare — rare in the nature of a sylvan luxury for 
 those of us who have too long been busy and never 
 able to understand to what end we toiled. I had 
 grown to believe that Arcadia must be as far off 
 as Utopia, and that I might never hope to see it 
 for a single hour ; but here in Elche, in the soft 
 air of a spring evening, one has nothing to fear, is 
 content, and feels sure one is near to the source of 
 happiness. 
 
 Days w^ent by, and I was charmed to stay. I 
 sat for hours on hours among the palms — ^in the 
 cool fresh mornings, in the hot noons, through the 
 delicious evening hours, and the pictures, sounds, 
 and inmost feelings were ever a source of blessing 
 to me, and so I am glad to write that Elche is a 
 restful and a generous spot, where man, by direct 
 hand labour, and free from all the grime and noise 
 of sickening whirring machinery and city misery, 
 is doing enough to sustain himself, living rapidly 
 enough, and thinking well enough ; and I come 
 to discern and believe that the simple and quiet 
 
156 LA BELLA SOMBRA 
 
 occupations of unambitious men are the only ones 
 by which we may be soothed and satisfied. 
 
 All Elche bespeaks age. Its city fathers issue 
 ''Edictos/' ''Manifestaciones/' '' Pronunciemien- 
 tos/' and ''Decretos"; then it has its ''Repartado 
 de Aguas/' a body of peasant farmers and market- 
 gardeners who meet in the porch of the town hall, 
 and, without ceremony, settle on the spot who 
 shall and who shall not have water for his 
 crops. 
 
 At Elche I lived by the market, so near chat 
 women took possession of the bit of pavement in 
 front of my door, and piled huge baskets and nets 
 of oranges and onions till I could get no way with- 
 out working my passage. 
 
 As a travel note, I say that one is never more 
 sure of clean and generous quarters than in a 
 market square. The people who keep such houses 
 must be of the large-hearted and accommodating 
 type, or they would fail utterly. What is more, 
 market houses do a roaring trade, and there is a 
 wealth of rough comfort and a degree of security 
 in them which one may not hope to obtain in any 
 other house on the same terms. Then market 
 houses are almost certain to be '' respectable,'' yet 
 full of the most typical and interesting class of 
 local countryman. So, as a poor traveller, go to 
 market houses. More often than not the host is 
 so busy as to be brusque or unconcerned, but 
 when once quarters are obtained, one may share 
 all the benefits of the house and have plenty. Here 
 
LOVE, HATE, AND DEATH 157 
 
 in Elche the market was on the sunniest and most 
 picturesque of sites ; the fondista's face was 
 always shining, her eyes and hair were so dark 
 and ghstening that I have no doubt I struck 
 the right shop. The food was not of the best ; 
 but it was clean and abundant, and as I could 
 draw wine as I would, I did not go short. I paid 
 three pesetas, or about two shillings, a day for 
 bed and board, and there was no sign of an 
 '' extra." 
 
 Elche holds all the material for a novel ; for it 
 is full of charm and human types. 
 
 From the tower of Santa Maria, one looks over 
 a square mile or so of mouse-grey sandstone 
 habitations. All the roofs are flat, the windows 
 are few and very small, and the majority so shaped 
 or guarded that it would be impossible to hope for 
 such success as came to Lochinvar. But there is 
 ample room for love and hate there, and the daily 
 round of common tasks would well bear telling. 
 Looking out from the church tower, and imagining 
 the field for a work of fiction, a funeral came 
 into view, with a pure white coffin, or rather a 
 coffin covered with white damask cloth with much 
 gold-gilt ornament, streamers and large bows of 
 white silk and a white plush pansy, fully ten 
 inches across, placed at its head. A bleached palm 
 branch was tied to one side of the coffin, and the 
 initials of the deceased were tacked at the head. 
 Sixteen priests chanted a brief service at the 
 church door, and about three hundred men and 
 
158 LA BELLA SOMBRA 
 
 boys followed in a rambling train — the actual 
 mourners somewhere near the last. It was a boy 
 of fifteen who had died. The father was a small 
 shopkeeper ; but he did not appear to carry his 
 business instincts into the church, the priests were 
 quite numerous enough to do that for him. 
 
 After such a peaceful time it was only natural 
 that I should set out from Elche with a boisterous 
 and most humorous drunkard. Drinking and 
 brawling is so rare in Spain that one almost wel- 
 comes the acquaintance of a man in liquor, since 
 it shows another phase of its infinitely varied 
 people. The strong point of this drunkard was 
 his affection ; he insisted on bestowing it and 
 himself on me. 
 
 I '' stood " him a seat in the tartana I hired to 
 take me to the station. In return for this he must 
 needs kiss me ; evidently he had made a gluttonous 
 meal of cod-fish, saffron, and raw onions! He had 
 a goatskin bag of wine, and though we were not 
 supposed to touch the mouthpiece on drinking, 
 the liquor reeked of onion and the more subtle 
 odours of its owner. The low-roofed third-class 
 carriage was already crowded ; but we were 
 bundled in and literally dumped on the floor, 
 where we sat, the drunkard with most of his 
 weight on me, his arms round my waist, his stubbly 
 cheek pressed against mine. The heat was tropi- 
 cal; most of the passengers were women nursing 
 market-baskets, and as they regarded me as the 
 more drunken of the two, they would not hear 
 
SOMETHING LIKE A FRIEND 159 
 
 of my standing up, so I sat and rolled about and 
 fought for breath, and submitted to having wine 
 poured into my mouth, over my face, and every 
 part of me, till I was drenched and disgusting to 
 myself and to every one about me except my 
 affectionate friend, who, I will admit, paid me 
 more compliments and promised me more pro- 
 tection than all the rest of humanity put together. 
 I wanted to see and say what the land is like be- 
 tween Elche and Alicante ; but, in plain English, 
 I don't know anything about it. I made it my 
 business so to prime my friend from his own wine- 
 skin, and my white spirit flask, as to have him in- 
 capable of pursuing me beyond the train. '' Mixed 
 drinks'' did their work. When last I saw him he 
 was in a noisy sleep on the floor of the railway 
 carriage. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 A FUNERAL AND SOME VITAL CONCERNS 
 
 MAY we be led to understand and, as far as 
 possible, enter into the lives of others ! 
 
 One evening I took a walk, bent on no more 
 than refreshment, and perchance the sight of 
 some old ruin, or an extra fine view of the Bay of 
 Alicante. I sighted a large cross on a high fluted 
 column, and guessed it to be the local Calvario, for 
 many Spanish cities have their cross-crowned 
 Calvary Hill. 
 
 In pursuing the winding roa'^' up the sandstone 
 slope, I came to the cemetery)sand as the gate was 
 open, and I had not been inside a Spanish burying- 
 ground for many years, I turned into this one. I 
 do not like cemeteries, though one of my favourite 
 haunts is an old churchyard. Any one with a turn 
 for quietness will understand and appreciate the 
 difference. But of all European resting-places, 
 these of Spain strike one as the most repellent. 
 
 According to the size and importance of the 
 community, the forms of interment vary from two 
 to six or seven. Thus in villages are large pits, 
 each receiving many bodies, whilst a few families 
 may have their members buried separately, or in 
 
 i6o 
 
GOD'S ACRE A RUIN i6i 
 
 household vaults. These are ranged like bakers' 
 ovens, round deep walls of brick or stone, usually 
 so flimsy and so frequently disturbed as to present 
 a perpetual scene of ruin, and the sights and 
 odours are always repulsive. 
 
 In more important burial - places, there are 
 underground vaults, with enclosed spaces above 
 forming little porches, chapels, or greenhouses full 
 of flowers and symbolical climbing plants. In the 
 dry chambers are photos or paintings of the 
 deceased, wreaths, testimonials, letters of condo- 
 lence, violet and purple banners and bows, charms, 
 figures of saints and virgins, jars, urns, rosaries, 
 palm branches, and other symbols of holy faith 
 and human affection. 
 
 More important tombs are surmounted by 
 massive piles of stone ; and many by chapels 
 of considerable size. But with few exceptions the 
 construction is bad ; and the best of materials 
 soon slip out of form in this intensely dry and 
 devastating climate, so that the general effect is 
 one of ruin ; and one bites one's lips at discerning 
 the futility of building to defy the ravages of 
 time. 
 
 I went through section after section ; for if the 
 Spaniards are in life equal and familiar, it is 
 noticeable that in death they like to assert their 
 social distinction. At last on the highest ground, 
 and under a high wall, I took a commanding view of 
 half the old city, much of the bay, the distant and 
 low island of Tobago, a magnificent range of bare 
 
i62 SOME VITAL CONCERNS 
 
 and purple mountains, and the churlish strip of 
 lowland bordering the leaden sea. Here I stood 
 to gaze and ruminate, and then to ask why I had 
 of all places chosen such a grim spot on which to 
 end the day ? 
 
 Graves by the score were lying open ; and I 
 was actually standing on a huge mound of sandy 
 earth which had been raised by the sinking of a 
 new pit, intended for those whose relations are 
 too poor to provide coffins or separate interment. 
 From appearances about six bodies were already 
 laid side by side, and not more than a foot 
 of soil covered them. Fully twenty more would 
 occupy the same level ; then a new layer, and 
 still others, to within three feet of the surface. 
 The single graves were never more than four feet in 
 depth. They were not of coffin form, but long and 
 irregular holes. This apparently bad workman- 
 ship is excusable, for the soil is loose and entirely 
 dry, so that it runs on being touched ; and as this 
 had been disturbed over and over again, and 
 coffin-wood showed all through it, it was impos- 
 sible to sink shapely graves. 
 
 Three or four quiet, elderly men were still at 
 work. One had for his task the collecting and 
 carrying to a heap of the heaviest wood and bones 
 thrown out. Near this charnel-heap were several 
 new coffins which had held bodies, but all were 
 partly broken, or the cloth and gilding was torn 
 and disfigured. I asked no questions, and did not 
 go within a few yards of this heap, and so was 
 
AT A GRAVESIDE 163 
 
 unable to learn the reason of their lying above 
 ground, and in such a conspicuous position. 
 
 I went back to the mound, and as I stood there 
 looking first into the pit, and then upon the com- 
 manding surface of the world, a small crowd of 
 men, and two or three women and children, turned 
 a corner of the wall, and I saw a coffin borne 
 towards me. It was on the shoulders of four men. 
 
 There was neither priest, sexton, undertaker nor 
 official of any kind. When they came to the pit 
 before me, the coffin was put down and the men 
 said as one, '' I suppose it's here ? '' Then one of 
 the grave-diggers called, and wished to know why 
 a body was brought so late in the evening. There 
 was a discussion ; and one of the single graves 
 was chosen close under the wall. At the same time 
 a young man lifted the coffin lid, for it was merely 
 laid on, and I saw a well-grown man of about 
 thirty. 
 
 He was in a black suit with neat white linen, 
 and looked no paler or more deathly than most of 
 those who stood round. The little crowd showed 
 not the slightest fear of death, and their talk was 
 quite lively. When the lid was put down, a man 
 pulled off the bit of yellow braid which ran down 
 the centre and across the shoulders of the coffin. 
 Three or four of the children grabbed for this, and 
 he divided it amongst them. Then, with his knife, 
 he lifted off three tin-gilt letters from the cof&n 
 head, and gave them to the children. Later the 
 coffin lid was lifted again, and a man took a pair 
 
i64 SOME VITAL CONCERNS 
 
 of scissors from his pocket and cut the trouser 
 fronts from the ankles to above the knees. Then 
 he cut the sides of the waistcoat and the coat 
 sleeves. At first I thought the body was to be 
 buried nude, but the lid was put down and pad- 
 locked, and from the remarks of those around, I 
 learned that the slashing of the clothes was to 
 prevent their being stolen from the corpse. The 
 coffin was now placed directly in the shallow grave, 
 and we all took a handful of earth and performed 
 the last rites in silence. Two men then fell to 
 filling the hole — for it was no grave — and the 
 others lighted cigarettes, smoked, and looked on. 
 
 One wretched creature of about twenty-two, and 
 very poorly clad, had a weird twist in his face and 
 walk, and tried now and then to cry. He would 
 lean against the wall, draw up his features and one 
 leg, and wriggle as if under some paroxysm of 
 nervous pain. Then he would straighten his face 
 with his hands, and stand up with some show of 
 courage, looking very intently at the work of the 
 grave-fillers. This poor fellow was evidently a 
 relation of the dead man, and he was most truly 
 to be pitied. He revealed a singular incapacity 
 to get rid of his grief. His actions seemed scarcely 
 human, and yet as the central figure he was the 
 most human of all. I wanted to offer him a 
 cigarette, but as the others did not, I concluded 
 he was to suffer alone. 
 
 One by one we went off, each saying as he went 
 ''Felicidad," and God knows that I wondered 
 
THE UNFEELING PRIEST 165 
 
 where it was to come from or to be found ! The 
 Cross of Calvary towered above me ; and the night 
 was coming on as I went down through an almost 
 pestilential part of the cemetery to the main gate, 
 where two fat and coarse priests and the gate- 
 keeper were making merry over their talk. I had 
 tears on my cheeks and a heavy pain at my heart, 
 and their gluttonous faces maddened me. I could 
 have kicked them out, and kicked them far, and 
 made them familiar with mental and physical 
 pain, of which the brutes could know neither. I 
 wanted to persuade myself that there is a God 
 in heaven, and that he has priests on earth with a 
 care for the souls of — and, aye — even for the dead 
 bodies of men. But I was proud in that hour, 
 and conscious that the world's pain and ills, its sin 
 and selfishness, will never be ended ; and it seems 
 vain to hope that in this part of the earth we shall 
 ever come to possess men, who, if they cannot 
 keep us to decent living, will at least see that in 
 the name of Christ and His charity, we are given 
 decent burial. 
 
 Alicante is a clean, well-built, semi-French 
 town ; and its general appearance, sand colour 
 shot with pinkish tiles and pepper-sprinkled roofs. 
 But for a horribly smelly harbour it would be a 
 pleasant place of resort, for it has an almost limit- 
 less extent of strand, and fish most varied and re- 
 pulsive, so that anglers of all ages are continually 
 interested. 
 
 My diary records some '' neutral '' days here. 
 
i66 SOME VITAL CONCERNS 
 
 I do not complain. An old castle with a long 
 story towers high above the town, and one evening 
 I climbed to it and looked out on Alicante. It 
 seemed to me as a broad yellow shed, from which 
 the noise of the workers arose as so much knocking 
 and calling. They were struggling down there and 
 could not get out ! How sobering it is to sit above 
 the crowd now and then ! 
 
 Although I often think and write to the contrary, 
 I begin to know Spain too well. It never for one in- 
 stant loses its glamour ; but many good things have 
 become commonplace, to the extent that I cannot 
 pursue them. Henceforth life must consist in an 
 intelligent employment of my time. Apart from 
 what necessity imposes, I have no desire to work. 
 Work is the world's mania, and I would be sane, 
 aloof, and at rest. 
 
 As a city, Alicante lives entirely by the exporta- 
 tion of wine which is grown far inland. Ten or 
 twelve large steamers come and go every day ; 
 all their burden is wine and more wine. Most of 
 the juice goes to France for blending purposes, but 
 considerable quantities are taken to South America 
 and other early Spanish possessions. 
 
 The fishing fleet here is large, but the boats, 
 with rare exceptions, and their crews are devoid 
 of interest and very dirty. 
 
 As a province, Alicante is frightfully poor — 
 mountainous, waterless, and composed of such 
 materials as furnish the meanest supplies of soil. 
 Dug-out dwellings are discoverable in all directions, 
 
HEROINES OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY 167 
 
 and there are evidences of occupation over great 
 periods of time. The dug-out dwelhngs of Spain 
 would, if well illustrated and described, form an 
 interesting chapter. 
 
 About fifty miles from Alicante the nature of the 
 rocks changes, rich soils form, and sufficient spring 
 and rain-water appears to make splendid rivers. 
 It is from these that the most extensive area of rich 
 land in Spain — the vega of Valencia — is made. 
 The vega extends nearly to Jativa, a small and 
 extremely picturesque town about thirty miles 
 from the coast. Jativa is famous as the birthplace 
 of Pope Calixtus the Third, the grandfather of 
 Lucrezia Borgia. 
 
 In Alicante I had replied to Rosario's second 
 letter ; and whilst hereabouts I received in reply : — 
 
 '' Murcia, nth April, 1909. 
 
 *' QuERiDO Don Carlos, 
 
 '' I was uneasy because I had no letter 
 from you, and to-day receive your favour of the 
 9th. 
 
 '' I am obliged for your good intentions towards 
 me, and see your chivalry and good-heartedness, 
 regretting in my soul not to be able to become 
 your travelling companion, owing to the reasons 
 that you explain to me. 
 
 " I know nobody at Valencia now. If owing 
 to your good feelings, and the offer you made me 
 here, you will send me for the railway ticket, or, 
 for a good souvenir of you as long as I live ; if for 
 the former I will go to Valencia, and if for the 
 latter I will pay therewith for my necessities. You 
 are quite at liberty to act with me as your heart 
 
i68 SOME VITAL CONCERNS 
 
 dictates to you. You have offered and I accept. 
 You understand that in writing you thus I do not 
 wish to exploit you. If^ as you indicate in your 
 letters, it is true that you like [love] me [the terms 
 are synonymous in Spain], this is the moment in 
 which to prove it to me, for you know my sad 
 position, which if it is not more gay is because I 
 do not want to be bad. 
 
 *' By registered letter I ask you to send me what 
 you like, and tell me what use I am to make of the 
 money, whether for the ticket or to look after my- 
 self. I like you, not for the money, but because I 
 have seen you are a most worthy person, for if I 
 ask you for something it is not to exploit you, for 
 if I had had money I would have gone to you at 
 Alicante, and if to-day I had some in lieu of this 
 letter I would go, but she who, such as I, has not 
 money enough for bread, has less for travelling. 
 Now you will act according to your feelings and 
 the degree of affection you possess for me. I beg 
 you not to leave me unheeded, and to reply at 
 once. Since it is not possible to go and be with 
 you always, at least I hope you will help me with 
 something for which I shall never forget you, and 
 if you send me the wherewithal to leave I will do 
 so at once. 
 
 '' Without more for you to-day — conserve your 
 health well and receive the affection of her who 
 loves you. Rosario Sanchez.'* 
 
 The answer to this letter amounted to an offer 
 to send fifty pesetas to Murcia, if proof were forth- 
 coming that the money would be received by 
 Rosario, unknown to Manuela and Don Anisetto. 
 
 Sign and gesture are so much a part of the 
 language of Spain that a stranger is often de- 
 tected before he opens his mouth. 
 
THUMB AND FINGER TALK 169 
 
 Much as the British disUke bodily movement 
 and mannerism, they cannot know, and at the 
 same time object to, the ordinary hand, face, and 
 shoulder play of the Spaniards. Here are the most 
 common signs and gestures — some of which may 
 be noted as equally French and Italian. 
 
 Rubbing the thumb on the forefinger — as if 
 sprinkling salt — means robbery, jobbery, or some- 
 thing to do with money. 
 
 The forefinger placed beside or curled over the 
 nose means, '' Mum's the word,'' '' I warn you " ; or 
 it may be meant to hide the truth or subtle point 
 of the thing said. This is a southern and rather 
 vulgar habit. 
 
 The forefinger wagged in front of the face means 
 a decided No. 
 
 All the fingers and thumb pinched up and jerked 
 towards the mouth or throat means an invitation 
 to dine, or that food is abundant or good, or 
 would be welcome, or that one should hurry and 
 eat more. It is a sign of want, a boast of plenty 
 and of hospitality, and always reveals more of 
 human character than any words. 
 
 The hand wide open, and the little finger and 
 thumb wide apart, bears a rough resemblance to 
 the cantara — drinking - pitcher. Held in this 
 manner and tipped towards the mouth the hand 
 suggests a drink, or that plenty of wine is about. 
 When this sign is made, one eye is closed and the 
 face distorted exactly as one would on taking a 
 drink without putting the lips to the mouthpiece 
 
I/O SOME VITAL CONCERNS 
 
 of the pitcher. This face play is often exceedingly 
 clever and as genuinely amusing. What is more, 
 it is never vulgar. 
 
 The wide-open and trembling hand, held trans- 
 versely to the body, means disgust, indignation, 
 or a plea for fairness. 
 
 The sudden clapping of the hands against the 
 hips means ''I give it up/' ''Enough/' ''It is 
 fate/* "It is the way/' "I drink your health in 
 vinegar." 
 
 Pressing down a little finger with the thumb of 
 the other hand is equal to, " Here you have the 
 truth in its essence" — or, "Accept it from me." 
 
 The arms curved over the head, and the fingers 
 snapped, is an unmistakable sign of joy or happi- 
 ness, as at sudden good news or at a feast or merry- 
 making. 
 
 Stiffening the arm and j erking a thumb towards 
 a shoulder implies strength for any task or scheme. 
 This is vulgar. 
 
 Holding the open hand before the face and then 
 letting the fingers drop forward means — " Stop, I 
 know," or, "Our difference is complete." 
 
 Straightening up the body and moving the head 
 on the shoulders till one is reminded of the letter 
 S, and at the same time lifting the eyelids and re- 
 vealing a most intimate look, means — " This is 
 all/' "This is my lot/' "God help us/' "Fate/' 
 and similar thoughts and feelings. I have seen 
 this gesture a thousand times, and never without 
 being surprised at the extraordinary expressive- 
 
SIGNS OF MODESTY 171 
 
 ness. One knows exactly what is meant, and is in 
 some inscrutable way satisfied. This is the most 
 fatalistic and unanswerable gesture in Europe. 
 
 In offering anything, such as a cigar, flower, food, 
 or wine, the hand is always jerked up suddenly, and 
 the gift presented with an intimate nod and a 
 stiff back. 
 
 The eye is used with extraordinary effect and 
 performs miracles of deception. 
 
 A single hand-clap calls a waiter or cabman or 
 street hawker. 
 
 Ducking the fingers and arm outwards to form 
 a swan head and neck, means ''Stop," or ''Come 
 here " ; whilst the open hand pushed outwards, 
 equals " Be off ! " or " Go away." 
 
 Clapping the thigh is equal to an encore or ap- 
 plause. 
 
 Clinching the hand over the face or breast — 
 a feminine action — ^indicates shyness, caution, 
 modesty, reserve, or fear. It has grown out of the 
 Oriental habit of veiling the face and breast — the 
 most sacred part — and imitates the drawing in of 
 the hood, veil, or neck covering. This gesture is 
 most graceful, effective, and capable of revealing 
 the finest shades of feminine emotion. 
 
 Beyond all these signs and movements there is 
 la lingua de amor y abanica — the language of love 
 and the fan, as well as the evolutions of the mascu- 
 line lover ; but as I have never '' plucked the 
 turkey," I can say nothing definite on this sub- 
 ject. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE HOME OF ROMANCE 
 
 VALENCIA DEL CID rises a summer picture 
 of white and warm blue, set in an almost 
 boundless frame of restful green. One thinks of 
 Venice, though the two are little alike. The early 
 settlement rose out of a swamp intersected by 
 numerous rivers, and bounded by a languid green 
 sea. This swamp, when drained and turned to use, 
 formed the basis of a kingdom, and to-day Valencia 
 affords one of the world's most striking examples 
 of what humanity may accomplish when in per- 
 manent possession of a few square miles of deep 
 and well-watered soil. The more classic city of 
 Saguntum towers within sight of Valencia — a 
 glorious ruin — but still good evidence that the 
 second Punic War was not so much over the owner- 
 ship of a pile of rock forming a warrior stronghold, 
 but rather as to who should possess this good strip 
 of land. Saguntum was known as the key to 
 Eastern Spain, and it was, in so far as it opened 
 the door of the great granary of the plain of 
 Valencia. Those old-time fighting men could win 
 battles and maintain their positions only where 
 there was a chance to dig a hasty meal from a 
 
 172 
 
WHERE WARRIORS STROVE 173 
 
 fertile soil. Coming to this spot in the spring of 
 the year, one almost droops under the weight of 
 actual story and rich natural scents which fill the 
 air. The streets of the city are perfectly flat, 
 but the old houses rise into mountains of wonder, 
 and one bows in reverence, even where one does 
 not understand. 
 
 Though born and buried in Burgos, this is the 
 actual home of El Cid Campeador — '* lord of the 
 tented field," as the Moors called him — father of 
 the swashbucklers and king of all national heroes. 
 The city has been rebuilt many times since his 
 day, and it is uncertain that he ever walked a foot 
 of the existing streets ; yet we feel his presence, 
 for this is his city, these his rivers and fields, this 
 his sea, and it was under this blue sky that he 
 lived to make stirring history and to lay the 
 foundations of romance, which has outlived a 
 thousand years. 
 
 In the Calle Cabelleros — *' street for gentle- 
 men ! '* — the houses are still veritable strongholds. 
 Immense iron-bound doors give way to a low, 
 covered court, large enough to hold five hundred 
 blustering, armour-clanking fighting men. A 
 marble stairway springs out of a mass of carved 
 stone, and is so wide that men might ascend 
 ten or twelve abreast, and have room for their 
 bloody work. The light is feeble — a mere beam 
 — sent down the chimney -like shaft in the 
 centre of the building. Steeds snort and sneeze in 
 dark recesses to right and left, and though they 
 
174 THE HOME OF ROMANCE 
 
 are the gentlest of x\frican barbs, and their only 
 burden my lady's carriage, their echoes turn the 
 old house into a place of present danger, and when 
 the fear passes we expect to see some terrible dwarf 
 or goblin hop down the great stairs. It is some- 
 thing to be able to realise our dreams — love and 
 fear — and actually look upon the enchanted world 
 of childhood. The city is still in its youth, or is 
 the home of youth. No one here can be altogether 
 serious and have done with play. The ghosts are 
 not laid, but somehow^ we are not afraid of them — 
 they are all such audacious and merry rascals. In 
 winter they might scare a little, but in these bright 
 spring days the Valencian blood warms and lives 
 on the sunshine and the orange odours and the 
 flowers. 
 
 Strange indeed it looks for Spain to put off her 
 Moorish cloak and veil and join hands in public 
 play, yet that is what these Valencians do. It is 
 Eastertide, when tens of thousands of flower- 
 decked, hand-linked, romping bands of maids and 
 men go forth to the '' campo " — the cultivated 
 plain around the town — ^there to sing, play games 
 and make merry, exactly as the chroniclers assure 
 us they did full five hundred years ago. One of 
 Spain's earliest singers wrote here : 
 
 Come forth, come forth, ye maidens, 
 The woodlands all are green — 
 
 and though the " woodlands " are but low forests 
 of pale mulberry and soft almond and deep orange- 
 
LOVE AT PLAY 175 
 
 green they are centuries on centuries old, shaggy 
 and storied, shady and inviting. The round robin 
 is formed within the shade, and that wonderful soul 
 music of the primitive Spaniard escapes the guitar 
 till of a sudden a trembling voice is raised — a 
 faithful imitation of the languorous complaining 
 of the strings, and then the tale of the heart is 
 told — never in true rhyming metre — ^hope and a 
 regret in two uneven lines. The rice-fields are 
 little mirror-like squares, for they are at all times 
 flooded, and the foot-wide margins are unequal to 
 the needs of two palpitating lovers ; hence the air 
 is full of laughter and reproach, so numerous are 
 the slips and splashings into the shallow waters. 
 
 A visitor remarks that Valencia lacks colour. 
 He seems unable to detect the splendid colour of 
 its life. The streets are always crowded, and the 
 crowd is clean and very handsome. There are 
 no beggars, and little visible and objectionable 
 dirt. In some respects it is a woman's town, for 
 it has splendid shops, and makes lovely silks and 
 laces, rare fans, fine leather goods and jewellery 
 and furbelows to no end ; but it has many more 
 enduring attractions, and its official class and their 
 employments are as quaint and fascinating as are 
 to be found anywhere. 
 
