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Title: A Hand-book for Travellers in Spain and Readers at Home

Author: Richard Ford

Release Date: November 1, 2009 [EBook #30387]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

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Richard Ford, dressed as a Majo Serio.

A

HAND-BOOK

FOR

TRAVELLERS IN SPAIN,

AND

READERS AT HOME,

DESCRIBING THE
COUNTRY AND CITIES, THE NATIVES AND THEIR MANNERS;
THE ANTIQUITIES, RELIGION, LEGENDS, FINE ARTS,
LITERATURE, SPORTS, AND GASTRONOMY:

WITH NOTICES
ON SPANISH HISTORY

BY

RICHARD FORD

1845.

{v}

NOTICE TO THE FIRST EDITION

The Publisher of the 'Hand-book for Travellers in Spain' requests that travellers who may, in the use of the Work, detect any faults or omissions which they can correct from personal knowledge, will have the kindness to mark them down on the spot and communicate to him a notice of the same, favouring him at the same time with their names—addressed to the care of Mr. Murray, Albemarle Street. They may be reminded that by such communications they are not merely furnishing the means of improving the Hand-book, but are contributing to the benefit, information, and comfort of future travellers in general; and particularly in regard to Spain, which just now is in a state of transition, change, and progress.

* No attention can be paid to letters from innkeepers in praise of their own houses; and the postage of them is so onerous that they cannot be received.

{vi}

Caution to Travellers.—By a recent Act of Parliament the introduction into England of foreign pirated Editions of the works of British authors, in which the copyright subsists, is totally prohibited. Travellers will therefore bear in mind that even a single copy is contraband, and is liable to seizure at the English Custom-house.

Caution to Innkeepers and others.—The Editor of the Hand-books has learned from various quarters that a person or persons have of late been extorting money from innkeepers, tradespeople, artists, and others, on the Continent, under pretext of procuring recommendations and favourable notices of them and their establishments in the Hand-books for Travellers. The Editor, therefore, thinks proper to warn all whom it may concern, that recommendation in the Hand-books are not to be obtained by purchase, and that the persons alluded to are not only unauthorised by him, but are totally unknown to him. All those, therefore, who put confidence in such promises may rest assured that they will be defrauded of their money without attaining their object.—1845.

{vii}

to

SIR WILLIAM EDEN, Bart.,

these pages are dedicated, in remembrance of pleasant
years spent in well-beloved spain.

by his sincere friend,

RICHARD FORD.

"Hæc studia adolescentiam acuunt, senectutem oblectant, secundas res ornant, adversis perfugium ac solatium præbent; delectant domi, non impediunt foris, pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur."
Cicero, pro Arch. 7.
{Page 1}

PREFACE

Of the many misrepresentations regarding Spain, few have been more systematically circulated than the dangers and difficulties which are there supposed to beset the traveller. This, the most romantic and peculiar country in Europe, may in reality be visited throughout its length and breadth with ease and safety, for travelling there is no worse than it was in France or Italy in 1814, before English example forced improvements. Still the great desideratum is a practical Hand-book, as the national Guias are unsatisfactory, since few Spaniards travel in their own country, and fewer travel out of it; thus, with limited means of comparison, they cannot appreciate differences, nor know what are the wants and wishes of a foreigner. Accordingly in their Guides, usages, ceremonies, &c., which are familiar to themselves from childhood, are often passed over without notice, although, from their novelty to the stranger, they are exactly what he most desires to have pointed out and explained. Nay, the natives frequently despise or are ashamed of those very things which the most interest and charm the foreigner, for whose observation they select the new rather than the old, and especially their poor pale copies of Europe, in preference to their own rich and racy originals. Again, the oral information which is to be obtained from the parties on the spot is generally still more meagre; and as these incurious semi-orientals look with jealousy on the foreigner who observes or questions, they either fence with him in their answers, raise difficulties, or, being highly imaginative, magnify or diminish everything as best suits their own views and suspicions. The national expressions "Quien sabe? no se sabe,"—"who knows? I do not know," will often be the prelude to "No se puede,"—"it can't be done."

This Hand-book attempts to show what may be known and what may be done in Spain, with the least difficulty and the most satisfaction. With this view, the different modes of travelling by land or water, and the precautions necessary to be taken to insure comfort and security, are first pointed out in the Introduction. The Provinces are then described one after another. The principal lines of high roads, cross-communications, names of inns, and quality of accommodation, are detailed, and the best seasons of the year for exploring each route suggested. Plans of tours, {2}general and special, are drawn up, and the best lines laid down for specific and specified objects. The peculiarities of every district and town are noticed, and a short account given of the local antiquities, religion, art, scenery, and manners. Thus this work, the fruit of many years' wandering in the Peninsula, is an humble attempt to furnish in the smallest compass the greatest quantity of useful and entertaining information, whether for the traveller in the country itself or for the reader at home. Those things which every one when on the spot can see with his own eyes, such as scenery, pictures, &c., are seldom described minutely; stress is laid upon what to observe, leaving it to the spectator to draw his own conclusions; nor is everything that can be seen set down, but only what is really worth seeing,—nec omnia dicentur (as Pliny says, 'N. H.' xiv. 2), sed maxime insignia.

The philosophy of Spain and Spaniards, and what is to be known, not seen, have never been neglected; therefore dates, names, facts, and everything are mentioned by which local interest may be enhanced. Curiosity is awakened, rather than exhausted; for to do that would require many more such volumes as this. But as next to knowing a thing oneself, is the knowing where to find it, the best writers and sources of fuller information are cited, from whence future and more competent authors may fill up this skeleton framework, whilst an exact reference to the highest authorities on every nice occasion offers a better guarantee of accuracy than the mere unsupported statement of any individual.

In Spain, some few large cities excepted, libraries, newspapers, cicerones, and those resources which so much assist the traveller in other countries of Europe, are among the things that are not; therefore the provident traveller should carry in his saddle-bags food both for mind and body, a supply of what he can read and eat, in the destitute ventas of this hungry land of the uninformed. Again, as Spain and Spaniards are comparatively so little understood, some departure has been made from the preceding Handbooks which have described countries familiar to all. A little more is now aimed at than a mere book of roads, or description of the husk of the country. To see the cities, and know the minds of men, has been, since the days of the Odyssey, the object of travel; but how difficult is it, in the words of "the Duke" (Disp., Dec. 13, 1810), "to understand the Spaniards exactly!" Made up of contradictions, they dwell in the land of the unexpected, le pays de l'imprévu, where exception is the rule, where accident and the impulse of the moment are the moving powers, and where men,{3} especially in their collective capacity, act like women and children. A spark, a trifle, sets the impressionable masses in action, and none can foresee the commonest event; nor does any Spaniard ever attempt to guess beyond la situacion actual, or to foretell what the morrow will bring; that he leaves to the foreigner, who does not understand him. Paciencia y barajar is his motto; and he waits patiently to see what next will turn up after another shuffle, for his creed and practice are "Resignation," the Islam of the Oriental.

The key to decypher this singular people is scarcely European, since this Berberia Cristiana is at least a neutral ground between the hat and the turban, and many contend that Africa begins even at the Pyrenees. Be that as it may, Spain, first civilised by the Phœnicians, and long possessed by the Moors, has indelibly retained the original impressions. Test her, therefore, and her natives by an Oriental standard, how analogous does much appear that is strange and repugnant, if compared with European usages! This land and people of routine and habit are also potted for antiquarians, for here Pagan, Roman, and Eastern customs, long obsolete elsewhere, turn up at every step in church and house, in cabinet and campaign, as we shall carefully point out.

Again, here are those seas which reflect the glories of Drake, Rooke, and Nelson, and those plains that are hallowed by the victories of the Black Prince, Stanhope, and Wellington; and what English pilgrim will fail to visit such sites, or be dead to the religio loci which they inspire? And where better than on the scenes themselves can be read the great deeds of our soldiers and sailors, their gallantry and good conduct, the genius, mercy, and integrity of their immortal chiefs, which will be here faithfully yet not boastingly recorded?

But the mirror that shall truly reflect Spain and her things, her glories and shame, must disclose a chequered picture in which dark shadows will contrast with bright lights, and the evil clash with the good; sad, indeed, will be many a page; alas! for the works of ages of piety, science, and fine art, trampled down by the Vandal heel of destroyers, foreign and domestic, who have left a deep footprint, and set a brand which will pain the scholar, the artist, and the philanthropist. If, however, inexorable history forbids the total concealment of such crimes and culprits, far more pleasant has been the duty of dwelling on achievements of skill and valour, of pointing out the many beauties and excellencies of this highly favoured land, and of enlarging on the generous, manly, and independent People of Spain (see Index). A distinction{4} has always been drawn between the noble and brave Nation at large and those unworthy individuals who, by means of vicious institutions, have endeavoured to depress its best energies; for the thing wanting to the vigorous members of the political body in Spain is a Head.

In presenting these and other things of Spain, let not any occasional repetition be imputed to carelessness or tautology, for matter descriptive and critical more than sufficient to have made another volume, has been cancelled in order to economise space, already too confined for so large a subject. By repetition alone are impressions made and fixed; and as no hand-book is ever read through continuously, each page should in some wise tell its own story; and when so many sites have witnessed similar events, the narrative and deductions cannot materially differ. References will, however, frequently be made to analogous points; and the bulk of information on any given subjects, purposely scattered in these pages, will be brought together under distinct heads in the Index, to which the reader is entreated to refer when any word or fact seems to require explanation.

Postscript.

July 19, 1845.

By arrangements just concluded, Madrid may now be reached in six days from London; the Peninsular Steamer from Southampton arrives at Corunna in about 72 hours, whence a Royal Mail runs to the capital in three days and a-half, via Lugo and Benavente. (See Routes lxvii., lxxv., lxxx.){5}

SECTION I.

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

1. General View of Spain.—2. Spanish Money.—3. Passports.—4. Roads.—5. Modes of Correspondence and Travelling in Spain—Post-office.—6. Travelling with Post-horses.—7. Riding Post.—8. Public Conveyances in Spain—El Correo—Diligences.—9. Inns—The Fonda—Posada—Venta.—10. Voiturier Travelling.—11. Robbers, and Precautions against them.—12. Travelling with Muleteers.—13. Travelling on Horseback.—14. Spanish Horses—Hints on a riding Journey.—15. Spanish Servants—Cookery.—16. Conveyances by Steam.—17. What to observe in Spain.—18. Spanish Language—Dialects—Gesticulations—Germania, or Slang—Grammars and Dictionaries.—19. Geography of Spain.—20. Skeleton Tours.—21. Church and Architectural Terms.—22. Chronology, the Era; Kings of Spain, Contemporary Sovereigns, and Royal Arms.—23. Authorities quoted.—24. Abbreviations.

1. GENERAL VIEW OF SPAIN.

The aggregate monarchy of Spain is composed of many distinct provinces, each of which in earlier times formed a separate and independent kingdom; although all are now united by marriage; inheritance, conquest, and other circumstances under one crown, the original distinctions, geographical as well as social, remain almost unaltered. The language, costume, habits, and local character of the natives, vary no less than the climate and productions of the soil. Man, following, as it were, the example of the nature by which he is surrounded, has little in common with the inhabitant of the adjoining district; and these differences are increased and perpetuated by the ancient jealousies and inveterate dislikes, which petty and contiguous states keep up with such tenacious memory. The general comprehensive term "Spain," which is convenient for geographers and politicians, is calculated to mislead the traveller. Nothing can be more vague or inaccurate than to predicate any single thing of Spain or Spaniards which will be equally applicable to all its heterogeneous component parts. The north-western provinces are more rainy than Devon{6}shire, while the centre plains are more calcined than those of Barbary: while the rude agricultural Gallician, the industrious manufacturing artisan of Barcelona, the gay and voluptuous Andalucian, are as essentially different from each other as so many distinct characters at the same masquerade. It will therefore be more convenient to the traveller to take each province by itself and treat it in detail; accordingly we shall preface each province with a few preliminary remarks, in which will be pointed out those peculiarities, those social and natural characteristics which particularly belong to each division, and distinguish it from its neighbours. The Spaniards who have written on their own geography and statistics, and who ought to be supposed to understand their own country and institutions the best, have found it advisable to adopt this arrangement from feeling the utter impossibility of treating Spain as a whole. There is no king of Spain; among the infinity of kingdoms, the list of which swells out the royal style, that of "Spain" is not found; he is King of the Spains, Rey de las Españas, not "Rey de España." The provinces of Castile, old and new, take the lead in national nomenclature; hence "Castellano," Castilian, is synonymous with Spaniard, and particularly with the proud genuine older stock. "Castellano a las derechas," is a Spaniard to the backbone; "Hablar Castellano," to speak Castilian, is the correct expression for speaking the Spanish language. Spain long was without the advantage of a fixed metropolis, like Rome, Paris, or London, which have been capitals from their foundation, and recognized and submitted to as such; while here, the cities of Leon, Burgos, Toledo, Seville, Valladolid, and others, have each in their turns been the capitals of the kingdom, and the seats of royal residence. This constant change, and short-lived pre-eminence, has weakened any prescriptive superiority of one city over another, and has been a cause of national weakness by raising up rivalries and disputes about precedence, which is one of the most fertile sources of dissension among a punctilious people. Madrid, compared with the cities above mentioned, is a modern place; it ranks only as a town, "villa," not a city, "ciudad." It does not even possess a cathedral. In moments of national danger it exercises little influence over the Peninsula; at the same time, from being the seat of the court and government, the centre of patronage and fashion, it attracts from all parts "los pretendientes" and those who wish to make their fortunes. The capital has a hold on the ambition rather than on the affections of the nation at large. The inhabitants of the different provinces think indeed that Madrid is the greatest and richest court in the{7} world, but their hearts are in their native localities. "Mi paisano," my fellow-countryman, does not mean Spaniard, but Andalucian, Catalonian, as the case may be. When asked where do you come from? the reply is, "Soy hijo de Murcia—hijo de Granada," "I am a son of Murcia—a son of Granada," &c. This is strictly analogous to the "Children of Israel," the "Beni" of the Spanish Moors, and to this day the Arabs of Cairo call themselves children of that town, "Ibn el Musr," &c. This being of the same province or town creates a powerful feeling of clanship—a freemasonry; the parties cling together like old schoolfellows, or the Scotch. It is a home and really binding feeling. To the spot of their birth all their recollections, comparisons, and eulogies are turned; nothing to them comes up to their particular province, that is their real country. "La Patria," meaning Spain at large, is a subject of declamation, fine words, palabras—palaver, in which all, like Orientals, delight to indulge, and to which their grandiloquent idiom lends itself readily. From the earliest period down to the present, all observers have been struck with this localism, as a salient feature in Iberian character. They never would amalgamate, never would, as Strabo said, put their shields together, never would sacrifice their own local private interest for the general good; on the contrary, in the hour of need, they had, as at present, a constant tendency to separate into distinct juntas, each of which only thought of its own views, utterly indifferent to the injury thereby occasioned to what ought to have been the common cause of all. Thus the virility and vitality of the noble people has been neutralised; they have indeed strong limbs and honest hearts, but, as in the Oriental parable, "a head" is wanting, to direct and govern: hence Spain is to-day, as it always has been, a bundle of small bodies tied together by a rope of sand, and, being without union, is also without strength, and has been beaten in detail. The much-used phrase Españolismo, expresses rather a "dislike of foreign dictation," and the "self estimation" of Spaniards, Españoles sobre todos, than any real patriotic love of country.

However the natives of the different provinces of Spain may differ among each other, there are many things which, as regards an Englishman travelling through the Peninsula, still hold good in every part; accordingly money, passports, roads, post-offices, modes of travelling by land or steam, inns, general advice as to preparations and precautions, necessarily must take precedence in our Hand-book. In treating of these, each in their order, we shall never omit, when the opportunity offers, to introduce any remark, proverb, expression, or circumstance, which may tend to{8} a better understanding of the character of the people, which, after all, is the best information with which a stranger can be provided.

2. SPANISH MONEY.

The first step will be to follow "Honest Iago's" advice; "Put money in thy purse;" for an empty one, and a lame mule, are beggarly companions to pilgrims whether bound for Rome or Santiago, Camino de Roma, ni mula coja ni bolsa floja. The money is practically the same all over the Peninsula; wherever there may exist any local coins they are small, and scarcely come within the traveller's notice. There is no paper money; it is entirely composed of specie,—of gold, silver, and copper, and is in good condition, the whole coinage having been renewed and simplified by Charles III. about 1770. Accounts in Spain are usually kept in reals, "reales de Vellon," which are worth about 2¼d. English. They are the piastres of the Turks, the sestertii of the Romans.

Copper Money—"Monedas de Cobre."—The lowest in denomination is the maravedi. This ancient money of Spain, in which government accounts used to be kept, has undergone many changes in value which have been investigated by Saez and Wyndham Beawes. It at present is almost an imaginary coin, of which about fourteen and a fraction make an English penny. The common Spanish copper coins are the

As a general rule, the traveller may consider the "cuarto" as equivalent to a French sou, and something less than our English halfpenny. It is the smallest coin likely to come much under the traveller's observation. Those below it, which are in value fractions of farthings, have hardly any defined form, and cannot be described; among the lower classes every bit of copper in the shape of a coin passes for money; thus, in changing a dollar into small copper, by way of an experiment, it was found, during the latter years of the reign of Ferdinand VII., that among the multitudinous specimens of Spanish mints of all periods, Moorish, and even ancient Roman coins, were given and taken as maravedis in the market-place at Seville.{9}

The silver coins, "Monedas de plata," consist, generally speaking, of five classes, which are thus conveniently divided in value:—

The real is worth somewhat more than twopence farthing; the dos reales, or two reals, somewhat less than fivepence, and may be considered as equivalent to the half franc, and representing in Spain the sixpence in England. The peseta comes very nearly to the French franc. Of these and the "dos reales" the traveller should always take a good supply, for, as the Scotchman said of sixpences, "they are canny little dogs, and often do the work of shillings." The half dollar varies, according to the exchange, between two shillings and half a crown. The traveller will find the dos reales, the peseta, the half dollar, and dollar to be the most convenient pieces of Spanish silver money.

The dollar of Spain is well known all over the world, being the form under which silver has been generally exported from the Spanish colonies of South America. It is the Italian "Colonato," so called because the arms of Spain are supported between the two pillars of Hercules. The ordinary Spanish name is "Duro." They are often, however, termed in banking and mercantile transactions "pesos fuertes," to distinguish them from the imaginary "peso" or smaller dollar of fifteen reals only, of which the peseta is the diminutive.

The "Duro" in the last century was coined into half dollars, quarter dollars, and half quarter dollars. The two latter do not often occur; they may be distinguished from the "peseta" and "dos reales" by having the arms of Spain between the two pillars, which have been omitted in recent coinages; their fractional value renders them inconvenient to the traveller until perfectly familiar with Spanish money. The quarter dollar is, of course, worth five reals, while the peseta is only worth four; the half quarter dollar is worth two reals and a half, while the dos reales is only worth two.

The coinage is slovenly: it is the weight of the metal, not the form, to which the Spaniard looks. Ferd. VII. continued for a long while to strike money with his father's head, having only had the lettering altered: thus early Trajans exhibit the head of Nero; and our Henry VIII. set an example to Ferd. VII. When the{10} Cortes entered Madrid after Salamanca, they patriotically prohibited the currency of all coins bearing the head of the intrusive Joseph; yet his dollars being chiefly made out of church plate, gilt and ungilt, were, although those of an usurper, intrinsically worth more than the legitimate duro: this was a too severe test for the loyalty of those whose real king and god is cash. Such a decree was worthy of those senators who were busy in expelling French words from their dictionary instead of Frenchmen from their country. The wiser Chinese take Ferdinand and Joseph's dollars alike, calling them both "devil's head money." These sad prejudices against good coin have now given way to the march of intellect; nay, the five-franc piece with Louis Philippe's clever head on it, bids fair to oust the pillared Duro. The silver of the mines of Murcia, is exported to France, where it is coined, and sent back in the manufactured shape. France thus gains a handsome per-centage, and habituates the people to her image of power, which comes recommended to them in the most acceptable likeness of current coin.

The gold coinage is magnificent, and worthy of the country and period from which Europe was supplied with this precious metal. The largest piece, the ounce, "onza," which is generally worth more than 3l 6s., puts to shame the diminutive Napoleons of France and sovereigns of England; it tells the tale of Spain's former wealth, and contrasts strangely with her present poverty and scarcity of specie.

The gold coinage is simple:—

The ounce in Spain, when of full weight, is worth sixteen dollars. The value, however, of any individual piece is very uncertain. These large coins were mostly struck from twenty to fifty years back, and are much worn by time, and still more by the frequent operation of sweating, to which they are constantly exposed at home and abroad, by the fraudulent. They in consequence are seldom of their legal weight and value: many have been so glaringly and evidently clipped and reduced, that no one will take them at sixteen dollars. Those which are under legal weight ought to be accompanied with a certificate, wherein is stated their exact diminished weight and value. The certificate, may be obtained in the principal towns from the "contrastador," or "fiel medidor,"{11} the person who is legally authorized to weigh those gold coins which are supposed to be light, and his place of abode is well known. The debased coin, accompanied with this document, is then taken for whatever it is thus recognised and ascertained to be worth. All this, however, leads to constant disputes and delays, and the stranger cannot be too cautious when he takes money from Spanish bankers or merchants, to see that these great coins are of correct weight. It is generally far preferable, except when residing in large towns, to take the smaller gold coins instead of the ounces; to the former, objections are very seldom raised. We would particularly advise the traveller, who is about to leave the high road to visit the more rarely frequented districts and towns, to have nothing to do with any ounces whatever; for when these broad pieces are offered for payment in a small village, they are always viewed with distrust. Nor even if the "Venteros," the inn-keepers, be satisfied that they are not light, can so much change as sixteen dollars be often met with, nor do those who have so much ready money by them ever wish that the fact should be generally known. Spaniards, like the Orientals, have a dread of being supposed to have money in their possession, it exposes them to be plundered by robbers of all kinds, professional or legal; by the "alcalde," or village authority, and the "escribano," the attorney, to say nothing of the tax-gatherer; for the quota of contributions, many of which being apportioned among the inhabitants themselves of each district, falls heaviest on those who have, or are supposed to have, the most ready money: hence the difficulty the traveller will find in getting change, which, whether feigned or not, is at least real, as far as he is concerned and inconvenienced thereby.

The lower classes of Spaniards, like the Orientals, are generally avaricious. They see that wealth is safety and power, where everything is venal; the feeling of insecurity makes them eager to invest what they have in a small and easily concealed bulk, "en lo que no habla," "in that which does not tell tales." Consequently, and in self-defence, they are much addicted to hoarding. The idea of finding hidden treasures, which prevails in Spain as in the East, is based on some grounds. In every country which has been much exposed to foreign invasions, civil wars, and domestic misrule, where there were no safe modes of investment, in moments of danger property was converted into gold or jewels and concealed with singular ingenuity. The mistrust which Spaniards entertain of each other often extends, when cash is in the case, even to the nearest relations, to wife and children. Many a{12} treasure is thus lost from the accidental death of the hider, who, dying without a sign, carries his secret to the grave, adding thereby to the sincere grief of his widow and heir. One of the old vulgar superstitions in Spain is an idea that those who were born on a Good Friday, the day of mourning, were melancholy and spirit-haunted. They were called Zahori, and were imagined to be gifted with a power of seeing into the earth and of discovering hidden treasures.

The smaller gold coins obviate all doubts and difficulties of procuring change. It may be observed, though they do not often occur, that some have a narrow thread or cord stamped round them; they are then termed "de premio," and have a small additional fractional value, and should be avoided by the traveller, as he will never be reminded when paying them away that he is giving more than he ought. These coins, in common with all which are not the simplest and best known, only entail on him probable loss and certain trouble in adding up accounts and making payments.

In addition to these troublesome coins, there are two imaginary ones with which old-fashioned Spaniards perplex travellers when naming prices or talking of values, just as is done with our obsolete guinea: one is the "Ducado," which is worth eleven reals, about half our crown: the other is the "Peso," the piastre, which is worth fifteen reals. This "Peso" requires some explanation, because, although imaginary, the exchange on England is still regulated by it: so many pence, more or less, as the rate may be high or low, are reckoned as equivalent to this "Peso;" the exchange on the principal cities of Europe is generally published in all Spanish newspapers. Thirty-six pence is considered to be par, or 48 for the dollar, or "peso fuerte," as it is called, to distinguish the whole piece from the smaller one. The whole dollar in accounts is marked thus $. The exchange generally is against England; our experience places it between 37 pence and 38 pence. The traveller will soon calculate how much he ought to get for his pound sterling. If 36 pence will produce 15 reals, how many reals will 240 pence give?—the answer is 100. This being a round number will form a sufficient basis for the traveller newly arrived in Spain to regulate his financial computation: a hundred reals he may take as equivalent to a pound sterling, although he will be most fortunate if ever he gets so much, after all the etceteras of exchange, commission, and money-scrivening are deducted. Money, say the Spaniards, is like oil, and cannot be passed from one vessel to another without some sticking behind, "quien el aceite mesura, las manos unta." The{13} usual mode of drawing on England is by bills at 90 days after sight, at a usance and half, 60 days being the usance. The traveller who draws at sight, "corto," or at shorter dates, or "á trenta dias," at 30 days, ought in consequence to obtain a more favourable rate of exchange. The circular notes of Messrs. Herries and of other London bankers, which afford such general accommodation in other countries of Europe, are only available in some few of the largest towns of Spain. The Peninsula has not been sufficiently visited by travellers to render it necessary to open a more extended correspondence, nor indeed are there bankers except in the largest towns: in the present depressed state of commerce in Spain, which at the best epochs was but passive, the separate trade of banker is seldom required. Money transactions are managed as they used to be a few centuries ago all over Europe, by merchants. The best method is to take out a letter of credit on the principal cities which enter into the projected line of tour, and on arriving at the first of these to draw a sum sufficient to carry the traveller into the next point, where he can obtain a fresh supply; and in order to prevent accidents on the road, the first banker or merchant should be desired to furnish smaller letters of credit on the intermediate towns. Those acquainted with the mysteries of bills and exchanges in London may frequently obtain paper on Spain here, by which a considerable turn of the market may be made in Spain. The best bills are those drawn by such houses as Rothschilds, Barings, Gowers, Gibbs, Martinez, Lloregan, &c. Of foreign coins, the 5-franc piece is the best known, but otherwise there is always some loss and difficulty in changing them. It, however, may be convenient for those who enter Spain from England or France with money of those countries to know the official value given in Spanish currency for foreign coins, which, as usual, is somewhat below their strict value.

ENGLISH MONEY.

FRENCH MONEY.

It is by far the best to come provided with Spanish dollars, which may always be procured in London by those who go to Spain by steam, or at Bayonne by those who enter from France. It will be found convenient, especially in remote and rarely visited districts, for the traveller to take with him a small reserve supply of the gold coins of four and two dollars each. They are easily concealed in some unsuspected part of the baggage, take little room, and pass everywhere without difficulty.

3. PASSPORTS.

The French, during their intrusive occupation of Spain, introduced the severe machinery of police and passports, cartes de sureté, and all those petty annoyances which impede the honest traveller, who, conscious of meaning no harm, is too apt to overlook forms and regulations, which the dishonest take especial care to observe. These and many other similar regulations, which have neither name nor existence in England, were retained by Ferdinand VII., who saw their value as engines of government, and now the system of passports and police surveillance has become the substitute for the Inquisition,[1] which in late years had lost most of its terrors, and certainly was neither made such an instrument of oppression, nor was so much hated by all classes of Spaniards. The Inquisition was quite a Spanish institution; passports and police are French and foreign, therefore doubly odious to Spaniards. Although the name of an Englishman is the{15} best safeguard in the Peninsula, yet in remote districts, and in unsettled times, all foreigners are objects of suspicion to petty authorities: the traveller, when brought in contact with such, should at once hoist his colours and take a high ground, by informing his questioner that, thanks to God, he is an English gentleman; Señor, gracias á Dios, soy Caballero Ingles. The Spaniard, feeling that he has done the stranger an injustice, is anxious by additional civility and attention to give satisfaction. Again, if the traveller's papers be not en règle, it is in the power of any ignorant or ill-conditioned alcalde in the smallest village to detain him, nor can much redress afterwards be expected. The laws on this subject are precise and very severe; and as there is no exemption from their operation, it is better to submit with a good grace to the annoyance, which is one of the penalties of foreign travel, and to which no custom can reconcile our countrymen, whose birthright is liberty of person and of locomotion: as the thing cannot be avoided, the traveller should early form the habit of everywhere inquiring, the very first thing on arrival, what steps are necessary to be taken in regard to his passport and police regulations. Those about to reside any lengthened time in any city are obliged to have a Carta de seguridad, or a "cedula de permanencia," a permission to reside, which is granted by the police for a certain time, and renewable at its expiration: when actually travelling, the passport is often required to be signed every night. It sometimes will occur that travellers pass the night at some solitary "ventorillo," or "cortijo," farm-house: under these circumstances it is as well to viser the passport themselves, and get any of the inmates to sign it. The habit of complying with these forms of police regulations, once established, will practically give little trouble, and will obviate a world of vexation, inconvenience, and loss of time. The necessary formalities are soon done; and usually great civility is shown by the authorities to those travellers who will wait upon them in person, which is not always required. The Spaniards, who are not to be driven with a rod of iron, may be led by a straw. In no country is more to be obtained by the cheap outlay of courtesy in manner and speech, "cortesia de boca mucho vale y costa poco." As a general rule, the utmost care should be taken of this passport, since the loss of it naturally subjects the stranger to every sort of suspicion, and may cause him to be placed under the surveillance of the police. It should be carried about the person when travelling, as it is liable constantly to be called for: to prevent it from being worn out, it is advisable to have it laid down on fine linen, and then bound{16} into a small pocket-book, and a number of blank leaves attached, on which the visas and signatures are to be placed.

A passport for Spain may always be obtained at the Foreign-office in Downing-street; the recommendation is a mere form: if the applicant happens to be unknown to any of the clerks of the office, an introduction from a banker, or from any known person of respectability, is sufficient; indeed a simple application by letter is seldom refused. For this passport the very heavy charge is made of 2l. 7s. Those to whom this is no object will do well to take this passport. It possesses some advantages. The bearer can obtain at once the signature in London of any of the foreign ambassadors, which is advisable, as it stamps a guarantee on the document, which is always respected. Previously to going to Spain this passport should be taken to the Spanish embassy to be viséd. The Spanish legation does not give passports to any person except Spanish subjects. There is, however, considerable laxity at their principal sea-ports, where foreigners are constantly arriving; and many persons, especially those engaged in commerce, go to Spain in the steamers without passports; and then, if they wish to travel into the interior, obtain one from the local authorities, which is never refused when applied for by the English consul. This especially holds good with regard to those who visit the coast in their yachts, or in ships of war. Those English who go directly to Gibraltar require no passport; and when starting for Spain they can obtain one either from the English governor or from the Spanish governor of Algeciras: both of these require to be viséd by the Spanish consul at Gibraltar, who demands a trifling fee. Travellers who propose taking Portugal in their way to Spain may obtain a passport from Mr. Van Zeller, the Portuguese consul at No. 15, St. Mary-axe; the fee is five shillings: this passport must be viséd at Lisbon by the English and Spanish ambassadors previously to entering Spain. Those who enter Spain from France must have their passports viséd either at Paris by the Spanish ambassador, or at Bayonne by the Spanish consul. Those who intend to make sketches, to botanize, to geologize, in a word, to make any minute investigations, are particularly cautioned to be en règle as regards passports, as nothing creates greater suspicion or jealousy in Spain than a stranger making drawings or writing down notes in a book: whoever is observed "sacando planos," "taking plans," "mapeando el pais," "mapping the country,"—for such are the expressions for the simplest pencil sketch—is thought to be an engineer, a spy: at all events to be about no good. The lower classes, like the Orientals, attach a vague mys{17}terious notion to these, to them unintelligible, proceedings; whoever is seen at work is immediately reported to the civil and military authorities, and, in fact, in out-of-the-way places, whenever a stranger arrives, from the rarity of the occurrence, he is the observed of all observers; much the same as occurs in the East, where Europeans are suspected of being emissaries of their governments, as they cannot understand why any man should incure trouble and expense, which few natives ever do, for the mere purpose of acquiring knowledge of foreign countries for his own private improvement or amusement: again, whatever particular investigations or questions are made by strangers, about things that to the native appear unworthy of observation, are magnified and misrepresented by the many who, in every place, wish to curry favour with whoever is the governor or chief person, whether civil or military. The natives themselves attach little or no importance to views, ruins, geology, inscriptions, and so forth, which they see every day, and which they therefore conclude cannot be of any more, or ought not to be of more, interest to the stranger. They judge of him by themselves; few men ever draw in Spain, and those who do are considered to be professional, and employed by others. One of the many fatal legacies left to Spain by the French, was an increased suspicion of men with the pencil and note-book. Previously to their invasion, agents were sent, who, under the guise of travellers, reconnoitred the land. The drawing any garrison-town or fortified place in Spain, is now most strictly forbidden. The prevailing ignorance of everything connected with the arts of design is so great, that no distinction is made between the most regular plan and the merest artistical sketch: a drawing is with them a drawing, and punishable as such. The stranger should be very cautious in sketching anything connected with a barrack, garrison, or citadel, as he is liable, under any circumstances, when drawing, to be interrupted, and often is exposed to arrest and incivility. Indeed, whether an artist or not, it is as well not to exhibit any curiosity in regard to matters connected with military affairs; nor will the loss be great, as they are seldom worth looking at. Again, as to writing down notes, nothing gives more pain to the higher and the better classes of Spaniards, and with justice, than seeing volume after volume published on themselves and their country by hasty foreigners who have only rapidly glanced at one-half of the subject, and that half the one which the natives are the most ashamed, and which they consider the least worth notice. This constant prying into the nakedness of the land and exposing it afterwards, has increased{18} the dislike which Spaniards entertain towards the impertinente curioso. They well know and deeply feel their country's decline; but like poor gentlefolks, who have nothing but the past to be proud of, they are anxious to keep these family secrets concealed, even from themselves, and still more from the insulting observations of those who happen to be their superiors, not in blood but in better fortune. This dread of being shown up, sharpens their inherent suspicions, when strangers wish to examine into their ill-provided arsenals, barracks, and the beggarly account of their empty-box institutions; just as Burns was scared even by the honest antiquarian Grose, so they lump the good and the bad, putting them down as book-making Paul Prys:

"If there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede ye tent it;
  A chiel's amang ye takin' notes,
And faith! he'll prent it."

