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"DONA ELENA." 
 
MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. BERNHARD WHISHAW 
 
 AUTHOR (WITH BERNHARD WHISHAW) OF 
 "ARABIC SPAIN" 
 
 WITH TWENTY ILLUSTRATION? 
 
 MILLS & BOON, LIMITED 
 
 49 RUPERT STREET 
 LONDON, W. 
 

 Published 1914 
 
INTRODUCTORY 
 
 To the foreigner visiting Spain for the first time so 
 many things seem topsy-turvy that, unless a philo- 
 sophical spirit be cultivated, one's temper might suffer 
 serious damage. But there is one way not only to 
 endure, but actually to enjoy the minor discomforts, 
 absence of consistency, and utter lack of common 
 sense forced upon one at every turn in this most 
 original country ; and that is to regard them all 
 from the standpoint of comic opera. So many 
 people expect to find Spain merely an enlarged 
 edition of Bizet's Carmen that it ought not to be 
 difficult for them to smile when comic-operatic 
 incidents are enacted before them in daily life ; and 
 yet one often sees the impatient traveller exhausting 
 himself in furious denunciations of tough beef, bad 
 butter, unpunctual trains, faulty postal services, 
 retrograde hotels, and so on ad infinitum, instead 
 of thanking his lucky stars that there is still one 
 country in Europe which remains much as God made 
 it, instead of being recast in the mould preferred by 
 the tourist agencies. 
 
 No doubt when we get express trains flying from 
 Irun to Madrid and from Granada to Seville at sixty 
 
 44702C 
 
vi INTRODUCTORY 
 
 miles an hour, with a chain of cosmopolitan hotels 
 all along the road, those tourist agencies will be able 
 to do far better business. But their clients will not 
 then travel in Spain but in Cosmopolitania, and the 
 last stronghold of romance left in Western Europe 
 will have gone the way of Switzerland and Italy, 
 where in some towns it is almost the exception to 
 hear the language of the native spoken in the streets. 
 Thank Heaven, Spain has not yet awakened to the 
 commercial advantages of moulding her national 
 characteristics into the groove of the common-place, 
 and her soul has not yet been cut out and thrown 
 away in the pursuit of filthy lucre. 
 
 Meanwhile, the traveller who follows the beaten 
 track has really very little to complain of, for during 
 the last ten years great progress has been made both 
 in the train service and the hotel accommodation ; 
 and when you have grumbled and slept and scolded 
 through the eight or ten or twelve or twenty hours' 
 railway journey from one provincial capital to 
 another, and take your place at the table d'hote 
 in one of the big new hotels, you might almost 
 imagine yourself in London or Paris or New York. 
 One thing, however, reminds you that you are in 
 Spain : the anxious solicitude of the waiters, who 
 watch your every mouthful as if it were a matter of 
 personal consequence to them that you should be 
 pleased with your dinner, and press fresh dishes 
 upon you if you do not eat as much as they think 
 you ought, assuring you that they are very excellent 
 and that you must keep up your strength in order to 
 enjoy the beautiful monuments that you are going 
 
INTRODUCTORY vii 
 
 to visit to-morrow. This interest of the mozo in his 
 master's client is genuine, not inspired by the antici- 
 pation of favours to come. He feels it as a reflection 
 upon the credit of the house if you refuse to take 
 every course, and finds it difficult to understand that 
 abstinence may mean satiety, not dissatisfaction with 
 the viands. I doubt if anywhere else one seems of 
 quite so much importance in the eyes of the estab- 
 lishment as in Spain, for these attentions begin with 
 your first meal in the hotel and are continued 
 throughout your stay ; and can anything make you 
 more at home in an hotel than a cordial interest in 
 your appetite ? 
 
 If you complain of the interminable time that 
 you have spent on the journey, you will be met with 
 the grave assurance that it is safer to travel slow 
 than fast, and that Spain has far fewer railway 
 accidents than England or the United States. You 
 may reply that she has far fewer trains, but we don't 
 trouble ourselves about the law of averages in Spain, 
 and the Spaniard solemnly assures you that nothing 
 is gained by the alarming rapidity of Anglo-Saxon 
 life except more speedy arrival at the grave. 
 
 If you dispute an hotel bill, longer than would 
 be made out at the Ritz, for an entertainment which 
 it would be complimentary to describe as mediocre, 
 the landlord justifies his charges by explaining how 
 much you get for your money in these days of 
 progress, compared with what you lacked when life 
 in Spain was cheaper, and after all what can a dollar 
 or an esterlina () more or less matter to so great a 
 lord as yourself, who must evidently be a millionaire 
 
viii INTRODUCTORY 
 
 to be able to travel so far from home merely for his 
 own pleasure. You must also take into account, he 
 says, that the tourist season only extends over a 
 couple of months in the spring, thanks to the general 
 ignorance abroad of the charms of the winter climate 
 in that particular part of Spain. And how, he asks, 
 is a poor man to keep his hotel open all the year 
 round for the convenience of the English lord in the 
 spring, unless the English lord pays enough when he 
 comes to save him from bankruptcy during the other 
 ten months of the year ? And if these arguments 
 in the course of which the exorbitant items under 
 discussion have been skilfully left out of the conver- 
 sation do not remove your objections to an extor- 
 tionate bill, only one of two courses remains open to 
 you. Either shake the dust of Spain off your feet 
 and depart to some other land where the innkeepers 
 realise that one contented guest will bring more 
 money into their coffers than ten who depart in 
 anger ; or come with me right off the beaten track, 
 and learn to know the real Spain, and to love, as I 
 do, the real Spaniard. 
 
 Will he exploit the foreigner ? He would rather 
 give you the coat off his back than take a penny 
 from you that he has not honestly earned ; and he 
 will do you all sorts of services with the native grace 
 which has created the tradition that " every Spaniard 
 is a gentleman. " That class of Spaniard does not 
 frequent the large cities, nor is he to be found by 
 foreigners who seek him with the aid of an in- 
 terpreter. Indeed, he is not worth the interpreter's 
 powder and shot, for he cannot pay a commission on 
 
INTRODUCTORY ix 
 
 purchases made by the guileless traveller through 
 the agency of his guide : he has nothing to sell save 
 his honour and courtesy, and those are not market- 
 able commodities. So he is left undisturbed in his 
 beautiful mountain fastnesses or in his fertile plains, 
 where only a select few will take the trouble to seek 
 him out. And long may he remain there ! 
 
 But when he is sought and found by the traveller 
 who is not content to form his opinion of the whole 
 country on his observations from the window of an 
 hotel, then indeed it becomes evident that the heart 
 of Spain beats strong and true beneath the froth of 
 political passion and greed of gain which disfigure 
 her outward semblance ; and the veil of romance 
 woven about her by the poet and the artist will 
 enwrap that traveller, and he will return to Spain 
 again and again, until he, like the writer, finds that 
 into the web are woven some of his own heart- 
 strings. 
 
 Then all the minor discomforts will become but 
 mere matter for laughter, with an arriere-pensee of 
 satisfaction at the barrier they set up against the 
 flood of cheap trippers which, but for them, might 
 overwhelm our Peninsula. And if sometimes we hear 
 a note of tragedy beneath the light chorus of our 
 opera, it does but deepen the music, as the purple 
 shadows in an Andalucian street throw up the golden 
 glow that bathes the whitewashed houses basking 
 in the sun. 
 
 One word more. My readers may perhaps be 
 surprised to find a " heretic " on good terms with 
 many ecclesiastics in Spain, for there seems to be an 
 
x INTRODUCTORY 
 
 impression abroad that this is a bigoted land where 
 foreign non-Catholics are given the cold shoulder, 
 if nothing worse. 
 
 Of course there are many Spaniards who feel 
 strongly on the subject of their religion, and no 
 doubt any one who publicly showed disrespect to 
 objects of worship here would have cause to regret 
 his lack of good manners. But so long as he 
 behaves decently in sacred places, and observes a 
 certain amount of discretion in conversation, the 
 " heretic " need fear no discourtesy either from priests 
 or people. Nor will he meet with any oppressive 
 zeal in the direction of proselytising. The most 
 embarrassing effort in that direction that I have 
 known was the gentle remark from a nun : " You are 
 so good already that you ought to be a little better. 
 I pray daily that you may become a good Catholic." 
 And an entertaining experience was that of a 
 member of our family whom a distinguished divine 
 announced his desire to convert 
 
 " We will begin with a game of chess," said he, 
 " and after that we will discuss dogmas." 
 
 The game of chess proved so engrossing that it 
 lasted till bedtime, when the divine took his leave 
 in a hurry, forgetting all about the dogmas. 
 
 The accusation of bigotry now whatever may 
 formerly have been the case is as undeserved as 
 many other unkind things that have been said about 
 Spain. 
 
 " We are very much misrepresented by foreign 
 writers," an intelligent young officer said to me one 
 day ; " if ever you write a book about Spain, I hope 
 
INTRODUCTORY xi 
 
 you will speak of us as you find us, so that for once 
 we may have a little justice from a friend." 
 
 With this rather pathetic appeal in mind I have 
 tried my best to describe Spain as I have found it, 
 and I must maintain that I have done my Spanish 
 friends no more than justice, even though those who 
 do not know them write me down a prejudiced 
 Hispanophil. 
 
 ** The accents marked on the Spanish words in the text are in 
 most cases added merely as a guide to the pronunciation, for those 
 who do not know the language. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 SUMMER 
 
 PART I 
 
 PAGES 
 
 1-64 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 PART II 
 
 65-149 
 
 WINTER 
 
 PART III 
 
 150-241 
 
 SPRING 
 
 PART IV 
 
 242-312 
 
 xiii 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "DoNA ELENA" ...... Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 "A SUMMER AFTERNOON IN THE PATIO" . . 1 
 
 THE CHURCH WHERE CARMENCITA WAS MARRIED . . 21 
 
 IN THE FLOUR MARKET . . . . . .37 
 
 PINE CONES AND PRICKLY PEARS . . . .43 
 
 AN ANCIENT GATEWAY . . . . . .48 
 
 IN THE KEEP OF ARCOS CASTLE. . . . .65 
 
 A PREHISTORIC WEIR . . . . . .87 
 
 "A SADDLE FOR FEMININITY" . . . . .97 
 
 EUSTIC LOVERS . . . . . . 108 
 
 A FUNERAL VESTMENT OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY . .117 
 POSED FOR THE PHOTOGRAPHER ..... 134 
 
 THE DANCE OF THE SEISES IN SEVILLE CATHEDRAL . . 150 
 
 From the picture by GONZALO BILBAO. By permission of the 
 owner, the Rt. Hon. The Earl of Rosebery, K.G. 
 
 THE BRIDEGROOM'S DOOR . . . . . .183 
 
 THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY BANNER OF OUR LADY OF GRANADA 199 
 " THE ENGLISH ECONOMICAL KITCHEN " . . . . 216 
 
 GOING HOME FROM THE MARKET .... 242 
 
 A KEST AT THE FORD . . . . . .261 
 
 THE COLUMBUS MONUMENT . . . . .281 
 
 DRESSED FOR THE FAIR . 299 
 
MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 PART I. SUMMER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Life in the patio Locked doors and lovers The uses of the 
 grated gate Courting under difficulties : the keyhole and 
 the crack Manolo and Carmencita, a romance in real life. 
 
 THE great event to which the whole creation moves 
 in the eyes of a Spanish senorita not being a 
 resident in Madrid is the annual fair in the 
 capital town of her province. This generally takes 
 place in the spring, and therefore, for her, the 
 spring is the end and not the beginning of the 
 year, looked forward to with increasing excitement 
 through autumn and winter, while to that young 
 lady summer is but the beginning of the long year 
 which has to be lived through until spring and 
 LA FERIA, in capital letters, comes round again. 
 I, like the Spanish senorita, will begin my 
 Spanish year with the summer, if not exactly for 
 the same reason, for one akin to it. The great 
 heat of summer, with its dust, mosquitoes, and 
 flies, is the most trying time in all the twelve 
 
: ? : : /; : :MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 months in this country, as the spring is the most 
 enjoyable ; and wise people keep the best to the 
 last. 
 
 Let it not be supposed, however, that summer 
 in Spain has no compensations. They are many 
 and various, and not the least among them is the 
 life of the patio, which begins in June and ends 
 in September. 
 
 The patio is always spoken of as one of the 
 peculiar charms of southern Spain, but how many 
 of my readers, who have not visited the country, 
 know exactly what it is ? I myself, before I came 
 here, had a vague idea that it was something in 
 the nature of a yard, and I remember that on 
 seeing a huge corral for cattle, attached to a farm- 
 house near Tarifa and so large as to be visible from 
 the steamer as we approached Gibraltar, I asked 
 whether that was a patio ! 
 
 The Andalucian house of to-day is in essentials 
 the direct descendant of the house built by the 
 Greeks who colonised Andalucia, or Tartessus, as 
 they called it, some six or seven centuries B.C. 
 The pylon, now called the zaguan, is the vestibule 
 leading from the street door direct into the peri- 
 style, the open courtyard round which the house is 
 built, now known as the patio. In the daytime 
 the zaguan is open to the street, but entrance to 
 the patio is barred by a large iron grille, which can 
 only be opened from within. The Eomans con- 
 tinued the Greek form of house, with slight 
 structural modifications, and added the solarium, 
 an open gallery or arcade intended for basking in 
 
SUMMER 3 
 
 the sun. This feature is common in the older 
 houses of Andalucia to-day, although those of more 
 modern construction lack it, and the inmates when 
 they wish to sun themselves go up to the azotea, 
 the flat brick roof on which the family washing is 
 usually hung out to dry. The names azotea and 
 zaguan are both Arabic, showing, were demonstration 
 needed, that neither the Visigoths nor the Arabs 
 made any essential alterations in the structure of 
 the houses they found when they respectively 
 conquered Andalucia. 
 
 The patio is a central court off which numerous 
 rooms open, always including the summer dining- 
 room and the summer kitchen, their winter counter- 
 parts being on the floor above. There is also a sola 
 or reception-room, and in old houses this may have 
 beautifully carved Arabic roof-beams, filled in with 
 fine fifteenth- or sixteenth-century lustre tiles : for 
 while the upper stories are frequently modernised and 
 sometimes brought quite up to date in the matter 
 of bathrooms, ample windows, and effective ventila- 
 tion, the patio with the dark rooms surrounding 
 it is very seldom reconstructed. It is only used 
 as a refuge from the summer heat, and the architects 
 of to-day wisely refrain from interfering with the 
 shadowy lights and cool refreshing temperature 
 which make life enjoyable even when the ther- 
 mometer outside stands at 110 or more in the shade. 
 
 Great doors sometimes of mahogany, cedar, or 
 lignum-vitse four inches thick, studded with large 
 brass or iron nails, and adorned with corner pieces, 
 lock, key, and knockers, all richly wrought to match 
 
4 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 shut off the zaguan from the street. All day 
 long these stand open, as though inviting the passer- 
 by to step in and admire the patio within, the whole 
 of which can be seen through the cancela or iron 
 grille already mentioned : but at night they are 
 closed and secured with a huge iron bolt, often 
 two or three feet long. The noise made by the 
 closing of these doors at night, and the shrieks of 
 the great bolts, which are never by any chance oiled, 
 can be heard one after the other all along the 
 street, and are liable to interfere a good deal with 
 the beauty sleep of the stranger. But, unless there 
 is a velada or a tertulia going on, the noise is 
 all over by 11 p.m. or earlier, because custom 
 requires that respectable houses should present 
 blank faces to the moonbeams a full hour before 
 midnight. 
 
 If you ask how this can be when every one 
 knows that Spanish gentlemen make a practice of 
 turning night into day at their cafes and clubs, 
 I must call your attention to the postigo, a little 
 low wicket opening in one of the great doors. The 
 stern father, forgetful of his own youthful escapades, 
 or determined that his son shall not follow in his 
 footsteps, may order the door to be locked at eleven 
 every night ; but there is always a corruptible 
 servant or a tender-hearted sister on the watch 
 to lift the latch of the postigo and screen the young 
 scapegrace from the paternal ire. 
 
 We may take it for granted that when the sister 
 connives at her brother's late hours, it is not to 
 enable him to gamble at his club or drink more 
 
SUMMER 5 
 
 than is good for him at the cafe. It must be a 
 love affair that enlists pretty Amparo's sympathies 
 and keeps her out of her bed to all hours. She 
 has probably been listening to the professions of 
 devotion of her own forbidden lover until long 
 after midnight, and thus all her sympathies are with 
 Manolo, who also has lost his heart without per- 
 mission from the parents. 
 
 In these cases the soft nothings have to be 
 breathed between the bars of the stout iron gratings 
 which are placed outside every ground-floor window, 
 not only as a precaution against malefactors, but, 
 as a young Spaniard once told me, " to keep the 
 girls in and the boys out." To English ideas this 
 seems a poor enough way to make love, but in some 
 country towns even the grating is not considered 
 sufficient protection for the youth and beauty within, 
 and I know of one case in which the grandfather, 
 a blue-blooded old aristocrat and a good deal of 
 a martinet, had wire netting fixed all over the 
 ground-floor windows to prevent his granddaughters 
 being kissed between the bars ! Such are the 
 difficulties attendant on pelando la pava (plucking 
 the turkey) or comiendo hierro (eating iron), as 
 these grating courtships are called. 
 
 In old houses, no matter how large, it is not 
 unusual to see only a single window, with its in- 
 evitable grating, on the ground floor of the street front 
 a survival of the Oriental idea of the seclusion of 
 women, for down to the sixteenth century, in southern 
 Spain, no windows at all opened on to the street. 
 This one window, which generally lights the porter's 
 
6 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 lodge, will be appropriated by the daughter of the 
 house if she encourages a secret admirer. The 
 servants are always on the side of romance, and will 
 not hesitate to aid the lovers by every means in 
 their power, so the old porter, who is supposed by 
 his mistress to see that no illicit interviews go on 
 after dark, finds no difficulty in taking a nap in 
 his rocking-chair in the patio, while la nina, 
 whom he has known and spoilt from her cradle, 
 sits at his window and listens to the passionate 
 whispers of her admirer in the street. 
 
 Meanwhile the maid-servants have their own 
 sweethearts to attend to, and, failing a second 
 window, it might seem difficult to get into com- 
 munication, for the daughters of the respectable 
 poor are as strictly chaperoned as the senoritas, 
 and a girl would lose her character if she had an 
 " evening out," unless under the wing of her mother 
 or some female friend of mature years. But love 
 laughs at locksmiths, and a friend of mine told me 
 how he learnt by personal experience the way in 
 which the courting is managed in such cases, after 
 the street door is closed. 
 
 He was going home along the main street of the 
 country town in which his father lived. The night 
 was dark and the street lamps few and dim, and 
 he stumbled over something soft lying along the 
 pavement in front of the door of a large house. 
 A sibilant whispering relieved his first fear that an 
 assassin's knife had been at work. It was a young 
 man lying full length on the ground, with his lips 
 at the crack under the door, talking to his sweet- 
 
SUMMER 7 
 
 heart, who lay on the floor inside, while another 
 maid-servant and her lover had possession of the 
 keyhole, and the senorita in the grated window 
 modestly pulled the curtain to hide herself from 
 my friend's glance when she heard his footsteps 
 approach. 
 
 These be the amenities of summer. In winter 
 fewer lovers are to be seen about the streets, because 
 bad colds and stiff necks are apt to be caught by 
 young men even though wrapped in the volu- 
 minous cloak so dear to romance who stand for 
 many hours out of doors " eating iron " with their 
 feet in a puddle, staring up at the beloved in the 
 balcony of the first floor whereon she resides from 
 October to June. Indeed, I know of one love affair 
 that was broken off, never to be renewed, because 
 .the girl took offence at the prolonged absence of 
 her admirer, who, poor fellow, was in bed with 
 influenza and unable to get the sad intelligence 
 conveyed to his goddess at her window. 
 
 In this case the mother's opposition had reached 
 an acute stage, and the love-sick Manolo's explana- 
 tion fell into the wrong hands. Intimation was sent, 
 as from Carmencita, that her legitimate fiance was 
 offended by Manolo's attentions, and that they were 
 therefore unwelcome : and as the unfortunate youth 
 on his sick-bed had no means of getting into direct 
 communication with his charmer, he had to sigh 
 with such patience as he might until the weather 
 improved and he could return to the window bars, 
 and demand an explanation of that cruel message. 
 Meanwhile Carmencita was told that Manolo's 
 
8 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 absence was due to the attractions of a new novia : 
 in which, seeing that these loves of the grating are 
 taken up and dropped as easily as a travelling 
 acquaintance, there was nothing inherently improb- 
 able. So she wept profusely at his supposed incon- 
 stancy, and when she learnt the truth adopted the 
 last resource open to the heart-broken senorita 
 hysterics, and threats to refuse food (a mode of 
 coercing the authorities in vogue among revolting 
 daughters here long before it was adopted by the 
 suffragettes), and to fling herself from the azotea 
 into the patio below, unless she were allowed to 
 write to Manolo and assure him of her undying 
 devotion. 
 
 But alas ! Manolo, although of good family, had 
 no money and no prospects, whereas the dis- 
 tinguished Seiior Conde de las Patillas Blancas, 1 
 although he had begun life as an assistant in a 
 grocer's shop, had gone to Cuba before the war with 
 America had destroyed that mine of riches for 
 Spaniards who knew how to make their account out 
 of it, and having returned wealthy had revived a 
 title to which he may or may not have had a legal 
 claim. Thus he was now in every respect a most 
 desirable parti for the fair Carmencita. 
 
 So Manolo rose from his bed of sickness to read 
 in the local paper that " the aristocratic and affluent 
 Senor Conde de las Patillas Blancas had asked the 
 
 1 Count of the White Whiskers. There are many such titles 
 among the Spanish nobility, dating from the thirteenth and 
 fourteenth centuries, when royalty often bestowed titles referring 
 to personal peculiarities. 
 
 
SUMMER 9 
 
 hand of the exquisitely beautiful young Senorita 
 Carmen Perez y Dominguez, daughter of the 
 Marquises 1 of Campos Abandonados" literally 
 " deserted fields," but perhaps best paraphrased into 
 the familiar English title of Bareacres. 
 
 As Manolo well knew, this was the end. For 
 not only is the mother in Spain absolute mistress 
 in the matter of her daughter's marriage, but 
 Carmencita herself, once she had shed the conven- 
 tional tears over the loss of her lover, was perfectly 
 well aware on which side her bread was buttered. 
 Both these young people were intimate friends of 
 mine, and if I had consented to act as go-between 
 when I went to congratulate Carmencita on her 
 engagement, and incidentally provoked a torrent of 
 tears by remarking on Manolo's fortunate recovery, 
 it is just possible that she might have made a fresh 
 effort to get her own way. But it is the part of 
 wisdom not to meddle with Spanish love affairs, 
 which are seldom or never quite what they seem, 
 and in her inconstant little heart Carmencita cer- 
 tainly thanked me for refusing to carry any messages. 
 As for Manolo, he consoled himself by marrying an 
 heiress a year or so after, and disappears from this 
 veracious history. 
 
 1 The wife in Spain, from the Queen downwards, merges her 
 identity in that of her husband when they are spoken of together, 
 and we have los Reyes, the Kings, instead of the King and 
 Queen ; los Duques, the Dukes, instead of the Duke and Duchess ; 
 and so on down the whole gamut of society. The practical con- 
 venience of this abbreviation is so obvious that I make no apology 
 for adopting it. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Social life in a mountain town Moslem traditions The 
 etiquette of betrothal Wedding presents The trousseau 
 Little tragedies of Spain Dramatic Carmencita Com- 
 pensations for the Countess. 
 
 IF I were to describe the scene of the wedding where 
 it actually took place, it is just possible that some 
 of those concerned, if they happened to see this 
 book, might recognise themselves. I will therefore 
 transfer it to the picturesque mountain town of 
 Konda, which, although frequented by tourists, and 
 boasting two really comfortable hotels, still preserves 
 some peculiar local customs. 
 
 Of these perhaps the most noticeable is the 
 Moslem tradition of the separation of the sexes. 
 The numerous travellers, both native and foreign, 
 who spend a day in the town on their way to or from 
 Algeciras in the spring or autumn, have as yet made 
 no impression on the conservatism of the Kondeiios, 
 and one has only to stroll up and down the Paseo 
 de la Merced on a Sunday night in summer to see 
 that social customs in Ronda are quite unaffected by 
 contact with the outer world. 
 
 The heat of the day being over, and a cool west 
 wind rustling the leaves of the avenues of planes, the 
 purple peak of La Liba, which forms the clou of a 
 
SUMMER 1 1 
 
 charming picture, is suddenly blotted out as the 
 electric light is switched on. In the matter of street 
 lighting Spain is by no means behind the age. The 
 Spanish love for a blaze of light out of doors prob- 
 ably accounts for the strides made by the electric 
 lighting industry during the last few years. It is true 
 that often even well-to-do people are still content to 
 illuminate their houses with a cheap paraffin lamp, 
 or even with a candil of brass with its tiny wick fed 
 with olive oil. But once these lovers of display 
 realised that a few arc lamps hung along the Paseo 
 turned night into day, and that electricity would 
 enable the gilded youth to display his new straw hat 
 of the English shape, his beautiful red tie, and his 
 shiny brown boots at least as well at midnight as at 
 noon, the towns found money for street lighting 
 without apparent difficulty, and now there is hardly 
 a village, even in the plains where there is no water- 
 power available, that is not lit by electricity. I 
 have seen electric lamps at every street corner in a 
 place to which there is no means of access save a 
 mule track, and no contact with the outer world 
 save a visit from the postman on his donkey two or 
 three times a week, if there happen to be any letters 
 to deliver. 
 
 Eonda with its wonderful Tajo, through which 
 the Guadalevin rushes in a torrent during the winter 
 rains, was provided with electric light when I first 
 visited it ten or eleven years ago. At that time 
 the power used to fail ignominiously in the summer, 
 at which season all the water of the shrunken river 
 has to be turned into the irrigation channels, as has 
 
12 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 been the legal right of the numerous market gardeners 
 in the valley from Arabic times. Now steam has been 
 brought in to supplement the water-power, and the 
 lighting of the principal hotels, and above all of the 
 Paseo, is as brilliant as any one can desire. 
 
 In summer it is too hot to stroll about with 
 comfort in the daytime, and the youth of both 
 sexes had little opportunity of contemplating each 
 other's charms at that season until artificial light 
 came to the rescue. Now, especially on a Sunday 
 night, the whole town crowds into the Paseo, where 
 under powerful arc lights the young people can 
 admire each other to their hearts' content. 
 
 One of the curious customs of the place is that 
 all the pretty girls march up and down, from two 
 to six or seven together, while their portly mothers 
 and aunts sit and fan themselves on the stone benches 
 and chairs ranged along both sides of the walk. The 
 young men also march up and down, also in groups, 
 but carefully confining themselves to either side of 
 the broad space in the centre occupied by the girls. 
 Each town in Spain is socially a law to itself, and 
 it seems to be contrary to Ronda etiquette for the 
 men to walk with the girls under any condition 
 whatever, although in other places the presence of 
 a duenna makes it quite correct. 
 
 Engaged couples may enter the Paseo together 
 (of course properly chaperoned) but they must not 
 join in the promenade. They may only sit under 
 the trees with the mother or the aunt, and console 
 themselves for their enforced retirement by squeezing 
 each other's hands under cover of the shadows 
 
SUMMER 13 
 
 cast by the overhanging boughs. But if the girl 
 happens to come late, her fiance gets a chance to 
 show himself. Then he may walk up and down as 
 much as he pleases in the midst of the swarm of girls, 
 pretending to be looking for his sweetheart. I watched 
 Carmencita's elderly lover at this performance one 
 Sunday night, and every time he got well into 
 the focus of one of the arc lamps he stopped short 
 with the light full on him, glancing this way and 
 that with assumed anxiety as to the whereabouts 
 of the lady, although he knew, and she knew, and 
 all their friends and acquaintances knew, that his 
 charmer would not appear till the band began to 
 play at ten o'clock. 
 
 Carmencita's wedding was fixed for July, partly 
 because the summer, when the boys are home from 
 school and university, is the gayest time here, but 
 mainly because propriety demands that the religious 
 ceremony shall take place within quite a few weeks 
 of that known as "asking for the hand" in other 
 words, the signing of the marriage contract. The 
 noviazgo, which is not strictly speaking an engage- 
 ment, but rather a protracted courtship which may 
 or may not end in a wedding, sometimes goes on for 
 years and is then broken off, without any blame 
 attaching to the jilt, be he male or female. It is 
 quite an understood thing that there is no moral 
 obligation to marry as long as the hand of the lady 
 has not been formally " asked." But once this has 
 been done, not by the lover but by some relative of 
 the elder generation, the marriage is regarded as the 
 necessary consequence, and a man or woman who 
 
i 4 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 declined to fulfil the engagement after that ceremony 
 had been gone through would be mal mirado 
 badly looked at which is more or less equivalent 
 to being sent to Coventry. 
 
 So when I heard that Carmen was finally en- 
 gaged I knew it would not be long before I received 
 an invitation to the wedding, which came in due 
 course, printed in silver on a highly glazed card. 
 It was not strictly speaking an invitation at all, for 
 it merely set out at full length the names and titles 
 of the bride and bridegroom and their parents (and 
 Spanish names and titles are as long as a Presbyterian 
 sermon), and announced the day and hour of the 
 wedding without "requesting the pleasure of my 
 company." The opposite side of the card contained 
 an identical announcement on the part of the bride- 
 groom. 
 
 On the day before the wedding I went, by Car- 
 mencita's special request, to see her trousseau, which 
 to the Andalucian bride is even more exciting than 
 the wedding presents. 
 
 She received me in a dainty bata, a garment 
 which is a cross between a tea-gown and a pinafore, 
 with her hair loose and falling below her waist, and 
 her eyes were so bright and her laugh so gay that 
 I felt sure she was as contented as were her parents 
 with the affluent future before her. She took me 
 to the winter reception-rooms upstairs, which looked 
 as if they were prepared for a sale of work. On a 
 number of tables and chairs were displayed the 
 presents innumerable sofa cushions, embroidered 
 night - dress cases, crocheted table - covers, anti- 
 
SUMMER 15 
 
 macassars, lace d'oyleys, and so forth ; with the 
 more solid offerings of glass, china and plate from 
 older relatives half lost to sight among the hand-made 
 gifts from Carmencita's schoolfellows and girl friends. 
 
 But the presents were completely eclipsed by the 
 far more important personal outfit of the little bride. 
 Trestle tables filled the middle of the long room 
 from end to end, and looked something like reefs 
 under the froth of breaking waves, so covered were 
 they with house and table linen, towels and side- 
 cloths edged with wonderfully complicated fleco 
 morisco (" Arabic fringe"), and a fluff and foam of 
 personal wear of fine lawn, lace, and muslin enough 
 to last a lifetime, all made by Carmencita and her 
 sisters and her friends, and all exquisitely embroidered 
 with her initials in an endless variety of interlacing 
 monograms. The wealthiest English or American 
 bride might be proud to wear such lingerie as I saw 
 there. 
 
 As soon as her tiny hands can hold a needle, the 
 Spanish senorita is taught by the nuns at her school 
 to sew in this dainty fashion, and from her earliest 
 childhood she devotes the fruits of her labours to 
 furnishing her trousseau ; for here the bride brings 
 all the house linen as part of her dowry, and long 
 before she is old enough to have a lover her care- 
 ful mother will provide the huge quantities of fine 
 linen and lace, and the pounds of embroidery silk 
 and cotton which are required for the proper plenish- 
 ing of one of those great carved chests in which the 
 daughters of the house have stored their wedding 
 outfits for centuries past. 
 
i6 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 If the daughter passes out of her teens without 
 being married the chest will be full long before it is 
 required, and indeed sometimes it is never needed 
 at all ; for unless a girl is rich, or of distinguished 
 family, or, if poor, remarkably beautiful, it is quite 
 likely that no one will ever ask for her hand. 
 
 And sometimes poverty descends on the family, 
 and the daughters, orphaned and penniless when 
 already past their youth and unable to earn any 
 sort of a living, are reduced to selling one by one 
 all the produce of so many years of industry to 
 satisfy the claims of hunger, or, if the old house has 
 been sold, to pay the rent of some wretched little 
 room which in their prosperous days they would 
 hardly have given to a maid-servant. I have wit- 
 nessed pathetic scenes when ladies of gentle birth 
 have come to me in the dusk of evening to ask if I 
 will buy some dainty embroidery or delicate pillow 
 lace " to help a friend who has lost her money." 
 And to the end they will try to salve their hurt 
 pride by keeping up this transparent fiction, holding 
 the bedspread or pillow-case upside down, in the 
 hope that until they have left with the money in 
 their pockets I may not notice that the initials 
 worked on it are their own. 1 
 
 1 As the use of their surnames by Spanish wives is confusing 
 to a foreigner, it may be well to explain that both men and 
 women use the family name of the father and the mother. 
 Thus Antonio Lopez marries Maria Garcia, and his children's 
 family name is Lopez y Garcia. One of his sons marries Luisa 
 Ramirez, and his children are called Lopez y Ramirez, and so on. 
 A married woman keeps her maiden name. Thus if Maria 
 Garcia y Perez marries Antonio Lopez y Rodriguez, she will be 
 
SUMMER 17 
 
 But these are the little tragedies that lie beneath 
 the surface, and we must not dwell on them, for 
 we have not done yet with the trousseau of our 
 Carmencita. 
 
 She was only seventeen when her fate was 
 decided, so her chest was not quite full ; but for- 
 tunately there were enough nearly finished sheets 
 and pillow-cases and so forth in those of her younger 
 sisters to supply all deficiencies ; and every after- 
 noon through the weeks before the wedding the 
 three little marquesitas and their girl friends had 
 sat together in their cool patio under the orange 
 and palm trees in the shade of the heavy canvas 
 awning, stitching away for dear life, amid an 
 incessant prattle about clothes and lovers, and a 
 continual munching of chocolates flavoured with 
 cinnamon. 
 
 Space for the unknown bridegroom's initials had 
 as usual been left on all the house linen when it was 
 made, but in this case only the Count's coronet had 
 to be worked, and a heavy strain on girlish inven- 
 tion was thus avoided, for there is not much variety 
 about a coronet, while it takes a good deal of imagi- 
 nation to vary an initial several dozen times. 
 
 Oddly enough, my admiration of some beautiful 
 
 described in formal documents a will, for instance or in an 
 announcement of death, as Maria Garcia y Perez, esposa de 
 Antonio Lopez y Rodriguez, although her acquaintances speak of 
 her as La Senora de Lopez, or more shortly, La de Lopez. 
 Until they get well on into middle life, women, married or single, 
 are always addressed by their Christian name without any prefix, 
 even by men on a first introduction. 
 
1 8 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 stitching in this heraldic ornament seemed to upset 
 Carmencita's equanimity, and in an instant her 
 sunny smile and gay chatter turned into a tempest 
 of sobs and tears. 
 
 "You are cruel, barbarous, Dona Elena, to re- 
 mind me of all I am losing ! How can you dream 
 that I am consoled by being a rich Countess for the 
 loss of the wealth of love lavished upon me by my 
 adored Manolo ? I am a martyr, a victim to the 
 ambition of my parents ! Even now at the last 
 moment I think I shall declare that my heart is 
 Manolo's and I will never marry any but him ! 
 Madre mia de mi alma ! how terrible is this life ! 
 Better that I had flung myself from the roof, as I 
 wanted to do when they forbade me to see my 
 Manolo : then I should have been spared this tor- 
 ment, this broken heart which will end by dragging 
 me into the grave ! " 
 
 I was pretty sure that the theatrical outburst 
 was provoked by a more or less conscious desire to 
 play up to the situation and to be consistent to the 
 last : for Carmencita, as I have hinted, had already 
 made me her confidante, and Spaniards are born 
 actors. She would feel better all her life for having 
 dramatically rounded off the play to her audience of 
 one, and I would not spoil the climax by any lack 
 of sympathy. 
 
 "True, true, my child," I answered, "you are 
 indeed a martyr, but it is to duty. Think of the 
 season in Madrid that you will be able to share with 
 your sisters the theatres, the receptions, the dances ! 
 With your birth and the Count's wealth you will 
 
SUMMER 19 
 
 certainly be received at Court, and what higher 
 destiny could be offered to you than to take Pura 
 and Dolores away from this dreary village into all 
 the delights of the capital ? Have courage, my 
 noble girl, and crush the dictates of your heart for 
 their sake, and, believe me, happiness will be yours." 
 
 "True, Dona Elena; how beautiful an ideal you 
 put before me ! And I hear that Manolo has gone 
 away and will not be back for six months, so what 
 should I gain by refusing to marry the Count ? 
 And it would make a terrible scandal. And then, 
 have you seen my wedding dress ? It is too lovely 
 for words ! Do you know, it has a train two yards 
 long ! Cesar insisted ; he says I am so little I must 
 have a train to give me presence. I have never 
 worn a long dress in my life, and I am so afraid I 
 shall stumble over it. How dreadful if I made 
 myself ridiculous in the church, before all Konda ! 
 Dona Elena, did you have a train two yards long to 
 your wedding dress, and did you find it difficult to 
 manage ? " 
 
 The melodrama was over, Carmencita was once 
 more all smiles and merriment, and my suggestion 
 that she should put the wedding dress on and 
 practise walking up and down the patio in it for my 
 benefit sent her and all her companions into screams 
 of laughter. She had made her little oblation to the 
 god of love, and now was ready to enjoy to the full 
 the material fruits of her sacrifice. 
 
 She made me promise that I would come to her 
 house and accompany the wedding party to the 
 church, which is only a few yards from the ancestral 
 
20 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 home of the Campos Abandonados. I told her she 
 had better let me efface myself in the back of the 
 church, because I had no wedding garment in my 
 suit-case and should do the party no credit. 
 
 " Don't be absurd," she retorted, kissing me affec- 
 tionately. " You look like a Duchess with a black 
 mantilla over your white hair, and if you haven't 
 got yours here, Mamma shall find one for you." 
 
 Who could resist the pretty creature ? And she 
 meant every word of it, at any rate while she was 
 speaking. But she really was sincere in her desire 
 that I should be there as an intimate friend, not 
 a mere acquaintance, and when I arrived shortly 
 before two o'clock on the eventful afternoon I found 
 little ten-year-old Lola, otherwise Dolores, waiting 
 for me at the door, having been ordered by the 
 bride to see that I was taken special care of, " because 
 being a foreigner I might not know exactly where to 
 go, and thus might fail to enjoy myself." 
 
 Such consideration really surprised me. Carmen 
 might well have been excused for forgetting, on 
 this great day of her life, that one of her guests 
 was a foreigner ; yet she had not only planned for 
 my pleasure, but, as I found, had asked more than 
 one of her old friends to look out for me and see 
 that I was placed where I could have a good view of 
 the ceremony before the side altar of the Virgen del 
 Carmen, at which she had worshipped throughout 
 her short life. 
 

THE CHURCH WHERE CARMEXCITA WAS MARRIED. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 The wedding Our Lady of the Carmen : her lady-in-waiting 
 The ancestral house of the Campos Abandonados The kiss- 
 ing habit in Spain Muscatel and Manzanilla Arabic 
 sweetmeats King Alfonso and the convent yemas The 
 bride's dance Mantillas and a hat Good-bye to Carmencita. 
 
 THIS image of the Virgin of the Carmen has. no 
 particular artistic merit, but Carmencita was pro- 
 moted to being her "lady-in-waiting" when she 
 left school, and had taken great pride in keeping 
 " her " Virgin's wardrobe in perfect order ; and to- 
 day she had gone very early to Mass and had 
 dressed the image, for the last time, in the festival 
 robe of eighteenth-century brocade and the tulle 
 veil she had herself embroidered to present to her 
 Virgin on her first communion. She had also filled 
 the silver vases with the tall stiff bouquets which 
 are so much admired here, and had offered quite a 
 number of gilded wax candles for a blessing on her 
 marriage. 
 
 And now she stood before the altar her own 
 altar with her first long dress trailing behind her 
 (she had not stumbled over it, but had made a 
 most dignified entrance) and placed her helpless- 
 looking little white hand in that of the stout, 
 commonplace man, over thirty years her senior, 
 
22 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 whose word was henceforth to be her law (for a 
 married woman in Spain has practically no civil 
 rights), and who had already made it evident that 
 he would be a jealous husband. It may, however, 
 be remarked that marital jealousy is regarded by 
 many Spanish wives as rather a compliment than 
 otherwise, as showing that their husbands think 
 them worth being jealous of. 
 
 The ceremony was soon over, and while the bride 
 and bridegroom, the bride's parents and godparents, 
 and her brothers and next sister, went into the 
 sacristy with the priest to sign and witness the 
 register, little Lola slipped her hand into mine. 
 
 " Garmencita told me to take you to our house 
 now," she said. " I am too little to witness for 
 her, and she was afraid you would go away, and 
 she wants you to see her dance in her wedding 
 dress before she leaves with Cesar." 
 
 She led me out of the church and along the 
 badly paved street, which was lined with spectators 
 anxious to see the new Countess whom they had 
 known from a baby. 
 
 " There are only two carriages," said Lola, 
 1 'mamma's and Cesar's. Can you believe it? 
 Carmencita has to come home all alone with Cesar 
 in his carriage ! She cried last night, and so did 
 Pura and I, we all cried together. Fancy having 
 to be left all alone with that horrid old man ! Do 
 you know, she is afraid he will kiss her, and his 
 ugly blue nose will disarrange her hair. That is 
 the only thing she is afraid of being alone with 
 him." 
 
SUMMER 23 
 
 A Spanish girl is never, under any circum- 
 stances, left alone with her fiance", until she is 
 actually married to him. There is always a mother, 
 or an aunt, or some other female relative present to 
 superintend the love-making. Small wonder that 
 stolen interviews at the grating, with no listeners 
 but the moon, have their charm. And perhaps the 
 happiest marriages are those which come to pass, 
 sometimes after years of parental opposition, be- 
 tween lovers whose courtship began thus. They at 
 least have a chance of getting to know each other, 
 free from the restraint of the chaperone whose 
 attentive ear makes all real confidence impossible. 
 
 The house of the Campos Abandonados in Ronda 
 is one of the most perfect examples of its kind in 
 Spain. To the right of the spacious zaguan, as 
 large as many a patio, are the stables, empty now, 
 save for the Marchioness's mules. The sixteen 
 mangers are pure Arabic work, built into the wall, 
 with a cusped arch over each. Passing these we 
 get to the " modern " part of the house, which was 
 renovated and " restored " in the prosperous sixteenth 
 century, when gold poured into Spain from her new 
 colonies across the Atlantic. Beyond this patio, the 
 walls of which are covered with roses, jessamine, and 
 other creepers planted in the ground, we get a 
 glimpse of the inner one, cool and shady under its 
 white awning. This is the summer sitting-room, 
 furnished with easy-chairs and lounges all gay with 
 bright calico covers, tables with work-baskets, 
 photographs, and knick-knacks, and the other trifles 
 which ladies of gentle birth all the world over 
 
24 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 collect about them, books and newspapers only ex- 
 cepted, for it is a rare thing to see anything to read 
 in a Spanish lady's sitting-room. 
 
 This inner patio is all just as it was when the 
 Arabs ruled in Konda : columns, capitals, carved 
 beams, round arches nothing has been altered since 
 the conquest of the old town by the Catholic kings. 
 In the mountains it is the fashion to paint every 
 brick within reach with a solution of red ochre, and 
 the maids, in their desire to add a touch of extra 
 glory to the place for the wedding, had painted the 
 arches as well as the brick floors. On one side of 
 the arch nearest the staircase is a stone roughly 
 carved and springing from a base very much older 
 than the Arab invasion, and this was left of its own 
 yellow stone colour, so that its extreme age was 
 apparent. For this is one of those Greece-Roman 
 houses of which I have spoken, and each of the 
 successive races who iiave inhabited it used the 
 remains of their predecessors' building and carving 
 when they in their turn added to it. There was 
 a third patio beyond this, from which one looked 
 sheer down into the ravine 500 feet below, past 
 arched openings giving light and air to subterranean 
 chambers under the house, which are often said to 
 be prison cells, but are in fact mazmorras for the 
 storage of corn, wine, and oil. Indeed, there still 
 exist in one of these cellars, half built, half cut out 
 of the rock, a number of enormous oil- jars, quite 
 large enough for the Forty Thieves to hide in. 
 
 When I reached the house with Lola I found 
 the inner patio transformed. Everything movable 
 
SUMMER 25 
 
 had been taken away, and the arcades on all four 
 sides had been filled with chairs : the piano had 
 been pushed to one side, the whole centre of the 
 court was bare, and the blind organist of one of the 
 churches, a couple of guitarists and a man with a 
 bandurria (a tenor guitar) were busy tuning up, to 
 the accompaniment of the shrill whistling of half 
 a dozen canaries and the excited screams of the 
 Marchioness's pet parrot. 
 
 Two great seventeenth-century mirrors in hand- 
 some carved frames painted red and gold had been 
 brought downstairs and hung on two pillars opposite 
 each other, and Lola made straight for one of these 
 the moment we came in, to see, she said, if they 
 reflected properly, but really to study her own 
 appearance. 
 
 " Carmencita was determined to have them 
 brought down," she told me : " Papaito [diminu- 
 tive of Papa] objected because he says they are so 
 old that the frames might get broken, and they 
 have never been moved since they were made ; but 
 Carmen said she must see what she looked like, 
 dancing seguidillas in her satin train, and Mamma 
 said of course she should have what she wanted, 
 now that she had been so good and obedient about 
 marrying the Conde. Ay de mi de mi alma! I 
 wonder what my husband will be like when my 
 turn comes ! I do hope he won't be quite so old 
 and ugly as Cesar." 
 
 Her further confidences were cut short by the 
 arrival of her father and mother in their ancient 
 family coach, with leather curtains in place of 
 
26 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 windows, drawn by two great black mules whose 
 bells jingled so loudly and the brass of whose harness 
 was so bright as almost to hide the deplorable state 
 of the leather. The portly Marchioness had barely 
 time to recover her breath after the exertion of 
 getting out, and to take up her post of honour in 
 the patio, before the bride and bridegroom appeared, 
 he almost as fat and short-winded as his mother-in- 
 law, she looking extremely pretty with a flush on 
 her olive cheeks and her usually sombre heavy- 
 lidded eyes alight with excitement and pleasure at 
 the openly expressed admiration of the crowd all 
 along the road from the church. 
 
 The instant they came in the whole place burst into 
 life, for every corner was invaded by the number of 
 guests who had been invited and the still greater 
 number of those who had not. The well-to-do friends 
 and relations were followed by the poor ones, then 
 came the household servants, old and young, with 
 their friends and relations, and then everybody, 
 without distinction, who wanted to see the bride 
 and wish her joy. And as these last seemed to be 
 half the town, for a short time we were packed like 
 sardines, while the new little Condesa, standing at 
 her mother's side, was receiving resounding kisses 
 on both cheeks from every woman, child, and old 
 man in the crowd, the young men being apparently 
 the only ones who might not claim the privilege. 
 
 The amount of kissing done in Spain is extra- 
 ordinary. Children as a matter of course put up 
 their faces to the merest stranger who speaks to 
 them, middle-aged ladies on notoriously bad terms 
 
SUMMER 27 
 
 would think it a grave breach of courtesy not to 
 kiss loudly on meeting and parting in an afternoon 
 call, young girls embrace effusively in the most 
 public places, fathers sit with their babies on their 
 knees, mumbling their fat little hands by the hour 
 together, and all the servants expect to be kissed 
 by the ladies of the family when they start on or 
 return from a journey a most embarrassing custom 
 if the mistress is an Englishwoman. More than 
 once I have been in a shop when a woman has 
 come in and put her baby on the counter, where- 
 upon the shopman has left me to go and kiss the 
 child, whom he probably had never seen before. 
 Strangers will often stop short before a nice-looking 
 child, and exclaim " Que mono ! " (what a pretty 
 little thing) and bestow on it a couple of kisses that 
 can be heard all down the street. Of late an attempt 
 has been made in Madrid, at the instigation of the 
 Queen, to stop this promiscuous kissing, and for 
 one season at least it was the fashion to hang a 
 label round the babies' necks when out walking, 
 on which was written, " Please don't kiss me." 
 But there is no diminution of embraces outside of 
 the capital. 
 
 As soon as every claimant to the cheeks of 
 Carmencita had been satisfied, the uninvited guests 
 went away almost as suddenly as they had come in, 
 and the rest of the gathering moved on into the 
 inner court, and turned their attention to tobacco, 
 wine, and sweet cakes. The sons of the house and 
 their friends carried round a tray of glasses in one 
 hand and a bottle of Malaga, Manzanilla, or Muscatel 
 
28 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 in the other, and each guest was expected to empty 
 his glass at once and replace it on the tray for 
 the use of his neighbour. Then came the bride's 
 sisters and their friends with trays full of sweet- 
 meats and pastry made of almond paste, cocoa-nut 
 paste, chocolate, custard with a variety of flavour- 
 ings, and other sweets of Arabic origin, with un- 
 translatable names, the recipes for making which 
 are carefully preserved in a few convents, whose 
 inmates sometimes have little left to live on save 
 what they can earn by the sale of their cakes. 
 Among these there is a popular kind called yemas, 
 because made from the yolks of eggs (yemas). 
 They look like the yolk of a hard-boiled egg, and 
 are covered with transparent caramel of a surprising 
 stickiness. 
 
 And here I cannot refrain from digressing to tell 
 a little tale about King Alfonso. 
 
 The first time that he and the Queen came to 
 Seville was when their first baby, the little Prince of 
 Asturias, was a few months old. The King, whose 
 active habits and disregard of ceremony are well 
 known, went out on the morning after their arrival 
 for a walk through what is called the " Moorish " 
 quarter of the old town, a maze of narrow streets 
 little visited by sight-seers. Here he stopped at a 
 certain convent famous for its sweets, and asked the 
 "mother" who opened the little grille in the 
 street door for "a packet of yemas for his wife and 
 child." The good nun hesitated : she had not the 
 remotest idea who her customer was, and the 
 Mother Superior, she knew, had set aside all the 
 
SUMMER 29 
 
 best of the last batch to send as an offering to 
 the baby Heir to the Throne. 
 
 " Pardon me, Seiior," she stammered, divided 
 between her desire not to lose a possible peseta and 
 the difficulty of reconciling a refusal with her 
 natural courtesy ; "I fear to-day it is impossible 
 we we," and then, with a brilliant inspiration, 
 "we do not sell to foreigners." 
 
 " Oh, that's all right," said the King, " I am a 
 Spaniard by birth and education, and my present 
 address is the Alcazar of Seville." 
 
 The conclusion of the purchase may be left to 
 the imagination. 
 
 I have never been able to manage more than 
 two of these luscious sweets at a time, and little 
 Lola became quite distressed when her sixth 
 invitation to eat more and still more of the sugary 
 delicacies proved unavailing. 
 
 " I know what you will like," she said at last, 
 " I am sure you will like that, for our North 
 American friend 1 said it was the best thing in 
 Ronda. It is time to hand those trays now, so I 
 will run and get mine for you." 
 
 And the next moment Lola was at my side 
 again, pressing upon me slices of raw smoked ham, 
 to be offered and eaten with the fingers, just as 
 is done with dainties at wedding parties in Con- 
 stantinople and Beyrout to-day. 
 
 Undoubtedly the Andalucian acorn-fed hams 
 are excellent, but it was rather a shock to have to 
 
 1 To Spaniards "America" means Spanish America: the 
 inhabitants of the U.S. are always Norteamericanos or Yanquis. 
 
30 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 start upon ham, and raw ham at that, when one had 
 already eaten too many sweetmeats. 
 
 " Don't you like ham ? " said poor Lola, her 
 mouth drooping with disappointment. And then a 
 brilliant idea struck her. She dumped her tray 
 down on a vacant chair and ran off to the kitchen, 
 returning in triumph with half of one of those iron- 
 hard rolls known as roscas. This she thrust into 
 my hand and planted a slice of ham on the top of 
 it, saying with a sigh of relief 
 
 "I know that is what you want, for the North 
 American lady never would eat ham without bread. 
 I am so glad I thought of it, because only a few 
 minutes ago Carmencita told me to be sure and 
 get you everything you like until she has time to 
 come and talk to you. But now we are going 
 to dance, so she won't have any time to spare 
 yet." 
 
 To eat raw ham with one's fingers, as all the 
 ladies round me were doing quite simply and 
 naturally throwing the fragments that remained 
 on the floor under their chairs may seem peculiar 
 to our notions of table etiquette ; but nobody 
 would laugh at these " country manners " who 
 saw, as I did, the innate courtesy that lay beneath. 
 That the bride at a fashionable wedding should 
 have told off one of her sisters to show special 
 attention to an elderly lady of no particular impor- 
 tance, simply and solely because "being a foreigner 
 she might feel strange," illustrates the traditional 
 courtesy of well-bred Spaniards. And perhaps this 
 funny little incident will explain to some of my 
 
SUMMER 31 
 
 readers why I love the real Spain and the real 
 unconventionalised Spaniard. 
 
 Now the piano, the guitars, and the bandurria 
 struck up the seguidillas, whereupon Carmen and 
 her sister Pura at once stood up to dance. The 
 object of the two mirrors became apparent, for at 
 every turn of the dance the bride was able to see 
 herself in a fresh attitude, and her childlike delight 
 in the folds of her long train, as she watched it 
 sweeping after and around her, was a pretty sight. 
 She had the reputation of being the best dancer in 
 her native town, and loud cries of Muy bien and Ole 
 greeted the conclusion of the performance. 
 
 All these dances consist of what are called coplas 
 (couplets), because the movements of the dance were 
 originally interludes in the singing of verses, often 
 traditional, among which extempore references to the 
 happenings of the moment are introduced. Thus 
 when the girls dance without any singing, a series 
 of movements follow in sequence, lasting twenty 
 minutes or more, according to the number of coplas 
 that they may perform. To the uninitiated all the 
 dances, and still more all the coplas, seem to be 
 pretty much alike, when danced by girls only. But 
 when one sees these dances performed professionally 
 by a man and a woman together, one realises that 
 every step, every turn of the head, and every move- 
 ment of the body and arms, has had its origin in a 
 drama of passion, of coquetry, or of courtship. One 
 also realises why it is not permissible for youths 
 and girls to dance them together, save in the in- 
 timacy of a family gathering, and why even then 
 
32 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 the man must, so to speak, only play at taking part, 
 snapping his fingers in response to the rattle of the 
 castanets as the girl waves them over his head, and 
 holding himself rigidly upright while his partner 
 sways and bends as she whirls before and round 
 him. 
 
 The whole thing is essentially Oriental, and it 
 needs only the glance of an eye or the turn of a 
 hand to convert the graceful movements of ladies in 
 a drawing-room into an exposition of sensuality. 
 
 One understands therefore why Spanish ladies 
 are so careful how they allow their daughters to 
 dance even the apparently harmless seguidillas with 
 men instead of girls for their partners. 
 
 The usual form of concerted performance is for 
 the men to sing the coplas and the girls to dance 
 between each of them ; and when Carmencita had 
 finished her performance, the guitarists struck up 
 the rattling chords that preface the Peteneras. 
 After much pressing on the part of the girls, Carmen- 
 cita's eldest brother Paco, otherwise Francisco, was 
 induced to sing, and here is a translation of his first 
 and last verses, which he sang to the strange quaver- 
 ing air without tune or rhythm, and full of the odd 
 intervals and curious turns and flourishes peculiar 
 to this kind of music, while the spectators accom- 
 panied him with a fusillade of hand-clapping and 
 shouts of applause which burst out at every pause. 
 
 "My novia has deserted me, 
 
 Child of my heart ; 
 Thinking that I should grieve for her, 
 Child of my heart. 
 
SUMMER 33 
 
 I am not sure whether I shall take another sweetheart now, 
 Or wait and look about me through the summer. 
 
 When I am on my death-bed, 
 
 Child of my heart, 
 Seat thyself at my bed-head, 
 
 Child of my heart. 
 Bring me a good veal cutlet, 
 Two fowls and a nice beefsteak, 
 And if this does not seem to thee enough 
 Bring me anything else that occurs to thee." 
 
 The wedding party thought this screamingly 
 funny, and there were shouts of Otra copla! Otra 
 copla! (another verse) when he had finished. But 
 he made a sign to his second sister Pura, and another 
 to the musicians, and the dancing began again. 
 
 The peteneras are more dramatic and crisper in 
 movement than the seguidillas, and the brother and 
 sister did a great deal of rhythmical hand-clapping 
 and stamping, curiously at variance with the senti- 
 mental refrain of the song. When it was over, Pura 
 dropped into the nearest seat, panting and fanning 
 herself vigorously, while Paco slipped away to join 
 the men, who from first to last sat in the outer patio 
 and seemed to take no interest in the proceedings 
 within, except when occasionally one of them planted 
 himself in the entrance to commend some girl whose 
 dancing he admired. 
 
 Proceedings became increasingly lively as the 
 afternoon advanced, though the decorum was never 
 relaxed. It got hotter and hotter, and the air grew 
 suffocating under the awning, but there was no pause 
 in the dancing. As soon as one couple of girls ended 
 3 
 
34 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 another stepped out, and sometimes half a dozen 
 were dancing together. All the grown-up girls wore 
 high combs and white mantillas, which never seemed 
 to become disarranged, and quantities of natural 
 flowers on their heads and breasts, chiefly jessamine 
 blossoms pulled off their stems and fastened together 
 to form large rosettes another survival of Arabic 
 customs. One would have expected to see the floor 
 strewn with the flowers as the dancing went on, but 
 I knew that every girl had spent at least an hour 
 arranging her head-dress before she started for the 
 wedding, and had taken good care that everything 
 was firmly fixed. And then, however lively the 
 dancing may be, it is always graceful, and there is 
 never a jerky or violent movement, which accounts 
 for these elaborate head-dresses being as neat at the 
 end as they are at the beginning. 
 
 Everything must finish some time, and presently 
 the bridegroom, who had never come near the ladies 
 since he and his wife entered the house, appeared at 
 the entrance of the inner patio, his nose rather bluer 
 than usual, and smelling strongly of smoke, to tell 
 Carmencita that it was time to change her dress for 
 the train. 
 
 "Por Dios!" exclaimed the girl, "I had quite 
 forgotten that I was going away. Come, Pura ; 
 come, Lola, one more set of seguidillas : who knows 
 when we shall dance together again ! " 
 
 Sixteen-year-old Pura in her first mantilla, Lola 
 with streaming hair and scanty petticoats little below 
 her knees, and Carmencita with her two yards of 
 train, made a very ill-assorted trio; but they did 
 
SUMMER 35 
 
 not concern themselves about the general effect. 
 They danced no less than six coplas together, the 
 last including some odd little jumps off the floor 
 with both feet, quite the least graceful performance 
 I had yet seen, and most inappropriate to a long 
 train. And then, to a chorus of Oles the three 
 stopped dancing, flung their arms round each other, 
 burst into floods of tears over the imminent parting, 
 and were all borne away sobbing by their mother 
 and various sympathetic friends. 
 
 The two younger sisters were still crying when 
 they came downstairs an hour later with the bride 
 in her travelling dress, a really charming arrange- 
 ment of white muslin and blue ribbons, but Carmen- 
 cita's face was almost hidden under an overwhelming 
 straw hat covered with immense roses. 
 
 Now she was once more all smiles, and beamed 
 impartially on everybody as she moved towards the 
 great doors amid a perfect fusillade of explosive 
 kisses. How they managed to reach her face under 
 that hat I could not understand, but I heard her 
 say several times, " Cuidado con mi sombrero" 
 (Mind my hat), while she moved towards me ; and 
 as she embraced me I discovered why she was leaving 
 her home smiling instead of in a flood of hysterical 
 tears, as Spanish brides usually do. 
 
 " Isn't my hat enchanting ? " she whispered in my 
 ear ; " you know it is the first hat I ever had in 
 my life, and Cesar actually ordered it for me from 
 Gibraltar ! Isn't he an angel ? And we are going 
 to Madrid, and then to Paris, and he is going to buy 
 me ever so many more ! But don't tell anybody ; I 
 
36 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 want to pretend I am quite accustomed to wearing 
 a hat." 
 
 The fascinating novelty carried her through all 
 the adieux and safe into the carriage with her bride- 
 groom, and the last we saw of Carmencita was her 
 laughing face as she straightened the monstrosity, 
 which she had almost knocked off against the carriage 
 door as she got in. 
 
CHAPTEK IV 
 
 The " season of the baths" Furnished apartments without beds 
 The amenities of the Balneario Sea views at a discount 
 Bathing costumes : flounces and frills The force of example 
 Happy swimmers. 
 
 THE " season of the baths," as the summer holidays 
 are here called, is a very serious business indeed. In 
 the fashionable seaside resorts such as San Sebastian, 
 Santander, Malaga, etc., it is possible to get a com- 
 fortably furnished villa or flat for a few weeks, 
 though only at a ruinous cost ; but in the smaller 
 places it was until lately difficult to get any accom- 
 modation at all outside of the Balneario or Hotel 
 for Bathers, unless one took a so-called furnished 
 house and sent the missing necessaries from one's 
 own home by carrier or train ; for the furnishing in 
 such houses generally consisted mainly of more or 
 less rickety chairs. 
 