 A kind of police — there are about half a dozen 
 kinds in all — wear red coats, and by way of com- 
 plete contrast the postmen are in blue. The city 
 guards look like comic-opera soldiers, for they are 
 all slashed and splashed with red and black and 
 
176 THE HOME OF ROMANCE 
 
 gold, and wear hats something between an ill-used 
 helmet and a battered pudding-mould. They carry 
 sharp swords, wear a sleepy expression, and some 
 of them have that classic attribute, a *' fair round 
 belly " of white doeskin, so that one feels much 
 tempted to play the wag, slap the body of the law 
 smartly and bolt, exclaiming, ''What ho, there ! 
 How goes the watch to-night ? '' Lying in one's 
 bed the voice of the city makes itself heard, for all 
 the night long the ''Sereno" calls the hours. He 
 is a most useful person, but when not wanted one 
 feels for him as did Calverley towards his neigh- 
 bour's dog — '' loves him, but he will not die." El 
 Sereno has a horse-pistol, or at least a Colt revolver, 
 hanging to one of his shanks, and on the other a 
 huge ring and bunch of keys heavy enough to sink 
 Horatius. But, aided by a bright steel pike, he 
 bears up against his load, and tramps his particular 
 length of street, at intervals calling the hour, and 
 '' It's fine," '' It's cloudy," " It's raining," " It's 
 blowing strong," '' There's a fire, but keep cool " ; 
 '' Get up, those wanting to catch the early train." 
 So he goes on, according to his strength and the 
 number of enemies he imagines are within hearing. 
 But when you are out late, El Sereno' s virtues are 
 undeniable. At a hand-clap he appears, finds the 
 keyhole and the right key ; looks you up and 
 down to see how you are, and how long it is likely 
 to take you to mount the stairs, and then, cal- 
 culating to a nicety, he gives you a taper — a 
 glorified kind of match, which at first sight you 
 
BEATING THE BABY 177 
 
 feel you must keep as a souvenir till you realise 
 that after all it is but a young candle ; so after 
 you have given El Sereno a penny and assured him 
 you are not so and so — for if you are masculine and 
 a foreigner he takes it for granted you are — he puts 
 you on the first step of the stairs, and makes a 
 rather rude remark to the effect that you must 
 keep going. Once I heard him quote a proverb 
 in an aside, which had for its moral point the ad- 
 vantages of leading a clean and sober life. Valencia 
 del Cid is an old-fashioned place truly, yet it has 
 life enough and an air about it which savours of 
 eternal spring. 
 
 The Valencians are the most mirthful and 
 genuinely light-hearted of Spaniards. At Easter- 
 tide they reveal themselves in their true character, 
 and one is charmed to rejoice with them, so sweet 
 and invigorating is their display and happiness. 
 This is the ninth consecutive day of feasting and 
 diversion ; and still no sign of boredom or fatigue. 
 
 They play many of our holiday and festival 
 games — all I can recall except kiss-in-the-ring — 
 and have a number of open-air games which de- 
 mand forfeits and so make young men look ridicu- 
 lous and taunting maidens happy. 
 
 A most amusing game is called '' Madre y nino " 
 — mother and child, — or beating the baby. It is 
 played by children. A mother and baby are 
 elected, and a long rope is tied, one end round the 
 waist or under the arms of each. Then the baby 
 
178 THE HOME OF ROMANCE 
 
 sits down and the mother walks out to the full 
 length of the string. The other children then 
 have to rush in and beat the baby without being 
 caught. In her mad rush the mother frequently 
 overruns the range of the rope, and in so doing 
 drags the poor baby along and inflicts far more 
 punishment than the mock villains. Whoever is 
 caught takes the baby's place and escapes by next 
 assuming the role of mother. This game is quite 
 delightful — excepting for the baby. 
 
 The Spanish newspapers nearly always have a 
 column headed '' The Religious Life/' and devote 
 a great deal of space to the functions and services 
 of each day. Priests also come in for a good deal 
 of notice in the doings, happenings and prefer- 
 ments of public men. A newspaper '* contents " 
 sheet in Valencia on Good Friday was filled with 
 these words : 
 
 DEATH 
 
 OF 
 
 JESUS CHRIST 
 
 PONTIUS PILATE WASHED 
 
 A FIVE hours' operation 
 
 This had reference to an old and surviving custom, 
 whereby Pontius, in the form of an effigy, is hustled 
 and maltreated by the mob, and then washed and 
 sweetened in readiness for this world or the next — 
 I don't know which, for some told me he survived 
 the five hours' washing and went about his 
 business, others that he went below, and others 
 
THE RENDING OF THE VEIL 179 
 
 again said he was bastante limpia — or clean 
 enough for el cielo — heaven. 
 
 Holy Week in Valencia is nothing more serious 
 than a sober holiday. True, the people are very 
 quiet till the resurrection is announced ; then they 
 break forth in real earnest, and the oddest features 
 of all are the little processions, made up of children 
 or adults of the various barrios — or districts — of 
 their local church, and a few more or less mysteri- 
 ous martyrs and heroes. There are also babies in 
 cradles and in mangers, and a multitude of wax 
 figures and fancy candles ; for though it is the 
 season of Christ the man, Christ the babe and the 
 Virgin at Bethlehem are not forgotten. 
 
 In the Cathedral I saw the rending of the veil, 
 and confess to being surprised at its ineffective- 
 ness. During a long service, when the point 
 is reached at which Christ is declared to have 
 risen, an immense curtain, arranged over the 
 entire front of the transcoro or choir screen and 
 support of the high altar, is supposed to be mira- 
 culously rent in twain, and Christ revealed to 
 the expectant congregation. Time was when the 
 curtain was rent as if by magic, and heavenly 
 music burst from a celestial choir ; but the 
 Church is in all ways enfeebled, and spends less 
 and less on unprofitable shows. The ''veil" now 
 consists of a double curtain on rollers, and at a 
 signal each half is drawn aside with a huggle- 
 guggle sound, like that of stiff wooden cog-wheels, 
 and that is the only noise. No music. No figure 
 
i8o THE HOME OF ROMANCE 
 
 of Christ. No choir of angels. Nothing for the 
 eye, the ear, or the heart to rejoice over. 
 
 In Seville they make much of the '' Rending of 
 the Veil," as they do of all their shows. I have not 
 seen it in Seville, but as it is carried out in Valencia 
 it is so poor that if one were not expectant this 
 incident of the Good Friday festival would never 
 be noticed. 
 
 The Valencian fishing-craft are quite large, for 
 the local waters are often turbulent and the fishing- 
 grounds far from shore. The boats are extremely 
 wide, almost round, have full, much-ridged decks, 
 and a low bulwark, signs that they are made for 
 rough seas and to shed water quickly. The}^ are 
 nearly all painted white, and the bow-piece, pro- 
 jecting three or four feet, is surmounted by a thick 
 hoop of wood, rope, or piece of a fleece, so that it 
 looks like a turban. 
 
 These boats are practically unsinkable. They 
 are manned by six to ten men, and carry two or 
 three large pieces of white canvas. 
 
 At Valencia one sees oranges in quantity for the 
 first time — scores of square miles of trees, scores 
 of miles of river, road, and railway, and scores of 
 thousands of men, all scented, coloured, burdened 
 with oranges. The orange crop of Valencia has a 
 value of about one and three-quarter milHon 
 sterling ; reduce this to farthings and you get 
 somewhere near the number of oranges exported 
 each year. 
 
 As the King was expected, I was regarded as a 
 
NIGGARD NATURE i8i 
 
 possible regicide, and shadowed by the country 
 pohce for several days. But the Guardia Civiles 
 have my complete respect. I know no similar 
 body so uniformly alert, courteous, and well- 
 informed of their duties. I have met these men in 
 all sorts of places, and never had cause to do less 
 than admire them. The only thing one might 
 possibly object to is the cut of their trousers ; 
 these are poems in wrinkles and crinkles, like 
 concertina bellows, and every cut is so much at 
 random that they fit nowhere, except where they 
 are strapped in at the waist. The Guardia Civiles 
 are said to be splendid marksmen, but they some- 
 times miss the floor and spit on one's boots. 
 
 To the south of Valencia the hill country 
 is very poor, and the long, narrow vales com- 
 posed of dry, stony, shallow soil. In the ab- 
 sence of tunnels the trains are composed of two- 
 deckers, and from the tops of these airy carriages 
 one gets plenty of pure air and full round pictures 
 at every turn of the way. But all this region lacks 
 finish. Pictures are common enough, but the 
 materials composing them alarm or displease. A 
 village may show a score of washerwomen laving 
 garments in a turgid and stagnant pool. This 
 water may be used daily for a year and subjected 
 to no cleansing save by the influence of the sun. 
 Then the rubbish-pits, pig-wallows, and drains are 
 in false positions, and there is no trimness or order 
 in the domestic plan. Where the land is poor all 
 intelligence and industry is used up in plotting for 
 
i82 THE HOME OF ROMANCE 
 
 daily bread ; none are working to beautify a 
 single yard of their possessions, and every ruin is 
 half an eyesore. In cool and raoist regions time 
 mellows and glorifies the builder's work ; but here 
 the weak materials, unsupported by any generous 
 or inviting landscape, look miserable in their decay, 
 and proclaim the folly or hopelessness of human 
 effort. In a country like England we may preserve 
 the aims and achievements of a thousand years 
 and see the land grow more beautiful and strong. 
 Not so in Spain ; here time mutilates and dis- 
 figures, so that every human effort becomes pur- 
 poseless and almost unreasonable. Nothing lasts, 
 nothing is within bounds, nothing remains private 
 or hallowed. The very wind at all seasons howls 
 as much as to say, '' I will have change.'' Fence or 
 wall confine for no more than a moment, and 
 then break, not into beautiful ruin, but into pic- 
 tures of futile labour and hopeless loss. And when 
 we come to the life of the peasant we find him want- 
 ing in what man ever desires, a strong hold upon 
 life. For if the eyes of youth are bright, the 
 shoulders of age are always swathed in rags ; 
 and if it can be said it is a blessed climate where 
 the feet can go unshod, it is chilling to see them 
 dirty and misshapen. The independent traveller 
 rejoices in the gaiety and glory of the southern 
 poppy-field ; but to those who struggle and spend 
 themselves to win a little golden grain, the warmth 
 and colour and brightness of the crimson weed 
 avail nothing. More often the pretty fields are 
 
NO SIGNS IN DENIA 183 
 
 the poor ones, they are the playgrounds of the 
 weeds ; and one writes this because so many who 
 travel in Spain cannot understand why a land 
 can appear so beautiful and prove so poor. 
 
 Towards Denia are wide marshes and meres, 
 areas reclaimed from the sea and where rice is 
 grown in great quantities. The rice cultivators 
 wear a short white kilt, or petticoat, known as a 
 camiset. Rice land soon becomes polluted and 
 causes fevers, and there is a law in Spain for- 
 bidding the planting of rice until the land and 
 water has been approved by a medical officer. 
 
 The Denians are a fine type of people showing 
 much intelHgence and great industry. Their little 
 town is beautifully clean and without any sign of 
 a shop, or fonda, or anything to indicate they are 
 in trade. Whether they are too proud or economi- 
 cal to hang out a sign or put up a shop-front is not 
 ascertainable. Their explanation is, '' We are here 
 and known, and what is wanted will be asked of 
 us." Denia is a very companionable place, quiet 
 and almost Arcadian in its appearance and em- 
 ployments ; neither poverty nor riches seem to 
 disturb its folk. A splendid old castle covers the 
 crown of a conical hill, and the town clings round 
 the slopes. The fisher-folk are an interesting 
 group, and use a boat similar to the Valencians, 
 but much smaller. The catch is taken during day- 
 light ; and just before sundown and supper- time, 
 when the clear evening light makes a truly sub- 
 lime picture of land and sea, the boats return to 
 
i84 THE HOME OF ROMANCE 
 
 port, the fish is taken ashore, and a hasty auction 
 is made, the hawkers competing for the first lots 
 that they may be off to supply the housewives 
 who are awaiting them with their deep basin-pans 
 of boiling oil. On the beach, and up little white 
 walled streets, boat keels of carob wood are laid, 
 and many a boat has for its first freight a sleeping 
 babe or a full cargo of playful children, who, as 
 the craft nears completion, employ their brains in 
 defining its sex and wooing the builder that it may 
 be named Bonita J nana (pretty Jane) or J oven 
 Pepe (young Joseph). There is ever an air of 
 secrecy and suspicion about the smallest group 
 of fisher-folk, for any boat is big enough to do a bit 
 of gun-running between Spain and the Moorish 
 coast ; there is the possibility of smuggling at all 
 seasons, and coastguardsmen, carabineros and 
 others in uniform, look on at each boat in the 
 making, for its sides may be double, or treble, or, 
 as a town official said, *' The deep sea may call for 
 a deep (and hollow) keel." 
 
 So with all the quiet of Denia and the peace that 
 broods over its wide bay, every boat is watched, 
 for as the fisher-folk say, '' It's no good owning a 
 boat that won't carry any sort of cargo." 
 
 Denia is the centre of the raisin industry. Over 
 twenty-five thousand tons of fruit leave the port 
 every autumn ; and though several other coun- 
 tries have entered the field, the pudding raisin of 
 Denia remains the best in the world. 
 
 x\bout twenty miles inland a beautiful hollow, 
 
LUXURIES OF VALDIGNA 185 
 
 amid the hills, is known as Dignified Valley, or 
 Valdigna. Here is an exceedingly pretty town 
 which lives by exporting what it claims to be the 
 finest oranges on the London market. It is also 
 famous for its Alpine strawberries, often over an 
 inch in diameter. They have a delicious flavour. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 VAGABOND DISCOVERIES AND REFLECTIONS 
 
 SAGUNTUM thrills and charms. It occupies 
 a glorious position, commanding wonderful 
 views of sea and land, and preserves the story of 
 over three thousand two hundred years. '' How 
 full, how brimful ! '' one exclaims on wandering 
 here, for though dead so long, it stimulates and 
 provokes the enthusiasm of youth. History and 
 romance make all the world, and we should care 
 little for our own achievements if we felt they 
 went unnoticed and unrecorded. Saguntum lies 
 about three miles from the sea on a mile-long 
 ridge commanding the great plain of Valencia. 
 Its castle remains one of the largest ruins in the 
 Peninsula, virtually a city on the crown of the 
 ridge. No w^onder there was a row about the 
 ownership of Saguntum ! 
 
 Granada is in some ways more splendid, for it 
 commands the eternal snows, rivers, many more 
 trees, a cooler air, softer light, and its nearness in 
 point of historic time enables one to see, feel, and 
 imagine more about it ; but, taking Saguntum 
 and the surrounding land and storied sea, it is a 
 rare place ; this part of Europe can show none 
 
 1 86 
 
THE BRIDE OF FATE 187 
 
 more impressive. The Roman theatre remains a 
 substantial ruin on the side of the hill, and has 
 its seats cut out of the solid rock. There is a very 
 old church at Saguntum, but it has been entirely 
 rebuilt, part of a doorway alone remaining. This 
 is still a show place, and a man vowed to me that 
 the church dates from " a long time before Christ." 
 
 There are several exceedingly interesting fea- 
 tures in the domestic arrangements of Saguntum. 
 The scarf-like towel, but without the water, hangs 
 from the walls as in Murcia. Large blinds, with 
 monograms a foot or more in depth, in bright 
 coloured wool-work, serve as door-plates and shop- 
 keepers' signs. Most of the shop goods are kept 
 in immense jars and in deep recesses in the walls. 
 The water-vessels are little barrels of cork, gaily 
 ornamented with brass bands and a mouthpiece of 
 the same metal. 
 
 An ermita occupies a part of the hill and is 
 approached by a pure white road, for all the rocks 
 are kept immaculately clean by frequent white- 
 washings. Sixteen little stations or praying-places 
 are encountered on the way. When one at last 
 gains the ermita, a rare picture, helped out by the 
 fortified heights, the antiquated town, the life and 
 concern of the rich vega, the distant sea, and last 
 of all, the white road which leadeth unto rest, is 
 obtained. This visit was made on a bright sun- 
 shiny day, but later I came again, when there was 
 driving rain. The wetting of everything added 
 enormously to the impressive character of the hills 
 
i88 VAGABOND DISCOVERIES 
 
 and forts, the old towers, and the old town. The 
 moisture brought out the odours of the earth and 
 their burden of trees, for there were miles and 
 miles of oranges in full bloom, and the air was 
 faint to sickening point. Why, I do not attempt 
 to explain ; but I was compelled to think of 
 Saguntum as the Bride of Fate. 
 
 As one travels northward, mountains of hard 
 grey stone rise to reveal many splendid scenes. 
 At one part of the road a series of shaggy grey 
 cones are poised like grim giants frowning under 
 their beards of wind-blown mist. Lower down 
 these giants have deposited areas of rich and won- 
 derfully well-tilled land ; but even the poorest 
 parts have the utmost done to them in the way of 
 cultivation. The peasantry of Castellon are very 
 distinct from those of the surrounding provinces, 
 having quite negro features, and their implements 
 and field customs are strongly reminiscent of 
 Africa. 
 
 One may take the northern road for a couple of 
 hundred miles and remain in sight of the sea, but 
 there is not much to be seen in the way of inter- 
 esting garb or fishing-craft. As one nears Barce- 
 lona the fishing-boats suddenly become smaller, 
 like those of the far south. Sitges is the prettiest 
 little town on this coast. Seen at a distance it is 
 a perfect picture, and will bear close inspection. 
 Its women are reputed to be the prettiest in Cata- 
 lunia. But I was much more concerned with what 
 it holds in the way of employment and human 
 
SITGES THE BEAUTIFUL 189 
 
 comfort. It has a tiny bay and quay, a little 
 fleet and its folk ; there are vineyards, and olive, 
 fig, and almond plantations all around ; occa- 
 sional palms and innumerable pomegranates; 
 clambering bougainvillea roses and wistaria ; it 
 has crowded little streets with pure white walls, 
 dovecot-like windows, and red and white and 
 yellow carnations growing bravely in almost every 
 one of them. Then there are many detached 
 houses with gardens and lumbering water-wheels, 
 and a new world bowing and shaking hands with 
 it, for Sitges is but an hour's run from the great 
 city of Barcelona, and thereby gains in quietness 
 and quaintness by contrast through its nearness 
 to the modern world. To me it seemed to hold all 
 those luxuries which are comforts, and none which 
 are a fatigue and a nuisance. 
 
 Half the journey from Sitges to Barcelona lies 
 through tunnels on the steep cliffs by the sea. 
 Windows are cut in the rock to let in the light ; 
 one gets the most fascinating pictures through 
 them, especially in the evenings when small com- 
 panies of folk are gathering round the smacks on 
 the shore. The other half of the journey lies over 
 the richest of plain land devoted to market-gardens, 
 small farms and nurseries. Parts of the country 
 yield meres and lines of tall white poplars, pro- 
 viding scenes such as French artists love to seize 
 and paint. 
 
 Barcelona breaks on the view as a great manu- 
 facturing, chimneyed, and groaning city, lacking 
 
190 VAGABOND DISCOVERIES 
 
 only one thing distinctly English — much smoke. 
 Here life is varied and distinct from all other to 
 be seen in Spain ; and it is hard to imagine wider 
 contrasts in any land than exist between Barce- 
 lona and some of the communities of its province. 
 
 Mine host of Barcelona works about ten hours 
 a day ; and, although he knows I am aware of it, 
 he boasts without turning a hair that he works 
 but a short six ! Give an Englishman six hours' 
 work and he will make it sixteen, so pronounced 
 is his desire to be thought a hard-working man. 
 Here is all the difference. The Spaniard always 
 underrates his actual job, and deplores something 
 or other that is wrong with the country. The 
 Englishman exaggerates the weight and import- 
 ance of his work, and doesn't care a colloquial cuss 
 about his country. This host of mine could be 
 very amusing ; but he was so opposite to my way 
 of thinking that I generally laughed when he felt 
 I should applaud. Only on one point did I most 
 cordially agree with him ; he is a Catalan of the 
 most intense type, and deplores the vandalism 
 which is destroying the older parts of Barcelona. 
 They are knocking down scores of acres of lovely 
 old houses, destroying for ever the quaintest of 
 historic high- and by-ways; and all for the sake 
 of '' progress." Oh, progress ! What crimes are 
 every day committed in thy name ! 
 
 I have been studying Catalan, and am now 
 prepared to say that any one who can run off 
 '' zig-zag gig- wig hic-cup " two or three times and 
 
THE POOR THE MOST CONSERVATIVE 191 
 
 not bungle the sentence will soon be at home 
 with the Catalans. Fun apart, it is a queer sort 
 of language, reminding one of the two voices of 
 the Australian bear — the koala — which grunts 
 when sending out love-signals and makes piping, 
 shrieking, child-like cries when in danger. The 
 latter are appropriate enough, but when one 
 knows the two voices one feels they would be 
 more effective reversed. Also the Catalan. Forty 
 times I thought the folk angry with me, so wild 
 and torrential has been their speech, when I was 
 indeed the happy recipient of their best compli- 
 ments ; but when I have overstepped some un- 
 seen line of etiquette, ignored the baby, or for- 
 gotten to stand cigarettes round the table, I have 
 had to listen to a rather flat and bantering kind 
 of chant. There may be some method in this, for 
 most of us can find the left-handed compliment 
 and mock gracious word when we feel we have 
 been injured or '* done." 
 
 Catalunia constantly reminds one that it is the 
 poor who supply the conservative element in 
 human life. These people have an almost spiteful 
 pride in the possession of their quaint tongue, and 
 make pariahs of such of their own who are too lazy 
 to acquire and speak it. We have little reliable 
 data as to the language of heaven or any other 
 future asylum, but if languages are passed on and 
 the world's souls meet in common, there will be 
 some interesting moments in listening to and 
 learning Catalan. We have heard of the Irish 
 
192 VAGABOND DISCOVERIES 
 
 signboard, '' If you can't read this, inquire at the 
 cabin on the left/' When I cannot read Catalan 
 they tell me, with charming frankness, that there 
 is " something wrong with my education." 
 
 Another word or two about the conservatism of 
 poor people ; they are never the iconoclasts. For 
 if they do at times form the mob, and sack, smash, 
 burn a city, they immediately set to work to 
 fashion and carry it on in the same old way. And 
 what they specially like at home, in their stomach, 
 on their backs, is what their mothers nursed them 
 to and made them love as indispensable parts of 
 themselves. He who changes his cook often can 
 be no conservative. He who has money buys 
 variety. He who reads and reforms, sheds some 
 of his early faith. He who travels, learns to for- 
 get, and lives in company with the world that is 
 near at hand. And he who helps to make the 
 laws is the same who is bent on change ; and as 
 all elements sooner or later fall into their natural 
 positions, it is for the poor and the fixed com- 
 munities to fight for the preservation of things 
 old, the things which in the enforcement of what 
 may be termed the law of enterprise or progress 
 are always in danger of being overwhelmed. 
 
 We do not seek for '' links " in large cities, but 
 in the smallest and most isolated of towns and 
 villages. Nor do we find any upstart language or 
 community so full of humanity and soul-sustaining 
 employments as are those of what we term primi- 
 tive places. It is in this conservatism — this pre- 
 
AWAY WITH THE REFORMERS 193 
 
 servation of the old — that all charm is found. The 
 societies inquiring into folk-lore and ancient 
 custom usually make a semi-private hobby of 
 their tasks, and leave the crowd no nearer to 
 forming an estimate of what is within their grasp. 
 
 If hell is a reality I hope it may be filled with 
 Reformers ! They have a right to their share of 
 life, but by some slip of nature's pen they have 
 too often been legalised to spoil their respective 
 bits of world. It is all very well to clean the town 
 — if it can be done — but ruin seize those who 
 would bring it ^'up-to-date/' and worse than 
 ruin come to those who would clean the country 
 also ! We must all come to an age and way 
 of reasoning when there is comfort in saying 
 '' Let be." If youth were not busy it would 
 be bad, and as the world's most active workers 
 are among the young we can see no wisdom 
 in preaching idleness or indifference. What 
 should be aimed at and secured, if possible, is an 
 ennobling and a pleasurable task. We cannot say 
 that all our labour is necessary, or reasonable, or 
 honourable. Some is disgusting, much is mislead- 
 ing, much more is a nightmare. Some tasks are 
 dangerous in a mean sense, others leave neither a 
 sound body nor the means to reason, nor anything 
 like the possession of a human and a private soul, 
 which we must have if we are to live. 
 
 It is easy to comprehend the comparatively 
 small set of figures — sixteen hundred millions — 
 roughly the world's population, and to assume 
 
194 VAGABOND DISCOVERIES 
 
 that, as we know the manner of their distribution, 
 we may at a pen-stroke, or hand-stroke, or sabre- 
 stroke, in the voice of a nation make them all hear, 
 act, and change, even to their very skins. Many 
 do not believe this, but the point is that many 
 more millions do, and did they not so believe, 
 there would soon be the devil to pay, and, in a 
 word, pandemonium. 
 
 So it is ignorance, absolute, widespread, and 
 ineradicable ignorance which keeps the civilised 
 world going and in a state of balance. It believes 
 it can change and work wonders, which it does, in 
 the way of change. But that is unimportant. 
 Nothing is important which man may do. It may 
 be necessary for the moment ; at the next a new 
 necessity will arise. Consider what any reform 
 has ever done ? Never has there been one which 
 did not increase human misery. You cannot alter 
 a people's course, or even tell them they are wrong, 
 and make them happy. You cannot so much as 
 increase the supply of human food and reduce the 
 cost of it without inflicting an increase of human 
 suffering. It must always be one section at the 
 expense of another ; for the various peoples of 
 the world are every moment of time engaged in a 
 bitter and destructive war. Intelligence makes 
 for mastery, and what shall be said of the majority 
 who are servants ? 
 
 And the many voices, and stars to be followed ? 
 Born of the many distinct sets of elements, nursed 
 by their several mothers, taught to labour and 
 
THE SUM OF OUR POWERS 195 
 
 fight by their several fathers; each by his own sooth- 
 sayer, wizard, and prophet, what can each be but 
 an opponent of the other ? And the Reformer is 
 bent on blending these ! We have had no Re- 
 formers who looked back. They have always made 
 it their boast that they look forward, even though 
 the future can never be theirs. It is as dead and 
 impossible to them as the past, for no man may 
 stretch his hand as far as to-morrow. Looking 
 back, we may see that the Reformer and his 
 Reform was another foundation, and no more. 
 We do not build, we make no more than plans, 
 and can arrange no compact with Time. The 
 world within our grasp is composed of two sets 
 of material — the face of the world at the moment 
 in which we live, and ourselves — what we think 
 about, hope for, and accomplish in the way of in- 
 fluencing the minds of our fellows, and bringing 
 about more or less altered conditions of life on the 
 face of the earth. 
 
 These comprehend the absolute sum of our 
 powers. We do not increase, improve, or streng- 
 then, or in any way provide for the race, by our 
 building, husbanding, and conspiring one with 
 another. And ''if we look back with pride," as 
 we so often do, it is usually to some hopelessly 
 vulgar and unnecessary, or intensely cruel wrong 
 which won our ancestors a victory, or gave the 
 spoils of a defenceless people to a plundering and 
 ignoble horde. No, the only pure and truly 
 satisfying memories are those of childhood. If 
 
196 VAGABOXD DISCOVERIES 
 
 we dreamed in ignorance we also thought no ill. 
 Life welled up out of clean minds and warm^ earth- 
 lo\dng hearts. Our hands had touched nothing 
 \ile, and our desires were for unselfish servdce in the 
 clear, bright light of day. Given that awful thing 
 " education/' and we began to detect faults in 
 ourselves and the world. And the world retaliated 
 by finding fault with us ; so we got drawn into 
 battle, and have gone on WTangHng, scheming, and 
 fighting to save our ^^possessions," and have 
 set aside the gentle voice of our souls which 
 in the night-watches so often hath said, "' Do not 
 forget me. Do not leave me out of your calcula- 
 tions ! Tr\' and remember what you are living 
 for ! " But \\ith the morning we forgot again, 
 and went to hell headlong ; God knows to what 
 end ! Lame, blind, blundering fools ; that is what 
 most of us are, lost in a crowd as blind and blunder- 
 ing as ourselves, and possessed of the insane belief 
 that it is only by knocking down and building 
 afresh, struggling against, and taking parcels of 
 brainless material from each other, that we can 
 come to decent living ! 
 