The less said about these cosas de España—the present tatters in her once proud flag, on which the sun never set—is, they think, the soonest mended. These comments heal slower than the Spanish knife-gash. "Sanan cuchilladas, mas no malas palabras," under which term they include the telling the whole truth, which becomes a libel; for even the fairest account of Spain as she is, setting down nought in malice, will not come up to the self-esteem of the native. "I always doubt," said the Duke (Dispatch, Dec. 13, 1810), "a Spaniard being satisfied with anything;" but when the sewers of private and the gangrenes of public life are raked up, he resents, and justly, this breach of hospitality. He considers that it is no proof either of goodness of breeding, heart, or intellect, to be searching for blemishes rather than excellences, for toadstools rather than violets; he despises those curmudgeon smell-funguses who find all a wilderness from La Mancha to Castile—who see motes rather than beams in the brightest eyes of Andalucia. The productions of those foreigners who ride and write the fastest, who are unacquainted with the best society in Spain, savour of the things and persons with which they have been brought into contact; skimming like swallows over the surface and in pursuit of insects they discern not the gems which lurk in the deeps below, however keen to mark and caustic to record the scum which floats at the top. Hence the repetitions of sketches of low life and the worst people, seasoned with road scrapings, postilion information, dangers and discomforts, &c., which have{19} given Spain a worse name than she deserves, and have passed off a conventional caricature for a true portrait.

The safest plan for the curious is to have the object of his travelling and inquiries clearly explained on his passport, and, on his arrival at any town, to communicate his intention of drawing, or anything else, to the proper authority. There is seldom much difficulty at Madrid, if application be made through the English minister, in obtaining a special permission from the Spanish government for drawing generally over Spain. These remarks are less applicable to Seville and Granada than to other towns; their inhabitants are more accustomed to see foreigners, and are aware that the Moorish antiquities are considered objects of interest, though they scarcely feel it themselves. Those travellers who do not go directly to Madrid will seldom have much difficulty, and still less if military men, in obtaining from the captain-general of any province his own passport and permission; some sort of introduction is, however, necessary, and the higher the person from whom this preliminary can be procured the better. The Spaniards act upon their proverb, "tal recomendacion, tal recomendado," "according to the recommendation is the recommended." The great advantage of travelling with a captain-general's passport is that it is expressed in the Spanish language, which everybody understands, and which rouses no suspicions like one couched in French: another is, that it is a military document; all foreigners are under the especial protection of the captain-general. This high officer, like an Eastern pacha, is the absolute chief in his province, both civil and military, and as he is responsible for the peace, pays very little attention to the strict letter of the law. Quesada and the Conde de España were more absolute kings of Andalucia and Catalonia than Ferdinand VII., "donde quieren reyes, ahi van leyes!" "The laws follow the will of the rulers." Their passport and their signature were obeyed by all minor authorities as implicitly as an Oriental firman; the very fact of a stranger having a captain-general's passport is soon known by everybody, and, to use an Oriental phrase, "makes his face to be whitened." Our passport was endorsed by Quesada in a form very useful to those who intend to draw:—"The described sets out for——, continuing the journeys which he has undertaken with a view to examine the objects of antiquity and the fine arts in the Peninsula; and being a person in whom every confidence may be placed, he is recommended to the authorities of all places through which he may pass." El contenido sale para——, continuando los viajes que ha emprendido con el fin de examinar los objetos de{20} antigüedad y bellas artes en la Peninsula; y siendo sugeto de toda confianza, se recomienda a las autoridades de su transito. Spaniards in authority are willing and ready to assist Englishmen; and all who intend to draw, &c., will find that these and all similar precautions will tend to render their journey infinitely more smooth and uninterrupted. The occasions for which these recommendations were required and given made them necessary. The journeys performed were sometimes through lonely frontier countries, where war was expected every day, and where every travelling stranger, whether he drew or wrote, or did not, was very strictly watched; at other times the party consisted of many women and children, when no precautions ought to be omitted, and in justice to the gallantry of Spanish officers, it must be said that any application for assistance, under such circumstances, is readily attended to, when made with tact.

Another advantage of a captain-general's passport is, that being a military document, it need not always be presented to the smaller "alcaldes," the mayors or chief civil officers in towns or villages. Again, it is a sort of letter of introduction to all officers in command on the road: the bearer should in person, with his passport, pay a visit to the chief authority. When once a Spaniard is satisfied that there is no hidden motive, and his national mistrust and suspicion are disarmed, he is prodigal of his compliments and attentions. Those who sketch would do well, in order to avoid interruptions from idlers, beggars, &c., to beg the authorities to let some one of the place attend them: they carry camp-stools, &c., and are well satisfied with a trifling present, and being known to be commissioned by the powers above, they speak to bystanders and intruders a language that is never misunderstood or disobeyed. Anything connected with authority, with "Justicia," operates like a charm on the lower classes of Spaniards, much as our word chancery does on our better ones. A mob soon collects around in most Murillo-like and picturesque groups, and gaze with open-eyed wonder at the progress of pencil and brush, which seems to them half magical. They do not much like being drawn themselves, or popped into a foreground, which is a gentle way of punishing an over impertinente curioso. The higher classes seldom take much notice, partly from good breeding, and still more from the Oriental principle of nil admirari.{21}

4. ROADS.

The great lines of roads in Spain are nobly planned. These geographical arteries, which form the circulation of the country, branch in every direction from Madrid, which is the centre of the system. The road-making spirit of Louis XIV. passed into his Spanish descendants. During the reigns of Charles III. and Charles IV. communications were completed between the capital and the principal cities of the provinces. These causeways (Chaussées), "Arrecifes"—these royal roads, "Caminos reales"—were planned on an almost unnecessary scale of grandeur, in regard both to width, parapets, and general execution. The high road to La Coruña, especially after entering Leon will stand comparison with any in Europe. This and many of the others were constructed from 50 to 70 years ago, and very much on the M'Adam system, which, having been since introduced into England, has rendered our roads so very different from what they were not very long since. It is a great though common mistake to suppose that the Spanish high-roads are bad; they are in general kept in good order. The war in the Peninsula tended to deteriorate their condition—bridges and other conveniences were frequently destroyed for military reasons, and the exhausted state of the finances of Spain, and troubled times, have delayed many of the more costly reparations; but much was done under Ferdinand VII., and since, both in restoring the old roads and in opening and completing others. The expenses were defrayed from the post-office revenues, local contributions, and the produce of turnpikes and ferry-boats, "Portazgos y barcas." The roads of the first class were so admirably constructed at the beginning, that, in spite of all the injuries of war and neglect, they may, as a whole, be pronounced superior to many of France, and are infinitely more pleasant to the traveller from the absence of pavement. The roads in England have, indeed, latterly been rendered so excellent, and we are so apt to compare those of other nations with them, that we forget that fifty years ago Spain was much in advance in that and many other respects. Spain remains very much what other countries were: she has stood still while we have progressed, and consequently now appears behindhand in the very things in which she set the fashion to England. So lately as 1664 our ambassador, Sir Richard Fanshawe, was directed to transmit home drawings and models of newly-invented ploughs and carriages from Spain, with a view of introducing improvements amongst our then{22} backward countrymen, now forward enough to pity Spaniards as atrasados.

The cross roads and minor roads of Spain are bad, but not much more so than in many parts of the Continent. They are divided into those which are practicable for wheel-carriages, "camino carretero," "de carruage," "carretera," and those which are only bridle-roads, "camino de herradura," "of horseshoe:" we give the Spanish names, which we shall continue to do throughout, being well aware of what importance it is to the stranger to know the word used in common parlance among the natives. The peasantry of most countries only understand their own expressions, the exact name to which they are accustomed. Whenever a traveller hears a road spoken of as "arrecife, camino real," he may be sure that it is good; whenever it is "de herradura," all thought of going with a carriage is out of the question: when these horse or mule tracks are very bad, especially among the mountains, they call them "trochas," and compare them to a "camino de perdices," road for partridges. The "travesias," or cross roads, the short cuts, "caminos de atajo," are seldom tolerable: it is safest to keep the high-road. The fairest though farthest way about is the nearest way home. There is no short cut without hard work, says the Spaniard, "no hay atajo, sin trabajo." Some, indeed, pass all conception, especially the "ramblas," which serve the double purpose of river-beds in winter and roads in summer: those, again which thread through the lonely plains of Andalucia and Estremadura are scarcely defined goat tracks, "sendas," mere paths, amid underwoods of myrtle, lentisks, and arbutus, and leagues of cistus, "xara." The stranger is in constant doubt whether he is in any road at all. The native guides and animals have, however, quite an instinct in picking out their way. Spaniards, who have never been on the spot before, exhibit singular acuteness in steering by the help of sun, wind, &c., through the unknown wastes. Their observation is sharpened by continual practice and necessity, like the Indians of the prairie. All this sounds very unpromising, but those who adopt the customs of the country will never find much practical difficulty in getting to their journey's end; slowly, it is true, for where leagues and hours are convertible terms, the distance is regulated by the day-light. Bridle-roads, and travelling on horseback, the former systems of Europe, are very Spanish and Oriental: where people journey on horse and mule back, the road is of minor importance. In the remoter provinces of Spain the population is agricultural and poverty-stricken. Each family provides for its simple habits and few{23} wants: having but little money to buy foreign commodities, they are clad and fed, like the Bedouin, with the productions of their own fields and flocks. There is little circulation of persons; a neighbouring "feria," or fair, is the mart where they obtain the annual supply of whatever luxury they can indulge in, or it is brought to their cottages by wandering muleteers, "arrieros," or by the smuggler, the "contrabandista," who is the type and channel of the really active principle of trade in three-fourths of the Peninsula. It is wonderful how soon a well-mounted traveller becomes attached to travelling on horseback, and how quickly he becomes reconciled to a state of roads which, startling at first to those accustomed to carriage highways, are found to answer perfectly for all the purposes of the place and people where they are found.

5. MODES OF CORRESPONDENCE AND TRAVELLING IN SPAIN.—POST-OFFICE.

A system of post, both for the dispatch of letters and the conveyance of couriers, was introduced into Spain under Philip and Juana, that is, towards the end of the reign of our Henry VII., whereas it was scarcely organised in England before the government of Cromwell. Spain, which in these matters, as well as in many others, was once so much in advance, is now compelled to borrow her improvements from those nations of which she formerly was the instructress: among these may be reckoned all travelling in carriages, whether public or private. The ancient system was to travel on horseback; and, in fact, riding is still the national mode of travelling among the majority of humbler Spaniards. Travelling in a carriage with post-horses was brought into vogue by the Bourbons, but never extended much beyond the road leading from Madrid to France, and those of Aranjuez, the Escorial, and other royal "Sitios," or places of the king's summer residence near Madrid. Even this limited accommodation was much interrupted by the unsettled events of the last forty years. Posting, as it is managed on other parts of the Continent, can scarcely be considered practicable in Spain except on one road—that from Bayonne to Madrid. Occasionally, by making arrangements beforehand with the different postmasters, who horse the Sillas correos and the diligences, a journey may be performed on{24} the other great roads. It is, however, an undertaking of such trouble and uncertainty that few ever have recourse to it.

The first "Livre de Poste," or official post-book for Spain, was published in 1761 by Campomanes, by the direction of Richard Wall, an Irishman, who was prime minister to Charles III., the greatest builder, road-maker, and general administrador of Spanish sovereigns. This book was well got up, and contains much curious information in regard to the earlier arrangements of posting. It continued to form the base of all the works of that kind until 1810, when a "Livre de Poste" was published by the French authorities; which, though remarkable for their excellent method and classification, was full of inaccuracies of names, facts, and distances. At last Ferdinand VII., in 1830, directed Don Francisco Xavier de Cabanes to prepare a really correct book. It was compiled from official documents, and was entitled "Guia General de Correos, Postas, y Caminos." It is to be procured at the post-office administrations of all the principal towns, and can be strongly recommended to the traveller's notice. Therein will be found details useful indeed, but into which we cannot go, in regard to the principal administrations of post-offices, the charge of letters, and all matters relating to roads, canals, and intercommunications. The post-office for letters is arranged on the plan common to most countries on the Continent: the delivery is regular, but seldom daily—twice or three times a-week. Small scruple is made by the authorities in opening private letters, whenever they suspect the character of the correspondence. It is as well, therefore, for the traveller to avoid expressing the whole of his opinions of the powers that be. The minds of men have been long troubled in Spain, civil war has rendered them very distrustful and guarded in their written correspondence—"carta canta," "a letter speaks"—littera scripta manet. Letters may be addressed to the poste restante: the better and safer plan is to have them forwarded to some one banker, to whom subsequent directions may be given from time to time how and where to forward them. In the large towns the names of all persons for whom any letters may have arrived which are not specially directed to a particular address, are copied and exposed to public view at the post-offices, in lists arranged alphabetically. The inquirer is thus enabled to see at once if there be any for him by referring to the list containing the first letter of his name, and then asking for the letter by its number, for to each a number is attached according to the place they stand on the list. He should also look back into the old lists, for after a certain time names are taken from the more recent arrivals{25} and placed among those which have remained some weeks on the unclaimed lists. He should look over the alphabetical division of both his Christian and surname, as mistakes occur from the difficulty Spaniards, like other foreigners, have in reading English handwriting and English names. Thus, Mr. Plantagenet Smythe should see if there be a letter for him under P. for Plantagenet, and under S. for Smythe. It is always best to go to the post and make these inquiries in person, and, when asking at the window for letters, to write the name down legibly, and give it to the empleado rather than ask for it vivâ voce. The traveller should always put his own letter into the post-office himself, especially those which require prepayment, "que deben franquearse," as all do to the frontiers of France. Few foreign servants, and still less those hired during a few days stay in a place, can resist the temptation of destroying letters and charging the postage as paid. Travellers, when settled in a town, may, by paying a small fixed sum to the post-office clerks, have a separate division, "el apartado," and an earlier delivery of their letters. Letters are generally sent for; if, however, they be specially directed, they are left by a postman, "el cartero." The best mode of direction while travelling in Spain is to beg correspondents to adopt the Spanish form—"Señor Don Plantagenet Smythe, Caballero Ingles."

6. TRAVELLING WITH POST-HORSES.

The duty paid for a foreign carriage on entering Spain is so very heavy and uncertain, that it in fact amounts to a prohibition. Nothing coming up to our ideas of a travelling carriage is ever made or can be procured in Spain, except accidentally and at Madrid, at the sale of some departing ambassador, and then such vehicles fetch an enormous price, as they are bought up by the grandees and wealthy Spaniards. The carriages of all persons charged with dispatches and connected with the foreign embassies pass duty-free. There are eight grand post-roads in Spain:—

The regulation published in 1826 is printed at length in the "Guia:" it contains thirty-seven articles, and defines the particulars of travelling with post-horses in Spain. The principal points are, that a permission to travel post is necessary, which is to be procured at Madrid, and in the provinces at the post-office of the director: the production of a passport "en règle" is absolutely requisite; without this the permission is never granted, and for which the sum of forty reals is charged per person. The traveller, whether intending to go post or not, should have his passport viséd once for all with the express permission. If he goes in person to the police authorities, and civilly requests them to viser his passport according to a particular form, they rarely will refuse; the form desired had better be handed in written, such as "presentado el contenido en este pasaporte, y sale para Sevilla, (or wherever it may be) pudiendo ir en posta si le acomodase." "The person described in this passport has presented himself, and sets out for Seville, being authorized to travel post, if it should be convenient to him." The names of all servants must be specially included at full length. It is best to let Spanish servants have their own passports.

The distances are regulated and paid for by leagues, leguas, not by posts. Previously to 1801 these leagues were each of 24,000 Spanish feet in length, or 17½ to the degree, and these are still the leagues which are marked on the mile-stones near Madrid, and the great road to Valencia, through Ocaña. In 1801 an alteration was made. The league was reduced to 20,000 feet, or 20 to a degree of the meridian. This may be taken as a safe standard, although the post leagues occasionally, from local circumstances, vary in length. The Spanish league is somewhat less than three miles and a half English. It is the exact nautical league of three geographical miles. The country leagues, especially in the wilder and mountainous districts, are, as in other similar parts of Europe, calculated more by rough guess-work than by correct measurement. The general term "legua" is modified by an explanatory epithet. "Larga," or long, varies from four to five miles; or rather by the time, reckoning a league per hour, which it would require to perform four or five miles on a good road. "Regular," a very Spanish word, is used to express a league, or anything else that is neither{27} one thing nor another, about the regular post league. "Corta," as it implies, is a short league, three miles. But even this expression is relative, and differs according to the mountaineer standard of length and shortness—all leagues are in fact longer in proportion as the country and roads are broken and bad.

Post-horses and mules are paid at the rate of seven reals each for each post league, and six only when the traveller is on the royal service. The number of animals to be paid for is regulated by the number of travellers; more than six, however, are never put on; if the passengers exceed six in number, six reals more are charged, over and above the price of the six horses put to, for each traveller exceeding the number. A child under seven years of age is not reckoned as a passenger; two children under that age are to be paid for as one grown-up person. If the postmaster puts on for his own convenience either more or less horses than the tariff expresses, the traveller is only bound to pay for the number therein regulated. The postilions are obliged to travel at least a league in three-quarters of an hour. They however, generally, and especially if well paid, drive at a tremendous pace, often amounting to a gallop; nor are they easily stopped, even if the traveller desires it. They may not change horses with another carriage on the road, except with the consent of the traveller. Their strict pay is six reals a league; the custom is usually to give seven, and even eight, if they have behaved well: by law the post-boy can insist on driving from the coach-box, "el pescante," and as nothing of that kind is attached to some britzchas and English carriages, an additional real is the surest mode of obviating these discussions and mounting the postilion on his horse; for "el dinero hace correr al caballo"—money makes the mare and its driver to go, as surely in Spain as in all other countries. They never drive an odd number of animals, like the French, en arbalète; either two or four are put to; when four are put to, generally three are mules, and one is a horse. The traveller should provide himself with a small supply of eatables for the day's journey, and never order his horses overnight, nor indeed fix any specific hour for starting, which may be communicated to robbers or to vagabonds in the village, who will get up a robbery for the occasion, according to the proverb, "La ocasion hace al ladron," "opportunity makes the thief." The postilions, if they infringe any of the rules, are liable to lose their "agujetas"—their "propina" (προ πινειν—something to drink—trink-gelt). The postmaster of the next relay is bound to adjudicate on the complaint of the traveller, and he himself is amenable, if the traveller be dissatisfied with his decision, to{28} the director of the superior administration at the next town, and he again to the "superintendencia general," the chief authority at Madrid. All these different ramifications are carefully pointed out in the official "Guia."

7. RIDING POST.

This expeditious but fatiguing mode of travelling, which is not to be recommended, is called "viajar a la ligera." The rider, "el viagero en silla," pays seven reals per horse or mule (for they are used indifferently) for himself, and the same for that ridden by the postilion who accompanies him. Couriers and those employed on the royal service only pay five, and are exempted from all charges of ferries, turnpikes, &c. This mode of travelling, the tabellarius of the Romans, the Tartar courier of the East, has always prevailed in Spain. The delight of Philip II., who boasted that he governed the world from the Escorial, was to receive frequent and early intelligence. This desire to hear something new is still characteristic of the Spanish government. The ministers of Ferdinand VII. could not please him more than by laying before him a fresh express or dispatch, "un parte," "un propio." Journeys were performed with Tartar-like rapidity and endurance. The cabinet couriers, "correos de gabinete," have the preference of horses at every relay, "parada." The particular distances they have to perform are all timed, and so many leagues are required to be done in a fixed time; and, in order to encourage dispatch, for every hour gained on the allowed time, an additional sum was paid to them: hence the common expression "ganando horas," gaining hours,—equivalent to our old "post haste—haste for your life." Notwithstanding the general easy pace of Spanish horses, this mode of travelling is very fatiguing, and cannot be recommended. Those who adopt it are allowed to carry very little luggage; hence the term "a la ligera:" heavier baggage must be forwarded to the place of their destination by carriers, "ordinarios, cosarios, corsarios," who convey goods from town to town, either on mules of burden, "acemilas," or in covered waggons, "galeras," and who have regular houses of call in most towns. The muleteers, the "arrieros," of Spain, form a class of themselves. The members are in general a highly trust-worthy, laborious, and hardworking set, and very rarely fail to execute their commissions with honesty,{29} fidelity and exactitude; their character in fact is the essence of their vocation—if once blown upon no one would employ them. We have often had occasion to forward unlocked trunks, and never have ourselves missed, nor have ever heard of any one else who ever lost anything; refer also to our remarks on the Maragatos.

8. PUBLIC CONVEYANCES IN SPAIN.—EL CORREO—DILIGENCES.

The difficulties of travelling with post-horses in Spain have rendered the mails and diligences a far more preferable mode. Royalty goes by the coach; thus the Infante Don Francisco de Paula constantly hired the whole of the diligence to convey himself and his family from Madrid to the sea-coast of Biscay. The public carriages of Spain are as good as those of France, and the company who travel in them generally more respectable and better bred. This is partly accounted for by the expense. The fares are not very high, even as compared with those of English coaches; yet although some have latterly been reduced, they still form a serious item to the bulk of Spaniards; accordingly those who travel in the public carriages in Spain are the class who would in other countries travel per post. Families of the highest rank take for themselves a particular division of the diligence. It must, however, be admitted that all travelling in the public conveyances of the Continent necessarily implies great discomfort to those accustomed to travel post in their own carriages; with every possible precaution the long journeys in Spain, of three to five hundred miles at a stretch, are such as few English ladies can undergo, and are, even with men, undertakings rather of necessity than of pleasure.

The mail, "el correo," "sillas correo," is organised on the plan of the French malle poste, through whom all improvements borrowed from England are passed on to the Continent, after being modified to their usages; it offers, to those who can stand the continued and rapid travelling without halting, a means of locomotion which leaves nothing to be desired. The days of departure and the prices of places are all fixed by authority, and may always be ascertained at the principal post-offices of each town. The traveller should secure his place beforehand if either going to or leaving Madrid, as the number of passengers is very small, and the{30} places are generally full. The Spanish diligences, "Las Diligencias," were managed by a royal company something on the principle of the messageries royales of France. They were not generally introduced into Spain before 1821; in less, however, than nine years they were established on most of the great lines of road connected with Madrid. We must not forget that it is only in this century that quick coaches have become general even in England. Few parts of the Continent are now in advance of Spain as regards the quality and conveniences of public carriages.

The Spanish high-roads being all on the M'Adam system, a less cumbrous vehicle is adopted than those half-waggon machines which rumble over the dislocating pavés of France. The diligences are thus described by Mr. Dennis, a lively accurate traveller:—"They are in the hands of companies, and are worked with as much regularity, and far greater regard to the comfort of travellers, than is displayed in our stage-coach arrangements. The passenger receives, on starting, a paper stating the price of conveyance to each town or post-house on the road, so that the fares for intermediate distances may be calculated with certainty. The company makes itself responsible for all baggage entered at the offices, except in case of seizure vi et armis, at relative allowances for sacs de nuit, portmanteaus, and trunks. Having paid the fare to a city, the passenger may remain a certain time at any place on the road, and be taken forward the first opportunity; a paper stating these and other regulations, equally consulting the convenience of the traveller, is given on the delivery of the luggage, with a receipt for the same." The fares are very much cheaper, owing to competition, and because since the peace fewer escorts are necessary, on account of the diminished wandering bands of good-for-nothing people, "mala gente." It is impossible to give the exact prices; they vary according to circumstances, but they may always be known by inquiry at the offices. There is moreover a very useful little "Apendice" to the "Guia del Viajero en España," by Mellado, Madrid, 1842, which contains much useful information and detailed particulars as to price, place, departure, and other regulations; it also notices the best inns, waggons, and carriers, "galeras y ordinarios," of the chief towns. On some routes a small guide-book is published, called a Manual, which should be purchased, as containing much minute and local information.

The prices vary according to the part of the diligence, which is divided into four classes. The dearest is the "berlina;" then the "interior," the hinder part of the double body; the third is the "coupe," "cabriolet," "gemela," which is the most agreeable, as{31} commanding a view of the country, and fresh air; the lowest in price is the outside, "la rotonda." These names correspond with those which express analogous positions in the French diligences, and have been introduced with the vehicle into Spain and into the Spanish idiom. The principal rules are, that all the prices are fixed, whether for fare, luggage, dinner, supper, &c., on the road. Each passenger has the numbered place which he has taken. Those who travel inside should secure a corner place. The "Mayoral," or "conductor" (a new word, borrowed from the French conducteur), is the commander-in-chief. He is responsible for the whole conduct of the journey. He pays the postilions, who are entitled to a real each relay from each of the passengers, and it is most convenient at starting to give the whole amount to the "Mayoral." Only a small quantity of luggage is allowed to go gratis—an "arroba," or twenty-five pounds; all above that is weighed and paid for according to a tariff, which is rather high. The fares are all paid beforehand. A passport, en règle, is necessary to be produced at the office before a place can be taken. Children under seven years go for one-third of the whole fare, supposing that there is a vacant place twelve hours before starting. Children under twelve years go for half-price. Those passengers who wish to go the whole or the largest part of the distance have the preference of seats; those who have paid for places and are prevented from going may, by timely application at the office, either get their places filled up and money restored, or, if no one applies for their vacant place, are allowed a place on a subsequent departure by paying half the fare more. Those who from illness or from unavoidable circumstances are detained on the road, and cannot continue the journey once begun, are allowed to be taken up gratis by a following diligence, supposing that there should be room. The travellers are enjoined to take as little money with them as possible, the administrador undertaking to receive money at the place of starting, and to repay it at the journey's end. The meaning of this is to render the diligence less an object of plunder to robbers. They are, however, often guarded by armed men placed outside, who often are reclaimed ladrones. Moreover, under any suspicious circumstances, and in particularly wild localities, an additional mounted escort is provided. Nor is the primitive system of blackmail neglected; accordingly robberies of Spanish diligences seldom occur; nor are they now such great prizes, for in 1841 the new company of Carsi and Ferrer included in the fare every possible outgoing of living, beds, &c. The travellers therefore need take no money with them. The coaches{32} of this company should always be preferred. With all the roominess of French diligences, these combine advantages of speed; they are generally drawn by mules, as more powerful and enduring than horses, and by rarely less than eight, and sometimes twelve in number. Many new diligences have recently been started, and leave Madrid almost every day in the week. Some stop on the journey to breakfast, to dine, and sleep; the time allotted for sleep is uncertain, and depends on the early or late arrival of the diligence and the state of the roads, for all that is lost of the fixed time on the road is made up for by curtailing the time allowed for repose. One of the many good effects of setting up diligences is the bettering the inns on the road. It is a safe rule always to inquire in every town which is the posada that the diligence stops at, "donde para la diligencia." Persons were sent from Madrid to the different stations on the great lines, to prepare houses, fit up bedrooms and kitchens, and provide everything for table service, which rarely is to be met with; cooks were sent round to teach the innkeepers to set out and prepare a proper dinner and supper. Thus, in villages in which a few years before the use of a fork was scarcely known, a table was laid out, clean, well served, and abundant. The example set by the diligence-inns has produced a beneficial effect. They offer a model and create competition: they suggest the existence of many comforts, which were hitherto unknown among Spaniards, whose praiseworthy endurance of privations of all kinds on their journeys is quite Oriental. In order to indemnify the innkeeper in remote stations from the chance of loss in providing food, every traveller, whether he partakes or not, must pay four reals. The prices are very moderate. A déjeûner à la fourchette is charged eight reals (two francs), and must contain at least the following or equivalent dishes. We set out a bill of fare as a sort of guide for the class of eatables likely to be procured at these established inns, even when not travelling in the diligence. These items, and the prices, may sometimes be varied, but not essentially.

Almuerzo-comida—Déjeûner à la fourchette.

Una sopa o un potage, a soup.
Un plato de huevos con jamon, eggs and bacon, or ham.
{33} Una menestra, a vegetable soup.
Un asado, a roast.
Una ensalada, a salad.
Un postre,[2] a sweet thing, pastry.
Una copa de aguardiente, a glass of brandy.
Pan y vino a discrecion, bread and wine unlimited.

Comida—Dinner,

Is is charged twelve reals, and must consist of at least—

Una sopa de caldo de puchero, a gravy soup.
Un puchero, con gallina, garbanzos, tocino, chorizo o
morcilla, y verdura—an olla, made of chicken, peas,
bacon, sausages or black-pudding, and vegetables.
Dos guisados, two stews or made dishes.
Una menestra, a vegetable soup.
Un asado, a roast.
Una ensalada, a salad.
Tres postres, three sweets, pastry.
Una copa de aguardiente, a glass of brandy.
Pan y vino a discrecion, bread and wine unlimited.

Cena—Supper,

Is charged ten reals, and must be composed of at least—

Una sopa, soup.
Un plato de huevos pasados por agua, boiled eggs.
Una menestra, vegetable soup.
Un guisado, a made dish.
Un asado, a roast.
Una ensalada o gaspacho, a salad or a gazpacho (an
acetous raw vegetable soup).
Dos postres, two dishes of pastry.
Una copa de aguardiente, a glass of brandy.
Pan y vino a discrecion, bread and wine unlimited.{34}

On fast-days the dinner is made up of vegetables and fish, but of an equal quantity and number of dishes.

Cama—The bed,

Is to be made at least of—

Un tablado o catre, a bedstead or truck.
Un jergon, a paillasse.
Un colchon, a mattress.
Dos sabanas limpias, two clean sheets.
Dos almohadas limpias con sus fundas, two pillows with clean pillow-cases.
Una colcha, a counterpane.
Una buena manta en invierno, a good blanket in winter.

This minimum provision shows that there is no want of decent accommodation. We have given the particulars because the names are useful to travellers; they give a notion of what may be asked for and what ought to be paid. Travellers arriving in a private carriage will naturally be charged somewhat more than these diligence prices: as in other countries, they must pay private, not public prices, and make up their minds to have to pay for eating a single grape the price of the whole bunch—"comer uva, y pagar racimo." The beds are plain, but clean; they are generally arranged in twos, threes, and fours, according to the size of the room. The traveller should immediately on arriving secure his bed, and see that it is comfortable; those who neglect to get a good one must sleep in a bad: "quien mala cama hace, en ella yace." Generally speaking, by a little management, he may get a room to himself, or at least select his companions. There is, moreover, a real civility and politeness shown by all classes of Spaniards, on all occasions, towards strangers and ladies; and that even failing, a small tip, "una gratificacioncita," given beforehand to the maid, the "muchacha," or the waiter, the "mozo," seldom fails to smooth all difficulties: on these, as on all occasions in Spain, most things may be obtained by good humour, a smile, a joke, a proverb, a cigar, or a bribe, which, though last, is by no means the least resource: it will be found to mollify the{35} hardest heart and smooth the greatest difficulties, after civil speeches have been tried in vain; for "mas ablanda dinero, que palabra de caballero," "cash softens more than a gentleman's palaver."