 Personal luggage, of course, goes with the traveller, 
 but things which do not come into that category, 
 and they are many, must be booked and paid for 
 separately. What exactly constitutes personal lug- 
 gage varies a good deal with the taste and fancy of 
 the booking-clerk. At one station, for instance, 
 they flatly refused to take my jamugas (a folding 
 donkey saddle described on p. 66), and at another 
 
 37 
 
38 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 an obliging porter tied them on to my suit-case and 
 they went through without difficulty. But speaking 
 generally, nothing but portmanteaus, bags, and such 
 like are admitted, with one notable exception. About 
 bedding there is never any trouble. A mattress for 
 each member of the party, with its pillows, sheets, 
 and blankets, will all go as personal luggage, though, 
 as the limit of weight is only 60 Ibs. per head, you 
 may have to pay a considerable sum for excess. 
 You can also book your bed and bedding (which it 
 is just as well to take with you to a " furnished 
 house" at any of the smaller seaside places) together 
 with other immediate necessaries, by grande vitesse, 
 when it is supposed to travel by the same train as 
 yourself, and to be accessible immediately on arrival. 
 But if there happens to be a crowd at the departure 
 station, it is as likely as not that the things booked 
 by grande vitesse will be left behind. 
 
 This happened to some Spanish acquaintances of 
 mine one summer. They had booked everything 
 except the children's lunch and such trifles as they 
 could take in their hands, and they arrived at the 
 village where they and we were to spend the holidays 
 late at night and dead tired, without any luggage at 
 all. The neighbours set to work and improvised 
 beds for the smallest children, and the mothers, 
 aunts, and sisters sat in rocking-chairs all night. 
 
 " What else is to be done ? " they said philoso- 
 phically ; " this sort of thing always happens if you 
 go to the baths in the fashionable season, when 
 everybody wants to be there at once." 
 
 None of them were at all cross or depressed, 
 
SUMMER 39 
 
 although they were very grateful when we provided 
 a mattress or two for the tired babies to be put to 
 bed on. 
 
 Travellers who want to see the Spanish bathing 
 season in full swing may put up at the Balneario 
 with which every little seaside resort is provided. 
 But they must be prepared to get no sleep or rest 
 as long as they stay there, for the noise is inconceiv- 
 able. There will be anything from fifty to two 
 hundred men, women, and children but chiefly 
 children of all ages, and all agog to make the most 
 of the seven, fourteen, or twenty-one days of bathing 
 prescribed by the family physician. For be it known 
 that we don't bathe as we please in 'Spain, but under 
 medical orders and strictly for the good of our health, 
 and many people believe that all the virtue in salt 
 water would be lost did they take one bath too many 
 or too few. And from the moment they wake in 
 the morning until the last frequenter of the hotel 
 bar goes to bed some time in the small hours, the 
 din of voices and the clatter of feet on the brick 
 floors never ceases for one instant. 
 
 Most Spaniards have extraordinarily loud voices. 
 Of course it is usual in any country to shout at a 
 foreigner under the impression that he will under- 
 stand better if you deafen him to begin with. But 
 in Spain it is not only the foreigner who is bawled 
 at, for Spaniards all shout at each other in the 
 bosoms of their families to such a degree that when I 
 first came to live here I got the impression that they 
 were continually quarrelling. Men and women alike 
 have this unpleasant habit, and although many of 
 
40 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 them are aware what a noise they make and remark 
 that it is a bad custom, they seem constitutionally 
 incapable of lowering their voices. 
 
 When I am almost driven crazy with the strain 
 on my ears I pretend to be puzzled at what is said, 
 and politely remark 
 
 " I am stupidly ignorant of Castilian, but I shall 
 understand better if you will kindly talk a little 
 slower." 
 
 "Slower" (mas despacito) is a euphemism for 
 "lower," and the request never fails to elicit a 
 pleasant smile and a comment on the shrillness of 
 Spanish voices, in a half whisper. But in two 
 seconds habit holds sway again, and the din rises 
 higher and higher until one feels that one's only refuge 
 is flight unless one wishes to qualify for Bedlam. 
 
 The children of the well-to-do unlike those of 
 the poor are quite undisciplined, and are allowed 
 to shriek and scream as they please. Their noise 
 does not worry their parents, who take it as a 
 matter of course, and it never occurs to them that 
 it can annoy any one else. When dozens of children 
 of all ages are collected together in a Balneario, 
 the racket is such as might have inspired Dante 
 with an idea for a tenth circle in his hell. If you 
 suggest that some white-faced, heavy-eyed creature 
 of two or three years old would be better in bed 
 than in the hall of an hotel blazing with electric 
 light at ten or eleven at night, its parents merely reply 
 "No quiere " (He doesn't want to), which is considered 
 an entirely sufficient reason for letting their sickly 
 infant sit up to all hours. 
 
SUMMER 41 
 
 The children mostly dine at the table d'hote of 
 the Balneario in small towns, and when the endless 
 meal is at last over some one begins to thump dance 
 tunes on a cracked piano, and the little girls from 
 six to fourteen swarm into the general sitting-room 
 and start dancing. When midnight approaches and 
 the children drop asleep from sheer weariness, filling 
 the benches and flopping across their parents' knees, 
 the grown-up young ladies and their attendant 
 swains take the floor, and keep the fun going till 
 2 or 3 a.m. This is not one night but every night, 
 and not in one Balneario but in every Balneario, 
 throughout the month of August. 
 
 I once spent a day and a night in one of these 
 hotels, which are often pretty and sometimes have 
 beautiful sea views and other advantages which 
 should make them really attractive out of the season, 
 did they not all close as soon as it is over. For 
 my sins I was at the Balneario of Our Lady of the 
 Rosary in the height of the summer. I fled by 
 the earliest train I could get next morning, and the 
 landlord was most willing for me to go, for he had 
 a married couple with three children ready to pack 
 themselves into the tiny room I had engaged, which 
 contained nothing in the way of furniture save a 
 looking-glass, one chair, a small enamelled wash- 
 basin, and one huge bed. 
 
 The last thing Spaniards seem to care about in 
 the bathing season is the sea. The Balneario of 
 Our Lady of the Rosary looked out right over the 
 Atlantic, whose blue waves washed the foot of the 
 low cliff on which the village stood. I never saw 
 
42 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 anything more lovely than the sunset over the sea 
 the evening I was there, and the hotel dining-room 
 opened on to a broad terrace supplied with numbers 
 of chairs and tables at which people sat and sipped 
 refrescos a mild beverage consisting largely of 
 sugar and water. Of all the people thus engaged 
 I was Che only one who turned to look at the 
 sunset. And when after dinner I went out to the 
 post office I found all the occupants of all the nice 
 new houses built by themselves to live in during 
 the brief bathing season, seated on uncomfortable 
 chairs on the footway in the narrow, dirty street, 
 and all with their backs to the sea. Their houses 
 all had terraces running out to the edge of the 
 water at high tide, like that of the Balneario, but 
 as I strolled back to the hotel in the moonlight 
 along the shore I noticed that there was not a 
 single human being to be seen on any of these 
 terraces. I had never imagined such a waste of 
 opportunity, or such a strange idea of enjoying the 
 sea. But I have been at a good many Spanish 
 bathing-places since then, and have always been 
 regarded as a harmless lunatic on account of my 
 preference for sitting with my face to the sea 
 instead of at my street door watching the passers-by. 
 The bathing at that village was excellent, the 
 best, I think, that I have ever known, though a 
 trifle dangerous for any but strong swimmers when 
 a stormy day left a heavy roll and undertow. The 
 Balneario, which had a monopoly of the bathing- 
 houses for about half a mile of beach, provided a 
 sufficiency of buoyed ropes, and a leaky old boat 
 
ii ii i n 
 
 n n 
 
 n n 
 
 PINE CONES AND PRICKLY PEAKS. 
 
SUMMER 43 
 
 was anchored a hundred yards out all the summer 
 in case of accidents. This boat was only accessible 
 by swimming, there being no other anywhere within 
 range, and it had no oars, so its precise use on an 
 emergency does not appear. It filled and sank 
 whenever the sea got up, but it was always dragged 
 out, emptied, and replaced in position by the men 
 in attendance, by the time the sea was calm enough 
 for the visitors to bathe again. 
 
 Although we never stayed at the Balneario, we 
 spent several summers in the village, where we took 
 a little cottage and furnished it with what our 
 Spanish friends thought very bad taste, for it con- 
 tained plenty of books and tables and not a single 
 pier-glass. Here we attracted a good deal of 
 attention by sitting out at all hours, when the 
 sun was not too blazing hot, under an awning rigged 
 up on a sandhill facing the sea, where we watched 
 with an amusement equal to their astonishment at 
 our eccentricities, the amenities of Spanish families 
 taking their baths. 
 
 The first year we were there the women all wore 
 heavy serge gowns right down to their feet, mostly 
 edged with a broad frill of the same material. 
 Strange to say, one of them managed to swim, and 
 to swim well, in this most unsuitable garment. Her 
 husband, who was lame and could only walk with 
 a stick, also swam well. He used to fling his stick 
 ashore as soon as he was in the water to his waist, 
 and he and his wife would swim out to the old 
 boat, her flowing robe ballooning largely behind 
 her. Later on we came to know them and their 
 
44 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 family, and the eldest son, a nice boy of about 
 sixteen, told us as politely as he could how dread- 
 fully shocked the Spanish ladies had been that 
 first summer at our indelicate bathing garments, 
 consisting of blouses with short sleeves, knickers, 
 and a skirt to the knees. No doubt our by no 
 means modern bathing dresses surprised them, 
 although we had no idea of it at the time, for that 
 year even the men wore long trousers, sometimes 
 trimmed with little frills round the ankles, while 
 coats covered their arms to the wrists. True, the 
 men so attired did not attempt to swim, but bobbed 
 up and down with their wives and daughters, all 
 holding on to the rope for dear life and never 
 moving an inch from where the bathing-man had 
 put them, until he returned, when he thought they 
 had been in long enough, with sheets to envelop 
 the ladies and bring them to shore again. 
 
 Yes, all the ladies were carefully wrapped in 
 sheets when they came out, although no human 
 eye could discern the form so carefully hidden under 
 their voluminous draperies. The only creatures who 
 were allowed to expose any part of their anatomy 
 to direct contact with the water were the babies. 
 They, poor little miseries, were carried down stark 
 naked to the water's edge and handed over to the 
 bathing-men. These, no doubt with the best 
 intentions, would take the screaming mite in one 
 hand and dip it head first into a good big wave, 
 using their free hand to disengage the frantic clutch 
 of the terrified creatures when they came up in an 
 agony of fright from their ducking and found them- 
 
SUMMER 45 
 
 selves, choked and blinded by the salt water, turned 
 upside down for a second dip. Three times was 
 this brutality repeated every day, and if the piteous 
 cries grew less the third time, the parents, watching 
 the proceedings from the shore, would congratulate 
 themselves that the child was beginning to enjoy 
 his bath. 
 
 To me it seemed more likely that he was begin- 
 ning to die from it, and indeed a summer rarely 
 passes without at least one or two small children 
 coming to an untimely end at the Balnearios. But 
 nothing can convince the mothers that such treat- 
 ment is too violent for babies. They themselves 
 took their first sea baths under those conditions, 
 and so did their parents before them, and therefore 
 it must be the right thing and produce good results 
 in the long-run, no matter how the little one may 
 suffer in health and nerves at the moment. 
 
 Infant mortality is always high in Spain. In 
 summer, I understand, it is higher than at any 
 other time, and I do not wonder at it. 
 
 That first summer the lame Don Basilio and 
 his wife were the only swimmers except ourselves. 
 But the next year several schoolgirls begged him 
 to teach them to swim, and as the season went on 
 and they made progress in the new accomplishment 
 the flowing skirts were exchanged for trousers, and 
 the trousers gradually grew shorter until a reason- 
 able amount of bare leg was displayed. One or 
 two of the girls managed to swim out to the boat 
 before their twenty-one baths came to an end, and 
 indeed the mystic number was treated with un- 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 Travelling in Spain : four grades of trains but only one price 
 Ten miles an hour Dangerous speed Amusing the 
 villagers A slow night journey Suppressing a raconteur 
 " Shall we go 1 " Hot water while we wait The paralytic 
 Taking a photograph The beauty at the window A dis- 
 courteous custom Empty minds The toothpick A gentle- 
 man of the old school Hospitality at Antequera A Spanish 
 dinner table Delightful memories. 
 
 TRAVELLING in this country is really a trial to the 
 patience. It is true that the main lines have now 
 been made comfortable, with corridor carriages, 
 well-cushioned seats, and good lighting on the night 
 trains ; but the unpunctuality and the purposeless 
 delays all along the line make even a short journey 
 tiresome and a long one intolerable, unless one 
 resolutely determines only to look at the comic side 
 of things. 
 
 There are four classes of passenger trains, and 
 we may take the journey from Madrid to Seville 
 as typical of the rest. This line is used by the 
 King, the Court, and the governing classes generally, 
 and is travelled by nearly every tourist who comes 
 to Spain, for every one wants to see Seville, 
 Cordova, and Granada, while naturally the capital, 
 with its superlative picture gallery, is the objective 
 
 of all foreigners interested in art. 
 
 48 
 
AX ANCIENT GATEWAY. 
 
SUMMER 49 
 
 The slowest of these trains is the mixto, a sort 
 of cross between a passenger and a luggage train. 
 The distance from Madrid to Seville is 358 miles, 
 and the mixto does the journey in twenty-four hours 
 and twenty minutes, or at the rate of nearly fifteen 
 miles an hour, if it gets in punctually, which it 
 seldom or never does. Next we have the correo or 
 mail train, which nominally takes eighteen hours 
 one way and nineteen the other the more rapid 
 journey being rather under twenty miles an 
 hour. Then comes the expreso, which takes 
 eleven and a half hours one way and twelve the 
 other, travelling at the rate of about thirty miles 
 an hour ; and then the expreso de lujo, which does 
 the journey in eleven hours and forty minutes, 
 being a shade faster than the expreso. Both these 
 last are trains de luxe, with dining-car and the 
 wagon-lits Company's carriages, and are usually 
 pretty punctual. These trains, be it remembered, 
 are running on one of the chief main lines of Spain. 
 
 On the branch lines nothing like these speeds 
 are attained. On one of these, as I was told by 
 a friend who often had to travel by it, the usual 
 rate was ten miles an hour, and the district petitioned 
 the railway to reduce the speed, which was con- 
 sidered highly dangerous. The petition was refused, 
 on the ground that if the train went any slower 
 it would come too expensive, on account of the 
 increased coal consumption. 
 
 With true Spanish inconsistency the same fares 
 are charged for all these trains except the trains 
 de luxe, for which an excess of ten per cent, is 
 4 
 
50 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 levied on the first-class fares. On these trains 
 there is no second-class, and on one of them only 
 a single third-class carriage. The mixto is horribly 
 uncomfortable, and the carriages of all classes are 
 usually dirty, but one need not fear any rudeness 
 or roughness from one's fellow-travellers. 
 
 It was once my fate to travel by a mixto from 
 a wayside station where I had missed the express 
 after a long donkey ride across country. My 
 men had never been there, but when it became 
 evident that by no possibility could I catch the 
 train I had intended, they declared, in their desire 
 to reassure me, that there was a decent posada 
 close to the station where I could comfortably spend 
 the night. We arrived to find not even a cottage, 
 but only a choza or hovel, built of stones and 
 thatched with reeds, and a canteen consisting of 
 the bar and a tiny room off it, where the railway 
 people took their meals, for it was a junction of 
 some importance, and several men were employed 
 there. I had no alternative but to go on by the 
 mixto, and I sat for seven mortal hours in that 
 train, travelling in all eighty-four miles. It was 
 about three in the morning when I reached a town 
 which gave reasonable promise of possessing some 
 sort of hotel, and at least half of that time we 
 spent at stations, all lighted up and all crowded 
 with villagers, just as if it were day. 
 
 I am bound to say that although the seats were 
 so hard and so grimy, and the jolting of the train 
 so incessant that sleep was impossible, I neither 
 heard nor saw anything offensive, although my 
 
SUMMER 51 
 
 fellow-travellers were all men, and there was not 
 one gentleman, in the conventional sense of the 
 term, among the lot. One man, it is true, began 
 a funny story which it was probably just as well 
 that I did not understand, but before he came to 
 the point his friends hushed him up, on the ground 
 that they had heard it all before, whereupon the 
 facetious person so promptly dropped asleep that 
 I guessed he had been looking too long on the wine- 
 cup before he started. Nothing was said to me, 
 but I quite understood that the raconteur was 
 silenced out of consideration for my presence. 
 
 The correo on the main lines is much better than 
 the mixto ; the first and second class even have 
 corridor carriages, and these are roomy and com- 
 fortably cushioned. If time were absolutely no 
 object as indeed seems to be the case in Spain 
 one need not complain of the correo at all. But to 
 people who prefer getting to their journey's end to 
 sitting in the train, the endless delays and the pur- 
 poseless dawdling are intensely irritating. The train 
 stops at every little station, apparently to amuse 
 the villagers, for often no one gets either in or out, 
 though there will be from twenty to a hundred 
 loafers on the platform. After long waiting a guard 
 is heard to inquire, "Shall we go?" (Vamonos?); 
 some other official says, " Let's go ! " ( Vamonos !) ; a 
 third rings a bell and shouts, " My lords the travellers 
 to the train!" (Senores viajeros, al trenf); some 
 one blows a horn, the engine whistles two or three 
 times, and we drift out as vaguely as we drifted in, 
 ten, twenty, or thirty minutes before. 
 
52 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 At one station on a very dull journey which 1 
 often have occasion to make, an extra delay seems 
 to have been arranged to enable the wives of the 
 stationmaster, the canteen keeper, and the one porter 
 to obtain a supply of hot water from the engine 
 boiler, for every time I travel that way I see a group 
 of these ladies filling cans and buckets from a steam- 
 ing jet which certainly is not let off anywhere else. 
 
 At another station we spend an interminable 
 time watering the engine. This station is only half 
 an hour from a junction where the train waits, 
 according to schedule, for thirty minutes, and why 
 the water cannot be taken in then, the demon of 
 dilatoriness that presides over Spanish railways 
 alone knows. This, like the distribution of hot 
 water, does not occur only once in a way. I have 
 been over the line eight times, for my sins, and have 
 seen the same incidents every time. 
 
 Once our train waited an extra ten minutes while 
 a poor paralysed old woman was conveyed in front 
 of the engine from a train alongside of ours to the 
 exit from the station, where a donkey awaited her. 
 The porter carried her slung over his shoulder like 
 a sack of potatoes, head downwards. We all thought 
 she was dead until we saw her hands waving and 
 heard her shrill voice bidding the man shift her into 
 an easier position, which he did, by no means un- 
 kindly. She was a very poor woman, and her old 
 husband trudged after her, bearing a couple of worn 
 pillows and a bag of food. It was clear that there 
 was no money wherewith to tip that porter. No 
 one grumbled at the time lost by our train, which 
 
SUMMER 53 
 
 was already close on an hour late, although she might 
 just as well have been carried behind it and thus 
 let us go on. They only said, " Poor creature ! She 
 seems very ill." On the other hand, no one thought 
 of producing pesetas or even coppers to alleviate her 
 sufferings, though probably if I had been ready- 
 witted enough to suggest it, most of my travelling 
 companions would have contributed. Spaniards are 
 curiously destitute of imagination in such cases, but 
 when I have had the presence of mind to propose 
 some such obvious charity as the above they have 
 quickly followed suit, expressing admiration of our 
 English initiative. 
 
 The funniest example of official indifference to 
 the time table that I have seen occurred on a journey 
 from Algeciras to Bobadilla. During a long pause 
 at a wayside station one of our party got out to 
 photograph a group of picturesque beggars for on 
 the Andalucian railways beggars are chartered liber- 
 tines, permitted to climb up to the windows and 
 pester the travellers for money. Before he had 
 finished the bell rang for the train to start, but 
 seeing how he was engaged the stationmaster 
 politely turned to the guard. 
 
 " Wait a moment longer," he said ; " do you not 
 see that the gentleman is taking a photograph ? " 
 
 Let it not be supposed, however, that Spanish 
 travellers find their slow trains such a trial as we do. 
 The men chat, smoke, eat, drink, and sleep, and the 
 women eat and sleep the elder ones, that is. The 
 younger ones spend most of their time standing at 
 the window. This is a very favourite occupation 
 
54 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 of all Spanish travellers in first-class compartments. 
 Directly the train slows into a station every window 
 of the corridor carriage will be occupied by a more 
 or less portly person of either sex, who thrust their 
 heads and bodies out as far as they will go, to stare 
 up and down at the exceedingly uninteresting crowd 
 assembled to see the train come in. Except on Sun- 
 days and holidays, when the station is to the village 
 what the fashionable promenade is to the town, the 
 people who loaf on the platform are by no means the 
 pick of the population, being merely those who have 
 nothing else to do. But this does not seem to 
 diminish the Spanish traveller's interest in them, 
 and he will block the windows till the very last 
 minute, watching the village idiot or the diseased 
 beggar until he is quite out of sight, as if all his 
 hopes of happiness depended on getting the very 
 last glimpse of the unpleasing spectacle. 
 
 The girls who travel have, it must be admitted, 
 another object in planting themselves at the window 
 while the train is in a station. They want not so 
 much to see as to be seen, and faute de mieux, the 
 open admiration of the village loafer helps to pass 
 the time. On one occasion I travelled for many 
 hours in company with the wife and daughter of a 
 man whose office under the Government argued a 
 good social position and a certain amount of cultiva- 
 tion. The mother talked of nothing but the excel- 
 lence of the food in the town we had both been 
 visiting, and the girl never spoke at all save to ask 
 me at intervals where we were and how much behind 
 time the train was now. At every station she planted 
 
SUMMER 55 
 
 herself in the window, and as she was strikingly 
 handsome with unusually brilliant colouring, a group 
 of yokels never failed to collect in front of our com- 
 partment, staring at her for all they were worth. 
 
 " I cannot imagine," the mother once remarked 
 to me, " why so many people stand there." 
 
 " Well," I said with perfect sincerity, " they 
 probably do not often have any one so pretty as your 
 daughter to look at." 
 
 The mother bridled and smiled, and immediately 
 told the girl what I had said. 
 
 After that our young beauty never left the window 
 at all presumably lest some admirer should miss 
 the opportunity of gazing on her charms from the 
 moment the train drew into any station until it left 
 again ; and I calculated afterwards that she had stood 
 three solid hours on end in the corridor, only varying 
 her position to move to my window at the opposite 
 end of the compartment when we stopped at a 
 station where the platform was on that side. 
 
 This discourteous habit, common to men and 
 women alike, of blocking the first-class carriage 
 windows regardless of the comfort and convenience 
 of the other passengers, is in some ways the most 
 unpleasant feature of travelling in Spain. It is 
 practically confined, however, to the well-to-do, and 
 I am bound to say that on short journeys, where 
 a little fatigue does not matter, I often prefer to 
 travel second or even third class, so that I may get 
 my fair share of the view and the air, which is im- 
 possible when travelling with Spaniards who can 
 afford to pay the higher fares. On the other hand, 
 
56 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 as they seem quite unable to amuse themselves in 
 other ways (for very few of them ever read in the 
 train, or indeed in their own houses), perhaps one 
 ought not to grudge them the delightful distraction 
 and the wide enlightenment to be obtained by 
 looking out of the carriage window. 
 
 In other ways many little courtesies are shown. 
 Food, for instance, is always offered, even though 
 you are at the moment unpacking your own lunch 
 basket. This is as a rule a form, which means no 
 more than the offer of his house, at such a number 
 of such a street, which your travelling acquaintance 
 will make you when he gets out at his station, well 
 knowing that you and he will never meet again in 
 this world. But sometimes the offer to share with 
 you is quite genuine, as in the case of a stout Catalan 
 commis-voyageur, who, after I had politely declined 
 three times over to divide his lunch, having just 
 finished my own before his eyes, took two elegant 
 celluloid toothpicks out of his pocket, and laid one 
 upon my knee, saying, "That at least you will 
 accept ! " 
 
 He afterwards told me that he "travelled" for 
 a German firm which made celluloid ornaments, and 
 I always regret that I returned his toothpick with- 
 out reading the advertisement printed on it. I 
 thought he might want it, and I knew I did not, 
 but I believe he really did wish me to accept his 
 gift and take a note of his firm. 
 
 When one has the luck to make the acquaintance 
 of a Spanish gentleman of the old school, one realises 
 what a loss is inflicted on society by his retirement 
 
SUMMER 57 
 
 from the world, for men of his kind dislike the new 
 aristocracy of wealth, and shrink from competing 
 with the cursileria of the large towns as much as 
 Don Quixote himself would have done. 
 
 On my way to Granada one lovely May day I 
 had the rare good luck to travel with one of these 
 gentlemen. I was accompanied by an old friend 
 whom I had not seen for many years, and we con- 
 gratulated ourselves on finding an empty compart- 
 ment when we got into the train. Just before we 
 started, however, a slim well-dressed man of forty 
 or so clambered up the precipitous steps into the 
 carriage, with a pot of carnations under each arm. 
 This alone would have prepossessed one in his 
 favour, for the male Spaniard of any class above the 
 labourer usually thinks it degrading to be seen carry- 
 ing anything in his hands, and leaves the parcels to be 
 borne by his wife if there is no servant handy. Our 
 man not only carried his own carnations, but was a 
 great deal more careful of them than of his smart 
 personal luggage, and finally, after asking permis- 
 sion, he wedged them up in the rack between his 
 valise and mine, explaining that he had bought 
 them at the last moment to take to his wife, and 
 was anxious that they should come to no harm. 
 
 The ice thus broken, we soon got into conversa- 
 tion, and when he found that we were going to stop 
 the night at Antequera he seemed quite delighted. 
 
 "That is my own town," he said, " I can assure 
 you that it is worth a visit, and I wish more 
 foreigners knew how beautiful is the situation, and 
 how many objects of interest it contains. There is 
 
58 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 also a quite passable hotel, and the people of Ante- 
 (jiirni In .(I m;inn<Ts, ;m<l do not, worry tourists 
 
 in the streets, although they see comparatively few 
 Kn^lisli 1,-hlii's, or \vh;i,t is even of ^renter interest 
 to them English ladies' hats." 
 
 Most unluckily, he said, he would only be at 
 home himself for quite a few hours, as he had to go 
 on to Malaga early next morning, but he was deeply 
 inter. in ;ircli;iM)lo;;y, ;nxl on limlin^ that my 
 tastes lay in that direction, he said that, no matter 
 what business he had to set aside, he must have the 
 pleasure of showing me some very curious capitals 
 of columns, recently unearthed from a fourteenth- 
 century convent wall, the period of which he found 
 himself unable to determine. I accepted the invita- 
 tion with delight, for not only did I know by 
 experience that great interest often attaches to 
 objects "found in the convent walls," but. I knew 
 it was the chance of a lifetime for my friend to see 
 the interior of a Spanish gentleman's country house. 
 
 Having fixed the hour for our call and given 
 us his address, our friend proceeded to spread his 
 belongings over three seats, for we were approaching 
 a junction, and he explained that he did not mean 
 anyone else to get in, as he had slept badly over- 
 night and wanted a good nap. 
 
 The station was crowded and many people came 
 and looked into our compartment, shook their heads 
 at the much-engaged seats, and went off to stow 
 themselves in the packed compartments elsewhere. 
 Our friend smiled pleasantly, showing beautiful 
 white teeth under a short fair moustache for lie 
 
SUMMER 59 
 
 was as blond as a Dane, with brown hair and blue 
 eyes and suggested that the stationmaster should 
 put on another carriage when an insistent lady with 
 several children tried, in vain, to force her way in 
 against his polite resistance. 
 
 And when we were safe out of the station he 
 pulled out his three seats to form a sofa, as is done 
 when these compartments are converted into sleep- 
 ing carriages at night, and calmly slumbered until 
 we got to Bobadilla some three hours later. This 
 is the Clapham Junction of southern Spain, and it 
 was impossible for our fellow-traveller, for all his fine 
 manners and general grand air, to appropriate our 
 whole compartment any longer; but, as he remarked, 
 he had had his sleep and now no longer required the 
 extra seats. So other travellers were welcome to 
 come in, and the more so because we should all 
 three be getting out at the next station but one. 
 
 " You will require half an hour to secure your 
 rooms at the hotel, and half an hour to rest," he said 
 as we parted, we in one omnibus and he in another, 
 with many apologies for not being able to offer us 
 his carriage, because his return was unexpected, and 
 no one had come to meet him. " But I hope you 
 will be able to reach my house conveniently by six 
 o'clock, that I may present my wife and children to 
 you, and show you my capitals in a good light." 
 
 He had, of course, given us his card, but the name 
 told us nothing except that he was not a man of 
 title. So in the omnibus we took the opportunity 
 of obtaining a little information about him. We 
 found he was the Alcalde, or Mayor, which means 
 
60 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 that he was little short of a king in the town, for 
 the Alcalde here holds a position social, political, and 
 municipal, considerably higher than that of any Lord 
 Mayor in England. In fact we have at home no 
 authority with which the Spanish Alcalde can be 
 compared, for he is appointed by the Government, 
 and can make and unmake at will any of the 
 numerous paid officials under him. Alcaldes there- 
 fore generally have as many enemies as friends 
 during their term of office, but our Alcalde of 
 Antequera seemed to have gained the affections of 
 his townspeople, not by political favouritism, but by 
 hia personal qualities. 
 
 " He is the richest and the best man in the town," 
 said the respectable tradesman with whom we talked 
 in the omnibus ; " and I should not say that if it 
 was not true, for he is a Conservative and I am a 
 Liberal, and I lost my job at the Town Hall when 
 they made him Alcalde, so I've kept a sharp look 
 out for any mistakes he might make." 
 
 At six o'clock, according to promise, we made 
 our way to the Alcalde's house, and were ushered by 
 a smiling servant, evidently on the look out for us, 
 across a patio blazing with geraniums and heavy 
 with the scent of roses, heliotrope, and jessamine, 
 through a long shady gallery with fine eighteenth- 
 century furniture ranged along the walls, into a 
 charming little reception-room, furnished with light- 
 painted wood, and adorned with the usual window 
 blinds, chair-backs, and table-covers of exquisite 
 needlework, edged and inset with fine lace and 
 embroidery. 
 
SUMMER 6 1 
 
 To us here appeared our Alcalde leading his 
 handsome wife and followed by his two good- 
 looking children. We were a little late, and he 
 apologised for the family being at dinner ; but if we 
 would come into the dining-room and " accompany " 
 them at their meal, without ceremony and as 
 friends, he and the Senora would soon have done 
 eating and be ready to take us round their and 
 our house and show us any little object of interest 
 which might repay us for the trouble of looking 
 at it. 
 
 Of course we agreed, while apologising for our 
 unpunctuality, and regretting the disturbance we 
 were causing in the family. 
 
 But when we entered the large and well- 
 furnished dining-room, we found that the whole 
 thing had been planned by our hospitable acquaint- 
 ance in order to induce us to dine with him ; for 
 places had been laid for us and they had not even 
 begun their dinner. So we had no alternative but 
 to sit down and accept the admirably cooked dishes 
 that were set before us, or feel that by not eating 
 with the family we were compelling our friends to 
 swallow their food in haste while they kept us 
 uncomfortably waiting. 
 
 The table was well furnished with good silver 
 and glass, and china bearing the Alcalde's arms. A 
 vase of choice roses stood in the centre, and family 
 portraits hung round the walls. We really might 
 have been at an English dinner party, save for the 
 unceremonious attendance of women servants with 
 silk kerchiefs on their shoulders and flowers in their 
 
62 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 hair, who casually strolled in and out with large 
 dishes, which they always offered first to their 
 master, then to their mistress, and afterwards to 
 the guests. This is etiquette in old Spain, dating 
 from the times when the food might perhaps be 
 poisoned, and the host helped himself first to show 
 that it could safely be eaten. 
 
 The dishes too, though tempting and well-cooked, 
 were somewhat different from ours. First came a 
 white soup thickened with vermicelli and having a 
 strong flavour of fowl. Then a dish of frituras, 
 a mass of milk sauce thickened with flour and 
 minced ham, allowed to cool, then shaped into the 
 form of pears, rolled in fine bread-crumbs, and 
 fried with a skill which makes a dish of this kind 
 one of the most appetising in the Spanish menu. 
 Then came cold boiled fish, fresh from Malaga, 
 served with a sauce made of yolk of egg and oil, 
 and garnished with raw tomatoes, raw onions, and 
 green and red pimientos, a kind of capsicum without 
 any heat. A fowl followed, whose lack of flavour 
 showed that it had been boiled in the soup ; then 
 the inevitable pucker o or cocido, also boiled in the 
 soup, and consisting of garbanzos, ham, bacon fat, 
 beef, haricot beans, and the stems of an edible 
 thistle. Then an excellent concoction of custard 
 with tiny meringues floating on the top. After 
 this, biscuits, fruit, quince cheese, fresh goat- 
 milk cheese, and various sweetmeats. Red and 
 white wine w T ere on the table, and last of all came 
 a cup of capital black coffee. This was the every- 
 day fare of the Alcalde's family, but not of the 
 
SUMMER 63 
 
 Alcalde. He told us that his stomach was delicate, 
 and took nothing but a couple of poached eggs 
 and a glass of hot milk which amply accounted 
 for his elegant slenderness, so unlike the enormous 
 obesity that afflicts most Spaniards of his wealth 
 and position after twenty years or so of the feeding 
 above described. 
 
 What was most noteworthy in his house, 
 however, was the daintiness and luxury of the 
 dining-room appointments, for it is not unusual to 
 find, even in the homes of well-to-do people, only 
 just enough knives, forks, and plates to go round 
 once, while flowers on the table or anywhere else in 
 the house are unheard of. Perhaps the excessive 
 scantiness of the cutlery and crockery have much 
 to say to the absence of those invitations to lunch 
 and dinner which are the current social coin with us. 
 The idea that a pretty and well-found table adds to 
 the comfort and refinement of life at home never 
 seems to have occurred to the mass of middle-class 
 Spain ; and of course where the family share a 
 tumbler and eat three or four courses off the same 
 plate, a visitor at meals is not likely to be welcome. 
 
 No doubt there are many people in the position 
 of our Alcalde who live as elegantly as he does, 
 but it is a great exception to find oneself invited to 
 take one's place as a guest at their table ; and his 
 hospitality, the beauty of the town, the glorious 
 mountain views all round, the wealth of wild 
 flowers on the hills, and the many remains of 
 ancient buildings, all combined to mark Antequera 
 with a white stone in my friend's and my memories. 
 
64 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 We see now that, although the "offer of the 
 house " on the part of a travelling acquaintance has 
 become in ninety-nine cases out of one hundred 
 degraded into the merest empty compliment, the 
 root whence grew this flower of a fine courtesy 
 thrives in the soil to which it is native. For there 
 are still Spanish gentlemen whose hospitality is as 
 graceful as it is instinctive, and who, when they 
 tell you that at such-and-such a number of such-and- 
 such a street " you have your house and a friend," 
 really hope and expect that if occasion offers you 
 will take them at their word and accept their frank 
 invitations. 
 
PART IL AUTUMN 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A saddle for femininity September fairs Three kinds of 
 hostelries A night at the street door Bunolitos Mos- 
 quitoes and holy water All the fun of the fair The 
 etiquette of mendicancy A Spanish circus A cinemato- 
 graph Drunk but still courteous The diligence. 
 
 THERE are three perfect months for exploring the 
 mountains and visiting remote hills, valleys, and 
 villages in the leisurely way only to be done on 
 horse, mule, or donkey back. One is April, but 
 then one ought to be in Seville for the most typical 
 fair in Western Europe ; another is May, but then 
 one must be in Granada for the nightingales and 
 the roses which make the Alhambra a dream of 
 delight ; the third is September, when grapes, 
 peaches, and melons are in their prime, when the 
 weather though brilliantly sunny is no longer 
 oppressively hot, and the high roads are gay with 
 swarming herds of creatures moving from fair to 
 fair, and forming with their owners a series of 
 living pictures which make the longest journey 
 enjoyable. 
 
 For a woman no longer young, a donkey with 
 jamugas and a pack mule is the ideal mode of 
 transit over the mountains. If you possess your 
 5 
 
66 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 ownjamugas, as I do, with the leathern straps that 
 support them on three sides fitted to your measure, 
 there is no more comfortable riding seat. But 
 perhaps I ought to explain what the jamugas 
 consist of, for they are rarely seen nowadays 
 except in mountain towns, and unless seen are not 
 easily imagined. 
 
 According to the dictionary of the Spanish 
 Academy the word is derived from the Basque 
 zamucac, " a seat intended for femininity to mount 
 on any kind of beast of burden." But although 
 the name may have been originally Basque, the 
 apparatus is Oriental, for one sees just the same sort 
 of thing in Morocco and in the East, only there it is 
 hooded to hide all the femininity from curious eyes. 
 
 The basis is simply a folding trestle, like that for 
 a table, with cross-straps to prevent the trestle from 
 opening too wide. This is placed on the aparejo 
 of the beast of burden, the aparejo being a stout 
 pad of straw used to prevent the jamugas or the 
 panniers, as the case may be, from galling the 
 animal's back. It is fixed firmly with innumerable 
 twists and turns of tightly knotted cord, and a 
 folded blanket is laid across the donkey's back to 
 make your seat soft. As a matter of fact you 
 generally feel the cord through the blanket, but 
 to obviate this you can use a pillow, which is 
 supplied if desired with the donkey, pillow-case and 
 all. For the information of my fellow-femininity 
 I may add that I personally take a cushion of my 
 own to sit upon, and have the pillow tied to the 
 strap which forms the back of the jamugas, and 
 
AUTUMN 67 
 
 thus save myself from jolts and jars on rough 
 ground, no small advantage on a long journey. 
 Between the blanket and the cushion a gaily 
 coloured cotton cloth covers the aparejo and most 
 of the donkey, and streams out behind and around 
 when you meet the wind. The oldest and most 
 delicate femininity can ride in this arm-chair, for 
 it amounts to that, and I have travelled all day long 
 on my jamugas up hill and down dale, and my 
 sure-footed little donkey has never tripped or 
 turned a hair. 
 
 It is slow progress, certainly, but what of that, 
 when at every fresh step fresh beauty is revealed, 
 and all your way your guide, as he leads the sumpter 
 mule with your inappropriate modern "grip" or 
 suit-case in its panniers, entertains you with his 
 discourse, or wakes the echoes with his song, for he 
 sings most of the way, "to bring good luck." 
 
 The worst of it is that nowadays one has to go 
 a long way by rail and road before one reaches 
 country remote enough for jamugas : one is lucky 
 if half a charming tour can be covered on a donkey. 
 Such was my fortune one sunny September, and I 
 never felt more sorry than when I had to come 
 back to the railway after a fortnight spent on the 
 hills. But the first part of the journey was not 
 without incident, as I will now relate. 
 
 I left the train at Jerez, the sherry city with its 
 huge bodegas full of valuable wine, its cosmopolitan 
 hotel, and its numerous millionaires. From there to 
 Arcos, thirty kilometres distant along a mountain 
 road continually increasing in beauty, a motor bus 
 
68 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 takes one in about two hours. Arcos is a town of 
 20,000 inhabitants, perched on the steepest of hills, 
 with a Tartessian -Roman -Arabic castle on the very 
 top, altered and restored like many others in this 
 country by the great Dukes of Arcos, who in the 
 fifteenth century were the rivals in wealth and 
 political power of the Medina Sidonia family. 
 
 From an Arabic loggia, here called mirador, 
 which means literally "view place," we obtain a 
 marvellous panorama of the mountains, with a bird's- 
 eye view of a fertile valley in the foreground, 
 encircled by the winding Guadalete. It is truly 
 a bird's-eye view, for the vega, as the cultivated 
 valley is called, lies fully five hundred feet below the 
 sheer cliff on which the castle stands, and people 
 walking on it look about six inches high. The cliff 
 is so steep that in many places even the ubiquitous 
 cactus cannot take hold, and here vultures and 
 eagles build their nests in security, for no little boy 
 can throw stones anywhere near them. Even the 
 goats can only clamber up a little way at the base, 
 where the detritus of ages has formed a sharply 
 sloping rise extending fifty or sixty feet up from 
 the river and the new high road which leads from 
 Arcos to El Bosque. That view alone is worth a 
 stop at Arcos, but it is by no means the only 
 " sight," for the ancient town is full of Koman, 
 Arabic, and Renaissance remains, and the fourteenth- 
 century mother church contains a wonderful gold 
 chalice given by one of the ducal family when the 
 church was built a relic which no one interested 
 in goldsmith's work should miss. This church, 
 
AUTUMN 69 
 
 which the people call their cathedral, overlooks a 
 square at the foot of the castle, and that square in 
 May is a mass of golden mimosa. I have never 
 seen such a glow of colour or smelt such over- 
 powering sweetness from trees of that kind. 
 
 Part of the castle was granted to the Town 
 Council for their hall in the sixteenth century, and 
 in one of the rooms, which was the chapel of the 
 Dukes of Arcos, are preserved no less than eleven 
 grants to the city bearing the signature of Alfonso 
 the Learned, who won it from the Almohad Moors in 
 1284 with the help of his ally Al Ahmar, the Arab 
 king of Granada. 
 
 The Dukes of Arcos held sway here for over two 
 hundred years, until all memory of the friendship 
 of Alfonso and his father St. Ferdinand with the 
 Moslems of Granada was forgotten in the ambition 
 of the " Catholic Kings," Ferdinand and Isabella, 
 to make a united kingdom of Spain. Then, when 
 Andalucia was all a-fire with ruthless war, Arcos 
 fell on evil days, for lying as she does on the frontier 
 of the kingdom of Granada (hence her full name, 
 which is Arcos de la Frontera), the Moslems naturally 
 seized the opportunity to try again and again to 
 recover this strong outpost of their former dominion. 
 Until nearly the end of the war the castle held out, 
 but in 1484 the Moslems possessed themselves of 
 the city, and the Duchess, who was defending the 
 castle, was so hard pressed that surrender seemed 
 inevitable. The Duke was away besieging Alhama 
 by the Queen's orders, and although the Duchess 
 contrived to send a message to her husband telling 
 
70 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 him of her straits, Isabella could not spare him and 
 his troops even to rescue his wife. 
 
 The only knight who could help was the Duke 
 of Medina Sidonia, who was known to be somewhere 
 in the district, on his way from Seville with rein- 
 forcements for the Queen. But Medina Sidonia and 
 Arcos had been at daggers-drawn for generations. 
 It was almost as bitter and prolonged a feud as that 
 of the Guelphs and Ghibellines, and none of the 
 Arcos faction dreamed of appealing to Medina 
 Sidonia for help. 
 
 Medina Sidonia, however, was a very chivalrous 
 gentleman. The tidings of the lady's plight reached 
 him as he lay before Setenil (so called, according to 
 local etymology, because the Romans besieged it 
 seven times septem = sete and took nothing nil !) 
 some twenty miles from Arcos. He turned back at 
 once with half of his troops, drove the Moslems out 
 of the town, left a strong guard with the rescued 
 lady, and then returned to continue the siege of the 
 still stronger fortress of Setenil, and to play his 
 part in the taking of Alhama. 
 
 If Medina Sidonia had not brought the feud 
 between the two families thus dramatically to an 
 end Arcos would have had to capitulate, as its 
 neighbour Zahara had already done, and once the 
 Moslems had recovered the four strategic points, 
 Arcos, Zahara, Setenil, and Eonda, the war against 
 Granada might have had a different ending. 
 
 We do not find .this story in the published 
 histories of Ferdinand and Isabella, but it is written 
 in the archives of the city of Arcos and in those of 
 
AUTUMN 71 
 
 the Arcos family, now, alas ! mouldering in a locked 
 room in one of the great towers of the castle, which 
 is falling to ruin because its owners cannot afford to 
 keep it up. 
 
 With regret I tore myself away from the 
 castle, whose once warlike keep is now a garden 
 of roses, orange trees, jessamine, and geraniums 
 grown into bushes with age. But I had to get 
 on to Bornos and Villamartin on the way to Algo- 
 donales, where I was to change the diligence for 
 the donkey. 
 
 Of that stage of the road the less said the better. 
 Much of it was dull, all of it was dusty, and the 
 diligence was packed to its utmost capacity, for it 
 was the eve of the Villamartin September Fair, 
 and the rattling old shandridan, built to carry eight 
 or ten passengers in all, had five horses instead of 
 three, and no less than twenty-seven people were 
 stowed inside, on the box, and on the roof. Every 
 one declared that it was excessively dangerous, and 
 made a great joke of the fact ; and as Spanish 
 drivers make a point of whipping up their horses 
 when they near the bottom of a hill, in order to 
 take the next rise on the run, and the over-loaded 
 machine rocked like a ship in a storm on every 
 such occasion, it was little short of a miracle that 
 we arrived at Villamartin alive. 
 
 Arrive we did, however, and at once found 
 ourselves in all the fun of the fair. 
 
 The only fonda in the place looked out on 
 the main square. The polite name for fonda (the 
 Arabic fondak) in English is hotel, and the fonda 
 
72 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 professes to provide food and beds for its customers ; 
 unlike the parador (stopping-place), which only 
 gives beds to travellers providing their own food, 
 and the posada (rest-house), which is really little 
 more than a stable for animals with some sort of 
 shelter attached for the people who belong to them. 
 Our Villamartin " hotel " only had three or four 
 bedrooms and no sitting-room at all, the food being 
 served in a passage through which one passed from 
 the street to the staircase, or one might rather say 
 step-ladder, leading up to an open gallery containing 
 one of the convenient and comfortable folding bed- 
 steads called catres, minus a mattress ; one broken - 
 backed chair, and nothing else. From this a narrow 
 door led into a tiny bedroom which just held a bed 
 and a washstand. 
 
 We had no choice but to stay here. The humble 
 Spanish friends with whom I was travelling to 
 their home at Algodonales a mother and son 
 insisted on my taking the bedroom, although they 
 gladly accepted my invitation to share the wash- 
 stand. The mother said she could sleep on the 
 catre with a pillow from my bed, and the boy on 
 the floor alongside, with his head on my travelling- 
 bag. Every other corner in the house was full for 
 the fair, and even this modest accommodation could 
 only be had for one night. Poor as it was, the 
 bedding and the linen were clean, and we thought 
 ourselves lucky to get a room at all. 
 
 But we rashly arranged a pillow and rug for 
 Rosario on the catre before going out to see the 
 town, and when we got back, the catre, the pillow, 
 
AUTUMN 73 
 
 and even the broken-backed chair had been carried 
 off for another customer, and my poor friends had 
 just to sit downstairs at the street door and amuse 
 themselves as best they could till it was time to 
 start. This, however, was not quite the hardship it 
 sounds, for all Spaniards love to turn night into 
 day ; and their main concern was lest I should be 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 We were to start by diligence for Algodonales, 
 our final destination, at 3 a.m., and pretty Rosario 
 had agreed to let me sleep till two if I could, which 
 seemed doubtful in view of the incessant noise in the 
 main street on which my tiny window looked. I 
 did sleep, notwithstanding the noise, and woke to 
 find the sun streaming in, and the town alive with 
 goatherds and their flocks, donkeys loaded with fruit 
 and vegetables, women with baskets of eggs and 
 live fowls tied together by the legs and distressfully 
 clucking, and a continual stream of ponies, mules, 
 cows, calves, pigs, sheep, and oxen coming in from 
 the country to the fair ; while all along the foot- 
 walks little canvas- covered sweet-stalLs had sprung 
 up like mushrooms in the night. I had slept 
 through all the riot of the small hours, and the 
 diligence had either not gone at 3 a.m. or had gone 
 without me. 
 
 I sprang up arid opened my door, wondering if 
 Rosario had also overslept the appointed hour. 
 There she was with a cup of coffee for me, smiling 
 as brightly as ever, but her curly hair was ruffled 
 and she had a generally dishevelled appearance. 
 The diligence had not gone. Something was wrong 
 
74 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 with the wheels, or the harness, or the horses, or the 
 driver, no one knew exactly what ; but Rosario 
 thought that the truth was probably that the driver 
 wanted to do some business in the fair. Anyhow 
 the diligence did not start, and Rosario and her 
 boy had sat all night long in their chairs, with 
 various other visitors to the town, who like themselves 
 could get no beds. 
 
 Relieved of their anxiety lest I should be vexed 
 at the delay, the mother and son quickly brightened 
 up, and we agreed that as we had to stay there all 
 day we would get all the fun we could out of it. 
 Rosario after a wash and a brush in my room looked 
 as fresh as if she had slept in her own comfortable 
 bed, and as for the boy, he was at an age to enjoy 
 anything. 
 
 The innkeeper flatly declined to provide us with 
 coffee or anything else for breakfast, so we went 
 out and ate bunolitos, a peculiar dainty largely in 
 evidence at these country fairs, where booths are set 
 up entirely for their sale. My friends took me to 
 the largest and gayest of the two tents already 
 opened, which had white muslin curtains tied to- 
 gether in the middle with streamers of red and 
 yellow calico, just like the sweet-stalls in Syria. 
 An overpowering smell of boiling oil greeted our 
 nostrils as we approached, and such was the frizz- 
 ling and the smoke that we could hardly see the 
 bunolera, a stout lady in a brown skirt, white 
 apron, and blue cross-over, with a red handkerchief 
 picturesquely knotted round her head. She saw us, 
 however, and promptly turned to serve us with the 
 
AUTUMN 75 
 
 odd product of her cooking a mixture of flour and 
 water squeezed through a funnel into a vast frying- 
 pan and coiled round and round as it fried, until 
 the whole was deftly thrown out unbroken on the 
 dish. Bunolitos are crisp and tempting and really 
 delicious to eat, provided only that the oil be good 
 and of last year's milling ; for the new oil has an 
 abominable smell and taste which only a native can 
 endure. 
 
 This was good oil, and the bunolera was an 
 artist. We ate all we could, and be it observed that 
 I fell little short of my companions in the quantity 
 consumed. We paid a penny a piece for our break- 
 fast, and then strolled up the hill to the Parish 
 Church, for it was Sunday and a festival Mass was in 
 progress. 
 
 Very few people were present. A couple of 
 nuns, a few ladies shrouded in black gauze veils 
 falling over their shoulders and down to their knees, 
 a graceful Oriental survival which lends dignity to 
 the stoutest old dowager, two or three peasants 
 with handkerchiefs on their heads, and the usual 
 group of beggars about the door. 
 
 I got past these last without trouble by using 
 the accepted formulas, "Pardon me, brother, for 
 God's sake," or " May God support you " ; both of 
 which mean that one consigns them to the mercy of 
 Providence because one has no mercy of one's own 
 for them. And if this seems rather hard-hearted, 
 let me point out that in remote places, where 
 foreigners are never seen from one year's end to 
 another, the gift of a penny to a single beggar will 
 
76 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 be a sowing of the dragon's teeth to raise up as 
 by magic a swarm of from twenty to fifty more, 
 who pursue one with pitiful appeals that change to 
 imprecations and even stone-throwing, unless one 
 proceeds to dole out pennies all round. One may 
 therefore be thankful that the ceremonious response 
 above quoted seldom fails of its effect, it being a 
 matter of etiquette in Spanish mendicant circles 
 politely to accept the time-worn courtesy in lieu of 
 coin of the realm. It has often acted like a charm 
 in my own experience, and I can call to mind 
 brutal-looking men with some affliction or other 
 which by no means hampered their physical power 
 for violence, who stopped short and turned away 
 with a gentle " Go with God " instead of a rude 
 retort, when I answered their petitions with 
 Perdoneme, hermano. 
 
 The Mass ended a few minutes after we went in, 
 and as I stood by the main door studying the not 
 very interesting architecture of the church, I sud- 
 denly felt a wet finger on my forehead. It was one 
 of the nuns, who, noticing that I had failed to cross 
 myself with holy water, was doing it for me. I 
 appreciated her good intention, but did not ap- 
 preciate that particular holy water, for the marble 
 vessel was alive with mosquito grubs, whose pro- 
 genitors swarmed round us where we stood. I knew 
 the holy water was seldom changed in these country 
 churches, but never had I seen any quite so dirty as 
 that. 
 
 A clamour of brass instruments drew us out. It 
 was the town band making a round of the chief 
 
AUTUMN 77 
 
 streets to announce that the fair had begun. It 
 was a much better band than we should find in 
 many English country towns of a similar size, and 
 indeed the level of the brass bands is rather high 
 here a fact I cannot explain, for among amateurs 
 one practically never hears any concerted music at 
 all, and even when two performers sing together on 
 the stage in the minor theatres, it is as often as not 
 in unison. This band had already woke the town 
 on its first round at 6 a.m., when the church bells 
 were ringing for early Mass, and now as soon as its 
 performance came to an end, a sort of blaring roar 
 from a merry-go-round began and continued at 
 intervals throughout the rest of the day. I had 
 never imagined, far less heard, anything like the 
 noise of that fair in the daytime ; but worse was 
 reserved for the night. 
 
 Many hours were yet to pass, however, before 
 night fell, and I must say they did not hang heavily, 
 for the people and their animals formed a series of 
 moving pictures which it would need the brush of a 
 Sorolla or a Zuloaga to do justice to. One especially 
 took my fancy. Two pretty girls (and the mountain 
 people are as a rule remarkably handsome), dressed 
 in beautifully laundered print gowns with flowers in 
 their sleek black hair, rode together on a white horse 
 covered with the brilliantly embroidered trappings 
 familiar to us in pictures of the last century and still 
 in common use in the Sierras. One girl sat facing 
 one way and the other the other, with their arms 
 round each other's waists, and a slim lad in a round 
 Cordovese hat, a brown velvet jacket, and richly 
 
78 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 embroidered leather overalls, 1 led the horse by a 
 purple-and-white halter made of twisted aloe fibre. 
 On a donkey alongside were slung the girls' worldly 
 goods, consisting of a box almost as large as the 
 donkey, brilliantly yellow with new paint that 
 gleamed golden in the morning sun, balanced by 
 a large bundle tied up in a crimson wrapper, and 
 topped by a sheaf of pale maize stalks, which would 
 be the donkey's provender during the fair. It was 
 a riot of youth and beauty and colour and gaiety 
 which would have been the chance of a lifetime for 
 a painter, but sad to say no painter was there to 
 immortalise the scene. 
 
 In the afternoon we went to see a circus in the 
 Bull King, and in company with the rank and fashion 
 of the town we paid one peseta apiece for what was 
 described on the programme as a " stall." The 
 " stalls " were honest reed-seated chairs, such as are 
 sold new for two pesetas, but were borrowed on this 
 occasion from the kindly neighbours and brought in 
 by half-dozens at a time, as the aristocratic part of 
 the audience increased. 
 
 The show was advertised for five o'clock, but did 
 not begin till about six, by which time the shady 
 side of the ring was crowded, and the stalls had 
 almost surrounded the very small circle railed in 
 and sanded for the performers. We first had a 
 tumbler with a week's beard, dressed in crimson 
 satin and red cotton stockings, who usually came 
 
 1 These garments, which are commonly worn by the peasants, 
 are merely a kind of divided apron of leather, covering the front 
 of the body from the waist to the feet. 
 
AUTUMN 79 
 
 to grief in his feats, but never failed to draw applause. 
 Followed a highly coloured young lady whom we 
 had seen at the door taking tickets, and who now 
 juggled with knives and cubes of wood, which in- 
 variably landed on the ground instead of on the 
 table ; a clown, in the same crimson satin and red 
 cotton stockings, who played the fiddle quite nicely, 
 but was interrupted by another clown with a feather 
 brush, who always stopped the music by tickling the 
 violinist's nose at the third or fourth bar, to the 
 intense delight of the audience ; and then another 
 highly rouged lady, past her first youth, who exhibited 
 three rather sad little performing dogs. 
 
 An acrobat, again in the crimson satin and red 
 cotton stockings, now came on, after great prepara- 
 tions and testing of wires, to perform a trapeze act. 
 There seemed to be some sort of hitch about starting, 
 which was explained when the acrobat with a sweet 
 smile indicated that we had been seated by the 
 attendants immediately under his taking-off plat- 
 form, as indeed we were, unknown to ourselves. 
 So we and our immediate neighbours picked up our 
 chairs and retired, while the acrobat did some rather 
 pretty swinging. 
 
 The unshaven tumbler then reappeared, now 
 dressed in a pilot coat and brown trousers, but still 
 unshaven, and we discovered that what the adver- 
 tisements called an " automovil race " was about to 
 take place. It was in fact a terribly gimcrack 
 " loop-the-loop " affair, and the performer looked 
 haggard with nervousness as he examined his wires 
 and pulleys. 
 
8o MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 In retiring from the trapeze we had unconsciously 
 planted ourselves just where the " automovil " must 
 inevitably smash into us all ; no attempt having 
 been made to indicate a danger zone. No one 
 waited to be asked to retire this time. As soon as 
 we saw the bold chauffeur climb his scaffold and 
 realised what was going to happen, we just got up 
 and bolted like rabbits, all quite as frightened as the 
 chauffeur looked. We did not, however, omit to 
 carry our chairs with us. The band struck up an 
 inappropriate gipsy dance, the performer whirled 
 down, and we settled into our seats with a sigh of 
 relief that he and we had escaped with our lives. 
 
 But even this was not the last time we were 
 moved on, for the finale was a play in pantomime, 
 in which the middle-aged lady played the heroine, 
 in a long train which she carefully held up all the 
 time ; the other lady played the young lover in 
 yellow tights and a red cloak ; the tumbler, the 
 clowns, and the manager, all wearing Kussian caps 
 and blouses trimmed with rabbit-skin over their 
 workaday trousers, interfered each after his manner 
 with the course of true love ; and the stout acrobat 
 with a scarlet-horned hood over the inevitable 
 crimson satin and red stockings, appeared as a 
 friendly devil and made all the stage furniture 
 dance to distract the attention of the rest of the 
 company from the antics of the lovers. The devil 
 ended by letting off a lot of fireworks right in front 
 of the " stalls," and this time we got up and ran, 
 regardless of our chairs. It was not as dangerous 
 as it looked, however, for the fireworks promptly 
 
AUTUMN 8 i 
 
 fizzled out, and I for one was so weak with laughter 
 by then that I could not even start when a cracker 
 went off under my nose. 
 
 The whole centre of the ring had been invaded 
 by a swarm of young men and lads of the peasant 
 class, who obviously had not paid a peseta for the 
 privilege. The manager, wearing a monstrous Em- 
 peror William moustache fiercely curling up to his 
 eyebrows, had at intervals blandly requested them 
 to retire and not incommode the ladies. They 
 always retired with perfect politeness, to return 
 again the moment his back was turned. When the 
 circus was over this portion of the audience at once 
 blocked the only exit, and gave us time to observe 
 the back of the scenery of the pantomime, which 
 was remarkable. A sheet of painted canvas stood 
 on end, held in place by some mysterious law of 
 cohesion, for visible supports it had none ; and how 
 the red devil, who must have weighed a good fifteen 
 stone, contrived to jump in and out of the window 
 without bringing the whole thing down will always 
 be for me an insoluble mystery. 
 
 The fonda was less of an hotel than ever this 
 evening, and we were warned that we must, willy- 
 nilly, leave by the night diligence, because a viajante 
 (commis-voyageur) had engaged my room and would 
 want to go to bed when the Fair meeting of the 
 Commercial Club closed about 2 a.m. But the fun 
 of the Fair was not yet over for us, and the little 
 window overlooking the main square now became 
 for me a kind of Royal Box at the opera, music 
 and all. 
 6 
 
82 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 At nine o'clock the band took up its position 
 under my window, and the fireworks began. 
 Another point I have never quite understood is why 
 Spanish fireworks even in remote little towns like 
 Villamartin are always good ; and how it is that 
 every remote little town manages to keep its own 
 firework-maker. But the profusion of devices in 
 interlacing circles of arabesques leads me to suspect 
 an Arabic origin for this as for so many other 
 popular junkets in Spain. 
 
 The Villamartin fireworks were beautiful, differ- 
 ing from those of the big towns only in quantity, 
 not at all in quality, and the set pieces were quite 
 the most attractive to the crowd, whose inherited 
 instincts are all for the arabesque in art. 
 
 After the fireworks came a cinematograph, still 
 accompanied by the band, whose repertoire consisted 
 of six pieces, very well played, which they had been 
 repeating at intervals all day. The people grew 
 wildly enthusiastic over the moving pictures, and 
 shouted and laughed and clapped like children, at 
 the runaway who upsets every one he meets as 
 he evades his pursuers, at the illicit lover who 
 hides under the dinner-table and turns it over so 
 as to spill the soup into the lady's lap, and at all 
 the other stale old jokes which seemed to be brand- 
 new to these unsophisticated southerners. There 
 was no risk at all of our going to sleep and for- 
 getting our diligence now. No one but a deaf mute 
 could have closed an eye in the main square of 
 Villamartin that night. 
 