 Will it ever be possible for us to see that our 
 whole scheme, and the faults of it, are the direct 
 outcome of our false conception of labour, and the 
 greed, vanity, and fear of our miserably incom- 
 plete selves ? Shall we ever come to see and be 
 strong enough to make the great Reform — to be 
 able to say and to prove that life may be lived 
 for the splendid sensations it can provide, free 
 
THE TRUE REFORM 197 
 
 from any mad presumptuous belief that the future 
 — that impossible hiatus — is the goal to be striven 
 for, rather than the actuality — the means of life 
 which exists in this to-day ? 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 AT THE DEEP ARCHES 
 
 NO matter by what road one approaches it, 
 Barcelona strikes one as unlike the rest of 
 Spain. Few countries hold more variety in the 
 character of their cities and people, yet there are 
 some things common and familiar about them all. 
 The most impressive feature of Barcelona is its 
 newness — a modern, squarely-planned, spacious, 
 and Haussmannised city. Happily, some of the 
 old place remains, and this is so strong and ap- 
 pealing that one must hope its silent claims will 
 be respected. 
 
 Modern Barcelona is truly splendid. One ad- 
 mires the architect's broad and all-providing plan 
 — ^it is generous in scope ; there is no sign of any 
 fly in the ointment, though it is in part mal- 
 odorous. The radiating streets nm out to catch 
 the most effective and impressive of hills, and 
 the vistas of the streets make perfect pictures, 
 stand or walk where one may. The site is beauti- 
 ful, has been made the most of, and stands a 
 tribute to Spanish intelligence and capacity wher- 
 ever it gets a fair chance. There are some mad 
 things in houses and public buildings in Barcelona ; 
 
 198 
 
A PLEA FOR BARCELONA 199 
 
 but she must long remain the queen of Spanish 
 cities. One cannot take it, all in all, without 
 discerning that Barcelona possesses a fine soul, 
 Its splendid squares, its miles on miles of great 
 avenued streets ; its sombre older parts — strong 
 as steel to the eye — ^its arched passages and wind- 
 ing alleys ; its great markets ; its industrious 
 hives of trade in infinite variety ; its institutions 
 and places of amusement ; its parks, drives, and 
 gardens ; its statues and other memorials to Cata- 
 lunian story and Catalunian men ; the hundreds 
 of cafes where the draught sobers and sustains, all 
 that bespeaks strong, full life ; — no beggars ; no 
 sign of awful poverty ; no awful vice ; no lazy 
 hordes ; no rapacious greed ; no cruelty ; no 
 utter weariness — but a busy and a natural way 
 of life, where there appears to be enough for all, 
 and it is impossible that this should be the out- 
 come of a degenerate or unworthy people. 
 
 I made it my business to go through all the poor 
 parts of Barcelona, and to discover nothing un- 
 sightly or half so bad as would be found in any 
 English-speaking town with one-quarter the popu- 
 lation. Poor folk must present squalid pictures 
 the world over ; hunger and lust must display a 
 more or less ugly face ; but we do wrong in sup- 
 posing that Barcelona is a sink of iniquity or a 
 past-hope sort of place because a few political 
 malcontents and anarchists have it for their 
 asylum. 
 
 At Barcelonetta I saw the most repellent group 
 
200 AT THE DEEP ARCHES 
 
 of humanity I have encountered in Spain. This, 
 the marine quarter to the north of the city, is given 
 up to the poorest class, and to a number of indus- 
 tries connected with the sea. Here are hundreds 
 of hovels and mere burrows made out of the 
 flotsam and jetsam cast ashore. There would be 
 nothing dreadful in this if the people were com- 
 pelled to observe a few of the domestic decencies. 
 But they do not, and it is quite impossible even to 
 hint at the animal-like lives shared by the popula- 
 tion of this quarter. 
 
 Wanting nothing half-French, or Spanish im- 
 proved, I dwelt in a narrow and heavily built 
 street, the greater part of which was in perpetual 
 shadow, cast by a row of deep arches carrying 
 quaint old houses. These were such a pronounced 
 feature that I felt an appropriate name for the 
 quarter would be '' The Deep Arches," and I had 
 no sooner secured a lodging than I found that was 
 actually the case. My hostess, Juana, was a bright 
 and ready-witted little woman, and so cynical as 
 to give every one a nickname. One of the lodgers 
 was a prim, stumpy woman from Gerona ; Juana 
 regularly called her '' La Trok "; and although I 
 never knew what it meant, it expressed the prim, 
 waddling little Geronese to the life. 
 
 The northern Spaniards know nothing of Leviti- 
 cus, and have a habit of handling food-stuffs after 
 it is supposed to have passed to the sacred posses- 
 sion of one. My neighbour at table is a great 
 politician, that is, when not engaged in business. 
 
THE STAFF OF LIFE 201 
 
 He is an india-rubber stamp merchant, and con- 
 ducts a portable establishment propped against 
 one of the walls within the shadow of the deep 
 arches. At home he is most obliging and anxious 
 to inform me of the state of politics, and in doing 
 so twice a day wields a power just as big as my 
 bit of bread. It is always a big bit, but he gets all 
 over it just the same, and I feel he has somehow 
 got his hands inside it before I can get it inside 
 myself. Catalan loaves are exactly like three- 
 cornered hats, with slashes made in the dough at 
 the corners, so that they present the most natural 
 of curled brims. Juana cuts long slices with a bit 
 of the hard brim to each, and it looks very like a 
 series of hatchets with hammer-heads which she 
 lays round the table. I do not find them instru- 
 ments of war, but my political friend does, and he 
 has a regular habit of breaking up his own slice 
 and then seizing mine as a threatening weapon, 
 which he will use unless the Government alters 
 the condition of the country, and that mighty 
 soon ! One day I put my bit of bread on the other 
 side, and Juana picked it up and slapped it down 
 again in its former place, fixing me with a com- 
 manding eye which said as plain as day, '' You 
 alter my plans, if you dare.'' 
 
 At one of our arches sits an exceedingly pretty 
 girl of eighteen. Did I not know truly, I should say 
 she was twenty-five, her face, figure, and bearing 
 are so well finished and womanly ; so it was but 
 natural that I should establish a smiling acquaint- 
 
202 AT THE DEEP ARCHES 
 
 ance. She sits in the archway sewing bedticks, 
 and her mother has a portable oven and row of 
 flesh-pots, for she is a speciaHst in cooking. The 
 neighbours take raw materials to her, or say what 
 they want, give her the money, and she prepares 
 the required meal. As a neighbour my custom had 
 been sought. One day, Angelita's mother (I have 
 no idea what the girl's name may be, but Ange- 
 lita would suit her well, for she has a cherub's 
 face), well, her mother barred my way by holding 
 out a giant egg-cup or little red clay bowl on a 
 long stem and foot-piece, and in this bowl was a 
 most forlorn little custard with one phlegmatic 
 eye of a bit of green pistachio nut. I had to smile 
 at the toothsome morsel, and was prepared to 
 swallow it on the spot, when I noticed its face 
 well peppered with city or kitchen dust. So I 
 declined, and was about to pass on when the good 
 woman remarked, '' It was a work of art on all 
 sides and extra good in the middle,'' and to prove 
 her words she turned the languid thing out on her 
 hand ! It was a clean and beautiful hand, but — 
 well, somehow ! 
 
 '* Memorialistas," or public letter- writ ers,occupy 
 little sentry-boxes in all Spanish towns, and write 
 letters for all classes. I remember one in Malaga 
 with a sign : 
 
 ** Here we write love letters in 
 faultless language, and use the 
 most exalted and sweetest words. 
 Price one halfpenny." 
 
WET NURSES 203 
 
 Four letter- writers' boxes stand against a wall near 
 the deep arches, and it is interesting to watch the 
 faces of the correspondents as they give directions 
 to the professional scriveners. 
 
 Amongst the daily visitors to our grey old street 
 is a herd of small she-asses, snuff-brown and black 
 little creatures, with distinctive bells hanging from 
 their necks, quaint red cloaks bordered with yellow 
 braid along their backs, and red bobs of wool 
 worked in the hairy tufts at the tops of their long 
 ears. They have also a cone or high rosette of 
 red braid stuck on their foreheads, like a little 
 hat, which gives them a most rakish and groggy 
 appearance ; they seem to sulk under this as they 
 mooch along as if saying, '' Isn't it enough to 
 mother the whole town without being made into 
 guys and proclaimed for the asses that we are ? " 
 For these are the milch donkeys — purveyors of 
 the most approved fare to delicate babes and 
 people of all ages needing nourishing food. 
 
 Nata, the result of fresh and well -whipped 
 cows' milk, is the stock food for weakly children 
 in north-eastern Spain. It is a pure white spume, 
 reminding one of the frothy crown of a custard. 
 The Spaniards mix the nata with cinnamon, lemon, 
 and a little fine sugar, so that it has a rare delicate 
 flavour ; it is sold at milk-shops, on broad green 
 leaves, which are pinched up when offered to the 
 customer in a truly Oriental style. 
 
 Whilst living at the deep arches I received this 
 letter : — 
 
204 AT THE DEEP ARCHES 
 
 " Murcia, 7th May, 1909. 
 
 '' Appreciable Sir Carlos, 
 
 *' I have received your letter of the 5th, 
 and my answer must be, I am surprised you did 
 not reply to that which I sent to Valencia. 
 
 '' I am completely abandoned ! Pepe Mula — 
 whom you know was my friend [the actor Manuela 
 sought in Cartagena] — ^has gone to Oran and has 
 married an actress of the company. I have not 
 paid Manuela, and thanks to her I have not died 
 of hunger, but that is because I do not wish to be a 
 bad woman. With the money I would have joined 
 you at Valencia, and that would have been 
 pleasant, but now, as I find myself abandoned, I 
 pass the days crying and consoled only by Doiia 
 Manuela, who does what she can for me. 
 
 '' I have received all your letters, and those 
 which I send you are written by a confidant friend, 
 as my writing is bad. 
 
 '' About love I do not say a word ; that would 
 be better expressed by your side. You say in your 
 letter you wish to give to me and not to Manuela, 
 and I repeat if you have such good intentions to- 
 wards me, if it is true you regard me with such 
 good sentiments, please do something for me, who 
 loves you and would be with you. Affection is 
 shown by good actions, and I hope you will prove 
 the same. It is not my desire to deceive you, and 
 I ask nothing. You may send me whatever you 
 will to relieve my sad situation, for which I w^ould 
 be very grateful ; and at the same time you will 
 tell me what I ought to do. I am^at your dis- 
 posal. 
 
 '' If you send me help I will be most grateful, 
 and will ever preserve the memory of your good 
 action. ... I love you, and it would be much to 
 me to receive the favour which in all your letters 
 
THE LAST OF DON ANISETO 205 
 
 you have promised me, and which I accept. I 
 repeat that I receive your letters, and my rephes 
 are written by a friend of mine. 
 
 '' I do not go out as I am shoeless. As I am on 
 the ground floor I personally receive your letters, 
 and to answer you I send for my friend. If you 
 have faith and affection send according to your 
 bounty and good heart. I would not be able to 
 cash it, as I have no cedula (the flourish after the 
 signature which is always necessary), so send it in 
 the name of Dn. Aniceto Lucio (!) as he will cash 
 and pay it to me. I plead with you to send me 
 help, and my love will be yours for ever. Don 
 Aniceto and Da. Manuela send their regards. 
 
 '' Receive my affection from this one, who loves 
 you, and take you this — x 
 
 '' RosARio Sanchez.'' 
 
 This was so obviously the work of Don Aniseto 
 and his sposa Manuela, and here the reader may 
 observe the misspelling of his name, that I wrote 
 and told him he was a rascal — perhaps I said more. 
 Anyhow, it was enough, for I never heard again. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A GREAT SHRINE 
 
 ARMED with the bald facts that Montserrat 
 ^ is one of the great shrines of the world ; 
 that it dates from early in the eighth century, and 
 that it has ever since been piling up religious, 
 political, and military history ; that it has been 
 a place of pilgrimage for scores of millions of 
 solitary seekers after grace, and that down to this 
 living present over 100,000 souls journey to the 
 sacred mountain every year — these facts alone 
 make me anxious to come more directly under its 
 spell. The jagged mountain — as its name implies, 
 rises about forty miles from the coast of Catalunia, 
 an offshoot of the Eastern Pyrenees. Leaving 
 Barcelona, a business-like train rushes through 
 market-gardens and farms, skirts rivers and leaps 
 them, trips by meadows and climbs or curves 
 round bare and wooded slopes, and then dips again 
 into unusually gay fields — poppy in the corn, may 
 on the thorn by the stream side. Breadths of lilac- 
 flowered lupins and vaster breadths of blue borage 
 and purple veitch make the landscape sing almost 
 aloud of the joys of spring, and the presence of the 
 vine helps to the spirit of conviviality which reigns 
 
A JOURNEY HEAVENWARDS 207 
 
 in the air. Then we pass through dull red and 
 churlish hills, where nothing more profitable than 
 yellow broom and wild thyme have a home ; next 
 a tunnel or two, a glimpse of higher ground, a 
 broad green river, an altered tone in everything, 
 a peculiar desire for silence, and the train a sacri- 
 lege, and before the feeling can be defined or re- 
 fined to any special need, the mountain of Mont- 
 serrat breaks upon us, the train stops, and we 
 begin to feel small and timid and alone. 
 
 Montserrat is a giant castle of most fantastic, 
 bewitching, and impregnable mould. It rises in 
 almost perpendicular lines for a little over 4000 
 feet, and in such a way that every foot tells. One 
 may easily see higher country, but must travel far 
 to see anything more impressive. 
 
 It is about twenty-four miles round the base of 
 this mass of sculptured, and at a distance bare, 
 stone, and the monastery shows out on a precipi- 
 tous ledge, about half-way up the fort-like walls. 
 The air is beautifully light, and our first and last 
 worldly thought here is occasioned when about 
 five shillings is demanded for a seat on the tiny 
 railway train which runs to the hospice. 
 
 There is a good, though frightfully steep road, 
 and we think we might walk and save the five 
 shillings, but are soon glad to have escaped the 
 fatigue and to be able to sit in the train at ease and 
 enjoy the splendid scenery which breaks into new 
 glories at every turn of the zigzag way. We were 
 nearly two hours in climbing to the hospice — it is 
 
2o8 A GREAT SHRINE 
 
 a little over five miles — all the time growing more 
 timid and shy — a feeling impossible to explain, for 
 its like had never been ours before ; and it was 
 noticeable that, excepting a few young and local 
 people, the other travellers were equally silent and 
 compelled to mute admiration. The train bore us 
 to the very gate of the monastery, and by this 
 time some opinions had been formed. 
 
 Our first thoughts were of the wisdom of the 
 fathers — those early saints, or tired, or far-seeing 
 souls, who wanted the best in a quiet way. This 
 shrine is literally a natural beauty and wonder spot, 
 invested with a few splendid superstitions and 
 much holy faith. As a place, it possesses a kind 
 of personality. It is nature visible and audible 
 and therefore it is very easy, since it is true, to 
 say that here one may listen to the voice of God. 
 Whatever appeals to, fills and delights the soul 
 within us forbids all further reason, and, coming 
 to a natural sanctuary like this, we are able at 
 once to put off all fear, concern, and longing, and 
 grow calm in the trust that we are at last at home. 
 We had these thoughts as we climbed up and up, 
 and somehow the blustering and sweltering engine 
 seemed nothing less than an instrument of God to 
 relieve long-tired feet, and bring us nearer to the 
 goal of our hopes. 
 
 The hospice is really a small village, composed 
 of a dozen or more hospital-like buildings for the 
 accommodation of the Benedictine brotherhood 
 and the everlasting stream of pilgrims. Over looo 
 
HOME AT LAST 209 
 
 cells, containing 2500 beds, exist for the public 
 alone, and, though we arrive at a dull season of the 
 year, we have the pilgrim at the gate saying, with 
 Christina Rossetti : 
 
 Will there be beds for all who seek ? 
 
 to be relieved by the smile of a youth, who, with 
 familiar eyes, replies : 
 
 Yes. Beds for all who come. 
 
 And so it proves. Thus far no sign of priest or 
 brother, or anything monastic or ecclesiastic. A 
 few mute attendants at the little rail platform — or, 
 if not mute, their only words to voice the way to 
 the booking office, where we ask admission, have 
 our names and addresses entered, and are given 
 the key of a cell. A youth in peasant costume gets 
 bed-linen and a tiny towel for each, arranges 
 the beds, tells us to read the rules, and then dis- 
 appears. The rules are few and easily observed. 
 We are forbidden to throw anything from, or even 
 hang anything in, the windows, as the fall is often 
 so great that a little thing would easily kill any one 
 walking below. Another rule says we must shift 
 entirely for ourselves, and keep the cell clean 
 and tidy. Next, we are to give two hours' notice 
 before leaving ; and the last rule is a plea that we 
 will offer no reward of any kind to the resident 
 population of Montserrat. At the first glance from 
 the window we were inclined to be dissatisfied 
 with our cell — it did not command the best aspect 
 
2IO A GREAT SHRIXE 
 
 for \ie\\ing the valley — but like a native thought 
 came the words : 
 
 N'Uns fret not at their convent's narrow room. 
 
 And hermits are contented with their cells. 
 
 And in truth we should have been. Our cell is 
 a simply furnished bedroom. Its actual contents 
 are two small iron bedsteads, with ample and per- 
 fectly clean clothing ; a strip of matting on the 
 floor, two rush-seated chairs, a small deal table, 
 with a drawer ; a fairly large wall mirror, a light 
 iron washstand and set of ware in sheet iron, 
 painted white ; a flat brass candlestick, a clay 
 pitcher for drinking-water, a small iron hat-rack, 
 and a running curtain to screen off the portion 
 occupied by the beds. The floor is of large, pale 
 red bricks ; the walls whitewashed, and the win- 
 dow is of the French t\T)e, and runs from floor to 
 ceiling. 
 
 The ceUs var\" a good deal in size and the amount 
 of hght they admit, the most modem buildings 
 providing ceUs with greater comfort ; but all are 
 comparatively roomy — twelve to fourteen feet 
 each way — and the furnishing is \Trtually the same 
 for all. I have described the cell with some detail 
 for the benefit of those who may be curious of the 
 accommodation afforded at a popular shrine. 
 
 Before we lost interest in the cleanliness and 
 comparative comfort of the ceU, we had growTi to 
 discover a world of beauty in the wall of rock rising 
 in front. The mountain rises like a heavenlv stair 
 
A PLACE OF PURIFICATION 211 
 
 — a 1000 or 1200 feet of magnificent shafts of 
 detached stone, each tall and broad enough to 
 furnish a church steeple. We wished to see down 
 the valley, but soon the inclination was to look up 
 and be humbled. Humility does not preserve a 
 bowed head in this place. We had it as we entered, 
 but as the heart becomes fortified with the clear 
 light air, the eyes open to discern new qualities in 
 the light above. Our cell in order, we went forth 
 to buy bread, wine, and a taper. There is a 
 restaurant for those who do not care to buy and 
 prepare food in their cells, but the vast majority 
 go to a store, where all kinds of food and drink 
 may be purchased, and the prices are very low. A 
 large pound of bread costs twopence, and a full 
 bottle of wine twopence -halfpenny. Although 
 everything is so silent and free from restraint, the 
 appetite does not grow here. All are in some way 
 impressed with the broad fact that this is a place 
 where the body is of little account. All the water 
 used is direct from the rock, and although cold to 
 iciness, it is positively sustaining. 
 
 We have a subtle desire for greater personal 
 cleanliness, and though the air is chilly to raw cold, 
 clothing is almost an abomination. The hands 
 appear a size smaller, and gain in sensibility, for 
 they are constantly grasping at friendly shrubs by 
 the precipitous paths, and in some unusual way 
 telling us that these are our friends, so that we 
 come to a fuller understanding of what is about 
 and above us, and then, lo ! a sense of the sun in 
 
212 A GREAT SHRINE 
 
 our faces, and there is neither desire nor weari- 
 ness, nor heartache, nor any longing, nor that 
 state of reasoning which is pain. Perhaps these 
 phantom-like and yet wondrously substantial hills 
 have wrought this change in us ; perhaps it is the 
 feeling that we have escaped the world, or it may 
 be memory, roused by the presence of so many 
 familiar flowers and shrubs which grow upon the 
 crags and within the glades. The mountain, 
 flowers, odours, dreams, one or all together, have 
 found us, and we say again, for the words ring like 
 a dirge or possess the fascination of a new tune, 
 *' The wisdom of the fathers ! The wisdom of the 
 fathers ! '' For it is they who have led the millions 
 hither. 
 
 From our cell we may look out on a hundred 
 little natural gardens, hanging with all their grasp- 
 ing strength to the ledges and crannies of the 
 mountain, and where it is pleasing to reflect that 
 no mortal foot has ever rested or ever will rest 
 till there is an earthquake, when, of course, they 
 will not be the same gardens. When we come to 
 close quarters with Montserrat we pronounce it 
 a vast rock garden, wrought by the forces of nature 
 in their mightiest strength, designed with won- 
 drous skill and planted to instruct, rest, and de- 
 light every eye — a garden so vast, intricate, and 
 perilous that no one may know it or become sati- 
 ated. And then the frame. It is fifty miles deep ! 
 Is studded with eighty towns and villages ; illumi- 
 nated by shimmering rivers and glittering banks 
 
THE SOURCES OF A SHRINE 213 
 
 of snow, and lakes of cloud and fields of every hue. 
 In fact, it has the world for its frame, and we 
 pilgrims are glad to be of the Holy Mountain — 
 alone, above, away from it all. But we trust as 
 we do look out and down upon what has been our 
 world ; and when we have gazed and thought and 
 gazed till we can do so no more, we retire to our 
 cell to discover that these material things in their 
 strength and majesty are the actual sources of a 
 shrine. 
 
 We who come here feel that the rocks and the 
 very winds which blow about them are preaching 
 impressive sermons. We think of the stone wor- 
 shippers of all times and climes, and come a step 
 nearer to the philosophy of all religions. But we 
 are not led to pursue any fatiguing thought, for 
 the mountain leads, and even the human story 
 and human handiwork about are ever restful and 
 final in the lessons they teach. Happily there has 
 been no attempt to '' beautify " and vilify the 
 mountain, and we are always in the presence of 
 nature. By the mountain road and principal walks 
 there are many crosses and pieces of statuary, 
 and also seats and fonts where sacred and profane 
 pilgrim's may rest and slake their thirst. But none 
 of these offend ; they are of the Holy Mountain, 
 and apart from convenience or beauty or story, 
 keep us to the same atmosphere and mood. Just 
 above the monastery, tucked away under pro- 
 jecting rocks and boulders, are many graves, but 
 so small they could never have held complete 
 
214 A GREAT SHRINE 
 
 bodies. They are probably urns holding the bones 
 of such hermits or pilgrims as were found exposed 
 on the mountain. 
 
 Far away on the wildest heights, and amid the 
 crannies of gorges, the hermit holes are, many of 
 them, the merest troughs, and men who lived and 
 died in these were often sealed up in them, so that 
 their bodies crumbled on the very spots where they 
 had chosen to pass their lives. We may wander for 
 days and yet see very little of the mountain and 
 its numerous ancient habitations. 
 
 The '' ermitas " are everywhere, many of 
 them in such dangerous positions that we are 
 thrilled, scared, and fascinated by the daring and 
 aloofness of those early Christians who elected to 
 climb and contrive and dwell in them. These were 
 the only spots rendering men proof against the 
 temptations of the world ; they were strongholds 
 against the devil and the wrath of God ; they 
 dclied infidels in arms, and were often the hiding- 
 places of church treasure during periods of unrest 
 or plunder or war. That men did and could live 
 in these places century after century is one of the 
 marvels of human life and human story. Even 
 in the presence of the obvious we are inclined to 
 deny that these slabs and vertical walls and jutting 
 crags could ever be scaled and held by man. To- 
 day there are no traces of the means of ascent and 
 descent, but there must have been rope ladders or 
 lashed spars or light timber, or bundles of faggots 
 hung against the cliffs, most probably some con- 
 
THE HERMIT'S LOT :215 
 
 trivance which could be drawn up and let down 
 at will. 
 
 And to live in such spots ! The airiness and the 
 eerieness ! The stern cold challenge of the ele- 
 ments over every movement of time ! The utter 
 silence, except the voice of the wind and the driven 
 rain. The ever present danger of the rocks slipping 
 from above, or slipping from below, and they do 
 slip at comparatively short intervals ; and the 
 limitations of the hermit's domain ! They were 
 often as much bound and cramped and frozen as 
 mariners lashed to the look-out in Arctic seas ; or 
 between the floor and the rock roof above they 
 passed their years in a stoop for want of room to 
 stand upright ! 
 
 Much of the stone is of flint-like hardness, and 
 we see where, with small hand tools, they literally 
 scratched their way into safe hiding and secret 
 dwelling-places. And the men who did these things 
 had often taken part in the great affairs of nations. 
 They w^ere of varied scholarship, and of all stations 
 and estate. As hermits, they had neither soil nor 
 water at hand ; no certain draught or a solitary 
 plant for refreshment, or study, or delight. They 
 ignored the companionship of cats and dogs, and 
 they believed so far in liberty as not to encage a 
 bird. 
 
 Security and privacy they claimed by divine 
 right, they aimed to possess no more. They saw 
 the sun first in the morning, but its life-giving 
 rays were not for them. They saw the clouds 
 
2i6 A GREAT SHRINE 
 
 make green the low valleys and the rippling hills, 
 but they thought not of har\'est5 and dry baxns. 
 They saw the long hot summers parch the plains 
 into deserts, but no sound of povert^^ or pain rose 
 up unto them. From their ledges of rock they saw 
 the clouds gather and descend like armies to war, 
 and mingle and disappear in the earth below. The 
 lightning's flash and the re-echoing thunder from a 
 hundred cavernous walls awoke no fears in them. 
 Their business was above the affairs of earth ; their 
 only concern for the souls of men. Down the 
 mount a i" ::r a scrap of food, for water, and a 
 stick ::r ^ -re. Down the moimtain for flat stones 
 or round stones, as they desired to build the wall 
 or lay the floor. Down the mountain to tell of the 
 heavenly Hghts they had seen, and the voices they 
 had heard, the hghts and the voices which we may 
 see and hear to-day. Down the mountain to re- 
 joice with a great company that the mountain 
 should be found holy. Down the mountain to gird 
 on the sword, and bless those who would march 
 against the Saracen in the East. Down the moun- 
 tain to discover and cover the corse of brother 
 Benedict. Down the mountain to proclaim the 
 cross triumphant over the crescent in Spain. 
 Do^Ti the mountain for a root of the medicine 
 plant — ^the aloe — ^which brother Juan Bautista 
 had brought from the new world. Down the 
 mountain to see Ignatius Loyola dedicate his 
 sword and his life to God's service. Up and dovra 
 the mountain for nigh 1200 years, and when these 
 
AN AWFUL SITUATION 217 
 
 exercises failed another hack and scratch at the 
 rock, another stone this way or that, another last 
 home prepared, another lonely death, and then no 
 more. 
 
 Sitting in the midst of this fastness we feel that 
 if the lives of these old hermits were- not in all ways 
 lofty and splendid, there is yet something about 
 them which holds us to their haunts with the grip 
 of a warm fire on a raw night in winter. We de- 
 voted one day to the hermitage of San Juan — 
 gaining it by a modern stair cut in the rock — 
 which is one of the most marvellous of human 
 dwelling-places. It lies on the side of a bare mass 
 of rock four thousand feet above the sea, exposed 
 raw, and storm-swept at all seasons. A rent to one 
 side has left a jutting wall many hundreds of feet 
 high, and running across this face of iron-hard 
 stone is a band of red sandstone from two to three 
 feet wide. In the eighth or ninth century this 
 band of soft stone was gained by descending a 
 crevice, then the hermit scratched and scraped 
 and formed a track round a terribly overhanging 
 mountain of rock. Then he worked in and in, and 
 made man-holes at intervals, and doubtless hung 
 a wood rail to save himself from falling into the 
 valley below. As the years went by the hard stone 
 above the sand was attacked, and to-day we may 
 in places stand upright, whilst in others we crawl 
 on all-fours and tremble violently all the time, for 
 the wooden rail seems nothing against our weight, 
 and if we should lean against it or slip ! 
 
2i8 A GREAT SHRINE 
 
 So overborne were we by the frightful strain of 
 gaining the end of this hermit's lair that we lay 
 in the last semi-dark stone trough, as cold and un- 
 canny as a tomb, and there gave ourselves up to 
 wonder and to dreams. 
 