9. INNS.—THE FONDA—POSADA—VENTA.

Before we proceed to describe the other and more genuine modes of travelling in Spain, it may be as well to say a few words on the sort of accommodations which are to be met with on the roads and in the towns of the Peninsula. In no country will the Rambler agree oftener with dear Dr. Johnson—"Sir, there is nothing which has been contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn." Spain offers many negative arguments of the truth of our great moralist and eater's reflection: the inns in general are bad, often very bad, and, even when the best in the country, are only indifferent when compared to those to which Englishmen are accustomed at home, and have created on those high roads of the Continent which they most frequent. In no country will a gentleman say less with Falstaff, "Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?" Again, as the higher orders in Spain seldom travel, and never for pleasure, and as the other classes are poor, inured to roughing it, and easily contended, there has been no demand for those comfortable hotels which we have taught the Continent. The inns of Spain are in that backward state in which those of Sicily are, and what those in Italy and the greater part of France were before they were improved by hints from England. The Spanish inns, especially those of the country and second order, are very much in the same condition as they were in the time of the Romans; the coincidences, and particularly in Valencia, are well worthy of the attention of the antiquarian scholar: they are, indeed, on the by-roads and remoter districts, such as to render it almost unadvisable for any English lady to venture to face, unless predetermined to go through hardships and discomfort of which none who have only travelled in England can form the remotest idea: at the same time they may be and have been endured by even the sick and delicate. To men, and to all in enjoyment of good health, temper, and patience, neither a dinner nor a bed will ever be wanting, to both of which hunger and fatigue will give a zest beyond the{36} reach of art; and fortunately for travellers, all the world over, and particularly in Spain, the former is the best sauce and the latter the softest pillow. He who sleeps soundly is not bitten by fleas, "quien duerme bien, no le pican las pulgas." Since the days of Horace, bread and salt can appease the wayfarer's barking stomach. "Al hambre, no hay mal pan"—there is no such thing as bad bread to hunger—is nowhere so true as in Spain, where that staff of life is superlatively good, and worthy of being called, as they commonly do call it, "the bread of God"—pan de Dios. The pleasures of travelling in wild Spain are cheaply purchased by these trifling inconveniences, which may always be much lessened by forethought; the expeditions teem with incident, adventure, novelty, and means of obtaining insight into human nature, and form in after-life a perpetual fund of interesting recollections: all that was charming will be then remembered; and the disagreeable, if not forgotten, will be disarmed of its sting, nay, "etiam hæc meminisse juvabit." Let not the traveller expect to find too much; let him not look for five feet in a cat, "buscar cinco pies al gato." Spain, as the East, is not to be enjoyed by the over-fastidious in the fleshly comforts; those who over analyse, who peep behind the culinary or domestic scenes, must not expect to pass a tranquil existence—"Quien las cosas mucho apura, no vive vida segura."

The inns of Spain are divided by wags into many classes—the bad, the worse, and the worst. First and foremost is the "Fonda," the Hotel. This foreign thing is borrowed from the Turkish Fondáck, whence the Italian Fondacco: it is only to be found in the very largest towns and the principal seaports, where the presence of foreigners creates a demand and supports the establishment. To it frequently is attached a café, or "botilleria," a place for the sale of liqueurs, with a "neveria," where ices and cakes are supplied. Horses are not taken in, but there is generally a keeper of a stable or of a minor "posada" in the vicinity, to which the traveller's animals are consigned. The fonda is tolerably furnished in reference to the common articles with which the sober unindulgent natives are contented: the traveller in his comparisons must never forget that Spain is not England, which too few ever can get out of their heads. Spain is Spain, a truism which cannot be too often repeated; and in its being Spain consists its originality, its raciness, its novelty, its idiosyncrasy. Thus in Spain, and especially in the hotter provinces, it is heat and not cold which is the enemy: what we call furniture—carpets, rugs, curtains and so forth—would be a positive nuisance, would keep out the cool and har{37}bour plagues of vermin beyond endurance. The walls of the apartments are usually clean, from being frequently, though simply, whitewashed: the brick floors are covered in winter with a matting of the "Junco" or "esparto," rush, and called an "estera," as was done in our king's palaces in the days of Elizabeth; a low iron bedstead or wooden truckle bedstead, with coarse but clean sheets and blankets, a few hard chairs, perhaps a stiff-backed, most uncomfortable sofa, and a table or so, complete the scanty inventory. The charges are moderate; 30 reals per head a-day is the full price: this includes lodging, breakfast, dinner, and supper. Servants, if Spanish, are usually charged the half: English servants, whom no wise person would take on the Continent, are nowhere more useless or greater incumbrances than in Spain; they give more trouble, require more food and attention, and are ten times more discontented than their masters; and the landlords, after a few days' experience, are generally obliged to charge for them the same as for their masters. When we say that the average charge is a dollar a-head, exceptions must be made at Madrid, which is very dear; and at Barcelona, a great commercial city, where the hotels are mounted more à la Française, in accommodation and prices. Those who think of remaining any time in a large town may make their own bargain with the innkeeper, or may go into a boarding-house, "casa de pupilos," or "de huespedes," where they will have the best opportunity of learning the Spanish language, and obtaining an idea of the national manners and habits. In Andalucia this system is very common: these establishments are constantly advertised in the local newspapers; the houses may be known externally by a white paper ticket attached to one of the windows or balconies. The traveller will always be able to learn from his banker, or from any respectable inhabitant, which of these boarding-houses enjoys the best reputation, or he may himself advertise in the papers for exactly the sort of thing he may be in want of. Their charges are very reasonable, and vary from twelve to twenty reals a-day, which include board and lodging: sixteen reals a-day may be taken as a fair average in Andalucia, which is about three shillings and sixpence a-day.

The "posada" is the genuine Spanish inn; the term is very ancient, and, like our word inn, or the French hotel, was originally applied to the dwellings of the higher classes; it then passed down to any house of rest or lodging, whether private or public. The "posada" as a public inn is, strictly speaking, bound only to furnish lodging, salt, and the means of cooking whatever the traveller brings with him or purchases in the village; it differs{38} from the fonda, where eatables and drinkables are provided in the house. The posada, which in smaller towns degenerates into a "venta," ought only to be compared to the "khans" of the East, and never to the inns of Europe. If foreigners, and especially Englishmen, would bear this in mind, they would save themselves a great deal of time, trouble, and disappointment, and not expose themselves by their loss of temper on the spot, or in their note-books. No Spaniard is ever put out, although he maddens in a moment at the slightest personal affront, for blood boils without fire, "la sangre hierve sin fuego." He takes these things coolly, which more phlegmatic, colder-blooded foreigners seldom do. The native, like the Oriental, does not expect to find anything, and accordingly is never surprised at only getting what he brings with him. His surprise is reserved for those rare occasions when he finds anything actually ready at a venta, which he considers to be a godsend. As most travellers carry their provisions with them, the uncertainty of demand would prevent the "ventero" from filling his larder with perishable commodities; and formerly, owing to absurd local privileges, he very often was not permitted to sell objects of consumption to travellers, because the lords or proprietors of the town or village had set up other shops, little monopolies of their own. These inconveniences sound worse on paper than in practice. Whenever laws are decidedly opposed to common sense and the public benefit, they are neutralized in practice; the means to elude them are soon discovered; the innkeeper, if he has not the things by him himself, knows where to get them. Travellers generally either send out and buy what they want or give the money to the innkeeper. On starting next day a sum is charged for lodging, service, and dressing the food: this is called "el ruido de casa," an indemnification to the innkeepers for the noise, the disturbance, which the traveller is supposed to have created; and no word can be better chosen to express the varied and never-ceasing din of mules, muleteers, songs, dancing, and laughing, the dust, the row, which Spaniards, men as well as beasts, kick up. The English traveller, who will have to pay the most in purse and sleep for his noise, will often be the only quiet person in the house; he might claim indemnification for the injury done to his acoustic organs, on the principle of the Turkish soldier who makes his entertainer pay him teeth-money, to make up for the damage done to his molars and incisors from masticating indifferent rations. Akin to the posada is the "parador," a word derived from the Arabic warada, "to halt." It is a caravanserie for the reception of waggons, carts, and beasts of burden; these large{39} establishments are often placed outside the town to avoid the heavy duties and vexatious examinations at the gates. The French "octroi," which is called in Spain "el derecho de Puertas," these gate-dues on all articles of consumption are levied both for municipal and government purposes; they are generally farmed out, and are exacted from the peasantry with great severity and incivility. There is perhaps no single grievance among the many in the mistaken system of Spanish political and fiscal economy which tends to create and keep alive, by its daily petty worry and often wholesale injustice, so great a feeling of discontent and ill-will towards authority as this does; it obstructs commerce and travellers. The employés, "empleados," are, however, seldom either strict or uncivil to the higher classes, and if courteously addressed by the stranger, and told that he is an English gentleman, "caballero Ingles," they readily open the gates and let him pass unmolested; an occasional peseta or cigar or two smooths all difficulties. The laws in Spain are indeed strict on paper, but those who administer them, whenever it suits their private interest, that is ninety-nine times out of a hundred, evade and defeat them; they obey the letter, but do not perform the spirit, "se obedece, pero no se cumple;" indeed the lower classes of officials in particular are so inadequately paid that they are compelled to eke out a livelihood by taking bribes and little presents, which, as in the East, may always be offered, and always be accepted, as a matter of compliment. The idea of a bribe must be concealed; it shocks their dignity, their sense of honour, their "pundonor:" if, however, the money be given to the head person as something for his "muchachos," his people, to drink, "para echar un traguito," the delicate attention is properly appreciated and works its due effect.

Another term, almost equivalent to the "posada," is the "meson," which is rather applicable to the inns of the rural and smaller towns, to the "hosterias," than to those of the greater. The "mesonero," like the Spanish "ventero," has a bad reputation. It is always as well to stipulate something about prices beforehand. The proverb says, "Por un ladron, pierden ciento en el meson."—"Ventera hermosa mal para la bolsa." "For every one who is robbed on the road, a hundred are in the inn."—"The fairer the hostess the fouler the reckoning." It is among these innkeepers that the real and worst robbers are to be met with. It was so in the days of antiquity. "Let no man," said Apuleius, "think that he is the mere guest of his landlord." Nemo se stabularii vel cauponis hospitem se judicet. This class of worthies is everywhere only thinking how much they can with decency overcharge in their{40} bills. This is but fair. "Nadie seria mesonero, si no fuese por el dinero." Nobody would be an innkeeper if it were not for the profit. The country Parador, Meson, Posada, and Venta, call it how you will, is the Roman stabulum. The original intention was the housing of cattle. The accommodation of travellers was secondary, and so it is in Spain to this day. The accommodation for the beast is excellent; cool roomy stables, ample mangers, a never-failing supply of fodder and water, all ready, every comfort and luxury which the animal is capable of enjoying, is on the spot; as regards man, all is the reverse; he must forage abroad for anything he may want. Only a small part of the barn is allotted him, and then he is lodged among the beasts below, or among the trusses and sacks of their food in the lofts above. He finds, in spite of all this, that if he asks the owner what he has got, he will be told that there is every thing, "hay de todo,"[3] which too often means in reality everything, that he has brought with him, himself, which, as regards anything at all out of the way, is the safest and usual plan. The "ventero" seldom has anything himself; everything wanted is to be procured out of doors in small shops, and frequently not at all. For those articles which appear to the stranger to be the commonest necessities and the hardest fare, are to the poverty-stricken natives luxuries almost unknown. It is in vain to expect to find things for which there is no demand. It is fishing in waters where there are no fish: "en rio donde no hay peces, es demas echar redes." As so much of the traveller's time will be spent in those "posadas" and "ventas," no Hand-book will be complete without giving him an exact notion of what he is to expect, and how he is to supply any deficiencies.

The "ventas" have, from time immemorial, been the subject of jests and pleasantries to Spanish and foreign wits. Quevedo and Cervantes are full of their diatribes against the roguery of the masters, and the misery of the accommodation. The word is derived by some from the Latin "vendendo," because provisions are not sold there to travellers,—Lucus a non lucendo. Old Covarrubias (whose Tesoro or dictionary is a treasure of quaint information) explains this etymology of selling, as "especially in selling a cat for a hare." This indeed was, and is, so common a trick, that "venderle gato por liebre a uno" has become equivalent to doing or taking any one in. This trait of Spanish gastronomy was not lost{41} on the author of Gil Blas. Some derive the word a "veniendo," from the coming and going of guests: be that as it may, a venta, strictly speaking, is an isolated house of reception on the road, and, if it be not one of physical entertainment, it is at least one of moral, and accordingly figures in prominent characters in all the personal narratives and travels in Spain. The trade of inn-keeping is among those which are considered derogatory in Spain, where so many Hindoo notions of caste, Pundonor self-respect, limpieza de sangre, etc., exist. No Spaniard, if he can help it, likes to degrade himself. This accounts for the number of fondas in towns being kept by Italians, and of ventas being kept by gipsies. Thus the inn-keeper in Don Quixote protests that he is a Christian, although a ventero, nay a Cristiano viejo rancio. An old Christian is the common term used to distinguish the genuine stock from those renegade Jews and Moors who, rather than leave Spain, became pseudo-Christians, and publicans. These ventas have often been built on a large scale by the noblemen or convent brethren to whom the village or adjoining territory belonged. Some have at a distance quite the air of a gentleman's mansion. Their white walls, towers, and often elegant elevations, glitter in the sun, gay and promising, while all within is dark, dirty, and dilapidated. The ground-floor is a sort of common room for men and beasts. The portion appropriated to the stables is often arched over, and very imperfectly lighted to keep it cool, so that even by day the eye has some difficulty at first in making out the details. The ranges of mangers are fixed round the walls, and the harness of the different animals suspended on the pillars which support the arches; a wide door, always open to the road, leads into this great stable, or common hall; a small space in the interior is always left unincumbered, into which the traveller enters on foot or on horseback; no one greets him; no obsequious landlord, bustling waiter, or simpering chambermaid, takes any notice of his arrival. He proceeds, unaided, to unload or unsaddle his beast, and, having taken him to a manger, applies to the ventero for the "pienso," fodder for his beasts, "ganado," that is "paja y cebada," straw and barley; this is the ancient Oriental forage,—"barley also and straw for the horses" (1 Kings iv. 28). Very little hay is used in Spain, except in the north-western provinces and in some of the valleys.

The straw is very fine, and is beaten into small fragments. The modern system of threshing grain in Spain is extremely ancient, classical, and Oriental. Near most corn country villages, a floor, called "la Era," the Latin area, is prepared in the open air, and{42} which is either paved or cemented with hard earth, on which the loose sheaves are placed, over which snorting and unharnessed horses are driven, or men are drawn by them on hurdles, or on a "trillo," a sort of harrow, over the sheaves; the corn is thus beaten out of the ear, and the straw, the "palea" of antiquity, bruised and triturated into fragments; it is the precise "threshing-floor" of the Bible and the Noräg of Egypt. The Carthaginians introduced this method into Spain. The operation and the "Plostellum pœnicum" are accurately described by Varro (i. 52). The traveller who sees this primitive process going on under the burning suns of La Mancha will feel the full force of the magnificent simile of Homer (Il.xx. 495) applied to the car of Achilles dashing over the dead and wounded. From the stones and rubbish which get in, it should always be sifted before given to beasts. This operation is always done by Spaniards; the sieve, "criba," forms one of the important items of a muleteer's equipage. All animals thrive well on this straw when once accustomed to it, and refuse to eat hay, and lose condition when nothing else is to be had. The hay of Spain is, however, coarse and badly made. The corn given to animals is barley, except in the districts where hay grows, when oats and sometimes other grains are substituted. But as the Duke of Wellington wrote from Deleitosa, "We have lost many hundred horses by the use of other grains, barley being the only wholesome food for horses in this country." This straw fattens the animals, but distends and blows them out, and, pressing on the diaphragm, possibly may be one cause why Spanish horses are seldom good winded, which is the case with horses in England after coming from strawyards. Having first himself provided for the wants and comforts of his beast, for "el ojo del amo engorda al caballo," "the master's eye fattens the horse," the traveller thinks of himself. One, and the greater side of the building, is destined to the cattle, the other to their masters. Immediately opposite the public entrance is the staircase which leads to the upper part of the building, which is dedicated to the lodgment of fodder, fowls, fleas, and the better class of travellers. The arrangement of the larger class of posadas is laid out on the plan of a convent, and is well-calculated to lodge the greatest number of inmates in the smallest space. The ingress and egress are facilitated by a long corridor, into which the doors of the separate rooms, "aposentos," open; these are called "salas;" "cuartos," however (whence our word "quarters" may be derived), is the ordinary term. There is seldom any furniture in them; whatever is wanted, it is to be had of the host from some lock-up store, "repostería."{43} Near the staircase down stairs, and always in a visible place, is a gibbous jar, tinaja, of the ancient classical amphora shape, filled with fresh water; and by it is a tin or copper utensil to take water out with, and often a row of small pipkins, made of a red porous clay,[4] which are kept ready filled with water on, or rather in, a shelf fixed to the wall, and called "la tallada, el taller." These pots, "Alcarrazas," from the constant evaporation, keep the water extremely cool. They are of various shapes, many, especially in Valencia and Andalucia, being of the unchanged identical form of those similar clay drinking vessels discovered at Pompeii. They are the precise "trulla." Martial (xiv. 106; iv. 46) speaks both of the colour and the material of those made at Saguntum, where they still are prepared in great quantities: they are not unlike the ckool' lehs of Egypt, which are made of the same material and for the same purposes, and represent the ancient Canobic στατικα. They are seldom destined to be placed on the table; their bottoms being pointed and conical, they could not stand upright. This singular form was given to the "vasa futilia," or cups used at the sacrifices of Vesta, which would have been defiled had they touched the ground. As soon, therefore, as they are drunk off, they are refilled and replaced in their holes on the shelf, as is done with decanters in our butlers' pantries. The traveller, after a deep delicious draught, proceeds, thus refreshed, to business; first, a stall is selected for his beast, then girths are loosened, packs and burdens removed, fodder and litter prepared; after which he begins to think for himself.

The portion of the ground-floor which is divided by the public entrance from the stables is dedicated to the kitchen and accommodation of the travellers. The kitchen consists of a huge open range, generally on the floor, the pots and culinary vessels being placed against the fire arranged in circles, as described by Martial (xii. 18), "multâ villica quem coronat ollâ," who, like a good Spaniard, after thirty-five years of absence at Rome, writes, after his return to Spain, to his friend Juvenal a full account of the real comforts that he once more enjoys in his best beloved patria, and which remind us of the domestic details in the opening chapter of Don Quixote. These rows of "ollas" are kept up by brain-like stones called "sesos;" above is a wide chimney, which is armed with iron-work for suspending pots of a large size; sometimes there are a few stoves of masonry but more frequently{44} they are only the portable ones called "anafes:" around the blackened walls are arranged pots and pipkins, "ollas y pucheros;" gridirons "parrillas;" frying-pans, "sartenes;" which hang in rows, like tadpoles of all sizes, to accommodate large or small parties, and the more the better; it is a good sign, "en casa llena, pronto se guisa cena." At the side of this kitchen is the apartment of the innkeeper, in which he stores away his stock of rice, "arroz," chocolate, "chocolate," which is always superexcellent, and the other eatables which form the foundation of the national cuisine, which is by no means despicable, and, barring a somewhat too liberal infusion of garlic, which, however, may be checked, is savoury and Oriental: a guisado de liebre, or stew of hare, or de perdices, of partridges, when well done, in a real venta, is a dish which might be set before a king. In the better classes of ventas some of the following articles may be had, or may be obtained by the master. "Bacalao," dry salted cod-fish. Delicious hams, "jamones," for which Spain in the days of the Romans was pre-eminently distinguished: περναι διφοροι, Strabo, iii. 245: (our words ham and gammon are derived from the Spanish "gambo," and "jamon," pronounced hamon.) Sausages, the dry and highly spiced, the "chorizo;" the fresh black-pudding, "morcilla;" the long rich sausage, "longaniza." Eggs, "huevos," chick-peas, "garbanzos," which is the vegetable par excellence of Spain, and without which and bacon, the "olla," "puchero," or national dish, cannot be complete. Bacon, tocino, is almost always to be had; it is in fact the essence of the olla. The proverb says, "No hay olla sin tocino, ni sermon sin Agostino." "There is no olla without bacon, nor a sermon without a quotation from St. Augustine." Bacon, it must be remembered, besides its own intrinsic recommendation, is the flesh of the unclean animal, abhorred by Jew and Moor. Thus, in the olla of the ultra Roman Catholic Spaniard, it became a test of orthodoxy. The Spaniards show their good faith as well as taste in their predilection for pork, since no country produces finer. The expression "olla podrida," used in Don Quixote and in England, is now obsolete in Spain. It meant "pot pourri," a mixed hodge-podge stew. The epithet "podrida" has been dropped; and plain "olla" is the common term for this savoury stew in Andalucia, and "puchero" (from whence our term pitcher) for the insipid imitation in Castile. The dish is called from the pot in which it is dressed, like the West Indian "pepper-pot." The "cocido" is the bouilli or meat used in it, which is beef or mutton, "vaca y carnero, olla de cavallero," "beef and mutton make a gentleman's olla." The meat in{45} Spain is generally very bad. Oxen are destined rather for the plough, and sheep are kept more for their wool than for the kitchen. The flesh of those considered to be good for nothing but eating is hard, stringy, without flavour or nourishment. It requires powerful masticators, a vigorous appetite and digestion: "a carne de lobo, diente de perro," "to wolf's flesh, a dog's tooth." The vegetables and fruit to be purchased depend naturally on the season of the year. Slices of a large gourd,[5] "calabaza," form a very common ingredient in the olla; however, long strings of garlic, "listras de ajo," are seldom wanting, nor "cebollas," onions, "pimientos," the red and green long peppers of which, whether fresh, dried, or pounded, such constant use is made in Spanish dishes. No olla is complete without them. The best vegetables, "verdura," for this purpose are "coles," cabbage, "acelga," beet, "azanorias," carrots, without which an olla has neither grace nor sustenance; "la olla sin verdura, no tiene gracia ni hartura." Oil, "aceite," vinegar, "vinagre," "aceitunas," olives; "tomatas," common cheese, "queso," generally of a white insipid class, and called "queso de Burgos." The natives, however, do not despise this constant article in the wallet of Sancho Panza. They say it must be good for something, as it is sold by weight: "algo es el queso, pues se lo da al peso"—bread and wine are always to be had. These two, according to the proverb, speed the wayfaring man. "Con pan y vino, se anda camino," "with bread and wine we make way on our journey." Garlic is the next essential; the very name is enough to give offence to most English. The evil consists, however, in the abuse, not in the use: from the quantity eaten in all southern countries, where it is considered to be fragrant, palatable, stomachic, and invigorating, we must assume that it is suited by nature to local tastes and constitutions. Wherever any particular herb grows, there lives the ass who is to eat it. "Donde crece la escoba, nace el asno que la roya." It is curious to see to what an awful extent the Spanish peasant on the eastern coast will consume garlic: we caution our traveller against the captivating name of Valencian butter, "Manteca Valenciana." It is composed (for the cow has nothing to do with it) of equal portions of garlic and hogs' lard, pounded together in a mortar, and then spread on{46} bread, just as we do arsenic to destroy vermin. The Catalonians have a national soup, which is made of bread and garlic, equal portions, fried in oil, and then diluted in hot water. This mess is called "sopa de gato," probably from making cats sick. The better classes turn up their noses at these odoriferous delicacies of the peasantry, which were forbidden by statute by Alonzo XI. to his knights of La Banda. Don Quixote cautions Sancho Panza to be moderate in this food, as not becoming to a governor. To give Spanish garlic its due, it must be said that, when administered by a judicious hand (for, like prussic acid, all depends on the quantity), it is far milder than the English. Spanish garlic and onions degenerate in the third generation when transplanted into England. They gain in pungency and smell, just as English foxhounds, when drafted into Spain, lose their strength and scent, in the third generation. A clove of garlic is called un diente, a tooth. Those who dislike the vegetable must place a sentinel over the Canidia of the venta while she is putting into her caldron the ingredients of his supper, or Avicena will not save him. "Mas mató la cena, que no curó Avicena:" but used with judgment, "Pan, vino, y ajo crudo hacen andar al mozo agudo"—"Bread, wine, and raw garlic make man go briskly." Hares, "liebres," partridges, "perdices," and rabbits, "conejos," are constantly offered for sale by peasants at the doors of the venta. The live stock, hens and chickens, "gallinas y pollos," run about the whole ground-floor, picking up anything, and ready to be picked up themselves and dressed; all the operations of cookery and eating, of killing, sousing in boiling water, plucking, et cætera, all preparatory as well as final, go on in this open kitchen. They are carried on by the ventera and her daughters or maids, or by some weasen, smoke-dried, cross old she-mummy, the "tia," "my aunt," who is the subject of the good-humoured remarks of the hungry and conciliatory traveller before dinner, and of his full-stomach jests afterwards. The assembled parties crowd round the fire, watching and assisting each at their own savoury messes, "Un ojo a la sarten y otro a la gata"—One eye to the pan, the other to the cat." And each, when their respective stews are ready, form clusters and groups round the frying-pan, which is moved from the fire hot and smoking, and placed on a low table or block of wood before them, or the steaming and savoury-smelling contents emptied into a huge earthen reddish dish, the ancient platter, magnâ paropside cœnat (Juv. III. 142); Paropside rubrâ (Mart. xi. 27). Chairs are a luxury; the lower classes sit, as in the East, on low stools, and fall to in a{47} most Oriental manner, with a frequent ignorance of forks;[6] they substitute a short wooden or horn spoon, or "dip" their bread into the dish, or fish up morsels with their long pointed knives. They eat copiously, but with gravity; with appetite, but no greediness; no nation, as a mass, is better bred or mannered than the lower classes of Spaniards. They are very pressing in their invitations whenever any eating is going on. No Spaniard or Spaniards, however humble their class or fare, ever allow any one to come near or pass them when eating without inviting them to partake. "Guste a usted comer?" "Will you be pleased to dine?" No traveller should ever omit to go through this courtesy whenever any Spaniards, high or low, come near him when he is eating, especially if doing so out of doors, which often happens in travelling; nor is it altogether an empty form; all classes consider it a compliment, if a stranger, and especially an Englishman, will condescend to share their dinner. In the smaller towns, those invited by English will often partake, even the better classes, and who have already dined; they think it civil, and have no objection to eating any good thing, which is the exception to their ordinary frugal habits. This is quite Arabian. The Spaniards seldom accept the invitation at once; they expect to be pressed by an obsequious host, in order to appear to do a gentle violence to their stomachs by eating to oblige him. The angels declined Lot's offered hospitalities until they were "pressed greatly" (Gen. xix. 3). Travellers in Spain must not forget this still existing Oriental trait; for if they do not greatly press their offer, they are understood as meaning it to be a mere empty compliment. We have known Spaniards who have called with an intention of staying dinner, go away, because this ceremony was not gone through according to their punctilious notions, to which our off-hand manners are diametrically opposed. Hospitality in a hungry inn-less land becomes, as in the East, a sacred duty; if a man eats all the provender by himself, he can expect to have few friends—"bocado comido, no hace amigo." If, however, they do justice to the feast, both in eating and drinking, they amply repay the consumption by the good fellowship of their conversation, and by their local information. Generally speaking, the offer is not accepted; it is always declined with the same courtesy which prompts the invitation. "Muchas{48} gracias, buen provecho le haga a V^md." "Many thanks—much good may it do you." (V^md. or V. is the abbreviation of vuestra merced, your worship, and is the civil form of "you.") These customs, both of inviting and declining, tally exactly, and even to the expressions used among the Arabs to this day. Every passer-by is invited by Orientals—"Bismillah ya seedee," which means both a grace and invitation—"In the name of God, sir, (i.e.) will you dine with us?" or "Tafud'-dal," "Do me the favour to partake of this repast." Those who decline reply, "Heneê an," "May it benefit." This supper, which is their principal meal, is seasoned with copious draughts of the wine of the country, which is drunk from whatever jug can be found—a bottle is a rarity; more frequently it is quaffed from the leathern "bota"[7] with which all travellers should be provided, because a glass bottle may be broken; therefore it is well to note that an earthenware keg is not a bota—"nota que, el jarro, no es bota." Note bene, that no man who has a bota should ever keep it empty, especially when he falls in with good wine.{49}

"No vayas sin bota camino
  Y quando fueres, no la lleves sin vino."

Every man's Spanish attendant will always find out, by instinct, where the best wine is to be had; of this they are quite as good judges as of good water. They rarely mix them. It is spoiling two good things. Vino moro means wine that has never been baptized, for which the Asturians are infamous: aguan el agua. It is a great mistake to suppose, because Spaniards are seldom seen drunk, and because when on a journey they drink as much water as their beasts, that they have any Oriental dislike to wine: the rule is "Agua como buey, y vino como Rey." The extent of the given quantity of wine which they will always swallow, rather suggests that their habitual temperance may in some degree be connected more with their poverty than with their will. The way to many an honest heart lies through the belly—aperit præcordia Bacchus: nor is their Oriental blessing unconnected with some "savory food" previously administered. Our experience tallies with their proverb, that they prefer "cursed bad" wine to holy water; "mas vale vino maldito, que no agua bendita." Good wine needs neither bush, herald, nor crier,—"al vino que es bueno no es menester pregonero:" and independently of the very obvious reasons which good wine does and ought to afford for its own consumption, the irritating nature of Spanish cookery provides a never-failing inducement. The constant use of the savory class of condiments and of pepper is very heating, "la pimienta escalienta." A salt-fish, ham, and sausage diet creates thirst; a good rasher of bacon calls loudly for a corresponding long and strong pull at the "bota," "a torresno de tocino, buen golpe de vino." Accordingly, after supper, the bota circulates merrily, cigars are lighted, the rude seats are drawn closer to the fire, stories are told, principally on robber or love subjects, jokes are given and taken, unextinguishable laughter forms the chorus of conversation, especially after good eating or drinking, to which it forms the dessert, "a buen bocado buen grito:" in due time songs are sung, a guitar is strummed "rasgueado," dancing is set on foot, the fatigues of the day are forgotten, and the catching sympathy of mirth extending to all is prolonged far into the night. Then, one by one, the company drops off. The better classes go up stairs, the humbler and majority make up their bed on the ground, near their animals; and like them, full of food and free from care, they fall instantly asleep in spite of the noise and discomfort by which they are surrounded. To describe the row baffles the art of pen or pencil. The roars, the dust, the want of everything but mirth in these low-classed ventas,{50} are emblems of the nothingness of Spanish life, which indeed is a jest:

"Παντα γελως και παντα κονις, και παντα το μηδεν."

There is no undressing or morning toilette; no time or soap is lost by biped or quadruped in the processes of grooming or lavation: both carry their wardrobes on their back, and trust to the shower and the sun to cleanse and bleach; all are alike entitled to the epithets bestowed by Strabo (iii. 234) and Justin (xliv. 2) on their Iberian predecessors, who partook of the wild beast. They sleep in their cloaks; "Blessed be man who first invented sleep—it covers one all over like a cloak," said Sancho Panza, whose sayings and doings represent the truest and most unchanged type of Spaniards of his class. Some substitute the "mantas," which most Spaniards carry with them when on their travels. This is a gay-coloured Oriental-looking striped blanket, or rather plaid: it is the Milayeh of Cairo, the Galnape of the Spanish Goths. When riding it is laid across the front of the saddle, when walking it is carried over the left shoulder, hanging in draperies behind and before. This forms the bed and bedding; for they never undress, but lie on the ground. The ground was the bed of the original Iberians—χαμαευναι (Strabo,[8] iii. 233); and the word Cama, bed, has been read quasi χαμαι, on the ground. St. Isidore thought that the term was introduced by the Carthaginians. Such has always been the bed of the lower orders. In the 13th century an English pilgrim, going to Santiago, describes these unchanged habits which exist to this day:{51}—

"Bedding there is nothing fair,
  Many pilgrims it doth afaire [afear, frighten];
  Tables use they none to eat,
  But on the bare floor they make their seat."
Purchas, ii. 1231.

Their pillow is composed either of their pack-saddles, "Albardas," or their saddle-bags, their "Alforjas." "No hay tal cama, como la de la enjalma," "There is no bed like the saddle-cloth." Their sleep is short, but profound. Long before daylight all is in motion; they "take up their bed," the animals are fed, harnessed, and laden, and the heaviest sleepers awakened. Their moderate accounts are paid, salutations or execrations (generally the latter), according to the length of their bills, pass between them and the landlord, and another day of toil begins. These night-scenes at a Spanish venta transport the lover of antiquity into the regions of the past. The whole thing presents an almost unchanged representation of what must have occurred two thousand years ago. It would be easy to work this out from Strabo, Martial, Athenæus, Silius Italicus, and other authorities. These curious analogies are well worthy of the scholar's attention. We would just suggest a comparison between the arrangement of the country Venta with that of the Roman inn now uncovered at the entrance of Pompeii, and its exact counterpart, the modern "Osteria," in the same district of Naples. In the Museo Borbonico will be found types of most of the utensils now used in Spain, while the Oriental and most ancient style of cuisine is equally easy to identify with the notices left us in the cookery books of antiquity. The same may be said of the tambourines, castanets, songs and dances,—in a word, of everything; and, indeed, when all are hushed in sleep, and stretched like corpses amid their beasts, the Valencians especially, in their sandals and kilts, in their mantas and "espuertas de esparto," or baskets, we feel that Strabo must have beheld the old Iberians exactly in the same costume and position, when he told us, what we see now to be true, το πλεον εν σαγοις, εν δις περ και στιβαδοκοιτονσι (iii. 233).