 After midnight, when the cinematograph closed, 
 
AUTUMN 83 
 
 I laid me down fondly imagining I might get a 
 little sleep ; but the clamour of the voices in no 
 way diminished. On the contrary, as the night 
 wore on it began to rise louder and louder, until 
 it became a perfect roar. Now and then it would 
 die down for a few minutes, until a boyish voice 
 shouted something that I could not catch, when it 
 began again worse than ever, still good-natured, 
 but sounding ever more impatient, as if the self- 
 restraint of the crowd were rapidly becoming 
 exhausted. 
 
 At last, about half-past one, a distant noise 
 like thunder made itself heard above all the human 
 din, and then the crowd seemed to go perfectly 
 mad, yelling and shouting like Bedlam let loose. 
 It was time to get ready to leave anyhow, so I 
 rose from my sleepless bed and went to the window. 
 
 Then I saw what it all meant. It was the 
 encierro, the bringing in of the bulls for the bull- 
 fight next day. In this case they were not full 
 grown bulls ; only year-old bullocks, and of these 
 there were but two, the rest of the future victims 
 being heifers. For fighting bulls cost a good deal 
 of money, and Villamartin is a small town and 
 not particularly rich : so the sportsmen of the 
 ring here have to content themselves with the in- 
 expensive heifer and "yarlin'," as they say in 
 Devon. 
 
 To hear the yells of delight raised when they 
 came in sight, one would have thought that all 
 Villamartin was out to receive the bullocks and 
 their decoy : but as a matter of fact all Villamartin 
 
84 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 except the dregs had long gone home to bed, and 
 the howling mob consisted entirely of a few men 
 of mature years, financially interested in the bull- 
 ring, and a crowd of boys and lads, the rag-tag 
 and bobtail of the working classes, for the respect- 
 able working men and their families do not approve 
 of the " sport." These two elements in the Spanish 
 social system nowadays form the immense majority 
 of those who still support what is called "the 
 national sport." Yet tourists seem to imagine that 
 they represent the nation ! So well is it recognised 
 by the governing classes that the bull-fight has 
 ceased to appeal to any save the riff-raff and those 
 to whom, in one capacity or another, it is a source 
 of income, that legislative attempts have been made 
 to forbid the bull-fights on Sunday, because if they 
 only took place on week-days the aforesaid dregs 
 of the working classes would find it difficult to 
 attend at the cost of a day's wages, and the whole 
 brutal concern would soon come to an end. But 
 the vested interests are tremendously strong, and 
 capital has great power in Spain ; so the bull-fight 
 still goes on, and the tourists go to see it, and 
 Spanish social reformers shrug their shoulders when 
 they are told by foreigners that the first step to 
 social reform in Spain must be the suppression of 
 the bull-ring, which the foreigners' entrance money 
 largely helps to keep going, and of which their 
 mere presence is supposed by amateurs to express 
 approval. 
 
 But this is another of the tragedies of Spain, 
 and Rosario and her boy, who hate the very name 
 
AUTUMN 85 
 
 of bull-fight, though they are mere peasants and 
 never heard of the Society for the Prevention of 
 Cruelty to Animals, did not talk about it that night 
 with me as we watched the tumultuous passage 
 of a particularly lively heifer across the square 
 under my window. Setting aside humanitarian 
 considerations, it was a picturesque sight enough, 
 for the victims of the morrow, surrounded and 
 steered by half a dozen stolid old cows with bells 
 on their necks, were preceded and followed by the 
 garrochistas, those herders of the wild cattle, with 
 the high-peaked saddles and great square stirrups 
 and long poles with iron points, which form so 
 effective a group on post-cards purporting to 
 represent the everyday life of Spain. Some of the 
 rabble had gone out to meet the procession with 
 torches, and these still flared as the crowd surged 
 by, making curious yellow cross-lights when they 
 fell on the glare of the arc lights of the town. 
 
 I have been told that it was once proposed to 
 start a branch of the Society for Prevention of 
 Cruelty to Animals at Madrid, and that in order 
 to obtain funds a great bull-fight was organised. 
 I do not know whether Ben Trovato is responsible 
 for this story, but I have myself met a member of 
 that Society, an English lady of mature years, who 
 refused to subscribe to an entertainment in Spain 
 because it was to take place on a Sunday, and then 
 quarrelled violently with her husband because he 
 refused to take tickets for her for the bull-fight 
 on Easter Day ! This is a true story, though the 
 well-known Italian raconteur might be proud to 
 
86 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 father it. I remember also a British curate of 
 extreme evangelical opinions, who gave at a 
 luncheon party a full, true, and particular account, 
 with realistic details, of the disembowelling of 
 a horse and the wounding of a torero that he 
 had witnessed, embellished with the usual ex- 
 pressions of horror at the innate degradation of 
 a nation which supported such barbarities. Some 
 unkind person present remarked that it was believed 
 that the Bishop of Gibraltar objected to his chaplains 
 attending the bull-fight; to which the ingenuous 
 curate replied : " Ah, but you see I went in without 
 my clerical collar" the fatuous immorality of 
 which remark closed the conversation. 
 
 I was not altogether sorry when the time came 
 to start for Algodonales. I had never heard such 
 prolonged and uncontrolled noise made by human 
 beings before, and much though the whole thing 
 had amused me I do not care if I never hear such 
 a noise again. When we made our way out into 
 the brilliantly lighted square most of the crowd 
 appeared to be drunk, but riff-raff though they 
 might be, they were civil to the last, and good- 
 naturedly lurched aside in a bunch to make room 
 for us to pass into the comparative darkness of the 
 street where the diligence awaited us, we, needless 
 to say, being the only passengers who wished to 
 leave the town just then. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Mountain philosophy A Rembrandt mother and child Egyptian 
 cotton fields The Khalif and the caneria My lodging in 
 a bakery Embarrassing hospitality An Arabic banner 
 Subterranean reservoirs The Way of the Cross. 
 
 IT was pitch dark, and the sky was clouded when we 
 started from Villamartin, and the creaking and jolt- 
 ing of the crazy vehicle down the sharp slope from 
 the town to the bridge over the Guadalete would 
 have brought my heart into my mouth had I not 
 been too tired and sleepy to care what happened. 
 Kosario smiled at my terrors. Being a Serrana 
 (mountain woman) by birth, she was not in the least 
 alarmed when the diligence seemed to be diving 
 head-foremost to perdition. " Even if we upset," 
 she said, " we should come to no harm, for the road 
 was so narrow and the banks so steep that we could 
 not fall far." She also told me that there was a much 
 better road on the other side, but as we were starting 
 late and were a light load, the driver, an old ac- 
 quaintance of hers, had chosen a short cut which in 
 winter is a water-course. 
 
 Protected by the Providence which looks after 
 fools, we presently landed with a final bone-shaking 
 jerk on the high road, and thence proceeded for 
 several miles in comparative comfort, so much so 
 
88 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 indeed that we all three went to sleep, and the boy 
 so soundly that he hardly woke till we got within 
 hail of his native village : for this is the King's 
 highway, and well looked after, as are all of its class, 
 by Government road-menders. I, however, was 
 roused by a stop and voices at a wayside venta, a 
 peasant drinking-place with a deep porch and vine- 
 bowered poles set up in front to give shelter from the 
 sun. Finding that we were to be there ten minutes, 
 while the driver refreshed himself with aguardiente 
 (his offer of which, as it is a fierce spirit largely 
 made in its cheaper forms from potatoes, I politely 
 declined), I got down to warm my chilled limbs by 
 movement, for we were now pretty high up and the 
 air was cold. 
 
 Behind us, already a long way off, the lights of 
 Villamartin still twinkled as gaily as if the night 
 were yet young. The black clouds had broken, and 
 the young moon stuck one slender horn out from 
 their midst, while near at hand a patch of burning 
 weeds cast a Eembrandtesque glow on a handsome 
 young woman seated before a choza built of bamboos 
 and maize stalks, with an infant at her breast. One 
 wondered why in the world she was awake and up 
 at four in the morning, but a voice at my elbow 
 explained it : 
 
 " Senora, por Dios, una perilla pa' pan!" 
 ["Lady, for God's sake a little dog (-|d.) for 
 bread!"] 
 
 The ubiquitous beggar, in this case a ragged child 
 eight or nine years old, was on the watch for a 
 possible penny from some weary traveller who might 
 
AUTUMN 89 
 
 give the coin in order to be freed from the unmusical 
 professional whine. 
 
 I weakly gave the perilla. No other beggars 
 were near to see, and the picture was worth it. I 
 continually regret as I travel in Spain that I was 
 not born a painter. 
 
 It was another nuit blanche for me after that. 
 Any one who knows the joy and the glory of day- 
 break and sunrise over the hills will understand that 
 one would not willingly lose a moment of the glowing 
 change from darkest shadow to glowing dawn. It 
 is not fully light in these latitudes before six in 
 September, and the beauty of the morning does not 
 culminate till nearly eight. The boy slept dream- 
 lessly, and poor tired Kosario dozed with her head 
 on his shoulder, but I sat and gazed till my eyes 
 were dazzled by the splendour of the sun on the 
 everlasting hills. 
 
 About 7.30 we came to a venta by a fine new 
 bridge with one arch spanning the river. It was 
 only built a few years ago, when the high road was 
 extended to Algodonales. Until then this thriving 
 village, with some 7000 inhabitants and a large trade 
 in fruit and vegetables and walnut wood, had no 
 communication with the outer world save by a mule 
 track. Now it is on one of the main roads from 
 Konda to Jerez, and I hear that since I was there it 
 has been provided with a motor-service from Jerez. 
 From the bridge to Algodonales is a shady climb, 
 the scenery growing more beautiful at every turn ; 
 and Algodonales itself is one of the prettiest villages 
 I have seen in Spain, all orchards and walnut groves, 
 
92 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 I only had two objections to it. The first was 
 that the spacious entrance was the favourite meeting- 
 place of all the women of the neighbourhood, with 
 their babies, who cried a good deal ; and the second 
 was that the one little window of the bedroom 
 opened on to a pigsty. This Rosario apologised 
 for, saying that she knew English ladies did not like 
 smells, but if I could otherwise be comfortable here, 
 the pigsty should be cleaned out every day during 
 my visit, instead of as was customary once a 
 month. 
 
 I really did not like that pigsty, but it was 
 impossible to wound the susceptibilities of an entire 
 family so full of genuine hospitality by declining the 
 room, and I knew that I should see more of peasant 
 life as an inmate of the tahona 1 than I possibly 
 could in a lodging apart from Rosario. So I 
 graciously permitted pretty blue-eyed Dolores to 
 make up beds for herself, her husband, and her 
 children on the floor of the granary, and induced 
 her as a favour not to clear out her one chest of 
 drawers for me. 
 
 And there I slept for a week, with the pigs in 
 front, the poultry behind, and a pony in a stable 
 to my right, which got loose regularly every night 
 and compelled me to call my hosts to catch him, 
 lest he should break his knees over a stone feeding- 
 trough and water-vessel left in the yard by a 
 forgotten generation. For I knew that if they had 
 not given me their room they would hear the noise 
 for themselves, and I could not let their pony come 
 1 Arabic name for a bakery, always used here. 
 
AUTUMN 93 
 
 to grief, because they were too hospitable to me. 
 By closing my window and its shutters I was able 
 to exclude most of the smell of the pigs, and there 
 was no lack of air, because the heavy door had 
 dragged itself half off its hinges with age, and 
 would not close within six inches. It had to be 
 fixed with a chair, but, as Kosario pointed out, I 
 need not be in the least nervous if it opened of 
 itself any time, " because I was among friends ; not 
 in afonda, where one never knew who might come 
 along and try one's door at night." 
 
 It is usual for whole families of Spaniards, even 
 of a much richer class, to use one dressing-table and 
 washstand in common. Indeed, at a furnished flat 
 which we took at a high rent one summer at the 
 seaside, we found only one small washstand supplied 
 for our whole party, consisting of three adults and 
 a servant. Thus it never occurred to Rosario or 
 Dolores that I could mind washing with my door 
 half open, and I got over the slight inconvenience 
 by hanging niy dressing-gown over the gap, while 
 my host and his apprentices sat and smoked just 
 outside. 
 
 The one thought of the family seemed to be 
 how to secure me the most enjoyment possible, and 
 each day expeditions were planned. The whole 
 village used to turn out to see us start : I on my 
 jamugas, with my host leading the donkey, Rosario 
 on another donkey or a mule led by her son, seated 
 on the top of the seron (panniers) containing our 
 food for the day and my tools and photographic 
 apparatus ; for (although this is somewhat off the 
 
94 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 point) the primary object of my mountain ex- 
 peditions is archseological, and I am always on the 
 look out for ruined castles or other interesting 
 remains worth digging in. This makes one's 
 luggage rather heavy, but it is a solid satisfaction 
 to pretend that one's pleasure trips are undertaken 
 in the cause of science. 
 
 One of our jaunts from Algodonales was to 
 Zahara, the strong fortress of which I have already 
 made mention. My host's name was Salvador Malo 
 (Wicked Saviour !), and he loved to be told that 
 although wicked by name he was not so by nature. 
 I pressed this brilliant jeu de mots on him at 
 Zahara, where he pulled me up to the very top of 
 the ruined castle by main force. It seems to have 
 been destroyed by an earthquake, the masses of 
 fallen masonry are so split up and tumbled about. 
 The Christians are said to have surrendered Zahara 
 through lack of water during the Granada war, and 
 one can well believe it, for they never seemed to 
 have grasped the necessity of keeping up the 
 admirable Arabic systems either of storing water 
 or irrigation ; and once they let the great sub- 
 terranean aljibes 1 get into disrepair, the garrison 
 of Zahara must have been at the mercy of the 
 enemy, since the only springs are outside the old 
 town walls, two or three hundred feet below the 
 fortress. 
 
 The view from the crumbling towers is superb, 
 and the little town climbing up the precipitous hill 
 is full of interesting remains, the most important 
 1 Underground reservoirs for rain-water. 
 
AUTUMN 95 
 
 of which is perhaps a square yard of red silk of 
 Arabic manufacture called tafetdn, with the remains 
 of some Arabic characters in white. This was the 
 banner of the Moslems, surrendered after the fall 
 of Granada to Ferdinand and Isabella. It is now 
 regarded as a religious relic, and is carried once a 
 year in procession through the streets after the 
 image of the patron saint of Zahara. I must not 
 forget to mention that the only access to Zahara, 
 with its 1700 inhabitants, is a bridle-path. Very 
 neat woodwork in walnut is done here, as also at 
 Algodonales, but the Zahara style is more distinctly 
 Arabic, and I saw some brackets and a spice box 
 carved with " stalactite " ornamentation which might 
 have come out of a mosque. They had been made 
 by the village carpenter as a wedding gift to his 
 wife. 
 
 Longer trips were planned for me, always to 
 places inaccessible to wheeled vehicles, such as 
 Grazalema, perched under the shadow of San 
 Cristobal, the highest peak in the Sierra de Ronda. 
 Here admirable cloth is still woven by hand, and 
 fetches a good price in all the country round, for 
 it has the reputation of being indestructible. The 
 once flourishing town has now dwindled to a village, 
 and many of its fine houses are in ruins. 
 
 Most of my stay at Algodonales was, however, 
 spent in the immediate neighbourhood, which is so 
 richly wooded and so well watered as to present 
 a most picturesque contrast to the grim mountain, 
 which the natives say towers 700 metres above the 
 village. I do not think it is as high as that in 
 
96 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 fact, I should guess that the frowning cliff which 
 springs straight up from the level of my pigsty into 
 the blue sky above, does not really measure from 
 the pigsty to the top more than 400 or 500 feet. 
 But the villagers think they ought to know, for on 
 that barren crag are perched three iron crosses, and 
 every year the young men and maidens toil up a 
 path which seems fit only for goats, in the per- 
 formance of the religious exercise known as the 
 Way of the Cross. The older people and the 
 children are excused, for only active youth can 
 safely surmount that stony way, and for them 
 there is a humble altar set up half-way, whereat 
 they worship while the priest says a Mass for the 
 safe return of the adventurous pilgrims. 
 
 The street leading to this mountain path is called 
 Calvary, and the whole ceremony is a survival of 
 bygone days, when the Passion Play took place in 
 every mountain town, with living actors instead of 
 the images now carried in procession, and every 
 penitent must walk on his bare and bleeding feet 
 along the Way of the Cross before he could hope 
 to be shriven of his sins. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Fancy bread and sun-worship Prehistoric sandals A bower of 
 oleanders An Andalucian St. John Fashion and footpaths 
 The mauvais pas The midday rest A mountain storm 
 Thunder, lightning, and flood Kind-hearted donkey-drivers 
 A welcome shelter. 
 
 ALL too soon my allotted time came to an end, 
 and I found myself at seven o'clock of a glorious 
 September morning bidding farewell to my kind 
 friends, as I started for a ride of 30 kilometres 
 over the mountains to the railway station at Moron 
 de la Frontera. My host as a parting gift presented 
 me with some curious bread of his own making, in 
 what is called a caracol design a primitive sun- 
 symbol of Egyptian origin, had he only known it. 
 I asked him where he got the design, and he said, 
 " From his father : it was nothing, but as I liked 
 cosas antiguas (old things) it had occurred to him 
 to make it." I have since found that this form 
 of "little bread" is peculiar to Algodonales, and my 
 parting gift is preserved in a glass case with other 
 interesting survivals of sun-worship in the Tartessus 
 of the Greeks, the Baetica of the Romans, and the 
 Andalucia of to-day. 
 
 This was one of the longest and most beautiful 
 rides I have ever taken, as also the most adventurous. 
 7 
 
98 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 I had indeed cut my visit short by a few days 
 because there were indications that the weather 
 was likely to break up, and this mountain path 
 often no more than a goat-track is impassable 
 after rain, when parts of it may be washed away 
 into the river G-uadalporcon hundreds of feet below. 
 
 We climbed up and up for a couple of hours, 
 until vines and olive groves were left behind, and 
 forests of evergreen oaks, covered with acorns, took 
 their place. This oak, which grows almost up to 
 the line where snow sometimes lies till June, is only 
 second in value to the olive on mountain estates, 
 for it costs very little in labour, and its acorns are 
 the best food that can be given to the droves of 
 brown long-haired pigs which haunt these lofty 
 solitudes. 
 
 On we went, sometimes up the hill, sometimes 
 down under the shade of the oaks, sometimes along 
 a watercourse through thickets of brambles and pink 
 oleanders, which in this climate grow almost into 
 trees when their roots can reach a stream. Over 
 one such thicket a wild vine, growing from a rock 
 above, had spread its tangled branches, and the 
 goatherds had cut and trained it to form a shelter 
 impervious to the sun. A flock of goats was brows- 
 ing around, guarded by a man and a boy wearing 
 wide straw hats, blue cotton jackets, and short 
 trousers with striped socks and sandals made of 
 twisted esparto grass, just like those in use three 
 thousand years or more ago among their Tartessian 
 progenitors. They lay half asleep under their bower 
 of vine leaves and oleander blossom, but rose at our 
 
AUTUMN 99 
 
 approach and insisted on my sitting down to rest in 
 the shade, while they chatted outside in the sun 
 with Jose. It was so cool and pretty that I would 
 gladly have stopped there for the noonday siesta, 
 but it was still too early for that, and we had many 
 miles yet to travel. 
 
 A cry of distress from a nannygoat broke the 
 sunny calm round us, and the boy ran up the hill 
 like a hare to see what had happened to his charges. 
 The last I saw as I rode away was the little goatherd 
 standing on a rock far above us, waving a hand 
 in adieu, with an injured kid slung round his neck. 
 One constantly meets with incidents of this kind, 
 and of course one is inevitably reminded of the boy 
 St. John with his lamb. In a recent country fair I 
 saw two men taking turns to carry a full-sized goat 
 in their arms, she having somehow hurt a leg on the 
 journey into the town. It was less picturesque than 
 a kid on the shoulders, but the spirit was the same ; 
 for the goat could still walk, so that not necessity 
 but kindness dictated the action. 
 
 We met few people in those beautiful but 
 desolate hills. Jose* told me that in the course of a 
 few weeks, when the acorns ripened, a number of 
 families would come from the villages round and 
 live in chozas during the harvest. The chozas of 
 the Sierra are very different from those of the plains. 
 They are built of stones laid dry one on the other, 
 and roofed with esparto grass from the streams, and 
 they almost always have some sort of a chimney, for 
 the cold here on autumn nights and on wet days 
 is considerable. But. these stone-built huts can be 
 
ioo MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 made very snug and warm, by mortaring the walls 
 within and roofing with something more durable 
 than reed, and I can imagine no more delightful 
 summer holiday than one spent in a well-made choza 
 among these glorious mountains provided that the 
 choza lay within reach of a Tartessian castle or 
 necropolis wherein to excavate in the intervals of 
 enjoying the view. 
 
 The few people we did meet always appeared at 
 inconvenient moments. A fat young lady riding a 
 very small donkey with very wide jamugas, and 
 carrying a beautiful flounced silk parasol, suddenly 
 came into the picture half-way down a precipitous 
 hill, so steep and so strewn with boulders that I, 
 feeling discretion to be the better part of valour, 
 had got off my donkey to walk. Indeed I very 
 often did get off to walk downhill on that journey, 
 for in many places I felt that the only way to avoid 
 diving over the donkey's head would be to hold on 
 to his tail, and it seemed on the whole safer as well 
 as more dignified to trust to my own feet. The 
 young lady with the parasol was coming up as I 
 went down, but I am sure she would have held on 
 to the donkey's tail any number of times rather than 
 get off once had our situations been reversed, for I 
 never saw a more confirmed expression of bland 
 laziness than hers. She was too sleepy even to 
 respond to the " Go with God" with which we 
 greeted her, and that is a breach of good manners 
 that nothing but the torpor of extreme fatness could 
 condone. I am not very clear how we managed to 
 pass her and her convoy of servants and baggage 
 
AUTUMN ID i 
 
 donkeys : I only remember that I had to climb on to 
 the top of the nearest boulder and stand there for 
 a long time to be out of the way while the train 
 went by. 
 
 She was the daughter of a neighbouring land- 
 owner, who lived in a fine house built on the ruins 
 of a castle round the spur of a hill to our left, as 
 Jose informed me. He could not remember the 
 name either of the family or the castle, and I was 
 not particularly anxious to know either. What 
 interested me was the notion of a rich landowner 
 building himself a fine house on the slope of a hill 
 to which no road could be made. It was for the 
 olives and the cork trees, said Jose : that cabal- 
 lero owned thousands and thousands of them, and 
 came out to the Sierra from Arcos with all his family 
 to " take the mountain air " when the crops were 
 coming in. 
 
 Our next rencontre was a more exciting one. We 
 had to cross the side of a steep hill sloping sharply 
 down to the river far below, by a path just wide 
 enough for the donkey and the mule to put one foot 
 before the other, and no more. This in itself would 
 have been nothing, had the slope been clothed with 
 vegetation like the rest of the mountain. But it was 
 the " bad step " of the pass, Jose said, the place 
 which after a storm even of summer rain is not only 
 dangerous but impossible, for the hillside here is of 
 a shaly sort of slate, and a very little water is 
 enough to send the whole path slithering down to 
 the river. It was perfectly safe now, said Jose*, for 
 there had been no rain for three months, and every- 
 
102 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 thing was dust-dry. But my honour would well 
 understand, seeing the bad step with her own eyes, 
 why he could not have attempted to take her the 
 journey to Moron, much as he delighted in pleasing 
 her, had the dreaded thunderstorm come up last 
 night, as he had been a little afraid it might. 
 
 '" My honour" did indeed understand, and 
 looked back rather anxiously at the hills behind, 
 where a lovely but ominous background of purple- 
 blue clouds threw the gorgeous sunshine around 
 us into strong relief. Did Jose* think the storm 
 would come up during the day ? Had we not better 
 press on towards some house where we could shelter 
 if we were caught in the rain ? 
 
 My honour must free herself from anxiety. In 
 no case could we hasten here, where a false step 
 would be fatal, and there was no house within many 
 miles. And the storm was still distant, on the other 
 side of San Cristobal : may be, if God pleased, it 
 would not overtake us ; and at the worst we should 
 be well over the pass before it came. 
 
 As a rule I tie the halter round my donkey's 
 neck and let it pick its own way, but here Jose* led 
 it, leaving the pack mule to follow as best it could. 
 It was clear that he felt a little anxious, and he 
 explained that some heavily loaded animal must 
 have had a slip at one spot, where the path dis- 
 appeared altogether, and we had to make a detour 
 above. For some minutes we had heard a voice 
 singing, and just at this point a lad riding a donkey 
 appeared. That boy proceeded with the utmost 
 nonchalance to make a new path across the loose 
 
AUTUMN 103 
 
 shale, rather than take the trouble to go off the 
 direct line as we had done. He shouted to his 
 donkey, kicked it hard with his heels, encased in the 
 usual esparto sandals with soles an inch thick, and 
 took the dangerous bit at a trot ! It was not done 
 for effect, as one might have imagined, for he paid 
 no attention at all to us, and we heard him gaily 
 singing as he rode on, apparently unaware that he 
 had risked a sudden and terrible death by his fool- 
 hardy performance. 
 
 After this our way led downwards, and at one 
 o'clock, as the clouds seemed to have dispersed, we 
 ventured to stop for a rest under two fine walnut 
 trees which had sown themselves above the bank of 
 the river, now beginning to assume respectable pro- 
 portions, but still a good way below us. Jose un- 
 harnessed his animals, fixed up a sort of tent with 
 the blanket from under my jamugas and the cloth 
 from his mule, to give us shade, and after we had 
 lunched he lay down with his head on my hold-all 
 and I with mine on my riding-cushion, and we both 
 slept soundly for over an hour. More than that 
 we could not allow, he had said, if I was to catch the 
 five o'clock train at Moron, for we were already 
 behindhand owing to my frequent pauses to enjoy 
 the scenery, and we still had a very long way to go. 
 
 While we slept the clouds came up, and I awoke 
 to find a thundery suffocating heat in the air, the 
 sun obscured, and not a breath of wind anywhere. 
 Jose looked grave, and devoutly thanked God that 
 we were over the pass. Had we been caught by 
 this weather on the other side we should have had 
 
104 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 no alternative but to return to Algodonales, and the 
 Senora would not have crossed this pass before next 
 summer. 
 
 As he talked he was hurriedly saddling the 
 animals and packing the lunch basket, etc., into the 
 panniers, while I unstrapped my hold-all and got 
 out umbrella and mackintosh, which undoubtedly 
 I should very soon need. 
 
 " There is no alternative," said Jose, " I must take 
 your honour to shelter in the Venta del Albercon. 
 It is only half a league out of the way, but if we do 
 not find shelter we shall be drowned. What a fool 
 I was to allow your honour to leave Algodonales, but 
 I did it for the best, and Salvador agreed that the 
 storm would not come up before to-morrow." 
 
 Long before we got to the venta we were wet 
 to the skin. The rain fell in one unbroken sheet, 
 through which streaks of lightning dazzled us at 
 appallingly frequent intervals, accompanied by 
 peals of thunder which sounded perfectly terrific in 
 their reverberations among the hills. 
 
 As soon as possible Jose led the way down to 
 the banks of the stream, and dragged the animals 
 across at the risk of breaking their legs among the 
 rough stones that filled the bed. Already the 
 biggest stones were almost covered, and Jose said 
 that if we delayed to cross till we got to the ford 
 the river would be up to our necks. Thence we 
 made our way, I hardly know how, through the 
 oleanders and brambles to what was really only a 
 goat-track some twenty feet or so up the bank, and 
 by this time the situation was so critical that Jose' 
 
AUTUMN 105 
 
 ceased to apologise, for all his energies were devoted 
 to urging on the terrified beasts. Fortunately they 
 knew and loved him, and his caressing voice soothed 
 even the mule, which was young and got half wild 
 with terror when the lightning flashed in its eyes. 
 
 We passed the ford where the Algodonales track 
 crossed a by-road from Olvera to Villamartin, 
 leaving it on our left. It was already a raging 
 torrent eight to ten feet deep and rising higher 
 every minute, and all the little tributary water- 
 courses which had been stony wastes when we 
 started were now turbid streams, rushing down to 
 swell the flood. I have never seen anything to 
 equal the rapidity with which the waters gathered, 
 and I really began to wonder whether Jose and I 
 would ever be seen again by our respective families, 
 for it seemed as if at any moment we might be 
 overwhelmed by an avalanche of stones and shale 
 tumbled down from the peaks above us by those 
 nightmare torrents which had suddenly sprung into 
 being where an hour ago all was dust-dry. It also 
 crossed my mind that my family, who were away in 
 England, had not the remotest idea where I was, 
 my trip having been a sudden inspiration of which 
 I had not informed them ; and I pictured my 
 friend Rosario distractedly seeking my corpse in 
 company with the widow and children of Jose* (I 
 learnt afterwards that he was a bachelor) and wildly 
 telegraphing to break the news, hampered by having 
 no notion of my family's address. 
 
 Fortunately these gloomy forebodings were not 
 fulfilled. A peal of thunder that seemed to shake 
 
io6 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 the whole world, and a flash of lightning so close 
 over our heads that we were almost blinded, 
 heralded our arrival at the venta, and in a moment 
 I found myself lifted off the donkey and half carried 
 into the cottage by the kindly people within, while 
 Jose* slipped the panniers which would not pass 
 through the door off his mule, and led the two 
 poor, frightened, half-drowned beasts through a clean 
 white-washed kitchen into a roomy stable beyond, 
 where he patted and soothed them until they were 
 quite quiet and happy, before he gave a thought 
 to his own comfort. The storm had come up so 
 suddenly that although he had dragged out an 
 extra wrap for me, he had been unable or unwilling 
 to stop and put on his own blanket, which was in 
 the panniers under my luggage, and all my per- 
 suasions had failed to induce him to take mine, 
 which had been thrown over the luggage, when we 
 started, to protect my camera from the sun. 
 
 There is an impression abroad that Spaniards 
 are not kind to their animals, but this is a great 
 mistake. 
 
 " How should we not do the best we can for our 
 donkeys, when we depend on them for our liveli- 
 hood ? " one of my arrieros remarked on my 
 praising his tender care of an injured mule. 
 
 True one often sees even quite young and 
 active mules and donkeys in the villages of the 
 Sierra with their knees badly broken ; but when 
 one realises that most of their work has to be done 
 on tracks such as I have endeavoured to describe 
 for, thanks to the neglect of the governing classes, 
 
AUTUMN 107 
 
 there are thousands of villages in Spain which can 
 only be reached by such paths one has to admit that 
 it is a wonder that the condition of the beasts of 
 burden is no worse. And indeed I know for a fact 
 that many poor men working on the land never 
 let their donkeys go hungry while they have a bite 
 of bread for themselves, so that my heart often 
 aches to see the animals thin and out of condition, 
 knowing it means there is want in the home. 
 
 Having all my luggage with me (a further 
 advantage of travelling on donkey-back) I was able 
 to get out of my wet clothes at once, and while I 
 changed in a roomy loft over the kitchen, where 
 the family slept and kept their corn, beans, winter 
 melons, and other stores, the pretty daughter of the 
 ventera told me that although autumn and winter 
 storms were frequent enough on these hills, they 
 had never known one come up so suddenly or with 
 such rapidity so early in the season. We learnt 
 afterwards that it was indeed rather a cyclone than 
 an ordinary thunderstorm, and that it did terrible 
 damage on the other side of the range of mountains, 
 flooding an entire village on a river bank, and 
 drowning an unfortunate gipsy family encamped 
 under a bridge in the bed of the stream, which no 
 one expected any water to reach until at least a 
 month later. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Rustic humour The haunted venta Prehistoric graves :A 
 deferred journey More mountain hospitality The end 
 of my ride A lost train A night in a posada Chivalrous 
 Jos^ Mixed company Good-bye to the hills. 
 
 THE rain poured in torrents, and the clouds were 
 so black that at three in the afternoon we sat in 
 semi-darkness ; but the time did not hang heavy 
 on our hands, for I was entertained by watching 
 the amenities of rny pretty girl and her lover, a 
 shy youth with an odd lock of white hair over 
 his forehead. And there was a wizened old fel- 
 low picturesquely clad in a short brown jacket 
 strengthened in the decorative style of the province 
 at the elbows, wrists, collar, and seams, with black 
 cloth cut in a design, and wearing really handsome 
 embroidered leather overalls reaching from his 
 waist to his knees, who had a sly humour that 
 brought forth peals of laughter from the company. 
 He sharpened his wits upon Mariquita and her 
 Kafael, but I took care not to understand these 
 jokes, knowing that they are apt to embarrass a 
 modest British matron ; and as soon as I could I 
 turned the conversation by asking if it was true 
 that there was a susto (fright), miedo (fear), or 
 
 duende (ghost) haunting the river, as I had heard 
 
 108 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Rustic humour The haunted venta Prehistoric graves :A 
 deferred journey More mountain hospitality The end 
 of my ride A lost train A night in a posada Chivalrous 
 Jos Mixed company Good-bye to the hills. 
 
 THE rain poured in torrents, and the clouds were 
 so black that at three in the afternoon we sat in 
 semi-darkness ; but the time did not hang heavy 
 on our hands, for I was entertained by watching 
 the amenities of rny pretty girl and her lover, a 
 shy youth with an odd lock of white hair over 
 his forehead. And there was a wizened old fel- 
 low picturesquely clad in a short brown jacket 
 strengthened in the decorative style of the province 
 at the elbows, wrists, collar, and seams, with black 
 cloth cut in a design, and wearing really handsome 
 embroidered leather overalls reaching from his 
 waist to his knees, who had a sly humour that 
 brought forth peals of laughter from the company. 
 He sharpened his wits upon Mariquita and her 
 Kafael, but I took care not to understand these 
 jokes, knowing that they are apt to embarrass a 
 modest British matron ; and as soon as I could I 
 turned the conversation by asking if it was true 
 that there was a susto (fright), miedo (fear), or 
 duende (ghost) haunting the river, as I had heard 
 
 108 
 
AUTUMN 109 
 
 tell in Algodonales. It was not strictly true that 
 I had heard such a tale, but I know by experience 
 that an inquiry of the kind, if made sympathetically, 
 often brings forth some interesting folk-lore. 
 
 It did so in this case, and the story proved so 
 strange that I must tell it in full. 
 
 I learnt that the venta is haunted by the ghost 
 of a white cat, which appears outside the door and 
 vanishes up the gully in the direction of a place 
 called Las Cuevas. 
 
 How did they know it was a ghost, and not a 
 real cat ? 
 
 Because there was no white cat on the premises, 
 and because it answered when spoken to. Many 
 people had seen it, and if they said 
 
 " Gatito, gatito, porque tan flaquito ? " 
 (Little cat, little cat, why art thou so thin, or feeble?) 
 
 The cat would answer 
 
 "Porque 'tamo* li'to'," 
 
 which is the peasant pronunciation of " estamos listos." 
 The correct meaning of this is " Because we are 
 ready," or "clever" (listo has both meanings), but 
 they here gave " listo " the meaning of " finished " or 
 " done with." 
 
 But why did the cat go up to the Cuevas (caves) ? 
 And what caves did it go to ? And who were 
 referred to as " finished " ? 
 
 Well, it went there because there were other 
 ghosts there, many of them animals in all sorts 
 of shapes ; but the cat was the only one that spoke. 
 
no MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 There always had been a susto in that gully. The 
 cuevas ? Well, they were just caves, like any other 
 caves in the Sierra. The gipsies slept in them on 
 their way from one fair to another, and shepherds 
 too were glad enough to take shelter there from 
 storms like the present one. Would my honour 
 like to see them ? The storm was passing over now, 
 and they could take me up there in a moment, 
 before I continued my journey. 
 
 Jos6 was quite willing to accompany me to 
 Las Cuevas, but pointed out that it was already 
 so late that we could not hope to catch the five 
 o'clock train at Moron, as the road, although quite 
 safe for the rest of the way, would be muddy in 
 places and make our progress slow. The Senora 
 must understand that it would be night before we 
 arrived, and Senoras seldom liked riding at night, 
 although he had observed that day that English 
 Senoras, if they were all like me the first specimen 
 of the race that he had come across were much 
 more valiant than those of his own country. 
 
 The ventera's family, now quite determined to 
 overcome all difficulties in the way of a visit which 
 would "give importance" to their ghosts, flung 
 themselves into the breach. Why should I not 
 stay the night in their house ? True, it was only 
 a house of poor people, but I should have a centre 
 in the kitchen, and the mattress of Mariquita, and 
 the bed-linen from her chest, all quite new for 
 her approaching wedding. And then I could go 
 on next day at my ease for the afternoon train, 
 for certainly it would be fine to-morrow after the 
 
AUTUMN in 
 
 storm, and the mud would have dried up ; while 
 as for food, if I would condescend to share the 
 family puchero, it would be very rich to-day, for 
 they had killed a fowl to put in it, and there 
 were fresh eggs and goat cheese, and plenty of 
 wine. 
 
 Who could resist such an offer? Certainly no 
 archaeologist on the track of caves and ghosts. 
 
 And now comes the really strange part of my 
 story. I found the Cuevas to be a series of 
 chambered tombs, more or less destroyed by the 
 wind and the rain of ages, but unmistakably 
 sepulchral, the necropolis of a race which still used 
 implements of stone, as many remains of such 
 lying in the debris around testified. And on the 
 morrow, with the aid of Jose and the sons of the 
 widowed ventera, I set to work to open one as yet 
 untouched, and found, as I expected, a human 
 skeleton extended full length on the ground, and 
 with it sherds of broken pottery which enabled 
 me to astonish my peasant friends by making a 
 vague guess at the tens of centuries that had elapsed 
 since " those dead men " were buried here. 
 
 I saw at a glance that the Cuevas had a scientific 
 importance, for close at hand I found the relics of 
 a remarkable temple to the sun, with its stone 
 altar for, I fear, human sacrifices, and a stone seat 
 for the priests. It was beyond my power to neglect 
 such a chance for research, and I sent Jose back 
 to his own village while I lingered on for a week 
 at the venta, digging at the tombs all day. And 
 I slept, attended by Mariquita, in a tiny two- 
 
ii2 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 roomed cottage built near her mother's house for 
 her to live in when she married, and shared the 
 simple but excellent meals of the family, who most 
 considerately suppressed the garlic as long as I 
 stayed with them. 
 
 And now for the point of my long story. Until 
 the tombs were opened and the skeletons discovered, 
 no one in the neighbourhood had the remotest idea 
 that there had ever been burials in Las Cuevas. 
 How then did the place get the reputation of being 
 haunted ? The susto was of old standing, for the 
 ventera was far from young, and she remembered 
 hearing her grandfather say that his grandfather, 
 like himself, had seen the white cat in the doorway 
 of the venta, which the same family had owned for 
 generations. 
 
 Upon examination I found that the present 
 house, rebuilt when the actual owner was married 
 some twenty-five years ago, stood on the ruins of 
 a Tartessian construction, the walls of which, over 
 a yard thick, were still visible, forming the boundary 
 of a paved floor on which tables and benches were 
 set out for the wayfarers frequenting the place. 
 Previous to the rebuilding, the ruined walls had 
 enclosed a tank or reservoir for winter rains, about 
 ten feet deep. It had been filled up with stones 
 from the hillside, because the stagnant water proved 
 unhealthy ; but the place retained its ancient name, 
 the Venta of the Albercdn or tank. There was no 
 doubt about it, those ruined walls were pre-Koman, for 
 I had to work for days to get through the fellow 
 to them which sealed the entrance to one of my 
 
AUTUMN 113 
 
 chamber tombs ; and the mortar was crystallised 
 with age. 
 
 Why, I ask again for I am quite unable to 
 answer the question myself do these unlettered 
 Andalucian peasants think they see the ghost of 
 a white cat come out of a modern house and dis- 
 appear into a burial-place, which may have dated 
 from somewhere near the period when the people 
 of ancient Egypt worshipped a cat, among other 
 animal deities ? The only thing I can certainly say 
 is that the legend is one of which no one can tell 
 the origin, and that no one would be more 
 astonished than these ghost-seers to learn that 
 a cat was something more than a cat when those 
 tombs were first dug out of the rock. From a 
 certain jealousy concerning my discovery, with 
 which any archaeologist will sympathise, I have 
 slightly misdescribed the locale of the haunted 
 caves. But every word of the story is strictly 
 true, and I am quite willing to give full par- 
 ticulars to any one who takes a scientific interest 
 in the matter. He will not, however, hear anything 
 about the cat ghost unless he speaks Spanish freely 
 and adopts an attitude of awed credulity, for no 
 Spanish peasant will talk of ghosts if he thinks he 
 is being laughed at. 
 
 When I finally left the venta I had to charter an 
 extra donkey to carry the load of sherds of pottery, 
 bricks, stones, and mortar that I had gathered in 
 the neighbourhood of Las Cuevas, to say nothing of 
 skulls, jaw-bones, and teeth, which Mariquita shud- 
 dered at and refused to touch when I was packing 
 8 
 
ii 4 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 them. But the rest of the journey to Moron was 
 accomplished in perfect weather, and nothing worthy 
 of note happened on the way. 
 
 I missed my train, owing to my inveterate habit 
 of stopping to study stones on the road. And the 
 result was that I had to spend the night in a tiny 
 and far-from-clean room over the posada where 
 Jose stabled his beasts, because the only houses of 
 call were full of viajantes and I could find nowhere 
 else to sleep. Jose himself waited on me, for a 
 posada provides no service, although a modest tip 
 produced a pair of nice clean sheets from the land- 
 lady of the stable. He brought me hot strong coffee 
 from the cafe* which is always to be found even in 
 small Spanish villages, coaxed hot water from some 
 unknown place, for there is never a kettle in a 
 posada, and slept with his head on my baggage at 
 the foot of the stairs leading up to my room. 
 
 " It was no place for a lady," he said, " but at 
 least he knew the people to be honest, and I could 
 feel quite safe (as indeed I did) with himself close 
 at hand." 
 
 I only caught three fleas in my bed, which I 
 thought a moderate allowance for a room over a 
 stable, and when I was awakened by the chumping 
 and stamping of the numerous animals below me I 
 smiled to think of my family's horror could they 
 have seen my quarters that night. They have 
 accustomed themselves, by force of circumstances, 
 to the idea of my sleeping on straw mattresses in 
 country cottages, but this was my first introduction 
 to a posada. 
 
AUTUMN 115 
 
 I do not know that I yearn to repeat the experi- 
 ment, but it was worth while for once. The dis- 
 comfort was atoned for by the picturesqueness of 
 the stable through which I had to pass to get in and 
 out of my room, with the animals and their owners 
 dimly outlined in the light of two or three ancient 
 olive-oil lamps hung here and there on the walls. 
 A Madonna-like young mother with a baby at her 
 breast, resting against a pair of panniers which her 
 husband had backed up with a load of straw and 
 covered with a gay striped rug, formed a pretty 
 contrast to a grey-haired old man who was cooking 
 his supper on a blackened brick stove in a corner 
 near by. And the people of the house, fat and comely 
 and pleasant-looking, sat on a queer little landing 
 half-way upstairs, sewing and chatting under a two- 
 candle-power electric bulb hanging from a wire so 
 thick with flies that it looked like a hempen rope. 
 They seemed quite indifferent to those around, but 
 I saw that they were keeping a watchful eye on the 
 comings and goings below, ready to secure their 
 money at any moment from the customer whose 
 movements indicated an early departure with his 
 donkey. The gallery gave on to a tiny kitchen, 
 where they cooked their own meals, although de- 
 clining, as the law permits, to cook mine. It was 
 hung with brightly polished brass utensils, and a 
 few bits of coarse pottery adorned the chimney shelf. 
 Among these was a curious old plate of local manu- 
 facture, which they sold to me for a few pence when 
 I took my leave in the morning. 
 
 And so ended that trip in the Sierra. A chill 
 
n6 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 in the air told me that winter was approaching as 
 I rode down to the station, escorted to the very 
 carriage door by the faithful Jose ; and with a sigh 
 of regret I saw my jamugas consigned to the luggage 
 van, knowing that they would now have to lie idle 
 at home for many weeks to come. 
 
A FUNEKAL VESTMKNT < F THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 Mourning customs " Keening " the dead The night before the 
 funeral Sympathetic friends " Accompanying " the mourn- 
 ers A verbal error Black masks at a dance A black- 
 draped house The locked piano Three years' seclusion 
 The mourning of the poor Black shirts but laughing faces 
 " Killed in action "The heroism of Rosa" My Papa " 
 Why Paz will be an old maid. 
 
 MOURNING in Spain is a serious feature of family 
 and social life. Even in the larger towns one sees 
 but a slight tendency to move with the times, and 
 away from Madrid, Seville, or Barcelona the rigid 
 observance of ancient customs is, like the customs 
 themselves, quite Oriental. 
 
 I remember being kept awake almost all one 
 night in a large town by an extraordinary concert 
 of lamentable sounds which issued from a tenement 
 house next door. First came a long tenor wail, 
 rising and falling in a minor key, then . a precisely 
 similar wail in a deep contralto, and then in a shrill 
 treble, evidently from a child. I learnt next morn- 
 ing that an infant had died in the house in question, 
 and that the father, the mother, and a small brother 
 had been "keening" the dead all night long. This 
 demonstration of grief is not so common now as it 
 was a few years ago, even among the least educated 
 
 "7 
 
n8 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 classes, but other peculiarities hardly more in accord- 
 ance with modern ideas are to be observed among 
 mourners of all ranks. 
 
 Of these one of the strangest, to our ideas, is the 
 custom of holding what might be called a wake over 
 the corpse the night after death. The funeral has 
 to take place within twenty-four hours, an excellent 
 sanitary regulation which we English might adopt 
 with advantage. But, as a young lady in deep 
 mourning for her adored mother calmly remarked 
 to me, "It is true that in the cold climate of 
 England dead persons do not decompose so rapidly 
 as here." It is also true that twenty-four hours amply 
 suffice to put the family into mourning in a country 
 where every woman has, as a matter of course, a suit 
 of black in her wardrobe all the year round, so that 
 no time is lost in making clothes for the funeral, and 
 on the night after a death has taken place all the 
 most intimate friends are ready to sit round in token 
 of sympathy. 
 
 A great deal of very real kindness is shown in 
 cases of severe illness. Trained nurses are seldom 
 or never called in, but the friends take turns to sit 
 up with the family and the patient, and, if they are 
 not rich, keep them supplied with chickens, eggs, 
 and whatever else may be of use in the sick-room. 
 The custom of " accompany ing" the sufferer is, how- 
 ever, sometimes embarrassing to foreigners. On one 
 occasion, when a member of my family was supposed 
 to be in articulo mortis, his most intimate Spanish 
 friend almost insisted on sharing my night-watches ; 
 and when at length I persuaded him that even his 
 
AUTUMN 119 
 
 sympathetic presence might prove injurious to one 
 for whom absolute quiet was the only chance, he 
 said with intense conviction 
 
 " At least you must promise to send for me at 
 any moment of the day or night when you know the 
 last hour is at hand, that I may witness the ascent 
 of so noble a soul to heaven ! " 
 
 My appreciation of what I knew was meant for 
 the truest kindness hardly mitigated my repugnance 
 to the mere suggestion of such an intrusion on one's 
 privacy at such a time. Happily for Don Antonio's 
 feelings as well as for mine, the illness took a favour- 
 able turn, and our friend's tears of delight at the 
 good news quickly obliterated the jar he had all 
 unconsciously inflicted on one's susceptibilities at 
 the time of crisis. Another friend, out of sheer 
 courtesy and goodness of heart, contrived to shock 
 still more our British ideas : he came post-haste, on 
 hearing that the patient was given up, to offer his 
 services in the arrangements for the funeral ! 
 
 Our ideas of keeping the sick-room free from 
 movement or noise, and our refusal to receive at the 
 bedside all the kind Spanish friends who came to 
 inquire, struck them as very strange indeed, for with 
 them sympathy is necessarily expressed by providing 
 plenty of company " to cheer the sufferer " and those 
 near and dear to him. I remember on one occasion 
 being pressed by a friend to go and call on the 
 mother of a girl who was desperately ill with menin- 
 gitis a complaint which (if correctly diagnosed) 
 seems curiously common among the well-to-do in this 
 country. I demurred, on the ground that my very 
 
120 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 slight acquaintance with the lady hardly justified 
 my intruding on her grief and anxiety. 
 
 " But she is my cousin, and you are my friend, 
 and she will certainly notice your absence if you do 
 not go." 
 
 I went. I counted twelve women and girls in 
 the patient's room, for I was obliged to go upstairs 
 and look at the poor girl through the open door, or 
 be regarded as cruelly unkind by the mother. 
 
 She died, as was to be expected, a few days later, 
 and I had to appear at the house of mourning on 
 the evening of the funeral, accompanied by the one 
 member of our family belonging to the dead girl's 
 generation. I had a black dress, but my girl had 
 only a white one, and we had hoped that this might 
 be accepted as an excuse for her non-appearance. 
 By no means. The cousin and her two daughters 
 came in person, swathed in black silk shawls from 
 head to foot, to insist on our both going with them 
 to " dar el pe'same" to express sympathy with the 
 mourner. 
 
 It was one of the most distressing experiences I 
 have had in Spain. We elder people all sat round 
 the room on chairs, sofas, and settees too heavy 
 to move an inch from their appointed places, and 
 one by one we were led into a small inner room 
 where the mother, blind with crying, sat hunched 
 up with her elbows on her knees and her head on 
 her hands, giving loud utterance to her unrestrained 
 grief. 
 
 " Oh, my daughter, my dear companion ! Oh, my 
 daughter, my dear companion ! " she moaned over and 
 
AUTUMN 121 
 
 over again in a voice hoarse with sobbing, and not 
 in the least knowing what she was saying. 
 
 We had to sit down and kiss her tear-drenched 
 cheek and say what a beautiful and charming girl 
 her Bele"n had been, and offer a conventional prayer 
 for divine consolation, and then some one else came 
 in to take our place, amid a fresh burst of sobs and 
 moans. The poor soul had worked herself into a 
 state of hysterics, but through it all was conscious 
 that she was fulfilling her friends' expectations and 
 doing the right thing by her daughter in thus prov- 
 ing herself helplessly broken down by her trouble. 
 Self-restraint on such an occasion is considered to 
 show coldness of heart and a lack of respect and 
 affection for the dead. 
 
 When I came out after my painful interview with 
 the mother, I found all the young cousins and com- 
 panions of poor Belen in shrieks of laughter, and 
 they all turned on me exclaiming 
 
 " Oh Dona Elena, how funny your Olivita is ! 
 What amusing things she says ! And what strange 
 customs you have in your country ! " 
 
 It appeared that my "Olivita" had been trying 
 to explain in her still imperfect Spanish that in 
 England young men and maidens were allowed to 
 go out walking together, unchaperoned as here by 
 " Mamma" on one side and "my aunt" on the other. 
 And in mistake for pasear, to go out walking, she 
 had used the word besar, which means to kiss. So 
 that our mourners took her to say that it was the 
 custom in England for the men and girls to kiss each 
 other whenever they met in the street, and their 
 
122 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 amusement at the idea had completely blotted out of 
 their minds for the time being the melancholy reason 
 for their meeting. 
 
 The elder ladies took it all as a matter of course. 
 
 " Poor children," they remarked ; " they are very 
 tired, and they laugh easily. It is quite natural, and 
 generally happens on these sad occasions." 
 
 As may be imagined, such vociferous grief does 
 not long endure ; but well as I thought I understood 
 the Spanish temperament, I was rather shocked when 
 on one occasion two girls in black masks and dom- 
 inoes accosted me at a Carnival dance, and revealed 
 themselves as the sisters of a youthful bride who had 
 died, with her baby, less than a month before. 
 
 They threw themselves on my mercy, fearing that 
 I might recognise them, and begged me not to betray 
 their escapade to their mother, who believed them 
 to be spending the evening with a sick friend, and 
 whose consent had been with difficulty obtained for 
 them to go out even on that errand, so soon after 
 their sister's death. I think this was an exceptional 
 instance of " quick frost, long thaw," but one often 
 finds women in deep mourning speaking bitterly of 
 the restrictions imposed by custom on their social 
 and even their home life when a near relative dies. 
 
 I have heard of the whole house, from the street 
 door to the ladies' boudoir, being hung with black 
 draperies for the nine days of rigorous mourning 
 after the sudden death of the master of the house, 
 and during all that time the women had to sit 
 in semi-darkness, morning, noon, and night. The 
 daughters were not allowed to touch the piano for 
 
AUTUMN 123 
 
 three full years after their father's death. A friend 
 of theirs and mine told me that the girls, who were 
 very fond of music, and good pianists, moped them- 
 selves into actual illness, so keenly did they feel the 
 loss of their favourite occupation after their first grief 
 had worn off, but nothing would induce the mother 
 to have the piano unlocked. They were fresh young 
 girls in their teens when the father died, full of life, 
 of good social position, and with plenty of money to 
 gratify every whim. When I saw them after their 
 three years' seclusion they were pale, thin, and 
 melancholy, and looked like women nearer thirty 
 than twenty in their enveloping chiffon veils, for 
 although they had left off crape they were still clad 
 in black from head to foot. 
 
 The friend in question, a young married woman 
 with a devoted husband and two pretty little girls, 
 had herself just emerged from a year's strict retire- 
 ment after losing her mother. She told me she was 
 looked on by the older generation as an unnatural 
 creature, because she had now begun to play her 
 beloved piano again. 
 
 " You cannot tell how I have longed for music 
 sometimes, as I grew accustomed to my loss," she 
 said, " but I could not bring myself to play. It 
 would have seemed so dreadful to my friends and 
 relations. I have often been terribly sad. I have 
 sometimes almost gone mad with depression. My 
 husband has begged me to travel with him, to play 
 the piano, to do anything in the world that would 
 tend to lessen my sadness. But as I never obey him 
 when I am happy, you may guess how little attention 
 
i2 4 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 I paid to his wishes when I was mourning for my 
 mother. Now it is a year since she died, and I can- 
 not help it if my neighbours criticise me. I must 
 begin to live again." 
 
 The strange thing about this shocking exaggera- 
 tion of the outward semblance of grief is that while 
 almost every woman one meets complains of its 
 absurdity, its evil effects on the health, its cruel in- 
 roads on youth and happiness, none of them have 
 the courage actively to rebel. 
 
 Poor people, while of necessity rousing them- 
 selves speedily to go out in search of the day's wage, 
 are just as strict as the rich in their mourning garb. 
 When a parent dies, everything has to be black : 
 black facings are stitched on to the men's shirt 
 fronts and cuffs, black cotton coats are worn, black 
 neckties in place of collars, and black felt hats, even 
 in the height of summer. The women for their part 
 wear black underclothes beneath their black dresses, 
 and tie up their heads in black handkerchiefs, some- 
 times pawning all their coloured clothes to pay for 
 the conventional garments of woe. Beneath these 
 gloomy trappings one often sees beaming smiles and 
 eyes full of life and fun ; for the workers are nothing 
 if not sincere, and when they feel happy they show 
 it. But when the country is in trouble whole towns 
 and villages seem to feel it ; as, for instance, during 
 the Moroccan War of 1909. The massacre of some two 
 thousand soldiers in the death-trap of the Gurugii 
 at Melilla threw a great number of poor families 
 into mourning; and again in 1913, during the 
 campaign of Larache, as it was here called, mourn- 
 
AUTUMN 125 
 
 ing was widespread. Every day brought news that 
 one or two or ten or twenty men had fallen in the 
 guerilla war carried on against Spain by the arch- 
 bandit El Raisuli : and here not only the immediate 
 family of the dead man wears black for him, but 
 mourning is de rigueur among all the collateral 
 relations even to second and third cousins. 
 
 This was brought home to me one day when I 
 wanted to photograph a stream where women and 
 girls were washing, for every one of them that day 
 wore black. We finally gave up the attempt, and 
 waited for another occasion, for, as I remarked to my 
 photographer, we ought to introduce in the brilliant 
 sunshine at least one girl dressed in colours. 
 
 " Very true," was his answer, " but there is a 
 great deal of mourning about. You see there are 
 so many soldiers dying in Morocco just now." 
 
 And many officers too, was my mental addition, 
 for his words sent my thoughts with a painful re- 
 bound to a scene of domestic tragedy which I had 
 witnessed not long before. 
 
 A lad of twenty-one, fresh from the Military 
 Academy at Toledo, had been killed in his first action, 
 within a week of landing in Africa. His younger 
 brother and sister were driving to attend the Jura 
 de la Handera (oath to the colours) of the new re- 
 cruits on the parade-ground outside the town where 
 they lived. They bought a morning paper and read 
 in it the news of their brother's death, " which he 
 gloriously met in the endeavour to save a wounded 
 private." Their father, who was an army doctor, was 
 away from home ; their mother, an invalid suffering 
 
126 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 from heart trouble, never read a paper. The two 
 poor children, for they were nothing more, determined 
 to conceal from her what had happened until their 
 father's return. He meanwhile, to break the blow, 
 telegraphed to her that their Antonito was wounded, 
 and she jumped to the conclusion that he was bring- 
 ing the young man home to be nursed, and for three 
 mortal days Julian and Adelita kept their secret and 
 watched their mother preparing the bedroom and 
 making cooling drinks and strengthening broths for 
 the boy who was already in his grave. 
 
 My girl, who was a great friend of theirs, told 
 me that Adela and her brother broke down com- 
 pletely when they were with her and out of their 
 mother's sight, but they contrived somehow or other 
 to pull themselves together and bear brave faces 
 before her, even when she called them straight from 
 the condolences of sympathetic friends in the cancela 
 to ask their opinion of this or that arrangement she 
 had made for the comfort of their lost brother. They 
 thought that their father, being a doctor, would 
 know how to tell her what had happened without 
 danger to her health, when he came home, and that 
 gave them strength to play their parts. 
 
 Poor children and poor mother ! When on the 
 third day the cab drove up and the father got out 
 alone, Dona Ramona needed no telling of the truth. 
 She cried out, " My son is dead ! I knew it all the 
 time," and fell fainting on the floor. And even then 
 Adela and Julian subdued their own grief, while 
 they helped to carry her upstairs and lay her on the 
 bed which she did not leave again for many weeks. 
 
AUTUMN 127 
 
 And here I should like to tell another little story, 
 also of brave self-restraint in the face of death, 
 though of a different character. 
 
 Whatever may be the attitude of certain classes 
 of Spaniards towards their religion and their priests, 
 it is certain that most ladies of gentle birth believe 
 implicitly in the dogmas and teaching of their Church. 
 And of these one tenet of the truth of which they 
 are absolutely convinced is that a soul which leaves 
 the body unshriven will suffer doubly in purgatory, 
 unless Supreme Unction is omitted owing to wilful 
 obstruction on some one else's part. In such a case 
 the one who interferes with the last rites must 
 bear the penalty, which here, in the belief of a 
 strict Catholic, amounts to little less than > eternal 
 damnation. 
 
 A girl friend of mine saw her mother suddenly 
 struck down with pneumonia, and the doctors told her 
 that the case was quite hopeless, and that death must 
 supervene within three days. None of the family 
 had had the slightest idea that there was any danger, 
 and when Rosa returned to the sick-room after hear- 
 ing the verdict, her mother reproached her for being 
 so long away. 
 
 " I heard you talking," she said ; " who were you 
 with, and what was all the conversation about ? " 
 
 " It was the the laundress," said Rosa, " you 
 know how careless she is." 
 
 Her great-aunt, a stern old lady who ruled Rosa 
 and her sister with a rod of iron, here called the girl 
 out of the room. 
 
 " Not a moment must be lost," she said. " We 
 
128 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 must immediately send for the priest, lest your 
 mother should suddenly die without the Holy 
 Oils." 
 
 And now Eosa, a plump, placid, and hitherto 
 seemingly characterless person, showed what filial 
 love is capable of. I will finish the story in her 
 own words, as she related it to me a few months 
 later. 
 
 " I knew that if the priest came it would frighten 
 my mother terribly. She was not at all frightened 
 then, and was she to spend her last days on earth in 
 a state of panic ? ' I will not send for the priest/ I 
 told my great-aunt, for it was my duty to send in 
 the absence of my father, because I was the elder of 
 the children and a nearer relation than my great- 
 aunt. She was very angry. ' You know what this 
 means ? ' she asked, and I said c Yes/ I knew what 
 my punishment would be, and I was willing to 
 remain for ever in purgatory to spare my mother 
 the fear and pain of knowing that she must leave 
 us all. I was very frightened, but I would not give 
 way, and my father is a free-thinker, so w r hen he 
 came home he said I had done well. But after my 
 mother was dead (she died quite peacefully, thinking 
 she was only falling asleep) my conscience troubled 
 me very much, and I went and told what I had 
 done to our confessor. And he was very gentle to 
 me. He said : ' Child, there are moments when 
 what seems a mortal sin is only a lesser sin.' And 
 he gave me only a little penance, for he said he 
 knew I had suffered very much." 
 