 Friar Juan Gari, who fashioned this retreat, and 
 is the first historic character in the story of 
 Montserrat, converted us to his way of thinking, 
 so that as we lay we saw the mission and the in- 
 fluence of the generations of hermits. The friar 
 himself, speaking quite audibly, said this unto us : 
 '' We took no pride in sitting in semi-darkness 
 among these rocks. We did not enjoy solitude, 
 but we discerned a task which enjoined it. You 
 cannot have bad men in isolation. Remember that. 
 It is the crowd which provides the painful sins. 
 We had heard of Christ, and it was our duty to let 
 others know of Him. Not of the bad, but of the 
 good brotherhood, let us speak — those who gave 
 Christ to Europe. He is not an Asiatic, but a Euro- 
 pean liberator and standard of right living. Here in 
 this cell more than a thousand years ago I said — 
 enough of your concerns which are of no concern, 
 enough of your fears which are all for yourselves ; 
 enough of happiness which is without reason. I 
 will accept none of your worldly hopes. I will see 
 you only as worms in a perishing furrow, in a 
 world so unstable that ye never can grasp a thing 
 and call it blessing. And without this what is any- 
 thing to us ? Come not with me and abide in this 
 mountain : come not with me to the ascetic and 
 
THE ROMANCE OF CHRISTIANITY 219 
 
 austere life. I would deny ye no splendid thing. 
 And looking back, do ye not see that we gave ye 
 understanding ! We starved for ye ; went into 
 the deserts and the lonely places for ye ; we denied 
 ourselves for ye, and we gave ourselves for ye ; 
 we grew to be young-old men that we might come 
 by the truth and make it plain for ye ; we saw the 
 light, and pursued it ; we wept and slept and 
 dreamed and woke to the knowledge of the way 
 for ye. This is the story of the pilgrim and the 
 hermit, the monk and the monastery. Out of 
 these have proceeded the science of religion and 
 the science of civilisation, the science of govern- 
 ment and the science of the elements. Independent 
 of us ! Indeed ! Of no account ? Indeed ! Where- 
 on do ye build ? Do ye except a century in the 
 incidents of Time ? Do ye accept Christ in the 
 scheme of Europe ? Do ye accept the men who 
 revealed Him to ye ? Do ye accept history, ac- 
 knowledge art and live by the soul of Europe ? And 
 do ye discern any beauty or worth in these things 
 before we half-naked and ascetic beings came ? 
 Be honest. What power gave civilisation to 
 Europe ? Was it Christ, and if so, who were His 
 ministers ? Turn back to the page and again turn 
 back. Don't stop at the point where we grew 
 impotent and abominable, but turn back to where 
 we were pure and noble. In those days ours was 
 the treasure of these everlasting hills. Our faith 
 grew out of what we saw as evidence of God. We 
 accepted virtue as a necessity, and discerned no 
 
220 A GREAT SHRINE 
 
 way by which men could be in all things just till 
 we had shown self-sacrifice, open-handedness and 
 service. And if you would deny that we gave 
 much, what will you say we took from the world ? 
 Ours was the cold and the lonely way, and to those 
 who can or ever will think, shall we say more ? . . ." 
 
 When we got home that night there was no one 
 to welcome us, nor any one to whom we felt we 
 should tell of what we had seen and heard, for all 
 are in the same way possessed and informed. The 
 mountain and its story is everything, and the 
 monastery grows to be a mere convenience. True, 
 there is a lovely chapel, and where the services are 
 so devotional that it is a delight to kneel through 
 vespers extending over two hours. Two choirs, 
 one of monks in a high gallery and another of 
 thirty gowned and surpliced boys, sing heavenly 
 music whilst standing through all the two hours 
 behind a screen, and when at last they kneel round 
 the quiet and unmistakably good priest on the 
 floor of the high chapel, we feel that God's blessing 
 has indeed fallen upon the world. 
 
 The whole area of Montserrat is less than ten 
 acres, and nearly all is built over, so that there 
 is but little garden space, and small chance to 
 walk in the evening, since the low walls are not 
 sufficient to save one from tumbling into space 
 to certain death. Still, no one can be bored here. 
 The days are so enthralling, for every one climbs 
 and wanders from morn till night, and after vespers 
 all are ready for bed. 
 
MONASTIC EMPLOYMENTS 221 
 
 The monastic day is very simple. About seventy 
 monks make a study of church music, for which 
 the monastery is celebrated. There is also a school 
 of music for youths who are to enter the church. 
 A most spiritual priest conducts the public services, 
 and the whole institution is presided over by an 
 abbot. 
 
 We pilgrims are expected to leave a few shillings 
 in reward for the cell and the linen used, and it is 
 from these freewill offerings that the great estab- 
 lishment is maintained. Visitors are not supposed 
 to stay more than three days, but we stayed a 
 week, and were told we might stay until the crowd 
 began to press in for the summer. Montserrat is 
 in one respect a sanatorium. Large numbers of 
 priests and lay brothers who cannot afford a 
 holiday at great expense, come here owing to its 
 rare climate and inexpensive mode of life. It is 
 also a favourite place for poor brides and grooms. 
 For a hundred miles around the peasant maid 
 holds it as an article of faith that her marriage will 
 be blest if she can pass the closing days of her 
 honeymoon at Montserrat. 
 
 The pilgrims are from every land, but they have 
 ceased to travel hither in anything like picturesque 
 or weary pilgrim garb. Every morning about a 
 score of peasant women and girls trudge up the 
 mountain road, accompanied by donkeys or mules 
 laden with fresh vegetables and fruits, and these 
 they spread on either side of the path we take 
 to morning service. The comestibles make a kind 
 
222 A GREAT SHRINE 
 
 of harvest festival display, and fill us with the spirit 
 of thanksgiving. The special attraction for pil- 
 grims is the honey these women offer. It is just 
 ordinary honey to the eye, but it possesses a 
 strangely wild and yet familiar aromatic per- 
 fume, a combination of gorse and broom and wild 
 thyme. 
 
 Our week is at an end. It has gone like a flash, 
 and yet it has been a leisurely life through twelve 
 centuries. We leave in the same silent way that 
 we approach, which is most befitting, for we know 
 we have somehow touched the highest, and that 
 we are passing for ever from what is in very truth 
 a great shrine. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE CRADLE OF THE CID 
 
 COMING to Burgos in the spring of the year 
 it almost takes one's breath away, so gener- 
 ous and storied and sweet is everything in sight. 
 The Burgalese are the Scots of the Peninsula — 
 a sturdy, big, and silent yeoman class — and all 
 they do makes for effect and sober strength. They 
 are blessed with a comparatively rich piece of land, 
 a rare climate, and the face of the landscape is so 
 moulded that it is everywhere beautiful. Then 
 history preserves her links here, and there is a 
 sense of wealth in all around. I had not been here 
 many hours before I had written : '' I don't care 
 who is King of Spain so long as I can remain a 
 citizen of Burgos." In many places we are 
 charmed by pictures of poverty, but, after all, 
 there is more to sustain in looking on a well- 
 dressed and healthy crowd. Burgos is blessed ! It 
 provides work for all its sons, and there is no vulgar 
 ambition ; no awful longings or hopeless pains ; 
 no '' Incurable deep ills," as Heine wrote ; nor 
 any lack of splendid things in nature and art. 
 History, story, employment, a fair land, and the 
 joy of being — these are all obtainable in Burgos. 
 
 223 
 
224 THE CRADLE OF THE CID 
 
 At our fonda we were talking of the lot of the 
 different groups of Spain, and I urged the larger 
 blessings of the peoples of the northern provinces. 
 '' I don't know," said a commercial traveller from 
 Valencia. '' What are you to call blessing ? There 
 is the Galician, who when he has good soil, — more 
 than he can use and more money than he can in- 
 telligently spend, moons round, an ignorant boor; 
 and there are the Levantines, the people on the 
 south and east who have a bit of desert for soil, a 
 bare rock and the sea to contemplate ; but the sun 
 warms them, and they can think and laugh and be 
 happy. Which life is best ? " These are the actual 
 words of the Spaniard, and knowing him, one can 
 make but short comment. Every Spaniard swears 
 by his own province, and it is impossible that he 
 can be wrong. 
 
 The British traveller is influenced largely by 
 trees; and where they are absent, as also trim 
 gardens and the scent of flowers, he cannot bring 
 himself to feel at home. It is perhaps for this 
 reason that Burgos appeals so directly, for though 
 the town itself is close-built and verdureless, the 
 surrounding country is decked with glorious trees, 
 and the river is of all city rivers the most Arcadian 
 and satisfying. 
 
 I never knew a river to charm and delight as 
 does this Arlanzon. Its course alone is fascinating, 
 for it comes in from the east through broad, green 
 meads, a number of silver streams, and just above 
 the town gathers itself into one wide flow, and 
 
RIVER, FIELD AND TOWN 225 
 
 then divides again and glides through the town 
 under five well-formed and low bridges, then turns 
 and goes straight into the arms of the west ; and 
 at evening one sees a stream of all colours and 
 degrees of glory as the light fails, and the back- 
 ground of cloud and sky and setting sun play and 
 blend and enfold each other. Up the stream it is 
 the same, for the morning light appears to rise 
 out of the streaks of silver, and the tall, straight 
 trees stand wrapped in silent praise, as if placed 
 there for no other purpose than to salute the morn. 
 And the bed of the river within the town ! It is a 
 bed indeed : a wide and long well-garden, for deep 
 walls bound it as it flows past the city ; and flocks 
 of pure white sheep, little ponies, and languorous 
 cows lie or browse upon the butter-cupped-and- 
 daisied fields — for fields exist here, quite long and 
 spongy meadows, intersected by streams which in 
 spring are white with a little flower formed like 
 a buttercup, that rises out of a plant whose 
 leaves are kept prone by the running water. The 
 king-cups are so tall that the little children can 
 scarce be seen above them. 
 
 Then there are long strips of slender flag-iris, 
 and stretches of gravel and pure sand where the 
 washerwomen and girls gather by the hundred 
 and lay out all the colours and garments of Burgos 
 on the flowery meads. And though the washing 
 is unending, the streams are clean ; no amount of 
 soap and clothes seems to make any difference. 
 This is due to the hurrying of the river. It falls 
 
 Q 
 
226 THE CRADLE OF THE CID 
 
 about fifteen feet in its mile passage through the 
 town, so no dirt stays to be seen or reahsed. 
 Nearly all the trees by the river are tall, straight, 
 and deep green poplars, and the bridges are white 
 and low and long, in perfect harmony with the 
 broad, soft bed. Where the boundary-walls end 
 there is a terraced fall and a rapid which gives off 
 true music, and the air does not die away until it 
 passes under the shadow of a bank of old elms, 
 grey willows, and wych-hazel, these relieved by a 
 sprig or two of hawthorn, a bush of golden labur- 
 num, and a stately horse-chestnut in full flower. 
 At the fifth bridge the river runs free and bare of 
 trees for some distance, till a clump of trees in 
 the eye of the west cast their long shadows and 
 bring the play of the waters to an end. 
 
 God preserve my memory, and I can never be 
 poor ! I am nearest to perfect happiness when I 
 look on scenes like these, and so long as I can recall 
 them I shall have enough. I was half inclined to 
 go on and rot w^ait for the sunset, for I had seen it 
 some nights ago ; but the colours and the peace 
 of the world held me to the bridge, where I 
 saw most exquisitely perfect scenes. I wish I 
 could paint this babbling river going into the arms 
 of the red-gold and shimmering west ! Could I 
 do so it must surely be called '' Peace." I am 
 sitting by a piece of broken wall. Just in front 
 the stream runs round a grassy knoll, and about 
 thirty little white lambs, and a couple of black 
 ones, are gracefully cuddled up for the night. Only 
 
THE CLOSE OF DAY 227 
 
 one is standing, and he has his chin resting on 
 another's head. Is he the sentinel and privileged 
 to lean a Httle ? Beyond the lambs the river is a 
 shimmer of gold, and many dancing httle suns 
 are hovering over it, so that one cannot see clearly 
 what is of the earth and what no more than Hght 
 and colour. 
 
 = The sun is now tipping a Hne of hills which turn 
 the river, and long bright-red beams are shot up 
 the stream. The clouds are violet, they are purple, 
 and now again they are gold. Many gold and silver- 
 rimmed clouds are appearing ; the foreground is 
 clear again, and the distance all ablaze. Washer- 
 women show at intervals all down the stream. 
 There are many figures on the road following the 
 open green bank to one side, but all are moving 
 slowly as if towards rest, and there is no noise. 
 Two yoke of fawn-coloured oxen cross the bridge. 
 They have immense head-dresses of lambskin, 
 with the wool drawn up Hke sugar-loaves ; they 
 pull their load with a pecuhar lilting gait, and the 
 driver lilts with them. They raise a httle dust 
 on the bridge and I get the smell of it, the only 
 link with earth and the toihng world. The stream 
 is all silver and violet. Another flock of sheep are 
 coming to drink, and cross the stream lower down ; 
 the clouds so filmy a while ago are now gathered 
 into soHd mountains. The gold grows very soft, 
 almost a russet-brown, and the violets and purples 
 are fit for robes. The trees are beginning to look 
 sullen and sohtary ; the washerwomen are putting 
 
228 THE CRADLE OF THE CID 
 
 their garments into huge baskets and trudging 
 both banks towards me and the town. The only 
 colour in the west is a broad burst of smoke- 
 stained flame ; all the sky is leaden-grey, every 
 leaf is still, the length of the river increases, and 
 it begins to have a voice as there is less to see. 
 The mountains of cloud are breaking, and the sky 
 above and beyond is a soft sea-green. Now it is 
 lead-colour, now purple, shot with gold. The 
 trees are frowning black patches where they shade 
 the river. 
 
 A distant flock of sheep are coming along a green 
 strip between the streams, and there is a tinkling 
 of tuneful bells. Now there is more dark cloud and 
 light colour-spaces in the west ; all the lines are 
 horizontal, and there is no movement away there. 
 A cold blue-grey is hanging like a misty pall be- 
 tween the source of light and the material earth. 
 Faint lemon rays appear, greyness spreads, the 
 picture narrows on all sides, the flock of lambs are 
 huddling closer, and there is a complaining bleat 
 or two. The air is quite chilly ! There is nothing 
 more to see. It is night at the fifth bridge of 
 Burgos ! 
 
 That night I v/as held to thoughts about the Cid, 
 for he was born here. Genius or greatness in any 
 form is but an accident, yet we like to associate 
 our heroes with splendid places, and surely no one 
 could desire a finer natal spot than that of Burgos. 
 One evening I found myself standing on the site 
 of the Cid's home. It is a strip of green lawn 
 
THE BIRTHPLACE OF THE CID 229 
 
 bounding a road just outside the town. A ceme- 
 tery has advanced on the site, and judging from 
 the form of the road one imagines that the ceme- 
 tery embraces the actual spot of his birth. A low 
 monument and two obelisks stand on this green 
 strip and hold the legend in Castilian : — 
 
 " On this site stood a house 
 wherein was born in the year 
 1033, Rodrigo Diaz de Bibar — 
 Cid Campeador de Valencia, 
 dying there in 1099 and his 
 body translated to the Monas- 
 tery of San Pedro de Cardena 
 near this city. This is to 
 record the services of the 
 heroic and brilliant son of 
 Burgos." 
 
 Erected 1784. 
 
 Carlos III. King." 
 
 I stood here in the warm mellow light of a May 
 evening till I thrilled and found myself crying 
 and pulling at the weeds growing on the spot — 
 chiefly horehound, blind nettles, and low silver 
 thistles. I can account for this as I remember he 
 provided my first romance. As a tiny boy I read 
 his '' Chronicles,'' and though I have little doubt 
 he was an unforgiveable rascal, I am indebted to 
 him for many delightful thrills and adventures. 
 How long and yet how short and unvarying is 
 the age of man ! Children are playing round the 
 garden of the Cid just as in his time, and a hundred 
 
230 THE CRADLE OF THE CID 
 
 yards away there are long fleshing-troughs and 
 doublet : leathers in the making, and men and bo3^s 
 contri\'ing rude garments and accoutrements but 
 slightly or not at all different to those of the Cid' s da}'. 
 
 All the bridges are comparatively modern, but 
 the stream and the form and employments of the 
 land have not altered much during the past thou- 
 sand years. So I am happy to stray and moon 
 about, gathering pebbles from the river and wild 
 flowers in the meads or in the more distant fields. 
 Only in such situations may we re-Hve a bit of our 
 youth. I felt myself to be in company ^^ith the 
 Cid as a child. I gathered wild flowers and 
 imagined the world with him ; I chmbed to heights 
 of a few feet and surveyed the world ; only the 
 child remained to me, and I had no regrets or 
 fears that I might be foohsh. So strongly was I 
 impressed by the natural beaut}' of Burgos that I 
 ignored its art and much of its story. The Cid and 
 the river were all in all. The place reeks of mellow 
 history, but that was not my concern ; I needed 
 no more than the companionship of the Cid as an 
 innocent child. 
 
 He was married at the castle which crowns the 
 highest hill near the town, and our Eleanor Plan- 
 tagenet was married there also, and later, WeUing- 
 ton was twice repulsed. But these things are as 
 nothing compared \^ith what may be summed up 
 as native charms. The bones of the Cid and his 
 \^ife are now preserved in a large chest in the 
 Town Hall, and there is also a terra-cotta bust of 
 
BEAUTY AND STRENGTH 231 
 
 him in a straight beard and a high hooked nose. 
 He is garbed in a chain-mail cuirass under light 
 shoulder-plates of steel. 
 
 The first bar or authentic yard measure of 
 Castile is here, hence the word barra — or yard. 
 To many the cathedral of Burgos is the gem of 
 Spain, and I came under its spell, but too often 
 cathedrals, galleries, and busy cities are fatiguing 
 rather than sources of sober happiness ; and there 
 is so much labour in pursuing those things which 
 are chronicled in the guide-books that I have lately 
 made it my business to ignore them altogether. 
 The hospital Del Rey and Las Huelgas are lovely, 
 the one a rest-house for pilgrims, and the other a 
 convent for nuns of noble families. 
 
 Every night I walked to the fifth bridge and saw 
 the river run on to the west, and the sinking sun 
 take charge of it — always a new and an inspiring 
 sight. 
 
 The Burgalese, whilst fine-looking and healthy, 
 have somewhat irregular features, and though I 
 met its crowds at all hours, I saw but one beautiful 
 face. Both men and women lack the style and the 
 charm generally found in the townspeople of Spain, 
 but they are a very happy crowd, and there is 
 much freedom amongst the young folk. In 
 winter Burgos is very cold^ and many of the houses 
 have glass sashes arranged over all their fronts as a 
 means of attracting the sun's heat. This gives a 
 staring and common appearance to some streets, 
 though many buildings are quaint and beautiful. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE CITY IN THE FIELDS 
 
 ONE hardly likes to believe that money makes 
 friends, it is so brutal; yet often one must 
 give to the poor to bring out their best, and this is 
 generally seen in their gratitude and affection 
 when they discern they are noticed for themselves. 
 
 On leaving Burgos I gave a trifle to two servants, 
 and they almost embraced me and followed me 
 to the last, their faces worth a pound a minute to 
 any human soul. 
 
 A rather churlish strip of land divides Burgos 
 from Valladolid. Here I was welcomed by a 
 tramp riding behind two sturdy hounds attached 
 to a good-sized cart. The man was nursing a child, 
 whilst a third dog and the tramp's wife were in 
 their proper places twenty yards behind. 
 
 Valladolid is more utilitarian than beautiful. It 
 occupies an almost dead level, though near to high 
 and churlish hills. Its most striking features are 
 its old houses and the church and gallery of San 
 Gregorio. Philip the Second, husband of our 
 Mary, was born here, and Columbus died here in 
 a street bearing his name. The house he occupied 
 was recently pulled down by nuns, who have 
 
 232 
 
FADING CHARMS 233 
 
 stuck up a convent on the site. At a museum 
 are a large number of beautiful sculptures in wood 
 by Berruguete, also a fine lot of ornaments and 
 rare marbles, taken from old house fronts, patios, 
 and chambers. A house stands where Cervantes 
 lived and wrote part of Don Quixote. 
 
 The implements and utensils of this province 
 are most primitive. The metal-ware is of good 
 design, but the clay vessels are poor. The copper 
 puchero — or cooking - pitcher — so common in 
 many provinces, is rarely seen in the north-east ; 
 and in this central region it is entirely absent. 
 Here the name is given to an upright iron loop- 
 handled pot, of handsome mould, but incon- 
 venient for lifting. In Zaragoza one sees pots 
 eighteen inches high, weighing fifteen pounds, 
 and with only one small side handle. The vessel 
 is virtually an immense drinking-mug. Nowadays 
 they are '' founded," or cast, but in Vascongados 
 and Navarre they are met with in hand-wrought 
 iron. Germany is making faithful imitations of 
 them in cast- and sheet-iron and enamelled ware, 
 and these are replacing the more interesting native 
 articles. 
 
 At Valladolid, where one crosses to the district 
 of Rioseco, are some beautifully-worked mural 
 stones, employed in paving the slope and forming 
 a boundary-wall of the river. These stones are 
 from old churches and houses ; for they reveal 
 medallions, armorial bearings, and inscriptions in 
 Latin and Spanish. The oldest discernible date 
 
234 THE CITY IN THE FIELDS 
 
 is 1670 — less than two hundred and fifty years 
 ago ! Monuments and rubbish ! Here is rank 
 and fame, mortal vanity, and mortal hope ! A 
 small canal traverses this province, but water 
 carriage is unpopular, and the flood is employed 
 chiefly in irrigation. 
 
 A remarkable contrast is observable in the faces 
 of the town and country people. Throughout the 
 canal and river systems, also away on the dry, open 
 lands, the peasantry have plain, stolid, and unin- 
 teresting faces ; whilst the town population of 
 Valladolid is distinctly handsome, and several 
 minor peculiarities are seen. The speech is low 
 and moderate in quantity, men do not smoke to 
 any extent when in the presence of women, and 
 there is an unusual amount of freedom amongst 
 young people. 
 
 By the river-side are as many as three hundred 
 little wooden boxes arranged on legs standing in 
 the water ; these boxes are occupied by the 
 lavanderas — washerwomen — as the banks are un- 
 safe. The women step out with their bundles of 
 linen, squat down and lave it in the running 
 stream. I sat for hours and heard no more than 
 an occasional remark. In the south and east there 
 would have been a deafening chorus of cries, 
 chants, and badinage, and my position w^ould 
 have been untenable ; in Valladolid I was un- 
 noticed. When boats are laid up on the river or 
 canal, the decks are covered with a thick coating 
 of damp and pulverous earth to prevent the spring- 
 
TOWN GARDENS 235 
 
 ing and cracking of the wood — a simple and effec- 
 tive plan worth imitating elsewhere. 
 
 Valladolid possesses two excellent public gar- 
 dens in the '' Campo Grande '* and the '' Magda- 
 lena"; they are in the form of natural woodlands 
 and shrubberies, and distinctly appropriate to the 
 needs of a town population. Moreover, they are 
 in the town and accessible. As a nation the 
 Spaniards' private gardens are confined to the rich, 
 anything like a cottage garden is seen only in the 
 extreme north-west ; but as municipal gardeners 
 or owners in common they display far more in- 
 telligence than do the British ; not only do they 
 provide trees and shade, fountains, and an abund- 
 ance of flowers, but seats and conveniences, which 
 draw the population together at all seasons of the 
 year. Of course, climate is an important factor, 
 and we observe much needful variety in the public 
 gardens of Spain. 
 
 But no matter where, there is more to accom- 
 modate, to satisfy, and create a feeling of posses- 
 sion in a Spanish town garden than is usually felt 
 in any British public domain. Anxious to make 
 the most of local business, a kindly old man tells 
 me they have a fine lunatic asylum in Valladolid. 
 The town has some queer and interesting old 
 houses, in one of which I found a lodging. Enter- 
 ing by the Campillos, I dined in a room on the 
 Calvo, and slept on a plazuela — or little square. 
 This is explainable by the house having a roving 
 commission to get a look at the daylight wherever 
 
236 THE CITY IN THE FIELDS 
 
 it could find an open space. About half a dozen 
 women kept this house, they were all old maids or 
 widows ; and instead of wearing out their lives in 
 solitary chambers, they rented a house of a dozen 
 rooms, and lived on those who were brave enough 
 to call. As waiting-maids they habitually enjoy 
 the possession of pretty names. In Malaga she 
 was Philomena ; at Burgos, Esperanza ; here she 
 was Candida. That was fortunate, for she was 
 very broad, she waddled, and had lost all her 
 front teeth, though she had a beautiful smile and 
 was just as kind as she looked. When I asked her 
 if she was of Valladolid, she gave me the only frown 
 I ever saw her wear as she said, "No. I am from 
 where the beauties come from — Zamora ! '' 
 
 Valladolid can never be entirely free from dust 
 or mud, for the surrounding country, when dry, 
 is always getting into the air, and when it rains 
 the earth sticks like bird-lime. But I hope this 
 statement will do no harm to the population, for 
 they are a thrifty and earnest people, and have 
 worked wonders on the little good soil they com- 
 mand. 
 
 In Spain one never travels without soldiers, and 
 the bulk of them are third-class — or rather they 
 travel third. From Valladolid I set out for Medina 
 del Campo in a cattle-truck sort of train, loaded 
 with young soldiers, and it is pleasing to write that 
 though we were many hours together, not a rough 
 remark or an unkind action was detected. It might 
 easily have been otherwise, for we sat or were 
 
MY FRIEND LANGTON 237 
 
 jammed about four deep ; and what with smoking, 
 eating, drinking, and the necessary perspiring and 
 spitting there were grounds for strife. 
 
 At Medina del Campo, a dust-laden old town in 
 the midst of a vast plain, I went to sleep in a lane 
 leading to the castle, and on waking found along- 
 side me another tramp, by name Julius Langton ! 
 This was a curious fish. He could speak several 
 languages, and was a fluent liar in all. Still, he 
 was interesting. He had watched me leave the 
 little town, and finding me asleep had lain down 
 and waited patiently till I should awake to feed 
 him. With the intuition of his class he divined my 
 nationality at once. His own story, in so far as 
 it could be relied on, was brief. His father was an 
 Englishman who had visited Portugal, and his 
 mother a Portuguese. As a w^aif he had gone to 
 sea, next tramped over many lands, learning some- 
 thing of each language he encountered. He was 
 quite harmless — a real tramp, too lazy to steal or 
 be in any way bad. With Langton I went on to 
 the ruined castle wherein J nana La Loca — Crazy 
 Jane — the wife of Philip La Belle was confined, 
 and where her mother, the great Isabel, died. 
 This castle remains an impressive ruin, and Lang- 
 ton and I sat down to discuss it, and a bottle of 
 wine and some bread and cheese which I had 
 bought in the town. My tramp friend knew as 
 much local history as I wished ; and how vivid 
 it all seemed as it dropped out of this unclassified 
 human waif. I can hear him now saying, in refer- 
 
238 THE CITY IN THE FIELDS 
 
 ence to Juana, " They say she was this, and they 
 say she was that, but God do know and was it any 
 matter ! She have just one life and she die, and 
 then, true or no true, it not matter to her what 
 they say." The w^eather was scorching hot ; and 
 with our bottle of wine and cool shade we felt 
 equal to any kings or queens of the past. I am 
 always tempted to descant on the charms of a 
 tramp's life, because it is the only sort of existence 
 yielding irresponsible freedom ; but I had an 
 appointment in Medina, so when I could bleed 
 Langton no more I bade him adios. 
 
 At early mxOrning this market-place is a rare 
 sight, hundreds of tilted carts and pack animals 
 holding all the materials which the population 
 require. So pronounced is the custom of buying 
 in the market-square, that few shops are seen, and 
 these but small and old-fashioned. At a stall in 
 the market-place a bright-eyed, dapper little 
 woman was offering tiny cheeses of goat's milk. 
 A countryman examined one carefully, tucked it 
 in his pocket, and put down a real. I thought the 
 cheese a bargain, and said to the little woman, 
 *' I'll have one," and gave her a peseta, which is 
 four reals. She beamed and gave back tw^o reals. 
 I remarked, '' The price of the cheese is one real." 
 *' Ah," said she with a winning smile, '' but you 
 are a caballero." I enjoyed her audacity so much 
 as to laugh and say, '' You are a little rogue," and 
 she, seeing she had beaten me, curtseyed and 
 laughed out, '' Ah, great sehor mine, you are many 
 
ANY GOD THERE? 239 
 
 times a caballero ! *' I do not complain. Such 
 incidents and compliments are cheap at the price. 
 