The "ventorillo" is a lower class of venta: it is often nothing more than a mere hut, run up with reeds or branches of trees by the road-side, at which water, bad wine, and worse brandy, "aguardiente," are to be sold. The latter is always detestable, raw, and disflavoured with aniseed. These "ventorillos" are at best suspicious places, and the haunts of the spies of regular robbers or of the skulking footpad, the "ratero," of which we shall have to speak in the proper place. The traveller in the matter of inns will{52} be seldom perplexed with any difficulty of selection as to the relative goodness. The safe rule is to go to the one where the diligence puts up—The Coach Inn. We shall not be able often to give him the exact names of the posadas, nor is it requisite. The simple direction, "vamos a La Posada," Let us go to the inn, will be enough in smaller towns; for the question is rather, Is there an inn, and where is it? than, Which is the best inn?

N.B. All who travel with ladies are advised to write beforehand to their banker or friends to secure quarters in some hotel, especially when going to Madrid and the larger cities.

10. VOITURIER TRAVELLING.

Mails and diligences, we have said, are only established on the principal high roads connected with Madrid. There are but few local coaches which run from one provincial town to another, where the necessity of frequent and certain intercommunication is little called for. In the other provinces, where these modern conveniences have not been introduced, the earlier mode of travelling is the only resource left to families of children, women, and invalids, who are unable to perform the journey on horse-back. This is the festina lentè, or voiturier system. From its long continuance in Italy and Spain, in spite of all the improvements adopted in other countries, it would appear to have something congenial and peculiarly fitted to the habits and wants of those cognate nations of the South, who have an Oriental dislike to be hurried, no corre priesa!

The Spanish vetturino, the "Calesero," is to be found, as in Italy, standing for hire in particular and well-known places in every principal town. The most respectable and long-established generally advertise in the local newspapers the day of their departure, and the name of the inn at which they may be heard of. There is, however, not much necessity for hunting for him: he has the Italian instinctive perception of a stranger and traveller, and the same importunity in volunteering himself, his cattle, and carriage, for any part of Spain. The man, however, and his equipage are peculiarly Spanish: his carriage, "coche de colleras," and his team, "tiro," have undergone little change during the last two centuries: they are the representatives of the former equipages of Europe, and resemble those vehicles once used in England,{53} which may still be seen in the old prints of country-houses by Kip; or, as regards France, in the pictures of Louis XIV.'s journeys and campaigns by Vandermeulen. They are the remnant of the once universal "coach and six." The real Spanish "coche de colleras" is a huge cumbrous machine, built after the fashion of a reduced lord mayor's coach, or some of the equipages of the older cardinals at Rome. It is ornamented with rude sculpture, gilding, and painting of glaring colour. The fore-wheels are very low, the hind ones very high, and both remarkably narrow in the tire; remember when they stick in the mud, and the drivers call upon Santiago, to push the vehicle out backwards; the more you draw it forwards the deeper you get into the mire. The pole sticks out like the bowsprit of a ship, and there is as much wood and iron work as would go to a small waggon. The interior is lined with gay silk and velvet plush. Latterly, the general poverty and the prose of European improvements have simplified and even effaced the ornate nationalities of carriages and costumes; the old type will every day be more and more obliterated, and the Spanish "coche de colleras" will approximate to the less picturesque vehicle of the Italian vetturino, just as their private carriages, which no man could see without a smile, are getting modern and uninteresting. The slow old coaches of Spain have been well and rapidly drawn by the Young American. The antiquarian should look out for them:—The square and formal body is ornamented in a sort of Chinese taste, and not unlike a tea-chest. This body is sustained by leathern straps, whose only spring is derived from their great length, for which purpose they are placed at such a distance from each other that they scarcely seem to be parts of the same vehicle. As these primitive carriages were built in remote ages, long before the invention of folding-steps, the ascent and entrance to them is facilitated by a little three-legged stool, which dangles by a strap behind, and which, when the carriage stops, the footman hastens to place near the door (just as was done in Egypt 4000 years ago, Wilk. ii. 208). A pair of fat and long-eared mules, with manes, hair, and tails fantastically cut, is driven by a superannuated postilion in formidable jack-boots and not less formidable cocked-hat of oil-cloth. Such are the ups and downs of nations. Spain, the discoverer of America, has now become her butt; and the noble dust of Alexander stops a bung-hole; and we also join in the laugh, and forget that our ancestors talked of "Hurrying in feather beds, that move upon four-wheel Spanish caroches" (Beaum. and Flet., 'Maid of the Inn,' iv. 1). However, the Prado vehicles were not one jot more ridiculous than those caricatures in motion which{54} were called carriages at Paris in 1814, before they obtained notions of better things from England. Fas est ab hoste doceri; and both are thus more profitably employed than in teaching each other improved methods of war and destruction.

The luggage is piled up behind, or stowed away in a front boot. The management of driving this vehicle is conducted by two persons. The master calesero is called the "mayoral," his helper or cad the "mozo," or more properly, "el zagal," from the Arabic, a strong active youth. The costume of the calesero is peculiar, and is based on that of Andalucia, which sets the fashion all over the Peninsula, in all matters regarding bull-fighting, horse-dealing, and so forth. He wears on his head a gay-coloured silk handkerchief, tied in such a manner that the tails hang down behind; over this remnant of the Moorish turban, he wears a high-peaked sugarloaf-shaped hat, "sombrero calanes," with broad brims, "gacho," Arabicè "turned down;" his jacket is the national "jaqueta," which is made either of black sheepskin, "zamarra," studded with silver tags, "alamares," and filigree buttons; or of brown cloth, with the back, arms, and particularly the elbows, welted and tricked out with flowers and vases, cut in patches of different-coloured cloth and much embroidered. These calesero jackets are often imitated by the dandies, the "majos," of whom more anon, and then they are called a "marselles," not from the French Marseilles, but from the old Moorish costume of Marsilla in Africa. In warm weather linen jackets are substituted. When the jacket is not worn it is usually hung over the left shoulder, after the hussar fashion. The waistcoat, "chaleco," is made of rich fancy silk; the breeches, "calzones," are made of blue or green velvet plush, ornamented with stripes and filigree buttons, or fitting tight, "de punto," and tied at the knee with silken cords and tassels; the neck is left open, and the shirt-collar turned down, a gaudy neck-handkerchief is worn, oftener passed through a ring than tied in a knot; his waist is girt with a red sash, or with one of a bright yellow, "color de caña." This "faja"[9] is a sine quâ non; it is the old Roman zona, it serves also for a purse; it "girds the loins" and keeps up a warmth over the abdomen, which is highly beneficial in hot climates, and wards off any tendency to irritable colic: in the sash is stuck the "navaja," the knife, which is part{55} and parcel of a Spaniard; behind, in the sash, the "zagal" usually places his stick, "la vara." The Andalucian calesero wears richly-embroidered gaiters, "botines,"[10] which are left open at the outside to show a handsome stocking; the shoes are yellow, like those of our cricketers, "de becerro," of untanned calfskin. The caleseros on the eastern coast wear the Valencian stocking, which has no feet, and the ancient Roman sandals, made of the esparto rush, with hempen soles, "alpargatas," Arabicè Alpalgah. The "zagal" follows the fashion in dress of the "mayoral," as nearly as his means will permit him. He is the servant of all work, and must be ready on every occasion; nor can any one who has ever seen the hard and incessant toil which these men undergo, justly accuse them of being indolent, "holgazanes," the reproach which has been cast without much justice on the lower classes of Spain; he runs by the side of the carriage, picks up stones to pelt the mules, ties and unties knots, and pours forth a volley of blows and oaths from the moment of starting to that of arrival. He sometimes is indulged with a ride by the side of the mayoral on the box, when he always uses the tail of the hind mule to pull himself up into his seat. The harnessing the six animals is a difficult operation; the tackle of ropes is laid out on the ground, and each beast is brought into his portion of the rigging. The start is always an important ceremony, and, as our royal mail does in the country, brings out all the idlers in the vicinity. When the team is harnessed, "cuando el ganado está enganchado," the mayoral gets all his skeins of ropes into his hand, the "zagal" his sash full of stones, the helpers at the venta their sticks; at a given signal all fire a volley of words and blows at the team, which, once in motion, continues at a brisk pace, performing from twenty-five to thirty miles a-day. The hours of starting are early, in order to avoid the mid-day heat; in these matters the Spanish customs are pretty much the same with the Italian; the calesero is always the best judge of the hours of departure and these minor details, which vary according to circumstances.

Whenever a bad bit of road occurs, a "mal paso," notice is given to the team by calling over their names, and by crying out "arré, arré," the still-used Arabic word for gee-up; this is varied with "firmé, firmé," steady, boy, steady! The names of the animals are always fine-sounding and polysyllabic; the accent is laid on the last syllable, which is always dwelt on and lengthened out with a particular emphasis,—Căpĭtănā-ā—Băndŏlĕrā-ā—Gĕnĕrălā-ā—Vălĕrŏsā-ā.{56} All this vocal driving is performed at the top of the voice, and, indeed, next to scaring away crows in a field, must be considered the best possible practice for the lungs. The proportion of females predominates: there is generally one male mule in the team, who is called "el macho," the male par excellence: he invariably comes in for the largest share of abuse and ill usage, which, indeed, he deserves the most, as the male mule is infinitely more stubborn and viciously inclined than the female. Sometimes there is a horse of the Rosinante breed; he is called "el cavallo," or rather, as it is pronounced, "el căvăl-yō-ō. The horse is always the best used of the team; to be a rider, "caballero" is the Spaniard's synonym for gentleman; it is their correct mode of addressing each other, and is banded gravely among the lower orders, who never have crossed any quadruped save a mule or a jackass.

"Our army swore lustily in Flanders," said Uncle Toby. But few nations can surpass the Spaniards in the language of vituperation: it is limited only by the extent of their anatomical, geographical, astronomical, and religious knowledge; it is most plentifully bestowed on their animals: "un muletier à ce jeu vaut trois rois." Oaths and imprecations seem to be considered as the only language the mute creation can comprehend; and as actions are generally suited to the words, the combination is remarkably effective. We have been somewhat particular in all these preceding remarks, and have given many of the exact Spanish words, because much of the traveller's time on the road must be passed in this sort of company and occupation. Some knowledge of their sayings and doings is of great use: to be able to talk to them in their own lingo, to take an interest in them and in their animals, never fails to please; "Por vida del demonio mas sabe Usia que nosotros;" "by the life of the devil, your honour knows more than we," is a common form of compliment. When once equality is established, the master mind soon becomes the real master of the rest. The great oath of Spain ought never to be written or pronounced, non nominandum inter mulieres: it, however, practically forms the foundation of the language of the lower orders; it is a most ancient remnant of the phallic abjuration of the evil eye, the dreaded fascination which still perplexes the minds of Orientals, and is not banished from Spanish and Neapolitan superstitions.[11] The "carajo" is pronounced with a strong guttural aspira{57}tion of the j; it need not be described; the traveller will hear it enough. Spanish echoes reiterate the termination "ajo," on which the great stress is laid: ajo means also garlic, which is quite as often in Spanish mouths; and is exactly what Hotspur liked, a "mouth-filling oath," energetic and Michael Angelesque. The pun has been extended to onions; thus, "ajos y cebollas" means oaths and imprecations. The sting of the oath is in the "ajo;" all women and quiet men, who do not wish to be particularly objurgatory, but merely to enforce and give a little additional vigour, or shotting to their discourse, drop the "ajo," wherein is the sting, and say "car," "carai," "caramba"—just as the well-bred Greeks softened down their offensive εις κορακας—pasces in cruce corvos—into εις καρας. The Spanish oath is used as a verb, as a substantive, as an adjective—just as it suits the grammar or the wrath of the utterer. It is equivalent also to a certain place and the person who lives there. "Vaya V^md. al C—— o" is the worst form of the angry; "Vaya V^md. al demonio," or "a los infiernos," is a whimsical mixture of courtesy and transportation. "Your worship may go to the devil, or to H—— and be——!"

These imprecatory vegetables, "ajos y cebollas," retain in Spain their old Egyptian flavour and mystical charm; "Allium cœpasque inter Deos in jurejurando habet Egyptus."—Plin., 'Nat. Hist.,' xix. 6. The modern garlic, "ajo," has quite displaced

"The fig of Spain......
When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me like
The bragging Spaniard."

This was the "digitus impudicus," of which the Spaniard Martial makes such frequent mention. All this, in word and deed, is very Oriental. The Spaniards have, however, added most of the gloomy northern Gothic oaths, which are imprecatory, to the Oriental, which are grossly sensual. Enough of this. The traveller who has much to do with Spanish mules and asses, biped or quadruped, will need no hand-book to teach him the sixty-five or more "serments espaignols" on which Mons. de Brantome wrote{58} a treatise. More becoming will it be to the English gentleman to swear not at all; a reasonable indulgence in Caramba is all that can be permitted; the custom is more honoured in the breach than in the observance, and bad luck seldom deserts the house of the imprecator. "En la casa del que jura, no falta desaventura."

The driving a coche de colleras is quite a science of itself, and is observed in conducting diligences; it amuses the Spanish "majo" as much as coach-driving does the fancy-man of England; the great art lies not in handling the ribbons, but in the proper modulation of the voice: the cattle, "ganado," are always addressed individually by their names; the first syllables are pronounced very rapidly; the "macho," the male mule, who is the most abused, is the only one not addressed by any names beyond that of his sex: the word is repeated with a voluble iteration; in order to make the two syllables longer, they are strung together thus, măchŏ—măchŏ—măchŏ—mācho-ō: they begin in semi-quavers, flowing on crescendo to a semibreve or breve: the four words are compounded into one polysyllable. The horse seldom has any name beyond that of "Caballo;" the female mules never are without their name, which they perfectly know—indeed, the owners will say that they understand them, and all bad language, as well as Christian women, "como Cristianas;" and, to do the beasts justice, they seem more shocked and discomfited thereby than the bipeds who profess the same creed. If the animal called to does not answer by pricking up her ears, or by quickening her pace, the threat of "la vărā," the stick, is added—the last argument of Spanish drivers and schoolmasters, with whom there is no sort of reason equal to that of the bastinado, "no hay tal razon, como la del baston." The Moors thought so highly of the bastinado, that they held the stick to be a special gift from Allah to the faithful. It holds good, à priori and à posteriori, to mule and boy, "al hijo y mulo para el culo;" and if the "macho" be in fault, and he is generally punished to encourage the others, some abuse is added to blows, such as "que pĕrrō-ō," "what a dog!" or some unhandsome allusion to his mother, which is followed by throwing a stone at him, for no whip could reach the distance from the coach-seat to the leaders. When any particular mule's name is called, if her companion be the next to be addressed, it is seldom done by name, she is then spoken to as a "a la ŏtrā-ā," "now for the other," "aquella-ŏtrā-ā," "look out that other," which from long habit of association and observation is expected and acknowledged. The team obeys the voice, and is in admirable command,—few things are more amusing than watching the whole opera{59}tion especially when bad roads and broken country make it a service of difficulty.

Where the travellers have much luggage, or take their own beds, it is advisable to hire a small "galera," or waggon, which either follows or precedes; these are always to be had, and there are, moreover, regular galeras which go from town to town, and which precisely do the offices which Fynes Moryson described in the time of James I. in England. "These carryers have long covered waggons, in which they carry passengers from city to city; but this kind of journeying is so tedious by reason they must take waggon very early and come very late to their innes, none but women and people of inferior condition used to travel in this sort." So it is now in Spain. The galera is a long cart without springs, the sides lined with esparto matting; beneath hangs a loose open net, as under the calesinas of Naples, in which lies and barks a horrid dog, who is never to be conciliated. These galeras are of all sizes; but if a galera should be a larger sort of vehicle than is wanted, then a "tartana," a sort of covered tilted cart, which is very common in Valencia, and which is so-called from a small Mediterranean craft of the same name, will be found convenient. See also our remarks on the Maragatos.

This mode of travelling is expensive; from four to eight dollars a-day may be calculated on as the charge of a good coach and six; but the traveller should never make the bargain himself until perfectly acquainted with Spain. The safest way will always be to apply to his banker or some respectable merchant in the town, who are enabled to recommend persons in whom some degree of confidence may be placed, and to make the terms beforehand. Every possible precaution should be taken in clearly and minutely specifying everything to be done, and the price; the Spanish "caleseros" rival their Italian colleagues in that untruth, roguery, and dishonesty, which seem everywhere peculiar to those who handle the whip, "do jobbings," and conduct mortals by horses; the fee or "propina" to be given to the drivers should never be included in the bargain, "ajuste." The keeping this important item open and dependent on the good behaviour of the future recipients offers a sure check over master and man, mayoral and zagal. In justice, however, to this class of Spaniards, it may be said that on the whole they are civil, good-humoured, and hard-working, and, from not having been accustomed to either the skrew bargaining or alternate extravagance of the English travellers in Italy, are as tolerably fair in their transactions as can be expected from human nature brought in constant contact with{60} four-legged and four-wheeled temptations. They offer to the artist an endless subject of the picturesque; everything connected with them is full of form, colour, and originality. They can do nothing, whether sitting, driving, sleeping, or eating, that does not make a picture; the same may be said of their animals and their habits and harness; those who draw will never find the midday halt long enough for infinite variety of subject and scenery, to which their travelling equipage and attendants form the most peculiar and appropriate foreground: while our modern poetasters will find them quite as worthy of being sung in immortal verse as the Cambridge carrier, Hobson, Milton's choice.

11. ROBBERS, AND PRECAUTIONS AGAINST THEM.

This mode of travelling in a "coche de colleras," and especially if accompanied with a baggage waggon, is of all others that which most exposes the party to be robbed. When the caravan arrives in the small villages it attracts immediate notice, and if it gets wind that the travellers are foreigners, and still more English, they are supposed to be laden with gold and booty. Such an arrival, with such a posse comitatus, is a very rare event; is spreads like wild-fire all along the road, and collects all the "mala gente," the bad set of idlers, a class which always was a weed of this soil, and which the poverty and marauding spirit, increased by the recent troubled times, has by no means diminished. In the villages near the inns there is seldom a lack of loiterers, who act as spies, and convey intelligence to their confederates; again, the bulk of the equipage, the noise and clatter of men and mules, is seen and heard from afar, by robbers who lurk in hiding-places or eminences, who are well provided with telescopes, besides with longer and sharper noses, which, as Gil Blas says, smell gold in travellers' pockets. The slow pace and impossibility of flight render the traveller an easy prey to well mounted horsemen. We do not wish to frighten our readers with much notice on Spanish robbers, being well assured that they are the exception, not the rule, in Spanish travel. The accounts of them are much exaggerated by the natives themselves; the subject is the standing dish, the common topic of the lower classes of travellers, when talking and smoking round the venta fires, and forms the natural and agreeable religio loci, the associations connected with wild and cut-throat localities.{61} Though their pleasure is mingled with fear and pain, yet they delight in their tales of horrors, as children do in ghost-stories. Their Oriental amplification, "ponderacion," is inferior only to their credulity, its twin-sister. They end in believing their own lies. Whenever a robbery really does take place, the report spreads far and wide, and gains in detail and atrocity, for no muleteer's story loses in the telling. It is talked of for months all over the country, while the thousands of daily passengers who journey on unhurt are never mentioned. It is like the lottery, in which the great prize alone attracts attention, not the infinite majority of blanks. These robber-tales reach the cities, and are often believed by most respectable people, who pass their lives without stirring a league beyond the walls. They sympathise with all who are compelled to expose themselves to the great pains and perils, the travail of travel, and with the most good-natured intentions they endeavour to dissuade rash adventurers, by stating as facts the apprehensions of their own credulity and imagination. Again, those of our countrymen who, on their return, print and publish their personal narratives, well know that a robbery-scene is as much expected in a book of Spanish travels as in one of Mrs. Ratcliffe's romances; such books only are made by "striking events;" accordingly, they string together all the floating traditional horrors which they can scrape together on Spanish roads. They thus feed and keep up the notion entertained in many counties of England, that the whole Peninsula is peopled with banditti. If such were the case society could not exist: the very fact of almost all of the authors having themselves escaped by a miracle, ought to lead to the inference that most other people escape likewise: a blot is not a blot till it is hit.

It is not, however, to be denied that Spain is, of all countries in Europe, the one in which the ancient classical and once universal system of robbing on the highway exists the most unchanged. With us these things have been much altered; Spain is what England was sixty years ago, with Hounslow Heath and Finchley Common; what Italy was very lately, and may be again next year. A bad character sticks to a country as well as to an individual; Spain had the same reputation in the days of antiquity, but it was always the accusation of foreigners. The Romans, who had no business to invade Spain, were harassed by the native guerrilleros, those undisciplined bands of armed men who wage the "little war," which Iberia always did. The Romans, worried by these unmilitary voltigeurs, called all Spaniards who resisted them "latrones;" just as the French, during the late war, from the same{62} reasons called them brigands and assassins. The national resistance against the intrusive foreigner has always armed the peasantry of Spain. Again, that sort of patriotism, a moyen de parvenir, which is the last and usual resource of scoundrels, is often made the pretext of the ill-conditioned to throw a specious mantle over the congenial vocation of living a free-booting idle existence by plunder rather than by work and industry; this accounts for the facility with which the universal Spanish nation flies to arms. Smuggling again sows the soil with dragons' teeth, and produces, at a moment's notice, a plentiful crop of armed men, or guerrilleros, which is almost a convertible term with robber.

Robbery in other countries has yielded to increased population, to more rapid and more frequent intercommunication. The distances in Spain are very great: the high-roads are few, and are carried through long leagues of uncultivated plains, "dehesas,"—through deserted towns, dispeopled districts, "despoblados," a term more common in Spain, as in the East, than that of village is in England. Andalucia is the most dangerous province, and it was always so. This arises from the nature of the country, from being the last scene of the Moorish struggle; and now from being in the vicinity of Gibraltar, the great focus of smuggling, which prepares the raw material for a banditti. These evils, which are abated by internal quiet and the continued exertions of the authorities, increase with troubled times, which, as the tempest calls forth the stormy petrel, rouses into dangerous action the worst portions of society, and creates a sort of civil cachexia, which can only be put down by peace and a strong settled government—blessings which, alas! have long been denied to unhappy Spain; meanwhile no hand-book on Spain can be complete without giving some account of the different classes and organization of the robber system—the alphabet and rudiments of a traveller's conversation when on the road. The antiquity of the system has been detailed in the 'Quarterly Review,' cxxii. 9, to which those about to visit the "Serrania de Ronda," and the wild country between Seville and Granada, will do well to refer, especially as regards "José Maria," who so long held undisputed rule in those parts, and whose name will long remain in the mouths of those whose talk is about robbers. First and foremost come the "ladrones," the robbers on a great scale: they are a regularly organized band, from eight to fourteen in number, well armed and mounted, and entirely under the command of one leader. These are the most formidable; and as they seldom attack any travellers except with{63} overwhelming forces, and under circumstances of ambuscade and surprise, where everything is in their favour, resistance is generally useless, and can only lead to fatal accidents; it is better to submit at once to the summons, which will take no denial, of "boca abajo," "boca a tierra," down, mouth to the earth. Those who are provided with such a sum of money as the robbers think according to their class of life, that they ought to carry about them, are very rarely ill-used; a frank, confident, and good-humoured surrender generally not only prevents any bad treatment, but secures even civility during the disagreeable operation: pistols and sabres are, after all, a poor defence, as Mr. Cribb said, compared to civil words and deeds. The Spaniard is by nature high-bred and a "caballero," and responds to any appeal to qualities of which his nation has reason to be proud: notwithstanding these moral securities, if only by way of making assurance doubly sure, an Englishman will do well when travelling in exposed districts to be provided with a bag containing fifty to one hundred dollars, which makes a handsome purse, feels heavy in the hand, and is that sort of amount which the Spanish brigand thinks a native of this proverbially rich country ought to have with him on his travels. He has a remarkable tact in estimating from the look of an individual, his equipage, &c., how much ready money it is befitting his condition for him to have about him; if the sum should not be enough, he resents severely the depriving him of the regular spoil to which he considers himself entitled by the long established usage of the high-road. The traveller who is unprovided altogether with cash is generally made a severe example of, pour encourager les autres, either by beating, "echandole palos," or by stripping to the skin, "dejandole en cueros," after the fashion of the thieves of old, near Jericho. The traveller should be particularly careful to have a watch of some kind, one with a gaudy gilt chain and seals is the best suited: not to have a watch of any kind exposes the traveller to more certain indignities than a scantily filled purse. The money may have been spent, but the absence of a watch can only be accounted for by a premeditated intention of not being robbed of it, which the "ladron" considers as an unjustifiable attempt to defraud him of his right. It must be said, to the credit of the Spanish brigands, especially those of the highest class, that they rarely ill-use women or children; nor do they commence firing or offering violence unless resisted. The next class of robbers—omitting some minor distinctions, such as the "salteadores," or two or three persons who lie in ambuscade and jump out on the unprepared traveller—is the "ratero," "the{64} rat." He is held in contempt, but is not less dangerous. He is not brought regularly up to the profession and organized, but takes to it, pro re natâ, of a sudden, commits his robbery, and returns to his pristine vocation. Very often, on the arrival of strangers, two or three of the ill-conditioned worst classes get up a robbery the next day for the special occasion, according to the proverb "la ocasion hace al ladron." The "raterillo," or small rat, is a skulking footpad, who seldom attacks any but single and unprotected passengers, who, if they get robbed, have no one to blame but themselves; for no man is justified in exposing Spaniards to the temptation of doing a little something in that line. The shepherd with his sheep, the ploughman at his plough, the vine-dresser amid his grapes,—all have their gun, which, ostensibly for their individual protection, furnishes means of assault and battery against those who have no other defence but their legs and virtue.

The regular first-class "ladrones" are generally armed with a blunderbuss, "retaco," which hangs at their saddles, the high-peaked "albarda," which is covered with fleece, either white or blue, the "zalea." Their dress is for the most part very rich and in the highest style of "aficion," "the fancy;" they are the envy and models of the lower classes of Andalucians, being arrayed after the fashion of the smuggler, "contrabandista," or the bull-fighter, "torero," or in a word, the "majo," or dandy, who, being peculiar to the south of Spain, will be more properly described in Andalucia, which is the home and headquarters of all those who aspire to the elegant accomplishments and professions to which we have just alluded.

Since these evils have so long been notorious, it is natural that means of prevention should likewise exist. If the state of things were so bad as exaggerated report would infer, it would be impossible that any travelling or traffic could be managed in the Peninsula. The mails and diligences, as we have said, are protected by government, and are very seldom attacked; those who travel by other methods, and have proper recommendations, will seldom fail in being provided by the captain-generals, or the military commander in smaller districts, the "comandante de armas," with a sufficient escort. A regular body of men was organized for that purpose all over Spain; and were called "Miquelites," from, it is said, one Miquel de Prats, an armed satellite of the famous or infamous Cæsar Borgia. In Catalonia they are called "Mozos de la Escuadra;" they are the modern "Hermandad," the brotherhood which formed the old Spanish rural armed police. They serve on foot, like a sort of dismounted gendarmerie,{65} and are under the orders of the military powers. They are composed of picked and most active young men; they are dressed in a sort of half uniform and half majo costume. Their gaiters are black instead of yellow, and their jackets of blue trimmed with red. They are well armed with a short gun and the "cañama," or belt round the belly, in which the cartouches are placed, a much more convenient contrivance than our cartouche-box; they have a sword, a cord for securing prisoners, and a single pistol, which is stuck in their sashes, at their backs. This corps is on a perfect par with the robbers, from whom some of them are chosen; indeed, the common condition of the "indulto," or pardon to robbers, is to enlist, and extirpate their former associates,—set a thief to catch a thief; both the honest and renegade Miquelites hunt "la mala gente," as gamekeepers do poachers. The robbers fear and respect them: an escort of ten or twelve Miquelites may brave any number of banditti, who never or rarely attack where resistance is to be anticipated. The Miquelites are commanded by a corporal of their own, and in travelling through suspected spots show singular skill in taking every precaution, in throwing out skirmishers in front and at the sides. They cover in their progress a large space of ground, taking care never to keep above two together, nor more distant from each other than gunshot; rules which all travellers will do well to remember, and to enforce on all occasions of suspicion. The rare instances in which Englishmen, especially officers of the garrison of Gibraltar, have been robbed, have arisen from a neglect of this precaution; when the whole party ride together they may be all caught at once, as in a trap. It may be remarked that Spanish robbers are very shy in attacking armed English travellers, and particularly if they appear on their guard. The robbers dislike fighting. They hate danger, from knowing what it is; they have no chivalrous courage, or abstract notions of fair play, any more than a Turk or a tiger, who are too uncivilized to throw away a chance: accordingly, the Spanish robbers seldom attack where they anticipate resistance, which they all feel they will assuredly meet from Englishmen. They have also a peculiar dislike to English guns and gunpowder, which, in fact, both as arms and ammunition, are infinitely superior to the ruder Spanish weapons. Though three or four Englishmen have nothing to fear, yet where there are ladies it is always far better to be provided with an escort of Miquelites. These men have a keen and accurate eye, and are always on the look-out for prints of horses and other signs, which, escaping the notice of superficial observers, indicate to their practised observa{66}tions the presence of danger. The Miquelites are indefatigable, keeping up with a carriage day and night, braving heat and cold, hunger and thirst. As they are maintained at the expense of the government, they are not, strictly speaking, entitled to any remuneration from those travellers whom they are directed to escort; it is, however, usual to give to each man a couple of pesetas a-day, and a dollar to their leader. The trifling addition of a few cigars, a "bota" or two of wine, some rice and dried cod-fish, "bacalao," for their evening meal, is well bestowed; exercise sharpens their appetites; and they are always proud to drink to their master's health, and are none the worse for his food, for "tripas llevan a pies, y no pies a tripas," which, not to translate it coarsely, means that bowels carry the feet, not the feet the bowels. The proof is evident, for they, when thus well treated, will go through fire and water for their employers ("quieres que te siga el can, dale pan," "if you wish a dog to follow you, give him bread"), who may pass on without the least fear of danger, even in sight of a band of robbers regularly drawn up in the distance, whence they will not dare to come down to attack them, although civilly invited to do so; "experto crede."

Those, however, who are endued with patience and endurance, will find travelling in Spain, when the great roads are departed from, not much worse than an excursion round Sicily. They will get little on the journey at all conducive to comfort, except what they take with them. A galera on such occasions looks like the déménagement of a household. It is far safer to have a super-abundance of stores than a deficiency. "Mas vale," says the proverb, "que sobre, que no se falte." "It is better to have too much than too little." It is also essential to the traveller to arrive on all occasions as early as possible at his evening quarters. He has thus the best chance of securing the first choice of whatever limited accommodation may exist. "En las sopas y amores, los primeros son mejores"—"In soup and love-affairs those first helped are the best off;" the last man is the one the dog bites; "al postrero le muerde el perro;" occupat extremum scabies, the devil takes the hindmost. It is quite wonderful to see how Spanish families get on when on these journeys: as in the East they are accustomed to privations and every sort of disaccommodation; they expect nothing better; they have no idea that travelling across their country is ever unattended with hardship; patience is the badge of the nation; their more than Oriental resignation reconciles them to many a moral and physical suffering, which, being endured because it cannot be cured, becomes lighter by making up their{67} minds to do so, and by not giving way to peevishness and ill-temper. The proverb is always in their mouths, to console and encourage them to bear on. "Para todo hay remedio, sino es para la muerte," "there is a remedy for everything except for death." They have found from sad experience that any attempts to change the existing circumstances of Spanish habits and affairs have seldom been attended with success; on the contrary, the tendency has been to render intolerable evils which were tolerable before: "mas vale el mal conocido que no el bien a conocer," "better the evil the full extent of which is known, than the good which has to be learnt."[12] The bliss of ignorance, and of the not knowing of anything better, is the secret of the absence of discontent of the poor. To those whose life is one feast, everything which does not come up to their conventional ideas is a failure; to those whose daily bread is dry, whose drink is water, everything beyond is a feast: accordingly, a Spanish family, when travelling in the manner which we have just described, does not require a tithe of the attendance and preparations without which no English party could manage at all. "Son cosas de España!" What Seneca says of the Cordovese orator Porcius Latro holds good to this day. His rule was to take life everywhere just as he found it: "utcunque res tulerat ita vivere"—"donde fueres haz como vieres."