 I am generally very careful to refrain from 
 
AUTUMN 129 
 
 expressing any sort of opinion regarding the rites 
 and rules of a religion which is not my own ; but 
 on this occasion I forgot myself. I told Kosa she 
 had behaved nobly, and kissed her on both cheeks 
 as heartily as if I had been a Spanish lady. With 
 immense difficulty I had induced the father and the 
 terrible great-aunt to let Rosa come with me to the 
 seaside, for she had been ailing ever since her 
 mother's death, and it was considered impossible for 
 her to leave the house in her own town, even for 
 the walks which the doctor had recommended as 
 necessary exercise. 
 
 " Dear Dona Elena, you are too good to me," she 
 said, returning my embrace with effusion ; " how glad 
 I am Papa let me come to stay with you. Paz and I 
 were both getting so dreadfully fat sitting indoors 
 all day, and oh ! so triste. My mother liked society 
 and amusement, as you know, and she took us out 
 every day to the Promenade or to pay visits, and 
 now we can never go out at all, except to Mass, and 
 we were getting fatter and fatter. Paz has her 
 novio, but I had nothing to distract me till you 
 brought me here. If it were not for my dear Papa 
 I should like to stop with you all the summer." 
 
 Her "dear Papa" was a distinguished-looking 
 man who earned a good income in a Government 
 office, but having perpetrated a poem or two when 
 younger, went through life posing as a soul astray 
 in a desert of uninteresting fact. He wore rather 
 long hair thrown back from his forehead in pictur- 
 esque disarray. The picturesqueness was, however, 
 somewhat discounted by my simple Rosa, who, 
 9 
 
1 30 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 seeing a bottle of a favourite Spanish hair-wash on 
 my table, naively observed 
 
 " My Papa is using this. His hair has got thin 
 on the top of his head, and he is so worried about 
 it ! Do you think this stuff is any good ? Paz and 
 I take turns to rub it on his scalp every night for 
 half an hour before he goes to bed, but I don't see 
 much difference." 
 
 "My Papa" was by no means a disconsolate 
 widower. While the women of the family carry 
 their mourning to the exaggerated lengths I have 
 described, the men resume their usual habits a very 
 short time after the funeral. Thus Papa's daughters 
 would often have to sit up very late at night to 
 attend to his hyacinthine locks before he went to 
 bed, but they took it all as a matter of course, and 
 would have been extremely surprised had I hinted 
 that Kosa's delicate health and over-strained nerves 
 might be a sufficient excuse for her release from 
 these nocturnal duties. This is another aspect of 
 the Oriental tradition the inability of both men 
 and women to realise that the husband or the father 
 has not the right, simply because he is the husband 
 or the father, to demand from his women-folk the 
 service of slaves at all hours of the day or night, 
 regardless of their convenience, happiness, or health. 
 
 When their mother had been dead a year, and 
 Eosa and Paz had recovered their natural spirits 
 and were ready to enjoy life again, their father had 
 an attack of influenza, and both the girls got into a 
 panic lest they were to be left doubly orphaned. 
 He was not seriously ill, but very sorry for himself, 
 
AUTUMN 131 
 
 and for months afterwards, whenever he caught the 
 slightest cold or felt the least little indigestion, he 
 would come home from his office and go straight to 
 bed, and then he expected both his daughters to be 
 ready to wait upon him. Paz always had to prepare 
 his meals, because she knew better than the cook 
 how he liked them flavoured ; and Rosa had to be 
 on hand to sit with him, read to him, and generally 
 anticipate his every requirement. And as they 
 never knew when he might feel unwell and come 
 home to bed, and as he, of course, never dreamed of 
 sending them notice beforehand from his office, it 
 ended in his daughters literally never daring to go 
 out at all after lunch. 
 
 I was shocked when I discovered the life they 
 were leading. The novio of Paz had broken off the 
 engagement, nominally because she could not pay 
 her weekly duty calls on his mother, who was a 
 stickler for etiquette and had no sympathy with 
 " my Papa's " hypochondria, and the only gleam of 
 brightness on the poor girls' horizon was the 
 appearance of a lover for Rosa, the quiet one of the 
 sisters, who had never attracted attention like hand- 
 some Paz. It was quite useless to ask them out, 
 to suggest their taking turns in keeping Papa 
 company, to make impromptu calls on the way to 
 cinematographs or theatres on the chance of finding 
 them free. Papa always either had just gone to 
 bed or was just expected home to dinner; their 
 duty to him had become an obsession, and the 
 obsession was encouraged by him from purely selfish 
 motives, and by the old aunt because in her view 
 
1 32 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 the girls would be committing a grave breach of 
 decorum in going into society so soon (well over a 
 year !) after their mother's death. And worst of all, 
 papa, from pure jealousy, objected to Rosa's lover and 
 forbade him the house, professing to have discovered 
 that his means were uncertain, and announcing that 
 he had no intention of spending his own hard-earned 
 money on the support of an idle son-in-law. 
 
 But for once Papa met his match. The lover 
 was neither idle nor impecunious, but a man of 
 strong character and good position, and he was 
 genuinely attached to our placid Rosa. So one fine 
 morning the lovers met at Mass, and got married 
 after a fashion peculiar, I believe, to Spain. 
 
 Just before the Mass ended they stepped forward, 
 declared themselves man and wife, and asked for a 
 blessing on their union. The priest may object, but 
 he cannot refuse, for he must pronounce the bene- 
 diction after saying Mass, and that serves as the 
 blessing which sanctions these stolen marriages. 
 
 So Rosa went away with her husband and was 
 happy, and soon fined down to her normal soft but 
 shapely plumpness, while poor Paz stayed at home 
 and pandered to her father until she came to weigh 
 something like two hundredweight. 
 
 I met her quondam novio shortly after Rosa's 
 marriage, and gently reproached him for deserting 
 the girl whom he had "pretended to" for so long. 
 
 " Don't blame me," he said ; " it's all her father's 
 fault for not letting her take enough exercise to keep 
 her fat down. I am not tall (he was about five feet 
 high, a slim little pocket Adonis), and I haven't the 
 
AUTUMN 133 
 
 courage to make myself ridiculous by marrying a 
 woman who will make two of me before she is thirty." 
 I could not help feeling that there was some- 
 thing to be said on his side ; but once again the 
 cruel results of this branch of Spanish etiquette 
 became apparent. If Paz had been able to lead a 
 natural life, walking by day and dancing by night, 
 as she did while her mother was living, she would 
 not have lost either her figure or her lover, for 
 before they went into mourning she and Rosa were 
 among the merriest and most active of all the girls 
 in their set. And now one can anticipate for her 
 no brighter future than to be the maiden aunt to 
 Rosa's children, a sort of household drudge and 
 mother's help for life ; beloved, it is true, by the 
 nephews and nieces, who will regard her with an 
 affection almost if not quite equal to that bestowed 
 on their mother herself, but always just " my aunt," 
 a woman in a subordinate position, given a home 
 for the sake of her services as nurse while the 
 children are young, and as duenna when the girls 
 grow up. She will always be cheerful and philo- 
 sophical, for Paz is made that way, and she will 
 always be practical and helpful in the house. But 
 she will be an old maid, a good wife spoiled, and 
 she will feel it to the end. And all because when 
 she was yet in her teens she was compelled to sit 
 indoors for a year after her mother's death, and 
 therefore grew so fat that her lover was frightened 
 away. Poor Paz ! She is one of many victims to 
 a ridiculous and indefensible custom and a mistaken 
 sense of duty. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Entertaining in town and country Critical guests A subscrip- 
 tion ball Le dernier cri from London Dancing in a bog 
 Why the ladies went home The search for Spanish gaiety 
 A disappointed artist Afternoon calls Arab hospitality 
 Ladies at work Spanish unpunctuality A new winter 
 coat Maria's compliment Open house to old servants 
 Carmen the cigarrera. 
 
 IT does not cost much to entertain in Spain, at any 
 rate in the smaller towns. In the large towns 
 things are otherwise, and it may be as well to begin 
 by relating an incident that I heard of in connection 
 with some very pleasant friends who lived in one of 
 the " capitals," which means the chief town of the 
 great provinces into which Spain is divided. Here 
 there is a great deal of cursileria a slang term 
 best translated as " snobbishness " and as every 
 lady who gives a party wishes to spend more than 
 any other lady, and as pride is everywhere more 
 plentiful than pesetas, little hospitality is shown to 
 or by people who are not rich. 
 
 An heiress had married the head of an old and 
 noble family who himself possessed hardly anything 
 beyond the family estate in Castile. Just when 
 her eldest girl put on her first long frock and was 
 about to be presented at Court, my friend lost 
 
 almost all her money through some unfortunate 
 
 134 
 
AUTUMN 135 
 
 speculation on the part of her husband for the 
 husband, be it observed, is absolute master of his 
 wife's property in Spain. After the first shock the 
 Condesa removed to a smaller house, and arranged 
 her mode of life to suit her altered circumstances, 
 while the Conde, a Colonel in the King's Guard, 
 went to Madrid as usual to fulfil his duty at Court. 
 
 One of the things saved from the wreck was a 
 grand piano, for the Condesa was a first-rate musi- 
 cian, and on Salud's eighteenth "name-day" a party 
 was arranged with the double "object of "offering 
 the new house " to their large circle of acquaintance, 
 and giving the girl a little amusement at home, 
 since it was now out of the question for her to have 
 a season at Madrid. The three daughters set to 
 work and made paper flowers a pretty accomplish- 
 ment in which Spanish ladies excel and garlands 
 of leaves to adorn the patio. The Condesa herself 
 superintended the preparation of various dainty 
 little refreshments for her guests, and everything on 
 the eventful night was as bright and attractive as 
 good taste and willing hands could make it. 
 
 But there were no ices, no champagne, no set 
 supper, and no band, the girls of the house taking 
 turns to play endless seguidillas, rigodones, and 
 valses for their guests. And when the dance was 
 over and the Condesa and her daughters stood in 
 the patio saying good-bye to those whom they had 
 done their best to entertain, they heard one 
 aristocratic dame remark to another of her kind 
 
 " Were you ever before invited to anything 
 quite so shabby ? Really, if Maria de las Nieves 
 
1 36 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 could not afford something better than that, she 
 had no business to invite us at all ! " 
 
 But this specimen of aristocratic courtesy was 
 displayed in a " capital," and things fortunately are 
 very different in more out-of-the-way places. 
 
 In these I have seen young people meet together 
 to talk and laugh and dance for hours, quite satisfied 
 with no more costly refreshment than a bottle of 
 water with a single glass from which they all drank 
 in turn ; while a lady who held weekly receptions 
 to which we were invited once for the whole year, 
 was regarded as quite a liberal hostess because she 
 provided weak coffee and biscuits ad lib. 
 
 It was in a country town that I had the pleasure 
 of attending my first and only subscription ball 
 in Spain. The King's approaching marriage had 
 brought everything English very much into fashion, 
 and we were received on entering the theatre, 
 where the ball was held, by the young gentleman 
 who had got us the tickets, dressed as a Pierrot 
 but wearing a bowler hat from Christie's, whose label 
 was displayed by an ingenious turn of the hand as 
 he led me into the dancing-room, otherwise the 
 auditorium of the theatre. 
 
 It was Carnival, and most of the dancers were 
 in fancy dress. The place was prettily decorated, 
 and the boxes and dress circle were crowded with 
 spectators. All the elder ladies were wearing black 
 or white mantillas or Manila shawls, and one ought 
 to have received an impression of smartness or even 
 of elegance. But something was wrong somewhere 
 to our English eyes, and instead of admiring the 
 
AUTUMN 137 
 
 coup d'ceil one cast about to see why one felt as if 
 one had accidentally intruded upon a festivity in 
 Whitechapel. 
 
 " Will you dance with me ? " asked the Pierrot of 
 a girl of our party, who, by the way, wore a realistic 
 beggar's dress, all red and yellow rags, which her 
 Spanish friends thought very absurd because it had 
 cost only a few pesetas. And as the couple moved 
 off together I suddenly discovered why the scene 
 reminded me of a London coster dance. Every 
 young man and many of the old ones wore a hat 
 generally a bowler and even if he took it off to 
 valse, which not many of them did, he carried it 
 carefully under his arm as he danced, regardless of 
 the inconvenience to his partner. 
 
 " What do you think of our ball ? " asked an 
 acquaintance, who was smoking a cigarette as well 
 as wearing his hat. 
 
 I was tactless enough to say that it looked odd 
 to us to see so many hats about, and I noticed that 
 the young man's face fell. I learnt afterwards that 
 the bowler from Christie's was believed to be 
 absolutely the dernier cri in England, and that 
 being so, it was considered as appropriate to the 
 ballroom as to the street. 
 
 The entertainment was got up by the rank and 
 fashion of the town, so everybody behaved with 
 great dignity, and there was none of the rollicking 
 fun we expected to see at a Carnival ball. The 
 ladies in the boxes continually threw serpentinas 
 and confetti at the dancers, until the floor was inches 
 deep in them, and an Irish girl in our party said 
 
138 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 she felt as if she was dancing in one of her native 
 bogs. But no one got excited, and an English artist 
 on the look out for local colour began to bewail the 
 absence of the light and life that he had believed 
 inseparable from Spanish society. 
 
 A little before 1 a.m. there was a universal 
 move towards the centre of the theatre, and at a 
 given signal the heavens seemed to open and a 
 mass of paper flowers, confetti, and bonbons con- 
 cealed behind the garlands draping the ceiling, 
 showered down on our heads, while a number of 
 white pigeons were let loose and flew about in 
 terror ; but still nobody got excited. When this 
 was over the Pierrot in charge of our party called 
 the eldest of the Englishmen aside and asked him 
 to take his ladies home, " because other ladies would 
 be coming now " a gentle hint, on which all the 
 English and most of the Spanish dames hastily took 
 their departure. The artist was the only one of us 
 who stayed, hoping that with the advent of the 
 " other ladies " he might see something of the 
 celebrated animation which he wanted to introduce 
 into his pictures of Spanish life. He told us next 
 day that he had stopped till 4 a.m., and then came 
 home escorted by half the Spanish army and all the 
 Spanish navy as represented at the ball most of 
 them rather and some of them very drunk, but 
 solemn to the last. 
 
 " Spanish gaiety is a fraud," he indignantly 
 declared, and departed in dudgeon, shaking the dust 
 of our town off his feet. 
 
 But when I came to know more of Spanish 
 
AUTUMN 139 
 
 society I understood why all the ladies and many 
 of the men were so solemn on that occasion. Being 
 at a subscription and thus a semi-public ball, they 
 considered that it would be infra dig. to show that 
 they were amused. I never went to another such 
 dance, for I prefer natural fun among young people 
 at a party, but I would not have missed that one 
 for the world ; it was so delightfully unlike anything 
 else of the kind one had ever seen. 
 
 Afternoon calling in Spain is very different from 
 the quarter-of-an-hour duty visit or the formal leav- 
 ing of cards which is customary in England or was 
 when I left my native country ten years or so ago. 
 
 Here it is a serious matter for those who have 
 any sort of occupation, for one is expected to stay 
 never less than an hour, and indeed your intimate 
 friends are hurt if you don't remain the whole 
 afternoon. 
 
 It is absolutely contrary to etiquette to go out 
 when you have visitors, no matter how important 
 an engagement you may have made before the 
 uninvited guests appeared. I have known friends 
 fail to arrive when expected to a ceremonious dinner 
 at our house, and the all-sufficient reply to my 
 reproaches has been, " I was very sorry, but what 
 was I to do ? We had visitors." 
 
 This exaggerated regard for the duties of hospi- 
 tality in your own house, coupled with a calm dis- 
 regard of any obligation imposed by an engagement 
 to visit your neighbours, is another of the innumer- 
 able survivals of Arabic tradition, and as such must 
 be respected by all who would enjoy the friendship 
 
140 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 of Spaniards. It is stronger in the south than in 
 the north, where the Oriental influence was com- 
 paratively ephemeral and made no lasting impression 
 on the natives. And it is even said that in 
 Barcelona the Catalans sometimes turn up punctually 
 when they have made a business engagement. This, 
 I am credibly informed, is one of the causes, as well 
 as an effect, of Catalunan prosperity. But the 
 Catalans are reputed to make a boast of their 
 virtues, and this ridiculous regard for punctuality 
 and the rest is one of their many offences in the 
 eyes of e.g. the Andalucians, who are to the Catalans 
 as oil to water, and never will agree with them on 
 any single question to the crack of doom. 
 
 The extraordinary indifference of Spaniards to 
 fixed hours and previously made engagements caused 
 me no little trouble in connection with the photo- 
 graph facing the head of this chapter. I wanted to 
 take a pretty group formed day after day by the 
 friends with whom I was staying, as they sat at 
 work in their charming old patio, with some small 
 nieces playing about them, and a typically Spanish 
 air of ease and comfortable neglige pervading the 
 whole scene. So I asked them to be in their usual 
 rocking-chairs on a certain day, fixed by themselves, 
 and arranged with the photographer to come at 
 three o'clock on that afternoon, this being the time 
 when my friends were always sitting there with 
 their needlework, and the one hour in the whole day 
 when the light in the patio, which was shadowed 
 by a large orange tree, admitted of successful 
 photography. 
 
AUTUMN 141 
 
 At three o'clock the patio was empty, save for a 
 baby niece and her nurse. The girls, I was told, 
 were dressing for the occasion. At three-thirty the 
 photographer came. By that time the baby niece, 
 badly bored, had begun to cry, and she continued 
 to cry until at last she had to be taken away. She 
 was a pretty baby, and I did not want to lose her 
 from the picture. At four o'clock, when the light 
 in the patio was already bad, the girls at last 
 appeared, not, as had been arranged, in their every- 
 day dresses prepared to sit down for a couple of 
 hours' needlework, but in the costume of peasant 
 girls got up for the fair, and quite obviously ladies 
 in fancy dress. Nor was this the only disappoint- 
 ment to a writer who wanted a picture of Spanish 
 ladies at home, for the sight of the camera had 
 attracted all the children of my friends' friends 
 within range, and I was told by my hostess that 
 great offence would be given if they were not 
 allowed to figure in the photograph. 
 
 As it was evidently useless now to attempt to 
 get the sort of group I wanted, I gave way with such 
 grace as I could command. The weeping baby was 
 brought back, still weeping and refusing to be com- 
 forted even by some artificial flowers offered by its 
 mother, who had put on a beautiful Manila shawl 
 as an appropriate garment for sewing in the patio. 
 The children from over the way planted themselves 
 as seemed good to them, and the grown ladies settled 
 themselves as the photographer recommended. 
 When all was ready half an hour or so later, the sun 
 went behind a cloud, the baby gave an extra howl, 
 
142 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 my particular friend stepped out of focus, and the 
 photograph was of course hopelessly spoiled. 
 
 When the superfluous children had run away 
 thinking it was all over, and most of the ladies 
 had taken their leave, the sun reappeared, and the 
 photographer hastily snapped the two prettiest girls, 
 with the baby's mother pretending to be the nurse 
 of the elder nieces, who yawned violently and in- 
 formed us that their dolls had gone to sleep. 
 
 All things considered, I think the result was fairly 
 good, but it is not a picture of Spanish ladies sitting 
 at home with their sewing in the reposeful attitudes 
 characteristic of the land where one hour is as good 
 as another. I gave that up after wasting a whole 
 afternoon and a certain amount of money in the 
 manner here described. Neither the ladies nor the 
 photographer seemed at all concerned at the fiasco, 
 nor were the former at all contrite at having caused 
 it by their unpunctuality. Indeed one of them, 
 adding insult to injury, informed me that if I had 
 had Senor Fulano instead of Don Mengano to take 
 those photographs I should have obtained better 
 results. And I think it should be counted to me 
 for righteousness that I refrained from pointing out 
 what admirable pictures my photographer produced 
 when he had not to deal with society ladies. 
 
 The subjects of conversation at these friendly 
 sewing parties are apt to be somewhat limited in 
 scope, but one that never fails to please is dress in 
 all shapes and forms. 
 
 The day after the photograph fiasco was the 
 saint's day, or name-day, of Maria de las Mercdde*s, 
 
AUTUMN 143 
 
 one of the two senoritas pretending to be a peasant 
 at the well in the patio. And in the afternoon I 
 was invited to eat cakes and drink wine, and be 
 introduced to various callers who had come to offer 
 the usual congratulations. Mercedes had received, 
 as a name-day present from her brother, a new 
 winter coat of the latest fashion, and first she had 
 to put it on to exhibit to every woman and girl who 
 called, and then every girl who called had to take 
 the coat and try it on for herself. How they could 
 do this I can't imagine, for it was a blazing hot day 
 of St. Martin's summer, and in deference to a lady 
 who had a cold we were all together in a small sitting- 
 room with the windows shut. But one after the 
 other of Mercedes' young friends slipped into the 
 garment, studied her appearance in the mirrors with 
 which every Spanish sala is plentifully provided, 
 suggested improvements in this or that detail, and 
 invariably ended by asking how much the coat cost 
 and telling the owner that it was a wonderful 
 bargain. 
 
 If the senoritas had brought gifts themselves, 
 there might have been some excuse for their in- 
 satiable curiosity as to the price of the brother's 
 present ; but no : on Spanish name-days (which are 
 equivalent to our birthdays) it is the heroine of the 
 day who makes offerings, represented by cakes and 
 wine, instead of receiving them. I trust that my 
 readers will not cry " enough of King Charles's head " 
 if I again remark that this is an Oriental tradition, 
 just as many of the cakes themselves are made after 
 Oriental recipes. 
 
144 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 The custom of asking the price of whatever they 
 admire is universal here, and is not in the least 
 considered bad manners. The first Spanish lady 
 whose acquaintance we made in Spain asked us what 
 we were paying at the hotel we were staying at. 
 When we took a house we were always asked what 
 rent we paid, and when finally we bought the house 
 in which we hope to end our days, all our Spanish 
 friends asked us what the price was, and held up 
 their hands in congratulatory amazement, exclaiming, 
 " How cheap ! " It is always a compliment to say 
 you have made a good bargain, and if you wish to 
 annoy, you have only to remark, " How they have 
 cheated you ! " 
 
 An old servant who lived with us for a good 
 many years hoarded all her wages and spent noth- 
 ing beyond the "tips" she received from visitors. 
 To my certain knowledge she never bought a new 
 dress for herself all the time she was with us, but 
 wore my cast-off clothes when doing her work, and a 
 brown, or as she called it, "Carmelite" cloth skirt, 
 given her by a visitor, for Mass and the street, year 
 in year out, until some one else gave her a blue serge 
 which she turned and made to look like new. She 
 was under a vow from her childhood never to wear 
 any colour out of doors but brown, in honour of Our 
 Lady of Carmel ; but the vow somehow slipped into 
 the background when she received the blue serge, 
 and this will probably last her till she dies, for she 
 is well over seventy. 
 
 This old lady, the first time she saw me in a 
 new (and rather expensive) dress, came up and 
 
AUTUMN 145 
 
 fingered the silk very carefully, and walked round 
 and round me with expressions of enthusiastic 
 admiration, such as 
 
 " Senora, how beautiful ! How handsome you 
 are in your new costume ! Never have I seen you 
 look so well and so fat ! " (As in the East, stout 
 women are greatly admired here.) 
 
 And to finish up with, she said 
 
 " Senora, the material is excellent. What did 
 you pay for the dress, and where did you get it ? 
 To-morrow I shall go to the shop and buy myself 
 just such another ! " 
 
 I am afraid I did not receive this proposal with 
 enthusiasm ; but after a while I became used to talk 
 of the kind, for I discovered that old Maria had no 
 more idea of copying my clothes than she had of 
 making a trip to England, and merely intended to 
 suggest that sincerest form of flattery which is found 
 in imitation. 
 
 I have met with many odd incidents showing 
 how in certain ways the most complete familiarity 
 prevails between master and servant, although in 
 others there is a gulf fixed which seems to be 
 impassable. 
 
 Servants, male and female, who have been 
 engaged in a house even for a short time, especially 
 in the country, are made more or less free of it for 
 the rest of their lives. They may go away to other 
 situations, or marry and set up their own homes, 
 but always when they come to see their former 
 mistress they walk in as if the house belonged to 
 them, and are treated as if they had a perfect right 
 
 IO 
 
146 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 to be there. A laundress or charwoman will arrive 
 with three or four small children at her heels, and 
 these will sit about in the laundry or the patio all 
 day, while the mother does her work. I am bound 
 to say that the little things generally behave very 
 well, being trained in the hard school of necessity, 
 and as soon as they can walk and talk they begin 
 to run errands for the household. They soon become 
 useful in this way, for errands are innumerable here. 
 Save in big country houses which depend largely 
 on their own farms and fruit gardens for provisions, 
 it is the exception to have a storeroom, and every 
 pennyworth of household sundries, down to salt, 
 pepper, and spices, is bought from day to day. As 
 no attempt is made to furnish a list of requirements 
 for the day's meals when the cook goes to market, 
 every item used in the cooking has to be got when 
 it is found to be wanted a system which accounts 
 for much of the unpunctuality of meals in Spanish 
 houses, and for the resultant national tendency to 
 various forms of dyspepsia. 
 
 This of course does not apply to the poor, whose 
 food is of the simplest. They eat bread and mor cilia 
 or chorizo (varieties of dried sausage highly flavoured 
 with garlic) for their lunch, and pucker o or cocido 
 of which more later on for their dinner. In the 
 towns they buy everything by the day, like their 
 employers. But in the country they largely live 
 on what they grow themselves, unless the whole 
 family is engaged on the farm at a wage which 
 includes food. And they thrive on bread, morcilla, 
 and water, not even coffee being drunk by country 
 
AUTUMN 147 
 
 cottagers, as I have discovered when accepting their 
 hospitality on my archaeological excursions. Thus 
 they have no need to be continually running to 
 the comestibles shop, like their town friends, which 
 is just as well when the nearest town may be 
 anything from two to ten miles away. 
 
 To return to the manners of Spanish servants. 
 I was sitting one evening with friends over the 
 after-dinner coffee when a picturesque creature in 
 a purple garment of penitence, with a white handker- 
 chief on her head, and a pair of twins in her arms, 
 strolled in to tell the family that she had had a 
 letter from her brother, a soldier in Morocco. They 
 were all obviously interested, and while I listened 
 to their sympathetic inquiries about the young 
 man's health and happiness, I finished my coffee 
 and handed my cup for a fresh supply. The bearer 
 of the twins broke off short in her talk on noticing 
 that I refused sugar. 
 
 "Is it possible that the Senora drinks coffee 
 without sugar ? Never have I heard of such a thing. 
 Is it not very unpleasant to the taste ? " 
 
 And then and there she shifted both babies on to 
 one arm, took the unused spoon from my saucer, 
 dipped it into my cup, and proceeded to try for 
 herself what coffee without sugar tasted like. 
 
 I had much ado to refrain from laughing, the 
 woman's simple unconsciousness of offence was so 
 funny. One of my friends asked me in English 
 
 " What do you think of Spanish impudence ? " 
 but no one else took any notice. 
 
 This particular act was unusual, because every- 
 
148 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 body takes sugar in their coffee, so that few 
 opportunities arise for a servant to sample the 
 unsweetened coffee in her master's cup. But the 
 licensed familiarity that underlay it is widespread. 
 
 Sometimes, however, an excess of familiarity 
 brings about condign punishment, as in a case that 
 occurred in the hotel in which we stayed on our 
 first arrival in Spain. 
 
 I was alone in our little sitting-room one day, 
 strumming on a guitar, when the door suddenly 
 opened and in marched a large blowsy woman with 
 big black eyes, a wilted rose in her hair, and a cigarette 
 in her mouth. She plumped herself down on the 
 only easy-chair in the place, took the guitar from 
 my unresisting hands, remarked " I can play better 
 than that at any rate ! " and struck up the twanging 
 chords which preface every south-Spanish song. 
 
 It was perfectly true that she played better than 
 I did, though that was not saying much, for she 
 could hardly have played worse. And I was so 
 much amused at her calm assurance that I just sat 
 and laughed, while she twanged the guitar and 
 beat on the floor with her slippered foot preparatory 
 to bursting into song. But the concert was quickly 
 brought to an end by the entrance of an indignant 
 chambermaid, who seized the guitar and soundly 
 cuffed the guitarist with an Anda! Vete tu! (" Go ! 
 Get out ! ") full of wrath and indignation. 
 
 " She seems fond of music," said I deprecatingly, 
 for the whole scene had been as good as a play to me. 
 
 "Fond of music! Ca!" retorted the chamber- 
 maid. " She's the washerwoman, and she's drunk ! " 
 
AUTUMN 149 
 
 Further inquiry elicited that the washerwoman 
 was a cigarrera by profession hence the cigarette, 
 for respectable women in Spain do not smoke. And 
 her name was Carmen ! Shades of Bizet and his 
 " toreador " ! Alas ! The landlady dismissed her 
 next morning, and I never had another scene from 
 that play enacted before me. Incidentally I may 
 remark that drunkenness among women is extremely 
 rare in Spain, and I can only remember coming 
 into direct contact with one other old lady the 
 worse for aguardiente in all the years I have 
 lived here. 
 
PART III. WINTER 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A December festival The "Mystery" A holy war The 
 story of the Seises and their Dance The Triduum of 
 Carnestolendas The real Don Juan The Dancers of 
 Corpus Christi The defeat of Don Jaime de Palafox The 
 Christmas Ship Marzapan and Polvoron The Cock's Mass 
 on Christmas Eve " Nativities "The midnight "lunch" 
 in the mansion The " Good Night " of the poor. 
 
 PROBABLY every one who takes any interest at all 
 in Spain has heard of the famous Dance of the 
 Seises before the high altar of Seville Cathedral 
 on certain festivals, i.e. that of the Immaculate 
 Conception of Our Lady in December, the Carnival 
 in February, and Corpus Christi in June. But no 
 one either in Spain or out of it can give definite 
 information with chapter and verse about the origin 
 of the dance, still less of the name. 
 
 In Spanish the word seises, plural of seis, means 
 "sixes," and it is usual to conclude that the name 
 was given because six little boys performed the 
 curious old-world movements known as the " dance." 
 But as a matter of fact ten little boys take part, 
 and one seventeenth-century writer speaks of twelve 
 and another of seven, and although my impression 
 
 is that these two figures were slips of the copyists, 
 
 150 
 
d} > 
 
WINTER 151 
 
 there is no evidence that the number ever was 
 precisely six, as it must have been for that to be 
 the origin of the name. It looks, therefore, as if 
 the assumption that seises here means sixes (and 
 why not Six instead of Sixes as if they were dice ?) 
 were one of those hasty philological generalisations 
 based upon sound alone which constantly crop up 
 to puzzle the conscientious historian. 
 
 Those who pin their faith to the obvious trans- 
 lation of the word as written to-day, suggest that 
 originally there were only six dancing boys, and 
 that the other four were the attendants of the 
 Archbishop, placed by way of ornament at the 
 four corners of the carpet on which the dance 
 takes place and a very beautiful old carpet it is, 
 by the way. But here we meet with the objection 
 that, whereas the corner boys are the tallest of 
 the ten, those who attend the Archbishop are the 
 smallest, and moreover that two and not four follow 
 in his train. To us who know how great is the 
 force of tradition in southern Spain, it is incon- 
 ceivable that the Dean and Chapter, or the Arch- 
 bishop, or even the Pope himself, should arbitrarily 
 and for no apparent purpose, at a time which is not 
 stated in any record, have added four more to the 
 six boys whose number is supposed to have given 
 the name to their dance. Nor is it probable that 
 this particular dance should have been made numeri- 
 cally more important when all over Christendom the 
 religious dances of the Middle Ages were dying 
 out or were being deliberately suppressed by the 
 Church. 
 
1 52 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 The most rational explanation appears to be that 
 of a friend of mine, a distinguished Orientalist, who 
 propounded a theory that the dance is a survival of 
 the Mozarabic ritual, and that the little "Seises" 
 were originally the sais, or attendants on the priests, 
 at the time when Arabic was the only language used 
 in Seville, not only by the Moslems in their mosques, 
 but by the Arabicised Christians who maintained 
 their own forms of worship although they had for- 
 gotten their own tongue. Two little sais are seen 
 in one of the illuminations of the Cantigas of 
 Alfonso the Wise (1252) in attendance upon a priest 
 who is worshipping the image of Our Lady of the 
 See (Sede now over the high altar in the 
 Cathedral), and they were provided with rations and 
 education by a Bull of Pope Eugene iv. in 1438. 
 But nowhere do we find any mention of their 
 number, as we could hardly fail to do had it been 
 limited to six ; whereas nothing would seem more 
 natural than the conversion of the Arabic sais into 
 the Spanish seis, when Castilian was made the 
 language of reconquered Andalucia by law of 
 Alfonso the Wise. 
 
 But for the loss of the deeds and archives relat- 
 ing to the faithful Mozarabs of this diocese and their 
 metropolitan Church of Saint Mary during the 
 troubled half-century between 1200 and the recon- 
 quest in 1248, we might have known something 
 about the true origin of the Seises, of the mediaeval 
 fresco of " Our Lady of the Old Time/' and others of 
 Mozarab tradition, of the celebrated Guilds and 
 Brotherhoods which come out in procession in Holy 
 
WINTER 153 
 
 Week, and of other curious details of Sevillian ritual 
 touched upon in a later chapter. 
 
 I will take the festivals enlivened by the Dance 
 of the Seises in their order, beginning with the 
 Octave of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed 
 Virgin (to give the feast its full official title), for 
 this not only comes first in point of time, its vigil 
 being on 7th December, when winter weather has 
 hardly yet begun in this favoured clime, but it is 
 in point of fact the greatest festival in the whole 
 ecclesiastical year in Seville, which city from first 
 to last was the self-constituted champion of this 
 " Mystery." 
 
 No one seems to know when the belief that 
 Mary as well as her Son was born without human 
 agency first began to gain ground in Seville, but 
 Don Manuel Serrano, who has spent most of his life 
 in the study of Sevillian Church history and art, 
 believes he has evidence that her " sinless birth " was 
 venerated from the fourth century onwards, and that 
 St. Isidore, the "learned doctor" of Seville, found 
 it in the primitive rite and transferred it to his own 
 liturgy not very long before the Moslem invasion. 
 And since the Isidorian or Sevillian ritual (Rito 
 hispalense) was the one used here by the Mozarabs 
 throughout the dominion of Islam until San Fer- 
 nando replaced it by the Eoman rite in 1248, 
 Sevillian archaeologists have some ground for claim- 
 ing that this see was par excellence " the land of 
 the Blessed Virgin" (tierra de Maria Santisima) 
 throughout its chequered history. At any rate, some 
 evidence in favour of their claim is that the feast of 
 
154 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin does not 
 figure in the Mozarab ritual of Toledo before the 
 year 1300, whereas it seems to have been in full 
 swing here in 1248, for Alfonso the Wise in his 
 Chronicle refers to the use in Seville of the ritual of 
 " Saint Isidre 6 de San Leadre " (SS. Isidore and 
 Leander), which contains this feast. 
 
 The belief in the " Mystery " was by no means 
 universally accepted after the re-conquest even in 
 Seville, whatever may have been the case among the 
 faithful Mozarabs, but feeling did not wax really hot 
 over it until the seventeenth century. Then the 
 Franciscans and Jesuits combined to work for its 
 acceptance by the whole Church, while the Domini- 
 cans controverted it, and Seville took the lead in 
 what became almost a holy war. Extraordinary 
 acts of devotion were witnessed, among the most 
 remarkable being the selling of himself back into 
 slavery by a freed slave, who gave the price of his 
 own flesh and blood to the cult of the " Most Pure." 
 He and his fellow-negroes maintained an altar to the 
 Conception in the church of Our Lady of the Angels, 
 and it was for this that the freed slave desired to 
 raise money. And a priest in an excess of ecstasy 
 actually had the A.M. (Ave Maria) branded on his 
 face. 
 
 The burning of a Dominican monastery was con- 
 sidered an intervention of Providence against those 
 who " insulted " Our Lady by denying her miracul- 
 ous birth, and it gave rise to serious rioting, only 
 quelled at last by the ecclesiastical authorities 
 placing over the door of the monastery the inscrip- 
 
WINTER 155 
 
 tion, "Mary, conceived without sin." To this 
 period of storm and stress are to be assigned the 
 numerous repetitions of the monogram A.M. (Ave 
 Maria) seen over the doors of old houses in almost 
 every town and village in Andalucia and other 
 provinces where the controversy raged, and from 
 this century dates the addition of an image of the 
 Virgin to almost every one of the Holy Week pro- 
 cessions, with its accompanying banner called the 
 Sin Pecado, because embroidered with those words 
 in testimony to Mary's immaculate conception. 
 And of this period too is a remarkable festival cope 
 in the church of San Lorenzo at Seville, made of 
 white brocade woven all over with the monogram 
 A.M. and the initials S.P.O., so that on every fold 
 it reads " Hail Mary ! Born without original sin " 
 (Ave Maria, Sin Pecado Original). 
 
 And now the ancient Dance of the Seises became 
 one of the most brilliant features in the festival of 
 the Conception. Hitherto, one gathers, no special 
 pains had been bestowed upon the costumes of the 
 boys, but in 1654 it was thought desirable to bring 
 them "up to date." One would give a good deal to 
 know how they were dressed before this, for prob- 
 ably the costumes were traditional and centuries old 
 in style if not material. But the wealthy and pious 
 Sevillians had then as now but scant regard for 
 relics of the past. The Chapter which thought it a 
 great deed to remove the robes in which San Fer- 
 nando was buried in 1252 and replace them with 
 the costume of their own day (in which costume the 
 embalmed corpse of the great general and saintly 
 
i 5 6 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 monarch is still displayed to the gaze of his wor- 
 shippers three times in every year) such a Chapter 
 would be incapable of seeing anything worth pre- 
 servation in the dancing-boys' dress of, say, the 
 thirteenth century. And they readily found a 
 devout old couple to present a complete new set of 
 " ornaments " for the festival of the Conception in 
 the Cathedral, including costumes for the Seises. 
 
 The benefactors were Don Gonzalo Nunez and 
 his wife, Dona Mercia, who had recently returned 
 from the Indies with a handsome fortune. He was 
 old and crippled with gout and other ailments, but 
 he was borne into the Cathedral on a carrying-chair 
 to attend the octave of the feast from the 7th to 
 the 14th of December 1654, and thus he was able to 
 witness " the incredible delight of the entire city " 
 at the splendid trappings provided for the popular 
 ceremony by his own and his wife's munificence. 
 
 No less than 150,000 ducats, or 40,000 of our 
 money, did the pious pair set aside to endow the 
 Feast of the Immaculate Conception, "in order to 
 make it as splendid as that of Corpus Christi," and 
 they gave the money in their lifetime too, instead 
 of bequeathing it by will so as to enjoy it themselves 
 as long as they lived. There were new blue and 
 white vestments for the priests, blue and white 
 draperies for the pulpit, the reading-desk, and the 
 Archbishop's throne, blue and white banners, even 
 cushions of blue and white for the Archbishop to 
 kneel on in the choir and before the high altar. 
 Now for the first time the little boys were given 
 vestments of blue and white, " colours of the 
 
WINTER 157 
 
 Mystery," and so comprehensive was the scheme 
 laid down by the generous Don Gonzalo that, as the 
 archive says, " even the Singing Children called 
 Seises" had "all their borders and fringes of equal 
 cost and richness " with those of the Dean himself. 
 
 Nor were women entirely left out in this endow- 
 ment, for it was ordered that " certain poor maidens " 
 should be provided with dowries out of the 40,000, 
 and these maidens were to walk in the processions 
 throughout the Octave clad to match the Seises in 
 white robes and hooded mantles of blue, such as 
 Murillo was depicting then in his representations of 
 the Virgin. Dona Mercia for her part endowed the 
 Capilla de las Doncellas (Chapel of the Maidens) in 
 the cathedral, and here until recent years the dowries 
 provided by her husband and herself were annually 
 distributed, and here portionless girls even now go to 
 pray for good husbands, although unfortunately most 
 of the endowment funds mysteriously disappeared in 
 the last quarter of the nineteenth century. 
 
 One of the interesting details in this donation is 
 the light it throws on the condition of the silk weav- 
 ing industry of Seville in the seventeenth century. 
 All the vestments, of whatever class, the altar and 
 other hangings, the costumes of the Seises, and the 
 dresses for the maidens, were to be " of the finest 
 possible materials," and they were " to be woven for 
 the purpose in the city of Seville, which in such 
 weaving does not give place either to Milan or 
 Naples." Such is the wording of the deed of gift. 
 Had Don Gonzalo himself been a silk merchant we 
 might have suspected prejudice in favour of his own 
 
158 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 manufactures ; but not so, he had made his fortune 
 as a general trader with the New World. 
 
 The silk industry of Seville dated from Arabic 
 times, and appears to have been at its height in the 
 eleventh century under the beneficent rule of the 
 Abbadite kings, who brought civilisation and luxury 
 here to a greater height than ever was attained in 
 Cordova, always more distinguished for literature 
 and science than for arts or industries. The Beni 
 Abbad were Yemenite Arabs, and their family with 
 many others of Yemenite descent (contrary to what 
 is generally supposed) had peacefully established 
 themselves side by side with the Christian natives 
 in the eighth century. They had a full appreciation 
 of the benefits of commerce and industry, for the 
 Yemenites were not nomads like many other Arabs, 
 but had developed, with the aid of their conquerors 
 the Persians, a remarkable civilisation and art in 
 their beloved capital, Sana, the traditional glories 
 of which were still the theme of their poets several 
 centuries after the Arab occupation of Spain. Thus 
 we find in the silks, damasks, and brocades manu- 
 factured in Seville right down to the seventeenth 
 century a curious Egypto-Persian influence in design, 
 an influence which, strange to say, even now persists 
 in the beautiful work done by Andalucian women, 
 whether lace, embroidery, or drawn thread, and in 
 the naive traditional birds and beasts painted on the 
 pottery of Triana. So characteristic are these designs 
 that it is easy to recognise the Seville school of art 
 from the earliest Arabic times down to the present 
 day, while the productions of the seventeenth century 
 
WINTER 159 
 
 can be dated with tolerable accuracy by a new 
 feature which then appeared, as a result of the 
 Sevillian devotion to the " Immaculate." 
 
 New, however, is hardly the correct word, for it 
 had its root in the sacred lotus of Egypt, whose 
 pointed leaves symbolised the flame of life, wor- 
 shipped from prehistoric ages. 
 
 As far back as the thirteenth century this lotus 
 or lily (azucena) had been adopted as their heraldic 
 device by the knightly Order of Our Lady of Old 
 Time, and in 1400 when they began to rebuild the 
 Cathedral of Seville it was assumed as the heraldic 
 arms of the Chapter. Now, in consequence of the 
 general devotion to the " Mystery," the device be- 
 came known as the " Heraldic Arms of the Virgin," 
 and henceforth the jar or vase, with the two-branched 
 lily springing from it, is ubiquitous in Andalucian 
 design. The calix of the lotus flower turned into 
 the vase, while the stamens and pistils grew into the 
 two branches. Some artists indeed went so far as 
 to paint the Virgin sitting on a water-lily with two 
 stems, one of which had its root in the breast of 
 St. Anna, her mother, and the other in that of St. 
 Joachim, her father. We can hardly imagine that 
 an idea so foreign to Western hagiology would have 
 sprung up spontaneously after the Mozarab rite had 
 been suppressed in favour of the Eoman on the re- 
 conquest of Seville, whereas it would only be natural 
 that the art of the Mozarabic Church should be 
 influenced by Eastern ideas at the time when the 
 members of that Church were in intimate contact 
 with the Arabic civilisation and were practically 
 
160 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 isolated from the rest of Christendom. As for the 
 Egyptian (or Coptic) tradition, the Yemenite Arabs 
 would have brought it with them in the eighth 
 century, when they came to Spain after their con- 
 quest of Egypt, and it would be reinforced by the 
 close intimacy which existed in the eleventh century 
 between the Fatimite Khalifs and the Abbadite court 
 in Seville. 
 
 Thanks to Don Gonzalo Nunez the celebration 
 of the Immaculate Conception has been observed in 
 Seville since 1654 with greater magnificence than 
 anywhere else. The columns of the transepts and 
 nave are draped from top to bottom with crimson 
 velvet curtains, for which the merchants of Seville 
 subscribed 17,000 towards the close of the century, 
 the whole of the reredos and the high altar are 
 covered with plates of chased silver, and the pyx is 
 placed in a shrine of gold surrounded by a coronal 
 of blazing diamonds, each as large as a small pea. 
 This is raised high above the actual altar, and gleams 
 dazzlingly through the dim light of the candles 
 placed round it. When the bell rings for the Eleva- 
 tion, after the dance of the Seises is over, the red 
 velvet curtains screening the Host are slowly drawn 
 back ; soft orchestral music fills the air ; the Cardinal 
 Archbishop steps forward to give the benediction, 
 and the thousands of worshippers kneel in silent 
 adoration. Then indeed one realises the extraordinary 
 hold that the "Mystery" has taken upon the ima- 
 gination of the people of Seville. 
 
 The little Seises, no matter what imps of mischief 
 they may be at other times, comport themselves 
 
WINTER 161 
 
 with great gravity on this occasion. Filled with 
 honourable pride, convinced that their dance is the 
 event towards which moves all the magnificent ritual 
 of the whole Cathedral year, each small boy feels 
 that everything depends on the perfection of his 
 own performance. Should a single Seis err in the 
 minutest detail, the whole stately dance would break 
 up in confusion. For this " dance " is in truth a 
 series of complicated arabesques traced by small feet 
 upon a velvety carpet, each movement growing out 
 of and depending upon those before and after. 
 There are over two hundred musical settings, but 
 there is only one rule for the dance, and a choir boy, 
 however clever, has to practise it for a whole year 
 before he can be promoted to the dignity of a Seis, 
 the summit of his ambition. Indeed to be a Seis is 
 something like winning a scholarship, for when he 
 outgrows his costume and his voice begins to break, 
 his future is taken care of by the Chapter, who train 
 him for the priesthood if he has a bent that way, or 
 apprentice him to some trade whereby he may even- 
 tually earn his living, unless, as frequently is the 
 case, he be the son of parents able to give him a 
 professional career. 
 
 Their dresses are still made after the seven- 
 teenth-century fashion, though somewhat modified, 
 and, alas ! no longer of " the best materials " to be 
 obtained in Seville. The trunks of an earlier day 
 have degenerated into knickerbockers down to the 
 knee, but we still see the white shoes and the white 
 stockings which once were trunk-hose, the round 
 hats turned up at one side with feathers, doublets of 
 ii 
 
1 62 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 white satin with strips of blue edged with gold, and 
 streamers to match hanging from the shoulders, as 
 once did the elegant cloaks of which these are the 
 modest survival. For all the changes and diminished 
 glories of their dress, the little Seises strike a ringing 
 note from the past as they hurry across the broad 
 aisle to the choir before their dance begins, eight of 
 them passing along the railed-off gangway leading 
 from the choir to the high altar, while the two 
 smallest place themselves one on either side of the 
 great carved reading-desk with its immense old 
 missals, ready to take their place of honour behind 
 the Cardinal-Archbishop when he moves from his 
 throne to the altar. The tiny blue and white figures 
 constitute an enchanting touch of childish insouciance 
 among the sombre purples of the canons' robes and 
 the rich brown of the carved cedar stalls, the top of 
 which they can hardly look over, for they are only 
 seven or eight years old ; and they stand first on 
 one foot and then on the other through the long 
 vespers intoned by the choirmen and the beneficed 
 clergy, trying in vain to behave as if they were big 
 boys not at all tired by the drone of phone and 
 antiphone over their small heads. 
 
 At last evensong is over and their moment of 
 moments comes. Preceded by the Pertiguero 
 with his silver wand of office, in tie-wig, wide falling 
 collar, and sixteenth-century robe of black serge, the 
 Chapter marches in solemn procession down the 
 railed gangway from the choir to the high altar, 
 the Cardinal-Archbishop in his magnificent scarlet 
 robe with a Seis at each side bringing up the rear. 
 
WINTER 163 
 
 The dignitaries all kneel down beside broad wide- 
 armed sixteenth-century chairs placed to the right 
 at the foot of the altar steps, and remain on their 
 knees throughout the dance ; the orchestra strikes 
 up and the Hymn of the Seises begins. It is never 
 accompanied by the organ, but always by a string 
 band composed of laymen, placed opposite the seats 
 of the dignitaries, to the left of the altar steps. 
 And this lay band suggests that the dance was 
 initiated before organs were used in the primitive 
 Spanish Church. 
 
 There is nothing Oriental either in the hymn or 
 in the music of the dance which follows it ; all is 
 sweet, tender, and reverent as a religious ceremony 
 performed by children in a church should be. But 
 at the close of each couplet we are suddenly re- 
 minded of the East by the rattle of castanets held 
 all this time hidden in the palms of the boys' hands, 
 and now played by them with a mastery of crescendo 
 and diminuendo, that shows how the castanets 
 may be made instruments of music, not merely of 
 rhythmical noise. Here strikes the note of tradition 
 once again, for the castanets are Oriental and must 
 have been introduced into the Cathedral service, 
 like the dance itself, by the Arabicised Christians of 
 Seville under Islam. 
 
 The hymn has two verses and the dance is gone 
 through twice ; then the ten little boys run lightly 
 up the steps, five on either side of the altar, make 
 their reverence to the Elements shut away from 
 sight in the golden pyx above the image of " Mary 
 most pure " a fine sculpture in wood by Martinez 
 
1 64 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 Montanes and disappear into the sacristy at the 
 back of that wealth of silver and brocade provided 
 by the long-forgotten Don Gonzalo. But before 
 the music of the Benediction begins half the con- 
 gregation seated in the transept rise and hastily 
 make their way to the Door of the Poles under the 
 Giralda tower, for that is the way the Cardinal goes 
 out to his palace across the square, and the pious 
 Sevillians think an especial blessing will be their 
 portion if they can intercept his passage and kiss 
 his beautiful amethyst ring as he leaves the Cathedral 
 after the Dance of the Seises in the Octave of the 
 Immaculate Conception of Our Lady. 
 
 The next time the boys dance is during the 
 three days of Carnival, and if we ask why this very 
 secular occasion be chosen, the archives of the 
 Chapter give us the explanation. 
 
 In 1682 there died in Seville one Don Francisco 
 de Contreras de Chaves, Knight of the Order of 
 Santiago, Gentleman of the King, Familiar of the 
 Holy Order of the Inquisition, and one of the 
 Veintecuatros (twenty-four), an order of nobility 
 granted to Seville and Seville alone, in the thirteenth 
 century. This distinguished individual was dis- 
 tressed at the vain and worldly amusements in- 
 dulged in during the Carnestolendas (the Latin 
 carnis tollendus), which are the three days in which 
 meat is eaten in preparation for the forty of ab- 
 stinence beginning with Ash Wednesday ; and he 
 fondly hoped that by introducing the Dance of the 
 Seises into the Cathedral services of those three 
 days, the tide of profane entertainment might be 
 
WINTER 165 
 
 stemmed. So he willed that after his wife's death 
 all his "large fortune" should be bestowed on "the 
 triduum of Carnestolendas " in order that these days 
 should be celebrated in the Cathedral with as much 
 pomp and magnificence as the Conception and 
 Corpus Christi. 
 
 When his estate came to be cleared up it was 
 found that thirteen thousand pesos escudos de plata 
 (about 1260) were available for the purpose, and 
 in testimony of gratitude to their generous bene- 
 factor the Chapter ordered all the minor clergy and 
 dependants of "the holy House" to attend his 
 funeral, half of them bearing yellow candles and 
 half white, while the bier was covered with the pall 
 used at interments of prebendaries. Further, a 
 requiem Mass was celebrated in the church of San 
 Francisco (now the Town Hall) where the defunct 
 Inquisitor was buried, and the Chapter attended 
 this in copes and birettas, and the Cathedral 
 musicians sang the Mass, which was recited by three 
 dignitaries, the sermon being preached by a fourth. 
 
 " In such wise," says a contemporary writer, 
 "the Chapter did honour to Don Francisco de 
 Contreras for having left all his fortune to improve 
 the worship of God, from whom he will have received 
 his reward." 
 
 Don Francisco died the same year as Murillo, 
 but we are not told that the Chapter bestowed any 
 such funeral honours upon him. Presumably they 
 thought that having paid for his pictures they had 
 done their duty by the artist, although he had 
 devoted his life to the service of religion, painted 
 
1 66 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 thirty- two pictures of the Conception, and turned 
 his back upon worldly honours and rewards lest he 
 should offend the Holy Office by producing works 
 other than religious. 
 
 The dresses provided for the Seises by the be- 
 quest of Don Francisco are of the same style and 
 materials as those worn for the Conception, but 
 where the latter are blue the Carnival garb is red, 
 and these red and white costumes are worn also 
 at Corpus Christi, which takes place early in June. 
 There is, however, a notable difference between this 
 ceremony and the two former ones, for whereas they 
 take place within the Cathedral, that procession of 
 Corpus goes out with the Host into the streets, 
 passes the Town Hall where all the rank and fashion 
 of the town assemble to receive it, on stands erected 
 for the occasion, and makes a long round through 
 the heart of the oldest part of Seville before return- 
 ing with its sacred burden to the Mother Church. 
 
 The feast of Corpus Christi, although officially 
 instituted in the thirteenth century, and probably 
 a survival of one of those pagan ceremonies which 
 the early Fathers, instead of quarrelling over, so 
 wisely adapted to Christian worship, was not 
 developed in its full splendour until 1613, and then 
 the benefactor who endowed it was none other than 
 that interesting historical character, Don Mateo 
 Vazquez de Leca, Archdeacon of Seville, known in 
 poetry and romance as " Don Juan." 
 
 The only child of wealthy parents who died when 
 he was yet a youth, he became a priest and was 
 given a high place in the Chapter at the early age 
 
WINTER 167 
 
 of twenty-three. It was not to be wondered at that, 
 as a contemporary puts it, "as his age was short 
 and his rents were long, his steps were not so well 
 balanced as his ecclesiastical state demanded." His 
 palatial mansion indeed was conducted on lines 
 more befitting a plutocrat than a priest, and his 
 licentious life was the scandal of the town. But 
 when he was thirty " Heaven pleased to warn him 
 of the peril he was in," by a miraculous interven- 
 tion which has been erroneously attached to the 
 name of Don Juan Maiiara, a contemporary of 
 Murillo who gave much gold to the Hospital of the 
 Caridad in Seville, and ordered " Here lies the worst 
 man that ever lived," to be inscribed upon his tomb- 
 stone in the church of the Hospital. Thanks to this 
 exhibition of posthumous humility, the adventure 
 of Don Mateo has been attributed by the romancists 
 to Don Juan Maiiara, instead of to the real hero, 
 the Archdeacon, who really was a far more pictur- 
 esque personality. 
 
 The year was 1600, the day that of the feast of 
 Corpus Christi and we need have no fear of error 
 in the date, for the event figures in the archives of 
 the Chapter. Don Mateo, more intent upon his 
 personal elegance than his holy office, arrayed 
 himself for the occasion in a beautiful brocade under- 
 dress, trusting that its brilliancy of silk and gold 
 thread would gleam through the diaphanous silk of 
 his soutane and the transparent lace of his rochet. 
 For he had his mind and his eye fixed upon a 
 mysterious lady whom he had observed of late 
 among the congregation in the Cathedral, and he 
 
1 68 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 hoped his handsome face and richly clad figure 
 might win her favour on this day of religious and 
 secular cheer. All through the protracted ceremony 
 in the Cathedral and the slow progress of the long 
 procession, he contrived to keep her in view, and 
 when at length he was free to divest himself of his 
 ecclesiastical garb and go where he would, he found 
 her waiting for him outside the sacred building, and 
 immediately tried to address her. 
 
 But the lady was very coy, notwithstanding her 
 coquettish glances at the Archdeacon during the 
 ceremony, and when he approached her she moved 
 away so fast that he could not obtain even a glimpse 
 of her face beneath the long black veil wrapped 
 round her head and shoulders, nor could he overtake 
 her although he followed her all through the centre of 
 the town, into the Macarena and out round the city 
 walls until she led him back again into the Cathedral. 
 
 Within the building it was now twilight, for the 
 whole afternoon had been consumed in the pursuit, 
 and the lady flitted from chapel to chapel, and altar 
 to altar, until at length she paused before that of 
 Our Lady of the Old Time. Don Mateo trembled, 
 for this image had always been his especial devotion. 
 But the flesh after so many years of self-indulgence 
 was too strong for the spirit. He clasped the lady 
 in his arms, forgetful of the sacred spot on which 
 he stood, and tore off her veil, intent on seeing the 
 lovely features of the woman who had defied him 
 so long. One word was breathed into his ear, like 
 a sigh from another world. 
 
 " ETERNITY ! " was the word he heard, and 
 
WINTER 169 
 
 down the long empty aisles it seemed to float away, 
 only to rise again and roll out louder louder until 
 it sounded like thunder on the ears of the wretched 
 priest. 
 
 And then with a horrible rattle of dry bones, 
 the warm living body he held in his arms sank into 
 a shapeless heap on the floor. That for which he 
 had committed sacrilege was nothing but a withered 
 and disintegrated skeleton. 
 
 From that moment the Archdeacon led a new 
 life, and in his deep repentance he became the most 
 devout of all the priests in the Chapter. He left his 
 magnificent mansion and moved to a mean house 
 in the alley of Santa Marta, under the shadow of 
 the Cathedral ; he devoted his whole fortune to 
 pious and charitable uses ; and he endowed with 
 large rents for ever the feast of Corpus Christi, 
 because on that day God had seen fit to rescue him 
 from his life of sin. He gave for the feast no less 
 than an hundred silver candlesticks, hangings and 
 canopy for the high altar, and silver altars to carry 
 in the procession through the streets. He gave a 
 complete set of white vestments to be used only on 
 that day, for all the Chapter, the minor clergy, the 
 singers, musicians, and servants of the altar, includ- 
 ing of course the Seises. He gave altar-frontals for 
 the portable altars, hangings for the pulpit and the 
 Cathedral cross, curtains for the silver shrine, and 
 rich draperies for the platform on which the shrine 
 with the pyx within is carried through the town. 
 And he endowed the preachers, bell-ringers, illum- 
 inations, and procession in short, everything relating 
 
1 70 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 to the festival, not excepting the Guild of Our Lady 
 of the Pomegranate, which maintains an altar in 
 the Chapel of la Granada (pomegranate) under the 
 Giralda, and still preserves the weighty poles on 
 which until recent times they carried the platform 
 with the shrine, in the genuine old Arabic fashion. 
 
 From the earliest times the procession of Corpus 
 Christi had been attended not only by the little 
 Seises in their gala dress, but also by groups of men 
 and women dancers similar in idea to the Giants and 
 Bigheads which figure in the festival of Our Lady 
 of the Pillar at Zaragoza, as described in Chapter 
 XVII. These have now been suppressed for so 
 long that few know what they once were, but I find 
 a mention of the Giants in the year 1690, when the 
 Civil Governor or Asistente, as he was then called, 
 combined with the Archbishop, Don Jaime de Palafox, 
 in a determined attempt to put down celebrations 
 which they considered inconsistent with the dignity 
 of the Church. 
 
 They knew very well that if the public became 
 aware beforehand of what was intended it would be 
 impossible to carry out their scheme, so nothing 
 was said until six o'clock in the morning of the 
 festival. Then the announcement was made that 
 no group of Dancers should enter the Cathedral on 
 pain of a fine of one hundred ducats for the leader 
 of any such party, and fifty ducats and four years' 
 imprisonment for the bearer of any one of their 
 banners. But the Archbishop and the Asistente 
 reckoned without their host, for although the people, 
 stupefied by this unexpected interference with their 
 
WINTER 171 
 
 immemorial rights, remained quiet as if stunned by 
 the blow, the lawyers of the Town Council (which 
 provided funds for the "Dancers") went straight 
 to the Court of Justice, and presently the Arch- 
 bishop was informed that he had no legal status in 
 the matter, that the "Dancers" were immediately 
 to take their accustomed places in the procession 
 within the Cathedral, and the ceremony was to pro- 
 ceed in the usual order. 
 
 The Archbishop, furious at his authority being 
 disputed, ordered that if the Dancers entered the 
 Cathedral the procession should be at once with- 
 drawn, and the Host in its magnificent silver 
 Custodia (a replica in miniature of that erected in 
 the "Monument" during Holy Week) should be 
 taken back to its own place. But now the priests, 
 friars, and other ecclesiastics turned against him, 
 saying that they had been invited by the Chapter 
 to attend the carrying forth of the Host among the 
 people, and they could not leave the Cathedral until 
 this sacred duty had been fulfilled. 
 
 Meanwhile the public, angry and disappointed, 
 saddened by a quarrel over what they held sacred, 
 and terrified lest the divine wrath should descend 
 upon the city because the feast-day was not being 
 honoured according to the ritual of their forefathers, 
 collected in the Plaza de San Francisco, and 
 clamoured for the procession to start, while the 
 gentler and more timorous spirits knelt down all 
 along the streets and prayed to God to remove the 
 difficulties which had so suddenly and unexpectedly 
 arisen. 
 