 At Medina I passed an evening with twenty 
 ploughmen, all employed on the same estate, and 
 one of them put a question which interested, and 
 in some subtle way pleased me more than any 
 other inquiry in my life. We had been talking of 
 Australia, and its great natural wealth ; the small- 
 ness of its population, and such simple facts as I 
 felt might interest them ; and when it came to 
 my saying in what direction Australia might lie, 
 and I pointed to our feet, it was more than they 
 could believe. But I went on, and as the wonder 
 grew, a stocky, sharp-eyed man of about thirty- 
 five, who had listened to hear of everything his 
 heart desired, said with tremendous hope in his 
 great eyes, '' Is there a God there ? '' 
 
 Think of it, if you can ! This is a text indeed ! 
 ''Is there a God there?" And in this instance I 
 may preach the sermon. My first thought was not 
 of what we might call this man's ignorance, for 
 only the ignorant can pretend to a knowledge of 
 God. What charmed and baffled and held was the 
 absolute age and universality of the inquiry. Let 
 me describe the situation. It was near midnight, 
 and we had gone to see a string of twenty fine 
 mules fed for the last time before morning. They 
 munched in a long shed which had an open front 
 to a yard, where were ploughs and other imple- 
 ments on which we sat. A clear and nearly full 
 moon rode above, and there was neither a cloud 
 
240 THE CITY IN THE FIELDS 
 
 nor a star. The day had been sweltering hot, but 
 now it was cold, and every face showed alert and 
 concerned under the chilling moonlight. Cayetano, 
 one of the ploughmen, put the question, '' Is there 
 a God there ? '' My reply may stand for what it is 
 worth, for I said, " Different people have different 
 Gods, but your God is in all the world." He was 
 relieved and pleased at once, as were his com- 
 panions, and the whole lot of them immediately 
 returned to the mundane ; what Australians lived 
 on ? How many meals a day ? Any wine and 
 tobacco there ? Very cold ? How much did a 
 donkey cost ? Regular work ? The reward of 
 labour ? Military service ? And, to omit nothing, 
 '' What were the girls like ? and could they marry 
 if they wished to ? " I put down these things only 
 to make plain the source of the inquiry and the 
 limitations and aspirations of the man whence it 
 came. '' Is there a God there ? " The words are 
 perfect, and in themselves attractive. The ties of 
 earth are many, and yet we are never held by, nor 
 do we live by, these. It is something more than 
 hope springing eternal, for no amount of gain and 
 possession can satisfy, and I was intensely inter- 
 ested by the desire of that Spanish peasant. 
 
 No ! We need not go to primitive black people 
 for our beginnings in faith, for we are all at the 
 beginning. We inherit no more than a larger sheaf 
 of straws. Our philosophers they come, and they 
 vary, and with them our wonderment ; but our 
 helplessness, doubts, and fears remain fixed. In 
 
FAITH AND HOPE 241 
 
 desperation we put questions to ourselves, and 
 then set about answering them in ways convenient 
 and agreeable to ourselves. We suffer in the hope 
 that we may come into greater prominence, get 
 nearer to the throne of grace, the peace of heaven, 
 and the blessings of God. 
 
 Always blessings ! Always some high power 
 who will have compassion on us, recognise and re- 
 ward us in ways surpassing any we may get here 
 below. Below ! We get much out of that word. 
 We are far — far down in the depths of the world, 
 and must climb for every good thing. Kings are 
 on thrones ; God is on high ; heaven is beyond 
 the distant crown of stars ; every bed is possibly 
 a last sleeping-place, and a cold sheet our cofhn- 
 lid. Most of us have come to dislike white and 
 odorous flowers, they take us into deathly com- 
 pany ; we reflect on the state of those who have 
 gone, and ponder the space beyond our view and 
 our ken, and we say in all moods save that of 
 gladness, '' Is there a God there ? '' The question 
 is fundamental ; it grew up with human reason, 
 and can never be supplanted or surpassed. 
 
 No preacher can expound the law, for no man 
 knoweth it. Fear is the mother of reason, and 
 faith is reason's daughter. Our fears and our 
 wants have made us, and our indulgences have 
 left us more than ever undone. So with all we 
 have aspired to know, we are no nearer to con- 
 vincing ourselves of a certain and safe asylum. 
 Cayetanos' priest has a faith and knowledge caus- 
 
242 THE CITY IN THE FIELDS 
 
 ing him to kneel and wear black robes, and avoid 
 as many ills and gather as many comforts as he 
 can, but in his heart he knows he is a deceiver and 
 a sham ; so that, with all his ignorance, Cayetano is 
 the better man, in that he asks with more honesty 
 and hope, '' Is there a God there ? " 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A STUDENT IN SALAMANCA 
 
 I MUST have a dig on paper at Spanish bread, 
 for in this part of the country I cannot get 
 my knife into it in any other way. One can afford 
 to praise it for being pure, well worked, thoroughly 
 cooked, and digestible once it is broken up ; but 
 the loaves are so thin, baked so slowly, and to 
 such a degree of hardness that they would serve 
 for roofing-tiles. And the shapes and sizes ! They 
 are beyond count. Once I decided to make 
 sketches of the loaves of each province, but soon 
 found it impossible, for the baker invents new 
 shapes for every batch. 
 
 One advantage in writing of Spanish loaves is, 
 I cannot possibly go wrong in any description of 
 them ; for taking a lump of dough, from two 
 ounces to two pounds, there is not a baker in 
 western Spain who does not produce a new shape 
 and surface pattern every day of his life ; and, 
 more remarkable still, each loaf has a definite and 
 attractive shape. One morning I stood before a 
 shop and counted over thirty shapes in one and 
 two-pound loaves, each flat and platter-like and 
 stamped with its weight, maker^s name, parish, 
 
 243 
 
244 A STUDENT IN SALAMANCA 
 
 and hall-mark of the local authorities. A beauti- 
 fully clear die had been used, and the letters and 
 surrounding ornamentation stood up as if cut in 
 dull brass, for the tops of the loaves have that 
 colour. The next day thirty new shapes appeared. 
 In Spain the baker's art must consist in infinite 
 fertility of design. 
 
 I bear a grudge against Spanish bread, since I 
 snapped five excellent teeth in as many months. 
 I was a tramp during those months ; but paying 
 my way I am no better off, in fact worse off, for 
 it is a dainty compliment to give one the most 
 snappy piece of bread. Foreigners often ask what 
 kind of macaroni they are eating — strips of bread, 
 tough, slippery, and delicious, and for once in the 
 proper place — ^in the soup. At a market stall in 
 Salamanca, a tired-looking woman bawled, '' Aqui 
 el major pan en el mundo " — Here is the best 
 bread in the world. I paused to watch her ; and 
 she, brightening at the prospect of a sale, held up 
 a loaf and smiled. I shook my head, and she let 
 the bread fall wearily with, '' The gentleman 
 doesn't eat bread ! " 
 
 At Salamanca I lodged with one Paul. I might 
 as easily have shared the house of one Simon a 
 tanner, for Salamanca has no end of fieshers, 
 curriers, and leather dressers, and their establish- 
 ments are included in the tiniest of domestic 
 habitations. A street by the Tormes is made up 
 of cottages, each with a small yard and pit or two, 
 large enough to hold a few skins and keep a man 
 
A SCHOOL FOR LAGGARDS 245 
 
 occupied. At every door is a heap of spent or new 
 tan, forming an everlasting playground for the 
 children. The street reeks of tan and lime, but 
 these are wholesome and welcome odours, for the 
 general surroundings are very dirty. 
 
 Parents not knowing what to do with their 
 children should send them to Salamanca, for here 
 is a college named " The Providential '' ; here also 
 is an attractive retreat for any friends of Bacchus, 
 for in the Calle Prior is an inn named " El 
 Rapido." 
 
 At a second-hand shop I asked the woman how 
 many years she had owned a jug. '' Go along with 
 your years," said she. '' How many centuries 
 have I had it, and there's a fault in my memory 
 how many." 
 
 Most of the Salamanca colleges are in ruins, 
 though built as late as the seventeenth centur}^, 
 and their collapse is not due to the employment 
 of weak stone, but to shoddy and unprincipled 
 methods of building. The walls are run up of 
 rubble and mud concrete, with a mere facing of 
 sandstone, limestone, or granite. 
 
 Cold as is this region the whole population gets 
 up with the sun, and I imagine this custom is 
 bred out of the chilliness of the bed. Rich, poor, 
 and middle-class are alike up and about soon after 
 daybreak. The marketing is done very early, for 
 there is a deep-rooted belief among the stall- 
 holders that it is fatal to refuse the first offer of 
 the day, hence the thrifty housewife goes or sends 
 
246 A STUDENT IN SALAMANCA 
 
 to market early, that she may make a good bar- 
 gain. In the south and east many things are 
 bought from hawkers at the door, but in other 
 provinces every woman has it a part of her faith 
 to attend the morning market. They are good 
 judges and never shy of driving a bargain. The 
 market-baskets of Salamanca are enormous affairs, 
 holding up to two bushels ; and some have little 
 wicker cribs inside them to protect eggs, soft fruit, 
 or such things as might be crushed or spoilt. 
 
 The housework in any part of Spain is not one- 
 tenth of that which is found necessary in England. 
 First of all there are no fires or fireplaces, little or 
 no furniture beyond what is necessary, no orna- 
 ments, carpets or rugs, and a general indifference 
 to dust. Floors and stairs are of stone, brick, 
 marble or tiles ; there is no scrubbing of anything 
 beyond kitchen utensils, and nothing can possibly 
 be out of place and call for rearranging. A maid 
 does all she finds necessary to one or two rooms 
 in an average of about three minutes. Most atten- 
 tion is paid to the sweeping of the floors, and in 
 whitewashing, for wherever the Moorish influence 
 has spread this practice amounts to a passion. A 
 dog or donkey cannot enter the house, or even 
 pass up the street, without the women-folk seizing 
 the whitewash brush and flying to paint out any 
 spots or signs of untidiness left by the intruder. 
 Windows are few, very small, and seldom cleaned ; 
 in many towns there is practically no glass, for 
 shutters and the reja — ^iron guard — are most com- 
 
THE FEAST OF TAJARES 247 
 
 mon. The only house in which I thought there 
 was enough light was at a blind asylum at 
 Tividavo ! 
 
 From a knoll at Salamanca one can see nearly 
 fifty miles north and west — one vast garden of 
 rolling downs, composed of fairly good and per- 
 manent soil. This region has for centuries carried 
 wheat, barley, and rye, and is the ancient granary 
 of Europe. 
 
 The feast of Taj ares — a village near Salamanca — 
 is worth visiting for the curious types of humanity 
 to be seen there. The province claims a type named 
 '' The Charro,'' the men and women who preserve 
 the oldest provincial dress. It is a very elaborate 
 costume, the skirts of the women in the form 
 of circular aprons, and the materials and colours 
 vary much. The stockings are most beautifully 
 hand-worked linen-thread, or silk, but always 
 white ; the fancy-work is made of jewels, lace 
 medallions, and flowers, and almost entirely sur- 
 rounded with little silver and gold sequins. A 
 great many jewels and rings are worn, and the 
 head-dress is an embroidered handkerchief (not a 
 mantilla) more than a yard square. The Sala- 
 mantinas claim that this dress suits every type of 
 face and figure ; it is too expensive for everyday 
 use, and is sported only on festive occasions, but 
 the men^s, being more practical, is in general use 
 to-day. 
 
 Taj ares is the home of '' Our Lady of Health.'' 
 She dispenses that blessing on the fifth of June. 
 
248 A STUDENT IN SALAMANCA 
 
 The road to Taj ares showed thousands of country- 
 folk, mounted and on foot ; but not one hat or 
 bonnet in all the crowd. Handkerchiefs, chiefly 
 black, but some coloured and tied in the simplest 
 fashion, were worn over the head by most elderly 
 women ; but the majority were bareheaded, ex- 
 cepting that they were protected by fine crops of 
 well-dressed hair. Most of those on foot carried 
 yard-long candles. Every horse and mule on the 
 road bore two or more people — a man and his 
 wife and their babe ; mother and daughter ; sister 
 and brother ; or father and daughter sharing the 
 same mount. It is surprising how cleverly the 
 hind seat sticks on to the bare sloping rump of the 
 jog-trot animal. The donkey usually carries but 
 one person, excepting mothers with their nurslings, 
 or three or four children tied pannier-fashion and 
 carried in the alfora — or pannier-bags — on the 
 donkey's back. 
 
 At this feast several men dressed in the '' charro" 
 costume furnished no end of delight to the crowd 
 by their playing and tom-toming of rude dance 
 music. Each player had a large wooden w^histle 
 with a broad mouthpiece and three little key- 
 holes at the opposite end, so that he held and 
 played with one hand ; with the other he cleverly 
 beat a deep side-drum and strutted about with as 
 much display of pride as a Scotch piper. The 
 music and the tune is like one hears from the native 
 peoples of north Africa, something between a drum, 
 a cymbal, and a tambourine led by a piping reed» 
 
A FAIR AND MERRY TIME 249 
 
 This dancing on the west of Spain is evidently 
 very old, and one has only to watch the performers 
 and the merriment to see the beginnings in civilisa- 
 tion. The couples stand up flicking their fingers, 
 and flit about before each other like so many dazed 
 May-flies ; one cannot say they do more, for they 
 neither speak nor smile.; and there is another sign 
 of age in this dance as the man always leads, the 
 woman looking at his feet and imitating his move- 
 ments as best she can, with the result that she is 
 always a little behind time. 
 
 All classes are drawn to seek health at the feast 
 of Taj ares, but the crowd is made up chiefly from 
 the small towns and pueblos within a day or two's 
 journey. Some shepherds and goatherds were here 
 in complete rigs of leather, wool on the skin for 
 jackets, leather breeches laced at the side, leather 
 caps and slippers — ^hat to heels, all self-made 
 garments from the skins and coats of their flocks. 
 Beggars do well at all feasts, for no matter who 
 the patron saint may be he must open the heart. 
 Hence there is no end of vagrants, whose rags and 
 neglected frames are often repellent. The most 
 primitive type of woman here is very small and 
 mean of feature. She is in no way bad or vulgar 
 in appearance, but almost monkey-like in expres- 
 sion. The faces are dark brown, and much of the 
 hair is brown also, black being the least common. 
 The better class of countryman is a fine type with 
 extremely open and frank manners. 
 
 I came here for information, and, if possible, 
 
250 A STUDENT IN SALAMANCA 
 
 to gather wisdom, but though the schools are 
 disappointing, there is something to be gained 
 from my temporary lodging. I have one Rosario 
 for cook and waiting - maid, and after two days 
 or less she is madly jealous of another servant, 
 the mistress of the house, and some women who 
 live on the same floor. Their room is a secret 
 place, and it ought to be, for it can hardly 
 possess windows, though goodness knows where 
 they cannot put them in Spain. I have seen 
 them in floors, and have been asked to believe 
 I could get sufficient light out of a looking-glass, 
 and though one may do so at times, '' the sun's 
 the thing,'' as Shakespeare should have said 
 — and would have had he known me. Anyhow — 
 and it is so built — this house is about ten rooms 
 and cribs deep, measuring it backwards, and the 
 back is another man's wall, and he is mean, and 
 will not let in any light without payment. I have 
 the first room, whence the light comes. The rooms 
 off the passage behind me have doors with a bit of 
 glass in them, but mine is a solid door, and so I 
 shut out all that may be called light. I am in- 
 geniously told to close my window and open the 
 door as '' more wholesome," but in this case I am 
 selfish, stern, and silent. 
 
 But I began with Rosario' s jealousy. It is most 
 pronounced, and if I don't mind she will '' drop " 
 me, and then I may go hang for my tea, shaving- 
 water and such other luxuries as she alone can 
 provide. She asked me if I were '' free," and of 
 
THE WAY OF A WIDOW 251 
 
 course I said Yes ! So was she ! She has been a 
 a widow for two years. It might easily have been 
 twenty-two, for she bears no trace of having loved 
 and lost. In brief, she proposed to me in half a 
 dozen ways, and I had been there but forty hours ! 
 
 The other woman told her I had the " retrato '* 
 of a beautiful lady in my room, and up Rosario 
 came to know the meaning of it. I had forbidden 
 the pair of them to touch or even come near my 
 writing-table, so Rosario stood off and affected a 
 curious yet very complimentary laugh at the por- 
 trait. I went on writing, and said, as if shaping a 
 word for the paper, '' sister,'' and she, imitating 
 my voice to a nicety, '' Ya lo creo ! '' (You'd better 
 believe it !) She is a good sort, and truly human, 
 so I could not be angry or annoyed. I humoured 
 her and said the lady was a dear friend, and some- 
 how Rosario was pacified, but I know she said in 
 her heart — as all women do — '' It can never be the 
 same again ! " 
 
 As I wrote, the second woman came to square 
 my room. She put both elbows on the table beside 
 me, leaned over, picked up the portrait, and said 
 scornfully, '' What is this ? " I answered her as 
 Rosario — a friend. '' Your no via " (sweetheart), 
 said she with a challenge. I laughed, but said 
 nothing, and she went on, '' You are very kind to 
 carry your friend round the world in a sack " — 
 for so she phrases my bag and baggage. I say 
 it is my custom, and she caps it by saying it is a 
 custom of all the world. 
 
252 A STUDENT IN SALAMANCA 
 
 This Salamanca crib is a corker in the matter of 
 distance from the world if one wishes to get there 
 in a hurry. If there were a fire one need not 
 hesitate to drop, for it is barely twenty-five feet 
 to the street, but to walk along and round and 
 down a bit and up a bit, and round again, and then 
 back and then down and then up two steps and 
 then down a flight, and then corkscrew somewhere, 
 and then along — but which way I don't know — 
 and then a glimpse of light and a smell of the street, 
 and then back an exasperatingly long way and 
 into utter darkness again, and then turn and go 
 down four steps, and then into a long passage with 
 a peep-hole at the end, and I walk towards it 
 and discover a piece of glass in a door which opens 
 like a charm if I pull it very hard, and lo, here is 
 daylight, and I am in the street ! 
 
 Now this is no exaggeration, but a description 
 of the puzzle-house I am lodged in in El Corrillo, 
 Salamanca. Any one doubting this narrative 
 had better come and see for himself. One has to 
 write '' himself," because women do not travel 
 alone in Spain — or at least, not for long, and 
 with all the Rosarios it is a miracle that any 
 men do. 
 
 I used to wonder why puzzle-houses were built, 
 but I now conclude it was because the builders 
 grew puzzled over the work and struggled out of 
 the affair as best they could. Then, in Spain, 
 there is the fixed habit of willing parts of houses to 
 different members of the family, and each section 
 
THE SWEETS OF LOVE 253 
 
 doing its best to be independent of and walling 
 off the other. As I have pointed out earlier, 
 my little friend near Malaga has half a kitchen 
 and all the fireplace. Her jealous sister-in-law 
 will not use the fireplace, but she owns the 
 whole of the doorway. My friend Trinidad is 
 beautifully clean in her domestic habits, but the 
 sister-in-law never sweeps her share of the floor 
 space. On the other hand, she uses her share for a 
 fowl-pen, and the '' pen " is plural — a number of 
 portable cages, and they nearly always bar the 
 door. Trinidad asked me, in all seriousness, if I 
 thought her relative who so willed things could 
 ever get out of purgatory, and if so, would he be 
 sent upwards or downwards ? 
 
 I pointed downwards, and Trinny smiled to- 
 wards heaven. 
 
 Two exceedingly neat and good-looking sisters 
 occupy a big room at the back, close under the 
 eaves of this house, and one of them has a lover. 
 This poor wretch has to ask permission to go 
 through a house at the back of ours, in another 
 street, then he has to climb through a shed sky- 
 light, cross two or three rickety roofs, and at last 
 perch on a little sentry-box building beside which 
 flows a malodorous drain, and there he divides 
 his time between balancing himself, holding his 
 nose, and sighing love's old song to the stars and 
 the lady above. 
 
 I am told, for, of course, I do not know, that 
 girls living three or four stories high have a hard 
 
254 A STUDENT IN SALAMANCA 
 
 chance of getting and holding a lover, but I incline 
 to think that even in their case the difficulties of 
 naeeting will not prove insurmountable. 
 
 Where the Spanish girl can have no window or 
 screened door near the ground, or within reach of 
 the lover's eye or ear, her parents will usually ask 
 for a little light to be let in on the subject in the 
 shape of a '' speak and peep " hole in the wall or 
 in the door on a landing or stairway. I have never 
 seen a maiden peeping out of the holes in the walls, 
 which are made to serve for chimneys, but the 
 peculiar position and size of these holes makes one 
 half suspect they are made to assist love at a 
 pinch. 
 
 Rosario is intensely anxious to serve, befriend, 
 and interest me. She is short and plump, and has 
 alert black eyes, which twinkle when they catch 
 mine, and I see her brain working to divine what 
 would be an attractive topic with which to regale 
 me. Sometimes I see she is in trouble with herself, 
 and then I try to help her. One day I told her of 
 what I had seen during a country walk, and it was 
 plain as day she was making a mental pilgrimage 
 during every step of the way. Then I said, '' Oh, 
 where is the battlefield ? '' and her face became a 
 poem of pure delight, for she was able to instruct 
 me ! 
 
 She turned round two or three times in order to 
 get up the necessary steam, then, pointing with 
 two outstretched hands and her head thrown back, 
 she almost laughed out. '' It's here ! — here ! — 
 
LEAVETAKING 255 
 
 right through the wall ! " ''Go along with you ; 
 it was not as far in the town as this that the actual 
 battle was fought I " '' Yes, yes ! " she exclaimed 
 in frantic joy, ''it's here ; the same ! '* " But 
 what battle do you mean, then ? '' " Los gallos '* 
 (the cockpit !), which was really next door, though 
 I had been inquiring for the site of the battle of 
 Salamanca ! I was booked to leave at four o'clock 
 on a raw morning, but Rosario sat fast, like a 
 faithful spaniel, on one of the many stairs, and 
 there shivered till it was time to call me. 
 
 I offered her a little money present, which she 
 took shyly, and then, armed for a final effort, she 
 said, " What do you want to leave me for ? Good- 
 bye, and for six months ! Mind ! No more ! '' 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF THE WEST 
 
 I HAD not been well at Salamanca, and my in- 
 disposition brought me no end of friends. 
 They proved the kindest-hearted crowd, and, 
 although a stranger, I was treated with something 
 like affection. I have no wish to forget Rosario's 
 dark eyes ever looking up and asking what she 
 could do in the way of service. Marianna was 
 equally kind, and I believe she will live long from 
 the health-giving effect of telling — as I heard her 
 about ten times a day — that she had danced with 
 an English caballero on the kitchen floor ! 
 
 After all, I found the battlefield of Salamanca, 
 for I journeyed to Arapiles, and saw the two ridges 
 occupied by the allies when the fight ended. A 
 column on the highest ground where the Duke was 
 hit by a spent bullet commemorates the battle. 
 In a certain book, Thomiere, who led the French, 
 gets killed off early in the day and badly wounded 
 at the close ! Thomiere would excuse the error 
 and be glad to see it that way. 
 
 South of Salamanca the country runs poor till 
 one reaches the Sierras de Grados. These moun- 
 tains rise to over eight thousand feet, and carry 
 
 256 
 
A TURNER PICTURE 257 
 
 heavy snow with here and there steep faces of rock, 
 and gorges black as night from the cold sweat of 
 the snows thawing on the sunlit heights. I met 
 one little wolf here, and he was by far the most 
 timid of us, for he scurried up a long, bare slope, 
 where, out of range, he crouched and surveyed his 
 enemy. After climbing to a cold and windy 
 height a train bore me through a tunnel and out 
 on the southern side of the mountains, where all 
 was in entire contrast to the bleak and sterile 
 hills and wild plains of the north. All the south 
 was forested with ash and oak, sweet chestnuts, 
 walnuts, and giant cherry trees in full fruit and 
 covered with leaves of great size and most delicate 
 green ; and looking down were hedged and walled 
 fields, peasants garnering hay, and villages of red 
 and white perched on crags and tucked away in 
 blue hollows among the hills. And further on 
 were valleys streaked with streams ; gay orchards, 
 and little plots of ripening grain ; and far away 
 were glinting rivers and mills and grey towns peer- 
 ing through heated mist and arcs of rainbow 
 light ; and to one side of the world were gathering 
 clouds, and the threat of storm, all exactly as in 
 a Turner picture. At the height whence I moved 
 the air was pure and invigorating, but the scene 
 was so vast and strong, and good, and all so lovely 
 that it produced a real pain of heart. It took 
 fully two hours to descend to the hot, dry plains 
 towards Placencia, and over all the way I was 
 treated to the most beautiful natural scenery and 
 
258 THE PLEASURES OF THE WEST 
 
 charming of peasant homes and employments. 
 The people are of medium size, clean and intelli- 
 gent ; a true mountain t3^pe. The Portugal oak 
 gi'ows wild in this region, and the pink — small, 
 but truly pink in colour — ^is so prolific as to smother 
 the rocks on which it grows. The mulleins are 
 tall, branchy, and more decorative than those of 
 northern countries ; the colour, too, is better — a 
 deep orange to a rich sulphur-yellow, and the 
 flowers extra large. 
 
 The main traverse line of these mountains, 
 known as Tras de Sierra, is broidered with tiny 
 lane-like fields, winding between the rocks and 
 gorges, supplied mth rich red soil from the heights 
 above. The haystacks are built round poles stuck 
 in the ground in the corners of the hedged and 
 walled enclosures. From the centre pole others 
 hang round like the ribs of an umbrella, and by 
 their weight keep the stack proof against rain and 
 wind. A bunch of green oak boughs, which has for 
 a penny or more been blessed by the priest, is tied 
 on the top to keep off the evil e3'e and the \\Tath 
 of God. 
 
 Xo land offers more complete contrasts than 
 Spain. This region is not merely beautiful, but in 
 an agricultural sense rich and inexhaustible, and 
 all its people busy and content, yet fifty miles 
 south, on the low, hot plains of clay, and the 
 shingle and sand-drifts of ancient rivers, the people 
 are hopelessly poor and the villages pictures of 
 abject misery. 
 
CLEAN CASCERES 259 
 
 Casceres was my objective, and for no more 
 definable reason than that it was the birthplace of 
 Dona Maria, the great lady with whom I shared a 
 summer in the valley. Round Casceres the country 
 has a starved and churlish look, but it contains 
 some excellent grain lands, is famed for the pigs 
 and bacon it yields, and has grown into prominence 
 for its phosphate and lime deposits. Here, again, 
 one sees the widest contrast in the types of people 
 and their habitations. The country-folk are small, 
 but beautifully formed, quiet, and gracious ; but 
 there is a group at Ourdes who are known as 
 savages, as they live without love or licence, and 
 have an unenviable reputation for thieving and 
 cunning. 
 
 Casceres rambles over two or three gentle hills 
 and hollows, and is immaculately clean. History 
 sayeth that several hundred years ago Estrama- 
 dura was almost depopulated by a plague. As 
 much may be said of every city and region of 
 ancient renown. But plague or no plague, Cas- 
 ceres is to-day clean enough to deserve to escape 
 every form of contagion, for there is not a dirty 
 street, house, individual, or garment. At first I 
 thought they had heard I was coming, and fur- 
 bished up the fronts, feeling sure that the crowds 
 would prevent my seeing the backs ; but no — for 
 the houses have no backs, all sides butting on to 
 streets or patios which are pictures, clean and 
 pleasing. 
 
 The town is a veritable museum of old stones. 
 
26o THE PLEASURES OF THE WEST 
 
 and the stones are of the everlasting kind — hard, 
 grey, mica-spangled granite — and where they have 
 been leaned against, rubbed against, and blown 
 against, and sun-scorched, and trodden under foot 
 for a round four hundred years they have not 
 lost the marks of the chiselling and hammering 
 they received from the hands which wrought 
 them for the building and paving of this old place. 
 Judged from any standpoint this is a rare spot, 
 and one sees how much depends on the raw 
 material available for the building of towns. 
 
 I used to blame the Spaniards and other southern 
 people for making bad bricks, but now I know that 
 it is largely a question of fuel. They can make the 
 finest of tiles, because their thinness admits of 
 proper baking, and where they have the fuel they 
 make good bricks ; but the mere trash of the vine- 
 yards, olive-groves, and brush-covered hills holds 
 not the heat necessary to make heavy and hard 
 bricks in all regions ; this is why so many houses 
 and towns look ramshackle and ruinous. 
 