Those, whether natives or foreigners, who cannot obtain or afford the expense of an escort to themselves, avail themselves of the opportunity of joining company with some party who are enabled to do so. It is wonderful how soon the fact of an escort being granted is known, and how the number of travellers increases who are anxious to take advantage of the convoy. As all go armed, the united allied forces become more formidable as the number increases, and the danger becomes less. If no one happens to be travelling with an escort, then travellers wait for the passage of troops, for the government's sending money, tobacco, or anything else which requires protection. If none of these opportunities offer, all who are about to travel join company. This habit of forming caravans is very Oriental, and has become quite national in Spain. It is almost impossible to travel alone; others will join; weaker and smaller parties will unite with all stronger{68} and larger companies whom they meet, going the same road, whether the latter like it or not. The muleteers are most social and gregarious amongst each other, and will often endeavour to derange their employers' line of route, in order to fall in with that of their chance-met comrades. The caravan, like a snow-ball, increases in bulk as it rolls on: it is often pretty considerable at the very outset, for, even before starting, the muleteers and proprietors of carriages, being well known to each other, communicate mutually the number of travellers which each has got. Everybody in Spain travels armed to the teeth, and arrayed in a sort of costume for the road; and as all are cloaked and muffled up alike, a peculiar bandit look is common to most persons one meets outside of a town. Now, most Spaniards are rather sallow than otherwise, are apt to have black eyes, hair, unshorn beards, and have a trick of staring rather fixedly from under their slouched hat at the passing stranger, whose, to them, outlandish costume excites curiosity and suspicion; accordingly some difficulty does exist in distinguishing the sheep from the wolf, when both are disguised in the same clothing. A private and respectable Spanish gentleman, who, in his native town, would be the model of a peaceable and inoffensive burgess, when on his travels has altogether the appearance of the Bravo of Venice, and such-like heroes, by whom Englishmen, when children, have from time immemorial been frightened at Astley's. In consequence of the difficulty of outliving what they learnt in the nursery, many of our simple countrymen have, with the best intentions, set down the bulk of the population of the Peninsula as one gang of robbers—they have exaggerated their number like Falstaff's men of buckram. This state of armed peace, which prevails outside of Spanish towns, offers in itself an additional means of security, and those who travel without a regular escort can always hire armed peasants in villages and localities of notorious danger: they are called "escopeteros," people with guns—a definition which is applicable to all Spaniards. This custom of going armed, and early acquaintance with the use of the gun, is the principal reason why, on the shortest notice, bodies of men, who by courtesy are here called soldiers, are got together; every field furnishes the raw material—a man with a gun. Baggage, commissariat, pay, rations, uniform, and discipline, which are European rather than Oriental, seldom overabound in the armies of Spain. These "escopeteros," occasionally robbers themselves, live either by robbery or by the prevention of it; for there is some honour among thieves; "entre lobos no se come," "wolves don't eat each other" unless very hard up{69} indeed; they are by no means so bold or trustworthy as the Miquelites, who despise them. The "escopeteros" naturally endeavour to alarm travellers with over-exaggerated accounts of danger, in order that their services may be engaged; their idle stories are often believed by the gobemouche class of book-making travellers, the Semples, Sir John Carrs, Inglises, et hoc genus omne—who note down, print, and publish tales of horror told them, and got up for the occasion, by people who are laughing at them in their sleeves; but these things are among the accidents of long journeys, "en luengas vias, luengas mentiras."

12. TRAVELLING WITH MULETEERS.

This mode, when the party is small, or when a person is alone, is very common in Spain; it is, perhaps, the cheapest and safest manner. The "ordinarios," who go from town to town, frequently compound with regularly established bands of robbers, by paying a certain black-mail, which secures their safe passage. They always travel in such numbers, and take such precautions, that nothing is to be apprehended from "rateros," or minor robbers. These muleteers, "arrieros," are, moreover, the best persons to consult as to the actual condition of roads and those particulars which, changing from day to day, cannot be laid down in a book. The days of their departure from town to town may be always ascertained at their respective houses of call, the lower classes of posadas, at which they invariably put up, and which are perfectly well known in every town in Spain. They will furnish mules and occasionally horses to travellers, and convey their luggage. These horses are seldom good. Cervantes, wishing to describe a regular brute, calls him "de los malos, de los de alquiler." Their common charge averages about three dollars a-head for each day's journey. They prefer mules and asses to the horse, which is more delicate, requires greater attention, and is less sure-footed over broken and precipitous ground. The mule performs in Spain the functions of the camel in the East, and has something in his morale (besides his physical suitableness to the country) which is congenial to the character of the Spaniard—the same self-willed obstinancy, the same resignation under burdens, the same singular capability of endurance of labour, fatigue, and privation. The mule has always been much used in Spain, and the demand for them very great;{70} yet, from some mistaken crotchet of Spanish political economy (which is very Spanish), the breeding of the mule has long been attempted to be prevented in order to encourage that of the horse. One of the reasons alleged was, that the mule was a non-reproductive animal; an argument which might or ought to apply equally to the monk; a breed for which Spain could have shown for the first prize, both as to number and size, against any other country in all Christendom. This attempt to force the production of an animal far less suited to the wants and habits of the people has failed, as might be expected. The difficulties thrown in the way have only tended to raise the prices of mules, which are, and always were, very dear; a good mule will fetch from 25l. to 50l., while a horse of relative goodness may be purchased for from 20l. to 40l. Mules were always very dear; Martial (iii. 62), like a true Andalucian Spaniard, talks of one which cost more than a house. The most esteemed are those bred from mares and stallion asses, "garañones,"[13] some of which are of extraordinary size, and one which Don Carlos had in his stud-house at Aranjuez in 1832 exceeded fifteen hands in height.

The mules in Spain, as in the East, have their coats closely shorn or clipped; part of the hair is usually left on in stripes like the zebra, or cut into fanciful patterns, like the tattooings of an Indian chief. This process of shearing is found to keep the beast cooler and freer from cutaneous disorders. The operation is performed in the southern provinces by gipsies, "gitanos," who are the same tinkers, horse-dealers, and vagrants in Spain as elsewhere. In the northern provinces all this is done by Arragonese, who, in costume, good-for-nothingness, and most respects, are no better than the worst real gipsies. This clipping recalls to us the "mulo curto," on which Horace could amble even to Brundusium.

The mule-clippers are called "esquiladores:" they may be known by the formidable shears, tijeras, gipsicè "cachas," which they carry in their sashes. They are very particular in clipping the pastern and heels, which they say ought to be as free from hair as the palm of a lady's hand. The mules of the arriero always travel in files. The leading animal is furnished with a copper bell with a wooden clapper, "cencerro zumbon," which is shaped like an ice-mould, sometimes two feet long, and hangs from the neck,{71} being contrived, as it were, on purpose to knock the animal's knees as much as possible, and to emit the greatest quantity of the most melancholy sounds, according to the pious origin of all bells, which were meant to scare the devil. The bearer of all this tintinnabular clatter is chosen from its superior docility and knack in picking out a way. The others follow their leader, and the noise he makes when they cannot see him. They are heavily but scientifically laden. The cargo of each is divided into three portions, "tercios;" one is tied on each side, and the other placed between. If the cargo be not nicely balanced the muleteer either unloads or adds a few stones to the lighter portion—the additional weight being compensated by the greater comfort with which a well-poised burden is carried. These "Sumpter" mules are gaily decorated with trappings full of colour and tags. A complete furniture is called an "aparejo redondo." The head-gear is generally equally gay, being composed of different coloured worsteds, to which a multitude of small bells are affixed; hence the saying, "muger de mucha campanilla," a woman of many bells, of much show, much noise, or pretension. The muleteer either walks by the side of his animal or sits aloft on the cargo, with his feet dangling on the neck, a seat which is by no means so uncomfortable as it would appear. His rude gun hangs in readiness by his side; the approach of the caravan is announced from afar: "How carols now the lusty muleteer!" For when not engaged in swearing or smoking, the livelong day is passed in one monotonous high-pitched song, which, like that of the cognate camel-driver in the East, is little in harmony with his cheerful humour, being most unmusical and melancholy; but such is the true type of Oriental melody, as it is called. The same absence of thought which is shown in England by whistling is displayed in Spain by singing. "Quien canta sus males espanta;" accordingly, either a song, an oath, or a cigar, are always in his mouth, the former of these consolations in travel being as old and as classical as Virgil:—"Cantantes licet usque, minus via tædet, eamus."

The humble ass, "burro," "borrico," is (as the monk used to be) part and parcel of a Spanish scene: he forms the appropriate foreground in streets or roads. Wherever two or three Spaniards are collected in a junta, there is sure to be an ass among them; he is the hardworked companion of the lower orders, to whom to be out of work is the greatest misfortune; sufferance is indeed the common virtue of both tribes. They may, perhaps, both wince a little when a new burden or a new tax is laid on them—cum gravius dorso subiit onus—but they soon, when they see that{72} there is no remedy, "no hay remedio," bear on and endure: from this fellow-feeling master and animal cherish each other at heart, though, from the blows and imprecations bestowed openly, the former may be thought by hasty observers to be ashamed of confessing these predilections in public. Some under-current, no doubt, remains of the ancient prejudices of chivalry; but Cervantes, who thoroughly understood human nature in general, and Spanish nature in particular, has most justly dwelt on the dear love which Sancho Panza felt for his "Rucio," and marked the reciprocity of the brute, affectionate as intelligent. In fact, in the Sagra district, near Toledo, he is called El vecino, one of the householders; and none can look a Spanish ass in the face without remarking a peculiar expression, which indicates that the hairy fool considers himself to be one of the family, de la familia, or de nosotros. La Mancha is the paradise of mules and asses; many a Sancho at this moment is there fondling and embracing his ass, his "chato, chatito, Romo," and other complimentary variations of Snub, with which, when not abusing him, he delights to nickname his helpmate. In Spain, as Sappho says, Love is γλυκυπικρον, an alternation of the agro-dolce; nor is there any prevention of cruelty society towards animals; every Spaniard has the same right in law and equity to kick and beat his own ass to his own liking, as a philanthropical Yankee has to wallop his own nigger; no one ever thinks of interposing on these occasions, any more than they would in a quarrel between a man and his wife. The words are, at all events, on one side. It is, however, recorded, in piam memoriam, of certain Roman Catholic asses of Spain, that they tried to throw off one Tomas Trebiño and some other heretics, when on the way to be burnt, being horror-struck at bearing such monsters. Every Spanish peasant is heart-broken when injury is done to his ass, as well he may be, for it is the means by which he lives; nor has he much chance, if he loses him, of finding, when hunting for him, a crown, as was once done, or even a government, like Sancho. Sterne would have done better to have laid the venue of his sentimentalities over a dead ass in Spain, rather than in France, where the quadruped species is much rarer. In Spain, where small carts and wheel-barrows are almost unknown, and the drawing them is considered as beneath the dignity of the Spanish man, the substitute, an ass, is in constant employ; sometimes it is laden with sacks of corn, with wine-skins, with water-jars, with dung, or with dead robbers, slung like sacks over the back, their arms and legs tied under the animal's belly. Asses' milk, "leche de burra," is in much request during the{73} spring season. The Andaluzas drink it in order to fine their complexions and cool their blood, "refrescar la sangre;" the clergy and men in office, "los empleados," to whom it is mother's milk, that it may give tone to their gastric juices; there is nothing new in this, according to the accounts of Pliny (Nat. Hist. xxviii. 12). Riding on assback was accounted a disgrace and a degradation to the Gothic hidalgo. Acimundo was thus paraded through Toledo in the sixth century, for attempting to murder the king Recared. Among the Cumæans the adultress was punished by a similar public exhibition—ονοβαςις—(Plut., 'Quest. Græ.' Reiske, vii. 171). The Spaniards, in the sixteenth century, mounted unrepining cuckolds, "los cornudos pacientes," on asses—(See the curious print of Seville, in which this procession forms the foreground.—Braun's 'Civitates,' vol. iii. p. 5). In spite of all these unpleasant associations, the grandees and their wives, and even grave ambassadors from foreign parts, during the royal residences at Aranjuez, delighted in elevating themselves on this beast of ill omen, and "borricadas" were all the fashion. Spanish ladies, when undertaking riding-journeys, are mounted on donkeys in comfortable side-saddles, or rather side chairs, called "jamugas." On this occasion the mantilla is generally laid aside, and a black straw bonnet with black feathers substituted—a custom as old as the Austrian dynasty in Spain. It must be admitted that these cavalcades are truly national and picturesque. Mingled with droves of mules and mounted horsemen, the long lines come threading down the mountains defiles or tracking through the aromatic brushwood, now concealed amid rocks and olive-trees, now emerging bright and glittering into the sunshine, giving life and movement to the lonely nature, and breaking the usual stillness by the tingle of the bell and the sad ditty of the muleteer,—sounds which, though unmusical in themselves, are in keeping with the scene, and associated with wild Spanish rambles, just as the harsh whetting of the scythe is mixed up with the sweet spring and newly-mown hay-meadow.

CHOICE OF COMPANIONS.

Those who travel in public conveyances or with muleteers are seldom likely to be left alone. It is the horseman who strikes into out-of-the-way, unfrequented districts, who will feel the want of{74} that important item—a travelling companion, on which, as in choosing a wife, it is easy enough to give advice. The patient must, however, administer to himself. The selection depends, of course, much on the taste and idiosyncrasy of each individual; those unfortunate persons who are accustomed to have everything their own way, or those, felices nimium, who possess the alchymy of finding resources and amusements in themselves, numquam minus soli, quam soli, may perhaps find travelling alone to be the best; at all events, no company is better than bad company: "mas vale ir solo, que mal acompañado." A solitary wanderer is certainly the most unfettered as regards his notions and motions, "no tengo padre ni madre, ni perro que me ladre." He can read the book of Spain, as it were, in his own room, dwelling on what he likes, and skipping what he does not.

Every coin has, however, its reverse, and every rose its thorn. Notwithstanding these and other obvious advantages, and the tendency that occupation and even hardships have to drive away imaginary evils, this freedom will be purchased by occasional moments of depression; a dreary, forsaken feeling will steal over the most cheerful mind. It is not good for man to be alone; and this social necessity never comes home stronger to the warm heart than during a long-continued solitary ride through the rarely visited districts of the Peninsula. The sentiment is in perfect harmony with the abstract feeling which is inspired by the present condition of unhappy Spain, fallen from her high estate, and blotted almost from the map of Europe. Silent, sad, and lonely is her face, on which the stranger will too often gaze; her hedgeless, treeless tracts of corn-field, bounded only by the low horizon; her uninhabited, uncultivated plains, abandoned to the wild flower and the bee, and which are rendered still more melancholy by ruined castle, or village, which stand out bleaching skeletons of a former vitality. The dreariness of this abomination of desolation is increased by the singular absence of singing birds, and the presence of the vulture, the eagle, and lonely birds of prey. The wanderer, far from home and friends, feels doubly a stranger in this strange land, where no smile greets his coming, no tear is shed at his going,—where his memory passes away, like that of a guest who tarrieth but a day,—where nothing of human life is seen, where its existence only is inferred by the rude wooden cross or stone-piled cairn, which marks the unconsecrated grave of some traveller, who has been waylaid there alone, murdered, and sent to his account with all his imperfections on his head. However confidently we have relied on past experience that such would not be{75} our fate, yet these sorts of Spanish milestones marked with memento mori,[14] are awkward evidences that the thing is not altogether impossible. It makes a single gentleman, whose life is not insured, keep his powder dry, and look every now and then if his percussion cap fits. On these occasions the falling in with any of the nomade half-Bedouin natives is a sort of godsend; their society is quite different from that of a regular companion, for better or worse, until death us do part; it is casual, and may be taken up or dropped at convenience. The habits of all Spaniards when on the road are remarkably gregarious. It is hail! well met, fellow traveller! and the being glad to see each other is an excellent introduction. The sight of passengers bound our way is like speaking a strange sail on the Atlantic. This predisposition tends to make all travellers write so much and so handsomely of the lower classes of Spaniards, not indeed more than they deserve, for they are a fine, noble race. Something of this arises, because on such occasions all parties meet on an equality; and this levelling effect, perhaps unperceived, induces many a foreigner, however proud and reserved at home, to unbend, and that unaffectedly. He treats these accidental acquaintances quite differently from the manner in which he would venture to treat the lower orders of his own country, who, probably, if conciliated by the same condescension of manner, would appear in a more amiable light, although they are far inferior to the Spaniard in his Oriental goodness of manner, his perfect tact, his putting himself and others into their proper place, without either self-degradation or vulgar assumption of social equality or superior physical powers. A long solitary ride is hardly to be recommended; it is not fair to friends who have been left anxious behind, nor is it prudent to expose oneself, without help, to the common accidents to which a horse and his rider are always liable. Those who have a friend with whom they feel they can venture to go in double harness, had better do so. It is a severe test, and the trial becomes greater in proportion as hardships abound and accommodations are scanty, causes which sour the{76} milk of human kindness, and prove indifferent restorers of stomach or temper. It is on these occasions, on a large journey and in a small venta, that a man finds out what his friend really is made of.

"En largo camino y chico meson,
  Conoce el hombre su compañon."

While in the more serious necessities of danger, sickness, and need—a friend is one indeed, and the one thing wanting, "al buen amigo, con tu pan y tu vino," we share our last morsel and cup gladly. The salt of good fellowship, if it cannot work miracles as to quantity, converts the small loaf into a respectable abstract feed, by the "gusto and agrado," the zest and satisfaction with which it flavours it.

Nothing, moreover, cements friendships for the future like having made one of these conjoint rambles, provided it did not end in a quarrel. The mere fact of having travelled at all in Spain has a peculiarity which is denied to the more hackneyed countries of Europe. When we are introduced to a person who has visited these spell-casting sites, we feel as if we knew him already. There is a sort of freemasonry in having done something in common, which is not in common with the world at large. Those who are about to qualify themselves for this exclusive quality will do well not to let the party exceed five in number, three masters and two servants; two masters with two servants are perhaps more likely to be better accommodated;[15] a third, however, is often of use in trying journeys, as an arbiter elegantiarum et rixarum; for in the best regulated teams it must happen that some one will occasionally start, gib, and bolt, when the majority being against him brings the offender to his proper senses. Four eyes see better than two, "mas ven cuatro ojos que dos," or, as those say who like a jest at marriage, which most Spaniards do,—

"Porque mas pueden dos que uno
  Por eso, es hombre cornudo."
{77}

13. TRAVELLING ON HORSEBACK.

This is the ancient, primitive, and once universal mode of travelling in Europe, as it still is in the East; mankind, however, soon gets accustomed to an improved state of locomotion, and we are apt to forget how recent is its introduction. Fynes Moryson, when writing an English hand-book, gives much the same sort of advice to his readers as it will be our duty to offer to those who, following Gray's advice, desert the beaten highways to explore some of the rarely visited but not the least interesting portions of Spain. It has been our good fortune to perform many of these expeditions on horseback, both alone and in company; and on one occasion to have made the pilgrimage from Seville to Santiago, through Estremadura and Gallicia, returning by the Asturias, Biscay, Leon, and the Castiles; thus riding nearly two thousand miles on the same horse, and only accompanied by one Andalucian servant, who had never before gone out of his native province. The same tour was afterwards performed by two friends with two servants; nor did they or ourselves ever meet with any real impediments or difficulties, scarcely indeed sufficient of either to give the flavour of adventure, or the dignity of danger, to the undertaking. It has also been our lot to make an extended tour of many months, accompanied by an English lady, through Granada, Murcia, Valencia, Catalonia, and Arragon, to say nothing of repeated excursions through every nook and corner of Andalucia. The result of all this experience, combined with that of many friends, who have ridden over the greater part of the Peninsula, enables us to recommend this method to the young, healthy, and adventurous, as by far the most agreeable plan of proceeding, and, indeed, as regards two-thirds of the Peninsula, the only practicable course. The leading royal roads which connect the capital with the principal sea-ports are indeed excellent; but they are generally drawn in a straight line, or are conducted by those directions which offer the best facilities of getting over the continuous chains of mountains by which the face of Spain is intersected. Many of the most ancient cities are thus left out, and these, together with sites of battles and historical incident, ruins and remains of antiquity, and scenes of the greatest natural beauty, are accessible with difficulty, and in many cases only on horseback. The wide extent of country which intervenes between the radii of the great roads is most indifferently provided with public means of inter-communication; there is no traffic, and no demand for modern conveyances—even mules and horses are not always to be procured, and we have always{78} found it best to set out on these distant excursions with our own beasts: the comfort and certainty of this precaution have been corroborated beyond any doubt by frequent comparisons with the discomforts undergone by other persons, who trusted to chance accommodations and means of locomotion in ill-provided districts and out-of-the-way excursions: indeed, as a general rule, the traveller will do well to carry with him everything with which from habit he feels that he cannot dispense. The chief object will be to combine in as small a space as possible the greatest quantity of portable comfort, taking care to select the really essential; for there is no worse mistake than lumbering oneself with things that are never wanted. We shall devote some pages to advice on these heads; the subject has not been much detailed by previous authors, who have rarely travelled much out of the beaten track, or undertaken a long-continued riding tour, and they have been rather inclined to overstate the dangers and difficulties of a plan which they have never tried. At the same time this plan is not to be recommended to delicate ladies nor to delicate gentlemen, nor to those who have had a touch of rheumatism, or who tremble at the shadows which coming gout casts before it. Those who have endurance and curiosity enough to face a tour in Sicily, may readily set out for Spain, and still more if they do not penetrate into the interior. Post-horses certainly get quicker over the country; but the pleasure of the remembrance and the benefits derived by travel are commonly in an inverse ratio to the ease and rapidity with which the journey is performed. In addition to the accurate knowledge which is thus acquired of the country (for there is no map like this mode of surveying), and of a considerable and by no means the worst portion of its population, a riding expedition to a civilian is almost equivalent to serving a campaign. It imparts a new life, which is adopted on the spot, and which soon appears quite natural, from being in perfect harmony and fitness with everything around, however strange to all previous habits and notions; it takes the conceit out of a man for the rest of his life—it makes him bear and forbear. It is a capital practical school of moral discipline, just as the hardiest mariners are nurtured in the roughest seas. Then and there will be learnt golden rules of patience, perseverance, good temper, and good fellowship: the individual man must come out, for better or worse. On these occasions, where wealth and rank are stripped of the aids and appurtenances of conventional superiority, he will draw more on his own resources, moral and physical, than on any letter of credit; his wit will be sharpened by invention-suggesting{79} necessity. Then and there, when up, about, and abroad, will be shaken off dull sloth. Action—Demosthenic action—will be the watchword. The traveller will blot out from his dictionary the fatal phrase of procrastination, by-and-bye, a street which leads to the house of never, for "por la calle de despues, se va a la casa de nunca." Reduced to shift for himself, he will see the evil of waste, "sal vertida, nunca bien cogida;" the folly of improvidence and want of order, "quien bien ata, bien desata;" fast bind, fast unbind.—He will whistle to the winds the paltry excuse of idleness, the "no se puede," "it is impossible." He will soon learn, by grappling with difficulties, how surely they are overcome,—how soft as silk becomes the nettle when it is sternly grasped, which would sting the tender-handed touch,—how powerful a principle of realising the object proposed, is the moral conviction that we can and will accomplish it. He will never be scared by shadows thin as air; for when one door shuts another opens, "cuando una puerta se cierra, otra se abre," and he who pushes on arrives, "quien no cansa, alcanza." Again, these sorts of independent expeditions are equally conducive to health of body: after the first few days of the new fatigue are got over, the frame becomes of iron, "hecho de bronce." The living in the pure air, the sustaining excitement of novelty, exercise, and constant occupation, are all sweetened by the "studio fallente laborem," which renders even labour itself a pleasure; a new and vigorous life is infused into every bone and muscle: early to bed and early to rise, if it does not make all brains wise, at least invigorates the gastric juices, makes a man forget that he has a liver, that storehouse of mortal misery—bile, blue pill, and blue devils. This health is one of the secrets of the amazing charm which seems inherent to this mode of travelling, in spite of all the apparent hardships with which it is surrounded in the abstract. Escaping from the meshes of the west end of London, we are transported into a new world; every day the out-of-door panorama is varied; now the heart is cheered and the countenance made glad by gazing on plains overflowing with milk and honey, or laughing with oil and wine, where the orange and citron bask in the glorious sunbeams. Anon we are lost amid the wild magnificence of Nature, who, careless of mortal admiration, lavishes with proud indifference her fairest charms where most unseen, her grandest forms where most inaccessible. Every day and everywhere we are unconsciously funding a stock of treasures and pleasures of memory, to be hived in our bosoms like the honey of the bee, to cheer and sweeten our after-life; which, delightful even as in the reality, wax stronger as we grow in years{80} and feel that these feats of our youth, like sweet youth itself, can never be our portion again. Therefore let those who honour us by taking our advice and Hand-book remember to do the thing well and completely the first time; for the first visit is the best, en las sopas y amores, los primeros son mejores; and if the same localities be revisited, let it be after a long interval, when new harvests have sprung up, and another though a different interest may be created. Of one thing the reader may be assured,—that dear will be to him, as is now to us, the remembrance of those wild and weary rides through tawny Spain, where hardship was forgotten ere undergone: those sweet-aired hills—those rocky crags and torrents—those fresh valleys which communicated their own freshness to the heart—that keen relish for hard fare earned by hunger, the best of sauces—those sound slumbers on harder couch, earned by fatigue, the downiest of pillows—the braced nerves—the spirits light, elastic, and joyous—that freedom from care—that health of body and soul which ever rewards a close communion with Nature, and the shuffling off the frets and factitious wants of the thick-pent artificial city.

Whatever be the number of the party, and however they travel, whether on wheels or horseback, admitting even that a pleasant friend pro vehiculo est, yet no one should ever dream of making a pedestrian tour in Spain. It seldom answers anywhere. The walker arrives at the object of his promenade tired and hungry, just at the moment when he ought to be the freshest and most up to intellectual pleasures. Athenæus (vi. 20) long ago discovered that there was no love for the sublime and beautiful in an empty stomach. Εν κενἡ γαρ γαστρι των καλὡν ερως ονκ εστι. There is no prospect in the world so fine then as that of a dinner and a nap, or siesta, afterwards. The pedestrian in Spain, where fleshly comforts are rare, will soon understand why, in the real journals of our Peninsular soldiers, so little attention is paid to those objects which most attract the well-provided traveller. In cases of bodily hardship, the employment of the mental faculties is narrowed into the care of supplying mere physical wants, rather than expanded into searching for those of a contemplative or intellectual gratification; footsore and way-worn require, according to

"The unexempt condition
By which all mortal frailty must subsist,
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain."

Walking is the manner by which animals, who have therefore four{81} legs, travel; those bipeds who follow the example of the brute beasts will soon find that they will be reduced to their level in more particulars than they imagined or bargained for.

14. SPANISH HORSES.

What Fynes Moryson stated in his advice to travellers in England holds good to this day as regards Spain. "For the most part Englishmen, especially in long journies, use to ride upon their owne horses; all the difficultie is to have a body able to endure the toyle." No horse in the world is so easy in his paces or so delightful to ride as the Andalucian. The expressions, "Haca Andaluza—Cordovesa," convey to the Spanish mind the ne plus ultra of all that is perfect in horseflesh. A good horse is not easily got anywhere; and however every man flatters himself that he has, or once had, just the very best horse in the world, it is safer to set out with the conviction that even a really sound horse is very seldom to be met with. The horses of Spain have never attracted the attention of inquiring foreigners. Even the careful and accurate Townsend, who will always rank among the best authors, and who paid such particular notice to agricultural subjects, overlooked this branch, which nevertheless abounds with curious matter both to the antiquarian and to the mere rider, who professes (what is far more difficult) to be a judge, "un inteligente en caballos." Although there are more mules and asses in Spain than in any other country in the world, and the great bulk of the natives have never ridden any other quadruped, yet they address each other and expect to be addressed as horsemen, par excellence, "caballeros." This designation, if the particular equestrian reference be dropped and simply translated as riders, is true enough. No Spaniard, in ancient or modern history, ever took a regular walk on his own feet—a walk for the sake of mere health, exercise, or pleasure. When the old autochthonic Iberians saw some Roman centurions walking for walking's sake, they laid hold of them and carried them to their tents, thinking that they must be mad (Strabo, iii. 249). A modern Spaniard having stumbled over a stone, exclaimed on getting up, "voto a Dios—this comes of a caballero's ever walking!"

The Andalucian horse takes precedence of all; he fetches the highest price, and the Spaniards in general value no other breed;{82} they consider his configuration and qualities as perfect. In some respects they are right: no horse is more elegant or more easy in his motions, none are more gentle or docile, none are more quick in acquiring showy accomplishments, or in performing feats of Astleyan agility: he has a little in common with the English blood-horse; his mane, "crin, clin," is soft and silky, and is frequently plaited with gay ribbons; his tail, "cola," is of great length, and left in all the proportions of nature, not cropped and docked, by which Voltaire was so much offended:—

"Fiers et bizarres Anglais, qui des mêmes ciseaux
  Coupez la tête aux rois, et la queue aux chevaux."

The Spanish horse's tail often trails to the very ground, while the animal has perfect command over it, lashing it on every side as a gentleman switches his cane: when on a journey it is usual to double and tie it up, after the fashion of the ancient pig-tails of our sailors. The Andalucian horse is round in all his quarters, though inclined to be small in the barrel; he is broad-chested, and always carries his head high, especially when running; his length bears no proportion to his height, which sometimes reaches to sixteen hands; he is, to make use of a Spanish term, "muy recogido," very well gathered up, especially when tearing along at full speed; he never, however, stretches out with the long graceful sweep of the English thorough-bred; his action is apt to be loose and shambling, and given to dishing with the feet. The pace is, notwithstanding, perfectly delightful. From being very long in the pastern, "largo de cuartilla," the motion is broken as it were by the springs of a carriage; their pace is the peculiar "paso Castellano," which is something more than a walk and less than a trot. It is truly sedate and sedan-chair-like. It has been carefully described by Plin. 'N. H.' viii. 42, as belonging to the Gallician and Asturian horses: "quibus non est vulgaris in cursu gradus, sed mollis alterno crurum explicatu glomeratio, unde equis tolutim carpere in cursus traditur arte." This sort of Spanish horse was called by the Romans asturcon, tolutarius, gradarius, and his pace was the sort of lounging Spanish walk which Seneca says that Cicero had: all these terms were merged in the middle ages into ambulator, the walker; whence the French and our expression, amble; although Hudibras had not forgotten the old word,

—"Whether pace or trot,
That is to say, whether tolutation,
As they do term it, or succussation."
{83}

Pliny seems to think that this pace was taught by art; and he is probably right, as those Andalucian horses which fall when young into the hands of the officers at Gibraltar acquire a very different action, and lay themselves better down to their work, and gain much more in speed from the English system of training than they would have done had they been managed by Spaniards; Dr. Combe, however, in support of the hereditary transmission of qualities in animals, mentions that the untaught South American horses (whose parents came from Estremadura and Andalucia) break of their own accord into the "paso Castellano." Taught or untaught, this pace is most gentlemanlike, and well did Beaumont and Fletcher

"Think it noble, as Spaniards do in riding,
  In managing a great horse, which is princely."

There is, however, no end to curious traits on this subject, with which some future traveller may favour the world with more propriety than the limits of this practical guide will permit: our duty is to describe the Andalucian horse as he is. His head and ears are apt to be rather large; in general he is unequal to hard work, and delicate; he soon knocks up if ill-treated or overworked. The old Spanish Goths were very particular as to the colour of their horses. St. Isidore, though an archbishop, enters into the minutest details (Orig. xii. 1). The black horse is the "negro, moro, morillo, callado;" the chesnut "castaño;" the bay—badius—"bayo;" the dapple "tordo, tordo rodado." Strabo (iii. 248) had an idea that Spanish piebalds, ὑποφαρους, changed colour if taken out of Spain. The grey "pardo;" the sorrel "alazan," which is the "gilvus," that uncertain colour of Virgil, γυλιππος, gelb. The cream, "la perla," like the white, denoted pure Arab breed, and used to be the most esteemed. Chaucer's knight, Sir Topaz, talks of "Jennets of Spayne that be so wyght." The favourite colour at present is the dark cinnamon or coffee-coloured, "Alazan tostado." Such a horse is supposed to die rather than knock up: "Alazan tostado, antes muerto que cansado." "Mohino" is a common term for a sort of nondescript colour of any shades which verge on black: it is used both as an epithet and a name; it means, strictly speaking, the foal of an ass, got by a horse. As to the colour of their legs, a horse with four white feet is called "quatralbo;" one with three is called "trisalbo." Horses with white feet are not so much esteemed in Spain, as it is said that they are peculiarly liable to the thrush, "arestin."{84}

SPANISH HORSE-FAIRS AND HORSE-DEALERS.