172 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 At long last the Archbishop withdrew, his place 
 being taken by a lesser dignitary, and the procession 
 came out of the Cathedral with the Dancers in their 
 usual places, followed by the Brotherhood of the 
 Tailors (of whom more anon), the Capuchins, Mer- 
 cenaries, Augustines, and Carmelite friars, the 
 Tribunal of the Inquisition, the canons, and the 
 Asistente, who could not dissimulate his indigna- 
 tion at the defeat of himself and the Archbishop, 
 over which the whole town was rejoicing all along 
 the route. 
 
 Don Jaime de Palafox then appealed to the King 
 and the Pope, but all he got was an order that 
 women should be excluded from the Dances and that 
 no masks or other disguises should be worn by the 
 Dancers in the Cathedral, no attempt being made to 
 put a stop to the dances themselves, because " this 
 kind of festival had always continued in Seville." 
 The Archbishop was charged neither to impede nor 
 to embarrass the entry of the Dancers into the 
 Cathedral, and he got a rap over the knuckles from 
 the King for having tried " to introduce novelties." 
 
 Don Jaime de Palafox was not the man to own 
 himself beaten, and ten years later came the turn of 
 the Seises. On June 18th of the year 1700 he got 
 an order from the Pope to the Chapter to "suppress 
 the abuse of the dances of the Seises," apparently 
 thinking he would thereby put an end to that tradi- 
 tional performance. The Dean, however, was as stout 
 a fighter as Don Jaime himself. He represented to 
 the Holy Father that the Hymn and the Dance of 
 the Seises could not be fairly judged of by hearsay but 
 
WINTER 173 
 
 must be seen to be understood, and he reminded the 
 Pope that the first principle of the Council of Trent 
 was that no judgment should be given in any 
 dispute until both sides of the case had been heard. 
 He stuck to his point until he obtained permission 
 to take the Seises, costumes, castanets, and all, to 
 Rome to dance before the Pope, and the final result 
 was that the dance remained a recognised part of the 
 ritual of the Cathedral of Seville, and has been 
 performed at its appointed seasons without inter- 
 mission ever since. 
 
 Thus it survives to-day, to the pious delight of 
 all good Sevillians. But, as said the chronicler of 
 the attempt to suppress it, " Only he who sees it can 
 comprehend it, and it is worth seeing. For it is 
 performed with the greatest seriousness and com- 
 posure, with the result that it is one of the most 
 remarkable things in this Holy Church, very far 
 removed from irreverence, but rather an example of 
 an especial respect to the Lord." 
 
 About a week before Noche Buena the Good 
 Night which is Christmas Eve, the grocers' shops 
 in Seville blossom out into still-life pictures, generally 
 with a huge ship of wicker-work as the centre, having 
 oars of Bologna sausages, a great ham as a sail, and 
 a cargo of gold in the shape of oranges. Silver is 
 represented by Tangerine oranges wrapped in lead 
 paper, and vacant corners are filled up with a variety 
 of sweetmeats, while the rigging consists of tinsel 
 streamers. A banner of the national colours, of more 
 
174 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 or less expensive silk, flies of course over the whole, 
 and this " flagship " is flanked by a squadron of lesser 
 fry in every shape and form, but always of wicker- 
 work. The whole fleet and its constituent parts are 
 offered for sale at exaggerated prices, and the crew 
 in every case consists of one or more bottles of wine. 
 
 These baskets of provender are bought for 
 Christmas gifts, and if we may judge from the 
 absence of any special attractions in other shops, 
 they are the most popular kind of present, except 
 marzapan cakes. Of these the confectioners offer 
 a considerable variety, the majority in the form of 
 bulls or dragons, but some representing the beloved 
 ham, which is so favourite an article of food, while 
 some, but these are the minority, are made in pretty 
 and artistic rounds, diamonds, or floral forms. All 
 consist of the same rich almond paste, and all are 
 adorned with preserved fruits and bonbons. Several 
 varieties of a kind of nougat called turron also 
 appear at Christmas and on two or three other great 
 festivals, and some of them are delicious. 
 
 The marzapan cakes, like the turron and the 
 baskets of groceries, are all very expensive, which 
 is not surprising in a country where even the locally 
 made beetroot sugar is so heavily taxed that the 
 consumer has to pay 70 centimes a pound for it. 
 Thus the above dainties are only for the rich. The 
 Christmas cake of the poor is called polvoron, and 
 consists of a curious dry substance like extra short 
 short-cake, made chiefly of almond flour, sugar, and 
 white of egg. The Christmas polvoron is a large 
 round cake, about half an inch thick, and it generally 
 
WINTER 175 
 
 has a preserved orange in the middle, into which an 
 artificial flower is stuck. It is always sold on a 
 cardboard tray, because its consistency is such that 
 it would otherwise fall to pieces of its own weight. 
 Although it costs a mere trifle compared to the 
 marzapan and turron eaten in well-to-do houses, it 
 is nevertheless of excellent flavour. 
 
 Indeed I doubt whether the workers do not 
 prefer their polvoron to marzapan, if only because 
 they get so much more of it for their money. It 
 is customary to give a cake to your servants for 
 Christmas, and I recollect that on one occasion, when 
 talking over a projected kitchen-party with my cook, 
 she politely gave me to understand that much as 
 they had enjoyed the beautiful marzapan dragon of 
 the previous Christmas, they would really prefer a 
 polvoron this time, as the same expenditure on that 
 class of cake would allow all their friends to cut and 
 come again, instead of being limited to a mere 
 mouthful, as had been the case with the five-dollar 
 dragon of last year. 
 
 Whatever be the cake you give to the menage, 
 the best part of it will be set aside to offer to the 
 master and mistress and their family. If it be a 
 bull, the head and horns will be kept ; if a dragon, 
 the head and tail ; and on the evening after the 
 servants' party, when your dinner is over, the cook 
 will hastily don a white apron and knot her best 
 silk handkerchief round her head, and will march 
 into the dining-room bearing the remains of the cake 
 with all its inedible decorations carefully rearranged 
 to hide what has gone. This she will courteously 
 
1 76 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 offer to every one at table, pressing them to taste and 
 see how rich a dish the Senores have provided for 
 the delectation of those in their employ. And as 
 often as not some talented member of the household 
 will stand at the door meanwhile, and sing at the 
 top of his or her voice an improvised couplet setting 
 forth the generosity and amiability of his employers. 
 
 Of the actual giving of Christmas parties there 
 is very little. Christmas trees are, of course, quite 
 foreign to the soil, and I have never heard of a 
 Christmas dance, outside of Madrid, save those 
 given by foreign residents. But Christmas Eve is 
 celebrated by high and low, and rich people at this 
 time spend a good deal of money in what seems to 
 us a singular and unpractical method of displaying 
 their religious fervour. This consists in setting up 
 a Nacimiento (Nativity), or representation of the 
 birth of Christ, which is prepared in the private 
 chapel of the house, if there is one, or in a principal 
 reception-room, in as elaborate a form as the means 
 of the family permit. 
 
 Even the poorest try to procure something of 
 the kind for their children, and the necessary figures 
 for it are sold in the streets and in the shops for 
 a week or so before the great day, at prices varying 
 from one centime to hundreds of pesetas. I have 
 bought the whole scene modelled in coarse crudely 
 painted clay by the vendor, for a peseta. The 
 stable of such a Nacimiento has three little walls 
 and no roof, the Virgin and St. Joseph kneel on 
 either side of the Babe, two tiny plumes of pampas 
 grass and some cocks and hens represent the rural 
 
WINTER 177 
 
 surroundings which these artists imagine to be ap- 
 propriate, and, regardless of the Bible story, the 
 beloved St. John as a grown man will be found some- 
 where in the background. One cannot please a 
 poor family more than by presenting them with a 
 Nacimiento of this class. It will be set up in the 
 place of honour on the chest of drawers, whose top 
 is always devoted to their "saints" appallingly 
 bad images, as a rule and family photographs ; 
 while, if the exiguous wages permit, one or more 
 candles will be lighted in front of the treasure every 
 night until the "Day of the Kings," which is our 
 Twelfth Night, a far greater festival to Spanish 
 children than Christmas or New Year's Day. And 
 the smallest infant is taught that no sacrilegious 
 finger is to be laid on the sacred toy. 
 
 The Nacimientos in rich houses are put up with 
 an absolute disregard of cost (I remember seeing one 
 of which a single figure cost 4), but the idea is 
 the same a plastic representation of the Nativity. 
 Here, however, it is made the occasion of a social 
 function, and it is curious to read in the papers 
 on Christmas Day how a magnificent Nacimiento 
 was set up over-night in the gorgeous chapel of 
 the splendid mansion of the Dukes of Mengano 
 or the Counts of Fulano, and how, after the 
 Reverend Bishop of this or the learned Canon of 
 that had read the Office and delivered an inspired 
 address, the whole family adjourned to the dining- 
 room at 1 a.m. and were regaled with " a succulent 
 lunch," which was "made the more agreeable by 
 abundance of champdn." 
 
 12 
 
1 78 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 In this country the press reports of functions 
 of this kind are not sparing in their adjectives. 
 The accounts are paid for like any other advertise- 
 ment, and the rich hosts of the " new " nobility 
 like to have value for their money just as much 
 as do the wealthy merchants and financiers. As 
 for the old rural nobility, they are mostly too much 
 reduced in fortune for display at Christmas or any 
 other time, and if they are still well off, their tastes 
 and traditions are averse from newspaper celebrity, 
 so that reporters have little chance of getting inside 
 their grave old houses, still less of obtaining fees 
 for advertisements in the shape of adulatory 
 narratives of their religious observances. 
 
 In Seville all old customs still keep an extra- 
 ordinary hold on the popular imagination. Of these 
 one of the most curious is a religious ceremony 
 called the " Cock's Mass " (Misa del Gallo\ which 
 takes place on Christmas Eve. So strange is it and 
 so archaic that at one time efforts were made to 
 get the Pope to prohibit it; but the Franciscan 
 Friars of the Monastery of San Buenaventura 
 appealed to him in person ; permission was given 
 for a commission of the Brothers to perform the 
 Cock's Mass at the Vatican, and after hearing it for 
 himself the Pope gave a special licence for its 
 continuance in a slightly modified form. 
 
 San Buenaventura is the church to go to on 
 Christmas Eve in Seville if one would hear the 
 Cock's Mass in its most refined form, with good 
 singing and organ-playing ; but for real local colour 
 and a passionate fervour which overflows all the 
 
WINTER 179 
 
 bonds of self-restraint, we must find standing-room, 
 if we can, in the little chapel of San Antonio Abad, 
 in the street called Alfonso XIL, for this is the 
 chosen resort of the poor, to whom their religion 
 is as real as their daily bread. 
 
 The Mass begins on the stroke of midnight, but 
 hours before that the little church will be occupied 
 by silent worshippers, who kneel on the floor 
 praying, with their eyes fixed on the high altar. 
 Here is displayed the Nativity, and prominent 
 among the figures is a donkey, the pride and glory 
 of the congregation, because it is the only life- 
 sized model of the kind to be seen in any church 
 in Seville. 
 
 People drop in every minute or so to look at 
 the Nacimiento, kneel for a short time in prayer, 
 and then go out again to meet their friends and 
 pass the time till the Mass begins. The streets are 
 crowded, and every cafe and restaurant is full, for 
 people go from one church to another to see the 
 different Nacimientos, and few of them will get 
 to bed before two or three in the morning ; so the 
 system must be sustained with coffee and cakes, 
 or wine and ham, or aguardiente and crab claws, 
 or cold water and roasted chestnuts or acorns, 
 according to personal taste and depth of purse. 
 
 At midnight the Mass begins at San Antonio 
 Abad with a clash of barbaric sounds, the small 
 organ being reinforced by guitars, tambourines, 
 castanets, triangles, and an Oriental instrument 
 called a zambomba, which must be an inheritance 
 from the most primitive times of Arabic music. 
 
i8o MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 This is made of coarse clay, and is in shape some- 
 thing like a flower-pot, with a waist in the middle 
 and with no bottom. The wider end is covered 
 with a tightly stretched parchment, through which 
 is thrust a thin piece of cane, tightly tied under- 
 neath. The " music" is produced by wetting the 
 hand and then rubbing the cane up and down, and 
 the noise it makes is indescribable. If one can 
 imagine a drum bellowing like a cow that has lost 
 her calf, one would come somewhere near the sound 
 of the zambomba : but it must be heard to be 
 appreciated. The Andalucians love it, and if they 
 can't afford to buy a zambomba for the Noche Buena 
 they will make one of a flower pot with a wet cloth 
 stretched over it instead of the skin a substitute 
 which produces even weirder noises than the 
 legitimate vessel. 
 
 This instrument of torture is not now often 
 to be heard in the churches, and it is to be feared 
 that even in San Antonio Abad it will soon cease 
 to delight the Christmas Eve congregation ; but 
 when we first went to Seville it was still an essential 
 part of the orchestra. 
 
 The whole of the Cock's Mass is but a gradual 
 leading up to the crowning act of the " Good Night" 
 the presentation of the Babe to be kissed by the 
 worshippers. In most of the churches this is a 
 solemn ceremony, and one feels how intensely in 
 earnest are those who file past the altar steps to 
 kneel before the image of the infant Saviour. The 
 blazing lights that surround the image, the gorgeous 
 vestments of the prie&ts, the dim light of the side 
 
WINTER 181 
 
 aisles whence the veiled worshippers glide out, kneel 
 to kiss the foot of the little figure, and then dis- 
 appear into the darkness again, all this combines 
 to make the Cock's Mass in many of the churches 
 a picturesque and emotional spectacle. In such 
 churches there is only the organ, or perhaps a string 
 band, and there is nothing archaic in the traditional 
 Cock's Mass save the name. 
 
 But in San Antonio Abad and other minor 
 churches frequented mainly if not entirely by the 
 poor, the Mass has quite another character. 
 
 In some of these the music begins as early as 
 eleven, soft and low at first, and gradually increasing 
 in tone and cheerfulness as time goes on and the 
 church fills more and more. And the spirits of the 
 people rise with the music, until some piece with a 
 strongly marked rhythm strikes up, and the congre- 
 gation seem to lose their heads altogether. They 
 sway from side to side, keep time with their heads 
 and hands, and finally break into step with their 
 feet, completely carried away by excitement as the 
 " Good Night " draws nearer and nearer to its 
 climax. 
 
 They recover themselves when the bell rings for 
 the elevation of the Host, and all kneel down, 
 although they are so tightly packed that it is a 
 gymnastic feat to get up again. There is a pause, 
 as if they were taking breath, during the Benedic- 
 tion, and then, as the head priest takes his seat 
 on the altar steps with the image of the Infant 
 on his knee, the music bursts out again, organ, 
 guitars, tambourines, zambombas, in a triumphant 
 
i8 2 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 medley of sound without any particular form or 
 rhythm, and the whole crowd moves simultaneously 
 towards the Nativity, one step at a time, without 
 the least pushing or shoving, but all resolved to 
 adore their Christ, to see and touch " The Child " 
 who is also "The Lord." 
 
 It means a good deal to some of them : nothing 
 less, indeed, than an augury for good or ill for the 
 year to come. I heard one woman in the crowd tell 
 another as they left the church one Christmas Eve 
 that she would have good fortune now, for El Nino 
 had looked up at her and smiled as she knelt to 
 worship Him : and her naive confidence in the happy 
 omen explained much that would otherwise have 
 puzzled me in the demeanour of the crowd during 
 the Cock's Mass. 
 
THK BRIDEGROOMS DOOR. 
 
CHAPTEK XIII 
 
 The Columbus country The way to Moguer A rickety bridge 
 An historical family Blue eyes and honourable hearts 
 Fifteenth-century iron work Martin Alonso Pinzdn, the 
 friend of Columbus His history as told by his descendant 
 Palos de la Frontera The castle of the Pinzons The 
 church of St. George The Virgin of Columbus The 
 bridegroom's door La Rabida : what it is and what it 
 might be. 
 
 FEBRUARY in southern Spain is already spring as a 
 rule, but I visited the Columbus country in 1912, 
 and in that unusual year the winter ran on well into 
 the middle of February, a month which generally 
 carpets the fields with blue iris, golden buttercups, 
 and scarlet poppies. So my trip to Moguer, Palos 
 de la Frontera, and La Kabida may come under the 
 heading of Winter Sketches, and perhaps my readers 
 will like to know that it is possible to explore these 
 remote villages even in showery weather. 
 
 I started with the intention of doing a few days' 
 digging in a buried town on the banks of the Rio 
 Tinto, on my way to the Tharsis copper mines, 
 away up in the Sierra de Huelva, where I was going 
 to see a little museum of objects found by the Com- 
 pany in their various shafts. But the weather, 
 perfect when I left Seville, changed in the night, 
 
 and I woke next morning to see a downpour of rain 
 
 183 
 
1 84 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 which put excavations out of the question the 
 more so because to reach my site I had to cross the 
 Rio Tinto by a ford which is impassable after rain. 
 So I left my jamugas and tools in the charge of 
 the amiable landlady of the uncomfortable rooms I 
 had been compelled to engage because there was no 
 other within many miles of the ruins, and went on 
 to Moguer, furnished with an introduction to the 
 family of Pinzon, lineal descendants of Martin 
 Alonso Pinzon, who with his two brothers accom- 
 panied Columbus on his epoch-making voyage from 
 Palos de la Frontera to the Bahamas. 
 
 I left the train in a heavy shower at the 
 wretched little station of San Juan del Puerto, a 
 poverty-stricken village lying on the mud-flats of 
 the Rio Tinto near its junction with the Odiel. This 
 is the nearest station to Moguer, and people who 
 want to see the district, which is very pretty as well 
 as full of historical interest, should not be misled by 
 the guide-books into taking any other route to La 
 Rabida, for reasons which I will presently explain. 
 
 Moguer is only about a mile and a half from the 
 station, and a diligence meets every train. It is 
 true that it is not a luxurious conveyance, and 
 sometimes if one does not rush to secure a seat one 
 may find oneself left behind. So unless the trip is 
 a sudden thought, as mine was, it is well to write 
 to 'the landlady of the Fonda Almirante Pinzon at 
 Moguer, and she will not only send a carriage to the 
 station, but reserve one of her few bedrooms for you, 
 and add an extra dish to her simple dinner in view 
 of your arrival. It is always advisable, when 
 
WINTER 185 
 
 possible, to give notice of your coming to modest 
 little hostelries like this. 
 
 The diligence was not crowded the day I first 
 went to Moguer. In fact it contained, besides my- 
 self, only an old doctor and his young wife, and the 
 village idiot from San Juan, who rode on the step 
 outside until he realised that nothing was to be got 
 out of the doctor or me by his whines, and then he 
 dropped off and strolled back in the rain to his own 
 place. 
 
 Not far out of San Juan there is a long low 
 wooden bridge on trestles across the Rio Tinto, 
 which here is very wide. It creaked and groaned a 
 good deal as we crossed it, and the doctor remarked 
 that it had been condemned long ago as unsafe by 
 the Inspector of Roads, and every time he crossed it 
 he wondered whether it would hold up till he got to 
 the other side. 
 
 " Oh, Cayetano ! How can you say so, when we 
 have to return by the same road to-morrow ! " 
 shrieked his wife. 
 
 I looked at the turbid yellow water, already 
 swollen with the rain. A bath in it would be highly 
 unpleasant, even if it were nothing worse than a 
 bath. But we got safely across, and rattled up a 
 gentle rise into the pretty little town, where at 
 every turn one meets reminders of the wealth and 
 splendour that it enjoyed in the sixteenth century, 
 when the gold that poured in from America enriched 
 every one connected with those who adventured in 
 the New World. 
 
 The Fonda del Almirante Pinzon is established 
 
1 86 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 on the ground floor of the house belonging to the 
 Admiral's grandson, and when I was there the 
 family, reduced in means like so many of the old 
 nobility, were living on the floor above. Ever since 
 the great days of their voyages with Columbus the 
 head of the Pinzons has been a sailor, and the 
 Admiral whose name is given to the hotel dis- 
 tinguished himself in the Peninsular War, and quite 
 recently a cruiser was sent to convey his remains to 
 the national pantheon of illustrious mariners at San 
 Fernando. And his son upheld and his grandson still 
 upholds the traditions of a family which Charles v. 
 honoured with a grant of nobility, and the same 
 arms as those given to Columbus himself the three 
 historic caravels and the motto 
 
 " A Castillo, y d Leon 
 Nuevo mundo did Pinz6n." 
 
 (To Castile and to Leon 
 
 A new world was given by Pinz6n.) 
 
 But the proudest boast of the Pinzons, who 
 were wealthy when their great ancestor first set 
 sail for the unknown west, is that they have 
 never soiled their hands with ill-gotten gains, and 
 that one Admiral Pinzon after another has held 
 high posts under Government and has left office 
 no richer than when he entered it. Honesty such 
 as this, in a country where politics and office are 
 universally regarded as a short road to a fortune, 
 argues a standard of morality as lofty as it is rare. 
 Sigismund Moret, the Liberal statesman who was 
 three times intrigued out of the Premiership because 
 
WINTER 187 
 
 he would not buy party support, died a poor man, 
 and all the Spanish press united to proclaim the 
 fact as the highest honour they could pay him. As 
 yet it is vain to hope for the honest administration 
 of public money, but we must trust that in the 
 long-run the example of the Pinzons and the Morets 
 and their like will prevail. For it is one of the 
 tragedies of Spain that her natural wealth, mineral 
 and agricultural, is immense, and she only needs 
 honest and common-sense administration to become 
 one of the richest, instead of the poorest country in 
 Europe, 
 
 This digression is excusable because in the 
 Columbus country you meet the Pinzons at every 
 turn, and it is they and their like who some day 
 will leaven the lump. It is usual to say that Spain 
 will never rise because the dead weight of egoism 
 and self-seeking lying on the top of the good dough 
 underneath will prevent any sound morality from 
 getting to the top. But qui vivra verra. I, 
 personally, believe that cracks are spreading in 
 the crust of administrative selfishness, and I hope 
 before I die to see some such awakening here as 
 took place in my own country when I was young, 
 and English society suddenly began to realise that 
 it had not fulfilled its whole duty to the poor by 
 giving them blankets and beef-tea. 
 
 The little fonda with its grand name is not a 
 place one wants to stay long at, for although clean 
 the beds are somewhat hard, and the food is such 
 as might be expected for five pesetas a day tout 
 compris. But in the modest patio there is a 
 
1 88 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 large painting of the Virgin of Montemayor which 
 belonged to the Admiral and his forbears. And in 
 the simply furnished dining-room there is a beautiful 
 wrought-iron well-head dating from the fifteenth 
 century, in style and design identical with the 
 pulpit in the little church of Palos de la Frontera, 
 whence was read the decree of Isabel the Catholic 
 calling on her lieges of the port to man and furnish 
 the ships Santa Maria and Nina for the expedition 
 into the unknown. These ships, according to the 
 Pinzons, were the property of Martin Alonso Pinzon 
 and his brothers, although in the lawsuit brought 
 many years after by Diego, the son of Columbus, 
 against the State a different account was given. 
 The papers relating to that long quarrel have been 
 the basis for much of what has been written about 
 Columbus' first expedition, so if my readers find 
 the family traditions widely varying from popular 
 histories of the period, they must remember that 
 the Pinzon point of view naturally differs from that 
 of the other side in an unhappy lawsuit, and they 
 may choose for themselves which story they will 
 believe. 
 
 The day after my arrival at Moguer was bright 
 and sunny, and the Senora de Pinzon, after studying 
 my credentials, allowed her young daughter Conchita 
 (otherwise Maria de la Concepcion) to join me in 
 my expedition to La Rabida. This was really a 
 great favour, for Spanish mothers never like to let 
 their girls out of their sight until they are safely 
 married. But Conchita had been educated by the 
 Irish nuns of the Loretto at Gibraltar, and the 
 
WINTER 189 
 
 Senora could not resist her appeal to be allowed to 
 spend the day with me to practise her English, 
 which she said she was afraid of forgetting. It 
 seemed to make the dry bones of history curiously 
 alive to go over the ground with that bright young 
 creature and hear her continual references to " my 
 ancestor Martin Alonso " as we drove along a pretty 
 lane to the famous Palos, greeted by every man, 
 woman, and child we met with a cordiality which 
 showed in what esteem the family are held here. 
 
 " We never were very rich," said Conchita, 
 " although our vineyards and olive orchards formerly 
 brought in a good deal more than they do now, so 
 it was not our money that made my family popular 
 here. No, it is what my ancestor did for Spain 
 that is never forgotten. You see he lived here all 
 his life, while Columbus was only a foreign visitor, 
 who came to find ships and went away again. It 
 is no wonder that the people remember my ancestor 
 better than him." 
 
 The intense pride of my little friend in her 
 family history shone through every word she spoke. 
 She expressed it more openly, perhaps, than an 
 English girl would have done in her place, but I 
 am bound to say I cordially sympathised with her. 
 I am proud enough of my own ancestors, whose 
 deeds made but the faintest mark on the history of 
 their time. If they had helped to discover America 
 there would have been no holding me ! 
 
 Palos, the once famous port about half-way 
 between La Rabida and Moguer, now lies high and 
 dry, with a strip of pasturage between the village 
 
190 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 and the estuary. Even the little caravels of 1483 
 could now not anchor anywhere near the ruined 
 castle, and the whole place seems to sleep away 
 the days, resting on its fame in the past. 
 
 "The castle belonged to my ancestor," said 
 Conchita, pointing out a ruined wall on a slight 
 eminence behind the little church. " There was 
 only a tower left when Columbus came, and my 
 ancestor's residence was at Moguer. But the 
 Pinzons kept their vessels here, and it was here 
 that Columbus came to look for Martin Alonso and 
 talk to him about the voyage he wanted to make. 
 He had made Martin Alonso's acquaintance in Kome, 
 where they were both studying navigation. You 
 know it was a favourite study in those days with 
 rich men who loved the sea. How ridiculous it is 
 to say that Columbus came here by chance ! You 
 see what an out-of-the-way place it is. And if he 
 had wanted to get to Huelva to visit his brother-in- 
 law, as Washington Irving says, he would have been 
 a fool to go to La Kabida, to which there is no 
 road at all except this, while Huelva was on the 
 main road. It says in our family papers that 
 Columbus came to look for his friend Martin Alonso 
 Pinzon and discuss with him plans for the voyage, 
 and Martin Alonso went with him to La Kabida. 
 The story of his asking for food and drink at La 
 Rabida is silly. As if my ancestor would have let 
 him leave his house without giving him and his 
 child a good dinner ! It makes me angry to see 
 that absurd picture at La Eabida of the porter 
 giving bread and water to his little boy. It is 
 
WINTER 191 
 
 quite modern and not at all well painted, I am glad 
 to say!" 
 
 We had climbed up to investigate the ruined 
 wall, melancholy relic of the strong fortress that 
 gave Palos its importance as a frontier town (de la 
 frontera) during the civil war between Moslems 
 and Mozarabs in the ninth century, when all this 
 district was in the hands of descendants of King 
 Witiza, the last legitimate monarch of the Goths, 
 whom for twenty-five years the Sultans of Cordova 
 sought in vain to dislodge. From this eminence I 
 could see that, before it silted up, the little harbour 
 of Palos would have been a safe and convenient 
 shelter from the west winds sweeping up the broad 
 estuary. 
 
 " Two of the ships belonged to the Pinzons," said 
 Conchita, " but the family were out of favour with 
 the Catholic Kings we have never found out why 
 and they could not lend them to Columbus without 
 asking leave of the Queen, who had put an embargo 
 on them by way of punishment for some unknown 
 offence. When Columbus and my ancestor had well 
 talked over the proposed adventure, they went to 
 La Kabida to ask the Prior, Juan Perez de Mar- 
 chena, to use his influence with Isabella to remove 
 the embargo, so that Martin Alonso and his brothers 
 might lend Columbus their ships. The Pinzons 
 could not go to the Court themselves, because they 
 were in disgrace. I wish we knew why. The family 
 papers tell us nothing, and there is only a vague 
 tradition that it was something to do with religion. 
 I cannot imagine what it could be, for the Pinzons 
 
1 92 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 have always been good Catholics, and they had not 
 long before restored or rebuilt part of this church, 
 which as you see is very old indeed." 
 
 While we talked we were sitting on a bench in 
 the little church of St. George. On our left was the 
 wrought-iron pulpit whence the call for volunteers 
 was read ; on the right was the ancient image of 
 the Virgin which local tradition claims as the one 
 which Columbus took with him on board the Santa 
 Maria. 
 
 It is by no means improbable that local tradition 
 is correct, for the image is medieval, and as such 
 would have been the object of special adoration by 
 the people of Palos then as now. Thus Martin 
 Alonso Pinzon, the lord of Palos, could do no 
 greater honour to his friend Columbus, and find no 
 surer way to calm the fears of the families of their 
 crews, than by taking this venerated image as the 
 patroness of the expedition. The ships were bound 
 to come safe home again, the people of Palos would 
 say, having their beloved Virgin on board. 
 
 Traditions about the patron image of a town do 
 not grow up spontaneously, although as the centuries 
 go by the original story becomes adorned and over- 
 laid with the additions made to it by one generation 
 after another. Without some foundation in fact, it 
 is most unlikely that the statement that this was 
 the image in question should have been made and 
 accepted, and thenceforth handed on as a tradition 
 by the people of Palos. Little was seen of Columbus 
 at Palos after his return from his first voyage. The 
 Pinzons attribute this to the early death of Martin 
 
WINTER 193 
 
 Alonso, said by historians to be due to his disappoint- 
 ment that Columbus should have obtained more 
 honour and rewards than himself after his " base 
 desertion" of the Admiral at Cuba. The family 
 naturally ignore, if indeed they are not now ignorant 
 of, all that was alleged against their ancestor in the 
 lawsuit of Diego Colon. For them Martin Alonso' s 
 death was brought about by the hardships he suffered 
 and the illness he contracted when through stress of 
 weather his ship was separated from that of Colum- 
 bus, whom he never saw again until both the great 
 navigators returned to Palos, one in the morning 
 and the other in the evening of 15th March 1493, 
 seven months and a half after they had left the 
 little port together. Be this as it may, it must be 
 admitted that Pinzdn and his brothers played an 
 important part in the discovery of the New World, 
 and that it was their great misfortune to be under a 
 cloud at Court when favours and rewards were being 
 showered upon the man whom they had so materially 
 aided at the outset. 
 
 Perhaps if I had visited Palos with a descendant 
 of Columbus instead of a daughter of the other 
 house, the part played by Pinzon would assume 
 smaller proportions in my retrospect of that far-off 
 time. But as things were, I felt as if I had got the 
 story from the very actors themselves, and I could 
 no more doubt that this was indeed the patron 
 image which watched over the adventurers from the 
 chapel set up on the Santa Maria by her owner, 
 Martin Alonso Pinzon, when he handed his ship 
 over to Columbus as commander of the " fleet," than 
 13 
 
i 9 4 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 I could doubt that Martin Alonso was more sinned 
 against than sinning in the reports that were spread 
 of his disappearance on the coast of Cuba. 
 
 And when Conchita took me out round the west 
 end and down a flight of steps to the north door of 
 the church, which is decorated with red and white 
 brickwork of the style called " Mozarabic," and told 
 me that it was known as the " Door of the Bride- 
 grooms " when the Pinzons lived at the castle, and 
 was only opened to admit the eldest son of the family 
 on his wedding-day, I found myself quite able to 
 accept her statement, regardless of various inherent 
 improbabilities which afterwards suggested them- 
 selves. 
 
 Having thoroughly taken in the beauty and the 
 tradition of this architectural gem, with its fortress- 
 like outer walls, its strangely dwarfed nave, and its 
 lofty Gothic transepts, we resumed our triumphal 
 progress along the road travelled by Columbus four 
 hundred and twenty-eight years before I say trium- 
 phal advisedly, for all down the one narrow ill-paved 
 street of Palos, Conchita was bowing and smiling 
 like a young princess at the people who ran out to 
 greet her when they caught the sound of our ap- 
 proaching wheels. One understood that not many 
 carriages drive through the village nowadays, but 
 mere curiosity would not account for the cordiality 
 of her reception. 
 
 From Palos to La Kabida the road is good and 
 well kept, and at one point it is really very pretty, 
 winding through a pine wood, between the trees of 
 which we see the Arabic Tapia of the monastery 
 
WINTER 195 
 
 walls gleaming rosy pink in the afternoon sun on 
 their eminence above the estuary. 
 
 The inherent lack of common sense which char- 
 acterises all Spanish administration is exemplified 
 by the very existence of this road. In 1893 the 
 fourth centenary of the discovery of America was 
 marked by a tremendous celebration organised by 
 what is called the Columbian Society of Huelva. 
 The monastery was proclaimed a " national monu- 
 ment," which means that its upkeep is henceforth a 
 national charge, and no further voluntary effort to 
 preserve it will ever be made, or even expected. An 
 overpowering column with a statue of Columbus on 
 top was set up at a cost, I have been told, of 80,000 
 pesetas (3200) a large sum to be raised by sub- 
 scription in Spain which was designed and erected 
 by the architect to the Government. A landing- 
 stage was built on the bank of the estuary for 
 holiday-makers coming from Huelva, and a broad 
 road, wide enough for half a dozen carriages to drive 
 abreast, was made from the landing-stage up to the 
 monastery, and carried on thence to join the road to 
 Palos, as I have said. Extensive repairs and restora- 
 tions were begun in the building, and the slopes 
 round it were laid out as gardens, which were to be 
 a glory of indigenous and American flowers and 
 foliage as well they might in a climate where 
 everything grows at such a rate that the blossoming 
 of Aaron's rod would hardly be a miracle here. 
 
 But alas ! the great column, ludicrously out of 
 place alongside of the monastery walls, all weathered 
 and mellowed by time, has never been finished ; and 
 
196 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 worse than that, it was jerry built with what may 
 have been left, after the celebration was concluded, of 
 the 80,000 pesetas subscribed by a confiding public, 
 and now, twenty-one years after the first stone was 
 laid, this national monument to Spain's greatest hero 
 is surrounded by a rough paling labelled in large 
 letters Peligro (Danger), and one passes it hastily 
 by, wondering whether the statue of Columbus will 
 fall on one's innocent head from the lofty height 
 which makes its details indiscernible. 
 
 A peal at the monastery door the door by 
 which Columbus entered brings forth an unshaven 
 porter, who turns one loose to wander at will in the 
 empty cloisters, but reappears in search of his 
 pourboire when he hears one's steps returning. No 
 photographs or even picture post-cards are to be 
 obtained here, no printed papers or books relating 
 to the building, there are no seats to be found in 
 the whole of the monastery save some tiled recesses 
 in the chapel walls all is empty and desolate, with 
 the unmistakable air of a place seldom visited and 
 quickly left. 
 
 The broad new road down to the water serves 
 no possible purpose, for no conveyance of any kind 
 can be procured nearer than Moguer, and for visitors 
 with time and energy to make the journey there on 
 foot a path from the landing-stage to Palos would 
 have served every purpose. A forlorn rowing-boat 
 was moored to the steps where we went down, but 
 its owner could not be found. It was kept there, 
 our coachman told us, in case any one wanted to 
 row to Huelva, several miles away up the mouth of 
 
WINTER 197 
 
 the Odiel. "But," he added scornfully, "who 
 wants to row to Huelva when they have come in 
 a carriage from Moguer ? " 
 
 La Rabida is a monument of misspent public 
 money. I was told that in summer people make 
 up water parties from Huelva, but they must all 
 bring their own refreshments, for not so much as 
 a cup of coffee can be got at the monastery. One 
 thought what a Mecca for Americans, and indeed 
 for all other pilgrims, this spot could be made, 
 were it in hands more appreciative and more 
 sensible than those of the Spanish bureaucracy. 
 One pictured a gay little hotel down below, far 
 enough removed from the monastery not to jar on 
 its old-world peace, but near enough to offer com- 
 fort and convenience to the pilgrim, whether he 
 came by land or sea. One provided the sunny 
 refectory, now empty save for those inferior fancy 
 pictures of Columbus which annoyed Conchita 
 Pinzon, with a library of books dealing with the 
 history of the place and of the voyages of Columbus 
 and his companions ; one saw the friars' cells, now 
 closed and smelling of shut windows, furnished and 
 available for students to live and work in ; and 
 one installed a service of motors from Seville and 
 Huelva to the landing-stage, so that every tourist 
 who came to Seville might take a day's run to 
 Moguer, Palos, and La Rabida, as a necessary part 
 of his Andalucian trip. 
 
 But alas ! a heavy shower woke me from my 
 dream of what ought to be in this lovely corner of 
 a lovely land. The sky had darkened while we 
 
THK FIFTEEXTH-CENTURY HANNKK OF OUR LADY OF GRANADA. 
 
CHAPTEE XIV 
 
 The Convento de la Luz The Poor Clares and the Conceptionists 
 Our Lady of Montemayor A fortified religions house 
 The ribats of Spain The ancient refectory Arabic in- 
 scriptions in the Nun's Chapel The Portocarreros Family 
 tombs A night at San Juan The shyness of the nun 
 An early start Mossen Bethancourt and the Canary Isles 
 The beginning of the floods. 
 
 " You who are so interested in everything old 
 should not leave Moguer without seeing the Con- 
 vento de la Luz" said Conchita as we drove back 
 from La Rabida. " I will take you there to-morrow 
 morning if you like, before you start for the train. 
 Formerly no one except the clergy could enter any 
 part of the convent, for it belonged to the Poor 
 Clares, and you know how rigidly closed the Order 
 is. But now they are all dead, and the convent 
 has been sold or let or lent by the Duke of Alba to 
 the Conceptionists the teaching branch, not the 
 closed one and the Reverend Mother lets me take 
 in visitors at any time. All the aristocracy of 
 Moguer send their daughters to be educated there, 
 and they have free classes for the poor as well. It 
 enlivens our circle having the Conceptionist nuns 
 there instead of the Poor Clares." 
 
 She went on to tell me that the convent had 
 become hopelessly impoverished, though it was 
 
 199 
 
200 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 once one of the wealthiest in the district. The 
 Clares seem to have lived like private ladies, each 
 with her little suite of rooms, bedroom, sitting-room, 
 and kitchen, and even her own share of the walled 
 garden. Each had her own woman servant, who 
 lived not in the convent but in the town, coming 
 in and out daily to attend to her mistress's wants. 
 Anything less like the accepted idea of monastic life 
 I never heard of ; and when I saw the bright sunny 
 little flats partitioned off by the nuns for their 
 private convenience, I wondered still more how such 
 a conception of asceticism could have lasted down 
 to the end of the first decade of the twentieth 
 century. 
 
 "Reverend Mother says," pursued Conchita, 
 " that the one Poor Clare who still lived when the 
 Archbishop of Seville sanctioned the transfer to the 
 Conceptionists, was the tiniest creature she ever 
 saw, quite imbecile from age, and withered and 
 shrunk up just like a doll. They had been gradually 
 dying off one by one, until this little old woman 
 was the only inhabitant of the convent, which is so 
 large that it contains a dormitory a hundred feet 
 long, while the central patio is a hundred feet square. 
 There are many beautiful objects of art there even 
 now, and they say that formerly it was a perfect 
 treasure-house. No one knows when it was built, 
 but the Pinzons' ancestors, the Portocarreros, whose 
 monuments you will see there, were very rich, and 
 they always protected the convent. What date was 
 that? Oh, I don't know, but it was before the 
 discovery of America ; and of course after that, 
 
WINTER 201 
 
 when everybody grew rich, the convent got more 
 gifts than ever. But you can fancy what went on 
 in later years, when the Poor Clares were getting 
 older and more helpless every day, and more 
 dependent on their servants. They say that those 
 women never went in without securing some 
 valuable work of art to carry off and sell, though 
 where they sold them no one knows, for they were 
 never offered in Moguer. Of course not ! No one 
 here would buy valuables robbed from the nuns. 
 Well, that is all over now, and no one will steal 
 what is left. The Conceptionists are not poor at 
 all (though of course they always want money for 
 their free classes) and they take great care of the 
 pictures and tiles, and everything else that those 
 bad servants could not carry away." 
 
 Truth to tell, I did not expect to find much that 
 would interest me in the Convento de la Luz, 
 imagining from Conchita's account that it would 
 be a fifteenth-century building of the type so 
 frequently found in this part of Spain. The wealthy 
 and powerful families of Arcos and Medina Sidonia 
 set the fashion at that time of lavishing their riches 
 on building and restoring convents and monasteries, 
 and of course every great noble with plenty of 
 money followed their example. Too often the gold 
 which poured into Andalucia after the discovery 
 of America was spent on barbaric display of carved 
 and gilded woodwork, chased silver, and costly 
 draperies, more conspicuous for their money value 
 than for their beauty : and I confess that I rather 
 disliked the idea of spending a couple of my few 
 
202 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 hours at Moguer in visiting such a monument, when 
 I might have driven out to the hermitage of Our 
 Lady of Montemayor. For Our Lady of Monte- 
 mayor had been worshipped as far back as the 
 ninth century, when Palos de la Frontera was an 
 outpost of the Spanish Christians, who, although 
 they forgot their language during the many centuries 
 of Moslem rule, steadily maintained their religious 
 beliefs. 
 
 But it was impossible to refuse the invitation 
 of my kind and courteous little friend, and I agreed 
 to go with her to the convent next morning instead 
 of making an expedition into the country. 
 
 What then was my delight at finding in the 
 Convento de la Luz an almost perfect survival of 
 the fortified religious houses which the Moslems 
 called ribats outposts built to defend the frontier, 
 and garrisoned by men of a semi-religious order, 
 sworn to this particular form of military service. 
 Whether the Order was originally instituted in 
 Andalucia by the Christians (Mozarabs) who re- 
 mained in occupation of their lands and castles when 
 Spain was conquered by the Mohammedans, no one 
 seems to know, though the existence of La Kabida 
 itself, and of various other places bearing the same 
 name, in which Mozarabic remains are seen, suggests 
 that ribats were established here long before the 
 Almoravides founded their empire over Morocco and 
 Spain, in a ribat on the river Niger in the first 
 half of the twelfth century. 
 
 Be that as it may, I saw at once that the 
 Convento de la Luz was built for such a fortress, 
 
WINTER 203 
 
 while the church with its massive walls and but- 
 tressed ramparts could never have been intended 
 for other than Christian worship. 
 
 So much for the outside. The only break in 
 the enclosing walls is where an opening has been 
 made to give easier access from the street. One 
 sees that formerly the nuns had to come out and 
 cross a courtyard to speak with callers at the gate, 
 and one can understand that this would hardly 
 suit the comfort-loving old ladies who were the last 
 of this branch of their Order. 
 
 A Sister opened a heavy door giving on a cloister 
 which borders all four sides of the great central 
 court, and led us through an archway six feet deep 
 into a large hall. This was the refectory in the 
 days when a hundred Poor Clares occupied the con- 
 vent, but now it is the nuns' reception-room, and 
 here the mothers of pupils, rich and poor, sit and 
 discuss with the Superior and the heads of the classes 
 the tastes, talents, and idiosyncrasies of their girls. 
 
 It is a very lofty, chapel-like hall, whose vaulted 
 roof would suggest a thirteenth-century architect, 
 but for the tiny windows, placed so high up that 
 one sees that the first thought of the builder was 
 security against attack. And we know that after 
 1257, when this district was conquered by Alfonso x., 
 there was no need to build fortified religious houses. 
 We sat on brick benches left in the thickness 
 of the wall and faced with iridescent tiles of the 
 rich green colour introduced by the Arabs out 
 of compliment to Mahomet's banner ; and as I 
 watched a ray of sun from one of those lofty 
 
204 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 windows lighting up the gilded halos in a fifteenth- 
 century painting of the Last Supper, I wished the 
 walls could speak and tell us the true history of 
 the convent. Even the origin of its name is lost. 
 The townspeople call it de la Luz, but they do not 
 know why, and the earliest mention of it in 
 Andalucian history, which is in 1349, describes it 
 as " The convent of Santa Clara at Moguer." 
 
 More than one of the earliest crucifixes existent 
 in Andalucia is known as " Nuestro Senor Cristo de 
 la luz " (Our Lord Christ of light), and such works 
 of art, be it remembered, are necessarily Mozarabic, 
 because the Mozarabs were the only Christians in 
 this part of Spain previous to 1248. There is a 
 fine one in the Nuns' Chapel of this convent, the 
 advocation of which has been forgotten. Perhaps 
 the last little Poor Clare, had she not been in her 
 dotage when the convent was taken over by its 
 present occupants, could have told them that this 
 was " Our Lord of Light," whose prototype had 
 been worshipped here for about a thousand years. 
 
 This may seem a bold statement to those who 
 suppose that the Christians suffered persecution 
 during the rule of Islam in Spain. But recent 
 research has proved that so far from this being 
 the case, the Christians as a rule were treated with 
 kindness and consideration, as long as they refrained 
 from showing open disrespect for the alien religion. 
 And here in Moguer is the material corroboration 
 of conclusions deduced from scattered references 
 to the condition of the Mozarabs which are found 
 in the writings of the time, both Arabic and 
 
WINTER 205 
 
 Christian. For the walls of the Nuns' Chapel 
 (screened off by a stone grille with Arabic tracery 
 from the church restored by the Portocarreros) are 
 lined with ancient wooden choir stalls, on each arm 
 of which is carved a lion's head and an Arabic 
 inscription in Kufic characters of the style used in 
 Cordova in the tenth century. These certainly were 
 not placed here after 1257, at which date the 
 African character was in use all over Moslem Spain, 
 and as certainly such stalls never were used in 
 Moslem worship. 
 
 It was interesting to retrace the course of history 
 from that time to this. Here was the evidence 
 of the upholding of their faith by the native 
 Christians for century after century, during the 
 whole of which they were practically cut off from 
 Rome and isolated from their co-religionists else- 
 where. A painting of the Virgin of Guadalupe, 
 surrounded by worshippers in thirteenth-century 
 costumes, seemed to bring us into direct contact 
 with the period when Andalucia was conquered by 
 San Fernando of Castile, and her " few remaining 
 loyal priests" were confirmed in their houses and 
 offices by that wise monarch. In the church were 
 life-size alabaster effigies of the noble family of 
 Portocarrero, nine men and women in fifteenth- 
 century dress, at the foot of the high altar. Burial 
 in that sacred spot was the privilege granted to 
 Don Pedro Portocarrero, Lord of Moguer, his wife 
 Dona Elvira Alvarez, and their heirs for ever, in 
 acknowledgment by a grateful Church of their bene- 
 factions to the convent of Santa Clara and the 
 
206 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 monastery of San Francisco, which last com- 
 paratively modern edifice is now falling into ruin 
 in the shadow of the imperishable walls of the 
 Mozarabic foundation. Above us hung a lamp 
 made of silver brought from the New World by 
 Martin Alonso Pinzon, although his tomb, as 
 Conchita regretfully admitted, is not to be found 
 here. And by my side was the young daughter 
 of those ancient houses, who proudly told me that 
 she too inherited the right to be buried at the foot 
 of the high altar when her time came. 
 
 Truly this Columbus country has more than 
 ordinary interest for the traveller in Spain, and 
 as I remarked at the beginning of my attempt to 
 describe it, it is a pity to be misled by the guide- 
 books into visiting La Rabida by boat from Huelva 
 instead of by diligence from San Juan del Puerto. 
 Because, in the first place, if the weather be bad you 
 cannot get to La Rabida by water at all, and, in 
 in any case, as the estuary there is very wide and 
 much exposed to wind and to the Atlantic waves, 
 a trip of two hours each way is apt to be unpleasant 
 to all except first-rate sailors. And because, in the 
 second place, even though you are a good sailor 
 and get to La Rabida in ideal weather, you will 
 certainly not have time to go on to Palos and 
 Moguer and get back to Huelva before nightfall, 
 since you will have no option but to walk from 
 La Rabida. And, as I hope I have shown, Palos 
 and Moguer have attractions for the artist and the 
 archaeologist, as well as for the pilgrim to the shrine 
 of Columbus. 
 
WINTER 207 
 
 For my own part, although I was obliged to 
 catch the afternoon train from San Juan in order to 
 go on to the mines of Tharsis on the day that 
 Conchita first introduced me to the Convent de la 
 Luz, I shamelessly threw over all my other engage- 
 ments on the return journey, and went straight 
 back to Moguer. 
 
 Not quite straight back, though, come to think 
 of it, for the diligence was crowded when I reached 
 San Juan, and as it was impossible to get any other 
 conveyance, or even a donkey to ride, I had to spend 
 the night there, since it was pouring with rain and 
 I dared not attempt the walk to Moguer in the 
 dark, through mud up to my ankles. 
 
 The only room I could get was at the one inn in 
 the place, an establishment consisting of two rooms 
 and my bedroom, which opened off the kitchen. It 
 literally opened off it, for the door had no kind of 
 fastening, and the landlady's niece put a chair 
 against it on the outside, as the only means of 
 preventing my toilet operations being performed in 
 public. The whole place was streaming with damp, 
 and flood-marks were plainly to be seen on the 
 walls of my bedroom. There was no food to be 
 had except puchero, and the landlady was quite 
 grateful when I told her I could dine off the remains 
 of the excellent lunch provided by my hosts at 
 Tharsis, for she had no one to send out for supplies. 
 
 The poor little place was clean, the people 
 inspired me with such confidence that the keyless 
 door did not trouble me in the least, and I slept 
 from the time I went to bed till 6 a.m. Then I got 
 
208 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 up and dressed by the light of a candle, for the 
 diligence was to start at seven, and I intended to 
 walk on and cross the trestle bridge before it picked 
 me up. Heavy rains had swollen the rivers every- 
 where, and I reflected with dismay on the remarks 
 of my travelling companion on the condition of that 
 bridge when we drove over it the week before. 
 
 It was still almost dark when I left the village 
 behind me, and through the gloom a blazing wood 
 fire shone invitingly alongside of the railway line, 
 from the cottage of a family in charge of the level 
 crossing. The wife ran out and begged me to come 
 in and warm myself, full of wonder and commisera- 
 tion at the hard fate whatever it might be that 
 compelled a senora de edad ("a lady advanced in 
 years") to take the road on foot so early in the 
 morning. 
 
 I had to explain that the English of all ages 
 have a curious fancy for walking in the dark, and 
 after a few minutes' pause, filled up by the family's 
 ejaculations at my remarkable activity, I pursued 
 my way across the rickety bridge, watching a pale 
 yellow gleam gradually appearing in the east, and 
 wondering whether it meant that the sun would 
 come out presently. The river was higher than 
 ever. As a rule the Rio Tinto is a stream of 
 wonderful colours, coppery green and bronze and 
 orange, which turn to molten gold in the sunshine ; 
 but now the flood-water had so completely swamped 
 the rest that it looked more like a sea of liquid mud 
 than the " dyed river." It seemed to me doubtful 
 whether the bridge would hold up another twenty- 
 
WINTER 209 
 
 four hours, and I knew that the part of wisdom 
 would be to turn round and go back to Seville by 
 the next train. But I was bent upon another visit 
 to the convent at Moguer, and still more bent upon 
 getting the photographs which the Mother Superior 
 had given me leave to take, and I could only 
 hope that the yellow streak in the east might 
 mean a day without rain and a diminished flood 
 to-morrow. 
 
 I got my photographs, between showers, and one 
 of them would have been made quite charming by 
 the graceful figure of the nun who showed me round, 
 leaning over the well-head to raise the bucket from 
 the water far below. But when she realised that 
 she was in the picture she fled behind the camera, 
 and nothing would induce her to pose for me. 
 
 " For Dios!" she cried; " I cannot go out into 
 the world in a photograph ! " 
 
 The rain began again in the evening, and I 
 heard it pelting on the windows as I sat with the 
 Senora de Pinzon and her daughter round the cosy 
 Camilla, talking of friends in common. We are apt 
 to think a brazier rather an insufficient means of 
 warming a room on a chilly night, but when we 
 have sat an hour or so with our toes under the round 
 petticoated table close to the pan of charcoal, we 
 find ourselves suffused from head to foot with a 
 warm glow which is by no means to be despised. It 
 was late when I took my leave of the family to 
 whom I owed so much of the enjoyment of my trip, 
 and I had to get up about 4 a.m. to catch the early 
 diligence to the station. I was anxious to get across 
 
210 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 the estuary as soon as possible, and I had given 
 special orders to secure my seat in the bus before- 
 hand. 
 
 " You will not mind letting yourself out," said 
 the landlady cheerfully, when I bade her good-night. 
 " I have told the driver to send a man down for 
 your luggage at five o'clock. He will tap at your 
 window when he comes, and you will find the key 
 in the door. We do not get up so early if we can 
 help it, and we know you are a lady who can be 
 trusted to shut the street door after her." 
 
 I don't suppose there was much to steal in the 
 fonda, but whatever there was I could have taken 
 it had I chosen, when I left Moguer next morning, 
 and I thought it was just as well that the Senora de 
 Pinzon had a stout iron grille at the entrance to her 
 apartments upstairs, with all their valuable historical 
 contents, if this was the usual way of speeding the 
 parting guest. I got up at four, boiled water to 
 wash in on my spirit stove, drank hot coffee out of 
 my thermos flask, and packed my things ready to 
 start at five. But five struck, and 5.15, and 5.30, 
 and no one came from the diligence, and at last in 
 despair I unlocked the street door, left it on the 
 latch, and hurried up the hill in the rain and dark- 
 ness to the coach office. There was the coach ready 
 to start, and the driver was taking his early 
 aguardiente in the drink shop hard by, but there 
 was no one to fetch my luggage, and when I got 
 hold of the coachman he said he had heard nothing 
 about it, and had no one to send. 
 
 " But the landlady told me she gave special 
 
WINTER 2ii 
 
 orders last night, and that you promised to have me 
 fetched at five o'clock." 
 
 "She didn't tell me, for I was not at the office. 
 Had she told me I should have been at the fonda 
 before now. She must have told the other driver, 
 who takes turns with me to go to the station. 
 What is to be done ? Can you not carry your own 
 bag to the coach if I wait here for you ? " 
 
 " I certainly can not. And meanwhile the 
 fonda door is open for thieves to enter, and the 
 inmates may be murdered in their beds. Why not 
 fetch it yourself and earn my peseta instead of my 
 giving it to some one else who does not deserve it 
 half so much ? I should be greatly obliged to you, 
 and you will get your tip at the station just the 
 same, besides your peseta now." 
 
 " Andando ! (Come along 1) Certainly I can do 
 with a pesetita as well as another man." 
 
 And, telling an old woman in the shop to mind 
 his meek and dejected horses, he set off with me to 
 the inn, shouldered my belongings, shouted a "good- 
 morning" outside the landlady's room which must 
 have roused everybody within from the sleep they 
 were so desirous of prolonging, and banged the street 
 door as we went out with a noise loud enough to 
 wake the town. 
 
 " They thoroughly deserve it," said he as we 
 hurried off together. " What disgraceful discourtesy 
 to allow a lady like your honour to leave the fonda 
 unattended ! Gracias d Dios that I was on the spot 
 to make good their short-comings. You will send 
 for me next time you come to Moguer, Senora, 
 
212 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 and you shall not have to complain of negligence 
 again ! " 
 
 I certainly shall remember him, for I never saw 
 a prompter " quick change act" from supine indiffer- 
 ence to my plight to eager courtesy than was effected 
 by him on the mention of the magic word " peseta." 
 
 It continued to rain heavily ; we ploughed in 
 pitch darkness through a sea of mud, and the 
 diligence rocked and rolled in the ruts all down the 
 long hill to the river. But I was so well entertained 
 by the conversation of my only fellow-passenger 
 that we got into San Juan and pulled up at the 
 station before I realised that we had crossed the 
 perilous bridge safe and sound. 
 
 He was, he said, going to meet a connection of 
 his family recently arrived in Seville, Senor Be than - 
 court, who held a high diplomatic position in one of 
 the South American republics. His relative's career, 
 said the homely-looking countryman, had been most 
 romantic. He came of a very old family of French 
 origin, had left his home in Moguer when quite a 
 lad, had been shipwrecked and cast up on the estate 
 of a wealthy man who took him into his employ, and 
 eventually made him a partner in the business and 
 allowed him to marry his only daughter. 
 
 "But he has never forgotten his family at 
 Moguer," concluded my friend, " and although I am 
 only related to him through my wife, he has lately 
 written to me saying that he was coming to Spain, 
 and inviting me to meet him in Seville." 
 
 I may not have got the details of the romance 
 quite right, but there was no doubt about the great 
 
WINTER 213 
 
 man's loyalty to those he had left behind him, and 
 all through the drive the name of Bethancourt rang 
 in my ears, while I tried in vain to recall what I had 
 previously known of the family. 
 
 On looking them up among the multifarious 
 notes which I have a genius for making and for- 
 getting, I found that here was another of Moguer's 
 links with Spanish history. 
 
 In 1344 Pope Clement vi. gave the Lordship of 
 the Canaries, then known as the Fortunate Isles, to 
 Don Luis de la Cerda, a grandson of Alfonso x., with 
 the title of Prince, and instructions to conquer and 
 Christianise them. One would have thought that 
 the islands should be conquered before they were 
 given away, but it seems to have been the custom 
 for the Popes to give away what they did not 
 possess. Some historians assert that Alfonso XL, 
 sovereign lord of the islands, was not best pleased 
 at their being presented to his cousin, and wrote a 
 letter to the Pope which to the frivolous modern 
 eye seems to have been couched in a somewhat 
 satirical vein, for he "thanked His Holiness for 
 having made the gift, although it was in his (the 
 writer's) sovereign dominion." 
 
 Don Luis de la Cerda, however, did not benefit 
 by the somewhat dubious rights conferred on him, 
 for he went off to France, his mother's native land, 
 and was there killed in battle two years later, never 
 having visited the Canaries at all ; and the next we 
 hear of the Fortunate Isles is that after some vicissi- 
 tudes they came in the course of a business trans- 
 action into the hands of "Mossen Juan de Betancur," 
 
2i 4 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 a French gentleman who carried out his enterprise 
 to such good purpose that the people gave him the 
 title of king. 
 
 This was in 1417, and meanwhile a good deal of 
 highly profitable traffic had been going on between 
 the "idolaters" of the islands and Seville and other 
 Andalucian ports, including, it would seem, our little 
 Palos and Moguer. Efforts were again being made 
 to convert them, some Franciscan friars had 
 established themselves there, and now Pope Martin 
 v. appointed "Mossen" Bethancourt's cousin, Don 
 Mendo, as Bishop of the Rubicon, which seems to 
 have been the name given to the diocese, and he 
 came to Seville to swear obedience, as his suffragan, 
 to the Archbishop. 
 
 Twenty years later, the commerce with the 
 Canaries becoming presumably more and more 
 lucrative, it was discovered that a great mistake 
 had been made in allowing a Frenchman to acquire 
 the lordship of the islands, and an armed force was 
 sent over from Spain to dispossess Mossen Juan's 
 son, who now reigned in his stead, on the pretext of 
 misgovernment and disrespect to the friars, who 
 were busy making " new Christians " of " Mossen 
 Menaute " Bethancourt's subjects. 
 
 Mossen Menaute, according to the chroniclers, 
 was not strong enough to fight the Spaniards, but 
 he came pretty well out of the business, for he sold 
 his rights, lock, stock, and barrel, to the Count of 
 Niebla, one of the Medina Sidonia family, and with 
 the proceeds he established himself at Moguer. 
 When his guiding hand was removed, the prosperous 
 
WINTER 215 
 
 trade which had aroused the cupidity of the powers 
 in Spain so quickly declined that the Canary Isles 
 became a source of expense rather than of profit, and 
 changed hands time after time in the next half- 
 century ; while " Mossen Betancur " flourished on 
 his new estate, and founded the family with which 
 my travelling companion was so pleased to claim 
 connection. 
 
 I got back to Seville none too soon, for the rain 
 which drove me away from Moguer continued and 
 increased, until all the Andalucian rivers overflowed. 
 The railway from Seville to Huelva was under water, 
 and the Columbus country isolated. In the matter 
 of the shaky bridge, however, good came out of evil, 
 for it became so much shakier in consequence of the 
 floods that the authorities were forced at last to take 
 action, and now pilgrims to La Rabida may drive 
 there vid Moguer and Palos with quiet minds, for 
 there is no longer any imminent danger of the 
 diligence toppling over into the river. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 The Guadalquivir Arabic gardens "Bird's milk" Wild 
 camels Tartessian cattle The city of Hercules The 
 foundations of Tharsis Subterranean galleries The " Laby- 
 rinth "A careful father The potters' suburb The City of 
 the Poles Triana under flood Rising wells A tower of 
 refuge Villages under water Humours of the inundated 
 Governmental neglect A night of terror The gallant priest 
 King Alfonso feeds the hungry The "Economical 
 Kitchen " Honours for the English ladies. 
 