 Casceres holds fuel and clay which provide 
 beautiful terra-cotta, coarse kinds of pottery, and 
 very hard bricks ; but with wealth at command, 
 granite was used to fashion this city, which, built 
 four to five hundred years ago, may stand another 
 thousand and show no more than a dignified age. 
 The Moors built here, but their soft brick and con- 
 crete and adobe erections were mere trash beside 
 the grand old houses of their conquerors. Granite 
 Casceres dates from the discovery of America. 
 
LOVELY WOMEN 261 
 
 Pissaro and Cortes were both of this region, and 
 nearly all the fine old houses were reared by 
 pioneer families who returned wealth-laden to this 
 part of Spain. The Moors left a fine feature in the 
 little pepper-box towers, and the Spaniards have 
 improved on these by converting them into chim- 
 neys, so that they are the most distinctive and 
 pleasing feature of the old houses. 
 
 The women of Casceres have remarkably even 
 features, and some are perfectly lovely. Three 
 distinct groups are seen, ladies, middle-class, and 
 peasants, and not the slightest sign on the part 
 of those below imitating the dress and airs of 
 those above. The general appearance is Andalu- 
 sian, but shorn of its astuteness and caution ; the 
 walk is firmer, owing to a more invigorating cli- 
 mate, and the eyes and hair are not black, flashing, 
 or melting in the semi-theatrical way of the south- 
 east. There is a good deal of freedom given to 
 women, and no cynical replies are made to honest 
 remarks — a pronounced and unpleasant habit of 
 Levantine Spain, where women desire compli- 
 ments, but doubt their sincerity. Hence their 
 language and attitude often border on the offen- 
 sive where one feels one has spoken in good faith. 
 
 In Casceres is no sign of business ; no one seems 
 to desire more of anything. As a community it 
 is self-contained, and there is no competition 
 or concern for the outside world. The children 
 have intelligent and happy faces, and the little 
 crowd which fills the main street and the plaza in 
 
/ 
 
 262 THE PLEASURES OF THE WEST 
 
 the evening and far into the night are so attrac- 
 tive in all ways as to be worth a pilgrimage to see. 
 Then one is helped by things absent — there is such 
 complete rest, such proof of the means to live with- 
 out strife and desperate energy. In the poorer 
 parts the street scenes are quite Eastern, for the 
 walls carry devices in palm branches and dragons, 
 and the black hand, which keeps off the evil eye, 
 is drawn in charcoal on the whitewashed walls. 
 Then the women carry everything on their heads ; 
 pitchers, baskets, bundles of wood, washing, mar- 
 ket produce, poultry and hawkers' wares of all 
 kinds are carried aloft. The favourite drinking- 
 water is drawn from a fountain to one side of the 
 town, and at all hours a stream of women and girls 
 go to and fro with immense pitchers cleverly 
 balanced on the side, when empty, and borne 
 erect on the head when full. The pitcher borne 
 aloft improves the carriage of the head and body. 
 Grace of movement left the English when they left 
 off wearing the sword. So long as there was a 
 weapon to take hold of, an enemy was possible, 
 and some occasion for alertness, a fine stride and 
 set face. The clanking and the care of the weapon 
 imposed certain movements, all graceful and in- 
 dicative of courage and strength. Neither the 
 staff, stick, nor umbrella have succeeded in main- 
 taining a good carriage. 
 
 I verily believe that man looks his best when 
 conscious that he has genuine enemies and a 
 weapon about him. 
 
WATER-CARRIERS' WALK 263 
 
 The pitcher-pad is a heavy ring of black, red and 
 yellow flannel plaited to produce a square pattern. 
 A loose loop hangs from this over the neck of 
 the wearer, and it forms a distinctive head-dress, 
 many going about the house in seeming uncon- 
 sciousness that they are so adorned. The loop is 
 brightened by two or three yellow rosettes, making 
 it as much of an ornament as a convenience. The 
 hair of these water-carriers is all done alike, drawn 
 straight back and coiled high as a wisp that it may 
 act as a support for the ring and the pitcher. The 
 local ear-rings are of gold and Moorish in design, 
 though the people say that they passed into Spain 
 from the neighbouring country of Portugal. 
 Every girl's ambition is to earn a pair of these huge 
 ear-rings ; they cost ten duros, or nearly two 
 pounds, and lace-making is the most certain means 
 of acquiring the money. Many women and girls 
 go bare-footed ; one elderly woman said she had 
 never worn foot-gear; consequently the feet are 
 large, but all have very graceful figures. 
 
 I had expected Casceres to furnish some inter- 
 esting interiors in the way of fittings and utensils, 
 but its primitive character attracted the northern 
 curiosity buyer, and he has done his work well. 
 Every house and shop has been deprived of all 
 light and transportable materials, and refitted 
 with stuff made in Germany, America, or else- 
 where outside Spain. Excepting food-stuffs, al- 
 most everything found in the houses and the shops 
 hails from abroad. The dress of the well-to-do is 
 
264 THE PLEASURES OF THE WEST 
 
 a mixture of English, French, and German, with a 
 tang from Madrid, and a braiding from Morocco ; 
 thus Casceres is a strange combination of things 
 new and old, but it possesses the charm of quiet 
 born of a genuine indifference to outside concerns. 
 An impressive shrine is found at the Virgin del 
 Monte ; a series of granite crosses mark the way, 
 and a little church is built out on a ledge of rock. 
 There is also a rough amphitheatre in the open 
 air, and a wrought-iron pulpit, whence the canon 
 of Casceres preaches a sermon at the feast of the 
 Virgin in April. 
 
 The people of Casceres impress one as unusually 
 good-natured. It does one good not to feel obliged 
 to die with a poor opinion of human nature. At 
 Casceres, because the cochero told me so to do, 
 I beat down the posadero fifty cents a day, and he 
 retaliated by placing on my plate food of far 
 higher value than the money I was paying him ! 
 Then they gave me the best room in the house and 
 got in a boy specially to look after me. I own to 
 hating the boy; he was good-looking, clean, but 
 all too attentive, too beastly kind ! He called me 
 '' Little gentleman," and not infrequently '' Poor 
 little fellow." 
 
 I was not very well, and taking heavy doses of 
 quinine to keep off a cold, but I felt more afraid 
 of the fever which raged under the patronage of 
 this boy. The hostess was exceedingly kind, and 
 a good cook. She had a baby two months old, and a 
 little girl of three or four, and when I realised that 
 
A SON OF STOUT CORTES 265 
 
 I was little less than a parasite in the house I went 
 forth and bought shoes and cap for the baby, and 
 sweets and a doll for the little girl. There was 
 nothing grasping about mine host and his wife ; 
 but the boy seemed to scent the Bank of England 
 in me, and he never failed to point out the con- 
 trast between his own cotton garments and mine, 
 which were of wool. Like Maria, he found fault 
 with me, or rather with my shabby clothes — ^he 
 told me that his figure would set off any clothes of 
 mine, and he would do his best to preserve my 
 memory after I had left Casceres. This would be 
 an idle tale, save that he told it in a way that was 
 at once exasperating and irresistible. Every time 
 he put a plate before me he would, with his fingers, 
 sample its contents as a proof of its genuineness. 
 In some circumstances I would have cleared him 
 out, plate and all ; but I confess to falling under 
 his spell. He had an audacity that was for once 
 good to see. He would put his arms round my 
 shoulders and hug me, telling me I would never 
 grow fat unless I took his advice. As the meal 
 drew to an end he would fetch his own plate from 
 the kitchen and, sitting opposite, show me by 
 speech, gesture, and genuine action how to put 
 away a square meal. Towards the end of my stay 
 I grew to dislike him cordially, and yet I felt he 
 was good at heart, so I surprised myself into 
 giving him the clothes which he had set his heart 
 upon. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 A pilgrim's dole 
 
 AFTER wandering over Portugal I went on to 
 ^ Galicia, entering Spain where the ]^Iinho 
 forms the boundary between the two countries. 
 An estuary runs inland for about twenty miles 
 before the river assumes its fresh-water character, 
 and the scenes around this estuary are of great 
 beauty. Much of the land runs up into high 
 natural towers of rock, and some of these are 
 castle- and fort-crowned. In the more generous 
 lowlands are handsome private houses, and do- 
 mains and comfortable farmsteads by the hundred 
 peep out from among woods of deep green. 
 Where the country is more open the grape-vine 
 clambers, or there is corn or meadow land. Thou- 
 sands of cots, red and white, are dotted over an 
 immense sloping area, so that it appears to be 
 under a summer snowstorm. Here and there are 
 little towns and villages, and about them are 
 more fields and woods. Roads and lanes wind 
 temptingly across the hills, and man is every- 
 where busy among the crops. On the wide watery 
 plain, ships are gliding or lying idle in the little 
 bays ; and out towards the west some craft have 
 
 266 
 
A SUMMER DAY 267 
 
 their sails set and are flying with golden wings 
 in the face of the sun. Many little black and sun- 
 warped boats lie in the shadows by the shore. 
 There are jetties, ferries, bridges, fishing- villages, 
 and near to each a patchwork ot cultivated land 
 and glistening lines where the crops are receiving 
 irrigation water. All the unfilled land is covered 
 with flowers, and there is a hum of bees and flies, 
 all of which proclaim it summer-time. And, 
 should we doubt the fact, there are many tired 
 husbandmen and women, and innumerable don- 
 keys, mules, goats, and sheep enjoying rest in 
 quiet shade. 
 
 One needs no more than time to see these things 
 and then to say, '' Life is good." So after a day 
 spent in complete idleness at the mouth of the 
 Minho, I went on to Tuy, where the scenery was 
 possibly more lovely. 
 
 From Tuy to Redondela, which is near Vigo, 
 the road makes iaint with too much sweet ; no 
 mounts and hills, trees, and floods have ever com- 
 bined to make a more perfect natural garden. 
 The highest country is bare — all the soil washed 
 into the vales, where boulders project above tall 
 trees, and yet for some reason they look no more 
 than pebbles. The people put their houses along- 
 side these enormous water-worn stones, and often 
 paint and whitewash them in parts till one has 
 to look carefully to make sure which is the boulder 
 and which the house. Then they train vines over 
 the house and over the boulder too ; and either 
 
268 A PILGRIM'S DOLE 
 
 paint or put wood or stone crosses on the houses 
 and on the boulders too ; also, in growing their 
 trees and vines and maize they produce schemes 
 in colour and form of which the boulders are the 
 essence ; and so we get a series of pictures 
 which probably have no equal of their kind in 
 Europe. 
 
 These Galegans employ the same materials as 
 the Japanese, and are stone- worshippers. The 
 green lakes of maize and rice rising out of the 
 sludge of the vales are also of the East. Above 
 them are terraced fields and quaint wooden houses 
 embowered in vines, wistaria, and honeysuckle, 
 all rank but splendid. Water is heard at times, 
 but seldom seen, for it is so well guarded and kept 
 to use that it flows almost everywhere under dense 
 vegetation ; but all is so green, so jubilant and 
 tense with life, one wants no more. It is the 
 greenest of green worlds. The thrift of the pea- 
 sants is so pronounced, they provide no yards or 
 open spaces near their houses and arrange their 
 stacks of corn round high poles ; and towards the 
 end of summer the stacks are covered with vines, 
 so that there is not an inch of exposed and unused 
 space. One may go through scores of villages and 
 little towns, and see thousands of isolated cottages 
 and all their inhabitants toiling amid this wealth 
 of green. 
 
 Redondela is a paradise of a town when seen 
 from a high bridge which spans a ravine. It is 
 broken into sections by the inroads of the sea and 
 
THE BLESSED GIFT OF TEARS 269 
 
 the outpourings of the torrents from the local 
 mountains. From the high bridge one looks down 
 on castles and crags, lines of cottages, and tiny 
 islands which appear as slumbering mammoths in 
 the land-locked bays. Then there are streaks of 
 river water, salt reaches and coves, and, at low 
 tide, marshes with hurrying and draining streams 
 without number. I came down a hill road to see 
 all this in a flash ; and as I looked, the variety and 
 the glory grew, until I was almost sick at heart ; 
 and, as a short way out of the difficulty, I cried, 
 and then was happy, and began to see more, and 
 wonder more, and to take deep breaths. I felt 
 there could be nothing in the world worth grieving 
 about, for I stood in the presence of the beautiful 
 and the best. Involuntarily I said aloud, '' I can 
 make a home here," and it is well if we make such 
 utterances at times, for nothing can be more com- 
 forting than to feel safe and at home. It was 
 two hours to nightfall, and I went on by the old 
 town and the streams, crossing these by high 
 bridges all bathed in a mellow and joyous light ; 
 and just as the sun sank behind deep purple hills 
 I arrived at — Arcade ! Accidental or implied it is 
 well-named — a little town by river and seashore, 
 with a long, finely arched bridge spanning the 
 inlet by which it rests — a grey rookery on a steep 
 hill-side. Far above rises a mount supporting a 
 cross, some towering cypress and white stones to 
 mark the pilgrim's way. Women shrimpers were 
 wading to their waists in the salt water of the 
 
270 A PILGRIM'S DOLE 
 
 narrow streams, all anxious to get home to the 
 bosom of their great mother before the night 
 should come. This evening revealed a truly 
 golden west ; whilst a band of purple lay across a 
 range of southern hills. 
 
 And so from one glory to another I passed till 
 I reached Pontevedra, which, if not exactly the 
 home of the gods, is an attractive spot for a travel- 
 tired, hungry man. Surely, the little unsought 
 things provide the great comforts in life. Ponte- 
 vedra water makes one's skin feel like silk — with 
 little or no soap any dirt falls away, and the body 
 is swathed in a strange smooth exhilaration. I 
 never laved, towelled, and combed my hair with 
 such downright pleasure. At first I attributed this 
 to the relief of a long and crowded day ; but no 1 
 morn, noon, and night, the water was a luxury ; 
 and on paying a second visit the charm seemed 
 greater than before. The water is conducted 
 in clay pipes from a spring in the hills. All 
 metal conduits destroy the pure freshness of 
 water. 
 
 This town has a population of nine thousand, 
 and though it is old-fashioned and quiet it pro- 
 vides more solid entertainment than most British 
 communities with ten times the number of people. 
 As usual there are several clubs and public cafes 
 where good music may be heard the year round, 
 and the price tuppence-ha'penny ! Here is a pro- 
 gramme : — 
 
A LATE DINNER 271 
 
 CAFE MENDEZ— NUNEZ 
 
 PROGRAMA 
 
 Para Hoy 16 De Julio De 1909 
 
 1. Cuando el Amor Muere. — Wals. 
 
 2. Paragraph III. — Sinfonia. 
 
 3. Pagliacci. — Fantasia. 
 
 4. Una nit de Albaes. 
 
 5. Marcha Larenna. 
 
 The discomforts associated with Spanish travel 
 are due chiefly to the constant changing of the 
 meal hours, the food, and the water. At Ponte- 
 vedra, breakfast is supposed to be served at one 
 o'clock, and dinner at nine ; but they are never 
 up to time. One evening it was eleven before the 
 dinner appeared, and as there was nowhere to go 
 after this late meal, nothing remained but to sleep 
 on a full stomach. Many of the small farms and 
 vineries hereabouts look like graveyards, for 
 granite is split into long shafts and used as posts 
 to form pergolas for the vines. The Spaniards of 
 this region resemble British islanders, their phy- 
 sique, dress, and employments are all like our 
 own. Moreover, they play football and cricket, 
 and their outlook is towards the north rather than 
 to their Spanish relations in the east and south. 
 
 This part of Spain has some excellent roads, and 
 the scenery and general attractions are so varied 
 that it is well worth the visit of the motorist. In 
 
272 A PILGRIM'S DOLE 
 
 summer the climate is lovely, and the roads quite 
 equal to the need of those who travel for some- 
 thing more than the exhilaration of rushing 
 through the air. Spain is no place for those who 
 would hurry ; and no matter where one would 
 learn, to enjoy he must go slowly ; thus far I 
 have met no motorists who have seen, felt, or 
 come to possess anything by their travels. They 
 made too much pace. 
 
 Always a pilgrim, I turned towards Santiago de 
 Compostella, the greatest of Spanish shrines and 
 for centuries the sanctuary of the Christian world. 
 St. James is said to have arrived in a cockle-shell 
 on the coast of Galicia, and carried on a mission 
 in Spain. In the eighth century his bones were 
 found in a wood on the site of the city of Santiago. 
 A bishop was fortunate enough to make this dis- 
 covery ; and creating a shrine, it became the 
 most renowned in Europe. 
 
 To tell the plain truth about Santiago, it is in 
 few things remarkable ; the cathedral and some 
 other ecclesiastical buildings are certainly mag- 
 nificent, and as much may be said for some of the 
 streets. But though the site is picturesque, the 
 setting does not inspire devotional feelings. Com- 
 merce has long dominated the place, and there is 
 an alertness and money-making air about it un- 
 usual to Spain. Chimneys, of an immense size, 
 rise above many houses, running up like roofless 
 chambers, and all black because beyond the reach 
 of the whitewash brush. In shape and proportion 
 
TAKING A HOLIDAY 273 
 
 these chimneys are distinctly ugly ; they are men- 
 tioned only because chimneys are rarely seen in 
 Spain. 
 
 I came here for the feast of Santiago, and got it 
 in the form of a piece of bread, for I was promptly 
 clapped in the lock-up, I had found a lodging, and 
 was prowling round when a town guard inquired, 
 '* Pregunto yo ? '' — I ask. I answered satis- 
 factorily, but the town guard was a fool, and took 
 me to the carcel — lock-up. The King was ex- 
 pected, and I was regarded as a suspicious charac- 
 ter who might have designs on His Majesty. 
 
 The heat at the time was sickening, and the 
 carcel so cool, clean, and airy that I was glad to 
 be there. As they took my pocket-book and pencil 
 from me I was unable to write, so I enjoyed a rest 
 and fell back upon similar experiences ; but the 
 only one I will mention coincides with this. 
 
 Two young German mechanics decided on a 
 working holiday in Spain. They imagined they 
 could get employment in the principal towns and 
 earn enough to enable them to see the country. 
 This is quite impossible, since Spanish workmen 
 are competent to do the work of their own land ; 
 and unless a man is called for some special task 
 he should never persuade himself that he can earn 
 a bare subsistence by hand labour in Spain. But 
 the Germans had the courage of youth. They 
 went to Barcelona, which was cosmopolitan enough 
 to provide them with a few weeks' work, and then 
 they started for the south. For over four months 
 
274 A PILGRIM'S DOLE 
 
 they wandered, visiting scores of towns and hun- 
 dreds of villages, carrying a good-sized pack and 
 keeping a splendid face. They did any number 
 of little jobs for the peasants, in return for bread 
 and keeping their hands in trim ; but not a single 
 penny did they earn over all the long journey be- 
 tween Barcelona and Seville. Here their luck 
 changed, for a man engaged them at once. They 
 were half-starved, hard, sun-browned little men, 
 who stood more in need of a week's good feeding 
 and complete rest than long days of hard labour 
 under a southern sun; but they had great pluck and 
 entered on their task at once. They had one good 
 meal, followed by four or six hours' hard work, 
 and then the police came and without any parley- 
 ing marched the pair of them off to the carcel ! Here 
 they were kept for a fortnight, and given but the 
 meanest of vegetable soup and a bit of bread every 
 twenty-four hours. And their offence ? The King 
 was coming to Seville, and they were foreign sus- 
 pects ! The King came, and the King went in the 
 course of three or four days ; but as it took a 
 week or more to discuss the event, the poor Ger- 
 mans were forgotten and confined for a full fort- 
 night ; then told they were harmless, addressed 
 as '' gentlemen," and invited to '' Go with God ! " 
 I met them on a road more than two hundred 
 miles from accursed Seville, and in all the land 
 they had found no other job. They were making 
 back for Barcelona by the Mediterranean coast 
 route ; and after describing some of their adven- 
 
A PRISONER OF STATE 275 
 
 tares, one of them ended by remarking, '* He had 
 had enough of Spain, and would be glad to get 
 back to Europe ! '' 
 
 For myself, I had no fears in the carcel of 
 Santiago. When I had grown cool and refreshed I 
 made a noise and demanded to see some authority. 
 There is no scarcity of this commodity in Spain. 
 The Spanish ego is the biggest thing in the country. 
 A sergeant came and wanted to argue, and tell 
 me I must obey and be silent ; but I would 
 neither. I demanded a higher authority. He 
 said, '' I am the highest '' ; and I, '' No, you are 
 the lowest." In fear and disgust, he brought a 
 glorified kind of clerk, and when I had sized him 
 up I demanded some one higher. It was then 
 the inspector's turn, and fortunately for me this 
 worthy was on hand. He told me to be '' pacific," 
 that the best had been done for me, and that I 
 was quite safe. But I did not want to be safe, and 
 I would not be " pacific." I demanded to see the 
 alcalde — the mayor — who is a direct government 
 official and vested with far greater powers than 
 our own representatives. My audacity annoyed 
 the inspector ; but he was at the same time fas- 
 cinated by it, for Spaniards love courage, and even 
 braggadocio captivates and beats them. It was 
 now evening, but still hot outside, and the whole 
 crowd of officials conversed of the danger of ap- 
 pealing to the alcalde until quite sure there had 
 been a natural termination to his siesta. But as 
 they could not confine me beyond hearing, I kept 
 
2/6 A PILGRIM'S DOLE 
 
 up a running fire until a civil guard was despatched 
 to the house of the alcalde. When he came the 
 situation changed at once, for he knew me ! At a 
 southern town I had been taken to a club, and 
 had talked with some of its members. The alcalde 
 of Santiago chanced to be there, and we recognised 
 each other at once. There was a good laugh on 
 both sides ; he called me amigo — friend — and all 
 that remained was to drink each other's health in 
 cafe. 
 
 So I got my liberty, but during the remaining 
 days I was constantly appealed to by police in 
 uniform and civihan dress with " Pregunto yo ? " 
 This was most unusual, for though my wanderings 
 in Spain run to many thousands of miles, and 
 though I have been imprisoned over and over 
 again, and as frequently taken for a spy, I was 
 never before subjected to this running inquiry 
 from the police of a city. I can recall at least half 
 a dozen towns where I have been visiting at the 
 same time as the King, but my familiarity with the 
 crowd and the customs has allowed me to pass un- 
 challenged. 
 
 If the feast of Santiago is always carried out 
 during such sickening hot weather as I experienced 
 then, it must test the zeal of the rehgious pilgrim. 
 Talk of a shrine of salvation ! the idea of hell must 
 have been invented here ! Pilgrims of all types 
 have come in thousands, and during the daytime 
 they wear an expression of fear, so intense is the 
 heat. This may be but a heat wave, for the popula- 
 
MAKING THE BEST OF IT 277 
 
 tion is sturdy and masculine. Ford condemns the 
 women of this province for looking like hags at 
 thirty ; I wonder they are not hags at thirteen, 
 for they are drudging continually, and in this 
 withering heat they are the only folk on the move 
 — women hawking fruits and fish, driving pigs and 
 donkeys, carrying enormous bright steel water- 
 vessels, and sweeping the streets. These are the 
 Amazons of Spain. One cannot accuse the men of 
 being idle, but their employments take them away, 
 and all the hard work is done by the women. One 
 notes a masculine form of competition amongst 
 them too, even to arguing for first place with the 
 pitcher at the well. Slave-like labour imposes 
 untidy habits, and there is little display of pride 
 in the arrangement of the hair and dress of the 
 poorer class. 
 
 I have often had to complain of the Spanish pig ; 
 in Santiago he is my nearest neighbour. 
 
 Mazarelos, number seven, 
 May to many a soul be Heaven ; 
 Certainly the handmaid's pretty, 
 And she charms with eye and ditty ; 
 Likewise she is sweet and kind, 
 A merry maid to love inclined. 
 She gave me every need and favour, 
 And vowed her service beggars labour. 
 She praised me for my gracious smile, 
 And thought me like her Queen — no guile ! 
 And though she may be wrong to blazes, 
 I do not care what he or she says. 
 This girl, she felt she spoke the truth ; 
 So God be thanked I knew such youth ; 
 But here I meant to say no more 
 
278 A PILGRIM'S DOLE 
 
 That just as many times before 
 
 I came to lodge and sleep with swine, 
 
 Or lie awake and hear them whine. 
 
 For och ! and at my very nose 
 
 And round about, and near my toes. 
 
 The pigsty e wrack and odour flows ! 
 
 It's just a custom, nothing more, 
 
 To keep pigs on the basement floor ; 
 
 And if the pigs complain and swear, 
 
 They place them further up the stair ; 
 
 And my complaint brings, " Lawks-a-mussy, 
 
 Why are you foreigners so fussy ? " 
 
 So here am I in pilgrim guise 
 
 Sleeping between two foul pigstyes, 
 
 Which if they do not make me sick 
 
 Will drive me onwards pretty quick ! 
 
 God bles- the little pink-cheeked girl 
 Whose lip has such a roguish curl ! 
 God smooth her pillow many a year 
 And keep the pigs from scaring her ! 
 
 Lovers may walk alone in Galicia, and in the 
 towns well-dressed men are seen strolling with 
 peasant maidens who come to the feast in the 
 simplest style of dress with a pale yellow or white 
 handkerchief tied over the head. A little shawl 
 over the shoulders is brought under the arms and 
 tied into a bow at the waist, whence hang two long 
 tails. This type of peasant is always seen with a 
 pigtail or fiat plait of hair. 
 
 When three people are walking together it is a 
 compliment to be forced into the centre position. 
 In a Santiago street were three elderly fat and 
 pompous men, forming a triangle, bowing, and 
 
THE MIDDLE COURSE 279 
 
 pointing with great animation at the spot of earth 
 between them. As there are no strangers in Spain 
 I came up with, '' What's the trouble ? " and all 
 said in chorus, '' The fault is that Don So-and-so 
 won't take the middle/' This was not news to me, 
 and I had the rudeness to laugh and to say, '' How 
 silly ! " Then they all turned upon me with in- 
 dignation, and, '' Oh, yes, you English, you take 
 anything ! " Then I laughed again and called 
 them friends, and as one fat old chap got up along- 
 side me, the other two walked behind ; as couples 
 there was no occasion for dispute. 
 
 I can say no more than that I have seen Santi- 
 ago, for I had no fine feelings there, and where one 
 does not feel one does not live. The patron saint 
 of Spain might easily be accommodated in a 
 hundred places far more beautiful and hallowed. 
 The town is quiet because the streets are too 
 narrow for wheel or pack-animal traffic ; in fact, 
 there are no animals except the pig, but him we 
 smell, if we do not see him, everywhere. The 
 prettiest thing I saw was a church procession of 
 little girls dressed as brides, and carrying candles 
 tall as themselves, which melted and tumbled 
 about under the hot sun. A band of three bag- 
 pipes and two little drums supplied the march 
 music. There was little in the picture excepting 
 that it was very old, quaint, and appealing. 
 
 Society foregathers at Santiago as a health resort 
 and place of love- and merry-making ; fully twenty 
 thousand handsome men and women, all beauti- 
 
28o A PILGRIM'S DOLE 
 
 fully dressed, may be seen promenading through 
 the cool evenings and far into the night. 
 
 Any true pilgrim arriving at feast time might 
 write : 
 
 "From all these eyes and/tz;^farago 
 Save me, O Lord, from Santiago ! " 
 
 For it is truly Fashion's shrine, and the crowd 
 worships this goddess. The few earnest pilgrims 
 are unseen, and the church bells, processions, and 
 hogsheads of holy water are as nothing to the 
 fireworks, bands, and jubilation of those who come 
 for pleasure. Night after night I went out in 
 search of something which would quieten my soul, 
 for I was disturbed at finding so much worldliness 
 at this reputed greatest of shrines. But seek as I 
 would, I could find nothing to reverence ; nothing 
 mysterious or splendid, holy or blessed. 
 
 No pilgrim to Santiago but seeks his compostella 
 or passport. This consists of a gold or silver medal, 
 with a figure of the cathedral on one side, and on the 
 other, St. lago on a prancing horse, with flaming 
 sword beating down a host of infidel Moors. When 
 it was a custom for all devout Catholics to go on 
 pilgrimage, wills were often drawn to the effect 
 that should the heir fail to make a pilgrimage to 
 Santiago and obtain his compostella he would be 
 disinherited. As customs die hard, more especially 
 in Spain, no visitor to the shrine but seeks an 
 amulet. The medal is bought in the town, then 
 carried to a priest or higher dignitary, who, for a 
 consideration, which he styles '' a regard," blesses 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE SHELL 281 
 
 the compostella and its owner. A cord is attached, 
 and it is supposed to be worn evermore round the 
 neck. 
 