Many other provinces possess breeds of horses which are more useful, though far less showy, than the Andalucian; next to which the horse of Estremadura, "caballo estremeño," is the most valued. The horse of Castile is a strong, hardy animal, and the best which Spain produces for mounting heavy cavalry. The ponies of Gallicia, although ugly and uncouth, are admirably suited to the wild hilly country and laborious population; they require very little care or grooming, and are satisfied with coarse food and Indian corn. The horses of Navarre, once so celebrated, are still esteemed for their hardy strength; they have, from neglect, degenerated into ponies, which, however, are beautiful in form, hardy, docile, sure-footed, and excellent trotters. In most of the large towns of Spain there is a sort of market, "mercado," where horses are publicly sold. There are great horse-fairs at Leon in June, at Pamplona in July, and at Mairena, near Seville, in May; but Ronda fair, in May, is the great Howden and Horncastle of the four provinces of Seville, Cordova, Jaen, and Granada, and the resort of all the picturesque-looking rogues of the south. No traveller who is fond of horseflesh should omit visiting the two latter; that of Mairena is one of the lions of Andalucia, where the fancy is to be seen in all the glories of the stable: "La Majeza en toda la bravura de la cuadra." There will be assembled horses and men from all parts of Spain—the criador, who breeds them; the conocedor, who looks after them in the fields; the picador, who breaks them; the chalan, who deals in them, who is generally a gipsy, and of course a rogue. St. Isidore particularly cautions the good old Goths against horse-races, &c., which were filled by the devil and his choicest spirits. The chalan either owns the horse himself, or is the broker, "corredor," or the go-between, or "tercero," who often cheats both buyer and seller. He is full of tricks upon travellers, "Arañas, embustes, trampas." These trampers delight in doing a Christian, or a heathen, as they term him, "jongabar un busno." To the readers of Don Quixote and Gil Blas we need not say that the race of Gines Passamonte is not extinct. Let the purchaser therefore beware, for though the Spanish chalan is a mere child when compared to the perfection of rascality to which a real English leg has attained, he has a glimmering of the mysteries of lying, chaunting and making up a horse. The best plan for those who want to buy a horse is to apply to some respectable private person, who may know in the circle of his acquaintance of something that will be warranted.{85} Horses for sale are constantly paraded about by regular breakers; and it is soon known among the chalanes that a customer is in the market. He will have no lack of horses offered to him; and it is better to let them be offered to him than to make the first inquiries himself, when a fancy price will be sure to be asked.

DISEASES OF SPANISH HORSES.

One word on the diseases to which Spanish horses are most liable, and the veterinary terms in use. The glanders, mal muermo, is their scourge; it is very infectious, and is caught by eating out of the same manger, "pesebre," or by smelling at noses of the infected: it is incurable. It may be produced by sudden cold, as is the deadly pulmonia of Madrid: it often arises from a determination of blood to the head, from excitement. The Andalucian riding horses are generally stallions, caballos enteros. The Gallicians, for the most part, travel over Spain on little pony mares (the stallion ponies being much bought up by the dealers of the two Castiles). The consequence is, that the entero is driven half crazy every time he meets these mares. He should be kept low, and constantly physicked: when he neighs or rears he should never be jerked with the bit, or suddenly checked: it drives the blood to the head. The spur is the safest method of punishment. The tiro, or crib-biting, is very prevalent in Spain: it is a sign of unsoundness. The Spanish term, from tirar, to draw, is very expressive. The horse draws his food up against the side of the crib, and then swallows it with a strong convulsion, accompanied, by a noise like the hooping-cough; and when he has no food before him is eternally amusing himself with the same unwholesome exercise. Horses with the tiro always look poor and thin, although they frequently are high-spirited and capital goers. The tiro seems to be, like many bad tricks, catching. The royal stud at Aranjuez was broken up on account of an universal tiro. When a horse is inclined to crib-biting, he should be either turned out to grass, or his headstall, "cabestro" be so shortened as to prevent him pressing against the side of the manger. The arestin, or thrush, so general among Spanish horses, arises from bad shoeing and from want of cleanliness about the pastern and fetlocks: the Spaniards in general are very careless in everything connected with our notions of grooming. The gipsy horse-clippers think the best pre{86}ventive against the arestin is the cutting away all hair from the hoofs to the greatest nicety, for which they have peculiarly small scissars, "par monrabar, yes pisire del gras." The arestin is not easily cured in Spain. If the menudillos, the pastern, and fetlocks are carefully rubbed every evening with the hand, and thereby all gritty matter dislodged, there is little danger from this troublesome complaint. A galled horse is termed "caballo matado;" the wound is matadura, or uña, which last word signifies the beginning of the matadura. A horse wrung in the withers is called matado en la cruz. Aguado is applied to a foundered horse. There is no remedy for this. In addition to the common acceptation of this term, a horse being clean done up from over work, the Spaniards have a notion that it arises from a chill in the breast, which is caught by allowing the animal, when over-heated after hard work, to remain in a damp stable. The delicate Andalucian horses are most subject to this attack. An intelligent groom always is provided with travas, which are bandages of a soft twisted stuff, with little sticks at each end, with which they fetter the horse's fore-feet: no traveller should be without them, for if his horse fails him on one of these expeditions, all is over. Prevention is the best cure, and ensures success: "Hombre prevenido nunca fue vencido." The gipsy clippers always have an acial, an Arabic name and instrument made of two short sticks tied together with whipcord at the end, by means of which the lower lip of the horse, should he prove restive, is twisted, and the animal reduced to speedy subjection: mas vale acial que fuerza de oficial. The following rules have been found to answer every purpose, and to carry man and beast safely through long journeys of ten weeks' duration: the day's march should vary from eight to ten leagues. The animal should never be trotted or galloped, except under circumstances of danger or absolute necessity. It is surprising how a steady, continued slow pace gets over the ground: "paso a paso va a lejos." The end of the journey each day is settled before starting, and there the traveller is sure to arrive with the evening. Spaniards never fidget themselves to get quickly to places where nobody is expecting them: nor is there any good to be got in trying to hurry man or beast in Spain; you might as well think of hurrying the Court of Chancery. He should be rested, if possible, every fourth day, and not used during halts in towns, unless they exceed three days' sojourn. The state of his feet should be carefully attended to, and a spare set of shoes, with nails, always kept in store. In the morning, before starting, he should be fed twice within an hour, giving his drink, of about two quarts,{87} between each feed. The ancients, before they set forth on their day's journey, used to pray to Hercules or Sanco. Festus (propter viam) relates that Augustus Cæsar on these occasions used to sleep at the house of some friend who lived near a temple. The Spaniards always, whenever they can, hear a mass. In the placards of the steamers in the time of Ferdinand VII. it was always announced that a mass would be said before starting. Spaniards say that a day's journey is never retarded by the time given to prayer or provender, misa y cebada no estorban jornada. The horse's morning feed should consist of a cuartillo each time. The temperature and softness of the water given should always be attended to. Very cold or very hard water must be carefully avoided. The Spaniards allow their horses, when on a journey, to drink very freely at all running streams, for there is no broth like flint juice, "No hay tal caldo como zumo de guijarro." They drink quite as copiously themselves,—water like an ox, wine like a king, "Agua como buey, vino como rey." The day's journey should be divided. It is best to get the largest half over first. The hours of starting of course depend on the distance and the district. The sooner the better, as all who wish to cheat the devil must get up very early. "Quien al demonio quiere engañar muy temprano levantarse ha." In the summer it is both agreeable and profitable to be under weigh and off an hour before sunrise, as the heat soon gets insupportable, and the stranger is exposed to the tabardillo, the coup de soleil, which, even in a smaller degree, occasions more ill health in Spain than is generally imagined, and especially by the English, who brave it either from ignorance or foolhardiness. The head should be well protected with a silk handkerchief, tied "a lo majo," which all the natives do: in addition to which we always lined the inside of our hats with thickly doubled brown paper. In Andalucia, during summer, the natives travel by night, and rest during the day-heat: "Cuando fueres en Andalucia andes de noche y duermas de dia." This, however, is not a satisfactory method, except for those who wish to see nothing. We have never adopted it. The early mornings and cool afternoons and evenings are infinitely preferable; while to the artist the glorious sunrises and sunsets, and the markings of mountains, and definition of forms from the long shadows, are magnificent beyond all conception. In these almost tropical countries, when the sun is high, the effect of shadow is lost, and everything looks flat and unpicturesque. Soon after arrival at the baiting-place, the horse should be given two cuartillos of barley, mixed with straw;{88} and after he has eaten part of it, a little water.[16] The Duke, who looked into everything, issued a general order on the great care which was to be taken in giving water to horses before or after feeding on Indian corn or barley (Gen^l. Orders, 157). When arrived at night, the horse should remain at least TWO hours without eating; his saddle should not be removed from his back, the girths, "cinchas," only being slackened, and the back covered with a rug, the "manta," which all Spaniards carry on their saddle's pommel. Remember that during the whole day the saddle should never be taken off his back, especially if the animal be hot, or his back will assuredly become galled, and then, a Dios! all is over. When the manta is removed, the horse should be well rubbed down with straw, if possible; if not, with an "esparto," or Spanish rush glove, or with cloths, "paños," all of which should be taken with him by the groom. The feet should be carefully cleaned, but not washed; and the hocks, pasterns, and fetlocks rubbed with the palm of the hand. In the mean time the horse may be eating a cuartillo of barley, two of which should be given him when left for the night. He will thus have consumed seven cuartillos of barley, and as much straw as he likes. This quantity of barley amounts to about one peck English; a greater quantity would certainly prove injurious; and it must be remembered that eight pounds' weight of barley is equal to ten of oats, as containing less husk and more mucilage or starch, which English dealers know, when they want to make up a horse; overfeeding a horse in the hot climate of Spain, like overfeeding his rider, renders both liable to fevers and sudden inflammatory attacks, which are much more prevalent in Gibraltar than elsewhere in Spain, because the English will go on exactly as if they were in England. The Spanish corn-measures are the fanega, two of which, on a rough calculation, are equal to our quarter. The celemin is the twelfth part of the fanega, and the cuartillo is the fourth part of the "celemin." In conclusion, we cannot do better than recommend an infallible remedy for most of the accidents to which horses are liable on a journey, such as kicks, strains, cuts, &c., namely, a constant fomentation with hot water, and which should be done under the immediate superintendence of the master, or it will either be done insufficiently or not at all.{89}

SPANISH SADDLES.

Having provided himself with a horse, the accoutrements are next to be thought of. Those who cannot ride except on an English saddle will do well to bring one out with them; for, except at Gibraltar, such an article is seldom to be met with in Spain: they cannot make anything equal to our trees, the "casco, fuste de silla." Our experience induces us to recommend the Spanish saddle in preference to the English, as less fatiguing to the rider and better suited to the horse and the things he has to carry. The Spanish saddles are of various classes. The albarda albardon is the old pique saddle, with high pommel or bow in front, arzon, and croup behind, from which the rider, when once boxed in, is not easily unseated. It is, however, not an agreeable seat, and, moreover, is very heavy. The albardilla is infinitely preferable. In shape it is broad and square, and looks like a cushion; it is composed of a well-stuffed body, over which several wrappings are laid, the upper of which is a fine lambskin; it is soft and easy. The tree is hollowed out in such a manner that it does not touch the horse's back, which is accordingly kept cooler and less likely to be galled. The stirrups are the primitive Moorish, copper or iron boxes of a triangular shape, in which almost the whole foot rests. An albardilla con sus arreos, a saddle with its accoutrements, will cost about five pounds. The crupper, grupera, and breastplate, pretal, are quite necessary, from the steep ascents and descents in the mountains, a gran subida gran descendida. The mosquero, the fly-flapper, is a great comfort to the horse, as, being in perpetual motion, and hanging between his eyes, it keeps off the flies; the cabestro, headstall, or night halter, never should be removed from the bridle; it is neatly rolled up during the day, and fastened along the side of the cheek.

THE RIDER'S LUGGAGE AND ACCOUTREMENTS.

The best travelling costume is that the most universally used and worn by the natives. The hat should be the Spanish sombrero calanes, and the sheepskin jacket the zamarra. The importance of the silken sash, faja, both in reality and in the metaphor, should never be forgotten. The colics in Spain are dangerous, and the warmth over the abdomen is a great preventive; to be Homerically well girt, ευξωνος, is half the battle for the traveller in Spain.{90}

If the stranger, thus arrayed, will only hold his tongue and not expose himself, he will pass on without being taken for a foreigner; he will be more likely to be taken for a robber, and find simple peasants, especially females, when he chances to meet them in out-of-the-way places, where ten vultures are seen for one human being, run away before he gets near them, and hide themselves in the myrtle or cistus thickets. This of course will only be his road costume: he should take a plain round hat with him in a spare leather hat-box and be careful to have a suit of black, which is the colour of ceremony in towns. The thin Merino stuffs, cubica, are much worn; the very touch of cloth is insupportable in the summer heats. Every traveller should have his cloak, capa, his manta, or striped plaid (for he will be exposed in the same day frequently to piercing cold on the hills and scorching heat in the valleys), and his saddle-bags, or alforjas. These three essentials should be strapped on the front of the saddle, as being less heating to the horse than when on his flanks. Each master should have his own pair of alforjas, which at night should be placed under his pillow, as being the receptacle of all his most valuable trapos, traps; his reticule or ridicule—not that it is so—on the contrary, it is useful, ornamental, and antique. The alforjas combine the sarcinæ, ab utroque latere pendentes, of Cato the censor, with the bulgas of the Romans, and are quite as indispensable as in the days of Lucilius. The Spaniards can do nothing on the road without them; they live with them and through them.

"Cum bulgâ cœnat, dormit, lavat, omnis in unâ.
  Spes hominis bulga hâc devincta est cætera vita."

The Spanish saddle-bags, alforjas, in name and appearance, are the Moorish al horch. (The F and H, like the B and V, X and J, are almost equivalent, and are used indiscriminately in Spanish cacography.) They are generally composed of cotton and worsted, embroidered in gaudy colours and patterns; the correct thing is to have the owner's name worked in on the edge. Those made at Granada are very excellent; the Moorish, especially those from Morocco, are ornamented with an infinity of small tassels. Peasants, when dismounted, mendicant monks, when foraging for their convents, slung their alforjas over their shoulders when they came into villages. Into these reservoirs the traveller will stow away everything which, according to his particular wants, he knows he shall require the most particularly and the most frequently. Among the contents which most people will find it con{91}venient to carry in the right hand bag, a pair of blue gauze wire spectacles or gogles will be found useful; a green shade is also a comfort. Ophthalmia is very common in Spain, and particularly in the calcined central plains. The constant glare is unrelieved by any verdure, the air is dry, and the clouds of dust highly irritating from being impregnated with nitre. The best remedy is to bathe the eyes frequently with hot water, and never to rub them when inflamed, except with the elbows, los ojos con los codos; the hand must be tied up: si quieres al ojo sano, atale la mano. Spaniards never trifle or jest with their eyes or creed, con los ojos y la fé, nunca me burlaré. A really good strong English knife, a pair of ditto scissars, a small thermometer, a good achromatic telescope with a compass in the cap, the passport; a supply of cigars, those keys to Spanish hearts; a powder-flask and ammunition, keep it dry; a blank notebook, for "memory is more treacherous than a lead pencil, and one word dotted down on the spot is worth a cart-load of recollections," as Gray says. The rapid succession of scenes, objects, and incidents efface one another, velut unda supervenit undam—therefore, quod vides describe, et memoriæ nil fide. Here let the botanist keep his hortus siccus book and vasculum, the geologist his hammer, his specimens, those samples of the land, which he will be suspected to be carrying home in order to entice back his invading countrymen: the artist his block-book and paint-box:—one word to the artist;—Bring out everything from England; camel-hair brushes, liquid water-colours, permanent white, and good lead pencils; little relating to the water-colour art is to be got in Spain. The few Spaniards who use water-colours, which their painters despise as child's play, are still in the dark ages of Indian ink. The grand essential for everybody is to have everything handy and accessible. Therefore, there let a supply of small money be kept for the halt and the blind, for the piteous cases of human suffering and poverty by which the traveller's eye will be pained; such charity from God's purse, bolsa de Dios, never improverishes that of man, en dar limosna, nunca mengua la bolsa. The left half of the alforjas may be given up to the writing and dressing cases, and the smaller each is the better. Nor should steel pens and soap be forgotten, as neither are made in Castile. Ditto tooth-brushes and powder: the Spaniards, though they make good use of their masticators, "muy valientes con los dientes," neglect them to a degree which would have made Mr. Waite faint; anything, however, is better than the ancient Cantabrian cosmetic and dentifrice, which each man made for himself and his wife, according to Strabo (iii. 249) and Catullus (Ep. 37):{92} Τους ουρω λουομενους και τους οδοντας σμηχομενους και αυτους και τας γυναικας αυτων. Those who require it should take their own physic with them, and prescribe for themselves. "After forty every man is a fool or a physician"—sometimes both, Sir Henry. The more physic is thrown to the dogs the better. Don Quixote's advise to Sancho is the safest, to eat little dinner and less supper, especially when travelling. Very little meat and wine are necessary in these hot latitudes; the English at Gibraltar, who mess as in England, have in consequence faces somewhat redder than their jackets: they have yet to learn that the stomach is the anvil whereon health is forged, and that graves are dug with teeth before spades: mas cura la dieta que no la lanceta. "Modicus cibi, medicus sibi," said Linnæus. The arts of medicine and surgery are somewhat in arrear in Spain; there a man is of the smallest possible value, there few take to their beds except to die, and the doctor announces the undertaker. The shears of the Parcæ are still wielded by the Sangrados, who, when through Providence a man escapes, pocket the fee: Dios es el que sana, el medico lleva la plata. They have an itching palm, and know what's good to soothe it; Medicos de Valencia luengas faldas y poca ciencia; but it is as well to be protected against disease and doctors; an oily cuisine creates bile, and as blue pill is as scarce in Spain as blue women, the traveller may take a box of the former. Soda, notwithstanding that half the province of Murcia produces little else, is not to be got in Spain in the carbonate form; it is precious to subacid stomachs which are exposed to constant change of wines and climate. Quinine cures the quartana, and ague, which is prevalent in the low plains of Andalucia and Valencia. Boxes of Seidlitz offer an agreeable means of opening the communication recommended in the proverb—"Quando te dolieren las tripas, hazlo saber," &c. So much for cathartics for the body; food for the mind must not be neglected. The travelling library, like companions, should be selected and good; libros y amigos pocos y buenos. The duodecimo editions are the best; a large heavy book kills horse, rider, and reader. Books are a matter of taste; some men like Bacon, others prefer Pickwick: we venture to recommend pocket editions of the Bible, Shakspere, Don Quixote, and this Hand-book, too highly indeed honoured in thus being their humble companion. Having thus disposed of his library on the front bow of his saddle, a double-barrelled detonator (and an English one) should be slung at the croup, on the right-hand side, and in a loose strap, so as to be ready to be whipped out and quoted at a moment's notice. Travellers should never ride to{93}gether in a suspicious country—it may do well enough on an open plain; about half pistol-shot distance is the safest wherever danger is suspected, and the gun should be out and carried upright in the right hand. These precautions often avert real accidents; and the appearance of being armed and prepared is of itself quite enough to deter rateros and mere stragglers, who otherwise might have turned thieves. Even the regular robbers dislike fighting, and are very shy of attacking those awkward customers who have made ready and have only to present and fire; accordingly travellers thus on their guard often pass unscathed and without knowing their danger through a den of lions, who would have pounced on more careless passengers.

15. SPANISH SERVANTS—GROOM, VALET, COOK.

Two masters should take two servants; they should be Spaniards: all others, unless they speak the language perfectly, are nuisances. A Gallegan or Asturian makes the best groom; an Andaluz the best cook and personal attendant. Sometimes a person may be picked up who has some knowledge of languages, and who is accustomed to accompany strangers through Spain as a sort of courier. These accomplishments are very rare, and the moral qualities of the possessor often diminish in proportion as his intellect has marched; he has learnt more foreign tricks than words, and sea-port towns are not the best schools for honesty. Whichever of the two is the sharpest should lead the way, and leave the other to bring up the rear. The servants should be mounted on good mules, and be provided with large panniers made of the universal Spanish rush, "espuertas," "capachos de esparto." If there are two servants, one should be chosen as the cook and valet, the other as the groom of the party; and the utensils peculiar to each department should be carried by each professor. Where only one servant is employed, one side of the capacho should be dedicated to the commissariat, and the other to the luggage; in that case the master should have a flying portmanteau, which should be sent by means of cosarios, and precede him from great town to great town, as a magazine, wardrobe, or general supply to fall back on. The servants should each have their own "alforjas and bota," which, since the days of Sancho Panza, are part and parcel of a faithful squire, and when carried{94} on an ass are quite patriarchal. "Iba Sancho Panza, sobre su jumento como un patriarca con sus alforjas y bota." Let no knight-errant in Spain forget the advice given to the ingenious hidalgo at starting, to take money and shirts, and particularly good English angola or flannel ones, which he will not get in Spain; and let him take plenty,—"al hombre desnudo, mas valen dos camisones que uno." They tend more than anything to preserve health; they are warm during the cold mornings, absorb perspiration during the mid-day heats, and are invaluable in the occasional duckings to which all are exposed during thunderstorms, when the buckets of heaven are poured out over the treeless, houseless, shelterless plains. The groom will take charge of all things appertaining to the stable; never forgetting, besides his travas and acial, spare sets of shoes, nails, hammer, stone-picker, a sieve, spare girths, bandages, a supply of leather straps, correas, of strong cord and string, cuerda soga y bramante, cooling balls, brushes and currycombs, bruzas y almohazas o vascaderas (not omitting elbow-grease to use them), spare halters, cabestros, cavezadas de pesebre, a nose-bag morral, for each animal, and to fill them beforehand with barley, whenever the country is desolate, or it is suspected that the mid-day halt will be made in the open air; whenever no venta is to be found, or where shady rocks, cool groves, green meadows, and running streams invite repose, then is felt the truth of the Biblical expression, "The shadow of a great rock in a weary land," and the joys of slaking thirst with flint juice. It will be one of the most important duties of good servants to ascertain beforehand the nature and accommodations of each day's journey, and to provide accordingly; and whenever the country is intricate, or any out-of-the-way excursion be meditated, to secure a stout local peasant as a guide.

The valet will take all things necessary to his master's comfort, always remembering a mosquitera, or moskito-net, with plenty of strong nails to drive into the walls, whereby to hang it, and a good hammer to knock them in with, and a gimlet, which is always of use, and often does for a nail or a peg to hang clothes on—simple articles which will never be to be met with in those situations where they are most wanted. In the plains of Andalucia, the plague of flies of Egypt, was scarcely worse than these winged tormentors. Travellers who are particular about sheets may take a pair of wash-leather. These are but sham luxuries; and we never met with any want of linen in any part of Spain, which, though coarse, is clean and good, and generally is the{95} manufacture of the owners themselves. The valet should have a small canteen, the more ordinary-looking the better, as anything unusual attracts attention, and suggests the coveting other men's goods and robbery. Fynes Moryson found it absolutely necessary thus to caution travellers in England: "In generall he must be warie not to show any quantity of money about him, since theeves have their spies commonly in all innes, to enquire into the condition of travellers." The manufactures of Spain are so rude, that what appears to us to be the most ordinary, appears to them to be the most excellent. The lower orders, who eat with their fingers, think everything is gold which glitters, todo es oro que reluce. It is what is on the plate, after all, that is the rub: let no wise man have such smart forks and knives as to tempt cut-throats to turn them to unnatural purposes. Pewter is a safe metal; it does not break, nor is easily mistaken for gold; a tumbler or two in a case, a wicker-bound bottle, "damajuana," a pair of common candle-sticks,[17] some wax candles, for the oil of a venta lamp is not less offensive than the rude lamp or candil is inconvenient; a looking-glass should always be in the dressing-case, a box of floating wicks for night lamps, "mariposas,"[18] some phosphorus lucifers: however, avoid all superfluous luggage, especially prejudices and foregone conclusions, for "en largo camino paja pesa," a straw is heavy on a long journey, and "el subornál, mata," the last feather breaks the horse's back. The yellow shoes or boots, de becerro, which are so common in Spain, are preferable; a store of cigars is a sine quâ non; it always opens a conversation well with a Spaniard, to offer him one of these little delicate marks of attention. Good snuff is acceptable to the curates and to monks (though there are none just now). English needles, thread, and pairs of scissars take no room, and are all keys of the good graces of the fair sex: a gift breaks rocks, and gets in without gimlets, dadiva, quebranta peña, y entra sin barrena. There is a charm about a present, backshish, in most European as well as Oriental countries, and still more if it is given with tact, and at the proper time; Spaniards, if unable to make any return, will always repay{96} the trifling gift by civilities and attentions, "manos que no dades, que sperades." The close-fisted in no country must hope to receive much gratuitous service; the Spaniards show very little apparent gratitude for any present, hardly indeed thanks, the exchequer of the poor. Tacitus (Ger. 21) mentions a similar trait in the ancestors of the Goths, "Gaudent muneribus, sed nec data imputant, nec acceptis obligantur." This is also a remnant of Oriental customs, where presents, given and taken, are almost a matter of course, and the omission amounts to a positive incivility; the poverty of Spaniards has curtailed the means of those acts of magnificent generosity in which they formerly took pride to indulge; yet the form remains, surviving, as it so often does, the existence of the substance. Thus if anything belonging to a Spaniard be admired, a well-bred person instantly offers it, "está muy a la disposicion de V^md.." It is right to refuse this with a bow, and some handsome remark, such as gracias—no puede mejorarse de dueño; or gracias, está muy bien empleado: thanks, it cannot change masters for the better, or, it is perfectly well bestowed where it is. All travellers (who cannot act on the safer nil admirari principle of Horace and the Orientals) should never fail to go through this most ancient Eastern form; for it is just as much a form as when Ephron, four thousand years ago, first offered the Cave of Machpelah to Abraham, and then sold it to him. (Gen. xxiii.) The modern Egyptians, when asked the price of anything, still say, "receive it as a present."

COOK AND VALET.

It is not easy for mortal man to dress a master and a dinner, and both well at the same time, let alone two masters. Cooks who run after two hares at once catch neither, quien dos liebres caza ninguna mata, while the valet in common belongs to nobody, quien sirve en comun, sirve a ningun. No prudent man on these, or on any occasions, should let another do for him what he can do for himself, a lo que puedes solo, no esperes a otro; a man who waits upon himself is sure to be well waited on, si quieres ser bien servido, sirvete tu mismo. If, however, a valet be absolutely necessary, the groom clearly is best left in his own chamber, the stable; he will have enough to do to curry and valet his four animals, which he knows to be good for their health, though he{97} never scrapes off the cutaneous stucco by which his own illote carcass is Roman cemented. If the traveller will get into the habit of carrying all the things requisite for his own dressing in a small separate bag, and employ the hour while the cook is getting the supper under weigh, it is wonderful how comfortably he will proceed to his puchero.

The cook should take with him a stewing-pan, and a pot or kettle for boiling water: he need not lumber himself with much batterie de cuisine; all sort of artillery is rather rare in Spanish kitchen or fortress; an hidalgo would as soon think of having a voltaic battery in his sitting-room, as a copper one in his cuisine; most classes are equally satisfied with the Oriental earthenware ollas, which are everywhere to be found, and have some peculiar sympathy with the Spanish cuisine; a guisado never eats so well when made in a metal vessel; the great thing is to bring the raw materials,—first catch your hare. Those who have meat and money will always get a neighbour to lend them a pipkin: Si tuvieramos dineros, para pan, carne, y cebolla, nuestra vecina nos prestera una olla. A venta is a place where the rich are sent empty away, and where the poor hungry are not filled; the whole duty of the man-cook, therefore, is to be always thinking of his commissariat; he need not trouble himself about his master's appetite, that will seldom fail,—nay, often be a misfortune: a good appetite is not a good per se,[19] for it, even when the best, becomes a bore when there is nothing to eat; his capacho must be his travelling larder, cellar, and store-room; he will victual himself according to the route, and the distances from one great town to another. He must start with a provision of tea, sugar, coffee, wax candles, good brandy, clean salt (which in ventas is generally the "sale nigro" of Horace), a cheese, a bottle or two of fine oil (the oil got on the road is often rancid, and seldom eatable to foreigners, although it is a calumny to say that it comes out of the lamp), ditto good vinegar, a ham, a joint of roast meat or a turkey, with some white bread. Although the bread of Spain is delicious, yet in poorer districts it is not always to be got made of pure flour; the lower classes live on all kinds of cerealia, rye, Indian corn, &c., and their daily bread is very coarse, as it is hardly earned, and is soldier's fare, pan de soldado, or de municion. Bread is the staff of the traveller's life; a loaf never weighs, or is in the way, as Æsop, the prototype of Sancho Panza, knew; la hogaza no{98} embaraza. Some dry salted cod, bacalao, should be laid in as a dernier ressort; it must be selected with care, as it is apt to be rancid, which the Spaniards like. Our advice as to the bota (p. 48) need not be repeated. There is no danger that Spaniards will permit their master to be without wine; they are true descendants of Sancho, who came from renowned ancestors and connoisseurs of the pigskin, one who was always caressing another man's bota with mil besos, mil abrazos. There is nothing in life, like making a good start. The party arrives safely at the first resting-place. The cook must never appear to have anything; he must get from others all he can, and much is to be had for asking, and crying, as even a Spanish infante knows—quien no llora, no mama; he must never fall back on his own reservoirs except in cases of need; during the day he must keep his eyes and ears open; he must pick up everything eatable, and where he can and when he can. By keeping a sharp look-out and going quietly to work you may catch the hen and her chickens too—calla y ojos, tomaremos la madre con los pollos. All is fish that comes into the net: fruit, onions, salads, which, as they must be bought somewhere, had better be secured whenever they turn up; there is nothing like precaution and provision. "If you mean to dine," writes the all-providing Duke to Lord Hill, from Moraleja, "you had better bring your things, as I shall have nothing with me;" (Disp. Dec. 10, 1812)—the ancient Bursal fashion holds good on Spanish roads:

Regula Bursalis est omni tempore talis,
Prandia fer tecum, si vis comedere mecum.

The peasants, who are sad poachers, will constantly hail travellers from the fields with offers of partridges, rabbits, melons, hares, which always jump up when you least expect it: Salta la liebre cuando menos uno piensa. Spanish melons are rather aqueous; a good one, like something else, is difficult to choose: el melon y la muger, malos son a conocer. The Spaniards, like the Orientals, eat vast quantities, and are very fond of insipid fruits, such as the sandia or water melon, the prickly pear, cactus Indicus, higo chumbo, the pomegranate, granada, &c. The partridge is the red legged, and, although not to be compared with our brown partridge, makes an excellent stew: a brace or two in hand is better than a flying vulture, mas vale pajaro en mano que buitre volando. Hares should always be bagged; they are considered delicacies now as heretofore: "inter quadrupedes gloria prima lepus," says Martial. No wise Spaniard or old stager ever takes a rabbit when he can get a hare, a perro viejo, echale liebre y no{99} conejo. A ready stewed hare is to be eschewed as suspicious in a venta: at the same time if the consumer does not find out that it is a cat, there is no great harm done—ignorance is bliss; let him not know it, he is not robbed at all. It is a pity to dispel his gastronomic delusion—the knowledge of the cheat kills, and not the cat. Pol! me occidistis, amici. The philosophy of the Spanish cuisine is strictly Oriental—it is the stew, or pilaf. The prima materia on which the artist is to operate is quite secondary; scarcity of wood and ignorance of coal prevent roasting; accordingly sauce is everything; this may be defined to be unctuous, rich, savoury, and highly spiced; the same sauce being applied to everything reduces everything to the same flavour, which is a sort of extract of capsicum, tomatas, saffron, oil, and garlic: oil, indeed, supplies the want of fat in their lean meats; it is a brown sauce—salsa morena. Brown is in fact the epithet for tawny Spain, and for las cosas de España—cloaks, sierras, women, and ollas. The exact ingredients which go to make a Spanish stew are not to be tested by a Ude palate, any more now than it could have been in the days of Isaac, who, although his senses of smell, touch, hearing, and taste were quite acute, and his suspicions of unfair play awakened, could not distinguish hashed kid from venison; the cook therefore should know beforehand what are the bonâ fide ingredients. In preparing supper he should make enough for the next day's lunch, las once, the eleven o'clock meal, as the Spaniards translate meridie, twelve or mid-day, whence the correct word for luncheon is derived, merienda merendar. Wherever good dishes are cut up there are good leavings, "donde buenas ollas quebran, buenos cascos quedan;" the having something ready gives time to the cook to forage and make his ulterior preparations. Those who have a corps de réserve to fall back upon—say a cold turkey and a ham—can always convert any spot in the desert into an oasis; at the same time the connection between body and soul may be kept up by trusting to venta pot-luck: it offers, however, but a miserable existence to persons of judgment. One mouthful of beef is worth ten of potatoes, mas vale un bocado de vaca que no diez de patatas; and even when this precaution of provision be not required, there are never wanting in Spain the poor and hungry, to whom the taste of meat is almost unknown, and to whom these crumbs that fall from the rich man's table are indeed a feast; the relish and gratitude with which these fragments are devoured do as much good to the heart of the donor as to the stomach of the donees; the best medicines of the poor are to be found in the cellars and kitchens of the rich. All servants{100} should be careful of their traps and stores, which are liable to be pilfered and plundered in ventas, where the élite of society is not always assembled: a good chain and padlock, una cadena con candado, is not amiss; at all events the luggage should be well corded, for the devil is always a gleaning, ata el saco, ya espiga el diablo.