 THE Guadalquivir seems to be known to the English 
 chiefly by Byron's references to it, and unluckily he 
 rhymes it with " river," which was convenient for 
 him, but not for the tourist who takes Byron for his 
 guide to the pronunciation. For the Guadalquivir is 
 the Wady al kabir of the Arabs (the great river) 
 and the name is still pronounced with the accent, 
 as in Arabic, on the last syllable. Thus when the 
 traveller asks his way to the " Gwaddlequiver," the 
 native is at a loss for his meaning. Baedeker might 
 usefully see to this ; and while he is about it he 
 might also mention that Granada has the accent on 
 the second syllable. For when a traveller in a hurry 
 asks for the train to "Grannader" the porters are 
 apt to get confused and put him into the first train 
 for any town the name of which is accented on the 
 first syllable e.g. Malaga. This actually happened 
 
 216 
 
WINTER 217 
 
 in the case of an acquaintance of ours, who was 
 rather deaf and did not know a word of Spanish. 
 He found himself at Malaga instead of " Grannader," 
 and his language was vigorous and picturesque. All 
 this waste of time, temper, and money might have 
 been avoided had Baedeker instructed his readers 
 how to pronounce the Spanish for pomegranate. 
 
 Since time began Seville seems to have been the 
 victim of floods. The catchment area of the Guadal- 
 quivir is enormous, since with its tributaries it drains 
 practically the whole of Andalucia, from the Sierra 
 Morena in the north to the Sierra Nevada in the 
 south. From Cordova the river runs through vast 
 plains, mostly alluvial soil of great fertility. So rich 
 is this soil that the Arabs used to say that bird's 
 milk could be got from the gardens round Seville, 
 meaning that there is nothing that will not grow 
 there with sufficient care and attention. The Arabic 
 historians assure us that, nine centuries ago, there 
 were twenty thousand farms and villages between 
 Cordova and Seville, all living by agriculture and 
 gardening; and although the number is obviously 
 exaggerated, there can be no doubt that the whole 
 of the riparian plain was highly cultivated. At that 
 time the great river and its tributaries were so care- 
 fully dyked and dammed for purposes of milling and 
 irrigation, that floods were far less frequent than now. 
 
 But the local archives show that within a century 
 after the Christians became rulers of Seville the 
 irrigation system was falling into decay, and the 
 bed of the river was rapidly silting up. Now hardly 
 a trace remains of the system of hydraulics inherited 
 
218 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 from Egypt, or perhaps inherited from Tartessus, 
 for the Tartessians too constructed admirable water- 
 works. To-day, chiefly for lack of water, most of 
 the valley of the Guadalquivir is a waste of rough 
 pasture, a swamp in winter and a desert in summer, 
 ranged over by herds of half-wild cattle when the 
 spring and autumn showers have raised a crop of 
 coarse grass ; the resort of birds of every description, 
 the dwelling-place of boar, deer, hares, and other 
 wild creatures, great and small, and the safe refuge 
 of a herd of wild camels, never approached and 
 seldom seen unless by the passenger or crew of some 
 river steamer when they come down to the water at 
 dawn. Thus they were once observed by a friend 
 of mine, who took them for cattle until the sun rose 
 suddenly and she saw their humps. After that she 
 was always on the look out for them, and saw them 
 again not long after, near enough and for long 
 enough to count sixteen of them, old and young. 
 The origin of this herd of wild camels is unknown, 
 but it seems clear that they have a good deal of 
 vitality. For generations the marsh men used to 
 shoot the young and sell their flesh as venison in 
 the towns ; yet the herd continued to breed in its 
 secret places in the wilds, and now that the shooting 
 of them is strictly prohibited it is increasing a 
 testimony to the immense extent of the waste lands 
 as well as to the mild climate of this province. What 
 the camels do when the valley is flooded no one 
 knows, but they must go to some place of refuge, 
 for every one knows what happens to the cattle if 
 they are caught by the flood. 
 
WINTER 219 
 
 Some years ago a ten months' drought was 
 broken by a terrific thunderstorm which in one 
 night raised the Guadalquivir many feet. A friend 
 of ours had some eight hundred cattle herded on 
 the Isla Mayor, a large island in the river about half- 
 way between Seville and San Lucar. They were 
 caught by the flood water, although it did not rise 
 high enough to sweep them away. Next morning 
 over four hundred of them lay dead, not from drown- 
 ing but from the sudden chill, which their frames, 
 weakened by the long drought and by struggling 
 against the rush of water, were unable to resist. 
 
 In Tartessian times the cattle of the famous 
 breed of Geryon, afterwards dedicated to the new 
 deity adopted by the Tartessians and known as 
 Hercules, used to feed in the valley of the Guadal- 
 quivir, or river Tartessus. But their pasturage area 
 cannot have been anything as large as it is now, for 
 we are told that the river was like a great lagoon 
 then, and contained a chain of islands, great and 
 small, on which the Tartessian cattle fed and bred, 
 to the great profit of their owners. There must 
 have been, however, plenty of shallows and elevations 
 formed by the ever-growing alluvial deposits of the 
 river, for Strabo tells us that twice every day, when 
 the tide came up from the sea, the Tartessian cattle 
 of their own accord left the lower pastures and took 
 refuge on the higher ground of the islands. 
 
 In the annals of a sixteenth-century Sevillian 
 writer I find a note to the effect than when Hercules 
 first came up the Guadalquivir he discovered Seville 
 itself lying on an island in the middle of the river, 
 
220 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 and called it the City of Poles, because it was built 
 on piles. Afterwards, say our non-critical chroniclers, 
 Hercules and his " brother " Atlas decided to build 
 the "great city" on the highest point of the same 
 islands, and replaced the "poles" by more solid 
 material. 
 
 Down to the seventeenth century these ingenuous 
 legends were so firmly believed by the Sevillians 
 that no sceptic dared risk a broken head by disput- 
 ing them. And indeed to this day we see three 
 granite monoliths on the precise spot indicated as 
 that chosen by Hercules, after consultation with 
 Atlas, for the erection of his temple. They are still 
 commonly known as the Columns of Hercules, although 
 half a century or so ago an intelligent municipality, 
 for no apparent reason, elected to change the name 
 of the street to Marmoles, which means not granite 
 but marbles. 
 
 With the gradual spread of knowledge the legend 
 of Hercules and the city he built here became dis- 
 credited, until after the seventeenth century it was 
 dismissed as a ridiculous myth without any founda- 
 tion. But the silly "common" people went on 
 calling their monoliths "The Pillars of Hercules," 
 because, as they could not read or write, the anti- 
 quarian discussions of the Sevillian professors did 
 not affect their traditional beliefs. 
 
 And now comes the point of my story. Three 
 or four years ago a worthy man of business, who 
 knew nothing and cared less for any of the theories 
 of the learned gentlemen who decided what was or 
 was not to be believed in Seville, began to dig for 
 
WINTER 221 
 
 his own purposes near the place which tradition 
 marks as chosen by Hercules for the site of his 
 city. And to his annoyance he found one layer of 
 ancient buildings below another, until he had got 
 some twenty-seven feet down below the level of the 
 present street of Marmoles, in his search for firm 
 foundations on which to build new shops. Here he 
 found subterranean galleries, man high and wide 
 enough for two men to walk abreast, built of stone 
 and of that indestructible cement which seems to 
 have been the secret of Tartessus, together with 
 small broken columns of the same granite and the 
 same cutting as those three of Hercules, twenty of 
 whose forty feet still project from the top of this 
 same hill. And now it seems clear that this was 
 the lost city of Tharsis, whose site has so long been 
 a mystery. 
 
 Subterranean galleries, the purpose of which has 
 not yet been discovered, are found beneath all this 
 quarter of Seville. One begins to see that the 
 sixteenth-century Heraclean legend may have had 
 some foundation in fact, and that the worshippers 
 of Hercules or his forerunner Geryon may literally 
 have substituted these galleries of masonry for the 
 perishable foundations of the prehistoric "lake- 
 dwellings " built on poles. This view is supported 
 by Don Carlos Canal, Deputy to Cortes, who wrote 
 'a book on Prehistoric Seville twenty years or more 
 ago, before the discoveries in Crete had revolutionised 
 the science of archaeology. 
 
 Some portions of the Tartessian galleries still 
 exist in a state of perfect preservation ; but these 
 
222 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 are under the highest part of the town, where floods 
 could never have come, and I think must have been 
 built for some of the mysteries of the Tartessian sun- 
 worship, relics of which one finds elsewhere. Others, 
 at a lower level, seem as if they must have been in- 
 tended to afford free passage to the water of the river. 
 
 One most interesting and perfectly accessible 
 gallery is unluckily private property, and it is 
 exceedingly difficult to get permission to visit it. 
 I have done so three times, thanks to the insistence 
 of a priest as keen about archaeology as I am. But 
 it was sorely against the grain of the owner. 
 
 He is a middle-aged gentleman who has never 
 in his life ventured down the staircase which was 
 built to give access to the labyrinth, as it is called, 
 when it was accidentally discovered in the sixteenth 
 century. On my first visit I went down the twenty- 
 seven feet to the floor level of the galleries with the 
 owner's son, an intelligent lad keenly interested in 
 the strange place. Although it is pitch dark, it is 
 perfectly ventilated through invisible openings to 
 the upper air, the outlets of which have long been 
 lost sight of, and we easily made our way from one 
 circular chamber to another by the light of candles 
 along the barrel-shaped passages, which are of 
 convenient width and more than a man's height, 
 and I was delighted at finding such an opportunity 
 for study at my own door, as it were. 
 
 But alas ! I had reckoned without my host. 
 Before we had been there ten minutes that gentleman 
 began to shout from the head of the stairs for us 
 to come back 
 
WINTER 223 
 
 " You have been down there quite long enough. 
 You will get lost in the dark. You will catch 
 pneumonia in the cold and the damp. Come up ! 
 Come up ! I insist ! I command ! My son, why 
 do you not obey me ? I will not have you catch 
 pneumonia. You have had more than time to see 
 everything. There is nothing to see. For thirty 
 years I have lived here and I have never gone down. 
 The place is of no importance whatever. You must 
 come up at once." 
 
 Not for a moment did he stop shouting. At 
 first the boy told me to pretend I did not hear, and 
 to pay no attention to his father's protestations, but 
 very soon he said he dared not remain longer, and 
 that if I would come up now he would take me 
 down again the day after to-morrow, by which time 
 he would talk his father over into letting us stay 
 below as long as we wished. 
 
 Again, alas ! With much protest I was allowed 
 to go down again the day after to-morrow, as 
 arranged, but the shouts to " come up ! " were more 
 continuous and more insistent than ever, and little 
 work could be done. 
 
 Once more, some months later, I wrung a 
 reluctant permission from the owner to take down 
 a distinguished architect, but the only time we 
 were allowed to enter the sacred precincts was at 
 eight in the morning, when the friendly son, un- 
 informed of our visit, was safe in bed. Two ancient 
 female servants were sent down to see that we did 
 not get into mischief, while for a whole hour the 
 owner shouted that if we had any regard for our 
 
 
224 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 health we would not linger in that dangerous 
 darkness. 
 
 When next I saw the boy, who was anxious to 
 have the place scientifically studied, he told me 
 that his father was determined to refuse all further 
 applications for permission to visit this almost unique 
 survival of a vanished civilisation. 
 
 " And to make quite sure that I shall not open 
 the door when he is out of the way," said the lad, 
 " he now keeps the key in his pocket all day and 
 sleeps with it under his pillow." 
 
 Such is the encouragement given to archaeologists 
 in Seville. 
 
 It seems clear that the inhabitants of a town 
 built on the principle of a prehistoric lake-dwelling, 
 but having solid stone galleries instead of piles for 
 its foundations, would have little to fear from floods. 
 And it is the case that from the dawn of Spanish 
 history until after the recon quest in 1248 we find 
 nothing to suggest any serious trouble of the kind. 
 But from then onwards we hear more and more of 
 the increasing ravages wrought by the water, and 
 these can only be attributed to persistent neglect 
 of the hydraulic engineering works which the Seville 
 Arabs and Mozarabs had carried to such perfection. 
 
 Triana, the potters' suburb of Seville from time 
 immemorial, although now to some extent protected 
 by wharves, lies considerably below the level of 
 even a moderate flood. Probably in old times it 
 was all built on galleries and arcades, and even 
 now the main street has ancient arcades on either 
 side for some little distance. The road between has 
 
WINTER 225 
 
 risen so much that one column, perhaps Roman, is 
 only three or four feet high, and when the floods 
 come the water quickly fills the ground-floor rooms 
 to the ceilings. It is possible that this is an actual 
 relic of the " City of the Poles," although of course 
 rebuilt again and again until only the idea of the 
 primitive part remains. 
 
 Triana is always the first quarter to be flooded 
 and the last to be cleared when the river overflows, 
 for the sewer outfalls are below the flood-level, and 
 it seems impossible to close them against the weight 
 of the flood water moreover, when they are closed, 
 the rain has no outlet and pools in the streets. 
 Some day perhaps the petition of the 10,000 
 Trianeros, repeated year after year for goodness 
 knows how long, will be attended to by the 
 authorities in Madrid, and then the old river-bed 
 (la madre vieja), which has been silted up for 
 centuries, will be cleared out and used to carry off 
 the flood water. But this obvious remedy has not 
 yet been applied by the wisdom of the Ministers 
 who rule Spain, and the terror that seizes upon all 
 who live below the flood-level when heavy rains set 
 in is a thing to be remembered. 
 
 In February 1912 we were living in a modern 
 house in a low-lying part of Seville, some little way 
 from the river. The ground floor of the house had 
 been artificially raised about five feet above the 
 level of the street, but if the river had risen two or 
 three inches above the twenty-seven feet that it 
 had reached the night before it began to go down, 
 the whole street would quickly have been flooded, 
 15 
 
226 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 and we, like Triana, would have had to be fed by 
 boat. All that night a violent thunderstorm raged, 
 to add the finishing touch to our panic ; for there 
 was nothing now between Seville and the river save 
 some improvised barriers hastily erected with sixty 
 hours of incessant labour by the soldiers of the 
 garrison, and against these the water was already 
 streaming with force. 
 
 But our case, though serious enough, was 
 nothing like so critical as that of many others, for 
 it was at any rate not likely that the water would 
 actually come into our house. A friend of mine, 
 like scores of residents in Seville, has in her house 
 a well of brackish water, and all these wells are fed 
 in some way from the river bed. My friend knows 
 that it is only the walls of the new wharves, built 
 during the last twenty years or so, that keeps her 
 well from overflowing whenever the river rises even a 
 few feet. And once the wells in that part of the 
 town overflow from the river, nothing can check 
 the ingress of the water, for the whole district lies 
 far below flood-level. Day and night for a week 
 she kept on taking soundings, until during the last 
 night, that of the thunderstorm, the water in the 
 well at last began to rise, one metre . . . two metres 
 . . . three metres. ... By daybreak, notwithstanding 
 all her prayers and vows to the Virgin, it was within 
 six feet of the top, and was still rising rapidly. 
 
 "And then," said she, "at the last moment 
 Our Lady answered my prayers." 
 
 The storm ceased, the sun came out, and before 
 the tide turned at midday the flag was flying on 
 
WINTER 227 
 
 the Torre del Oro to tell panic-stricken Seville that 
 the river was going down. Indeed the change came 
 only just in time, for the flood was within an ace of 
 overlapping the frail temporary barriers which alone 
 kept the water out of the main part of the town. 
 
 By that time Triana, on the opposite bank, had 
 been for six days under water, with from six to nine 
 feet of it in every single house. The whole of the 
 river valley, from Cordova down to the mouth, was 
 one vast inland sea. In the riverside villages 
 hardly a house was above water. Algaba, the first 
 village above Seville, was entirely submerged, and 
 about 750 out of the 800 inhabitants, having nowhere 
 else to go, were huddled together in the ancient 
 tower which, the villagers say, was built expressly 
 as a refuge when the river rises. Imagine 750 
 people shut up for a week in one small tower ! As 
 soon as it was possible to row against the subsid- 
 ing stream, I went up with a boat-load of good 
 Samaritans to carry help to some families we knew, 
 and I shall never forget what I saw. 
 
 The fields were feet deep in silt, the spring crops 
 ruined, the streets a mass of indescribable filth, the 
 poor cottages, generally trim and sweet with frequent 
 whitewash, were banked up with stinking mud. 
 But the blazing February sun was streaming down 
 on all the misery ; gay-coloured clothes, blankets, 
 mats, curtains, beds and bedding, were hung 
 out to dry, the women were all hard at work with 
 their whitewash and scrubbing pails, and an 
 astonishing spirit of courage and philosophy per- 
 vaded the whole place. 
 
228 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 From the moment they could get across the 
 ferry, three families had been tramping into Seville 
 about a mile and a half of road, mostly under 
 water to get rations from the " English " soup 
 kitchen, and it was to verify their incredible tales 
 of distress that we had rowed up. 
 
 " Yes, it was quite true that there was hardly 
 anything to eat. It was also true that there was 
 no work at present, and thus the supplies of rice, 
 garbanzos, and haricot beans given by the Sefiores 
 were more welcome than words could say. But 
 the good sun was shining and everything would 
 soon dry up, and then the rich Senors Fulano and 
 Mengano, who owned all the land round about, 
 would have to employ every hand they could get 
 to sow the fields over again, for they certainly would 
 not lose a whole season's crops, and they would 
 have to pay good wages too, for there would be 
 work for every able-bodied man from Seville to 
 Cordova. And thus, if God pleased, good might 
 soon come out of their present misery." 
 
 One of the more prosperous women, who had a 
 loft above her cottage a great rarity in this single- 
 storeyed village and thus had been able to save 
 her furniture, insisted on giving us hot coffee before 
 we left, and indignantly refused to be paid for it. 
 " It was the least she could do when we had been 
 so good to them," she said, and she had a brazier 
 burning so that we should not feel the damp of the 
 room, which she had just finished whitewashing 
 before we came. 
 
 We felt ashamed to demur at sitting for ten 
 
WINTER 229 
 
 minutes in the kitchen, reeking with damp, where 
 the family had to live, but we were shivering with 
 cold before we could decently take our leave, and 
 since then I have always wondered why the whole 
 village did not die of fever and ague, instead of 
 being noted for their excellent health. 
 
 The cheerfulness with which the disaster was 
 met at Algaba was even more striking at Triana. 
 Here those whose houses had two or three storeys 
 all took refuge on the upper floors, and were fed 
 from boats for the six days during which the suburb 
 was under water. Rations for all were provided by 
 the authorities, and no one here need have starved, 
 although the organisation of supplies for some ten 
 thousand people in this quarter alone, besides several 
 thousands more in flooded streets on the outskirts 
 of the town itself, was a task of no small difficulty. 
 Every one fared alike, getting only bread and the 
 plainest fare, but in sufficient quantities to keep 
 body and soul together if each took no more than 
 his fair share. Very few could get ferried through 
 the flooded streets to the bridge into Seville, and 
 indeed for a day or two wheeled traffic over the 
 single bridge was forbidden, save to convey food, 
 for the water was nearly up to the top of the arch, 
 and the whole structure was threatened. Had the 
 bridge gone, all Triana must have starved, for no 
 boat could cross that raging torrent. 
 
 Few lives were lost, though house after house 
 in the oldest and poorest quarters fell in, and in one 
 case a whole family was shut up in an old building 
 without a window to the street, and when they 
 
2 3 o MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 were discovered three days later two of the children 
 were dead from cold and hunger. For it was very 
 cold during those grey, sunless days. But the 
 rescue work was as well organised as the com- 
 missariat, and the young vicar of the parish, Don 
 Bernardo Guerra, who was working like a man, 
 became the hero of the imprisoned Trianeros. He 
 himself seemed quite unaware of his popularity ; 
 indeed, he said his people were angry with him be- 
 cause, " although he was working at relief so many 
 hours a day that he had hardly time to eat or drink 
 or sleep or pray, it was impossible to supply a 
 hundredth part of their needs." 
 
 " But now that the sun is shining again, things 
 are going better," he said. ''Indeed, even during 
 the worst of the bad week it was surprising how a 
 fitful gleam of sunshine enlivened the inundated 
 people. The Trianeros have a gaiety of spirit peculi- 
 arly their own, which never deserts them for long, 
 and it was curious to see how it came out among 
 the hundreds of refugees housed in our new school 
 buildings. It was also very noticeable how the 
 women preserved even there their habits of cleanli- 
 ness and decency. None of them had more privacy 
 than they could obtain by hanging up shawls and 
 sheets to separate one family from another, and yet 
 most of them contrived to keep their own little 
 places tidy and comparatively comfortable. The 
 gipsies, it is true, looked as if they were picnicking 
 in a rag fair, but they kept together at one end of 
 the big class-rooms, apart from the other refugees. 
 And you would have smiled to see the girls dressing 
 
WINTER 231 
 
 their hair as if for & fiesta, and even dancing while 
 the young men sang to a guitar which one of them 
 had saved from the wreck of his home. It was 
 difficult to believe when the sun shone for a few 
 moments what desolation there was outside. But 
 when night fell the suffering was at its worst. The 
 authorities managed to keep water, gas, and electric 
 light going in the streets, but in the houses the 
 fittings were all under water, and the darkness 
 accentuated the distress. And then the pistol shots 
 going off for help, and the difficulty of locating the 
 sound along the flooded streets, and the fear of 
 arriving too late to save lives ... it was an ex- 
 perience one would not forget in a century." 
 
 Don Bernardo stopped speaking, with a look in 
 his liquid-brown eyes as of one who sees a night- 
 mare. 
 
 " But you did always get there in time ? " I 
 gently prompted ; " what about the affair in the 
 Calle Evangelic ? I saw it mentioned in the papers. 
 They said you got an ovation." 
 
 " The papers talk a lot of nonsense," said the 
 priest, smiling once more. " It was nothing, and 
 what credit there was is not mine. Now about those 
 mattresses ? How many more can you provide from 
 the English Relief Fund? We are to get fifteen 
 hundred from the Government grant, they tell me, 
 but not until the money is paid, and I am wondering 
 if it will come before next summer. Meanwhile the 
 hundred sent by the English ladies have been a great 
 boon, and there were also sixteen from a Spanish 
 lady. But we want a thousand at once, for families 
 
232 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 who have lost everything and now are sleeping on 
 the floors of houses which were under water a week 
 ago. Ay de mi de mi alma ! And all this suffering 
 would have been prevented if the Government had 
 agreed to the protective work on the old river bed 
 last year ! " 
 
 "But I want to know about the affair in the 
 Calle Evangelio," I persisted, and Don Bernardo, 
 always courteous, could not refuse to tell me. 
 
 " It was nothing there were many such 
 incidents. I was in bed. Tired? Well, perhaps; 
 we do not sleep much just now. Suddenly I heard 
 pistol shots, several, fired quickly one after the 
 other, so I knew the danger was imminent. I ran 
 to my window to call the boatman, who was 
 supposed to be at my service day and night, but the 
 poor fellow was tired out, and a long way off, at the 
 far end of this long street. I could make out his 
 boat, tied to a balcony. I guessed he had fallen 
 asleep, or perhaps, for we are all human, was inside 
 the house getting a drink. Do not blame him. Those 
 who had stayed out all day in the cold wind and 
 soaking rain knew well how pardonable was his 
 lapse from duty. If there had been a cart or even 
 a donkey I should have taken it without asking 
 permission. But it was the middle of the night. I 
 dared not wade ; I am not tall, and the water was 
 over three feet deep in my street. And then one of 
 my neighbours, excellent fellow, roused like myself 
 by the shots, offered to take me on his back. He is 
 a fisherman, strong in the legs and much taller than 
 I. Understand that he asked no reward ; indeed, 
 
WINTER 233 
 
 he refused payment from the funds that I hold for 
 relief. He carried me on his shoulders to the boat, 
 and the boatman came out quickly, very much 
 ashamed. My fisherman began to rate him, but I 
 said, ' Save your breath to help row, for I fear we 
 may arrive too late.' We all three rowed very hard, 
 and the current seemed like a giant's hand dragging 
 back our boat. You see the embankment of the 
 railway to Huelva causes the flood water to eddy 
 in our streets. I do not understand engineering, 
 but every one in Triana knows that the embank- 
 ment is our ruin. It was planned by engineers in 
 Madrid, and the protest of those who knew the river 
 was not attended to. The poor people of Triana 
 curse the embankment every time there is a flood, 
 and this time they would have gone and torn it 
 down with their own hands if they could have got 
 to it without being drowned on the way. Well, we 
 reached the Calle Evangelio at last. The shots were 
 fired from a house with two storeys, and all the 
 inhabitants had been living on the upper one since 
 the flood began. The water was six feet deep in the 
 street, and it was quite dark. We got them all into 
 the boat from a balcony, except one man. He had 
 to jump, for just as he was ready to climb over the 
 rail the whole front of the house seemed to melt away. 
 It had been undermined by the water, and fell in all 
 at once. Yes, I suppose the poor people might all 
 have been drowned, had the good God not woke the 
 fisherman in time to go to their rescue. I was 
 responsible in a certain sense, but I could not have 
 got there in time but for him. Therefore, such credit 
 
234 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 as there was, should have been given by the papers 
 to him, not to me." 
 
 On the last and worst day of the floods the King 
 came to Seville with the Minister of Public Works ; 
 and then the poor Trianeros were glad they had not 
 pulled down the railway embankment, for the first 
 thing His Majesty did was to steam off along that 
 line, across the waste of waters, to visit a village 
 which lay with little more than its roofs above the 
 flood. I watched the engine with its single carriage 
 crawl over the bridge and along the embankment, 
 very slowly, for there was no knowing what unseen 
 damage might have been done by the turbid yellow 
 flood below the rails and sleepers. 
 
 Everybody thought that as the King and the 
 Minister had now seen for themselves the intolerable 
 injury that the piece of bad engineering was inflicting 
 on Seville, the necessary authority for the work on the 
 old river bed would be given immediately. That was 
 a year and nine months ago, and Don Bernardo and 
 his colleagues have been making ceaseless efforts ever 
 since to get the matter attended to. But we have 
 had three different Ministries in power during these 
 twenty- one months, and none of them has had time 
 to think of such trifles as protecting the third most 
 important port in Spain from devastating inunda- 
 tions. During November 1913 the port had twice 
 to be closed to navigation, owing to the height of 
 the flood water, and it would not be difficult to 
 calculate how much money has thus been lost to the 
 town, though no one who has not seen Triana flooded 
 can estimate the cost in fear and anxiety to the 
 
WINTER 235 
 
 fathers who cannot earn bread for their children, 
 and the mothers who watch in hourly dread of the 
 irremediable ruin of their homes. 
 
 But no one blames the King. They know it is 
 no fault of his, for they saw him in Triana that 
 February day in 1912, going from house to house 
 in a cart or a boat and hoisting up provisions with 
 his own hands, in baskets slung down from the 
 balconies, and they watched him standing ankle 
 deep in water at the rise of the bridge, insisting on 
 visiting the streets that had suffered most. 
 
 " God knows no one street had suffered more 
 than another/' said the journeyman potter who told 
 me this, " for all were under water alike. ' What 
 a terrible disaster ! ' said the King. His gentlemen 
 tried to hold him back, for they had to follow where 
 he led, and they did not want to get their feet wet. 
 But they might as well have tried to hold the river 
 back. He is a King \ He gave two thousand 
 pesetas then and there, and he sent twenty thousand 
 more from Madrid as soon as he got back. But 
 the best thing of all was the King's Kitchen. He 
 ordered free hot meals to be served at his expense 
 every day and all day as long as the flood lasted, 
 to every Trianero who chose to ask for them no 
 recommendations required, no religious conditions. 
 The King said no one was to be asked a question : 
 everybody who was hungry was to have a meal 
 in his kitchen. It saved many lives. True, we 
 all had bread from the Town Council, but we fathers 
 could not take our share while the children were 
 hungry, and we were weak from long fasting, for 
 
236 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 you must understand that many of us had been out 
 of work for a month, owing to bad weather, before 
 the river overflowed. What a bad time God gave 
 us this winter ! But, thank God, there is work for 
 all Triana now, for there are so many houses to 
 be repaired and rebuilt that we cannot make bricks 
 fast enough, and the masters have had to raise our 
 
 wages. 
 
 Soup kitchens, or as the Sevillians call them, 
 "Economical kitchens" (cocinas economicas), are 
 little used here in times of public distress. It never 
 seems to occur to the wealthy Sevillian ladies that 
 with a very little trouble and organisation they 
 could easily start private soup kitchens in their 
 own houses, if only for the friends and relations 
 of their numerous menages. Of course, when the 
 floods came, a soup kitchen was the first idea that 
 occurred to some members of the English colony, 
 and within twenty-four hours of the inundation of 
 Triana, Mr. Keyser, our Consul, together with myself 
 and a few other ladies, had collected enough money 
 among our personal friends to supply two hundred 
 rations a day for a fortnight. 
 
 The distribution took place in our house, 
 because our patio happened to be the most con- 
 venient for the purpose, and all our servants, like 
 those at the Consulate, worked double tides through- 
 out the fortnight, so that none of the Relief Fund 
 should be spent on extra hands. At first we only 
 intended to feed families connected with the English 
 business houses, but we soon found that it was 
 impossible to lay down hard-and-fast rules. One 
 
WINTER 237 
 
 afternoon a man who had been waiting an hour 
 for what might remain after the privileged people 
 were fed, dropped in a dead faint on the floor, and 
 it took half an hour to bring him round. After 
 that we ladled out our soup as fast as we could 
 to every white-faced shivering creature that pre- 
 sented himself, without asking for his subscriber's 
 card, not wishing for a repetition of the fright that 
 seized us when the man fainted, for on that occasion 
 it looked for a while as if our very small amount 
 of red tape was to cost a life. 
 
 We got up to five hundred rations a day before we 
 closed our soup kitchen, and even then had money left 
 to buy the hundred mattresses and pillows that were 
 so useful to the Triana priest and all for a little 
 over 60 in English money. True, the mattresses 
 were very cheap, for a maker of them contributed 
 to the relief by selling us all that we asked for 
 considerably below cost price a practical form of 
 charity that greatly appealed to the people. But 
 if we had spent 6000 instead of 60 we could not 
 have met with more gratitude. It was not so much 
 the quantity or the quality of the soup, our parish 
 priest explained. It was having it ready at the 
 precise moment when it was wanted, for the thing 
 was put in hand very promptly, and we got in 
 ahead even of the King's Kitchen. Strange though 
 it may seem to English people, accustomed to 
 organised charity, no other private individual or 
 private association in Seville adopted this simple 
 means of providing hot meals at a minimum of 
 cost. 
 
238 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 But we had no idea of the fame we were ac- 
 quiring indeed, we had no time to think of how 
 our modest effort might strike the public. So we 
 were surprised and amused when the editor of a 
 local weekly paper sent round his photographer 
 to get an illustration for an article on the " noble 
 initiative of the English ladies." We told him we 
 preferred to remain in retirement with our kettles. 
 But he pointed out that a photograph of our truly 
 "economical" kitchen would encourage the ladies 
 of Seville to go and do likewise when another 
 occasion should arise ; and after that we could not 
 of course refuse to be immortalised with our tin 
 pots about us, if only to show how easily five hundred 
 people could be fed from a dozen petroleum tins boiled 
 on gas rings. And having got his photograph and 
 published his little article, our philanthropic editor 
 proceeded to offer each of our helpers a copy of the 
 photograph at three times the market price ! 
 
 Another pretty speech brought further evidence, 
 were it wanted, of the popular feeling towards the 
 young Queen. We set aside a little of our money 
 to redeem pawn-tickets in the case of two or three 
 families who had been comparatively well-to-do 
 before the floods and now only needed respectable 
 clothing to obtain good employment again, and, of 
 course, this was to be obtained much more cheaply 
 by taking their own garments out of the Mont de 
 Pie'te than by buying new for them. 
 
 One of the poor women said with tears in her 
 eyes as she handed me a sheaf of the depressing 
 little papers 
 
WINTER 239 
 
 " Oh, Senora Elena, you are like the Queen ! " 
 
 I smiled at the remark, for although it has long 
 been the fashion for Spanish gallants to tell English 
 girls they resemble the Queen when they want to 
 offer the greatest flattery, I could not imagine how 
 even the most fervent gratitude could find any 
 resemblance between an old woman with white hair 
 and the beautiful young Queen. 
 
 "Not in face, Senora, although you too are 
 muy guapa (very attractive), but in generosity with 
 the pawn-tickets. Have you not heard what the 
 Queen did in that way ? A very poor woman of 
 Triana threw a whole bundle of tickets into the 
 Queen's carriage one day when she was driving 
 through Triana, and instead of being vexed, the 
 Queen sent down to Juana's house after she got 
 back to the palace to see if it was true that she 
 had sold everything. And it was quite true, and 
 the Queen redeemed her tickets and afterwards many 
 more for other women, when she learnt of cases 
 of great distress for which the women were not to 
 blame. I wish the rich knew how helpful it is 
 to redeem our pawn-tickets, for many of our clothes 
 and especially our boots are very good when we 
 * put them away,' indeed, if they are not good 
 the Mont de Pie'te will not give us anything for 
 them." 
 
 Nor was this the end of the compliments paid 
 us ; for a few days later our man-servant came to tell 
 me that he had been asked for the full names, 
 family and baptismal, of all the English ladies who 
 had helped to serve the soup, the same having been 
 
MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 by a popular performer of ** Flamenco* 
 songs at a certain music-hall. 
 
 "But I refused to tell him," said our man 
 proudly. "Having been in England with the 
 Sefiores and knowing English customs, I informed 
 him that compliments in your country had to be 
 paid in a roundabout way, and that if your names 
 were mentioned he would offend instead of pleasing.* 9 
 
 "But what in the world did he want to know 
 our names for?" I asked, completely mystified. 
 
 "Por Dtos, Seftora! Don't you know that a 
 couplet in praise of the English economical kitchen 
 is sung every night at the BknkMankbiank, along 
 with one about the King's Kitchen and the brave 
 deeds of Don Bernardo Guena? Senora! That 
 song IMS been the most popular item in the pro- 
 gramme for many nights past* and for that reason 
 Pepito wanted to improvise a second couplet giving 
 all the ladies' names. But don't be aimous: I 
 aawce you I refused with quite sufficient coldness to 
 make him understand that he was taking a liberty.* 
 
 The joke of it was that the Bknkhknkblank is 
 a well-known cafe chantant in Seville which has 
 been for years a atone of offence to Mrs. Grundy, 
 both the English and the Spanish variety, and wdl- 
 behaved members of society like ourselves would 
 not have act foot inside it for wodds* Of comae our 
 disapproval even if they had bam aware of it* would 
 not have troubled the caK cbantant people at all, 
 bat we fch rather as if time bbck sheep were Imp- 
 ing coals of fire on our respectable heads 
 tanned that aora about our civic virtues 
 
WINTER 241 
 
 delighting crowded houses every night. But ut any 
 rate we were in good company, with the King on 
 one side and the parish priest on the other. 
 
 And thus on a note of comedy closed our part in 
 
 the, tragedy <>!' the I>T<-;.| < ,1, Hoods i-ver known in UK; 
 long imn.'ils of the devastation wrought eentury after 
 cc.nl .11 ry l>y tlnj Guadalquivir. 
 
 16 
 
PART IV. SPRING 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Popular monarchs King Alfonso and the washerwoman Royal 
 charity No bull-fight required Reaction against the bull- 
 ring A monarchical republican The guardian of the polo 
 ground The King introduces the Queen A loyal old 
 gardener The grief of Enriqueta The King at Ronda 
 A lucky donkey-driver Careful rioters Viva el Hey ! 
 
 I AM often asked by visitors whether the English 
 Queen is popular in Spain, and I always wonder 
 why such a question should occur to them. How 
 could she fail to be popular, with youth, beauty, and 
 a kind heart to give an extra gilding to her crown ? 
 
 As a matter of fact, the longer one lives in Spain 
 and the more one sees of the peasantry and the work- 
 ing classes in general, the more delightful tales one 
 hears of the private dealings of the King and Queen 
 and the rest of the royal family with the " common " 
 people ; and as very few of these have been published 
 in the English papers, it seems worth while to put 
 them on record before they are forgotten. I do not 
 vouch for their literal truth, but I hardly think such 
 stories would be current coin unless they had some 
 foundation in fact, and in any case the people believe 
 them to be true, and thus they illustrate the popular 
 feeling towards the Royalties. 
 
 343 
 
GOING HOME FROM THE MARKET. 
 
SPRING 243 
 
 Perhaps the story of King Alfonso and the 
 washerwoman is already a chestnut, although I have 
 never seen it in print. It dates from the days when 
 motors were comparatively in their infancy, and the 
 young King kept his entourage in a state of chronic 
 nervousness by his devotion to the new machine, 
 which in the opinion of the timid might run away or 
 blow up at any moment. One winter afternoon the 
 King did not return at the time he was expected, 
 and there were serious thoughts of sending out a 
 detachment of the Civil Guard with an ambulance 
 in search of the errant motor. When His Majesty 
 appeared, his lateness was explained by his having 
 picked up a lame old laundress laden with clean 
 linen, some little way out of Madrid, and taken her 
 in his motor to the residence of her employers before 
 he came home. 
 
 Possibly this may be one of Ben Trovato's stories, 
 but I can myself quite believe it, having heard at 
 first hand of many other incidents showing the same 
 impulsive kindness to the poor and lowly, and the 
 same disregard of convention and regal state. 
 
 Not only the King and Queen, but also the 
 Queen-Mother and other members of the royal family 
 have at one time or another picked up unfortunates 
 who had met with accidents in the streets, and con- 
 veyed them to their homes or to a hospital. On 
 one occasion Queen Christina sat for half an hour on 
 a bench in the park at Madrid, while her motor took 
 an unlucky cyclist to hospital. He was a student 
 who had cut his head badly, and the Queen herself 
 directed her servants to lay him as comfortably as 
 
244 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 possible on the cushions, after binding up his wounds 
 with her own hands. 
 
 The Infanta Isabel, aunt of King Alfonso, 
 recently delighted the crowd by an action which is 
 less common now than it was a century ago. True, 
 the vehicle was a fashionable motor, instead of a 
 great royal coach as formerly, but the inspiration 
 was the same. 
 
 The Princess on her afternoon drive met a pro- 
 cession carrying the Viaticum from one of the minor 
 churches to a dying person. She got out of her 
 motor, made the priest get in with his sacred burden, 
 and herself walked to the sick man's house in the 
 procession behind the Host, carrying a lighted 
 candle. She is a great favourite in Spain, especially 
 among the amateurs of the bull-ring, for her devo- 
 tion to the national sport is so warm as to com- 
 pensate them for the unconcealed distaste of some 
 other members of her family. 
 
 The King and Queen seldom go to a bull-fight, 
 although when they do appear at one the fact is so 
 freely advertised, and photographs of their Majesties 
 are so widely circulated by those interested in main- 
 taining the " sport," that probably the outside world 
 believes that they are devoted to it. It is of course 
 impossible that those who love horses and are them- 
 selves skilled in horsemanship should have any sym- 
 pathy with an entertainment in which the mangling 
 of horses is an essential feature, although a King and 
 Queen may sometimes have apparently to condone 
 what they cannot approve. But their real feeling 
 may be judged from a little incident which I had 
 
SPRING 245 
 
 from an excellent authority the private secretary 
 of the man to whom the King spoke. 
 
 The occasion was a visit from their Majesties to 
 a certain town which is renowned for its bull-fights, 
 and has the reputation of producing the best toreros 
 in Spain. The Alcalde presented his programme of 
 festivities for the King's approval, and, pointing out 
 one or two vacant dates, asked 
 
 " When would you like to have the bull-fight, 
 sir?" 
 
 The King replied that he and the Queen had 
 come for a holiday, and did not wish to have every 
 day filled up in advance ; " and therefore," said his 
 Majesty, " when I want a bull-fight I will ask for it." 
 The Court spent a whole month in that town, 
 and no bull-fight took place. 
 
 Of course this, like everything else in Spain, is a 
 political question. The Reactionaries, true to their 
 principles, support existing institutions, while the 
 Conservatives, Liberals, Radicals, Republicans, both 
 reforming and revolutionary, Socialists, etc., all 
 combine to denounce what they regard as one of 
 the main factors in the atraso de Espana (the 
 backwardness of Spain). 
 
 Foreigners who object to the bull-fight must 
 bear in mind that an immense amount of money is 
 sunk in it, by the owners of large estates who breed 
 the bulls, in the building and upkeep of the bull- 
 rings, and in the very costly apparatus of the show, 
 and it is only natural that capitalists should fight for 
 the institution in which their money is invested. 
 When foreigners indignantly ask why the King does 
 
246 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 not put a stop to the barbarous "sport," if it be 
 true that he dislikes it, they do not realise that a 
 constitutional King, however radical a reformer he 
 may be, cannot by a stroke of the pen destroy the 
 vested interests of a great and powerful section of 
 the community. To suggest that King Alfonso 
 should arbitrarily close all the bull-rings would be 
 something like proposing that the King of England 
 should, propio motu, close all the music-halls, re- 
 gardless of the rights of the shareholders. And the 
 bull-fights can at any rate plead a venerable anti- 
 quity. Their origin is not certainly known, but it is 
 possible that they date from the days of the Liby- 
 Tartessians, when Minos ruled and encouraged bull- 
 fights in Crete. 
 
 What is new is the reaction against the ring, 
 which is spreading with encouraging rapidity. One 
 of the greatest virtues of Isabel IL, in the opinion of 
 her time, was that she " was very fond of the bulls," 
 and even now old ladies and gentlemen of that 
 unlucky Queen's generation speak of her affection 
 for the bull-fight as one of her redeeming qualities. 
 Whereas not the least of King Alfonso's acknow- 
 ledged claims on the respect and sympathy of the 
 Radical and Republican sections of his subjects (and 
 these include the mass of the working classes) is his 
 obvious preference for other and more manly forms 
 of sport. 
 
 The republicanism of the peasant is a curious 
 and interesting study, and I always love to draw 
 him out on the subject. One day when I was 
 digging in the mountains a heavy shower came on, 
 
SPRING 247 
 
 and I took shelter with my workmen in a chambered 
 tomb that we had been clearing. How the subject 
 of the Monarchy came up between them I did not 
 notice, for I was absorbed in a dramatic shifting of 
 the storm-scene as I saw it framed by a rough 
 opening in the rock where a fallen stone had revealed 
 the existence of our burial cave. The hills had 
 been purple, almost black, against the thunder- 
 clouds, when suddenly there was a rift in the over- 
 cast sky, a streak of sunshine shot out, and through 
 the pouring rain a great sheet of silver appeared like 
 magic on the distant hillside, where an instant 
 before all had been unrelieved gloom. It was only 
 a patch of grey rock, but it was transformed by a 
 cascade of rain-water from the peaks above into a 
 thing of ethereal beauty which vanished as quickly 
 as it had appeared. 
 
 A small boy a goat-herd in his Sunday best on 
 his way to a fair in the neighbouring town had 
 taken shelter with us in the cave, and at the men's 
 request had been singing the local songs in a shrill 
 treble for my benefit ; and when my thoughts began 
 to wander from the company to that glorified hill- 
 side, he was wailing a love-song of which I could 
 not make out a word. It was rather a shock to me 
 to be brought back to earth by hearing the gentlest 
 and most courteous of my two diggers remark that 
 he wished he had the King and the Alcalde of the 
 town together in the cave, so that he might throttle 
 them both. 
 
 He explained that the Town Council owed him a 
 considerable sum of money for a contract carried out 
 
248 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 by his father (recently dead) and himself, and his 
 view was that if the King really was up to his work 
 he would long ago have made an end of corruption 
 and jobbery, and would have replaced the existing 
 bureaucracy with honest men, who would pay poor 
 labourers what they owed them instead of buying 
 motors for their private amusement. And as the 
 King had not done this, let him be throttled, or if 
 not that, at least let us have a republic and make 
 him the President of it. 
 
 Poor Eamon ! He was suffering from a bad 
 attack of political indigestion, and no wonder, for 
 the unpaid bill, amounting to some hundreds of 
 pesetas, meant a very heavy loss to a young man 
 who had to support a widowed mother and various 
 young brothers and sisters. I gave him a note of 
 recommendation to the Alcalde, whom I knew to be 
 rather better than most of his class, and I hope he 
 got his money when the next pay-day came. But I 
 sadly pondered over the state of Spain, administered 
 on a system which poisons every limb of the body 
 politic and makes it almost impossible for the 
 local authorities to pay their workers and at the 
 same time meet the demands of the blood-suckers 
 who live without working, while they pull the 
 strings that make the office-holders dance to their 
 piping. 
 
 In a country where politics permeate and pollute 
 everything it is not easy to keep clear of them, but 
 I have heard many little anecdotes of the King and 
 Queen which fortunately are free from that taint ; 
 and if most of them relate to Seville, my excuse 
 
SPRING 249 
 
 must be that most of my life in Spain has been spent 
 in that city. 
 
 About a mile outside the town there is a large 
 expanse of meadow land alongside the Guadalquivir, 
 known as the Tablada, which has played a part many 
 times in Andalucian history. 
 
 Here grazed the long-horned Tartessian cattle 
 mentioned in the last chapter. Here Julius Caesar 
 reviewed the native militia when the natives of 
 Hispalis enlisted under his banner after refusing to 
 open their gates to Varro, the lieutenant of Pompey. 
 Here the offspring of Witiza, the last legitimate 
 King of the Visigoths, grew rich as they cultivated 
 the fertile plain and built ships to carry on that 
 profitable trade with the East which made Ishbiliyah 
 rich under the rule of Witiza's descendants, who 
 amicably intermarried with Arab princes and ruled 
 the land under nominal subjection to the Sultans of 
 Cordova. Here the Northmen, ten centuries ago, 
 after sailing up the river, were repulsed when they 
 tried to set fire to the town. Here Saint Fernando 
 set up his camp when he besieged Seville in 1248 
 and spent a year and a half in the vain endeavour 
 to effect an entrance through the imperishable walls 
 which were first built somewhere about the time that 
 Minos brought bull-fighting into fashion. 
 
 True the Carthaginians conquered Tharsis, sacked 
 and destroyed the city of their rivals the Greco- 
 Tartessians (who in recent centuries had twice pos- 
 sessed themselves of Cadiz), and even deprived 
 Tharsis of its name, adding it to that of Cadiz by 
 way of an extra jewel in the Gaditanian crown. But 
 
2 5 o MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 the encircling wall defied their vengeance, and 
 although they may have made a breach here and 
 there they could not destroy it, for the "cob" of 
 pre-Eoman Spain is as hard as stone, and luckily for 
 posterity the Carthaginians did not know the uses 
 of dynamite. 
 
 Unless aided from within, none of her enemies 
 ever got into Seville until the walls fell into dis- 
 repair. Even Marshal Soult would hardly have 
 found the siege of Seville such a farce as he did, but 
 for the ruinous condition into which Spanish neglect 
 had allowed the fortifications to decline. True he 
 did not have to encamp on Tablada to starve the 
 town into surrender, as did Saint Fernando, but the 
 inhabitants had time to hide a good many of their 
 treasures, artistic and other, in the subterranean 
 vaults and galleries which have existed since Tharsis 
 was built, before the French general battered down 
 their gates. 
 
 The plain of Tablada is now a busy place, for 
 right across it a great canal is in course of construc- 
 tion, which, coupled with a further deepening of the 
 channel of the river, will open Seville, some fifty 
 miles inland, to steamers of over 10,000 tons and 
 make it the principal port in Spain, except perhaps 
 Barcelona. 
 
 But part of this plain is devoted to sport of 
 different sorts, and here a polo ground is laid out 
 when the Court comes to Seville. Thus here, as in 
 Moguer, my little anecdotes are linked to a thread 
 of history, and this long digression has more object 
 than at first appears. 
 
SPRING 251 
 
 A certain old man had been appointed gatekeeper 
 to the entrance to the Tablada sports ground, because 
 his son, a torero, had been killed in a bull-fight and 
 the bulls destined to die in the Seville ring are 
 always enclosed in a field at Tablada a day or two 
 before the fight. He was a conscientious old man 
 and never deserted his post, even when all the town 
 turned out to receive the King and Queen on their 
 arrival from Madrid. They had an exceptionally 
 enthusiastic reception that year, because King 
 Alfonso had recently granted a large piece of ground 
 from the Alcazar gardens to give access, light, and 
 air to a poor quarter packed away behind the lofty 
 walls of the palace ; and it was a good deal of a 
 sacrifice on the part of the old man to go out to 
 Tablada at the usual time instead of shouting Vivas 
 with his friends at the station first : but he had his 
 reward in a little -expected shape. 
 
 A few days after the arrival of the Court, word 
 was sent to our friend that he must be extra careful 
 to admit no unauthorised persons to the enclosure, 
 because their Majesties would be driving out in the 
 course of the afternoon to see the polo ground pre- 
 paratory to a match fixed for the next day. So 
 when a young man whom he did not know galloped 
 up, slightly dishevelled from riding fast in a stiff 
 wind, the gatekeeper flatly refused to open the gate, 
 saying in explanation that the King and Queen were 
 coming. 
 
 " Do you know the King ? " inquired the rider. 
 
 " No ; nor the Queen either," answered the old 
 man, " and I only wish I did, for my grandchildren 
 
252 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 plague the life out of me every day asking whether 
 I have seen her and whether she is as beautiful as 
 everybody says." 
 
 " Well, now you will be able to tell them," said 
 the horseman, " for here she comes." 
 
 Up drove the Queen, and the old man thereupon 
 became aware that his interlocutor as of course my 
 readers have guessed was the King himself, for he 
 proceeded to tell her of the conversation in a way 
 that made her laugh heartily. 
 
 " And now that you have seen the Queen, what 
 shall you tell your grandchildren ? Is she as beauti- 
 ful as everybody says ? " asked the King in the best 
 of humours, for, as all the world knows, nothing 
 pleases him more than these spontaneous evidences 
 of the admiration bestowed on his wife. 
 
 " More, more, a thousand times more," stammered 
 the old man, quite abashed. 
 
 The royal cortege waited while the Queen asked 
 about the children, how many there were, what were 
 their ages, and why they lived with their grandfather. 
 And on hearing how they had been orphaned and 
 were dependent on his modest earnings at the gate, 
 the King gave him a bank-note which could not 
 have been less than twenty-five pesetas, for that is 
 the smallest paper money, and may have been more 
 telling him to let the children have a feast of 
 cakes and chocolate by which to remember the 
 Queen. 
 
 It is pretty to see the real affection inspired by 
 this brilliant young couple even in the humblest of 
 their entourage. 
 
SPRING 253 
 
 While the piece of ground given to the town was 
 being cut off from the palace gardens, there was for 
 a week or more a long space by the new road which 
 was open to the world at large, for although the 
 work was pressed on with all speed, a high and 
 strong wall had to be built, and that could not be 
 run up in a moment. It was January, and very 
 cold for Seville, and one day when I walked round 
 the gardens I missed the oldest of the gardeners, 
 who with his chubby, cheerful daughter are particular 
 friends of mine. 
 
 It appeared that old Toro was crippled with a 
 serious chill, and could only just hobble across from 
 his cottage to the place where the building was 
 going on, where he was acting as watchman until 
 the new wall was finished. 
 
 "How has he managed to get ill just now?" I 
 asked, for he was a sturdy old fellow whom no 
 amount of work ever seemed to tire. 
 
 " It is because he has been up for several nights, 
 keeping guard over there," explained his daughter. 
 " The Town Council put on two extra policemen, 
 but my father thought they were not enough to 
 make sure that no bad characters got in in the dark, 
 for it is a long piece of road as you see, and he was 
 not going to have bad characters in His Majesty's 
 garden if he could help it." 
 
 " Well done, Toro," said I ; " I know how loyal 
 he is to the King, and I hope he will get a handsome 
 tip for his extra care." 
 
 " Oh no, he didn't do it for that, it is purely 
 voluntary ; and anyhow he won't get anything, 
 
254 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 because the Senor Marque's (the Governor of the 
 Alcazar) doesn't know anything about it. You may 
 be sure my father is not going to tell him. And 
 please, Dona Elena, don't say anything to my father 
 about it, for he would be angry with me for telling 
 you. He feels he is only doing his duty." 
 
 One admires the King whose kindness to his 
 employe's secures such unselfish affection, and one 
 admires the high ideal of duty which leads an old 
 man nearer seventy than sixty to stop out of doors 
 all night for a week at a stretch to guard his royal 
 master's garden. I do not know if Toro's devotion 
 ever reached the King's ears, but I fear not, for the 
 last time I saw chubby Enriqueta she was in tears 
 because, owing to extensive alterations in that same 
 garden, the house she and her father had lived in 
 for so many years was to be pulled down and they 
 had to seek a new abode outside of the precincts. 
 
 She cheered up, however, as I led her back to 
 talk about the royal family, always her favourite 
 subject of conversation. 
 
 She adores the little Prince of Asturias, and 
 related with pride how she had long ago heard him 
 talking in English to his pony. " He was hardly 
 four years old, and yet he could already talk in a 
 language I did not understand ! " 
 
 But her most cherished recollection relates to a 
 day of alarms and excursions when, owing to some 
 political crisis, the Court left Seville at a few hours' 
 notice, a day or two earlier than had been intended. 
 
 " I have never been employed inside the palace," 
 said Enriqueta, "only to wash table linen and such- 
 
SPRING 255 
 
 like here in our own laundry. But that day every 
 one was so busy that we were all called to help with 
 the packing. There are certain things that the 
 Queen herself directs the packing of, and one of 
 her ladies told me to carry a tray of silver and 
 spoke rather sharply because I was slow with it, 
 being unused to such delicate work. And a voice 
 behind said in the kindest tone, 'Don't scold the 
 poor girl ; I am sure she is doing her best.' And 
 there was the Queen herself, who had come to see 
 if the silver was ready ! We would all go down on 
 our knees to serve their Majesties, who have kind 
 words for everybody, and it is a deep grief to me 
 that when we live away from the palace I shall 
 have no chance of serving the Queen even by 
 washing her table linen." 
 
 I heard a pleasant story of the King at Eonda, 
 which he visited a year or so ago on his way from 
 a military review at Algeciras. 
 
 The Alcalde, although of noble birth, was very 
 old and had not been to Court for so long that he 
 had even forgotten how to address his King. He 
 began by taking the seat of honour in the carriage, 
 and when the King asked him the depth of the 
 Tajo that tremendous cleft in the rock through 
 which flows the Guadelevin he replied that he 
 did not know. The Tajo is the pride and glory 
 of all good Eondenos, for the gorge has a sheer 
 drop of between five hundred and six hundred feet, 
 and great was the indignation of the town when 
 the Alcalde's indifference to those all-important local 
 statistics became known. 
 
256 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 The King was driven up to the new hotel, the 
 Reina Victoria, on the crest of a hill where the Tajo 
 opens out into a fertile valley. And here the Alcalde 
 seems to have set his royal guest down and left him 
 to his own devices, without so much as having a 
 glass of wine set before him. 
 
 Later in the day a poor muleteer, toiling up the 
 winding path which leads from the flour mills below 
 to the "old town" on the top of the hill, was 
 accosted by a strange young gentleman who, with 
 a companion, was beginning the ascent. No one 
 is more responsive to a pleasant greeting than the 
 Andalucian peasant, and the arriero at once slipped 
 off his donkey in order to carry on the conversation 
 more comfortably on foot. 
 
 " I suppose you gentlemen, being strangers, got 
 a sight of the King this morning," said he. " They 
 say he is very simpdtico, and very good to the 
 poor." 
 
 " I am glad to hear that," said one of the 
 strangers, "but haven't you seen him yourself?" 
 
 " Not I," said the arriero ; "I can't afford to 
 lose my day's wage merely to enjoy myself, and I 
 have no chance of seeing His Majesty unless he 
 comes down into the Tajo to look for me." 
 
 They climbed on up the stony zigzag path, and 
 presently the young man asked the arriero if the 
 donkey could carry his weight, for he found walking 
 up the almost vertical hill rather hard work. 
 
 " Of course he could get on the donkey, and 
 welcome. Castano often carried two hundredweight 
 of potatoes up to the town, and the Senor certainly 
 
SPRING 257 
 
 did not weigh that. He, Castano's owner, thought 
 very little of climbing the hill several times a day 
 when there was a lot of produce to take to market, 
 but he could understand that a forastero [stranger 
 any one not belonging to the speaker's native place] 
 who was not used to the Tajo might find it heavy 
 walking." 
 
 So the gentleman got on the donkey, sitting on 
 the panniers with his long legs dangling on each 
 side of the beast's neck in true country fashion, and 
 in this wise the little procession reached the new 
 road recently made through a breach in the town 
 walls to give an easy approach for motors. 
 
 Here the " stranger " dismounted and gave a 
 gratuity to the arriero which left him speechless 
 with surprise and delight, for it was more than a 
 week's wages that he found in his hand. 
 
 " Thank you for my pleasant ride," said the 
 gentleman. " And you can tell your friends that 
 the King not only went to see you at the bottom 
 of the Tajo, but was very glad to borrow your 
 donkey to come up again." 
 
 When he left that evening King Alfonso is 
 reported to have said that he would never forget 
 Ronda, for it was the first place he had been to in 
 all his life where he was neither offered nor asked 
 for anything. 
 
 These are but a few of the many stories we hear 
 of the King, the Queen, and their people, but they 
 will suffice to show the estimation in which their 
 Majesties are held, as well as some of the reasons for 
 it. And to end the chapter I will add one incident 
 17 
 
258 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 in very modern history, which occurred as recently 
 as November 1913, and is significant, it seems to 
 me, of the present state of Spanish politics. 
 
 The tax known in France as the octroi and in 
 Spain as the consumos, because it is levied on 
 nearly everything that is consumed in the use, i.e. 
 food and firing, bears heavily on the poor and 
 causes more discontent than any other detail of 
 local administration. It is very harshly enforced 
 in many places, every box, basket, or bundle that 
 enters the town being examined with irritating 
 and unnecessary thoroughness. Every traveller has 
 suffered from it on arrival at the railway station, 
 and what is worse, one often sees weary labourers 
 forced to unload and reload again their tired donkeys 
 on their way home from work, because the con- 
 sumista chooses to imagine that some article of food 
 may be concealed under a hundredweight of charcoal 
 or firewood. I have myself been detained in pouring 
 rain at the entrance to a town after a long day on 
 the hills, while a surly official poked and prodded 
 the panniers of a mule laden with nothing more 
 dutiable than ancient tiles, bricks, and such-like 
 from my excavations. A shocking accident occurred, 
 in connection with this tax, at a seaside village 
 where we spent one summer ; for a poor woman 
 had put her sleeping infant in the panniers of her 
 donkey, and the consumista, assuming without 
 inquiry that they contained vegetables, ran the 
 baby through with the long sharp spike used for 
 testing the contents of a load that is not unpacked 
 before them, and killed it on the spot. 
 
SPRING 259 
 
 At election times, when the whole country is 
 greatly excited, the consumes grievance is always 
 prominent, and the popular indignation is apt to 
 explode in plain language about the Town Councils, 
 for these have a legal right to substitute some other 
 local tax for the consumos, if they choose to do so. 
 Naturally the poor feel that they, in whose starvation 
 wages every farthing is of importance, suffer more 
 by a direct tax on food than do the rich, and thus 
 it has become a class question, needing extremely 
 delicate handling at critical moments. 
 
 In a modest village of two or three thousand 
 inhabitants, in the province of Huelva, called 
 Bolullos del Candado, feeling about the consumos 
 had risen to boiling-point before the 1913 muni- 
 cipal elections began, and some mismanagement at 
 the Town Hall led the malcontents to believe 
 perhaps justifiably that the voting would not be 
 fairly conducted. In less than no time some five 
 hundred people collected outside the Town Hall, 
 and the authorities, alarmed at their menacing 
 aspect, locked the doors and ordered the Civil Guard 
 to fire on the crowd. Infuriated by being shot at 
 when they had done nothing wrong or illegal, the 
 people burst in the doors, and a free fight ensued. 
 When it ended they were masters of the situation, 
 and then they sacked the Town Hall and made a 
 bonfire of the furniture in the village square. 
 
 But before a hand was laid on the municipal 
 property, one of the " rioters " took down a picture 
 of the King, which hung in the council-room, and 
 a detachment of them conveyed it to a place of 
 
260 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 safety, while the whole crowd shouted Viva el 
 Hey! 
 
 It was the triumph of King Alfonso's personality 
 over political passion, and shows, I think, that there 
 is not much fear of a popular revolution against the 
 Monarchy in Spain. 
 
J< * 
 HHE H 
 BH ^ 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Music and the people Arabic instruments The saetas of 
 Andalucia The tango in the theatre A working-class 
 wedding A drama in a dance The alarmed widow lady 
 The Jota of Aragon Our Lady of the Pillar Spaniards in 
 Morocco Moors, savage and civilised The Sultan and his 
 prisoners The tragedy of the Wolf's Gorge After the 
 retreat The salvation of a regiment The power of 
 the guitar. 
 