 Other medals show the tomb of St. lago lit by 
 a star ; others bear St. lago's cross ; one is in 
 the form of a concha — shell — with the Ano Santo — 
 year of pilgrimage. 
 
 Out of this legend of the shell-boat of Santiago 
 arose the custom of ornamenting the habits of 
 pilgrims with shells, but the race of eccentrics is 
 practically extinct. A solitary beggar does a trade 
 in the precincts of the cathedral by parading in a 
 ragged brown cloak overlaid with shells, with a 
 band of them about his neck and round the brim 
 of his hat. 
 
 A farmer said, whilst scratching at a bit of sour 
 soil, which I remarked needed a rest. '' Ah, sefior, 
 is the land to rest that I may starve ? No ; there 
 is no rest for anything in Galicia ! '' Although so 
 attractive to the eye, Galicia is poor, and labour 
 is limited to the valleys, which hold but little good 
 soil. The hills and mountains are irretrievably 
 bare; and if the farming methods are old-fashioned, 
 one does not see that there would be any solid ad- 
 vantage by modernising them. 
 
 In their domestic habits the Galicians are not so 
 clean as some of their neighbours ; but that is 
 because they are not so well off, and water is 
 scarce, or dear, which is the same. The country 
 villages are composed of low stone cots or hovels ; 
 nearly all are detached. The people are of medium 
 
282 A PILGRIM'S DOLE 
 
 size, well formed, and never a mean walk or hard 
 face is seen amongst them. The women wear 
 their hair in a wisp, pigtail fashion, or with two 
 narrow plaits behind the ears ; none of them 
 have any fringe or foretopsail of a striking and 
 alluring kind. They are more like the Cornish 
 and Welsh peasantry than any other people. 
 These are the reputed boors of Spain, but they do 
 not deserve the harsh name. If quiet obedience 
 to the laws of nature has made them wilhng, un- 
 complaining slaves, one may call them boors and 
 fools, but they are neither ; they have plenty of 
 sense, and know that Httle is gained by growling 
 and opposing. From one end of the pro\dnce to 
 the other, one discerns nothing boorish or dis- 
 tinctly objectionable ; they are so hard worked as 
 to have little or no spirit left in them. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 BY OUR LADY OF THE ROAD 
 
 A FTER the fashion and worldHness of Santiago 
 l\ at feast time, one is glad to know the peace 
 attendant on the banks of a beautiful river. The 
 Sar is worthy of this name, the Minho and Sil even 
 more so. I traversed the last of these for some hun- 
 dreds of kilometres, and though I gathered nothing 
 of a striking character, I acquired all I needed in a 
 sense of security and time to commune with my- 
 self. The Sil whirls by bare and rugged mountains, 
 through highland plains, and halts to form reaches 
 in numberless gorges and little vales. Villages are 
 few and far between, and thousands of square 
 miles are seen without sufficient natural wealth 
 to develop and maintain anything approaching a 
 town. It is about two hundred and fifty miles 
 from Vigo to Leon, and throughout this distance 
 only Orense, Ponferada, and Astorga may be 
 classed as towns, and they are but small. The 
 villagers are primitive and unalterable, for in such 
 a thinly populated and rugged land there are no 
 means of change. The costumes are but necessary 
 garments, for it takes some means and pride of 
 place to evolve a local dress. Throughout the 
 
 283 
 
284 BY OUR LADY OF THE ROAD 
 
 region drained by the Sil there is little soil, ex- 
 cepting the scour and drift deposits it has made. 
 
 The villages are built largely of wood, for chest- 
 nut trees are common in the hills, and rudely 
 hewn timber is arranged to form wide eaves and 
 hanging verandahs. Most of the roofs are of black 
 slate, or are flat stone slabs. There is no order in 
 the building of houses or villages ; but a state of 
 disorder at once stupid, untidy, and charmingly 
 picturesque. The churches are laughable, groggy 
 little affairs, built by the villagers without con- 
 sulting architect, history-book, or their own in- 
 telligence. All are small, some are the merest 
 cots. These quaint churches bear evidence of 
 great age, and wear a truly hallowed aspect, so 
 grey and sleepy. Where soft-baked tiles have 
 been used for roofing, they are coated with dark 
 reds, gold, and deep brown mosses and lichens. 
 Whole villages present no other colour than that 
 of golden-brown velvet. 
 
 The homes are wretched, but viewed from a dis- 
 tance they are restful and charming pictures. The 
 people are heavy, silent, and reserved. They live 
 by collecting timber from the mountains and the 
 produce they contrive to raise on the flats and 
 banks by the river. A peasant of the Sil may own 
 hundreds of little plots amid rocks and by the 
 stream. One sees solitary vines, chestnuts, cork 
 oaks, or half a dozen maize plants, growing out of 
 a cranny of some high peak, and often a few stones 
 are piled or a pole is hung to indicate the owner's 
 
WHEN ALL WENT WANDERING 285 
 
 bit of landed property and to provide the means 
 of his getting up and down. The signs of struggle 
 for life are often so terrible that one thrills with 
 the fears of what has to be endured. The river 
 runs almost dry in places where the land sucks 
 up the flood for irrigating, then it drains off to 
 become a stream to fertilize the strips and fiats 
 further down. 
 
 Some glorious mountains are crossed, skirted, 
 and threaded ; and one gets a taste of all the 
 seasons on any day, for the valleys are like ovens, 
 and the high peaks perishing cold. 
 
 The only sign of the genius loci are in the tracks 
 which intersect this region in all directions, the 
 old pilgrim ways whence men went to and from 
 Santiago, and the more beautiful sanctuary of El 
 Vierzo. What mad men they were ! Yet none of 
 us can afford to put them off ; the world had been 
 so flat and hard and meaningless without them. 
 
 Throughout these north - western provinces a 
 singular feature is seen in the maize-sheds, chiefly 
 of heavy stone, but sometimes of timber. They 
 remind one of Japanese summer-houses, as they 
 stand on four massive legs and have roofs with 
 wide, overhanging eaves. Maize is liable to injury 
 from damp ; and as this grain forms the stock 
 food of many village communities, maize granaries 
 are as numerous as cottages. 
 
 At Celanova, near Orense, is an ancient sepulchre 
 containing the bodies of Ilduara and Adosinda, 
 the founders of a church. Their tomb is sup- 
 
286 BY OUR LADY OF THE ROAD 
 
 ported on four pillars, after the fashion of that of 
 San Torcuato, one of the companions of Santiago ; 
 and at Oviedo may be seen the Camara Santa, a 
 little chapel which is said to be the second oldest 
 building after the Moorish invasion. It was built 
 by Don Alonzo El Casto, in 802, as a receptacle 
 for the sacred relics which had been translated 
 from Toledo at the time of the Moorish conquest. 
 The sarcophagus is raised from the ground to 
 preserve the relics from damp — I quote from 
 ''Murray'' — as it seems certain that the maize- 
 houses have grown out of these ancient tombs and 
 sanctuaries. The priests and pilgrims acquainted 
 with the tombs would spread the information con- 
 cerning their shape and usefulness, and to-day 
 thousands of maize-houses are of corresponding 
 form. Any one pursuing this subject will find 
 the best granaries in wood and granite near Ponte- 
 vedra, along the Portuguese frontier, and between 
 Ponferada and the head- waters of the Sil. 
 
 Round Orense the country is open and contains 
 some very good soil, and further north, where the 
 great plain of Leon begins, there are all the natural 
 materials to provide a sturdy yeoman class. This 
 district is held by the Maragatos, a strange tribe 
 who bear little resemblance to their neighbours. 
 A good deal has been written about them, but no 
 clear account has been given of their origin, dress, 
 and social customs. They are in many ways 
 different from the Spaniards around them. They 
 live in villages destitute of design or order, have 
 
THE MARAGATOS 287 
 
 no sense of beauty in their homes ; and, where 
 villages have stood for hundreds of years, there is 
 not a single tree, flower, hedge, or wall, excepting 
 where needed to form a yard. Every house is like 
 its neighbour, a rude square pile of dull red mud 
 or of sun-dried bricks, standing out on open plains 
 — it is hard to distinguish a Maragato village from 
 an acre or two of hummocky land. These are a 
 stern, thrifty folk, devoid of all concern for any- 
 thing more than daily bread ; and as they use up 
 everything as they go along, have no means of 
 building or planting for effect. At first sight one 
 would read the Riot Act over them for not doing 
 more in the way of improving their land ; but 
 climate is seen to be a stern arbiter ; even the 
 summers yield some bitter weather, and the winters 
 must always be hard. Life here is a continuous 
 fight against perishing winds and long seasons of 
 snow and cold rain. At harvest time the scenes 
 are enchanting, for the wheats are of the red- 
 straw and red-eared types, and cover a boundless 
 world with red gold. Practically all the labour is 
 by hand, and the bulk of the harvest reaped by 
 women and girls, who are shapely, even-featured, 
 and clean, if we except the red dust or mud which 
 is ever about their clothes. 
 
 I am not bent on describing cathedrals, but I 
 should be selfish if I neglected to say a word or 
 two on that of Leon. I went early one morning 
 to be thrilled, and I know that my face was 
 radiant for hours after. I had but one regret — 
 
288 BY OUR LADY OF THE ROAD 
 
 that all peace-seeking souls were not there to 
 share the experience with me. A Japanese has 
 said, '' Great art is that before which we long to 
 die/' At Leon one feels that both the soul and 
 the body are safe, that one stands in the sanctuary 
 of the world, and that there is nothing more to be 
 done or feared. I cannot tell how this glorious 
 pile possesses, moves, and rejoices. During my 
 first day at Leon I visited the cathedral three 
 times, and the next four. Time after time I sat 
 down to write, but ever with a feeling that I v/as 
 presumptuous, committing an act of sacrilege. 
 To me the architect has long been the world's great 
 artist. He of all men creates, subdues, and 
 satisfies. We can reverence buildings more than 
 anything else which man has made. 
 
 Leon cathedral has had its interior entirely re- 
 built, and one is glad to discern that real love lay 
 behind the modern architect and builder's work. 
 On entering this house of God one is convinced 
 that one has stumbled upon heaven. The propor- 
 tion is perfect, the walls are light as cobwebs, be- 
 jewelled with the most effective and abundant 
 display of stained glass. So overwhelmed was I, 
 that I gasped and went out ; then returned and 
 went out again, because I could not help speaking 
 aloud. *' This is a holy thing ! " ''I have found 
 the holy thing," I kept saying — and it is holy ! 
 Man may hope to see nothing more religious, 
 deified, and soul-satisfying. 
 
 Leon cathedral is a vast open chamber, but one 
 
AN OFFERING TO OUR LADY 289 
 
 realises that it is filled with the Spirit of God. All 
 the walls are of glass, framed with clusters of 
 narrow columns. The centre-piece of the eastern 
 window is all lemon - gold and celestial - blue, 
 with a little ruby, green, and white ; and when 
 the morning sun floods the vaulted space with 
 rainbow beams, one feels able to tread them up 
 to heaven. Surely there can be no glass to equal 
 this ? Near to the high chapel there is a tomb 
 to Ordoho the Second. His effigy lies behind a grill 
 or light iron screen. When the sun shines through 
 the east window, it shows Ordofio's head on a rose- 
 red pillow, with a veil of amber over his face, 
 caused by the sunlight shining through the grill. 
 Anything more artistic would be hard to find. 
 
 Here, with gladness, I did what I had never done 
 before — put hard cash into a Romish money-box ! 
 For at the gate of a side chapel I see, '' Limosna 
 Para la Virgen del Camino " — '' Alms for Our 
 Lady of the Road.*' This is my chance, for I am 
 eternally on the road, and with much to be thank- 
 ful for I must needs make offering. I want to pay 
 as far as in my power for the blessed privilege of 
 being led in safety over the long road to this holy 
 place. I am sobered and tempered by what I have 
 seen and felt, lost and longed for in the past ; now 
 I know where is beauty, food for the soul, and the 
 thing all-worthy. Pilgrim, wherever you are, set 
 your face towards Leon whilst it is day ! 
 
 For the first time I sat down to write within 
 a cathedral, for I had an almost passionate longing 
 
290 BY OUR LADY OF THE ROAD 
 
 to describe what was about me, but I was dumb ! 
 This thing is to be felt ; and feeHng one desires 
 repose ; any kind of effort is a waste of precious 
 time and an insult to the claims of one's soul. 
 No need to go into details — ^in one sense there are 
 none — for with all the lightness, grace, and colour 
 are no obtrusive vanities, tombs, or brazen orna- 
 ments. The form and colour make a monument of 
 glory ; one wants to sit quietly under the spell of 
 it. Here I worship colour for the first time. Till 
 now I had discovered beauty only in form, but I 
 recant as this colour uplifts me. I try to discern 
 what it is that makes this such a lovely church ; 
 call it the perfection of the stained-glass style or 
 light pointed Gothic ; but this means nothing. 
 Cathedrals are like human beings — some are all 
 outside show; some the embodiment of vanity; 
 some nothing more than coarse ignorance and 
 superstition ; but some are lofty, grand, holy, 
 filled with the Spirit. 
 
 This is Leon. It is alive and it makes one live. 
 Talk about subdued effects ! — no need for dark- 
 ness or even shadows here. It is four in the after- 
 noon of a bright midsummer da}^, and the light is 
 streaming through — how many thousand feet of 
 coloured glass ? There are thirty-four immense 
 windows, and forty-two only a trifle smaller, be- 
 sides several rose, star-shaped, and other forms 
 in the recesses. The nave is about three hundred 
 feet long, and so open that one can observe most 
 of the glass walls from many view-points. The 
 
THE GREAT BUSINESS 291 
 
 colour of the stone is tarnished gold. Could there 
 be a better frame for these wonderful pictures, 
 each distinct, yet all merging into one great flood 
 of holy light. 
 
 One day three Americans, hard-featured, com- 
 mercial-looking men, were walking round ; and 
 one, a man about fifty, turned and inquired some- 
 what angrily, '' What do you think of this ? " To 
 which inquiry I made but a faltering reply ; then 
 he bit his lips, looked round with a perplexed stare, 
 and after a time said, with inexpressible sadness 
 in his face, '' I have made a mistake ! " No doubt ! 
 He realised that here was to be discerned the great 
 business. We get our best lessons out of churches 
 and such spots on earth as compel us to reverence ; 
 and so I say again, Pilgrim, wherever you are, turn 
 your steps towards Leon ! 
 
 Leon is the cathedral, but should one desire 
 more, there are the great walls which run to fifty 
 or sixty feet in height, and are, on the authority 
 of my own measurements, in many parts over 
 twenty-seven feet thick. The market square con- 
 tains a few fine old houses which have their veran- 
 dahs and windows ornamented with strips of hand- 
 beaten ironwork, held in place by large rose- 
 headed, hand-made nails. 
 
 The bread of this province is in the form of 
 immense flat cakes from six to eight pounds in 
 weight ; and the cheeses appear to be made in 
 drain-pipes, for they are long and narrow, and not 
 unlike so many fat arms lying on the market stalls. 
 
292 BY OUR LADY OF THE ROAD 
 
 Many rude wooden implements, forks, harvest 
 rakes, bullock bows, and animal collars are to be 
 seen, and the one-piece clogs stick up on high 
 heels with a notched cross-piece under the tread. 
 The faces of these clogs are often well carved and 
 painted in colours. The clay vessels and utensils 
 are very attractive, the colour a deep red, and the 
 forms varied and novel. 
 
 The dress of the Leonese women is quite plain, 
 all wearing black skirts or prints with a handker- 
 chief over the head ; but the Maragatos who come 
 to market wear very short dresses in colours, and 
 show puffed and quilted knickerbockers. They 
 wear large ear-rings of a curious shape, and the 
 older the woman the more is she bejewelled. The 
 Maragatos wear a peculiar silver wedding ring. 
 The faces of the market-folk are good, and all are 
 quiet ; no one pesters or bawls, shows temper, or 
 any sign of greed. 
 
 Motherhood. In the market-place of Leon a 
 woman was suckling a baby tied within her blouse, 
 and another little thing was clinging to her skirt. 
 She was offering two live rabbits, and pressing 
 their merits by saying their insides were worth a 
 lot, as they were heavy in young. All would be 
 eaten ! But do we not make much of unlaid eggs ? 
 The Spaniards call all such things eggs, and praise 
 them highly. I don't know how many little 
 mysteries I have swallowed. 
 
 The Leonese use a curious meat-dressing bowl, 
 which they call a picadera — bit-holder. This is a 
 
THE LOT OF LEON 293 
 
 well-turned wooden platter, with a round block 
 left in the centre, so that it looks exactly like a 
 mushroom. This vessel is most useful when mak- 
 ing sausages, and for preparing salad and other 
 vegetables. 
 
 Leon stands out on a great highland plain, sur- 
 rounded by rich wheat lands ; and far away are 
 mountains cold and white ; for when not under 
 snow they are grey, hard, and uninviting. One 
 may walk round Leon in half an hour, yet it holds 
 this wonderful cathedral ; and it is well to con- 
 sider that it has been entirely rebuilt inside, and 
 half restored on the outside, from funds raised by 
 this small community. Happily, there are no 
 trams here, or any street traffic on wheels beyond 
 a rackety bus or two. Where trams come people 
 begin to shout and quicken their pace, and all 
 grows wearisome. One walks in Leon from morn 
 till eve, and hears no more than the jangle of a 
 mule-bell, a donkey's clattering feet, and the clogs 
 and wooden-soled boots of the peasants. 
 
 Some complain that Leon does not go ahead, 
 but where is it to go to ? It depends on its great 
 wheatfield, and whilst that provides a decent life 
 of a quiet kind, it leaves no room for the speed of 
 vanity and the lust for gain. The Leonese are 
 very clean in their dress and domestic habits, and, 
 which is more remarkable, the poorest streets are 
 clean. As an ancient town it boasts a few subtle 
 and mellifluous odours, to which it would be the 
 height of impertinence to object. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 THE road from Leon into the Cantabrians is 
 almost British in character, for large trees 
 are met with in variety, and there are tumbling 
 and lazy streams with pollarded willows and little 
 fields walled or hedged about with hawthorn and 
 briar roses. 
 
 As one ascends the pass to the Asturias the 
 fields get smaller, and thousands of hay, corn, and 
 potato plots give a sense of sufficiency and security 
 to the homes along the mountain-side. Then come 
 forests of chestnuts ; and where the surface is 
 rocky, isolated trees. The beech, ash, and oak 
 thrive in the Cantabrians ; nearly all are moss- 
 grown, or have a wealth of ferns or moisture-loving 
 vegetation at their feet. 
 
 In the midst of this scenery I fell in with a 
 market-woman and a priest holding an alterca- 
 tion, she abusing him in the most audacious man- 
 ner because he had told her she would be damned 
 unless she supported the church. I had thought 
 it impossible to hear any one, and especially a 
 woman of Spain, so outspoken. But this comes of 
 being born in the mountains ; and in spite of the 
 
 294 
 
A VIEW OF ASTURIAS 295 
 
 Catholic boast that its rehgion changes not in 
 place or season, there are wide contrasts observ- 
 able in priests and their congregations as one moves 
 tip and down the world. 
 
 Viewing Asturias from the heights the country 
 is most varied, passing from the arctic to the sub- 
 tropical, as the eye surveys what lies between the 
 highest peaks and the coast. Towns and villages, 
 rivers and cataracts, bridges and fords, forests and 
 fields, winding roads and railways, appear to show 
 Asturias a rich and beautiful province. One may 
 travel for days through the richest of woodlands 
 under bowers of chestnut, walnut, and beech ; and 
 mee^ whole villages and thousands of independent 
 cots stuck up on stilts^ for the climate is unusually 
 damp. Hay fields and maize cover much of the low 
 country. Even railway travelling is a delight here, 
 for the lines run along narrow drives, and trees in 
 variety meet overhead and within reach of the 
 hand. The country between Norefia and Arrion- 
 das is exceptionally beautiful ; every kind of 
 scenery is met with, from the softest and most 
 seductive to the wild and terrible. 
 
 To reach Covadonga one leaves the main road 
 at Arriondas and journeys for about fifteen 
 miles up a valley, like the Wye, but more 
 varied and attractive. A busy trout stream 
 tumbles down this glade, and has for rival a 
 little tramway with a snorting engine which 
 carries pilgrims to the shrine. I got here in a 
 warm, calm evening in July to find hay in the 
 
296 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 making in high mountain fields, and flocks of 
 black and white sheep folding on the slopes and in 
 the valleys. 
 
 Covadonga is overbuilt ; if it were more natural 
 and the hospitality more casual, the pilgrim would 
 be better pleased. The village is composed of a 
 few cottages at the head-waters of a stream. 
 Above is a well-built, but garish church ; a 
 monastic set of buildings occupied by the pre- 
 siding priests ; a large modern hotel, and the old- 
 fashioned hospedaje — pilgrim's rest-house. For 
 conventional comforts the tourist puts up at the 
 hotel, but those seeking the atmosphere and subtle 
 blessings of a shrine find the more modest and 
 primitive hospedaje the better place. The great 
 annual pilgrimage takes place in September, but 
 one gains most in the contemplation of the glorious 
 scenery — the whole region constitutes a vast 
 church in the open. 
 
 My first delight at Covadonga was fleshly. I 
 wanted a meal, for beyond a small cup of chocolate 
 I had not broken fast for fourteen hours. At last 
 I sat down to six or seven courses, with good wine, 
 excellent black coffee, and a neat maid to '' finish 
 the cup,'' as she termed it, with a suspicion of 
 fine brandy. But the dish which appealed most 
 was new to me — veal and ham rashers spiced, 
 rolled, and baked. Try it, ye gourmets ! 
 
 Seldom a shrine without some curious or especial 
 food. At Covadonga is found a dulce — sweet — 
 known as '* angel's hair," composed of finely 
 
PILGRIM FARE 297 
 
 shredded melon boiled in sugar and with the 
 appearance of silken threads in clear honey. The 
 flavour is not pronounced, but delicate ; and in 
 this soft, light, purging air, it is truly angelic. 
 Trout is abundant ; the fish are brought alive in 
 buckets of water from the stream to the kitchen. 
 Large dishes of trout are put down at almost every 
 meal, and as they are cooked with rare skill one 
 does not easily tire of them. The bread of Cova- 
 donga is delicious, and distinctive in shape and 
 texture. Within, it is smooth and white as a 
 cracknel biscuit, the crust a pale yellow, sheeny, 
 and without a crack. Half a pound of dough is 
 rolled into a strip, and the knobby ends are brought 
 round to resemble the heads of two tired little 
 goblins lying across each other. 
 
 The next day was Santiago's, and I was roused 
 at five by the clanging of the sanctuary bell. 
 From my window I could see the pilgrims and a 
 few very fat and sleepy nuns in grey trudging off 
 to Mass. The world was then cold, the air steel- 
 blue and wonderfully calm, the noise of water 
 falling through the hills the only sound — for the 
 region is of limestone pierced with caves and under- 
 ground rivers beyond counting. 
 
 I cannot begin with history. I must find my 
 place and fill in the chinks ; neither the historian 
 nor the romance-maker can help till I have found 
 something of myself, so I came to Covadonga un- 
 provided. 
 
 Ignoring the guide and the history - book, I 
 
298 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 started up the mountain through the largest and 
 most varied natural garden, thinking as I went 
 of the uses of money ; and in the end it appeared 
 to be of value only where it purchases that 
 precious thing, privacy. Here one is private. I 
 can get no mail or other communication. I can- 
 not, if I would, touch or look on the world, and it 
 cannot touch me. That is my highest joy, that I 
 am beyond the reach and press of the world. And as 
 if fearing that I should be discovered and dragged 
 back, I climbed and cHmbed till I could no more, 
 for the country became broken, and I had to tack 
 and wind through passes and little mountain fields ; 
 by brakes of hazel and beech ; scale limestone 
 crags, and on by strips of soft green lawn and 
 patches of wild flowers growing above long grass. 
 Man makes hay in the crannies at these heights, 
 and all the crops had not been cut and carried to 
 the homes below. I paused under many a natural 
 castle and gateway of rock, where splendid masses 
 rose or leaned together on the mountain-side. I 
 leapt the torrents and drank from dripping stones 
 and calm, arrested pools. I tired, I rested, 
 gathered strength, and must needs go on. Hills 
 were below and above me, and valleys near and 
 far ; trees of deepest green stood solitary, and 
 woods and waving lines of green showed their joy 
 in a succession of warm, moist summer days. The 
 highest peaks beckoned, promising a story and a 
 rare scene, so I went on. 
 
 I fought with the humble-bees for the honey 
 
COMING INTO MY OWN 299 
 
 within the throats of the large purple flowers of 
 the wild nettle. I gathered nosegays and sniffed 
 and chewed them as a child, and child-like threw 
 them away. Where the ground was sure, I chased 
 little blue and brown butterflies, but without 
 reason, for taking me for a Franciscan they settled 
 on my hands. I drank more and more water, for 
 the air lightened with every step, and there came 
 that longing we have in mountain heights to be 
 washed and pure. I rolled up my sleeves and let 
 my arms sink to their elbows in an icy pool held 
 by the ooze on the mountain-side. Then I lay on 
 a mossy slab and felt it would be better if I lay 
 beneath, in the conviction that there I should be 
 undisturbed for ever. But freshening, a supple 
 ash-plant waved in my face, and all the hard years 
 slipped away. I made me a whistle with a high 
 plaintive note like that of a wounded bird ; so I 
 took a thicker piece with a lip which almost filled 
 my mouth ; this had a full, challenging sort of 
 sound and stimulated me to a quick march up the 
 mountain. I climbed, I blew, and I laughed at my 
 childishness and pride in small things. Then I 
 came into the presence of the great, for I arrived 
 at the summit of what proved to be the highest 
 peak for miles around. It was no great height, 
 four thousand feet or so ; but all in sight of it was 
 mine ! — to the east, mountains and mist ; to the 
 north and the south, mountains and mist ; and 
 towards the west, the light of the setting sun. 
 Far below lay wonderful valleys, castles, trees. 
 
300 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 and fields, and the shrine of Covadonga ; around 
 me swept buoyant and sustaining air, which said 
 to my soul, '' Rejoice, thou art free ! '' So I sat 
 me down on this crown of the world ; and, looking 
 round to see nothing I feared, there, with the rude 
 pipe of my making, I blew out the song of my 
 heart ! 
 
 Covadonga, like the rest of its class, came into 
 note as a sanctuary and place of pilgrimage in the 
 eighth century. A book on the inventions of the 
 eighth century should rival those of the nineteenth 
 or this twentieth. Covadonga owes its origin to 
 the beatification of Pelayo, the last of the Goths, 
 who overcame the Saracens in this valley. Ac- 
 cording to tradition, his body lies in its holy 
 cave. The remains of Alonzo the First, and Favila, 
 both of the eighth century, are also buried here. 
 As a shrine this ranks third or fourth among those 
 of Spain. Santiago stands first, then Montserrat 
 (the only one with a soul). El Pilar of Zaragoza, and 
 Covadonga. The Escorial, though comparatively 
 modern, was once a popular shrine, but its his- 
 toric associations, splendid paintings, and other 
 works of art have made it more attractive to the 
 tourist than to the devout pilgrim. 
 
 Other shrines of Spain are El Vierzo, San Miguel, 
 near Ronda, and El Virgen del Montana of 
 Casceres. 
 