Formerly all travellers of rank carried a silver olla with a key, the guardacena, the save supper. This has furnished matter for many a pleasantry in picaresque tales and farces. Madame Daunoy gives us the history of what befel the Archbishop of Burgos and his orthodox olla.[20]

The example of the masters, if they be early, active, and orderly, is the best lesson to servants; mucho sabe el rato, pero mas el gato. Achilles, Patroclus, and the Homeric heroes, were their own cooks; and many a man who, like Lord Blayney, may not be a hero, will be none the worse for following the epical example, in a Spanish venta: at all events a good servant, who is up to his work, and will work, is indeed a jewel,—quien trabaja tiene alhaja—on these as on other occasions he deserves to be well treated. To secure a really good servant is of the utmost consequence to all who make out-of-the-way excursions in Spain; for, as in the East, he becomes often not only cook but interpreter and companion to his master. It is therefore of great importance to get a person with whom a man can ramble over these wild scenes. The so doing ends in almost friendship, and the Spaniard, when the tour is done, is broken-hearted; and ready to leave house and home, to follow his master to the world's end. Nine times out of ten it is the master's fault if he has bad servants: tel maître tel valet. Al amo imprudente, el mozo negligente. He must begin at once, and exact the performance of their duty; the only way to get them to do anything is to "frighten them," to "take a decided line," said the Duke (Disp. Nov. 2 and 27, 1813). There is no making them to see the importance of detail and doing exactly what they are told, which they will always endeavour to shirk when they can; their task must be clearly pointed out to them at starting, and the earliest and smallest infractions, either in commission or omission, at once and seriously noticed, the moral victory is soon gained. Those masters who make themselves honey are eaten by flies—quien se hace miel, le comen{101} las moscas; while no rat ever ventures to jest with the cat's son; con hijo de gato, no se burlan los ratones. The great thing is to make them get up early, and learn the value of time, which the groom cannot tie with his halter, tiempo y hora, no se ata con soga; while a cook who oversleeps himself not only misses his mass, but his meat, quien se levanta tarde, ni oye misa, ni compra carne. If (which is soon found out) the servants seem not likely to answer, the sooner they are changed the better: it is loss of time and soap to wash an ass's head—quien lava cabeza del asnon, pierde tiempo y jabon: he who is good for nothing in his own village will not be worth more either at Seville or elsewhere—quien ruin es en su villa, ruin sera en Sevilla. The principal defects of Spanish servants and of the lower classes of Spaniards are much the same. There are finer distinctions between the natives of one province and another, which we shall touch on in their respective places: suffice it generally to observe that they are, as a mass, apt to indulge in habits of procrastination, waste, improvidence, and untidiness; they are unmechanical, obstinate, and incurious, ill-educated and prejudiced, and either too proud, self-opinionated, or idle to ask for information from others; they are very loquacious and highly credulous, as often is the case with those given to romancing, which they, and especially the Andalucians, are to a large degree; and, in fact, it is the only remaining romance in Spain, as far as the natives are concerned. As they have an especial good opinion of themselves, they are touchy, sensitive, jealous, and thin-skinned, and easily affronted whenever their imperfections are pointed out; their disposition is very sanguine and inflammable; they are always hoping that what they eagerly desire will come to pass without any great exertion on their parts; they love to stand still with their arms folded, angling for impossibilities, while other men put their shoulders to the wheel. Their lively imagination is very apt to carry them away into extremes for good or evil, when they act on the moment like children, and having gratified the humour of the impulse relapse into their ordinary tranquillity, which is that of a slumbering volcano. On the other hand, they are full of excellent and redeeming good qualities; they are free from caprice, are hardy, patient, cheerful, good humoured, sharp-witted, and intelligent; they are honest, faithful, and trustworthy; sober, and unaddicted to mean, vulgar vices; they have a bold, manly bearing, and will follow well wherever they are well led, being the raw material of as good soldiers as are in the world; they are loyal and religious at heart, and full of natural tact, mother wit, and innate good manners. In general,{102} a firm, quiet, courteous, and somewhat reserved manner is the most effective. Whenever duties are to be performed, let them see that you are not to be trifled with. The coolness of a determined Englishman's manner, when in earnest, is what few foreigners can withstand. Grimace and gesticulation, sound and fury, bluster, petulance, and impertinence fume and fret in vain against it, as the sprays and foam of the Mediterranean do against the unmoved, and immoveable rock of Gibraltar. An Englishman, without being over-familiar, may venture on a far greater degree of unbending in his intercourse with his Spanish dependants than he can dare to do with those he has in England. It is the custom of the country; they are used to it, and their heads are not turned by it, nor do they ever forget their relative positions. The Spaniards treat their servants very much like the ancient Romans or the modern Moors; they are more their vernæ, their domestic slaves: it is the absolute authority of the father combined with the kindness. Servants do not often change their masters in Spain: their relation and duties are so clearly defined, that the latter runs no risk of compromising himself by his familiarity, which can be laid down or taken up at his own pleasure. In England no man dares to be intimate with his footman; for supposing even such absurd fancy entered his brain, his footman is his equal in the eye of the law. Conventional barriers accordingly must be erected in self-defence: and social barriers are more difficult to be passed than walls of brass, more impossible to be repealed than the whole statutes at large. No master in Spain, and still less a foreigner, should ever descend to personal abuse, sneers or violence. A blow is never to be washed out except in blood; and Spanish revenge descends to the third and fourth generation. There should be no threatenings in vain; but whenever the opportunity occurs for punishment, let it be done quietly and effectively, suaviter in modo, fortiter in re, and the fault once punished should not be needlessly ripped up again; Spaniards are sufficiently unforgiving, and hoarders up or unrevenged grievances: they do not require to be reminded. A kind and uniform behaviour, a showing consideration to them, in a manner which implies that you are accustomed to it, and expect it to be shown to you, keeps most things in their right places. Temper and patience are the great requisites in the master, especially when the traveller speaks the language imperfectly. He must not think Spaniards stupid because they cannot guess the meaning of his unknown tongue. Nothing is gained by fidgeting and overdoing. However early you may get up, daybreak will not take place the sooner: no por{103} mucho madrugar, amanece mas temprano. Let well alone: be not zealous overmuch: be occasionally both blind and deaf: a lo que no te agrada hazte el sordo. Keep the door shut, and the devil passes by: de puerta cerrada, el diablo se torna. Fret not about what is done, and cannot be helped: the most profitless of all labour. Trabajo sin provecho, hacer lo que está hecho; but keep honey in mouth and an eye to your cash: miel en boca y guarda la bolsa. Still how much less expenditure is necessary in Spain than in performing the commonest excursion in England; and yet many who submit to their own countrymen's extortions are furious at what they imagine is especial cheating of them, quasi Englishmen, abroad: this outrageous economy, with which some are afflicted, is penny wise and pound foolish. The traveller must remember that he gains caste, gets brevet rank in Spain, that he is taken for a lord, and ranks with their nobility; he must pay for these luxuries: how small after all will be the additional per centage on his general expenditure, and how well bestowed is the excess, in keeping the temper good, and the capability of enjoying a tour, which only is performed once in a life, unruffled. No wise man who goes into Spain for amusement will plunge into this guerrilla, this constant petty warfare, about sixpences. Let the traveller be true to himself; avoid bad company, quien hace su cama con perros, se levanta con pulgas, and make room for bulls and fools, al loco y toro dale corro, and he may see Spain agreeably, and, as Catullus said to Veranius, who made the tour many centuries ago, may on his return amuse his friends and "old mother" by telling his own stories after his own way:

"Visam te incolumem, audiamque Iberum
  Narrantem loca, facta, nationes,
  Sicut tuus est mos."

TRAVELLER'S BILL OF FARE.

To be a good cook, which few Spaniards are, a man must not only understand his master's taste, but be able to make something out of nothing; just as a clever French artiste converts an old shoe into an épigramme d'agneau, or a Parisian milliner dresses up two deal boards into a fine live Madame, whose only fault is the appearance of too much embonpoint. We now proceed to submit a few approved receipts of genuine and legitimate Spanish dishes:{104} they are excellent in their way. No man nor man-cook ever is ridiculous when he does not attempt to be what he is not. The au naturel may occasionally be somewhat plain, but seldom makes one sick. It would be as hopeless to make a Spaniard understand real French cookery as to endeavour to explain to a député the meaning of our constitution or parliament. The ruin of Spanish cooks is their futile attempts to imitate French ones:[21] just as their silly grandees murder the glorious Castilian tongue by what they fancy is talking French: dis moi ce que tu manges, et je te dirai ce que tu es—la destinée des nations dépend de la manière dont elles se nourrissent.

THE OLLA.

It may be made in one pot, but two are better: take therefore two, and put them on their separate stoves with water. Place into No. 1, Garbanzos,[22] cicer, aretinum chick-pea, which have been placed to soak over-night, al remojo, or they will be hard. Add a good piece of beef, a chicken, a large piece of bacon; let it boil once and quickly; then let it simmer: olla que mucho hierve, mucho pierde: it requires four or five hours to be well done. Meanwhile place into No. 2, with water, whatever vegetables, "verdura," are to be had: lettuces, "lechugas;" cabbage, "berza, coles;" a slice of gourd, "troncho de calabaza;" of beet, "acelga;" carrots, "azanorias;" beans, "fideos judias habichuelas;" celery, "apio;" endive, "escarola;" onions and garlic, "ajo y cebollas;" long peppers, "pimientos." These must be previously well washed and cut, as if they were destined to make a salad; then add sausages, "chorizo;" those of Montanches are the best; Longanizas, those of Vich, and Morcillas; half a salted pig's face, which should have been soaked over-night. When all is sufficiently boiled, strain{105} off the water, and throw it away. Remember constantly to skim the scum of both saucepans. When all this is sufficiently dressed, take a large dish, lay in the bottom the vegetables, the beef, "cocido," in the centre, flanked by the bacon, chicken, and pig's face. The sausages should be arranged around, en couronne; pour over some of the soup of No. 1, and serve hot, as Horace did: "Uncta satis—ponuntur oluscula lardo." No violets come up to the perfume which a coming olla casts before it; the mouth-watering bystanders sigh, as they see and smell the rich freight steaming away from them.

This is the olla en grande, such as Don Quixote says was eaten by canons and presidents of colleges. A worthy dignitary of Seville, whose daily olla was transcendental, told us, as a wrinkle, that he on feast-days used turkeys instead of chickens, and added two sharp Ronda apples, "dos peros agrios de Ronda," and three sweet potatoes of Malaga, batatas. His advice is worth attention: he was a good Roman Catholic canon, who believed everything, absolved everything, drank everything, ate everything, and digested everything. In fact, as a general rule, anything that is good in itself is good for an olla, provided, as old Spanish books always conclude, that it contains nothing contrary to the holy mother church, to orthodoxy, and to good manners—"que no contiene cosa, que se oponga a nuestra madre Iglesia y santa fé catolica, y buenas costumbres." Such an ollas as this is not to be got on the road, but may be made to restore nature, when halting in the cities. Of course, every olla must everywhere be made according to what can be got. In private families the contents of No. 1, the the soup, caldo, is served up with bread, in a tureen, and the frugal table decked with the separate contents of the olla in separate platters; the remains coldly serve, or are warmed up, for supper. Refer also back to page 44.

Sopa de Cebollas—Onion soup.

This is soon made, and often is a great comfort to the traveller who arrives wet and chilled: take onions, peel and pare them, cut them into pieces and fry them in lard or oil; add water, salt, and pepper, and pour it over toasted bread. If potatoes are to be had, boil a few, pound them, and pass them through a sieve, to thicken and make a purée.

Pisto, or Meat Omelette.

Take eggs, see that they are fresh by being pellucid, huevos transparentes, beat them well up; chop up onions and whatever{106} savoury herbs are to be got, tomillo, thyme, albahaca, sweet basil, hinojo, fennel, perejil, parsley, estragon, tarragon; small slices of any meat at hand, cold turkey, ham, &c.; beat it all up together and fry it quickly. Most Spaniards have a peculiar knack in making omelettes, tortillas, revueltas de huevos. These to the fastidious stomach are, as in most parts of the Continent, a sure resource to fall back upon.

Sesos escabechados y fritos—Brains en marinade and fried.

Take brains, either of sheep or calf, wash and pare them well, removing all blood, fibres, &c.; soak them in water, then place them for an hour in a pickle of wine, vinegar, onions, bay-leaf, thyme, parsley, oil, and salt; dry them with a cloth, powder them with flour, and fry them in oil or lard, in which a few onions have been previously fried, to give flavour and colour.[23]

Guisado de Perdices o Liebre—Stewed Partridges or Hare.

This dish is always well done by every cook in every venta, barring that they are apt to put in bad oil, and too much garlic, pepper, and saffron.—Take hare, partridge, rabbit, chicken, or whatever it may be; cut it up, save the blood, the liver, and the giblets, menudillos; do not wash the pieces, but dry them in a cloth; fry them with onions in oil or lard till browned; take an olla, put in equal portions of wine and water, a bit of bacon, onions, garlic, salt, pepper, pimientos, a bunch of thyme or herbs; let it simmer, carefully skimming it; half an hour before serving add the giblets; when done, which can be tested by feeling with a fork, serve hot. The stew should be constantly stirred with a wooden spoon, and with a good salad it forms a supper for a cardinal, or Santiago himself.

Ensalada—Salad.

Take whatever salad can be got, wash it in many waters, rinse it in a small net, or in napkins till nearly dry, chop up onions and tarragon, take a bowl, put in equal quantities of vinegar and water, a teaspoonful of pepper and salt, and four times as much oil as vinegar and water, mix the same well together, take care never to put the lettuce into the sauce till the moment the salad is wanted, or it loses all its crispness and becomes sodden. The{107} Spanish salad is delicious in a hot country, where much meat is neither eaten nor wanted; half the population live on a vegetable diet, which is eaten boiled in winter and raw in summer. To make a good salad, says the proverb, four persons are wanted,—a spendthrift for oil, a miser for vinegar, a counsellor for salt, and a madman to stir it all up: "Para hacer una buena ensalada, se necesitan cuatro personas—un prodigo para el aceite, un avaro para el vinagre, un prudente para la sal, y un loco para menearla."

Gazpacho.

Akin to the salad is this most ancient Roman and Moorish dish, on which the Spaniards in the hotter provinces exist during the dog-days, of which days there are packs: it is a cold vegetable soup, and is composed of onions, garlic, cucumbers, pepinos, pimientos, all chopped up very small and mixed with crumbs of bread, and then put into a bowl of oil, vinegar, and fresh water. Gazpacho caliente is the same thing, only hot: the word in Arabic signifies "soaked bread." Reapers and agricultural labourers could never stand the sun's fire without this cooling acetous diet: it is of the most remote antiquity. Boaz at meal-time invites Ruth to dip her morsel, mendrugo de pan, in the vinegar (Ruth ii. 14). This was the οξυκρατος of the Greeks, the posca, potable food, meat and drink, potus et esca, which formed part of the rations of the Roman soldiers, and which Adrian (a Spaniard) delighted to share with them. Dr. Buchanan states in his 'Researches,' p. 113, that he found some Syrian Christians who still called it ail, ail, Hil Hila, for which our Saviour was supposed to have called on the Cross, when those who understood that dialect gave it him from the vessel which was full of it for the guard. In Andalucia, during the summer, a bowl of gazpacho is commonly ready in every house of an evening, and is partaken of by every person who comes in. It is not easily digested by those unaccustomed to it. It is the Russian Bativinia, au maigre. Oil, vinegar, and bread are all that is given out to the lower class of labourers; two cow's horns are constantly seen suspended on each side of their carts, and contain this provision, with which they compound their migas: this consists of crumbs of bread fried in oil, with pepper and garlic; nor can a stronger proof be given of the common poverty of their fare than the common expression, "buenas migas hay," there are good crumbs, being equivalent to capital eating. Martial, ii. 59, thought otherwise, "mica vocor; quid sim cernis, cœnatio parva."{108}

Agraz—Verjuice Lemonade.

This, the Moorish Hacaraz, is the most delicious and most refreshing drink ever devised by thirsty soul; it is the new pleasure for which Xerxes wished in vain, and beats the "hock and soda-water," the "hoc erat in votis" of Byron. It is made of pounded unripe grapes, clarified sugar, and water; it is strained till it becomes of the palest straw-coloured amber, and well iced. It is particularly well made in Andalucia, and it is worth going there if only to drink it, either alone or mixed with Mansanilla wine. At Madrid an agreeable drink is sold in the streets; it is called Michi Michi, from the Valencian Mits e Mits, "half and half." It is made of equal portions of barley water and orgeat of Chufas, and is highly iced: cold drinks, in hot dry summers, are almost articles of absolute necessity. The Spaniards, among other cooling fruits, eat their strawberries mixed with sugar and the juice of oranges, which will be found a more agreeable addition than the wine used by the French, or the cream of the English,—the one heats, and the other, whenever it is to be had, makes a man bilious in Spain. Spanish ices, helados, are apt to be too sweet, nor is the sugar well refined; the ices, frozen very hard and in small forms, either representing fruits or shells, are called quesos.

Huevos Estrellados.

These are Spanish poached eggs. The egg is broken into a pan with hot oil or lard; it must be remembered, although Strabo mentions as a singular fact that the Iberians made use of butter, βουτνρω (iii. 233), instead of oil, that now it is just the reverse; a century ago butter was only sold by the apothecaries, as a sort of ointment. The butter of Spain used to be iniquitous; the manteca de Soria passed for the best. Spaniards generally used either Irish or Flemish salted butter, and from long habit think fresh butter quite insipid; indeed, they have no objection to its being a trifle or so rancid, just as some aldermen like high venison. The Queen Christina has a fancy dairy at Madrid, where she made a few pounds of fresh butter, of which a small portion was sold, at five shillings the pound, to foreign ambassadors for their breakfast. Recently more attention has been paid to the dairy in the Swiss-like provinces of the N.W. The Spanish pastry, which is, however, far inferior to the Moorish, is made with fine lard, manteca de puerco; it is extremely light. The puffs of Madrid, the hojaldres, are worth the attention of the curious. The Spaniards,{109} like the heroes in the Iliad, seldom boil their food (eggs excepted), at least not in water, for frying, after all, is but boiling in oil.

Cebollas rellenas—Stuffed Onions; or Tomatas rellenas—Stuffed Tomatas.

Take either, cut them in halves and hollow out the centre; take whatever cold meat may be at hand; either chicken, partridge, or hare, with ham, &c., onions, fine herbs, crumbs of bread, and form a forcemeat ball, with beaten eggs; fill up the centres of the onions or tomatas, and let them stew gently in any gravy; before serving up, pass them over with a salamander, or hot iron.

Pollo con arroz—Chicken and rice.

This most excellent dish is eaten in perfection in Valencia, and is often called Pollo Valenciano. Cut a good fowl into pieces, wipe it clean, but do not put it into water; take a saucepan, put in a wine-glass of fine oil, heat the oil well, put in a bit of bread; let it fry, stirring it about with a wooden spoon; when the bread is browned take it out and throw it away: put in two cloves of garlic, dos dientes, taking care that it does not burn, as, if it does, it will turn bitter; stir the garlic till it is fried; put in the chicken, keep stirring it about while it fries, then put in a little salt and stir again; whenever a sound of cracking is heard, stir it again; when the chicken is well browned, dorado, which will take from five to ten minutes, stirring constantly, put in chopped onions, chopped pimientas, and stir about; if once the contents catch the pan the dish is spoiled; then add tomatas, divided into quarters, and parsley; take two teacupsful of rice, mix all well up together; add hot water enough to cover the whole over; let it boil once, and then set it aside to simmer until the rice becomes tender and done. The great art consists in having the rice turned out granulated and separate, not in a pudding state, which is sure to be the case if a cover be put over the dish, which condenses the steam.

We are not writing an essay on Spanish cookery, a rich piquant subject which is well worth the inquiry of any antiquarian deipnosophist: we have put down those dishes which we have often helped to make, and have oftener eaten, in the wildest ventas of Spain: they are to be made and eaten again; the ingredients may be varied, especially the garlic, which depends on taste, and according to what the cook has been able to forage on the road; and never let him throw away a chance in the commissariat line, which, as he may read in the Duke's Dispatches, is the one thing{110} wanting in Spain. Chocolate is almost always to be found good; the best is made by the nuns, who are great confectioners and compounders of sweetmeats, of sugarplums and orange flowers.

"Et tous ces mets sucrés en pâte, ou bien liquides,
  Dont estomacs dévots furent toujours avides."

It was long a disputed point in Spain whether chocolate did or did not break fast theologically, just as happened with coffee among the rigid Moslems. Since the learned Escobar decided that it did not, liquidum non rumpit jejunium, it has become the universal breakfast of Spain. It is made just liquid enough to come within the benefit of clergy, that is, a spoon will almost stand up in it; only a small cup is taken, una jicara, generally with a bit of toasted bread or a biscuit: these jicaras have seldom any handles; they were used by the rich (as coffee-cups are among the Orientals) enclosed in little filigree cases of silver or gold; some of these marcelinas are very beautiful, in the form of a tulip or lotus leaf, on a saucer of mother-o'-pearl. The flower is so contrived that, by a spring underneath, on raising the saucer, the leaves fall back and disclose the cup to the lips, while, when put down, they reclose over it, and form a protection against the flies. A glass of water should always be drunk after this chocolate; this is an axiom; the aqueous chasse neutralizes the bilious propensities of this breakfast of the gods, the θεοβρωμα of Linnæus. Tea and coffee have supplanted chocolate in England and France. In Spain alone we are carried back to the breakfasts of Belinda and of the wits at Buttons. In Spain exist, unchanged, the fans, the game of ombre, tresillo, and the coche de colleras, the coach and six, and other social usages of the age of Pope and the 'Spectator.'

Spaniards are no great drinkers of beer, notwithstanding that their ancestors drank more of it than wine (Strabo, iii. 233), which was not then either so plentiful or universal as at present; this βρυτον, or substitute of grapeless countries, passed from the Egyptians and the Carthaginians into Spain, where it was excellent, and kept well (Plin., 'Nat. Hist.,' xxii. 25, subfin.). The vinous Roman soldiers derided the beer-drinking Iberians, just as the French did the English before the battle of Agincourt. "Can sodden water—barley-broth decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?" Polybius sneers at the magnificence of a Spanish king, because his home was furnished with silver and gold vases full of beer, of barley-wine, οινοου κριθινου (Athen, ii. 14). The genuine Goths, as happens everywhere to this day, were great swillers of ale and beer, καρωτικα, heady and stupifying mixtures, accord{111}ing to Aristotle. Their archbishop, St. Isidore, distinguished between celia ceria, the ale, and cerbisia, beer, whence the present word cerbeza is derived. Spanish beer, like many other Spanish matters, has become small. Strong English beer is rare and dear; among one of the infinite ingenious absurdities of Spanish customs' law, English beer in barrels was prohibited, as were English bottles if empty—but prohibited beer, in prohibited bottles, was admissible, on the principle that two fiscal negatives made an exchequer affirmative.

Water, after all, is the staple drink, αριστον μεν ὑδωρ. It is one of the most unchangeable peculiarities of Iberian character. Strabo (iii. 232) called them νδροποται. Athenæus was amazed that even the rich Spaniards should all be water-drinkers παντας ὑδροποτειν (Deip. ii. 6). It is the one thing wanting, alike to moisten mortal clay and fertilise land and garden. All classes of Spaniards are very particular about water; "agua muy rica," very rich, is a common phrase for fresh good water. They are great drinkers of it on all occasions. The first thing all will do on entering a venta is to take a full draught, even when wine is to be had; (and compare the similar precedence of Iberian thirst in Livy xl. 47.) They are very learned on the subject, and, although on the whole they cannot be accused of teetotalism, they are loud in their praises of the pure fluid; which, according to their proverbs, should have neither taste, smell, nor colour, "ni sabor, olor, ni color;" which neither makes men sick or in debt, nor women widows, "que no enferma, no adeuda, no enviuda." It is sold in every direction exactly as among the Egyptians. The cries of quien quiere agua rejoice the thirsty souls in the torrid heats; as everything is exaggerated in Spain, the water is announced mas fresca que la nieve. The seller carries it on his back in a porous alcarraza, with a little cock by which it is drawn into a glass; he is usually provided with a small tin box strapped to his waist, and in which he stows away his glasses, brushes, and some light azucarillos—panales, which are made of sugar and white of egg, which Spaniards dip and dissolve in their drink. These retail pedestrian aqueducts bring a supply to every part of the city; they follow thirst like fire-engines; while in particular stations water-mongers in wholesale have a shed, with ranges of jars, glasses, oranges, lemons, &c., and a bench or two, for the drinkers to descansarse un ratito, to untire themselves. In winter these are provided with an anafe or portable stove, which keeps a supply of hot water, to take the chill off the cold, for Spaniards, from a sort of dropsical habit, drink like fishes all the year round, quò plus sunt potæ, plus{112} sitiuntur aquæ. Ferdinand the Catholic, on seeing a peasant drowned in a river, observed, "that he had never before seen a Spaniard who had had enough water." At the same time it must be remembered that this fluid is applied with greater prodigality in washing their inside than their outside. This species of hydrophobia is chiefly religious. Justin (xliv. 2) remarks that the Spaniards only learnt the use of hot water, as applicable to the toilette, from the Romans after the second Punic war. The Romans introduced their aqueducts and thermæ. The Goths and Gotho-Spaniards have utterly abolished the latter, because appertaining to the Jews and Moors, who were bathing people. Bathing in the Nile led to the preservation of the Jewish legislator. Ablutions and lustral purifications formed an article of faith with the Moslem, with whom "cleanliness is godliness." The mendicant monks, according to their practice of setting up a directly antagonist principle, considered physical dirt as the test of moral purity and true faith; and by dining and sleeping from year's end to year's end in the same unchanged woollen frock, arrived at the height of their ambition, according to their view of the odour of sanctity. The rude Goths saw in the Roman thermæ, which were carried to an excess, an element of effeminacy: the Spaniards took the same view of the luxurious baths of the sensual Oriental; and it must be admitted that the baths of the Middle Ages, which were open to both sexes, justified the mingled signification still retained in our term bagnio. St. Isidore (Orig. viii. 4) places last in his list of heretics the Hemerobaptistæ, people who washed their clothes and bodies once a day. The baths of pagan Rome have given place to the papal immondezzaio's; and the eternal city and its denizens, under the very nose of the holy father, have become the standard of Italian uncleanliness. In Spain, at the conquest of Granada, Ferdinand and Isabella passed edicts to close and abolish the Moorish baths. They forbade not only the Christians but the Moors from using anything but holy water. Fire, not water, became the grand element of inquisitorial purification. The Pindaric θερμα λουτρα νυμφαν were exchanged for the original Iberian cold lavations (Strabo, iii. 232), and even these were limited. The fair sex was warned by monks, who practised what they preached, that they should remember the cases of Susanna and Bathsheba. Their aqueous anathemas extended not only to public but to minutely private washings, regarding which Sanchez instructs the Spanish confessor to question his fair penitents, and not to absolve the over-washed; many instances could be produced of the practical working of this enjoined dirt. Isabella, the favourite daugh{113}ter of Philip II., his eye, as he called her, made a solemn vow never to change her shift until Ostend was taken. The siege lasted three years, three months, and thirteen days. The royal garment acquired a tawny colour, which was called Isabel by the courtiers, in compliment to the pious princess (Réaumur, 'Lett.' xx.). Southey, in his note 36 to Don Roderick, relates that the devout Saint Eufraxia entered into a convent of 130 nuns, not one of whom had ever washed her feet, and the very mention of a bath was an abomination. These obedient daughters to their capuchin confessors are what Gil de Avila termed a sweet garden of flowers, perfumed by the good smell and reputation of sanctity, "ameno jardin de flores, olorosas por el buen odor y fama de santidad." Justice to the land of Castile soap requires us to observe that latterly both sexes, and the fair especially, have departed from the strict observance of the religious duties of their excellent grand-mothers. Warm baths are now pretty generally established in larger towns. Still, however, the interiors of private bedrooms, as well by the striking absence of vitreous and crockery utensils, which to English notions are absolute necessaries, as by the presence of French pie-dish basins, and duodecimo jugs, indicate that this "little damned spot" on the average Spanish hand has not yet been quite rubbed out.

16. STEAM BOATS TO GIBRALTAR.

The whole line of coast, an extent of nearly 600 leagues, is admirably provided with steamers. The Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company, which takes her Majesty's Mails on to Malta and Alexandria, offers a certain and regular conveyance from London to Gibraltar.

To secure passages and to obtain information of every kind, applications may be made at the Company's offices, 51, St. Mary Axe, and 44, Regent Street, Piccadilly, London; at No. 57, High Street, Southampton; or of Lieut. Kendall or Mr. Hill, Shipping Agent. In Liverpool apply to the Company's Agent in Water Street; also to Messrs. Martin and Burns, Buchanan Street, Glasgow; in Vigo, to Leopold Menendez, Esq., British Consul; in Oporto, to Alexander Miller, Esq.; in Lisbon, to Messrs. J. Vanzeller and Sons; in Cadiz, to Messrs. P. de Zulueta and Co.; in Gibraltar, to William James Smith, Esq. These particulars are{114} liable to changes, but the proper offices can be pointed out by any one on the spot.

There are two branches: the vessels which sail for Alexandria leave Southampton the 1st of every month, at 4 P.M. Those which only go to Gibraltar sail weekly, leaving Southampton every Thursday at 4 A.M. The following are the rates of passage money, steward's fee included; but the traveller will of course make a personal inquiry, as minor changes are constantly liable to occur:—

Children under ten years of age half the above rates; under three years of age, free.

The fares include a liberal table, and wines, for 1st Cabin passengers; and for 2nd Cabin passengers, provisions without wines.

Baggage.—Passengers are allowed each 2 cwt. of personal baggage; all above that quantity will be charged at the rate of 1s. per cubic foot.

Each vessel carries a medical officer approved of by government.

Experienced and respectable female attendants for the ladies' cabin.

Private family cabins for passengers, if required.

The cabins are fitted with bedding, drawers, and every requisite.

These weekly steamers are connected with the monthly departure for India viâ Alexandria. An arrangement has been made by which passengers for India, who may desire to visit the interesting scenery of the W. portion of Spain and Portugal, will have the privilege, free of additional expense, of proceeding in any of the Company's weekly Peninsular Mail Steamers, and may thus visit Vigo, Oporto, Lisbon, and Cintra, Cadiz, Seville, Gibraltar, Alge{115}ciras, &c., joining the India Mail Steamer for Malta and Alexandria, at Gibraltar. The passage to Vigo has been made in less than three days; that to Cadiz seldom exceeds six. The voyage offers a glorious opportunity to lovers of magnificent sea-views. No one who has never crossed the Bay of Biscay, where the storms seldom cease, can form any idea of what a sea is—those vast mountain-waves which roll unchecked and unbroken across the whole of the mighty Atlantic.

STEAMERS FROM GIBRALTAR TO MARSEILLES.

These vessels, although by no means such good sea-boats nor so well managed as those which we have just mentioned, are better suited for the mere purposes of the traveller: being unconnected with the carrying mails, they are entirely destined to form the means of communication between one sea-port and another. They are foreign boats, and manned by foreigners: their prices are lower than the English. They generally touch, coming and going, once in the week, at each port. These particulars, however, will be easily ascertained, either in the ports themselves, or at the larger inns in the cities of the interior, which are furnished with printed anticipating notices of the days of sailing, &c. We subjoin the tariff of the prices from Marseilles to Gibraltar and the intermediate and intervening ports. The prices are in reales vellon, of which one hundred may be taken as an average equivalent to the pound sterling. The voyage on this eastern coast of Spain is more agreeable than that of the western; the still, sleepy, blue Mediterranean appears like a crystal lake, after the boiling caldron of the Bay of Biscay. The table on page 117 will give a general idea of the rate of charges by steam, from one port to another of the Mediterranean.

Those who have little time to spare, and wish to return from Gibraltar viâ Marseilles and Paris, may obtain a rapid glance of the eastern coast, even if going directly from Gibraltar to Marseilles. The steamer usually remains a whole day at Malaga; it does not always anchor at Almeria, which is not a place of much importance to the traveller. At Cartagena half a day is allowed, which is sufficient. Ditto at Alicante. A whole day is given to Valencia, and tartanas, or carriages, are always ready to convey passengers from the shore to the city. It does not always anchor{116} at the interesting old city of Tarragona. At Barcelona it remains two days: sometimes half a day at Port Vendres, which is a Cartagena in miniature. From Port Vendres to Marseilles the voyage is usually made in one night. The exact fares, the days and hours of sailing, are of course liable to constant changes, and can only be ascertained on the spot.