 THE influence of the traditional popular music on 
 the life of the people is perhaps in some ways more 
 marked here than in any other country. It may 
 seem strange to us that this should be the case, for 
 Western ears find it difficult to catch the tuneless 
 songs, with their curious intervals and lack of ton- 
 ality and rhythm, which are another of Spain's 
 legacies from the time when her arts and sciences 
 were all Oriental. But the strange and to us point- 
 less cadences of the Guajiras, Malaguenas, Granadinas, 
 Sevillanas, and the rest offer no difficulties to the 
 Andalucian, though even cultivated foreign musicians 
 find them almost impossible of reproduction. 
 
 During the time of the Moslem rule in Spain, 
 Seville was noted for its devotion to music ; so 
 much so that in the palmy days of the Khalifate, 
 when for nearly a century Seville and Cordova were 
 
 on good terms with each other, it was usual, when 
 
 261 
 
262 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 a rich man died in Cordova, to send his musical 
 instruments to Seville for sale. But during the 
 Moslem period music was cultivated everywhere in 
 Spain, as is shown by treatises on the art existing 
 in the library of the Escorial, and by the long list 
 of instruments in use among the Arabs, some of 
 which, or their counterparts, exist to-day, although 
 others are now unknown. Among these were 
 flutes made of bone and elegantly decorated with 
 carved designs, an almost perfect specimen of which 
 was found in a tomb at Malaga, besides fragments 
 of two others in an excavation at Seville. Possibly 
 the skill of the Andalucian on the military bugle is 
 a legacy from those times, as also his fondness for 
 drum and fife bands. The drum or tambor is of 
 Oriental origin, and I have already described a 
 variety of it known as the zambomba. 
 
 It is only to be expected that Arabic music 
 should persist in the repertoire of the people of 
 Andalucia, as indeed it does. But the most curious 
 survival is not in the music of the theatre or the 
 home, but in improvised hymns sung in the streets 
 by fervent devotees when the images of Our Lord 
 and His Mother are carried in procession during 
 great religious festivals, such as those of Holy 
 Week, Corpus Christi, or the patron saint of the 
 locality. 
 
 The curious fact about these hymns is that while 
 the music is Oriental, the name, saeta, is not. It 
 means " an arrow " (Lat. sagitta), and the Spanish 
 dictionary gives the other meaning, " a short hymn 
 to excite devotion," without explanation. I think 
 
SPRING 263 
 
 myself it must date from early Christian times, 
 before the Arab conquest, for one can hardly 
 suppose that the name was applied to these erotic 
 outbursts or the hymns themselves composed after 
 the reconquest of Seville. One has only to com- 
 pare the hymns sung elsewhere at that period with 
 the saetas, to see how widely they differ in feeling. 
 Here are two lines from a thirteenth-century hymn 
 by " Brother Henry of Pisa : 
 
 "Christ divine, Christ of mine, 
 Christ the Lord and King of all." 
 
 And here are two lines from a saeta to Our Lady, of 
 the traditional style improvised anew every year 
 all over Andalucia when the people turn out to see a 
 religious procession : 
 
 " Thou art the passion flower 
 That opens for thy Son." 
 
 Even more exotic than the words is the ecstasy 
 thrown into them by the singer. Suddenly in the 
 midst of the reverential silence which falls on the 
 laughing, chattering throng as the Santos are 
 carried past, rises the pathetic minor cadence with 
 which every saeta is prefaced, and as long as the 
 hymn lasts those around stand still and listen. 
 When it is over (it never extends beyond four or 
 five lines) the singer is vigorously applauded, and 
 the crowd again becomes mundane. The singer, 
 who for a brief moment seemed absolutely lost to 
 the things of earth, uplifted into unconsciousness of 
 everything save the object of his adoration, his 
 
2 6 4 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 head thrown back, his eyes fixed on the image, 
 and his whole body tense with pious emotion, comes 
 straight down to earth again, and smilingly accepts 
 the compliments of his friends. 
 
 The saeta is always a solo : not necessarily 
 because it is improvised, for there are a few tradi- 
 tional couplets that everybody knows, but because 
 no one attempts to sing a saeta unless and until the 
 spirit moves him. And, the effusion being so short, 
 it is all over before his hearers could catch and 
 join in the air, even if they wished to do so. 
 
 It is Dot the least curious feature of these saetas, 
 considering how infectious religious emotion has 
 always been, that they are never turned into 
 choruses by the crowd. Perhaps this is due to the 
 Arabic strain in the people, for there seems to be 
 nothing to indicate that the Moslem musicians com- 
 bined their instruments to produce orchestral effects, 
 and at the present time there is singularly little 
 feeling for concerted music of any kind in Spain 
 compared with other European countries. But the 
 sympathy of the crowd with the singer, and stil] 
 more with the subject of his song, is shown by the 
 breathless hush with which they follow every trill 
 and shake of the interminable recitative, so harsh 
 and unmusical to our ears, but so beautiful to theirs. 
 
 To turn to another branch of Spanish popular 
 music. The so-called Argentine tango is of course 
 perfectly familiar here, and the echoes which have 
 reached Spain of the animated discussion in the 
 English press as to its morality or the reverse have 
 
SPRING 265 
 
 caused a good deal of amusement ; for as every one 
 here knows, the propriety or otherwise of the tango 
 whether " Argentine " or Andalucian depends 
 entirely on the performer. It can be a graceful and 
 inoffensive drawing-room dance, or it can be made 
 an exhibition indecent enough to put a Solomon 
 islander to the blush. 
 
 Of its Oriental origin there can, of course, be 
 no doubt whatever, apart from the references in 
 Spanish or Spanish- Arabic history to its parent the 
 zambra, against which the Church more than once 
 fulminated, apparently with very little effect. As 
 for the improvised verses which in Andalucia 
 accompany the tango, they are as changeable as 
 are the movements of the dancer ; but among the 
 numerous printed couplets in my possession there is 
 not a word which could offend the most squeamish. 
 
 I first saw the tango danced by a handsome 
 gipsy at a public performance, and I am bound to 
 say I never witnessed anything less graceful or more 
 disgusting. That was in the early days of our 
 residence in Spain, and we had stopped to see the 
 end of the entertainment, unaware that everything 
 that might offend the proprieties is always reserved 
 to the last, and that the offence is likely to be con- 
 siderable in the final scenes of a late function. 
 
 It is easy to avoid these when one knows the 
 ropes, for theatrical shows are generally of the 
 " triple bill " variety, and ladies may attend the 
 pieces put on before eleven o'clock quite comfortably. 
 Popular comediettas, musical or otherwise, are given 
 from night to night at different hours, and varied 
 
266 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 to suit all tastes, being carefully Bowdlerised for the 
 earlier audiences. A play called Las Bribonas (The 
 Impostors female) had an immense success one 
 winter, and I went with a party to a performance 
 which began at ten. It was amusing and well acted, 
 but there was one scene which was decidedly vulgar, 
 although not actually indecent. I happened to 
 speak of it afterwards to two English friends who 
 had seen it on different occasions. One, who went 
 to an eight o'clock performance, found it food for 
 babes ; the other unfortunate lady, who in her 
 ignorance had gone to the latest one, was almost 
 too shocked to talk about it. The tango, it is 
 hardly necessary to say, was one of the chief features 
 in the doubtful scene in Las Bribonas. 
 
 The most amusing tango I ever saw was danced 
 at the wedding of a servant of ours, who had 
 politely fixed the day to suit the convenience of 
 her Senores, so anxious was she to have the great 
 event graced by our presence. 
 
 The mother was a well-to-do laundress who 
 rented the whole of the ground floor of a small 
 tenement house, and the guests overflowed from the 
 patio into the bridal sala and alcoba. The alcoba 
 or alcove is a recess curtained off from the sitting- 
 room and furnished with a bed, which, in the homes 
 of the poor, generally completely fills it. The same 
 arrangement also obtains in the houses of the rich, 
 and here it is usual for the mistress's bedroom to 
 open out of the drawing-room, with the doors 
 between thrown back and the curtains drawn aside 
 to display the elegant appointments of the marital 
 
SPRING 267 
 
 chamber. Although the other bedrooms are often 
 lacking in what we should call common necessaries, 
 this one is always furnished at least as handsomely 
 as its corresponding sola, forming a striking contrast 
 to the rest of the private rooms. The explanation 
 is that, when a child is born, the mother receives 
 her whole family, her husband's relatives, and all 
 her intimate friends in her bedroom when the 
 infant is twenty-four hours old ; thus this room 
 has to be at least as well furnished as the drawing- 
 room ; and the same custom prevails in all classes 
 of society. It never seems to occur to the doctors 
 or any one else that these social celebrations have 
 anything to do with the excessive mortality among 
 young wives and their babies, and I have often 
 been pressed to go and sit with some unfortunate 
 acquaintance, seriously ill after a bad confinement, 
 when I have called to inquire for her and her child, 
 on the ground that she had had only a few callers 
 that day and as she was very weak my company 
 would cheer her up. 
 
 The alcoba of Carolina, the laundress' daughter, 
 just held the bedstead and a table with her Santos 
 a chromo-lithograph of a Murillo Virgin, flanked 
 by a St. Anthony of Padua and a " San Juan de 
 Dios," before which were placed vases of artificial 
 flowers and, on this great occasion, a couple of 
 lighted candles. All the rest of the bedroom 
 furniture was in the sola. Here we were invited 
 by the bride to drink Manzanilla, and as the guests 
 of honour we (more fortunate than at Carmencita's 
 wedding) each had a glass to ourselves. It was 
 
268 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 all clean and bright and gay, and when we went 
 out into the patio Carolina's girl friends began 
 dancing seguidillas. 
 
 It was a pretty sight to see them dancing under 
 the February sky, with a brilliant moon irradiating 
 the old courtyard and blending its beams with those 
 of an electric bulb hanging from the crazy balcony, 
 which was all the light a generous landlord provided 
 for his twenty or thirty tenants. The thrumming 
 of the single guitar was completely drowned by 
 the hand-clapping and foot-stamping with which 
 the spectators accompanied the dancers, but we did 
 not miss it. Indeed, it would be a powerful instru- 
 ment that could have made itself heard above all 
 that rhythmical clatter. Personally I find the 
 palmas, as this hand-clapping is called, very trying, 
 for the noise is overwhelming ; but that is because 
 I have no Eastern blood in my veins. To Anda- 
 lucians of whatever class, noise of any kind seems 
 to be sheer delight. 
 
 Things gradually grew more lively as the slight 
 restraint caused by our arrival wore off, although 
 the guests were always perfectly well-mannered and 
 decorous ; and presently Carolina came to tell me 
 that Juanillo Carrera, a famous singer and dancer, 
 would perform the tango in her mother's kitchen, 
 if the Senores would care to see him. 
 
 " Why would he not dance in the patio ? " I 
 asked, for I was enjoying the picture made by the 
 moonlight. 
 
 " Oh, that would not suit the girls, who wanted 
 to go on dancing themselves. But if we would step 
 
SPRING 269 
 
 into the kitchen and would kindly not mind standing 
 for a few minutes, Juanillo would dance on the 
 table, so that the senora viuda (the widow lady) 
 who came with the Senora, and so much likes 
 Andalucian dancing, would see him to the best 
 advantage." 
 
 Juanillo was a thin pock-marked man of forty 
 or so, without a redeeming feature in his face save 
 a pair of brilliant deep-set black eyes. He wore a 
 striped cotton blouse and trousers with a black sash 
 wound many times round his waist, and bright 
 yellow boots with long pointed toes. I thought he 
 looked an unfortunate specimen of the Andalucian 
 dancer, but I soon found that appearances were 
 deceptive in this as in so many other cases. 
 
 The widow lady, although no longer in her first 
 youth, was tall, handsome, and very well dressed. 
 She had been for days past expressing her desire 
 to see this tango of which she had heard so much 
 before she came to Spain, and I am afraid she rather 
 hoped to be shocked by it. I saw the moment she 
 came in that Juanillo admired her, and heard him 
 remark to Carolina that she was guapisima, meaning 
 extremely attractive. Carolina rapped him over the 
 knuckles, unaware that I was watching, and told 
 him to behave himself and remember that the tango 
 was to be performed for distinguished ladies and 
 must have nothing of the corral (low-class tenement 
 house) about it ; but I rather wondered what was 
 going to happen. 
 
 He sprang on to the table with the graceful 
 agility of a cat, and began the tapping with one 
 
270 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 foot which prefaces all these dances, his eyes mean- 
 while fixed on the widow, who as yet had not 
 realised that she was his objective. Then suddenly, 
 regardless of the din of voices, palmas, and stamping 
 in the patio, he burst into song. 
 
 I could not catch all the words, but I heard 
 enough to grasp their tenor. The rascal was ad- 
 dressing a passionate declaration of love to the 
 American widow ; and now his cavernous eyes began 
 to light up, and even she, unconscious as she was 
 of the meaning of his song, realised that he was 
 looking very hard at her. And when he began 
 the dance not only she but every one else in the 
 room was made fully aware that the entire perform- 
 ance was wholly and solely addressed to her. I 
 never saw a cleverer pantomime of devotion, jealousy, 
 scorn, pride, humility, and final despair than the 
 impudent scamp contrived to act by his movements 
 in this tango. And all without moving from the 
 middle of the kitchen-table on which he danced 
 indeed, if he had not kept to the dead centre of it 
 he would inevitably have come down with a crash, 
 for it did not measure over three feet any way. 
 The whole thing was dramatic to a degree : one's 
 attention was caught at the outset by the expression 
 of his eyes, and he never allowed his hold on us 
 to relax for an instant. His ugly face, shabby 
 dress, and hideous yellow boots all fell into the 
 picture, which was none the less effective because 
 the only light was a flaring petroleum lamp held 
 up by the bridegroom, whose delight in his friend's 
 performance caused him to wave it about dangerously 
 
SPRING 271 
 
 in his efforts to keep it, like the lime-light at a 
 theatre, always on the dancer's face. 
 
 " I never saw anything so horrible in my life," 
 murmured the widow in my ear when the tango 
 came to an end. " Do let us go ; I am quite 
 frightened ! The man looks as if he could commit 
 a murder. No more tangos for me, thank you ! I 
 felt as if he might stick a knife into me at any 
 moment." 
 
 She was really frightened, and, humour not being 
 her strong point, I felt that it would be useless to 
 try to make her see the joke of it. Dramatic ex- 
 pression comes naturally to the Andalucian, and I 
 knew that Juanillo had taken her as the heroine of 
 his pantomime simply because she was the most 
 noticeable member of our party, expecting her to be 
 as gratified as a Spanish Senorita would have been at 
 the compliment. During the remainder of her stay 
 the lady ceased from troubling me with demands to 
 be taken to see the local dances ; but when her 
 nerves had recovered from the shock it became 
 evident that not the least pleasing of her recollec- 
 tions of Spain would be the little comedy of admira- 
 tion played by Juanillo. In that version of the 
 tango there was nothing to bring the blush of shame 
 to the cheek of modesty, but I imagine that it is not 
 quite what is danced in London or Paris. 
 
 Another dance with its accompanying song, 
 which is known, at any rate by repute, outside 
 Spain, is the Jota of Aragon, the music of which 
 does not seem to be of Oriental origin. No one 
 
272 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 attempts to decide when it first came into being, but 
 the probability is that, like the "war dance" of the 
 Basques, it dates from prehistoric times, when 
 women were won not by favour but by force. Be 
 this as it may, the Jota now is the hymn of Aragon 
 as well as her national dance, and has the same 
 extraordinary religious influence over the Aragonese 
 as the saeta has over the Andalucians. Fully to 
 appreciate its swing and dash one must hear it sung 
 by a native of the province, but wherever and by 
 whomsoever performed it sets the blood dancing 
 when the refrain bursts out 
 
 " A la jota, jota, (Sing to the jota, 
 
 Que viva AragSn Long live Arag6n 
 
 Y la Pilarica And the Pilarica 
 
 De mi coraz6n" Of my heart.) 
 
 The patron saint of Zaragoza, the capital of 
 Arag6n, is Our Lady of the Pillar (Nuestra Senora 
 del Pildr), who is said to have come down from 
 heaven when St. James was converting Spain, to 
 encourage him in his holy labours. She sat, so the 
 story goes, on a pillar while he said Mass before 
 her, and he, as a good saint should, founded the 
 Cathedral of Zaragoza on that spot, with the pillar 
 of Our Lady as its shrine. 
 
 Zaragoza has two Cathedrals, one dedicated to 
 N. S. del Pilar, and the other to Our Lord of the 
 Seo (Aragonese for a cathedral church). The people 
 will assure you that that of the Pilar is much the 
 older of the two, regardless of their architectural 
 styles, and it is quite possible that the black image 
 
SPRING 273 
 
 of Our Lady is older than anything in the Seo, 
 although when it comes to relics of the Mozarabic 
 Church in Spain it is never wise to dogmatise about 
 dates. Indeed, there are cases in which popular 
 tradition has received material confirmation from 
 unexpected sources long after it had been pro- 
 nounced mere fantasy by the learned. The Cathe- 
 dral of the Pilar, or as her adoring Aragonese love 
 to call her, the Pilarica, is quite modern, whereas 
 parts of the Seo date from before the twelfth century. 
 But the actual image of Our Lady of the Pillar, with 
 the column on which it stands, are of immemorial 
 antiquity. The column had been so worn away by 
 the kisses of the faithful that it is now protected by 
 a case of silver and crystal. One may imagine the 
 many centuries of devotion which must have gone 
 by ere a stone could be thus impressed by the touch 
 of human lips alone. 
 
 A singular performance takes place in Zaragoza 
 every year on the 12th of October, the festival of 
 the Pilarica, in which certain strange figures called 
 gigantes y cabezudos take a prominent part. The 
 giants represent a man, a woman, and a negro (not 
 a Moor), while the big-heads (cabezudos), worn by 
 men of ordinary height, seem to have no special 
 meaning. I have tried in vain to discover the origin 
 of this festival. It must date from before the 
 reconquest of Zaragoza (which took place about 1 120), 
 for the negro would certainly have been a Moor had 
 it been introduced after Zaragoza was incorporated 
 with the dominions of the King of Aragon, but no 
 convincing record exists. A replica of the Pilarica 
 18 
 
274 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 is borne through the streets, and the gorgeous pro- 
 cession of the Cathedral Chapter, the military, civil, 
 and municipal authorities, all in their gala dress, 
 the town band, and the devout of both sexes, carry- 
 ing candles, is wound up by these singular survivals 
 of some forgotten and probably pagan festivity. 
 One of the fascinations of Spain is this intimate 
 connection between the present and the past, with 
 its picturesque and quite unintelligible jumble of the 
 sacred and profane. 
 
 It is only natural that the love of the Pilarica, 
 which is so bound up with the religion of the 
 Aragonese, should colour every action of their daily 
 life ; and an incident that took place during the war 
 in Morocco in 1909 is a good illustration of this. 
 
 The Aragonese are good fighting men, and make 
 excellent soldiers, although it is true that the same 
 may be said of all the Spaniards. But there are 
 times in every war when the martial spirit droops 
 before human pain and the sorrow of seeing comrades 
 cut down in the flower of their youth. Such a day 
 came to the Spanish troops at Melilla when the 
 fatal attack upon the mountain of Gurugu was 
 made, to which I have already referred in connection 
 with mourning customs. 
 
 So little was heard about it in England at the 
 time, owing to the rigorous censorship, that I may 
 be excused for briefly relating what I heard from 
 one of those engaged in it, who was himself severely 
 wounded. 
 
 When the trouble with Morocco began, the 
 Spanish Government made the common mistake of 
 
SPRING 275 
 
 underestimating the strength of the enemy. They 
 had to deal with scattered tribes, some of them 
 barbarians of the most savage description, others 
 gentle, comparatively civilised, and quite ready to 
 take advantage of the commercial and educational 
 facilities afforded by contact with European nations. 
 Although they have no connection with the 
 Pilarica and the Jota of Aragon, it may be of interest 
 to tell two little stories which illustrate the wide 
 difference between these two classes of Moors, for 
 the facts speak for themselves. 
 
 In the summer of 1913 a Spanish gun-boat, the 
 General Concha, went ashore in a fog on the Moorish 
 coast, and a hostile tribe attacked the wreck. They 
 shot down some of the sailors who tried to swim 
 ashore, and after a plucky defence led by a junior 
 officer, the captain and the senior lieutenant having 
 been killed by the first volley, they got on board, 
 looted the vessel, and took the survivors prisoners. 
 To make matters worse, they had begun by pre- 
 tending that they belonged to a friendly tribe, and 
 thus had managed to get within close range of the 
 boat without opposition, opened fire from the cliffs 
 above, and shot down the two officers and several 
 men before the crew could get the guns to work. 
 
 Naturally the gravest fears were entertained for 
 the fate of the prisoners, but two or three weeks 
 later it became known that through the influence of 
 a friendly chief they had been taken to the house of 
 one of his friends, where they were well treated and 
 eventually aided to escape to a small boat hidden 
 on the beach a few miles from their prison. The 
 
276 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 friendly Moors, besides guiding them to the boat, 
 helped to row them out to a Spanish man-of-war 
 which had been sent to bombard the coast villages. 
 Not only had they been provided with the necessaries 
 of life as long as they remained with the friendly 
 Moors, but the women had done their best to cure 
 the wounded, and thanks to them, only one a case 
 for amputation failed to recover. And the Moors 
 carried those who were unable to walk some twelve 
 miles across the enemy's country to the boat, 
 although they well knew that there would be short 
 shrift for them and for the prisoners were the flight 
 discovered. 
 
 So much for the "civilised" Moors. Now for 
 the reverse of the medal. 
 
 A Spanish officer told me that he had himself 
 seen the following incident, which was only one out 
 of many that occurred during the eight years that 
 he was quartered at Ceuta, whence in times of peace 
 his work took him to various parts of the country. 
 
 The father of the present Sultan, who was 
 opposed to any sort of change in his methods of 
 government, used to make an annual " royal pro- 
 gress " from Fez to Morocco, and picked troops went 
 before him to remove any possible source of danger 
 to the monarch. He paid these men a dollar for a 
 live prisoner and two for a dead one, so, said my 
 friend, " you may imagine that more were brought 
 in dead than alive." Any one who could be even 
 remotely suspected of disaffection was promptly 
 beheaded and his property confiscated. In a word, 
 the " royal progress " was in fact a murderous raid, 
 
SPRING 277 
 
 the loot of which paid for the upkeep of the troops 
 and saved some collecting of extra taxes. 
 
 On one occasion my friend, in his official capacity, 
 met the Sultan at a place where two hundred 
 prisoners were marshalled in a row, each with a 
 wooden collar round his neck, tied with a rope to 
 that of the next man. As the Sultan rode up a 
 poor woman flung herself on the ground before him, 
 and clasped his horse's knees with such force that it 
 could not move, crying that her son who was among 
 the prisoners was innocent, and imploring that the 
 collar be taken off his neck. The Sultan turned to 
 the two negro executioners who accompanied him 
 everywhere. 
 
 "Take off her son's collar," he said, "and his 
 head with it, and give them to the woman." 
 
 And this was done on the spot. 
 
 " You will understand," said the officer who told 
 me the story, " why we who have seen such things 
 feel that we cannot abandon our civilising mission 
 in Morocco, although it may be years before we get 
 any material return for the blood and money it is 
 costing us now. But," he went on to say, " every 
 year we are making more friends among the tribes, 
 and since 1909 we have been getting on very hope- 
 fully with our Spanish-Arabic schools and hospitals 
 and colleges of agriculture and commerce, while our 
 native troops are already the pride of our army in 
 Morocco." 
 
 But to return to the Jota, after this long digres- 
 sion. In the summer of 1909 things were going 
 very badly indeed, and the Government, true to the 
 
278 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 time-honoured Spanish rule of directing a distant 
 war from the arm-chairs of Ministerial offices in 
 Madrid, ordered the General in command to make 
 a frontal attack on the Gurugii, the peak which 
 towers over Melilla. This was intended partly to 
 dislodge, once for all, the hornet's nest of sharp- 
 shooters who were worrying the Spanish garrison, 
 but mainly to silence by a brilliant victory the 
 growing murmurs of the nation against a campaign 
 which popular orators declared to have been begun 
 in the interest of a few wealthy capitalists owning 
 valuable mines in the immediate neighbourhood of 
 Melilla. 
 
 The General, Marina, a good officer and able 
 strategist, protested in vain. The orders were ex- 
 plicit. Public opinion was dangerously excited, and 
 a brilliant and decisive action had to be fought at 
 once. The attack was accordingly attempted, with 
 the result that one of the infantry regiments was 
 caught in an ambush, and a whole battalion of the 
 Cazadores de las Navas was practically wiped out. 
 Considerably over a thousand officers and men of 
 that and other regiments fell in the Wolfs Gorge of 
 the Gurugii, and so complete was the defeat that for 
 three months the bodies of those martyrs to duty 
 and a preposterous governmental system could not 
 be recovered. 
 
 On the night of the catastrophe the Colonel of 
 the Cazadores went to offer what cheer he could to 
 the few survivors of his ill-fated regiment. Heart- 
 broken himself, he found no words to say to the 
 heart-broken men who hardly had spirit enough to 
 
SPRING 279 
 
 stand up and salute him half their comrades dead, 
 their soldierly pride humbled, their demoralisation 
 seemingly beyond repair. But as he stood among 
 them, silent and grief-stricken as themselves, he saw 
 that one of the men, hardly conscious what he was 
 doing, had picked up his guitar and was lightly 
 touching the strings. It must here be explained 
 that although the Cazadores de las Navas is a 
 Catalan regiment, it is mostly recruited in Aragon. 
 "A gleam of hope entered my heart," said the 
 Colonel, when many days after he related what had 
 taken place. " If only he would play loud enough 
 to be heard he would save us ; I know what their 
 music means to the men of Aragon. I dared not 
 speak, I was so afraid of putting him off, for if he 
 had known I was there he would have dropped the 
 guitar to stand at attention. But he went on, a 
 little louder and a little louder, and another man 
 took up the air, and then another, until at last all 
 the regiment all that was left of it followed suit, 
 and all began singing 
 
 "'La Virgen del Pildr dice 
 due no quiere moros ni moras, 
 Que quiere ser capitana 
 De la tropa aragonesa.' 1 
 
 " Very softly they sang at first, as if it were a 
 dirge for their dead friends, but when they came to 
 
 J The Virgin of the Pillar says 
 That she does not like Moors, 
 That she will be the captain 
 Of the Aragonese soldiers." 
 
2 8o MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 the chorus their voices rang out as bravely and 
 gaily as if all were well with us 
 
 " ' A la jota, jota, 
 Que viva Arag6n, 
 T la Pilarica 
 De mi corazdn.' 
 
 "Then," said the Colonel, "I quietly slipped 
 away. They no longer needed consolation from me, 
 for they remembered that, whatever they had lost, 
 they still had the Pilarica, the beloved of all hearts." 
 
 When the Gurugti was finally taken, an English 
 newspaper correspondent commented on the extra- 
 ordinary lightness of heart and irresponsible gaiety 
 of these Spanish soldiers, saying that he had actually 
 seen one of them carrying a guitar under his arm as 
 he scrambled up the precipitous slopes that had been 
 the scene of disaster three months earlier. The news- 
 paper man jumped too hastily to his conclusion, for 
 which, however, he may be forgiven, for he could 
 hardly know what the Jota, played on the guitar, 
 may mean to the men of Aragon. 
 
THE COLUMBUS MONUMENT. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Holy Week in Seville What not to see The Blessing of the 
 Palms Cathedral dignitaries The Cardinal and the 
 children The Dean's smile The Cathedral steps The 
 Entry into Jerusalem Light in dark places Mozarabic 
 ritual The Display of the Banner Our Lady of the Old 
 Time Mozarabic art The Banner of the Menestrales A 
 portrait of San Fernando The Roman eagles The Entomb- 
 ment The silver shrine and its golden key Wheeled 
 traffic forbidden Brotherhoods, rich and poor. 
 
 I SUPPOSE My Spanish Year would be incomplete 
 without a chapter about the Holy Week ceremonies 
 and the Seville Fair ; but so much has already been 
 written on these subjects from the tourist's point 
 of view that, if I am to say anything about them, 
 I must try to describe some characteristic features 
 which are apt to pass more or less unnoticed. 
 
 Every one knows that during Holy Week 
 numerous Brotherhoods and Guilds pervade the 
 streets of Seville and other Andalucian towns in 
 procession, the original intention of which was to 
 show images representing events in the Passion of 
 Our Lord, in order to bring home to the illiterate 
 people the tragedy of the Crucifixion. And every 
 one who sees these processions in Seville remarks 
 on the artistic merit of many of the images, the 
 magnificent dresses, and the picturesque effects pro- 
 
 a8i 
 
282 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 duced in the streets and in the Cathedral by the 
 innumerable candles flickering round the platforms 
 on which the images are borne. 
 
 These are the common-places of Holy Week in 
 Seville. They catch the eye of every visitor who 
 has the slightest knowledge of or feeling for art ; 
 but long before the week is out, those who come 
 merely to see something new are sick to death 
 of the eternal repetition of the same thing the 
 " Brothers " or the " Nazarenes " in their voluminous 
 robes and tall peaked hoods, the brass bands, the 
 Civil Guard, the first paso draped with velvet or 
 satin, and surrounded with silver candelabra and 
 vases of flowers, with an image of Our Lord in the 
 centre ; more Brothers or Nazarenes, more music, 
 more Civil Guards, and then the paso of Our Lady, 
 which closes every procession save some which were 
 instituted before the Immaculate Conception of the 
 Virgin became a dogma of the Roman Church. 
 
 When one has seen between twenty and thirty 
 of the pasos, all creeping along at a snail's pace, 
 with a pause every few yards for the bearers to rest 
 and the people to admire, one does begin to get a 
 thought weary of certain features in them. But we 
 who know Seville have learnt what to see and what 
 to avoid, and we are careful not to exhaust ourselves 
 physically and mentally by attempting to watch the 
 slow progress of a dozen pasos past the same point on 
 the same day, for indeed the processions are but one 
 feature in the manifold ceremonies of Holy Week, 
 and if you set about it the right way you may vary 
 your emotions almost every hour of the day. 
 
SPRING 283 
 
 Therefore I, who have often felt sorry to see my 
 compatriots enduring the maximum of fatigue to see 
 the minimum of what is most interesting in these 
 curious survivals of the early Church, will try to 
 indicate a few incidents in the long programme of 
 ecclesiastical ceremonies which do not figure in the 
 official account of what are incongruously described 
 as las fiestas de Semana santa. 
 
 The Blessing of the Palms on Palm Sunday is 
 one of the most beautiful of all the Cathedral 
 ceremonies. I go early not later than 8 a.m., 
 and as much earlier as I find convenient, and when 
 the early Mass is over I go across to the Columbus 
 monument in front of the south door, and there get 
 a perfect view of the procession on its stately march 
 down the long aisle to the door of San Miguel. 
 First goes the bearer of the Cathedral cross, its 
 brass gleaming above the curious round frame here 
 used to drape the parish crosses with the ritual 
 colour for the day. Then follow the minor clergy in 
 black soutanes and stiffly starched rochets with flow- 
 ing sleeves ; the censer-bearers in beautiful dalmatics 
 of old brocade, swinging chased silver censers worthy 
 of a place in a museum ; the choir boys in scarlet 
 soutanes and white rochets ; the beneficed clergy 
 recently granted, as a special favour to the Cardinal- 
 ate of Seville, permission to wear red silk linings to 
 their black silk cloaks (capa cordl) ; the portly 
 canons in purple silk, the officiant and his servers 
 in magnificent embroidered vestments centuries old, 
 and then, supported by the Dean and the Arch-priest 
 of the diocese, the Cardinal- Archbishop. 
 
284 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 He is already very stout although hardly past 
 middle life, but his unwieldy figure is counter- 
 balanced by a strong face with a powerful jaw and 
 friendly humorous grey eyes, and he looks magnifi- 
 cent in his white fur hood and robe of scarlet silk, 
 with a train four yards long, borne behind him by 
 two of the Seises, whose history has already been 
 related. He has only been here four years, and 
 came after a long interregnum due to two 
 sudden deaths in the episcopate, but the way in 
 which he has stirred up the diocese is surprising. 
 The Cathedral music, from being the worst, now 
 ranks among the best in Spain, the services begin 
 punctually instead of at any hour that happened to 
 be convenient, and above all, he has put a stop to 
 the illicit sale by parish priests, monks, and nuns of 
 objects of artistic value belonging to their churches. 
 Formerly a brisk trade was carried on in such, but 
 our energetic Cardinal has had every picture, carv- 
 ing, and church ornament in his diocose inventoried, 
 and now not so much as a painted tile can be 
 touched without a licence from the palace. 
 
 Yet he is a kindly man, this vigorous prelate. 
 I once followed in his train at a charitable affair in 
 which I had the privilege of presenting to him some 
 twenty small children of the working class whom I 
 had put into fancy dress, to their and my own great 
 enjoyment. And for every child the Cardinal, as 
 he gave them his ring to kiss, had a smile and a 
 kind and a witty remark on their costume or the 
 historical character it represented ; so that all the 
 little faces beamed behind him as he made his progress 
 
SPRING 285 
 
 round the hall where they stood to attention. Kiss- 
 ing episcopal rings is hardly in my line, but Cardinal 
 Almaraz's kindness to the children always makes me 
 remember my share in that ceremony with pleasure. 
 
 Next in gorgeousness of vestment to the Cardinal 
 comes the Dean, a most courteous gentleman not 
 much over forty, and blessed, like his Bishop, with a 
 strong sense of humour. On one memorable Palm 
 Sunday, as the procession passed the Columbus 
 monument, the Dean caught sight of me standing 
 there with a tall English girl, whose broken Castilian 
 he had been helping out at a dinner party at our 
 house a few weeks before, and his eyes began to 
 twinkle and his fingers instinctively went up to give 
 us an Andalucian salute. He recovered his gravity 
 in an instant, and with great presence of mind con- 
 verted his salute into a motion which the public 
 would take for a blessing. But the deed had been 
 done. When next we met outside the Cathedral we 
 thanked him for his " blessing," and now he can 
 never look at us in the crowd during a procession with- 
 out a twinkle in his eyes and a visible compression of 
 his lips, lest he should indecorously smile at us again. 
 
 The attitude of a Spanish congregation during 
 the Mass is remarkably reverent compared with the 
 behaviour in many foreign Cathedrals : one really 
 finds here an atmosphere of sincere devotion. But 
 the processions are regarded from a different stand- 
 point. The dignitaries there are in the midst of the 
 crowd, and the crowd, although perfectly respectful, 
 does its best to win a sign of recognition from its 
 friends and acquaintances in the long lines of clergy, 
 
286 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 choir-men, and monocillos (little monkeys), as the 
 singing-boys are familiarly called. 
 
 The door of San Miguel opposite to the College, 
 or cloister of that name, in which dwelt all the 
 Mozarabic priests who still survived when San 
 Fernando entered Seville is thrown wide open as 
 the procession approaches, and a wonderful shimmer- 
 ing effect of light and shade is produced when the 
 waving palms borne by the clergy move out from 
 the dimness of the Cathedral into the blazing sun- 
 shine of the street. But I never follow the palms ; 
 one only gets lost in the crowd, and misses all the 
 best of the picture. As soon as the last gleam of the 
 Cardinal's scarlet disappears through the door, I turn 
 round and go to meet the procession on its way back. 
 
 One has time to go out by the door of the Bells 
 (campanulas), where formerly bells were rung to 
 call loiterers to Mass, and walk round to that of los 
 Palos so-called because it once opened on to a 
 grove of trees (poles, palos, now long cut down) 
 getting a good view of the procession as it comes 
 round outside the Orange Court on the broad terrace 
 raised by six steps above the level of the road. This 
 terrace is a relic of the half-century during which 
 the ancient Visigothic Cathedral was converted to 
 Moslem uses. Every Mozarabic church that was 
 used as a mosque has a raised terrace on one or 
 more sides, like that of the mosque of Cordova. It 
 was originally intended to accommodate the over- 
 flowing congregations during Ramadan, but after 
 the reconquest the Christians allowed it to degener- 
 ate into a meeting-place for merchants to transact 
 
SPRING 287 
 
 business, like the money-changers in the Temple, 
 until the scandal became too great, and the Casa 
 Lonja (now containing the archives of the Indies) 
 was built in the seventeenth century. The terrace 
 forms a fine vantage-ground for those who want to 
 see the Holy Week processions, the recent widening 
 of the Calle Canovas del Castillo giving an uninter- 
 rupted view from the door of San Miguel, where they 
 enter the Cathedral, right away to the Town Hall. 
 
 Just as the Palm Sunday procession reaches the 
 door of the Palos it is closed, and the whole proces- 
 sion comes to a stop, while the Master of the 
 Cathedral Ceremonies raps on it three times. This, 
 with the palms and olive branches strewed before 
 the Cardinal, represents the entry of Our Lord into 
 Jerusalem. A verse is intoned and then in the 
 midst of a dead silence the doors slowly open, and 
 the many -coloured procession with its waving palms 
 fades into the twilight within, while women and 
 children try to secure an olive twig, for they, like 
 the palms, are blessed. A palm branch hung on the 
 balcony protects the house from lightning, and the 
 olive branch brings peace and contentment if carried 
 home and placed before your " Saints." 
 
 Palm Sunday evening is devoted to the first of 
 the street processions. These are late ones, reaching 
 the stands of reserved seats in front of the Town 
 Hall when night is falling. It is wise to get one's 
 first impressions from the Sunday evening pasos 
 after their candles are lighted, so that the images of 
 the Passion and of Our Lady convey the beautiful 
 symbolical idea of carrying with them light into 
 
288 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 dark places. Formerly all the street lamps were 
 extinguished on the line of march, so that the way 
 of the people was literally lighted by their " Saints " ; 
 but that was a long time ago, and now we can only 
 imagine how impressive the old custom was, from 
 the glow that floods the street of Sierpes before the 
 procession itself comes into sight. 
 
 It is impossible to compress into a single chapter 
 all the interesting and beautiful ceremonies of Holy 
 Week in this Cathedral, apart from their historic 
 aspect. Seville does not retain the actual Mozarabic 
 or Visigothic ritual in any of her chapels, as does 
 Toledo, for when San Fernando got here the Popes 
 for over a century and a half had been trying to 
 suppress the rite of the Church, which from force of 
 circumstances had been so long cut off from and 
 almost independent of Kome, and therefore the rite 
 was not retained after the reconquest. But it is 
 clear that the sainted king permitted the faithful 
 Mozarabic priests of the College of San Miguel to 
 take a leading part in the offices of the transformed 
 mosque when it once more became the Cathedral of 
 Seville, for the Oriental survivals we see to-day could 
 never have been introduced in the middle of the thir- 
 teenth century by priests and bishops from Castile. 
 
 Many such survivals are mere details, more 
 interesting to ecclesiastical archaeologists than to 
 laymen. But others are so striking that no visitor 
 of intelligence should miss them. 
 
 One of these is the so-called " Rending of the 
 White Veil " after the nine o'clock Mass on the Wed- 
 nesday of Holy Week. This is represented by drawing 
 
SPRING 289 
 
 apart immense curtains of beautiful old white tafe- 
 tdn, a fine soft silk of the kind worn by Moslem 
 princes when Seville was celebrated for her manu- 
 facture of velvets, brocades, and satins, all of which 
 were lined with this filmy tafetdn. No one knows 
 exactly why the White Veil is rent on this day, 
 though I am told that it is another heritage from 
 the Mozarabs. It is torn from the rod on which it 
 hangs, so that when divided one curtain falls in a 
 heap on either side of the altar, whence they are 
 drawn into the sacristy by the Seises. 
 
 At 3.30 on Tuesday in Holy Week we have 
 what is known as the Display of the Banner, another 
 ceremony foreign to the ritual of Rome. Two priests 
 kneel on the altar steps, while a third waves over 
 them a voluminous banner of the same soft gauzy 
 tafetdn as the White Veil. The banner is of a dark 
 green, so dark as to appear black in the dim Cathedral, 
 where all the painted windows are shrouded with 
 black curtains during this season of penitence. 
 Formerly the two priests used to prostrate them- 
 selves ; now they only kneel. No one can explain the 
 ceremony, which takes place four times in all, from the 
 eve of Passion Sunday to Holy Tuesday, but it is 
 supposed to have some connection with the Mozarabic 
 Virgen de la Antigua, a twelfth-century fresco in the 
 chapel of that name, whose history is worth relating. 
 
 When the Almohade Moors took Seville and 
 appropriated the old Gothic Cathedral for their new 
 mosque, this mural painting of Our Lady was left in 
 its place. Alfonso x. in his Cdntigas de la Virgen 
 Maria (Hymns of the Virgin) says that more than 
 19 
 
290 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 once the fanatic Almohades wished to destroy the 
 image, but such a glory shone from it as to dazzle 
 their eyes and they retreated, afraid to touch it. 
 The truth probably was that the Almohade ruler, 
 who was dependent on Sevillian artists for his 
 alterations and additions to his mosque and his 
 Alcazar, 1 did not venture to risk a revolt among his 
 Mozarab subjects, for the Christian community was 
 always more numerous here than anywhere else in 
 Moslem Spain. Therefore, although he appropriated 
 or perhaps bought the old Cathedral, as Abderrah- 
 man i. had done with that of St. Vincent in Cordova, 
 he left this venerated image and its chapel to the 
 Christians, who made an entrance to it from the 
 street and closed the former door, which otherwise 
 would communicate with the mosque. 
 
 It is related in the same Cdntigas that when 
 San Fernando was besieging Seville, he was mir- 
 aculously admitted one night through the Jerez 
 gate the nearest to the Cathedral into the Chapel 
 of N'ra Senora de la Antigua (Our Lady of the Old 
 Time), and being discovered there by the Moors he 
 hardly escaped with his life. Tradition suggests that 
 Our Lady of the Old Time was walled up after this 
 by the Moslems, probably from indignation at what 
 must have seemed to them treachery on the part of the 
 Mozarabs within the walls, for they alone could have 
 admitted the Christian king into their own chapel. 
 The city surrendered not many weeks later, and 
 there is at present nothing to show when the picture 
 was uncovered. But reference is made to it from 
 1 Seville under Islam was always noted for its fine buildings. 
 
SPRING 291 
 
 the thirteenth century onwards, and my own im- 
 pression is that the chapel was reopened immediately, 
 for there had certainly not been time to forget its 
 situation, as happened elsewhere in the case of 
 images buried to save them from desecration. 
 
 In the sixteenth century the fresco was removed 
 from the wall on which it was painted to the altar 
 of the present chapel, which had been built to 
 receive it. It was at that time unfortunately 
 "restored," "renovated," and "beautified" as well 
 as removed, as a contemporary account tells us, and 
 much of its mediaeval character was thus lost. But 
 the Child still has the characteristic round bullet 
 head with stiff black curls, which is seen in all the 
 Mozarab work in this region, and is in every case so 
 curiously inferior in technique to that of the Mother 
 that one can only accept it as a type, venerated and 
 copied from one generation to another from primitive 
 times. The Virgin, on the other hand, as in all the 
 work of the twelfth century, is beautiful in technique 
 as well as in feature, and her strange drapery with its 
 stiff diagonal folds is singularly reminiscent of the 
 drapery of some of the Egypto-Tartessian figures 
 found in the Cerro de los Santos several years ago, 
 and now in the Archaeological Museum at Madrid. 
 
 Long and bitter have been the quarrels of local 
 art critics over the period and origin of this fresco, 
 but once the history of the Christians of Seville 
 under Islam has been made clear, all combines to 
 show that Our Lady of the Old Time was here when 
 San Fernando came, and that the image was wor- 
 shipped by the Mozarabs throughout the Almohade 
 
292 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 occupation. And in the light of present knowledge 
 it seems highly probable that the Display of the 
 Banner is a reminiscence of some act of humiliation 
 imposed on the faithful priests who, even after their 
 last Bishop fled in 1239, still lived in the Cloister 
 of San Miguel and continued to exercise the rites 
 of their religion. The Moors may perhaps have made 
 the ceremony a condition of the retention by the 
 Christians of their chapel within the precincts of the 
 mosque ; and it is by no means impossible that some- 
 thing conclusive on the subject may come to light one 
 day, when the mass of unexamined documents in the 
 Cathedral archives are at length sorted and read. 
 
 Though so little is known about it as yet, the 
 interest of this curious Display of the Banner is 
 seen to be great when one realises that it is a direct 
 link with the Moslem dominion in Seville, taking 
 us back six centuries to the time when the splendid 
 ritual which now delights the eyes and ears of 
 thousands was represented in this ancient basilica 
 by a few poor priests who said Mass in the Chapel 
 of La Antigua, perhaps at the risk of their lives. 
 
 Most of the remaining ceremonies of Holy Week 
 are the same as in Rome and elsewhere, save in 
 minor details which need not be described here. 
 But the processions in the streets date from the thir- 
 teenth century, and we can hardly doubt that they 
 too have survived from the early Christian Church. 
 
 San Fernando himself gave a banner with his 
 portrait embroidered on it to the Brotherhood of 
 the Menestrales (Mechanics : the Guild was of 
 working tailors) ; and that too must have existed 
 
SPRING 293 
 
 before the reconquest, for the King died only four 
 years later, and we are not told that he founded the 
 Brotherhood in the interval. Indeed, if he had done 
 so it would have been very carefully recorded in 
 their annals, as was his gift of the banner. They, 
 as the oldest of the Brotherhoods and favoured by 
 the King, were given the privilege of watching 
 beside his coffin when he died, and they maintained 
 their right to this place of honour on the anniversary 
 of his death until their Guild dissolved for lack of 
 funds not many years since. Another and richer 
 Guild tried to oust them two or three centuries 
 ago, but the Menestrales went to law and won their 
 case. The banner given by San Fernando now 
 hangs in a glass case in the church of St. Isidore. 
 Very little is left of the portrait, and what little 
 there is was hidden in the sixteenth century by an 
 embroidered head of Charles v. which was sewn 
 over it. This was removed for examination a few 
 years ago, and the thirteenth-century portrait was 
 found beneath. Although, like the banner of San 
 Fernando in the Town Hall, it has been so much 
 repaired and restored that very little of the original 
 remains, enough can be seen to convince any expert 
 in embroidery that it is Mozarabic work of the 
 period in question. 
 
 The strongest evidence of the early origin of the 
 Brotherhoods lies in the fact that the Roman eagles 
 and a standard with S.P.Q.R. are borne in advance 
 of every paso, while " Roman soldiers " ride after 
 some few of them. These cannot have been "put 
 on the stage" in the thirteenth century, for 
 
294 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 illuminated MSS. of that period, including the ex- 
 ceedingly valuable contemporary works of Alfonso x., 
 all depict sacred characters in the costumes of the 
 day. Nor were they introduced in the fourteenth 
 century, for there is a missal of that date in which 
 the Roman soldiers at the Crucifixion wear the 
 dress of the fighting-men of Alfonso XL, and one of 
 the men casting lots for the coat of Our Lord is 
 dressed in parti-coloured hose with cap and bells, 
 like a court jester. 
 
 The consecration of the Holy Oils, the great 
 procession with the Host to the "Monument" 
 erected at the west end of the Cathedral (over the 
 tomb of the Columbus family), the washing of the 
 feet of twelve poor men by the Cardinal-Archbishop 
 in the Cathedral, the dinner given to them in the 
 Archbishop's palace, the Miserere on the night of 
 Holy Thursday, the Adoration of the Cross, when 
 the clergy and the Dean and Chapter walk barefoot 
 round the nave, the consecration of the Paschal 
 candle, which weighs about 70 lb., and the Rending 
 of the Black Veil, when the Host is returned to the 
 high altar all these things are described in the 
 programmes hawked about the streets, and only 
 one of them calls for notice here. 
 
 This is the ceremony of Holy Thursday, when the 
 Host is taken to the " Monument," symbolising the 
 burial of Our Lord. In silence the pyx is removed, 
 its shrine is left open, and the cloth is dishevelled 
 in careless folds across the altar, to show that the 
 sacred elements are gone from it. The procession, 
 all clad in funeral vestments, moves slowly and 
 
SPRING 295 
 
 silently down the nave to the west end, where the 
 sixteenth-century " Monument " towers almost to 
 the roof, its white and gold columns supporting life- 
 sized saints and angels, while beneath its tall dome 
 gleams the great silver Custodia in which the Host 
 is to lie until the day of Kesurrection. This shrine, 
 which is ten feet high, is one of the master-pieces 
 of that master of Spanish silversmiths, Juan de 
 Arphe, and the idea of its representing the tomb of 
 Christ is one more among many anomalies. The 
 golden pyx is placed in the Custodia, the doors are 
 closed and locked with a golden key, and the key 
 is handed to the Civil Governor, who hangs it on 
 a gold chain round his neck. It will remain in his 
 keeping until Easter Eve, because, so we are told, 
 the body of Christ was laid in unconsecrated ground 
 after the Crucifixion ; and therefore, while the Host 
 is within the tomb, the Chapter transfers the care of 
 it to the lay authority. 
 
 During Holy Thursday and Good Friday the 
 lights on the "Monument" are kept burning day 
 and night. Then on the Saturday morning the 
 gold key is returned to the priests, the Custodia is 
 opened, and the Host is taken out and carried in 
 procession back to the altar. And the moment the 
 pyx is replaced in the shrine the organ peals out, all 
 the bells are rung, and guns are fired. 
 
 It will be noticed that the Church in Seville 
 anticipates both the Crucifixion and the Kesurrection 
 by a day, celebrating the former on Thursday and 
 the latter on Saturday. The Sevillian divines 
 profess to explain this, but I am bound to say I 
 
296 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 could never understand their explanation, which 
 connects it in some way with the mystery of the 
 Eucharist. The people have their own account of 
 the matter. They say that " in old times" the fast 
 was kept from Wednesday until Easter morning, 
 during which days no wheeled traffic was permitted 
 in the streets, the shops were closed, and all business 
 was suspended. After a time the four days' fast 
 was found so inconvenient that it was reduced to 
 three, and in order to make this possible it was 
 arranged that the Resurrection should be celebrated 
 on Easter Eve instead of on Easter Day ! Many 
 people implicitly believe this, and the explanation 
 was given to me in such good faith that I actually 
 accepted it at first, although it seemed a strange 
 way out of the difficulty. Wheeled traffic is still 
 forbidden in the streets on Holy Thursday and Good 
 Friday even in " modern " Seville, and in other 
 places in Andalucia not so much as a donkey can be 
 hired at any price on Good Friday. 
 
 " I should be mat mirado " (sent to Coventry), 
 said a village arriero to me one Good Friday, " if I 
 took money for my beast on the day Our Lord 
 died. On that day rich and poor alike must walk in 
 penitence, no matter how tired they may become." 
 
 In Seville people do not trouble so much about 
 being mat mirado on ecclesiastical grounds, and 
 strenuous efforts were made one year by the Radical 
 party to induce the authorities to withdraw the 
 prohibition of driving, even at the cost of altering 
 the route of the processions. But such an outcry 
 was raised by the public at the proposal that it had 
 
SPRING 297 
 
 to be dropped ; for Seville business people know 
 very well that any interference with the processions 
 would injure trade by diminishing the influx of 
 tourists, who flock here every year for Holy Week, 
 far more than is done by closing the central streets 
 to cabs and tram-cars during the two days. 
 
 Indeed, the slightest change in the time-honoured 
 regulations stirs up sentiments which are anything 
 but pious, as I have already shown in regard to the 
 Corpus Christi festival. 
 
 For years past there has been a latent enmity 
 between a wealthy Brotherhood, whose name it is 
 kinder to suppress, and a very poor one. The hours 
 of their respective appearance at the " Stations " (as 
 the route taken is called, because in former days the 
 progress of the processions represented the Stations 
 of the Cross) are fixed by the Dean and Chapter, 
 for if two processions meet at any " Station," hope- 
 less confusion results ; and the two Brotherhoods 
 in question have long been liable to meet if the 
 first is unpunctual. Two years ago the rich Brother- 
 hood arrived an hour late at one of the " Stations," 
 and were met by the poor one from the other side 
 of the town. The poor Brothers were in the right 
 of it, for this was the hour at which their paso was 
 due to cross that street, but the others were 
 determined to take precedence, as they would 
 naturally have done had they started at the proper 
 time. These particular Brothers are largely of 
 the aristocracy, and expect to be obeyed without 
 question by their inferiors in worldly position. 
 Their leader autocratically commanded the poor men 
 
298 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 to stand back and make room for him and his 
 followers to pass. But the poor men refused, as 
 they had every right to do in the circumstances, 
 whereupon the aristocrat, regardless of his gorgeous 
 velvet mantle and satin hood, forgot all the 
 penitence and humility he was supposed to be 
 feeling, and attacked the other man with his fists. 
 
 What might have happened had the leader of 
 the poor procession hit back, no one can say ; but 
 the belligerent "noble" was quickly brought to his 
 bearings, for the "Elder Brother" of the poor Guild 
 with presence of mind laid their great processional 
 cross on the ground before the feet of the would-be 
 fighters. No Sevillian, however angry, would dream 
 of desecrating the cross, so the irate aristocrat had to 
 retire, while the other procession passed on. Pride, 
 I fear, swelled the hearts of the Brothers under the 
 homely calico habits, bought out of their poor wages 
 at the cost of long thrift and self-denial, which thus 
 for once took precedence of their wealthy rivals. 
 
 Personally I find the poor Brotherhoods far 
 more interesting than the rich, for they all have 
 history behind them, and sometimes modest pasos 
 whose Brothers are dressed in cheap calico, are 
 draped with ancient damask and brocade more 
 valuable and far more beautiful than the stiff new 
 gold-embroidered mantles with which the modern 
 Brotherhoods deck their " Virgins," regardless of cost. 
 Some day I shall write a book about the stories of 
 the pasos, grave and gay, but I must not begin upon 
 them here, for I have already dwelt too long perhaps 
 on these aspects of Holy Week in Seville. 
 
DRESSED FOR THE FAIR. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 The April Fair From the harem to the caseta The Prado of 
 San Sebastian- The Inquisition Conscripts and the Flag 
 Spanish football clubs Buying votes The cattle at the 
 Fair Harnessed a la Jerez The Sevillian elegante : fourteen 
 dresses for three days The afternoon drive Dancing at 
 night The marriage market Mantillas, velos, and Paris 
 hats Midnight in the Fair The curtained casetas of the 
 clubs Manila shawls The Queen and the mantilla " John- 
 a-Dreams " and the national dress Three engagements and a 
 marriage The year ends in Paradise. 
 
 THE true history of the April Fair at Seville, like 
 so much else in Spain, is lost in the mists of ages ; 
 but old prints and pictures combine with tradition 
 to show that it was at first merely a cattle fair, 
 where dealers coming from a distance set up tents 
 in which to sleep and transact business, attended 
 by the itinerant gipsies who flock to fairs of every 
 kind in every country. Gradually the tents of the 
 dealers became a meeting-place for their families and 
 their friends from the town, and then refreshments 
 had to be provided, and amusements such as music, 
 dancing, and singing soon followed. Now the 
 Seville Fair on the Prado de San Sebastian almost 
 suggests, in some respects, a show at Earl's Court 
 or Olympia, with the important difference that it 
 is a living reality, not a scenic representation for 
 which one takes a ticket at the gate. 
 
300 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 The most curious feature about this three days' 
 riot of festivity is its extraordinary contrast to the 
 daily life of Spain. I have already referred to the 
 seclusion of women, the extreme privacy of domestic 
 life, typified by the lace curtains which shroud every 
 window on the street and are never drawn aside, 
 the darkness of the rooms thus guarded from the 
 intrusion alike of the sun and of the stranger's eye, 
 the strict surveillance exercised over young girls 
 not only in the street but in their own homes in 
 short, the persistence of the Oriental tradition that 
 the women belong to their men, not to themselves, 
 and that no stranger has a right to look at and 
 admire them. 
 
 This is the mode of life imposed on the women 
 throughout the whole year. But when April comes 
 and the Fair begins, all these restrictions are thrown 
 to the winds, the mothers escort their daughters to 
 the Prado, and there, seated in the " reception- 
 room" of a caseta or booth, with its wooden floor 
 raised three feet above the ground to give a better 
 view, they look on while their girls dance in full 
 view of the public, hour after hour and night after 
 night, for all the world as if they were professionals 
 at a theatre. The whole thing is an anomaly 
 without explanation, unless indeed one takes it as 
 an unconscious protest of the Sevillian women 
 against their lifelong imprisonment in a home 
 which in respect of its seclusion is not very different 
 from a harem. 
 
 The visible result, however, is quite charming. 
 There are whole streets of canvas booths, large and 
 
SPRING 301 
 
 small, luxurious and the reverse, simple, artistic, and 
 fantastic ; handsome buildings of brick and iron set 
 up by the fashionable clubs ; ephemeral representa- 
 tions of favourite corrales and ventas, beloved of 
 artists, who paint their typical casetas with their 
 own hands ; there are acres of canvas covering 
 hundreds of toy and sweetmeat stalls, drinking 
 stalls, Aunt Sallies or their Spanish equivalents, and, 
 above all, stalls for the sale of the ever-popular 
 bunolitos described in an earlier chapter. The 
 casetas a name given without distinction to every 
 erection in the Fair make in all directions boundary- 
 lines between the carriage ways and the ground 
 occupied by the cattle, of which there are thousands 
 upon thousands, crowded together over the great 
 plain, herd by herd, without any sort of partition 
 between them, donkeys cheek by jowl with pigs, 
 sheep rubbing shoulders with mules, all peacefully 
 lying or standing in their appointed places. 
 
 Here San Fernando encamped for a time when 
 he was besieging Seville, and here later on stood 
 the Quemadero, the burning-place of the Inquisition. 
 Now, except during the great fair in April and the 
 lesser one at Michaelmas, the Prado is the exercise- 
 ground for the troops of the garrison. Here the 
 annual batches of new recruits are drilled, and here 
 takes place the interesting ceremony of the Jura 
 de la Bandera, when thousands of conscripts, all 
 kneeling together, swear fealty to their God, their 
 Flag, and their King. Here, too, the football clubs, 
 of which there are several, play on Sundays all the 
 year round, even in the heat of summer. I don't 
 
302 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 think many Englishmen would care to watch, far 
 less to play, football with the thermometer at 100 
 in the shade ; yet the " Sevilla Balompie" plays right 
 through the summer, beginning their matches at 
 6 a.m. when the afternoons get too hot for running. 
 And the more praise is due to these energetic lads 
 because they get no support either in money or 
 approval from those in a higher social position. 
 What their financial difficulties are I learnt last 
 summer from an English clerk who umpires for one 
 of the clubs. He told me that now the weather 
 was getting so hot they wanted to start cricket 
 instead of football, but they had no money to buy 
 the cricket things and knew no one who would help 
 them to raise funds ! And yet at election times, 
 whether parliamentary or municipal, there is always 
 plenty of money to buy votes, and one of these 
 same footballers told me that he had been offered 
 up to fifteen pesetas during a hotly contested election 
 to go and personate a voter who was safe in his 
 decent grave ! It has never yet occurred to 
 candidates that a subscription to football clubs and 
 the like would be a more respectable form of bribery 
 than offering money to a half-back. 
 
 But during the Fair nobody pays any attention 
 to football, politics, or anything else of a serious 
 nature. We are out to enjoy ourselves, and we 
 do it. 
 
 A drive through the actual cattle fair surprises 
 those who think that Spaniards are cruel to animals. 
 Sheep, goats, pigs, donkeys, mules, horses, cattle, 
 are all herded together, quite tame and happy, most 
 
SPRING 303 
 
 of them loose and kept from wandering only by the 
 voice of the herdsman and the bark of his dog ; 
 troops of young horses and young mules are enclosed 
 only by an impromptu rail consisting of a rope tied 
 to iron stakes driven into the ground ; great long- 
 horned oxen and bulls lie on the ground without 
 any sort of tether or fence. The only animals 
 really shut in are the well-bred riding and carriage 
 horses, which occupy wooden stables on the farther 
 side of the Real de la Feria. This is the street 
 where are the fashionable casetas, where the fire- 
 works are let off at night, and where horsemen and 
 women display their skill in a game which may 
 be called threading the maze, among the countless 
 motors and carriages of all sorts and kinds, private 
 and hired, most of which contain daughters in white 
 mantillas and mothers in black, all intent on seeing 
 and being seen by the crowd. 
 
 Many of the horses in this medley of conveyances 
 are harnessed a la Jerezana a heavy collar and 
 saddle, and rope traces covered with leather where 
 they touch the horses, with many tinkling bells and 
 innumerable balls and tassels of gay-coloured wool 
 tied on wherever possible, and especially to the 
 headpiece. I do not know why this harness is 
 called " Jerez fashion," for I have seen far more 
 animals thus decorated in the Sierra than I ever 
 saw at Jerez. But even the most persistent seeker 
 after information is fain to put aside his notebook 
 here, and merely enjoy the picturesqueness and old- 
 world air of these family coaches with their Goya- 
 like occupants, and the life, colour, and animation 
 
304 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 of the whole scene. For in spite of the exhilaration 
 produced by the pure fresh April air with its brilliant 
 sunshine, and the universal atmosphere of enjoyment, 
 one never quite loses the feeling that it is a play, 
 even though oneself be one of the players, and that 
 all too soon the curtain will ring down on one of 
 the prettiest scenes to be found in Spain if not in 
 Europe. 
 