 Pelayo worked wonders at Covadonga, killing 
 more thousands of dusky Moors than the narrow 
 defiles could possibly have held ; but all to good 
 
BEAUTY PAYS 301 
 
 purpose, so far as the faith was concerned. And 
 then, because this was a lovely mountain-girt 
 valley, with rocks carved, fretted, and piled like 
 castles about it ; and because of dangerous crags 
 and overhanging cliffs and torrents of icy water ; 
 cavernous pools ; natural wells ; underground 
 rivers and streams ; glacier-like faces of moun- 
 tain sweat ; splendid trees, delicate flowers, ferns, 
 and mosses ; and because the wind shouts and 
 sighs up and down the vales, and round the 
 crags, making melody within the fluted shafts 
 of the rocks ; and because upon the heights there 
 is always cloud, mist, and the commanding finger 
 of God ; and because man cannot look in any 
 direction without fearing and wondering, rejoicing, 
 dreaming, gaining courage, trying to get into touch 
 and harmony with nature ; and because beauty 
 pays handsomely whenever it can be caught and 
 held for sale, those astute old chaps, the Spanish 
 Fathers, said one to the other, *' We must not 
 neglect this good thing ! Come along, I pray ye, 
 with St. Pelayo. Lo, here is a cave and a stream 
 on the site of his battlefield, and the scene of his 
 great labours. Let us magnify his suffering and 
 the splendour of his deeds, for, verily, we may 
 say whoso cometh hither to witness shall find his 
 reward." So between begging, borrowing, and 
 high romancing, they found a tomb for Pelayo 
 and, his body and coffin not wanting, the business 
 began. As this happened in that very good time 
 when the world lived on miracles and pilgrimage. 
 
302 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 the story of Pelayo and the splendours of Cova- 
 donga soon proclaimed it a notable shrine. We 
 cannot object to that, for in feeding the bodies of 
 a few, the monks and their legends and labours 
 satisfied the hunger of the souls of many. 
 
 A neat sandal is worn by the mountain-folk of 
 the Cantabrians. A piece of white or buff-coloured 
 green hide is cut to the shape of the foot, crimped 
 round the margin, and sewn with a broad white 
 leather lace, till it looks like the curled edge of 
 pie-crust. These sandals are worn over a black or 
 brown felt sock and tied with a heel and ankle 
 crossing of green leather. In the low country, 
 wooden clogs are worn. One may gauge the 
 primitive character of the Cantabrian Basques 
 from the fact that whenever it rains they take off 
 any foot-gear and go bare-foot. These moun- 
 taineers are the brownest of Spaniards ; their 
 climate moist and never very hot, they expose 
 themselves to all weathers. The boina, which 
 every man wears, is in the form of a tam-o'- 
 shanter, but so small that it leaves all the face 
 exposed. The women go bare-headed or use no 
 more than a black handkerchief. One rarely sees 
 a fair person in this, the reputed home of the 
 Spanish Goths ; but many fair, red, and tawny 
 folk are seen in Guipuscoa and the valleys under 
 the Spanish Pyrenees. A few curly-haired people 
 are met with round Gijon, the like of which 
 are to be found in no other province. There 
 is httle that is strange in the Spaniards of 
 
THE NORTHERN TYPE 303 
 
 the northern coast, they could pass for British 
 islanders. 
 
 When one has seen Spain in all places and 
 seasons one must believe that the people of the 
 north coast have the best of it ; their climate is less 
 rigorous, nature is more beautiful and more bounti- 
 ful ; the sense of life is stronger, and the risks 
 and dangers they encounter are those which im- 
 prove and mellow the soul. 
 
 The women along this coast are of fine physique 
 and perfect slaves ; though doing every class of 
 manual labour, they are not pulled out of shape 
 or roughened by it. Women load and unload 
 ships, control farms, fishing, everything, excepting 
 the mechanical and skilled handicrafts. There are 
 many facial types, but all are much alike in dis- 
 position. The timidity, caution, and noisiness of 
 the south is not apparent, but instead there is a 
 French manner without the brightness and sense 
 of order; the modern architecture, too, is French 
 in character, and many words are articulated 
 in French form. 
 
 Bilbao is the finest city of its size in Spain ; it 
 bears a striking resemblance to the modern part 
 of Edinburgh, and is scarcely less beautiful. It 
 lies in a vale, on both sides of a deep and sinuous 
 river, and is shut in by hills of splendid propor- 
 tions, whose slopes afford great variety in form 
 and the colour of their vegetation. Old Bilbao 
 teems with human life, and the new part spacious, 
 formal, and stately, is also full of people. The air 
 
304 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 reeks of trade. One feels that this is a money 
 manufactory. Hundreds of mines are disgorging 
 to maintain this city, and are doing so very well ; 
 the general effect is strong and comforting. Press 
 and get ahead, may not be the best of mottoes ; 
 but here it is recognised, and as all strive to work, 
 few are poor, and the result is an unusually robust, 
 animate, and cheerful crowd. 
 
 Bilbao is un-Spanish in many ways. Life is an 
 earnest affair. Attractive pieces of architecture 
 abound, and the old streets, though straight, are 
 full of character. The town appears always to be 
 en fete, for every family's washing in all colours 
 hangs from the windows perpetually. Children 
 are in swarms, and very noisy and hardy. The 
 boina of the Bilbaoans is tiny, sitting on the head 
 like a languid apple-dumpling. 
 
 The following names appear in the order printed 
 over the fish and fruit vendors' stalls in the open 
 market of Bilbao. Could any other nation make 
 such a display of beautiful names ? 
 
 Juana Modesta 
 
 Josef a 
 
 Lucia 
 
 Cecelia 
 
 Dominga Augustina 
 
 Narcissa 
 
 Antonia 
 
 Basilisa 
 
 Santa Pascasia 
 
 Maria 
 
 Joaquina 
 
 Eusebia 
 
 Andressa Eufemia 
 
 Rita 
 
 Victoria 
 
 Francisca 
 
 Victoriana Cipriana 
 
 Benilda 
 
 Valeariana Manuela 
 
 Elisa Juliana 
 
 Ramona 
 
 Tomasa 
 
 Clotilda 
 
 Romulada 
 
 Hermenegilda 
 
 
 One night in Bilbao a woman entered a cheap 
 eating-house and asked for pan y agua — a roll 
 
TAX AND EVER MORE TAX 305 
 
 and glass of water — price one halfpenny. I sat 
 opposite, eating a tenpenny meal of four courses, 
 with wine and a variety of fresh fruit. According 
 to custom I smiled at the woman, as if she were my 
 nearest friend, and placed my hands as if to say, 
 '' All this is spread for you.'' She replied by 
 shrugging her shoulders, letting her head to one 
 side, pouting her lips, and dropping the hand which 
 held the bread so that she said, *' Observe the con- 
 trast ? Such is fate ! I am poor, you are rich ! God 
 help me ! Virgen Maria ! Por Dios ! " This caused 
 me to reflect on some signs of the times and quaint 
 humours of Spain. 
 
 Signs of the Times 
 
 Owing to the taxes imposed upon them, ad- 
 vertisement signs and announcements are scarce 
 in Spain. Window displays also are taxed ; in 
 fact, goodness knows what is not ! I was about to 
 write that the Spanish Government taxes every- 
 thing, excepting brains ; but, well, enterprise is 
 certainly taxed. One cannot strike out, and be 
 in any sense independent, for the tax-collectors — 
 always plural— insist on coming along and taxing 
 so much of the cream of the profits that there is 
 little reward for enterprise left. Two orphan girls 
 had to withdraw a sign which contained the single 
 word '' peinadora " (hairdresser) in order to avoid 
 a preposterous tax ; and one of my landlords 
 had his sign hung on a wall inside the passage, 
 because it would be too costly to show it in the 
 
3o6 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 street. I have walked through miles of streets, 
 looking for a lodging-house, and must certainly 
 have passed scores of them ; but not one showed 
 a sign, for so sure as there is the slightest display 
 that house is taxed to ruinous proportions. This 
 taxing of enterprise and food-stuffs, and the farm- 
 ing of the taxes, is the most baneful factor in the 
 everyday life of Spain. The whole system is based 
 on an entirely false, immoral, and antiquated con- 
 ception of social economics. 
 
 If taxing the townspeople drove them to be 
 first-hand and more efficient producers, there 
 might be some reason for this thoroughgoing 
 bleeding of the taxpayers ; but it does not ; for 
 no class of field produce escapes taxation, and all 
 the land is taxed in ways too numerous to mention. 
 
 From three to five hundred men are employed 
 in sitting round and levying taxes on a town of a 
 hundred thousand souls ; and practically all the 
 money collected is divided amongst the tax- 
 gatherers, whose chief employment is to beget off- 
 spring, if anything more parasitic than themselves. 
 
 Of course, some folk must proclaim their exist- 
 ence and that of their wares ; but the signs are 
 always small and briefly business-like. On one 
 side of a huge portal giving access to a cheap 
 eating-house, a tall, cadaverous creature was 
 sketched on the whitewashed wall, and out of his 
 mouth came the words : '' I dine at one of the 
 best cafes in Malaga and pay two pesetas for four 
 plates ; look at me ! " On the other side of the 
 
MORE ABOUT WIDOWS 307 
 
 doorway was sketched a burly John Bull sort of 
 figure doing his best to get his arms to touch 
 around his enormous waistcoat, and laughing out : 
 '' Here ! One penny ! " This was no exaggeration. 
 I have shared the penny meal of four courses — 
 soup, fish, a bowl of salad and fresh fruit, with 
 olives, bread, and crystal water. 
 
 In a cafe at Malaga was written in English on a 
 card, '' English black stout porter for sale,'' and 
 I have known an inn named '' The Widow.'' It 
 may be doubted if one ever had more lovers. To 
 catch English-speaking visitors in a northern 
 town, the barber hangs out the word, '' Hair- 
 cutterie " ; and another barber has this sign, 
 *' Barberia of the two Angels, my wife and I " 
 (their surname is Angel). Spanish barbers are still 
 so old-fashioned as to pull teeth and use the 
 lancet. Over a door in a southern village are the 
 words, *' Barber ; I draw blood." 
 
 Over railway ticket offices the word '' Exploita- 
 tion " is fixed, and though it means only ordinary 
 business it seems not inappropriate, for they 
 rarely charge the fare marked on the ticket — but 
 generally more ! 
 
 '' El Frequentemente " is the sign of a wine-shop 
 in Salamanca, where one day a knot of men were 
 discussing the rare subject of women. A dry- 
 looking chap said he thought bachelors knew most 
 about women, and then, looking down his waist- 
 coat, uttered reflectively, '* Perhaps that is why 
 they are bachelors ! " 
 
3o8 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 The leading bull-fighters issue very elaborate 
 sheet almanacks, \^dth records of tables and per- 
 formances from year to year. There is usually a 
 full-length portrait of the hero in fighting fig, 
 with emblems of the ring forming an illuminated 
 border. Here are two samples : 
 
 '' Lagartijo (the lizard), 1900-02. Fought in 
 276 plazas, averaging 3 bulls in each — 828 in all." 
 
 " Moreno de Alcala, 1907-8, fought 40 corridas 
 — engagements. KiUing 120 bulls in the year — 
 (Spain and Mexico)." 
 
 Sounds and Cries 
 
 Spanish cathedral and great church towers have 
 from twelve to twenty bells hung at different 
 heights and used for different ceremonies. The 
 general clanging and tanging is " striking," but 
 not charming. There is no set pealing, the boys 
 who monopolise the towers do no more than make 
 signals to each other. 
 
 Beautiful bells in Spain there must be, for many 
 have been wrought with great care ; but hung, 
 tongued, and struck as they are, no true voice 
 escapes them capable of reaching the soul of man. 
 
 The knife-grinder and tinsmith announces his 
 presence out of a Pan's pipe of five to seven reeds, 
 at the same time beating out a quick step with a 
 light hammer on the bottom of a pot, platter, or 
 frying-pan. This he does with great dexterity, 
 providing homely music. His pace is quicker than 
 anv other man in the street. 
 
THINGS WHICH ADORN 309 
 
 On the railways the guards blow little brass 
 horns so tunefully that one longs to escape from 
 the train and go a-hunting. 
 
 I have seen at least one stove-pipe hat in its 
 proper place. At Velez a sailor's cabin had an old 
 silk hat stuck on the roof to form the chimney — 
 just as in the house of Wendy. 
 
 Spanish editors do not believe in anonymity. 
 In Valladolid the entire front of a building — more 
 than thirty feet — is taken up with '' Andres 
 Martin, Editor.'' 
 
 The '' Heraldo de Madrid " had a notice : 
 '' Makowski, the actor most celebrated in Berlin, 
 died repentant this morning." 
 
 On a boiling hot afternoon, at a bull-fight in 
 Salamanca, some one dropped and broke a bottle, 
 and a man sitting near said quietly, '' Now^ we 
 shall hear about the hot weather." 
 
 Another fellow in his enthusiasm threw his 
 umbrella into the ring, and the handle came off ! 
 ^^Vaya!" said he, "I'm off, I can't stand this 
 excitement " ; and he went. He represented a 
 common type of Spaniard w^ho cannot experience 
 the slightest loss without wishing to sulk and 
 suffer alone. 
 
 In a cheap eating-house I took the only piece 
 of chorizo from the small plate of meat. '' Brute ! " 
 exclaimed the maid. '' Wh}^ ? " said I. '' What's 
 it there f or ? " " What f or ? " she shrieked. 
 '' It's to adorn the plate ! " I knew this well 
 enough, but hunger must be satisfied sometimes. 
 
310 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 Here is a story characterising the condition of 
 Spain and the Spanish manner of joking : 
 
 Devotee : *' In five years I have made three 
 pilgrimages to the shrine of Montserrat." 
 
 Beggar : '' Vaya ! Nothing ! In three weeks I 
 have made five pilgrimages to the monte de 
 piete ! '' (pawnshop). 
 
 In some provinces Spanish children are frank, 
 animate, and ready-witted ; in others, shy, quiet, 
 and dull. Some children were playing at school 
 on the sands near Malaga. A little girl was asked, 
 '' What is an island ? " and she immediately 
 answered, '' A bump in the sea ! '* 
 
 A little boy, asked by a grown friend, '' Do 
 you love me ? " sighed, '' Sometimes, but not now ; 
 I am fat with dinner ! " 
 
 The Basques do not provide one with much 
 entertainment, but they teach some useful lessons. 
 They are the Stoics of the Peninsula. AU their 
 movements and actions are very slow, yet they 
 keep going and accomplish a good deal. They are 
 hard to understand because so unlike other 
 people ; their language, world, and its concerns 
 are their own ; they say nothing about either, at 
 least they do not brag to any foreigner. They are 
 the people — the foreigner does not count ! Not 
 that the Basque is uncouth, but he asks or implies, 
 *' Your business ? Any more ? Thank you ! 
 Good day ! " I stewed him hard for some time, 
 but he remained hard. There seems to be no way 
 of making a Spaniard out of him ; and one 
 
HARD NUTS 311 
 
 wonders what he may be instead. Many Basques 
 do not know a word, excepting a garbled word of 
 Castilian, and their own Basquenth seems to be 
 formed for business and curt farewells. But one 
 likes their brevity, if only that it proves they are 
 not humbugs. 
 
 Most of the Basque provinces are truly beauti- 
 ful, but often it is a profitless beauty. One may 
 not easily see so much green which is not to be 
 eaten or sent to market in some form, does not 
 attract tourists, or delight sportsmen. The 
 mountains, vales, and rivers are exquisite to the 
 eye ; but they do little to sustain the body. At 
 most they do not sustain many bodies. The wet 
 winds of the Atlantic press almost continually, 
 and promoting sour moss-like growths over much 
 of the country, neither man nor beast can subsist 
 on the natural vegetation. Trees of many kinds 
 thrive, and one could not wish for a better wooded 
 land, or greener, cooler, sweeter vales. Walnuts, 
 chestnuts, and cobnuts are grown in great quanti- 
 ties, and then there are the Basque-nuts. I can- 
 not explain further about the Basques, for they 
 will not let me ! In one way I know them ; in 
 another it would be presumption to admit as much. 
 They are a very hardy, big, strong, determined, 
 good-looking and quiet people, good to know and 
 a misfortune to lose. 
 
 Arriving at San Sebastian, after nine months' 
 wandering, I look back on many blessed days. I 
 have lived to my soul's uplifting. I have increased 
 
312 NOW ALL IS DONE 
 
 the length and the breadth of my life. I have had 
 some real leisure, a feeling that I was beyond the 
 reach of the world and might have it out with 
 myself ; size up the past ; and decide on what 
 should be retained. I have been imitating Spain, 
 and restoring or rebuilding the edifice of my true 
 self. I am fairer, and come again to have faith 
 in work. I have gathered a store of useful 
 materials ; I have two willing hands and the 
 world waits 
 
 THE NORTHERN GATE 
 
 The Northern Gate swings wide at last ! 
 
 There glints the chaste Pyrenean snow ; 
 Biscaya's tide is rising fast, 
 
 And you and I must homeward go. 
 
 Blest, if this jaunt our hearts inspire 
 To service for the sons of men ; 
 
 With time beside life's evening fire 
 To dream and live these days again. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Abstemiousness, 88 
 Affection, 76, 84, 255, 161 
 Alms for protection, 289 
 Alicante, 165 
 Altar stairs, 220 
 Angels' hair, 296 
 Announcements, 178, 187 
 Anticipating Christ, 187 
 Arapiles, scene of battle, 256 
 Architecture, 198, 290 
 Arlanzon, River, 224, 230 
 Army, Spanish, 149 
 Anisetto, Don, 129 
 
 B 
 
 Baby-beating, the, 177 
 
 Barbers' signs, 307 
 
 Barcelona, 189, 198 
 
 Bar of Castile, 231 
 
 Basque folk, 310 
 
 Beasts of burden, 248 
 
 Beauties, Spanish, 13, 20, 118, 
 
 131, 183, 200, 202, 236, 261, 
 
 279, 301 
 Bells of Spain, 308 
 Bilbao, 303 
 
 Birthplace of the Cid, 228 
 Blackmail, 132 
 Blades, Spanish, 64, 113 
 
 Boasting habits, 46, 99, 103, no 
 Boats, primitive, 141 
 Boina, the, 302, 304 
 Books, absence of, 10, 126 
 Boulders, giant, 269 
 Bread, 94, 201, 243, 291, 297 
 Bricks and buildings, 260 
 Bride of Fate, 186 
 Burgos, beauties of, 223, 244 
 Burial, 66, 163, 214 
 Bull-fighters, 11,308 
 Business methods, 13, 99, 261, 
 262 
 
 Casceres for strength and order, 
 
 259 
 Cafes, 12, 125 
 Cane-splitting, 62 
 Cantabrians, 294 
 Cards, 62 
 Cartagena, 138 
 Castle of Burgos, 231 
 Castle of Medina del Campo, 
 
 237 
 Cathedral of Leon, 287 
 Cayetano, desire of, 239 
 Celosa, jealousy, 47, 129, 131, 
 
 250 
 Cemeteries, 160 
 
 ! Cervantes, house of, 233 
 313 
 
314 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Chameleon, the, "j^ 
 Charro or Salamantino, 247 
 Children of Spain, 48, 135, 148, 
 
 184, 229, 261, 279, 310 
 Chimneys, 114 
 Chorizo, King, 91 
 Church of glass, 290 
 Cid, El, his birth spot, 228, 229 
 — his playground, 230 
 Civihsation, a burden, 193, 298 
 Climate, 115, 182 
 Clothes-snatching, 164 
 Clubland, 126 
 Colour in art, 290 
 Columbus, place of death, 232 
 Comfort, lack of, 10 
 Compostella, the, 280 
 Conversation, 12, 23, 121 
 Cooking, 92, 95, 202 
 Cordoba, 12, 15 
 Covadonga, shrine of, 296 
 Corsair, home of the, 143 
 Costumes, 121, 183, 247, 249, 
 
 280 
 Couplets, 31, 65 
 Cradle, 117 
 
 D 
 
 Dancing, 104, 105, 249 
 Dangerous society, 279 
 Date palm in Spain, 152 
 Death, 90, 217 
 Decoration, street, 106 
 Delicacies, table, 69 
 Denia, 183 
 
 Dishes, 44, 45, 94, 95, 296, 297 
 Domestic habits, 200, 246, 281 
 Doncella, a fair, 72 
 
 Dress, 34, 49, 53, 58, 69, 74, 104, 
 112, 113, 121, 122, 144, 188, 
 264, 286 
 Drinking habit, 88, 89, 127, 158 
 Dwelling-places, marvellous, 214 
 
 Enemies and weapons, 262 
 Ermitas, nature of, 187, 214 
 Europe's Liberator, 218 
 
 Fair, Seville, 107 
 
 Favila, tomb of, 300 
 
 Faith and hope, 241 
 
 Fare, 29, 44, 61, 95, 130, 211, 222 
 
 Farewells, 24, 137, 255, 312 
 
 Female attire, 13, 20 
 
 Festivals, 133, 174, 177, 248, 249 
 
 Fishing-boats, 144, 166, 180, 184, 
 
 188 
 Flavourings, 93 
 Flax spinning, 154 
 Flowers, i, 15, 18, 182, 189, 268 
 Food and feeding, 89, 93, 95, 96, 
 
 108, 296 
 Friends, meeting, 5 
 Fruit, 93 
 
 Funerals, 157, 163 
 Furniture, 10, 89 
 
 Games, 62 
 
 Garden, an old, 18 ; town gar- 
 dens, 235 
 Gardens, natural, 212 
 
INDEX 
 
 315 
 
 Garlic, 25, 43, 90 
 Gari, Friar Juan, 218 
 Garments, 34, 49, 53, 58, 69, 74, 
 
 109, 230 
 Garters, gift of, 108 
 Gate, the Northern, 312 
 Giant's Castle, a, 207 
 Gitanescos, 65 
 Government, 305 
 Granary of Spain, 247 
 Graves, 162, 213, 214 
 Gun-running, 184 
 Gypsies, 108 
 
 H 
 
 Hair-dressing, 21, 118, 119, I2T, 
 
 263, 278, 282, 302 
 Herbs of the field, 90 
 Hills of God, 299 
 Homes, peasant, 41, 151 
 Horses, 123 
 Houses, queer, 102, 235, 250, 252, 
 
 253 
 Humour, Spanish, 6, 44, 60, 86, 
 
 136, 149, 307, 309, 310 
 Hunger, 99 
 Husband and wife, 71 
 
 i 
 
 Idhng, 17 
 
 Industry, examples of, 151, 152, 
 
 188 
 Interiors, house, 8, 10, 102, 119, 
 
 187, 246, 263 
 
 K 
 
 Kiss, the, 86 
 Knife, 64 
 
 Labour and its reward, 195, 196 
 
 Lady, the, in Spain, 70 
 
 Landscapes, 2, 25, 112, 133, 140, 
 151, 174, 181, 187, 188, 189, 
 206, 212, 225, 226, 257, 258, 
 266, 269, 283, 287, 294, 29s, 
 
 311 
 Langton, 237 
 Language, 32, 190 
 Laundry customs, 11, 234, 304 
 Legend of the shell, 281 
 Leon, cathedral of, 287 
 Letter-writers, 203 
 Levitical law, 24, 44, 200 
 Lodging, loi, 127 
 Love, 64, 66, 80, 83 
 Love-letters, 146, 147, 167, 202, 
 
 204 
 Lovers, 121, 124, 171, 175, 253 
 Life, the religious, 178 
 Luis, Don, 45 
 
 M 
 
 Maize, 285 
 
 Manners, table, 46, 89, 135, 249 
 
 Manuela, Dona, 129 
 
 Marksmen, 181 
 
 Maria, 42 
 
 Maria Dona, 91 
 
 Market folk, 21, 122, 157, 238, 
 
 245, 292 
 Mass, 71, 297 
 Mattraca, the, 14 
 Meat, 43, 46, 49, 90, 91, 92, 93 
 Medina, Azzahra, 17 
 Memory, good, 5, 245 
 Middle course, the, 279 
 
3i6 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Milch donkeys, 203 
 Minho, mouth of, 266 
 Misrario as home, 42 
 Mistress and maid, 71 
 Mistrust, 261 
 Money-testing, 39 
 Monk and monastery, 219 
 Montserrat, 206 
 Monuments and rubbish, 234 
 Moorish influence, 21, 246 
 Motherhood, 52, 135, 292 
 Mountain, the Holy, 213 
 Mountain scenery, 257 
 Mountains, life in, 28 
 Mules and dealers, 107 
 Muscatels, 55 ; eating of, 61 
 Music, 64, 270, 308 
 Murcia, vale of, 115 
 
 N 
 
 Names, 236, 304 
 Nicknames, 200 
 Nobihty, 8 
 
 O 
 
 Odours, national, 108, 293 
 Oranges, 26, 115, 180, 185, 
 Ordono, sleeping, 289 
 Our Lady of Health, 247 
 Ownership, 194 
 
 Painter's workshop and home, 
 
 135 
 Patch shops, 58 
 Pay day, 38 
 
 Peasant faces, 22, 29, 188, 249 
 Peasant fare, 29, 44, 61 
 Pelayo, story of, 300 
 Phihp the Second, birthplace of, 
 
 232 
 Pilgrims, 221, 280 
 Pipe and drum, 248 
 Play, 72, no, 174 
 Police, 20, 175, 181 
 Pontius Pilate washed, 178 
 Pots and pans, 43 
 Poverty, 9, 23, 49, 69, 99, 130, 
 
 182 
 Pride, 9, 53, 59 
 Priests, 165, 221, 294 
 Primitive scenes, 262, 284, 287 
 Proverbs, 95 
 
 Quail callers, 62 
 
 R 
 
 Raisin industry, 184 
 
 Rats and mice, 31 
 
 Revolt against labour, 142, 155, 
 
 193 
 
 Rice fields, 175, 183 
 
 Riches, 46, 49 
 
 Roads in Galicia, 271 
 
 Rock dwellings, 114, 167, 214, 
 217 
 
 Romance of the hermits' dwell- 
 ing, 214 
 
 Romance, home of, 173 
 
 Rosario number one, 129 
 
 Rosario number two, 250 
 
 Rows, 128 
 
 Rules for pilgrims, 209 
 
INDEX 
 
 317 
 
 S 
 Saffron, 114 
 Saguntum, 186 
 Salamanca, 244 
 Sandals, neat, 302 
 Santiago, 272 
 Scots of Spain, 223 
 Sereno, El, 176 
 Sermon, a, 192, 218, 240 
 Servants, 72, 236, 251, 256 
 Seville Fair, 100 
 Sexes, relationship of, 22, 76 
 Shoeing animals, 117 
 Shops, 13, 187 
 Shrines of Spain, 300 
 Shrines for vagabonds, i, 289 
 Shrines, source of, 213, 272, 
 
 301 
 Sign and gesture, 168, 169, 170, 
 
 171, 305 
 Signs, shop, 187 
 Sitges, town of, 188 
 Smuggling, 184 
 Social life, 10, 23, 96 
 Soil, poor, 281 
 Soldiers, 236 
 Soldiers travelling, 236 
 Song, 61,64, III, 153, 174 
 Soul of Spain, 66, no 
 Speech-making, 40, 59, 102 
 Starling, 57 
 Stratagems, 145, 147 
 Street cries, 308 
 Strife, 29, 32, 154 
 Superstition, 70, 148, 258, 226 
 Sweetmeats, 94, 108 
 Sword of grace, 262 
 Sword and flag, 149 
 Sum, the human, 195 
 
 Table manners, 24, 73 
 
 Tanners of Burgos, 230 
 
 Tanners of Salamanca, 244 
 
 Taxes, 305 
 
 Tea, 88 
 
 Time no object, 94, 97, 271 
 
 Towel and water, 119, 187 
 
 Travel moods, 4 
 
 Travel experiences, 20, 156, 
 
 236, 273, 306 
 Trees, influence of, 224 
 Trinidad, 55, 76, 80, 84, 87 
 Turner picture, a, 257 
 
 U 
 
 Unpunctuahty, 97, 271 
 Utensils, 8, 89, 108, 117, 119, 
 148, 233, 292 
 
 V 
 
 Vagabonds, 232, 237, 249 
 Valencia del Cid, 172 
 Valladolid, 232 
 Vandalism, 190, 233 
 Vegetables, 93 
 Veil, rending of the, 179 
 Villages, beautiful, 47, 284 
 Violets of Murcia, 115 
 
 W 
 
 Wages, 21 
 
 Walls of Leon, 291 
 
3i8 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Water, 96, 211, 216, 262, 270 
 Water carriers, walk of, 262 
 Whitewashing, 246 
 Windows, scarcity of, 246, 250 
 Wine and vine, 166 
 Wisdom of the fathers, 208 
 Wit, 23, 34, 95 
 Women, names of, 304 
 Women, primitive, 249 
 
 Women, position of. 96, 131, 261, 
 
 277, 303 
 Work, the madness of, i, 19, 142, 
 
 155, 193 
 World's inquiry, the, 239 
 
 Zamora, beauty of, 236 
 
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