 I have been told that the really smart young 
 lady has fourteen new dresses every year for the 
 Fair. How she contrives to wear them all I don't 
 know, unless she puts one on over the other, for she 
 can only change her frock three times a day, because 
 all the rest of the day and night she is en evidence. 
 In the morning she puts on the latest hat from Paris 
 to drive round and look at the cattle, hiding her 
 almond eyes and her pretty arched eyebrows with 
 some horrible " creation " utterly unsuited to her 
 style. Few Spanish women can put on a hat very 
 likely from want of practice, for it is only in the last 
 twenty years or so that the mantilla or velo has 
 ceased to be the universal wear. 
 
 When our elegante shows herself in the afternoon 
 in her second new dress, with her hair done very 
 high, a mass of carnations resting against it and the 
 immense comb of pierced tortoiseshell which she has 
 inherited from her great-grandmother, and with the 
 soft folds of a white silk mantilla floating about her 
 face as she drives (or motors dreadful anachronism !) 
 up and down the Real, we hardly know her for the 
 same girl who looked so dull and heavy under that 
 Paris monstrosity this morning. Her eyes flash, her 
 
SPRING 305 
 
 white teeth gleam, and one begins to understand 
 what poets mean when they talk about the sparkling 
 brilliance of an Andalucian beauty. 
 
 By this time the casetas are full of dancers, 
 mostly schoolgirls and children as yet, for coquettes 
 of sixteen and upwards are well aware that they will 
 show to more advantage after nightfall, in the 
 brilliant artificial light. The older girls, unless they 
 own carriages or have the entree to the fashionable 
 clubs, stroll up and down with their friends of both 
 sexes, criticising the " carriage folk " and thinking 
 no doubt how much better they themselves would 
 grace those expensively appointed vehicles. At six 
 o'clock, when the bull-fight ends and the spectators 
 come to the Prado, the already crowded drive, nearly 
 a mile long with carriages four deep, becomes so 
 congested that nothing can move beyond a foot's 
 pace, and nervous pedestrians can only cross the 
 Real and the intersecting roads at the entrance to 
 the Fair by a sort of diminutive Eiffel Tower erection 
 which was built some fifteen years ago for this 
 particular purpose. 
 
 At night the Eiffel Tower, or Pasadera, as it is 
 called, is illuminated from top to bottom, the whole 
 of the Real is arched over with garlands of coloured 
 electric bulbs, and every caseta vies with its neigh- 
 bours in the lighting of the reception-rooms in which 
 the girls, in their third new frocks, are to dance. For 
 the display of youth and beauty is the main object 
 of the social side of the Fair, which is in point of 
 fact the marriage market of Seville. It is said that 
 more young people come to an understanding during 
 
 20 
 
3 o6 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 these three days than in all the rest of the year, and 
 it is easy to believe it, for we know that all the world 
 over spring is the prettiest ring-time, and the young 
 man's fancy in particular lightly turns to thoughts 
 of love at that season here in Seville. 
 
 Dancing goes on from nine o'clock till two or three 
 in the morning. Whether it be good or bad, the sight 
 of waving arms and bending heads in seguidillas 
 and peteneras never fails to attract the passers-by. 
 Often as many as a couple of hundred people will 
 collect in front of a fashionable caseta where half a 
 dozen Sefioritas are dancing together, although only 
 the first row of the crowd, pressed against the steps 
 leading up from the footpath, can see anything 
 beyond faces draped in white lace or black 
 madronos, and white hands waving be-ribboned 
 castanets. 
 
 The greater the crowd in front, the better the 
 dancers are pleased ; indeed, I remember some girls 
 telling me one year that they had had a tremendous 
 success over-night, " for there were so many people 
 watching them that some of the invited guests had 
 tried to get through to the caseta no less than three 
 times in vain." And these are the girls who would 
 lose their reputations if they were seen in the street 
 alone in the daytime, or even two sisters together, 
 without a chaperone! Mysterious indeed are the 
 social customs of Spain ! 
 
 I have already written of fireworks. If these 
 are good even in villages, it may be supposed that 
 they are considerably better in wealthy Seville. The 
 only wonder is that the whole street of the Real is 
 
SPRING 307 
 
 not set alight every night of the Fair, for the fire- 
 works always end with the dangerous traca, a chain 
 of crackers laid from tree to tree the whole length of 
 the canvas street, and the crackers seem to explode 
 actually into the casetas. And alongside of the 
 footpath is a double or treble row of carriages, 
 whose horses seem to be merely bored with the 
 squibs and other noisy and fiery arrangements which 
 explode under their noses. It is sheer good luck 
 that no terrible accident has yet occurred. But no 
 one protests, although every year people mildly 
 remark that it is horribly dangerous and very dis- 
 agreeable to have sparks falling all over the foot- 
 paths. In the matter of fireworks Andalucian 
 laissez faire is peculiarly apparent. 
 
 At midnight the fun of the Fair is in full swing. 
 Merry-go-rounds are numerous and highly popular, 
 and each one has its steam organ or mechanical piano 
 grinding out popular airs long since done to death 
 in the streets. There is one in particular, called 
 " Serafina," which for years has had a vogue equal 
 to that of " Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay " in England when 
 we were young, and it is just as fatuous a tune with 
 even more fatuous words, if that be possible. This 
 nightmare pursues us all along the street of the 
 gipsies, and that of the toy stalls, and that of the 
 bourgeois casetas to the right of the Real. The only 
 place where it is not heard is at the top of the Real, 
 where are the casetas of two of the principal clubs. 
 Here all the curtains are carefully closed lest any 
 profane eye should see the glories within, and 
 military bands play valses and rigodones a quite 
 
3o8 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 peculiarly dull form of quadrille for the amusement 
 of the alta aristocracia. 
 
 Why these clubs should go to the trouble of 
 receiving guests behind drawn curtains in the Prado 
 instead of in their handsome club-houses in the town 
 does not appear. There certainly is nothing in these 
 entertainments of the traditional spirit of the Fair, 
 the essence of which is that all the amusement should 
 go on in full view of the public. One of their 
 morning receptions is, however, quite delightful. 
 This is the children's ball, which begins at 10 a.m. 
 and ends before lunch. It is attended by a crowd 
 of fascinating babies in fancy dress, all Spanish the 
 boys as toreros, majos (the Andalucian " nut " of a 
 bygone day), bandits, and what not, the girls in 
 miniature mantillas, Manila shawls, or gipsy dress, 
 and their innocent vanity makes the Keal charming 
 when they drive up and down after the party in 
 their mothers' carriages, pretending to be quite 
 grown up. 
 
 A Manila shawl is the gala dress of every 
 working woman who can manage to buy or hire 
 one for the Fair. In some cases they are heirlooms, 
 handed down from mother to daughter. Just as 
 the mantilla is the survival of the Moslem veil 
 among the well-to-do, so this shawl, like the black 
 one worn every day, is the survival of the veil 
 among the poor. As late as the seventeenth 
 century, Spanish women still covered their faces ; 
 indeed,' in the Provinces of Cadiz, Malaga, and 
 Granada there are even now villages where the 
 women leave only one eye exposed when they 
 
SPRING 309 
 
 go out, especially to Mass. Decrees were issued 
 by more than one king, forbidding this " pagan " 
 veiling of the female face, on the ground that it 
 tended to immorality by rendering the charms thus 
 concealed irresistible to the opposite sex. The 
 ladies retaliated by refusing to come out of their 
 houses at all if they were compelled to expose them- 
 selves in that "indecent" fashion (I quote from 
 contemporary writers) ; but at last a compromise 
 was arrived at. They still covered their faces when 
 they appeared in the street, but it was with trans- 
 parent embroidery and lace, thus observing the 
 letter of the law but most effectually violating the 
 spirit. We owe a certain debt of gratitude to those 
 ladies, whose strong sense of propriety gave birth 
 to the mantilla, the prettiest head-dress ever in- 
 vented by woman. 
 
 When we first came to Spain in 1902 fashionable 
 ladies were doing their best to suppress the mantilla, 
 on the ground that it was ridiculous to keep up a 
 " national costume " in Spain when all civilised 
 countries had adopted Paris fashions ; and at one 
 time it really seemed as if it would soon cease to 
 be worn by any woman who had money enough 
 to buy a hat. Fortunately, however, these women 
 were in a minority, for here hats are only bought 
 by the rich, and are very expensive. The simpler 
 form of lace head-dress known as the velo, which 
 is worn for the Mass, and by middle-aged women 
 out of doors, had happily not begun to fall into 
 disuse outside of Madrid and Barcelona, even among 
 the well-to-do, notwithstanding the crusade against 
 
3io MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 the more conspicuous mantilla. And then at the 
 psychological moment came the young English 
 Queen, with all a foreigner's admiration of the 
 beautiful head-dress. The first portrait of her that 
 was sold at a price within the means of the masses 
 showed her beauty enhanced by the typical drapery 
 of exquisite lace, and " She puts it on as if she were 
 a Spaniard," said the people, for the arrangement 
 of the mantilla is subject to strict rules, and no 
 foreigner can hope to penetrate those mysteries 
 unaided. This saved the mantilla. It soon became 
 apparent that Her Majesty intended to wear it on 
 every suitable occasion, and naturally all fashionable 
 female Spain followed suit, to the delight of every- 
 body except the milliners. 
 
 In the last Seville Fair there were more mantillas 
 than hats, and if it was a shock to artistic sensi- 
 bilities to see them in motors, it was at any rate 
 a great deal better than not seeing them at all, 
 as was almost the case six or seven years ago. One 
 year about that time we had a caseta, to which 
 came a good number of English and American 
 visitors. All these ladies wore mantillas, and were 
 delighted to have the chance (for the mantilla, it 
 should be said, is only worn en grande tenue), and 
 our Spanish friends agreed to stand aloof from the 
 then prevailing fashion and leave their hats at home 
 when they came to dance in the caseta de los 
 ingleses. If there was a little self-consciousness 
 among the Englishwomen one or two of them said 
 the first day that they felt rather like being at a 
 fancy ball it disappeared when we read the local 
 
SPRING 311 
 
 papers next morning. For there in large type was 
 an article on the decline of the mantilla and a 
 poetical paragraph thanking, in almost pathetic 
 terms, the foreign ladies for wearing "with peculiar 
 grace " the lovely head-dress which Andalucians now 
 seemed to despise. 
 
 We never found out who the writer was ; he 
 called himself " John-a-dreams " and begged us not 
 to try to pierce his incognito when we wrote to 
 invite him to the caseta he had been good enough 
 to praise. But we were pleased to find that our 
 adoption of the mantilla was regarded as a compli- 
 ment to Spain, and now we and our friends follow 
 the Queen's example and wear it as often as we can. 
 Apart from all other considerations, the festival 
 mantilla and its humbler relative the velo, for 
 common wear, are not only universally becoming, 
 but are also very economical, for although a good 
 piece of lace costs as much money as a Paris hat 
 to begin with, it lasts for years and never goes out 
 of fashion. 
 
 Our caseta that year fulfilled its duty well. We 
 had the light carefully arranged to fall becomingly 
 on the girls' faces, and we had a platform raised 
 extra high for them to dance on. We said that 
 if the object of the caseta was to show off the 
 Senoritas we might as well set the stage with special 
 regard to its purpose. And no less than three 
 engagements were the outcome, one of which at 
 least has led to what seems to be a very happy 
 marriage. 
 
 As for me, I have come back to the point from 
 
312 MY SPANISH YEAR 
 
 which I started. The summer, autumn, and winter 
 are past, and the April Fair has come and gone. 
 My Spanish year is over and the bride's new year 
 has begun, with the scent of roses, jessamine, and 
 orange blossom, the murmur of fountains, and the 
 warble of the nightingales among the elms up the 
 hillside at Granada. For that is where girls who 
 wear mantillas go for their honeymoon, and where 
 good tourists go when they die. 
 
 Printed by MORRISON & QIBB LIMITBD, Edinburgh 
 
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 Arsene Lupin Jepson and Leblanc. 
 
 The Enlightenment of Ermyn . . . Harry Jermyn. 
 
 The Adolescence of Aubrey .... Harry Jermyn. 
 
 High Stakes Ruth Kauffman. 
 
 Jim Unclassified Robert J. Kelly. 
 
 Jehanne of the Golden Lips . Srd Edition F. G. Knowles-*oster. 
 
 The Written Law F. G. Knowles-Foster. 
 
 The Net of Circumstance .... Mr. <bMrs. 0. L'Artsau. 
 The Confessions of Arsene Lupin . . Maurice Leblanc. 
 
 813 Snd Edition Maurice Leblanc. 
 
 The Frontier Maurice Leblanc. 
 
 The Phantom of the Opera .... Gaston Leroux. 
 The Little Lady of the Big House . . Jack London. 
 The Night- Born (Stories) .... Jack London. 
 
 Lost Face Jack London. 
 
 The Jacket (The Star Rover) Snd Edition Jack London. 
 The Mutiny of the Elsinore . Srd Edition Jack London. 
 John Barleycorn ... Srd Edition Jack London. 
 The Valley of the Moon . . tfi Edition Jack London. 
 South Sea Tales Jack Londuu. 
 
" There is always a new Mills S Boon Novel " 
 
 Smoke Bellew ith Edition Jack London. 
 
 A Son of the Sun . . . Srd Edition Jack London. 
 
 When God Laughs . . . 2nd Edition Jack London. 
 
 The Music Makers Louise Mack. 
 
 The Marriage of Edward .... Louise Mack. 
 
 Attraction Louise Mack. 
 
 Outlaw's Luck Dorothea Mackellar. 
 
 A Rich Man's Table Ella MacMahon. 
 
 Grandpapa's Granddaughter .... Mary E. Mann. 
 
 Through the Window Mury E. Mann. 
 
 Men and Dreams . . . 2nd Edition Mary E. Mann. 
 
 The Yoke of Silence (5.) .... Amy McLaren. 
 
 The Prince Thomas Metcalfe. 
 
 The Cost 2nd Edition L. G. Moberly. 
 
 The Game of the Tangled Web . . . S. C. Nethersole. 
 
 Wilsam 2nd Edition S. C. Nethersole. 
 
 Mary up at Gaffries tth Edition S. C. Nethersole. 
 
 Ripe Corn 2nd Edition S. C. Nethersole. 
 
 .Sidelights Horace W. C. Newte. 
 
 The Sins of the Children . 2nd Edition Horace W. C. Newte. 
 
 The Baling Miracle Horace W. C. Newte. 
 
 Guppy Guy son W. M. O'Kane. 
 
 With Poison and Sword W. M. O'Kane. 
 
 Harm's Way Lloyd Osbourne. 
 
 The Boomers Roy Norton. 
 
 The Plunderer Roy Norton. 
 
 Stories without Tears . . 2nd Edition Barry Pain. 
 
 Frozen Fuel Pan. 
 
 "White Heat 2nd Edition Pan. 
 
 Scorched Souls Pan. 
 
 The Adventures of Captain Jack Srd Edition Max Pembertou. 
 
 Lily Magic Mary L. Tendered. 
 
 Phyllida Flouts Me Wary L. Pendered. 
 
 Two Young Pigeons Mrs. H. H. Penrose. 
 
 Something Impossible Mrs. H. H. Penrose. 
 
 Burnt Flax Mrs. H. H. Penrose. 
 
 The Brat Mrs. H. H. Penrose. 
 
 Tales from Five Chimneys .... Marmaduke Pickthall. 
 
 Miss Elizabeth Ciibbs Alicia Ramsey. 
 
 The Court Favourite Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 
 
 The Relations Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 
 
 The Swashbuckler . .... Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 
 
 The Silence Broken . . 2nd Edition Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 
 
 Nigel Ferrard . . . 2nd Edition Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 
 
 Long Furrows . . .... Mrs. Fred Reynolds. 
 
 An Absent Hero . .... Mrs. Fred Reynolds. 
 
 The Gondola . .... Rothay Reynolds. 
 
 The Valiants of Virginia . 2nd Edition HalJie Erminie Rivet 
 
 Her Last Appearance . . . .A. Nugent Robertson. 
 
 4 
 
Mills 8 Boon's Six-Shilling Novels 
 
 Force Majeure 
 
 Mr. Sheringham and Others . 
 
 The Flame of Daring 
 
 One Man Returns 
 
 The Call of the Siren . . Snd Edition 
 
 Kicks and Ha'pence 
 
 Before the Wind 
 
 Allward Snd Edition 
 
 3rd Edition 
 3rd Edition 
 7th Edition 
 Uth Edition 
 3rd Edition 
 Snd Edition 
 
 Snd Edition 
 Snd Edition 
 3rd Edition 
 
 Sarah Eden . 
 
 The Long Engagement 
 
 The Veil. 
 
 The Mountain of God 
 
 The Lure 
 
 The Earthen Drum . 
 
 The Edge of Empire 
 
 Beyond the Shadow . 
 
 Cophetua's Son . 
 
 The Hidden Road 
 
 Moyle Church-Town 
 
 The Man who Stayed at Home . 
 
 Stormlight 
 
 The Girl with the Blue Eyes 
 
 The First Law . Snd Edition 
 
 The Cheat 
 
 Salt of Life Snd Edition 
 
 Orizel Married 
 
 The Adventures of Billie Belshaw 
 
 An Unknown Lover 
 
 Sport of Gods .... 3rd Edition 
 
 The Lizard 
 
 Mary Moreland . 
 
 Big Tremaine 
 
 His Love Story (5.) . 
 
 Mr. Perrin and Mr. Traill 
 
 The Unknown Woman . 
 
 Toddie 
 
 Chapman's Wares . . 
 Ifs and Ans .... 
 Tess of Ithaca 
 
 The Wind among the Barley 
 The Friendly Enemy 
 The Court of the Gentiles 
 Ruth of the Rowldrich . 
 Tristram .Sahib . 
 Happy Endings 
 
 9nd Edition 
 
 Snd Edition 
 
 3rd Edition 
 
 Snd Edition 
 
 The Temple of Dawn . . 9rd Edition 
 The Red Mirage . Uth Edition 
 The Daughter of Brahma . 5th Edition 
 The Rajah's People . . . 8th Edition 
 Dividing Waters . Uh Edition 
 In Different Keys 
 
 Patrick Rnshden. 
 Mrs. Alfred Sidgwick. 
 Harold Spender. 
 Harold Spender. 
 Harold Spender. 
 Henry Stace. 
 E. S. Stevens. 
 B. 8. Stevens. 
 B. S. Stevens. 
 B. S. Stevens. 
 B. S. Stevens. 
 E. S. Stevens. 
 B. S. Stevens. 
 B. S. Stevens. 
 Joan Sutherland. 
 Joan Sutherland. 
 Joan Sutherland. 
 Joan Sutherland. 
 John Trevena. 
 Beamish Tinker. 
 Lady Troubridge. 
 Lady Troubridge. 
 Lady Troubridge. 
 Lady Troubridge. 
 Mrs. G. de H. Vaizey. 
 Mrs. G. de H. Vaizey. 
 Mrs. G. de H. Vaizey. 
 Mrs. G. de H. Vaizey. 
 H. Vaughan-Sawyer. 
 H. Vaughan-Sawyer. 
 Marie van Vorst. 
 Marie van Vorst. 
 Marie van Vorst. 
 Hugh Walpole. 
 Anne Warwick. 
 Gilbert Watson. 
 H. B. Marriott Watson. 
 H. B. Marriott Watson. 
 Grac Miller White. 
 M. P. Willcocks. 
 T. P. Cameron Wilsn 
 Mrs. Stanley Wrench. 
 Mrs. Stanley Wrench, 
 . A. R. Wylie. 
 . A. R. Wylie. 
 . A. R. Wylie. 
 . A. R. Wylie. 
 . A. R. Wylie. 
 . A. R. Wylie. 
 I. A. R. Wylie. 
 I. A. R. Wylie. 
 
MILLS & BOON'S SHILLING NOVELS 
 
 Picture Covers. Crown 8vo. Is. net 
 
 Ashes of Incense . . . The Author of " Mastering Flame." 
 
 Eve Spinster Anon. 
 
 The Nursing Home Arthur Apphn. 
 
 The Particular Petticoat Arthur Applin. 
 
 Shop Girls Arthur Applin. 
 
 .Sister Susie -Spinster Arthur Applin. 
 
 The Woman Who 1 Arthur Applin. 
 
 The Girl who Saved His Honour .... Arthur Aj-plin. 
 
 Cardillac Robert Barr. 
 
 *The Bill -Toppers Audi* Costaigne. 
 
 His First Offence J- Storer Clouston. 
 
 The Peer's Progress J. Storer Clouston. 
 
 The Prodigal Father J- Storer Cloxiston. 
 
 *Within the Law M. Dana and E. Forest. 
 
 "Romance .' Acton Davies. 
 
 The Blue Bird's-Eye George Edgar. 
 
 Swift Nick of the York Road George Edgar. 
 
 When the Red Gods Call Beatrice Grimshaw. 
 
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 Sons of State Winifred Graham. 
 
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 The Needlewoman Winifred Graham. 
 
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 Mary Winifred Graham. 
 
 Pollyooly. . v Edgar Jepson. 
 
 The Confessions of Arsene Lupin .... Maurice Leblanc. 
 813 (A New Arsene Lupin Adventure) .... Maurice Leblanc. 
 * Arsene Lupin . . . Edgar Jepaon and Maurice Leblanc 
 
 The Square Mile Horace W. C. Newte. 
 
 The Socialist Countess Horace W. C. Newte. 
 
 The Sins of the Children Horace W. C. Newte. 
 
 The Lonely Lovers Horace W. C. Newte. 
 
 Sparrows : The Story of an Unprotected Qlrl . Horace W. C. Newte. 
 Lena Swallow: A Sister to " Sparrows" . . Horace W. C. Newte. 
 *Paste . (The novel founded on the Film Play by Bannister Merwin>. 
 
 Wonderful Love Pan. 
 
 Scorched Souls Pan. 
 
 White Heat Pan. 
 
 The Adventures of Captain Jack .... Mai Pemberton. 
 
 Beware of the Dog Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 
 
 *D'Arcy of the Guards . . . . . L. E. Shipman. 
 
 *The Marriage Market Harold Simpson. 
 
 The Dollar Princess Harold Simpson. 
 
 The Count of Luxembourg Harold Simpson. 
 
 The Mountain of God E. S. Stevens. 
 
 The Lure E. S. Stevens. 
 
 The Veil E.S.Stevens. 
 
 *The Man who Stayed at Home .... Beamish Tinker. 
 
 The Price of a Soul Paul Trent. 
 
 John Cave W. B. Tritea. 
 
 Life W. B. Trites. 
 
 The Cheat Lady Troubridge. 
 
 The Woman who Forgot Lady Troubridge. 
 
 Body and Soul Lady Troubridge. 
 
 The White Hope W. H. R. Trowbridge. 
 
 The Prelude to Adventure Hugh Walpole. 
 
 Mr. Perrln and Mr. Traill Hugh Walpole. 
 
 The Daughter of Brahma I. A. R. Wylie. 
 
 Dividing Waters I. A. R. Wylie. 
 
 For Church and Chieftain May Wynne. 
 
 Morel of the Play. 
 6 
 
MILLS & BOON'S 
 
 Shilling Cloth Library 
 
 Is. net each volume (postage 3d.) 
 
 The Room In the Tower B. F. BENSON. 
 
 The Man from Nowhere VICTOR BRIDGES. 
 
 Aunt Augusta In Egypt. (Entirely New) . . J. E. BUCKROSE. 
 
 Because of Jane J - E - BUCKROSE. 
 
 Down our Street > E. BUCKROSE. 
 
 Love In a Little Town i J. E. BUCKROSE. 
 
 In Search of Each Other ; SOPHIE COLE. 
 
 Guinea Gold BEATRICE GRIMSHAW. 
 
 The Frontier MAURICE LEBLANC. 
 
 Twenty-Four Years of Cricket . . . . A. A. LILLET. 
 
 Adventure JACK LONDON. 
 
 A Son of the Sun . . i JACK LONDON. 
 
 An Odyssey of the North JACK LONDON. 
 
 Children of the Frost JACK LONDON. 
 
 John Barleycorn JACK LONDOK. 
 
 Love of Life . . i JACK LONDON. 
 
 Smoke Bellew JACK LONDON. 
 
 South Sea Tales JACK LONDON. 
 
 The Cruise of the Dazzler JACK LONDON. 
 
 The Cruise of the Snark JACK LONDON. 
 
 When God Laughs ; . JACK LONDON. 
 
 The God of his Fathers . . ... JACK LONDON. 
 
 The House of Pride. (Entirely New) . . . JACK LONDON. 
 
 The Iron Heel JACK LONDON, 
 
 The Mutiny of the Elsinore JACK LONDOK. 
 
 The Scarlet Plague. (Entirely New) . . . JACK LONDON. 
 The Road. (Entirely New) : . . JACK LONDON. 
 
 The Valley of the Moon ...... JACK LONDON. 
 
 Cumner'sSon. . SIR GILBERT PARKER. 
 
 The Haven ...;.. . EDEN PHILLPOTTS. 
 
 The Czar's Spy ....... WILLIAM LE QUEUX. 
 
 Who Giveth this Woman ? WILLIAM LE QUEUX. 
 
 The Valiants of Virginia .... HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES. 
 
 The Order of Release H. DE VERB STACPOOLE. 
 
 The Hidden Road JOAN SUTHERLAND. 
 
 Sporting Stories THORMANBY. 
 
 Life W. B. TRITES. 
 
 An Unknown Lover . . . MRS. G. DE HORNE VAIZEY. 
 
 The Adventures of Billie Belshaw . MRS. G. DE HORNE VAIZEY. 
 
 Orizel Married MRS. G. DE HORNE VAIZEY. 
 
 Big Tremaine .:...... MARIE VAN VORST. 
 
 His Love Story MARIE VAN VORST. 
 
 Her Heart's Desire MARIE VAN VORST. 
 
 The Red Mirage I. A. R. WTLIK. 
 
 The Temple of Dawn I. A. B. WVLIK. 
 
 7 
 
MILLS & BOON'S 
 
 SIXPENNY NOVELS 
 
 Picture Covers. Demy Svo. 
 
 MILLS & BOON are issuing a new series of Copyright Novels 
 by the foremost Novelists of the day. They are printed 
 from large type on good paper. The first volumes are : 
 
 Calico Jack. By HORACE W. C. NEWTE, Author of ' ' Sparrows." 
 Globe. " Calico Jack is no mere creature of invention, but the real thing." 
 
 The Sins of the Children. By HORACE W. C. NEWTE. 
 
 Globe. " A strong convincing picture of life." 
 
 Lena Swallow. By HORACE W. C. NEWTE. 
 Living Pictures. By HORACE W. C. NEWTE. 
 
 Glasgow Herald. " None of them is less than brilliant." 
 
 The Lonely Lovers. By HORACE W. C. NEWTE. 
 
 Daily Chronicle. " A very vivid rendering of tense human passion and 
 emotkn." 
 
 The Summer Book. By MAX PEMBERTON. 
 
 The Adventures of Captain Jack. By MAX PEMBER- 
 TON, Author of " The Summer Book." 
 
 Punch. " What be has to tell is so deftly told that I spent an excellent 
 afternoon a-reading his volume (Mills & Boon)." 
 
 A Golden Straw. By J. E. BUCKROSE, Author of " Dowr> 
 
 Our Street." 
 Daily Graphic. " A story of invincible freshness and charm." 
 
 The Pilgrimage of a Fool. By J. E. BUCKROSE. 
 
 Globe. " Far and away above the ordinary novel." 
 
 Fame. By B. M. CROKER, Author of " Angel." 
 
 Scotsman. "A clever workmanlike novel, always bright and entertaining. 
 
 The Quaker Girl. The Novel of the Play. By HAROLD 
 
 SIMPSON. 
 
 The Education of Jacqueline. By CLAIRE DE PBATZ, 
 
 Author of " Elisabeth Davenay." 
 Obterver. "Jacqueline ia a darling." 
 
 The Silence Broken. By Mrs. BAILLIE REYNOLDS, Author 
 
 of "Nigel Ferrard." 
 
 freeman' t Journal." A most suitable book for the summer holidays, filled 
 from cover to cover with love and romance." 
 8 
 
MILLS & BOON'S 
 
 MY YEAR SERIES 
 
 My Spanish Year. By Mrs. BERNARD WHISHAW. 
 
 With 20 Illustrations from Photographs. Demy 8vo. 
 10s. Gd. net. 
 
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 My Japanese Year. By T. H. SANDERS. Illus- 
 trated. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 
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 My Italian Year. By RICHARD BAGOT. with 25 
 
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 My Russian Year. By ROTHAY REYNOLDS, with 
 
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 political, and ecclesiastical life of Russia." 
 
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 9 
 
Mills & Boon's My Year Series 
 
 My Cosmopolitan Year. By the Author of "Mas- 
 tering Flame "and "Asfces of Incense." With 24 Illus- 
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 My Parisian Year. By MAUDE ANNESLEY. With 
 
 16 Illustrations from Photographs and 1 in Colour. 
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 Pall Mall Gazette. "The 'joie de vivre' radiates from its pages . . . 
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 Evtning Standard. "What Max O'Rell did for our countrymen Maude* 
 Annesley does for his." 
 
 Scotsman. " Convincing aa well as highly entertaining." 
 
 My German Year. By i. A. E. WYLIE, Author of 
 
 "The Rajah's People." With 2 Illustrations in Colour 
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 10*. &d. net. 
 
 Evening Standard. "Should be read by every household. We have 
 seldom read a more interesting book." 
 
 Westminster Gazette. "A wise, well-informed, and very readable book, 
 with some delightful fresh information and shrewd criticisms." 
 
 My Siberian Year. By M. A. CZAPLICKA. With 
 
 28 Full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 10*. Gd. net. 
 
 An extremely interesting book, containing the record of a remarkable 
 year in a woman's life. 
 
 10 
 
MILLS & BOON'S 
 
 RAMBLES SERIES 
 
 "So auspiciously inaugurated with Miss Wylie's and Mrs. 
 Gostling's volumes" LIVERPOOL COURIER. 
 
 " They teem with interesting information about people and 
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 Rambles in Australia. By MARION and EDWARD 
 
 SHARPE GREW. With 32 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 
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 Rambles about the Riviera. By FRANCES M. 
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 "Rambles about the Riviera" is a delightful account of a motor-car 
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 to the cultured visitor. 
 
 Rambles around French Chateaux. By 
 
 FRANCES M. GOSTLING, Author of " The Bretons at 
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 Manchester Courier. "Amusing, interesting, delightful." 
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 11 
 
Mills & Boon's Rambles Series 
 Rambles with an American in Great Britain. 
 
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 Rambles in Holland. By E. and M. s. GREW. 
 
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 Rambles in the North Yorkshire Dales. By 
 
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 12 
 
MILLS & BOON'S 
 
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 Sam Darling's Reminiscences. With 8 Photo- 
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 What I Know. Reminiscences of Five Years' Personal 
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 In this new book, by the anthor of " My Russian Tear," the author aims, 
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 13 
 
Mills & Boon's Catalogue 
 Forty Years in Brazil. By FRANK BENNETT. 
 
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 Sixty-Eight Years on the Stage. By Mrs. 
 
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 Yvette Guilbert: Struggles and Victories. 
 
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 14 
 
ROMANTIC HISTORY 
 
 The Hero of Brittany : Armand de Chateau- 
 briand. Correspondent of the Princes between France 
 and England, 17681809. By E. HERPIN. Translated 
 by MBS. COLQUHOUN GRANT. With 8 Illustrations. 
 Demy 8vo. 10s. Gd. net. 
 
 Armand de Chateaubriand was a cotnin of the famous French author 
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 return of the Bourbon princes.. 
 
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 15 
 
Mills & Boon's Catalogue 
 Roman Memories, in the Landscape seen 
 
 from Capri. Narrated by THOMAS BPENCEll JEROME. 
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 To make the great historical suggestiveness which the country around 
 and near the Bay of Naples possesses for the cultivated observer assume a 
 more distinct form in the consciousness of visitors to these shores, is the 
 purpose of this book. It begins with the old myths and continues down 
 through the surprisingly large number of Roman events associated with 
 this district to the end of classical times (476 A.P.), keeping the local episodes 
 in their due relation to the general current of ancient history by giving 
 an outline thereof, which makes it of value as a general sketch of Roman 
 affairs. 
 
 Margherita of Savoy. By SIGNORA ZAMPINI 
 
 SALAZAR. With a Preface by RICHARD BAGOT. 
 Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 10*. 6d. net. 
 
 In the present volume the part played by Margherita di Savoia in 
 encouraging every legitimate and pracuical effort to enlarge the sphere 
 of feminine action in her country, and to employ feminine influence as an 
 intellectual and civilising influence instead of confining it entirely within 
 the walls of palaces and cottages, is described by Signora Zampini Salazar 
 both accurately and faithfully. 
 
 In Cheyne Walk and Thereabout. By REGINALD 
 
 BLUNT, Author of " Paradise Row." With 22 Illustra- 
 tions. Demy 8vo. 10*. 6d. net. 
 
 To say that Cheyne Walk is the most interesting, historic, ana delightful 
 street in all England might strike a stranger to Chelsea as rather an 
 extravagant claim, yet these pages go far to support it. 
 
 The English Court in Exile : James II. at 
 
 St. Germain. By MARION and EDWIN SHARPE 
 GREW. With 16 Illustrations. 15*. net. 
 
 Spectator. " Should certainly be read by all students of the revolution ; 
 an exceedingly interesting and readable book." 
 
 Athenaeum. " Not a single Tininteresting page. We had no idea so good 
 a book could be written on such a story." 
 
 Truth. " Excellent . . . picturesque and impartial." 
 
 The Court of William III. By EDWIN and 
 
 MARION SHARPE GREW. With 16 Illustrations. 
 Demy 8vo. 15*. net. 
 
 Morning Post. " Done with fairness and thoroughness. . . . The book 
 kou many conspicuous merits." 
 
 16 
 
Mills & Boon's Catalogue 
 The Romance of the Oxford Colleges. By 
 
 FRANCIS GRIBBLE. Popular Edition, with 12 Illus- 
 trations. 2.. 6d. net. 
 Westminster Gazette." Does not contain a dull page." 
 
 The Romance of the Cambridge Colleges. 
 
 By FRANCIS GRIBBLE. With 16 Illustrations. Crown 
 
 8vo. 6*. Popular Edition, 2s. 6d. net. 
 Times. "May be cordially recommended." 
 
 Truth. "The history of the colleges in a bright and readable form with 
 an abundance of anecdotes." 
 Aberdeen Free Press. " Not a dull page." 
 
 The Romance of the Men of Devon. By 
 
 FRANCIS GRIBBLE, Author of "The Romance of the 
 Oxford Colleges," etc. With a Photogravure Frontispiece 
 and 16 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 6*. 
 
 The Lady. " A delightful volume." 
 
 Dundee Advertiser. ' ' Written with a charm and ease which are de- 
 lightful" 
 
 The Story of the British Navy. By E. KEBLB 
 
 CHATTERTON. With a Frontispiece in Colour and 50 
 Illustrations from Photographs. Demy 8vo. 10*. Qd. net. 
 
 Naval and Military .Record. "Contains practically everything which the 
 average individual wishes to know." 
 
 Royal Love-Letters : A Batch of Human 
 
 Documents. Collected and Edited by E. KEBLE 
 CHATTERTON. With 12 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 
 10*. Gd. net. 
 
 The Petticoat Commando : or, Boer Women 
 
 in Secret Service. By JOHANNA BRANDT. With 
 13 Illustrations and a Map. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 
 6*. 
 
 Romances of the War. By E. S. GREW. Illus- 
 trated. &?. Qd. net. 
 
 " Romances of the War" is a volume dealing, as the title denotes, with 
 many incidents, some tender, some pathetic, some romantic, and most of 
 all with the human side of War as it is in France at the present time. 
 The great charm of the book is that it proves how true is the well-known 
 saying, " What a small world we live in," and also perhaps that " Truth ia 
 stranger than fiction." 
 
 17 
 
FOR EVERYDAY LIFE 
 
 Nerve in War Time. By EDWIN L. ASH, M.D. 
 
 (Lond.). Crown 8vo. Is. net. 
 
 Nerves and the Nervous. By EDWIN L. ASH, 
 
 M.D. (Lond.). New Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth, 3*. Gd. net. 
 
 Daily Express." One of the most refreshing books published for some 
 time. Dr. Ash not only probes into exactly what one feels when one is 
 nervous or worried, but the treatment is so free from fads that it does even 
 an unnervy person good." 
 
 Mental Self-Help. By EDWIN L. ASH, M.D. (Lond.), 
 
 Assistant Physician Italian Hospital, London ; Physician 
 for Nervous Diseases to the Kensington and Fulham 
 General Hospital. Author of " Nerves and the Nervous." 
 Crown 8vo. 2s. Gd. net. 
 Athenaeum. " A lucid little book. His style is clear and convincing." 
 
 Stammering and Self-Control. By EDWIN L. 
 
 ASH, M.D. Crown 8vo. 2s. Gd. net. 
 
 Can't Waiters ; or How You Waste Your Energies. 
 
 By EDWIN L. ASH, M.D. (Lond.), Crown 8vo. 1*. net. 
 
 A Manual for Nurses. By SYDNEY WELHAM, 
 
 M.R.C.S. (late Resident Medical Officer, Charing Cross 
 Hospital). With Diagrams. Second Edition. Crown 
 8vo. 3s. Gd. net. Paper cover, 1*. net. 
 
 British Medical Journal. "A useful reference work for nurses both 
 early and late in their career." 
 
 Child Nurture. By HONNOR MORTEN, Author of 
 
 " The Nursery Nurse's Companion," " The Nurse's Dic- 
 tionary." With a Frontispiece in Photogravure. Crown 
 8vo. 3*. 6d. net. 
 Standard. 14 Admirably practical full of useful Knowledge." 
 
 Household Accounts. By RUPERT DEAKIN, M.A., 
 and P. J. HUMPHREYS, B.Sc. Fourth Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. Gd. net. 
 
 This little book contains information which ia of real value to every one 
 who has the control or management of a house. 
 
 18 
 
SPORTS AND PASTIMES 
 
 England V. Australia. By P. F. WARNER. Popular 
 
 Edition. Demy 8vo. 7*. 6<Z. net. 
 Sporting Life. " The book is one that every cricketer should possasa." 
 
 Twenty-four Years of Cricket. By ARTHUR A. 
 
 LILLE Y. Popular Edition. Is. net. 
 
 Switzerland in Winter. By WILL and CARIXE 
 
 CADBY. With GO Photographs by the Authors. 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 Country Life." A little book, admirably written, and packed with 
 useful intoriiiadon. Briuga back a thousand memories to many thousand 
 people. " 
 
 The Motorist's Pocket Tip Book. By GEOFFREY 
 
 OSUORN. With 13 Full-page Illustrations. Fcap. Svo. 
 Leather. 5s. net. 
 
 Srotti-,h. Fithi. "Contains in the clearest, most condensed, and most 
 ,pr;vtucal i'oiLLijiiat the information one wants." 
 
 The Chauffeur's Companion. By "A FOUR-INCH 
 
 DRIVER." With 4 Plates and 5 Diagrams. Waterproof 
 Cloth. 2s. net. 
 
 The Lady Motorist's Companion. By " A FOUR- 
 INCH DRIVER." With 7 Plates and 4 Diagrams. 2s. &d. 
 net. 
 
 British Mountain Climbs. By GEORGE D. ABRA- 
 HAM, Author of "The Complete Mountaineer." With 
 18 Illustrations and 21 Outline Drawings. Pocket size. 
 Leather, Is. Qd. nt. Cloth, 5s. net. 
 Sportsman. "Eminently a practical manual." 
 
 Swiss Mountain Climbs. By GEORGE D. ABRA- 
 HAM. With 24 Illustrations and 22 Outline Drawings 
 of the principal peaks and their routes. Pocket size. 
 Leather, 7s. Gd. net. Cloth, 5*. net. 
 
 ife." As essential aa good climbing boots." 
 19 
 
Mills & Boon's Catalogue 
 The Golfer's Pocket Tip Book. By G. D. 
 
 Part-Author of "The Six Handicap Golfer's Companion.* 
 Fully Illustrated. Pott 8vo. Leather. 5s. net. 
 HARBY VAEDON says : "It is a very handy little book." 
 
 The Six Handicap Golfer's Companion. By. 
 
 "TWO OF HIS KIND." With Chapters by H. 8. COLT 
 and HAROLD H. HILTON. Illustrated with 15 Photo- 
 graphs of JACK WHITE (ex open champion). 2a. 6rf. net. 
 Popular Edition. Paper cover, Is. net. 
 
 Golf Illustrated. " The author's aim is to teach inferior players how te- 
 reduce their handicaps to at least six. There is a great deal of sound advice 
 in the book, and its value is greatly increased by two excellent chapters by- 
 Mr. H. H. Hilton and Mr. H. S. Colt." 
 
 First Steps to Golf. By G. s. BROWN, with 9& 
 
 Illustrations by G. P. ABRAHAM, F.R.P.S., and 9 Dia- 
 grams. Crown 8vo. 25. tid. net. 
 Daily Graphic." A most lucid guide for the benefit of the beginner." 
 
 Letters of a Modern Golfer to his Grandfather.. 
 
 Arranged by UKNRY LEACH. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Outlook. "A book in which the human interest is as marked as the 
 practical instruction. " 
 
 Club Bridge. By ARCHIBALD DUNN, Author of 
 "Bridge and How to Piay it." Crown 8vo. Popular 
 Edition. 3*. net. 
 Evening Standard. "This is, in *uc, -TIIIE BOOK. 
 
 Royal Spade Auction Bridge. By ARCHIBALD* 
 
 DUNN. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s. Gd. net. 
 
 Birmingham Post. "An exhaustive discussion of the many debatable 
 points in connection with the systems of play at present in force. Mr. 
 Dunn's reasoning ia logical and his suggestions valuable." 
 
 The Rifleman's Companion. By L. R. TIPPIN& 
 
 With 6 Illustrations. 2s. 6d. net. 
 20 
 
TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE 
 
 The Philippines Past and Present. By DEAN 
 
 C. WORCESTER. With 128 Full- page Illustrations. 
 2 Vols. Demy 8vo. 30s. net. 
 
 Morning Post." Mr. Worcester's knowledge of the Philippines ia un- 
 -fiurpassod." 
 
 The New Russia: From the White Sea to 
 
 the Siberian Steppe. By ALAN LETHBRIDGE. With 
 95 Illustrations and 3 Maps. Demy 8vo. 16*. net. 
 
 Tiwei. " Page after page discloses a homely and intimate acquaintance 
 -with th habits and thoughts of Russians of every stock." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. " Piquant impressions of the Russian disposition 
 th whole narrative is engaging to those who have a compartment of their 
 <ninds devoted to ibe present and future of Russia." 
 
 Evening Standard. " Mr. Lethbridge's cheery and glowing pages should 
 have a great effect when the war is over in stimulating both the tourists 
 and the merchandise of this country to enter Russia. Altogether an 
 -attractive book." 
 
 Voyaging in Wild Seas : or, A Woman 
 
 among the Head Hunters. A narrative of the voyage 
 of the Stark in the years 1907-1909. By CHABMIAN 
 KITTREDGE LONDON (MRS. JACK LONDON). Demy 
 8vo. 15*. net. Illustrated. 
 
 Daily Graphic "Jack London has narrated the story of "The Cruise 
 of the Snark.' But his wife believes she can supplement that history with 
 ^details likely to interest her husband's public. Hence the ' Voyaging in 
 Wild Seas.' Whatever the incidents to be recorded, and they are countless 
 in number and of thrilling variety, she describes them in a straightforward 
 manner. Consequently there is not a dull page in the book. It is alive 
 -with human interest and high spirits all through. As ir.ay b inferred, 
 tb's is in large part a biography of the novelist for the period it covers. 
 But it is mor ; it presents an absorbing picture of the natives with whom 
 the travellers came in contact." 
 
 The Cruise of the Snark. By JACK LONDON. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo. 1. net. 
 
 Scotmnan. " Makes a fresh and strong appeal to all those who love high 
 adventure and good literature." 
 
 Daily Graphic." We have to thank Mills & Boon for publishing this 
 fflwuarkable world's cruise." 
 
 21 
 
Mills & Boon's Catalogue 
 
 Two Years with the Natives in the Western- 
 Pacific. By DR. FELIX SPEISER. With 40 Illustra- 
 tions. Demy 8vo. 10*. 6d. net. 
 
 Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News. "A really valuable book of 
 travel. " 
 
 Daily Chronicle. "Supplies valuable material for a knowledge of races- 
 low down in the scale of culture in Lie detailed account of their social life, 
 belief, and customs." 
 
 The Wonderful Weald and the Quest of the 
 
 Crock of Gold. By ARTHUR BECKETT, Author 
 of " The Spirit of the Downs." With 20 Illustrations in 
 Colour and 43 Initials by ERNEST MARILUER. 
 Popular Edition. Large Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 Daily Telegraph. " A charmingly discursive, gossipy volume." 
 
 Sunday Times. " He adopts the quest in the Stevengonian manner, and- 
 creates the right atmosphere for the vivid presentment of the history and 
 romance of the Weald. He knows the Weald so well, and can chat about 
 it with such unobtrusive communicativeness, such a charm of literary 
 allusion, and such whimsical humour, that we journey wiih him delightedly, 
 and come to its end with regret." 
 
 Tramps through Tyrol. By F. w. STODDARD 
 
 ("Dolomite"). With 20 Illustrations. Demy 8vo.. 
 Second Edition. Is. Gd. net. 
 
 Standard. " The outcome not of a mere holiday scamper, but of long- 
 residence. In his good company we explore the Dolomites, the Brenner 
 Pass, cross the Fanes Alp, and make acquaintance with such delectabla 
 places as San Martino, Molveno, and Cortino to say nothing of Innsbruck 
 and Meran. He tells us a good deal about shooting and fishing and the 
 delights of the swift ski. Altogether ' Tramps through Tyrol ' is an allurirg- 
 book. Try,' we say, therefore, Tyrol,' and take Mr. btoddard's delightful 
 ' Tramps' with you," 
 
 From Halifax to Vancouver. By B. PULLEN- 
 
 BURRY. With 40 Illustrations. Demy Svo. 12*. 6rf.net. 
 Daily Chronicle." Well written, well arranged, full and complete." 
 22 
 
BOOKS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 The Dolls' Day. By CARINE CADBY. With 29 
 
 Illustrations by WILL CADBY. Crown 8vo. It. Sd. net. 
 Daily Graphic, "'Wonderland through the Camera. Mrs. Carine Cadby 
 has had the charming idea of telling in 'The Dolls' Day' exactly what a 
 little girl who was very fond of dolls dreamed that her dolls did when they 
 had a day off. Belinda the golden-haired, and Charles the chubby, and 
 their baby doll disappeared from their cradles whil* their protectress 
 Stella was dcziug. They roamed through woods and pastures new ; they 
 nearly came to disaster with a strange cat ; they found a friendly Brother 
 Rabbit and a squirrel which showed them the way home. In short, they 
 wandered through a child's homely fairyland and came back safely to ba 
 put to bed at night. It is a pretty phantasy, but it is given an unexpected 
 air of reality by the very clever photographs with which Mr. Will Cadby 
 points the moral and adorns the tale. In them the dulls are so cleverly 
 posed that they look quite as lively and quite as much alive as little Stella 
 thought them. The combination makes one of the most unusual and pretty 
 gift-books of the season." 
 
 The Children's Story of Westminster Abbey. 
 
 By G. E. TROUTBECK. With 4 Photogravure Plates 
 and 21 Illustrations from Photographs. Third Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 5*. net. Popular Edition, 1*. net. 
 
 Stories from Italian History Re-told for 
 
 Children. By G. E. TROUTBECK With 22 Illustra- 
 tions from Photographs. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Taller. " These stories are so vivid and so interesting that they should 
 be in every schoolroom." 
 
 Kings and Queens of France. A Child's History 
 
 of France. By MILDRED CARNEGY. With a Preface 
 by the BISHOP OF HEREFORD. With a Map and 4 
 Full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 3*. Qd. 
 
 Science and Magic. By F. H. &HOOSMITH, B.SC. 
 
 With 54 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 2s. &d. Also School 
 
 Edition. 1*. 
 
 A unique science book for boys on uncommonly interesting lines, con- 
 taining a clearly written acco\mt of some of the many ways ia which a 
 knowledge of scientific principles has been utilised by magicians of all 
 age* to deceive and astonish others. Magnetism and Electricity, Chemistry, 
 Sound, Light, Pneumatics, and Surface Tension are laid under contribution, 
 and the author, after carefully describing the tricks and the means by 
 which they are performed, utilises them as so many illustrations of 
 scientific laws and principles. The language employed throughout is as 
 simple and untecbnical as possible, and the interested reade? and what 
 boy is not interested in conjuring? i put in possession of the secrets of 
 a number of capital tricks and astonishing feats, while absorbing a very 
 considerable amount of scientific knowledge. 
 
Mills & Boon's Catalogue 
 
 Queery Leary Nonsense. Being a Lear Nonsense 
 Book, with a long Introduction and Notes by tbe EARL 
 OF CROMER, and edited by LADY 8TRACHIE. With 
 about 50 Illustrations in colour and line. 4to. 3*. Gd. net. 
 
 The Lear Coloured Bird Book for Children. 
 
 By EDWARD LEAR. With a Foreword by J. ST. LOE 
 STRACHEY. 2s. &d. net. 
 
 Francis Chantrey : Donkey Boy and Sculptor. 
 
 By HAROLD ARMITAGE, Author of " Chantrey Land," 
 ' Sorrelsykes," etc. Illustrated by CHARLES ASH MORE. 
 2s. Qd. Also School Edition, 1*. 
 
 A wholly delightful book, giving a sketch of the life and work of Sir 
 Francis Cbantrey, the milk boy who modelled tbe statue of the Duke of 
 Wellington opposite the Royal Exchange, and the Sleeping Children in 
 Lichfield Cathedral. He gives many romantic details about Chantrey's 
 boyhood, and tales about him and his donkey that are particularly 
 attractive to children. Scott, Wordsworth, and most of the famous men 
 of his time, were modelled by Chantrey, and monuments by him are 
 to be seen in London, Liverpool, Dublin, Edinburgh, Glasgow, etc. The 
 clever pen-and-ink illustrations by Mr. Charles Ashmore are exactly in 
 tune with their subjects. 
 
 The Duke of Wellington. By HAROLD ARMITAGE. 
 
 Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 2s. Qd. Also School Edition, 1*. 
 A book for boys of from 12 to 14. Mr. Armitage writes with spirit, 
 and he is a master of vigorous phrase-making. The book will be of special 
 interest in view of the Centenary of the Battle of Waterloo. The author's 
 description of Wellington's amazing industry, of his unswerving loyalty, of 
 his unbending devotion to duty cannot fail to impress all those who read 
 this biography of Britain's hero. 
 
 A Little Girl's Cookery Book. By c. F. BENTON 
 
 and MARY F. HODGE. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. Paper, 
 1*. net. 
 
 Daily Telegraph. "A capital idea. Hitherto the manufacture of toffy 
 has represented the limit of mirssry art in the direction indicated, but this 
 volume contains excellent recipes for dishes which children will find quite 
 asy to make, and their elders to eat without misgivings. Every father, 
 mother, uncle, and aunt should make a point or' presenting their child 
 friends with a copy of this useful and practical book." 
 
 A Little Girl's Gardening Book. By SELINA 
 
 KANDOLPH. Crown 8vo, Cloth, 2*. 6d. net. Paper, 
 \. net. 
 
 Aberdeen Free Press. "A first-rate book." 
 
 Manchester Courier." All children lore garden*. Thia book will mak 
 theui genuine gardeners." 
 
 24 
 
ON MATTERS THEATRICAL 
 
 A Century of Great Actors (1750-1850). By 
 
 CECIL FERAED ARMSTRONG, Author of "The 
 Dramatic Author's Companion," etc. With 16 Illustra- 
 tions. Demy 8vo. Ws. 6d net. 
 
 Standard. "An interesting series of pithy biographies concise and 
 entertaining." 
 
 World. " An interesting and useful book." 
 
 Bookman. " Very alert, very scholarly, and entirely readable." 
 
 A Century of Famous Actresses (1750-1850). 
 
 By HAROLD SIMPSON, Author of "Yvette Guilbert," 
 "A Century of Ballads," etc., and MBS. CHARLES 
 BRAUN. With 18 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 10*. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 Illustrated London News. " We have seen no book of bygone actor 
 giving a better idea of their acting." 
 
 A Century of Ballads (1810-1910), Their 
 Composers and Singers. By HAROLD SIMP- 
 SON. With 49 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 Popular Edition. Large Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 Daily Express. 11 Deals brightly with a most fascinating subject." 
 
 The Garden of Song. Edited by HAROLD SIMPSON. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo. 2s. Gd. net. 
 
 Scotsman. " An excellent anthology of lyrics that hare been set to 
 music. They are, for the most part, songs that have enjoyed a wide 
 popularity, and this collection of lyrical gems forms a very desirable 
 little volume." 
 
 Shakespeare to Shaw. By CECIL FERARD ARM- 
 
 STRONG, Author of "The Dramatic Author's Com- 
 panion." Crown 8vo. 6*. 
 
 Athenceum. " The dramatists Shakespeare, Congreve, Sheridan, Robert- 
 eon, Sir A. W. Pinero, and Mr. Shaw have been selected as landmark* 
 of English drama. The method adopted by the author is the separate 
 examination of every play of his subjects with criticism of the qualities 
 
 of 6&CU." 
 
 25 
 
Mills & Boon's Catalogue 
 An Actor's Hamlet. With full notes by LOUIS 
 
 CALVERT. Crown 8vo. 2s. Qd. net. 
 Daily Chronicle. " Full of illuminating insight." 
 
 The Dramatic Author's Companion. By CECIL 
 
 F. ARMSTRONG. With an Introduction by ARTHUR 
 BQURCHIER, M.A. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 
 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 Times." This is a very useful book, and there seems little omitted which 
 will be of practical service to an aspiring playwright. All about different 
 kinds of plays and their production, contracts, placing MSS. (with an 
 excellent covering letter), facsimile MS., copyrights, etc." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. " The best book of ita kind we have seen. Its author 
 has not only a wide knowledge of plays, but a sound judgment both from 
 the artistic and popular standpoint. His advice is always practical." 
 
 The Amateur Actor's Companion. By VIOLET 
 
 M. METHLEY. With 8 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 
 2*. &d. net. 
 
 The aim of this book is to be a more complete and more up-to-date 
 handbook upon Amateur Theatricals than has yet appeared. 
 
 The Actor's Companion. By CECIL F. ARM. 
 
 STRONG. With an Introduction by ARTHUR BOUR- 
 CHIER, M.A. Crown 8vo. 2*. Gd. net. 
 
 Whilst having no pretensions to teaching the difficult art of acting, this 
 book will be found to contain many practical and useful hints to the 
 young actor. The author, associated as he has been for many years with 
 one of the larger West End theatres, has had exceptionally good 
 opportunities of studying the inner workings of a theatre, the technical 
 requirements of the actor, and the many considerations besides that of 
 mere taleut necessary to ensure success on the stage. Two special chapters, 
 one dealing with Scientific Voice Production and the other with the Art 
 of Gesture, are contributed by well-known experts. 
 
 Peter Pan: The Fairy Story of the Play. 
 
 By G. D. DRENNAN. With a Photogravure of Miss 
 PAULINE CHASE as Peter Pan. Fcap. 8vo. Leather, 
 2*. 6d. net. Popular Edition, Crown 8vo. Paper, Qd. 
 School Reader Edition, with an Introduction by A. R. 
 PICKLES, M.A. Cloth, Qd. 
 
 Votes for Women. A Play in Three Acts. By 
 ELIZABETH ROBINS. Crown 8vo. 1*. 
 26 
 
VOLUMES OF VERSE 
 
 Deportmental Ditties. By HARRY GRAHAM. 
 
 Profusely Illustrated by LEWIS BAUMER. Fcap. 8vo. 
 
 Third Edition. 3*. Gd. net. 
 
 Daily Graphic. "Harry Graham certainly has the knack." 
 Daily Chronicle. " All clever, generally flippant, invariably amusing." 
 
 Canned Classics, and Other Verses. By 
 
 HARRY GRAHAM, Author of " Deportmental Ditties," 
 "The Bolster Book," etc., etc. Profusely Illustrated by 
 LEWIS BAUMER. Crown 4to. 3*. 6d. net. Also 
 Fcap. 8vo. 3s. Qd. net. 
 
 Times. " As fresh as ever." 
 
 Evening Standard. "One long delight." 
 
 Founded on Fiction. By LADY SYBIL GRANT. 
 
 With r>0 Illustrations and a Cover Design by GEORGE 
 
 MORROW. Crown 4to. 3*. Qd. net. 
 T. P.'s Weekly. 1 ' A book of chuckles." 
 
 Daily Chronicle." The vivacious offspring of a witty mind." 
 Times. " Mr. Morrow's pictures fit the verses like a glove." 
 
 Poetry for Boys. Selected by S. MAXWELL, M.A., 
 LL.B., F.R.A.S. Crown 8vo. 1*. Gd. 
 
 Schoolmaster." The sixty-three poems in this volume have been very 
 carefully selected. Each is of high literary merit, and of such a kind as 
 will especially appeal to boys and make them wish to know more of our 
 heritage of English poetry." 
 
 Through the Loopholes of Retreat. By HAN- 
 
 SARD WATT. With a Portrait of COWPEB in Photo- 
 gravure. Fcap. 8vo. 35. Gd. net. 
 
 Dailg Chronicle." Mr. Hansard Watt has hit npon the happy plan of 
 placing poet and letter-writer side by side, so that the two voices may 
 blend in unison. The volume has a select passage of prose and verse for 
 -every day in the year, and the whole is a pleasant and surpriseful store- 
 house of good things Mr. Watt prints for the first time a letter from 
 <Cowper to his friend Joseph Hill : it ia full of interest, and lends an 
 additional charm to the volume." 
 
FOR THE CONTEMPLATIVE MIND 
 
 Involution. By LORD EKNEST HAMILTON. DemySvc*. 
 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Daily Graphic. "Extremely interesting, an honest and lofty endeavour 
 to seek the truth." 
 
 St. Clare and Her Order : A Story of Sever* 
 
 Centuries. By the Author of "The Enclosed Nun." 
 With 20 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. Is. Gd. net. 
 Catholic Times. " Fills a gap in our religious literature." 
 
 The Town of Morality : or, the Narrative of One 
 who Lived Here for a Time. By C. H. K. Second 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Daily Graphic. " In short, C. H. R. has written a new ' Pilgrim's Progress,' 
 a passionate, a profound, and stirring satire on the self-satisfied morality of 
 Church and of Chapel." 
 
 The Book of This and That. By EGBERT LYNIX 
 
 Crown 8vo. 4s. Gd. net. 
 A collection of brilliant Essays by a talented Irishman. 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette.' 1 This delightful book. Mr. Lynd writes wittily- 
 and pleasantly." 
 
 Manchester Guardian. " His cleverness is amazing; fresh, amusing,, 
 suggestive." 
 
 The Enclosed Nun. Fcap. 8vo. New Edition. Cloth,, 
 2s. &d. net ; Paper, Is, net. 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. "A remarkably beautiful piece of devotional 
 writing." 
 
 Unposted Letters. Crown 8vo. 6*. 
 
 Daily Express. " Full of tender memories. There is something abouV 
 them peculiarly touching and very human." 
 
 Morning Post. "They hare a style of their owa which must attract' 
 every reader of taste." 
 
 A Little Book for those who Mourn. 
 
 Compiled by MILDRED CARNEGY. A little volum& 
 for those in sorrow, chosen with care and sympathy,,. 
 Pott 8vo. Cloth, It. &d. net ; Lambskin, 2s. Qd. net. 
 
FOR POLITICIANS AND 
 OTHER READERS 
 
 Joffre and His Army. By CHARLES DAWBARN. 
 
 With 8 Illustrations. Crowii 8vo. 2s. Gd. net. 
 
 Makers of New France. By CHARLES DAWBARN. 
 
 With 16 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 10*. Gd. net. Popular 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s. Gd. net. 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette: "Well worth setting alongside the best literature 
 ihat we have on France from Bodley or the Philosophers, for the book ia 
 imbued with a profound and instructive sympathy expressed in admirable 
 -forni." 
 
 Morning Post : "A triumphant book which ought to be read by every- 
 'body who wishes to understand the new orientation of French mentality." 
 
 Liverpool Post: "Mr. Dawbarn is a literary ambassador of the 
 Entente." 
 
 Romany Life. By FRANK CUTTRISS. with an 
 
 Illustration in 4 Colours and 46 in Monotone. 7*. Gd. net. 
 
 A charming book on Gipsy life, beautifully illustrated and 
 -quite the best thing of its kind that has been published. It 
 'Is written by an expert whose knowledge of Gypsies is beyond 
 question, and whose photographs are the real thing. 
 
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