It would be easy to swell out the particulars of the steamers which ply up and down each coast of the Peninsula; but there is little practical necessity for extending this information, which, besides the liability of changing from day to day, it is the interest of the different companies to make as public as possible. They are quite as anxious to obtain passengers, as travellers are to obtain passages; they omit no opportunity of placarding and advertising, in characters that he who runs may read, all the particulars connected with each departure. In the great towns of Spain, as elsewhere, all who live by the conveyance of travellers, whether by sea or by land, are always on the look-out for customers; they anticipate inquiries by their offers of mules, horses, carriages, and other appliances of locomotion. The traveller will do well to go beforehand and secure his own particular berth. We subjoin the names of some of the principal agents; they, however, like their craft, are subject to constant changes:—

• Seville—Don Manuel le Roi.
• Cadiz—Don Antonio Sicre—Oneto and Co.
• ——Los Señores Retordillo.
• Gibraltar—Los Señores Retordillo—Jose Abudarham.
• Malaga—Don Juan Giro—Juan Bta. Bisso.
• Almeria—Don Jose Jover—Jose M. Velasco.
• Cartagena—Don Nicolas Biale.
• Alicante—Los Señores Diaz—Wallace and Co.
• Valencia—Los Señores White, Llano and Co.—A. Scotto.
• Barcelona—Los Señores Martorell y Bofill—Faria and Co.
• Port Vendres—Señor A. Debec.
• Marseilles—Monsieur T. Perier.

The formation of a new company is contemplated in France, who propose to establish a line of steamers to run between La Teste, near Bordeaux, and La Coruña, touching at the intermediate sea-ports in going and returning. This will afford great facilities in visiting this mountainous coast, which at present is utterly without means of tolerable intercommunication by land. Travellers from England, who do not mind the sea, will thus be{117}

{118}

enabled to land in the north-western provinces of Spain, without undergoing the purgatory of pavés in passing through France; they might embark at Southampton for Havre, take the steamer to Bordeaux, and thence to Pasages, Bilbao, Santander, Gijon, Rivadeo, El Ferrol or La Coruña, and thence by Santiago and Salamanca to Madrid.

There are few real difficulties in getting onward when at the spots themselves; it is before we set out, or arrive, that these appear insurmountable, but they vanish as we advance. The Alps and Pyrenees, which in the distance rise up an apparently impassable barrier, are studded with paths by which they may be crossed, which do not, however, become visible until they are actually approached. Travelling in Spain may indeed be slower than in other countries, but the country is travelled over day and night in every direction by the natives, who arrive at their journey's end safe and sound, and with quite as great certainty as elsewhere: knowing this, they are never in a hurry; and however scanty their baggage, they are well supplied with patience and good humour, which they oppose successfully to those petty annoyances from which no road is exempt; and they are too practical philosophers to distress themselves with the anticipation of calamities, which after all, in nineteen cases out of twenty, never do really happen. Spain, like Ireland, has long had a name far worse than it deserves: to read the English newspapers, which thrive on startling events, both appear dens of thieves and law-breakers, whose works are battle, murder, and sudden death; all this couleur de noir becomes roseate on landing, and the traveller makes his tour without hearing a word on the subject.

17. WHAT TO OBSERVE IN SPAIN.

Before we proceed to point out the objects best worth seeing in the Peninsula, many of which are to be seen there only, it may be as well to mention what is not to be seen: there is no such loss of time as finding this out oneself, after weary chace and wasted hour. Those who expect to find well-garnished arsenals, libraries, restaurants, charitable or literary institutions, canals, railroads, tunnels, suspension-bridges, steam-engines, omnibuses, manufactories, polytechnic galleries, pale-ale breweries, and similar appliances and appurtenances of a high state of political, social, and commer{119}cial civilisation, had better stay at home. In Spain there are no turnpike-trust meetings, no quarter-sessions, no courts of justice, according to the real meaning of that word, no tread-mills, no boards of guardians, no chairmen, directors, masters-extraordinary of the court of chancery, no assistant poor-law commissioners. There are no anti-tobacco-teetotal-temperance meetings, no auxiliary missionary propagating societies, nothing in the blanket and lying-in asylum line, nothing, in short, worth a revising barrister of three years' standing's notice. Spain is no country for the political economist, beyond affording an example of the decline of the wealth of nations, and offering a wide topic on errors to be avoided, as well as for experimental theories, plans of reform and amelioration. In Spain, Nature reigns; she has there lavished her utmost prodigality of soil and climate, which a bad government has for the last three centuries been endeavouring to counteract. El cielo y suelo es bueno, el entresuelo malo, and man, the occupier of the Peninsula entresol, uses, or rather abuses, with incurious apathy the goods with which the gods have provided him. Spain is a terra incognita to naturalists, geologists, and every branch of ists and ologists. The material is as superabundant as native labourers and operatives are deficient. All these interesting branches of inquiry, healthful and agreeable, as being out-of-door pursuits, and bringing the amateur in close contact with nature, offer to embryo authors, who are ambitious to book something new, a more worthy subject than the decies repetita descriptions of bull-fights and the natural history of ollas and ventas. Those who aspire to the romantic, the poetical, the sentimental, the artistical, the antiquarian, the classical, in short, to any of the sublime and beautiful lines, will find both in the past and present state of Spain subjects enough, in wandering with lead-pencil and note-book through this singular country, which hovers between Europe and Africa, between civilisation and barbarism; this is the land of the green valley and barren mountain, of the boundless plain and the broken sierra, now of Elysian gardens of the vine, the olive, the orange, and the aloe, then of trackless, vast, silent, uncultivated wastes, the heritage of the wild bee. Here we fly from the dull uniformity, the polished monotony of Europe, to the racy freshness of an original, unchanged country, where antiquity treads on the heels of to-day, where Paganism disputes the very altar with Christianity, where indulgence and luxury contend with privation and poverty, where a want of all that is generous or merciful is blended with the most devoted heroic virtues, where the most cold-blooded cruelty is linked with the{120} fiery passions of Africa, where ignorance and erudition stand in violent and striking contrast.

Here let the antiquarian pore over the stirring memorials of many thousand years, the vestiges of Phœnician enterprise, of Roman magnificence, of Moorish elegance, in that storehouse of ancient customs, that repository of all elsewhere long forgotten and passed by; here let him gaze upon those classical monuments, unequalled almost in Greece or Italy, and on those fairy Aladdin palaces, the creatures of Oriental gorgeousness and imagination, with which Spain alone can enchant the dull European; here let the man of feeling dwell on the poetry of her envy-disarming decay, fallen from her high estate, the dignity of a dethroned monarch, borne with unrepining self-respect, the last consolation of the innately noble, which no adversity can take away; here let the lover of art feed his eyes with the mighty masterpieces of Italian art, when Raphael and Titian strove to decorate the palaces of Charles, the great emperor of the age of Leo X., or with the living nature of Velazquez and Murillo, whose paintings are truly to be seen in Spain alone; here let the artist sketch the lowly mosque of the Moor, the lofty cathedral of the Christian, in which God is worshipped in a manner as nearly befitting his glory as the power and wealth of finite man can reach; art and nature here offer subjects, from the feudal castle, the vasty Escorial, the rock-built alcazar of imperial Toledo, the sunny towers of stately Seville, to the eternal snows and lovely vega of Granada: let the geologist clamber over mountains of marble, and metal-pregnant sierras; let the botanist cull from the wild hothouse of nature plants unknown, unnumbered, matchless in colour, and breathing the aroma of the sweet south; let all, learned or unlearned, listen to the song, the guitar, the castanet; let all mingle with the gay, good-humoured, temperate peasantry, the finest in the world, free, manly, and independent, yet courteous and respectful; let all live with the noble, dignified, high-bred, self-respecting Spaniard; let all share in their easy, courteous society: let all admire their dark-eyed women, so frank and natural, to whom the voice of all ages and nations has conceded the palm of attraction, to whom Venus has bequeathed her magic girdle of grace and fascination; let all—sed ohe! jam satis—enough for starting on this expedition, where, as Don Quixote said, there are opportunities for what are called adventures elbow-deep. "Aqui, hermano Sancho, podemos meter las manos hasta los codos, en esto que llaman aventuras."{121}

18. SPANISH LANGUAGE.

"He that travelleth into a country before he hath some entrance into the language goeth to school and not to travel," saith Bacon. "For every language that a man can speak, so many more times is he a man," said Charles V. This same emperor justly characterised the superb idiom of Spain as the one in which God ought to be prayed to by mortal man; and in truth, of all modern languages, it is the most fitting and decorous medium for solemn, lofty devotion, for grave disquisitions, for elevated, moral, and theological subjects; the language, which is an exponent of national character, partakes of the virtues and vices of the Spaniard—it is noble, manly, grandiloquent, sententious, and imposing. The commonest village alcalde pens his placards in the Cambyses state-paper style, more naturally than Pitt dictated king's speeches extemporaneously. The pompous, fine-sounding expressions and professions convey to plain English understandings promises which are seldom realised by Spaniards. The words are so fine in themselves that they appear to be the result of thought and talent. The ear is bewildered and the judgment carried away by the mistakes we make in translating all these fine words—palabras, palaver, which are but Orientalisms, and mean, and are meant to mean, nothing—into our homely, business-like, honest idiom. We take Spanish syllabubs for heavy plum-pudding: we deceive ourselves only; for no official Spaniard ever credits another to the letter: our literalness induces us to set them down as greater boasters, braggarts, and more beggarly in performance than they really are. This wordy exaggeration is peculiar to southern imaginative people, who delight in the ornate and gorgeous; our readers must therefore be on their guard not to take au pied de la lettre all this conventional hyperbole of Spanish grandiloquence; less is meant than meets the ear. Such words must be lowered down to the standard of truth, and their paper, when not protested, which is by far the safest way, at least discounted; a deduction of twenty-five per cent. will seldom be found enough, if the bonâ fide value is wished to be ascertained. Not only must attention be paid to what is spoken to us, but to what we speak to Spaniards. Mutual ignorance of language is a fatal cause of "guessing," and of the "you don't understand us." Mutual ridicule is seen without words. Now, to speak intelligibly to a Spaniard, we must learn to feel and think as he does, and forget how we thought before; we must pass into his mind from our own. Language is but the vehicle of ideas and impressions;{122} and each language is formed out of those notions and manners which are peculiar to each nation: without knowing these we cannot know the language. We may know the grammatical signification of each word, but the peculiar beauty is lost. What idea has the boor of a Lincolnshire fen of lava? We must allude to ideas: when they are coincident, one half-word, one key-note, like a spark falling on a train, fires up the whole hidden mine of meaning. Our plain language must be enriched, otherwise it will seem cold, insipid, and flavourless. It is like giving a man who has been brought up on curry and chetnee a boiled leg of mutton and turnips. Λογος signifies both intelligence and language, both the means and the directing power, and the Spanish Λογος may be described as being more ornamental than useful. The repugnance to all commercial and mechanical pursuits which has been inherited from the Goths, and the fetters by which national intellect and literature have been confined, have rendered the idiom comparatively unfit for most of the practical purposes for which there is such a growing demand in this popular utilitarian age. Language follows, does not precede, social advancement. Spaniards have never hammered their tongue on the anvil of every-day concerns. It is poor in technical terms of art or modern inventions and the expression of homely, useful, and every-day knowledge. It is, from its very structure, unfitted for rapid, concise descriptions, and as time is of no value in Spain, they have endeavoured to lengthen words as much as we have to abbreviate them; no Spaniard would dream of calling Gibraltar Gib; they prefer three syllables to one: our termination ment in movement and similar words becomes miento, movimiento. What they call diminutives are in fact elongations—Juan, Juanito. To make a thing dearer or smaller they add two syllables. Everything is ito or ita at Seville: carmensita, graciosita, chico, chiquito, chiquitito—"my little little one," the fond parental expression of affection. The adding on increases—picaro, picaron, picarona; ucho implies contempt—fraile, frailucho. The language, however, suits them, and that, after all, is the object of language; as no other is spoken, the traveller, nolens volens, must either hold his tongue or use theirs. Those who have any knack at learning languages, and especially if familiar with the Latin and French, will find no difficulty whatever in reading Spanish, and not much in speaking it. Italian, so far from being any assistance, will be a constant source of blunders in speaking Spanish. Indeed it is almost impossible for a stranger to speak the two correctly and simultaneously. The pronunciation of Spanish is very easy; every word is spoken as it is{123} written, and with the lips and mouth, not the nose; the consonants g, j, and x, before certain vowels, have a marked Arabic and German guttural power, which confers a force and manliness that is far from disagreeable. In fact, this manliness, combined with gravity and majesty, is what principally distinguishes the Spanish from the Italian language, which is more feminine, elegant, and voluptuous. The speaking a language imperfectly conveys to those who are familiar with it an air of stupidity, which, with every disposition to make allowances, does not favourably impress the listener, while the consciousness and the awkwardness of so doing, and being a bore, depresses the speaker, silences the eloquent, and stupifies the witty. The Spanish language, which is made for the courteous intercourse of gentlemen, was the dominant and fashionable language of Europe during the period of the great Emperor Charles V. It is worthy, now that Spain has ceased to be the bugbear, to become again the common tongue, instead of French, especially amongst Anglo-Saxon nations, and the sooner the better.

The modern Basque is supposed, with reason, to represent the primitive language of the aboriginal Iberians: it fell into desuetude when Spain became a conquered province of Italy. The power and fashion of Rome prevailed, and it was part of her policy to introduce her language: Sertorius induced his rude countrymen to adopt Roman schools and institutions, and the Latin toga and tongue soon became almost universal. Latin, although corrupted and no longer Ciceronian, was the prevalent tongue when the Gothic invasion introduced a new element—Barbarolexis: their Teutonic words, as might be expected, related principally to war and the ruder occupations, but the language of the more civilised conquered prevailed over (which generally happens) that of their more untutored conquerors. From the fusion of the two, and on the ruins of the Latin, arose the Romance, or modern Spanish language; the present limited signification is quite secondary, and originated from those peculiar writings, the great feature of modern literature, in which the Romance was first employed. The term still continues in Spanish to be synonymous with the Castilian language, nor is it inapplicable to certain braggadocio paper achievements, while elsewhere, "to romance" has become equivalent to decided deviations from matter of fact. Precisely in the manner by which the Latin was formed of the Hellenic and barbarous Oscan or Italian element, so the "Romance" was begotten by the Teutonic on the Latin, which perished in giving it birth. The mass of the people were called{124} "Romans" by their invaders, and the new language "Roman," from its having a greater affinity to Latin; conquerors and conquered met half way: the former, who wielded the sword better than the pen, yielded to their intellectual superiors, as the Romans had before done to the Greeks. They made the nearest approach to the Latin in their power, just as foreigners do with strange languages; they caught at words and roots, with a marvellous disregard of grammar and prosody; a compromise was soon effected, and a hybrid language generated—a lingua Franca, in which both parties could communicate. The progress of language, when not fixed by a written literature, is to discard the synthetic forms, inflexions by terminations, and to adopt the analytic by resolving every idea into its component parts. The niceties of cases, genders, and declensions, were too refined for the illiterate Goths: a change of structure and syntax ensued; accusatives became nominatives; other cases were supplied by prepositions, declensions by auxiliary verbs; a new stock of Teutonic words was introduced, the dictionary was enriched while the grammar was deteriorated, the substance improved while the form was broken up, just as the walls of Gothic and Moorish fortresses have been imbedded with mutilated torsos of exquisite antique marbles. This convenient middle idiom led to the neglect by either party of the original language of the other; the unwritten speech of the conquerors was forgotten, while the Latin was preserved in the ritual of the Church and in the tribunals. It ceased, however, to be the spoken language of the many, insomuch that, in the ninth century, the clergy were enjoined to be able to translate their homilies into the Romance for the benefit of the laity; hence it came to be considered the vulgar, in contradistinction to the learned: the romantic is still opposed to the classical style, and a "scholar," even among ourselves, emphatically means one skilled in the dead languages (see Edin. Rev. clvi. 394).

A certain uniformity is observable in the present deviations from the Latin: the most obvious changes consist in the terminations; the ends of words ending in as, atis, &c., have been exchanged for ad; thus majestas, voluntas, became majestad, voluntad. The letter p at the beginning of words has become a double ll—plenus, planus, lleno, llano;—the f became an h, facere, formosos—hacer, hermosos. An n has been added to words ending with an o—religio, religion. The final e has been removed from infinitives—amare, tenere, amar, tener. The final syllable of words in which the letters t and m have been followed by{125} vowels has been converted into dre and bre—pater, mater, padre, madre; homo, lumen, hombre, lumbre. It would not, however, be difficult to compose a sentence which should still be almost pure Latin and Spanish.

When the Saracenic irruption in the eighth century overturned the Gothic dominion, the scattered remnant took refuge in the mountainous recesses of the north-western provinces. These, like other highlands, became the cradle of national liberty; their climate and productions, much inferior to the richer and more sunny plains, offered few temptations to invaders, while the mountain character rendered approach more difficult, and defences easier. The language of the refugees gradually became more degenerated, and the Latin (the idiom of courtiers and prelates) shared the ruin of those who spoke it; in the 13th century it had become so completely a dead language that Alonzo el Sabio discarded it from the tribunals, and thus fixed the modern Spanish. He caused chronicles to be written in the then spoken Romance. This, springing from the north-western provinces, was based on the Latin with the "bable" (the still spoken "rustica" of the Asturias), and the Gallician and Portuguese. The pride of the Castilians rejected the softer idiom of inferior provinces, while their jealousy of Arragon excluded the more perfect Provençal; and "el Castellano" came to signify, as it still does, the language of Spain.

Meanwhile further changes were going on in the south, where the original Oriental tendency was revived by the Arabic influence; Cordova, made a city of delight by the luxurious and accomplished Abderahmans, still continued to be the Athens of the Peninsula. While the sterner Goths starved in their chilly mountains, the Epicurean Andalucians preferred, under the mild toleration of the Moors, the delicious south; these Mosarabic Christians, Músta'rabs, i.e., imitators of Arabians, "while not one in a thousand knew their Latin," delighted in Chaldean pomps, to the horror of the good Goths of the old school: the sorrows of Alvarus have been preserved by Florez (Esp. Sag. xi. 274); now the "Christian youth, carried aloft by Oriental eloquence—Arabico eloquio sublimati—neglected the streams of paradise which flowed from the Church." They forgot even their mother-tongue, "linguam propriam non advertant."

In the thirteenth century the Gotho-Spaniards crossed the Sierra Morena, and re-conquered Cordova and Seville: a greater inter-course now took place between them and the Moors of Granada,{126} both in peace and war; insomuch that, before the final expulsion of the Moriscos, the same sort of fusion took place in language as had previously done between the Goths and Romans. A compromise had taken place; two new dialects were formed—the Aljamia, or Spanish, spoken by the Moors, and the Algarrabia, or Arabic, spoken by the Spaniards. This latter was so bad, that the term in its secondary sense is applied to any gibberish—garrabia. To this day the idiom spoken by the peasants on the southern slopes of the Alpujarras mountains, the last retreat of the Granada Moriscos, is strongly tinctured with Algarrabia. The class of Arabic words introduced into Spanish affords evidence of the decided superiority in all elegant arts, sciences, agriculture, architecture, and manufactures, which the polished Moor maintained over the Gotho-Spaniard: the words are mostly distinguished by the prefix al, the article. So says Don Quixote: "Y este nombre Alboques, es Morisco, como lo son todos aquellos que en nuestra lengua castellana comiençan con el Al." The guttural j, g, and x are by some authors considered to be Arabic, by others have been referred to the Goths and to the German followers of Charles V. These letters are used indiscriminately; thus, Xerez, Jerez, Ximenez, Jimenez, Gimenez. The j is considered just now to be the correct thing: b and v have, from the time of the Greeks and Romans, been cognate and convertible: St. Isidore pointed that out clearly to the Goths. Travellers must not be hypercritical when they see the pleasant announcement in a thirsty land, Aqui se bende vuen bino, instead of Aqui se vende buen vino. The value of the meaning might well excuse the cacography, were it not justified by Scaliger:—"Felices populi quibus vivere est bibere." Andalucia, in the names of her rivers, towns, and mountains, retains the language of her former possessors, although the Spaniards have even forgotten their meaning; thus they call the Wadi'l kiber, the great river, el rio grande, del Guadalquivir; los banos de Alhama, the baths of the bath; el puente de Alcantara, the bridge of the bridge.

Spain has now relapsed, in regard to the number of its dialects, to the same condition as it was in the time of Strabo: although el hablar Castellano means, emphatically speaking, Spanish, yet separate dialects prevail in Valencia, Catalonia, Arragon, the Basque provinces, in the Asturias, and Gallicia. These may be conveniently classed under four great branches:—the primitive Basque; the Valencian and Catalonian, which comes near the Provençal, as the Arragonese does to the langue d'Oc, or Lemosin; the Asturian and Gallician; and the Castilian, which may be com{127}pared to a heap of corn, composed of many different classes of grain. The purest Castilian is written and spoken at Madrid and at Toledo: the most corrupt is the Andalucian. One marked difference in pronunciation consists in the sound of the th; the Castilian marks it clearly—Zaragoza, Tharagotha; Andaluz, Andaluth; placer, plather; usted, usteth; while the Andalucian, whose ceceo is much laughed at, will say Saragosa, placer, or plaser, Andaluce, uste. Yet the old Goths had a horror of th, θητα,—they derived it απο του θανατου (St. Isidore, 'Ori.' i. 3), "Oh! multum inter alias infelix littera θητα!" The traveller must never pronounce the h when at the beginning of a word; hombre, hacer, must be Ombre, ather. This aspiration of the h was thought vulgar by the Romans, as Catullus (Ep. 83) quizzes one Arrius (probably a Tuscan), for pronouncing Insidias, Hinsidias. The Goths, following the Romans, hardly admitted h to be a letter (St. Isidore, 'Ori.' i. 4). An accomplished Castilian once assured us that he never had a complete idea of what could be the sound of the h before a vowel until he heard an Englishman pronounce hombre. The Castilian speaks with a grave distinct pronunciation, ore rotundo; he enunciates every letter and syllable. The Andalucian clips the Queen's Spanish, and seldom sounds the d between two vowels; lo come, he eats it, and says, comiõ, queriõ, ganaõ, for comido, querido, ganado; no vale nñ, no hay nñ, for no vale nada, no hay nada. Some of the Andalucian vulgarisms are inexpressibly odious to the Castilian ear: beware of such sounds as these, and of the company of those from whose mouths such vocal toads and vipers come forth:—

The Spaniards, especially the Castilians, are sparing of words, since by them men are compromised: a word once spoken is like a thrown stone, and can never be recalled—Palabra y piedra suelta no tienen vuelta. Words, they say, were given to conceal thoughts: occasionally, quite as much business (as at Naples) is done by signs—thus, energetic defiance or contempt (the national oath expressed by telegraph) is irresistibly conveyed by closing{128} the fist of the right hand, elevating it, and catching the elbow in the palm of the left hand, thus raising the right arm at a right angle. There is no mistake in this, and the fierce manner in which it is often done. People call each other by a polite hissing, or rather by the labial sound—Ps, ps. The telegraph action of this sibilant—Hola! ven aca, querido!—is done by reversing our form of beckoning; the open hand is raised, and the palm is turned towards the person summoned or selected, and the four fingers drawn rapidly up and down into the palm. Admiration—sobre saliente, que buena moza!—is expressed by collecting the five fingers' tips to a point, bringing them to the lip, kissing them, and then expanding the hand like a bursting shell. Dissent—mentira, or have nothing to do with it, her, or him, no te metas en eso—is quietly hinted by raising the single fore-finger to the nose, and wagging it rapidly and horizontally backwards and forwards. Astonishment, incredulous surprise, or jocular resignation under unavoidable, irremediable afflictions, milliners' bills (Dos hijas con su madre, son cuatro diablos para el padre, two daughters and their mother are four devils for the father)—is dumb-showed by performing the flugelman's exercise of crossing oneself, as is done on entering a church in Spain, always beginning with touching the forehead first, and ending with a tap or two with the thumb on the lips—hago la cruz, hacerse cruces. The ancient contemptuous "fig of Spain"—a fig for you—is digitally represented by inserting the head of the thumb between the fore and middle fingers, and raising the back of the hand towards the person thus complimented. In the Koran, Allah himself swears by the fig-tree. An irresistible parry to the requiebros, the jests of majeza, "the fancy," is the elevating to the forehead the hand, having doubled down the two middle fingers, and leaving the little and fore fingers standing out like a pair of horns. This gesture is the silent expression of the old Roman magnâ conclamans voce cucullum. However, most of this finger-talk, wittoly wit, as well as the figs, is confined to the lower classes, who are jealous to the knife, and whose wives are quite as chaste as those of any other nation in Europe. Who can enumerate, though most understand by intuition, the signal codes of an Andalucian fan? No Spanish canon, like the Neopolitan Jorio, has collected them together and compared these gesticulations with those of the ancients. We throw out this virgin ground to travellers who wish to book something new in the old way.[24]{129}

To speak Spanish, and indeed any foreign language, well, a man must be a bit of a mimic as well as a linguist. He must have a quick eye and ear, and suit his action to his words; especially in Andalucia and southern countries, where bodily excitement keeps pace with mental imagination. It is no still life, and, although a pantomime, is anything but a dumb show: gesticulation is the safety-valve of the superabundant energy and caloric of the South. The most amicable discussion is conducted like a mortal fray, a logomachy, a guerra al cuchillo, or war to the knife—when compared to the quiet phlegm with which the most important affairs are debated in England. There is more row aboard a Spanish fishing-smack than an English line-of-battle ship: no man knows what conversational noise is till he has stepped from the steamer at once into the Plaza de Cadiz; it is mucho ruido y pocas nueces, much cry and little wool. Even the Spaniards feel that, and say that three women and two geese constitute a complete market—tres mugeres con dos gansos, hacen un mercado entero. As far as power over, stress, intonation, and modulation (forgive the word) of the voice is concerned, even a Parisian might take a lesson on gesticulation. The traveller must reckon his shoulders and ten fingers among his parts of speech: without a little of this lively articulation they hardly think that you are serious. He should remember to catch, to get by rote, and repeat their formulæ of courtesy. Certain words, in all countries, like open sesame, have a charm in themselves, as much as in their meaning: the adopted, current, and recognised terms of opening a conversation, salutations, &c., all those neutral grounds on which strangers meet, are soon learnt, and should be scrupulously imitated, both in speaking and in writing letters. The Spaniards, in this respect perfectly Oriental, are formal and ceremonious, etiqueteros, sensitive and touchy, quisquillosos y peloteros, and attach great importance to routine, to personal attentions, to greetings in the market-places, to prolix complimentary inquiries about health and their families, to visits, to returning visits, getting up and sitting down: isolated, their habits are what we should call those of our old-fashioned and provincial life. As they have nothing to do, the grand object is to kill time, and practice has made them perfect. Hence they are so accustomed to go through all this bore themselves that it is become a second nature; they forget that others think and act differently, and fancy the stranger either ignorant of the usages of good society or inclined to slight them or undervalue their acquaintance: all this is very natural and excusable in a self-loving, proud, decayed, semi-Oriental people, and it is quite distinct from{130} the disposition to take affront which characterises the Anglo-Americans. The lively imagination of Spaniards renders them highly susceptible, and liable to invest unintentional trifles with a fancied importance. Like poor gentlemen, they never can forget their former prosperity and glory. Personal respect, to which Spaniards always attached infinite consequence, is their safeguard. Excess of ceremony is considered a high manner in the East, although among more western nations it is one indication of low breeding. But we must never compare the sensitiveness of the punctilious hidalgo with the vulgar miffyness of the newly-enriched upstart, who, conscious that he is out of his proper social position, always feels uneasy and uncertain, and like a fretful porcupine, is ever on his guard in anticipating neglect or ridicule, while this very suspicion, of itself, convicts him that such treatment would not be undeserved.

We cannot dismiss the subject of language without saying a few words on the Germania, the peculiar slang of Andalucia. This province is the El Dorado of the contrabandista, the bull-fighter, the bandit, and the majo, who is the gay, fancy, flash, and national dandy; his dress, manner, and conversation are the admired of all admirers in the lower classes of Spaniards, with whom the traveller cannot help being thrown much in contact. Alfarache is a Moorish castle near Seville, from whence Guzman, the hero of the picaresque, or rogue's-march novels of Spain, set forth. The readers of Don Quixote (part i. 3) will remember that the education of all his good-for-nothing heroes was finished at the Potro of Cordova, the compas of Seville, the playa of San Lucar, los percheles de Malaga, and other Andalucian localities of bad fame; the picaresque style was introduced from Italy, in the reign of Charles V., by soldiers and gentlemen who, in the dearth of higher but prohibited themes, recorded the low life of Spanish vagabonds and gipsies. The language spoken by these Picaros, Picaroons, has been reduced into a system: it is called in Spain Germania, Gerigonza, Xerga—whence our word jargon: it is the argot of France, the gauner Sprache, the Rothwälch, of Germany, the gergo of the red codottieri of Italy. Regular dictionaries have been compiled, in order to make readers fully to relish the low humour of the picaresque literature. This Germania was long confounded with Rommany, the gibberish of gipsies, until set at rest for ever by our friend Borrow, whose interesting 'Account of the Gipsies in Spain' is well worthy of forming part of every traveller's library who contemplates any lengthened sojourn in Andalucia, where these picturesque vagabonds play a first fiddle.{131}

The Rommany is of Eastern origin. This wandering people were a low, Paria caste, something of the Thug sect in Hindostan, from whence they either emigrated or were expelled. An infinity of Sanscrit words, more or less corrupted, is to be found in the language of gipsies, in whatever part of the world they are now met with. The Spanish gipsy shows moreover decided physical marks of his Hindoo blood and beauty. The eye is languid, full, and almost glazed, the hair black, the teeth white, and forehead low, the frame slight but elegantly formed. In their moral qualities they are marked by sobriety and singular chastity; by an unbounded love of their own sect, their own blood errate (they dislike the name of Gitano), and by an unextinguishable Thug-like hatred of all not of their blood, by a total absence of any religion whatever, and by pride, avarice, and falsehood. When they first appeared in Europe no one would receive or employ these reputed infidels. Suspicion and oppression are sure receipts for making a rogue; accordingly, from want of honester occupation, they took kindly to tinkering, horse-dealing, inn-keeping, Indian juggling, fortune-telling, and tumbling, by hereditary descent. They are ignorant and illiterate, have forgotten their origin, and have corrupted their language. In Spain they have lost their original grammar, and have adopted that of the country; their dialect is fast disappearing. These Indian jugglers changed the nature of European robbery; they substituted for brute violence, cheating, and tricks upon travellers. This art, this legerdemain, as well as the names by which it is expressed, hoax, hocus, jockey, are all shown by Mr. Borrow to be derived from pure gipsy words. This mode of overreaching is comparatively modern even among the moderns. The ancients seem to have escaped the small-pox and horse-dealing. Now, as the gipsies dealt in horses, which everywhere presents an inexhaustible fund for doing the simple and gentle, other rogues saw and seized the opening; these docile pupils naturally caught some of the lingo of the art: it was necessary for them to have an esoteric language, in which they might plot against the victims, who could not understand them, even before their faces; they accordingly either adopted gipsy terms or attached new and technical meanings to old words, just as English lawyers have done amongst us, especially in the Court of Chancery, which, on the same principle, those who grow rich in it call Equity. This is the real distinction between Germania slang and Rommany gipsy tongue. The former is based on metaphor and allegory, the giving a new, cant meaning to an old word. Colegio, for instance, a college, means in slang a prison, because{132} young boys are placed among the most hardened culprits, in order to learn their profession, and come out masters of arts, in lying, robbery, and murder. Germania, now a little Babel of itself, is a purely artificial tongue, formed for specific purposes; Rommany is the corrupted remnant of a genuine Hindostanee idiom. All this slang must be used like garlic, with great caution. It is more prevalent and allowable in flashy Andalucia than in any other province, and is the least allowable in the grave Castiles. Even in Sevilla, the capital of Majeza, it appertains more to the short fur-jacket, zamarra, than to the dress frock or to the long-tailed coat, the fraque or the levita, which argue a corresponding decorum in conduct. The majo dress, like a mask, is hoisting the signal of licence: whatever be the rank or sex of the wearer—and the highest nobility do wear it occasionally—all classes claim a right of passing their requiebro. This is always done and borne with good humour and good breeding. Next to the skill required in talking well, is the judgment of being able to hold one's tongue—mas vale callar, que mal hablar. However, all Spaniards relax a little in Andalucia—dulce est desipere in loco; and it is so catching in that province that it must arise from the "quality of the climate." The best method of acquiring the Spanish language is to establish oneself in a good casa de pupilos, to avoid English society and conversation, to read Don Quixote through and aloud, before a teacher of a morning, and to be schooled by bright eyes and female tongues of an evening, for in Spain—my Lady Morgan to the contrary notwithstanding—man has his master and mistress too. The female society is easy and most agreeable. The fair sex prove better mistresses, and their lessons are more attended to by their pupils, than the inflections and irregular verbs of a snuffy tobaccose pedagogue, a bore, and a button-holder, majadero y botarate.

A good English and Spanish grammar, like a good English and Spanish dictionary, is yet a desideratum; perhaps that of Mac Henry may be cited as the best. In Spain Philip V. founded the Royal Academy of Madrid for the specific purpose of compiling a grand dictionary. It was published in 6 vols. fol. Madrid, 1726-1739. The earlier dictionary, the 'Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana,' of Don Sebastian Covarrubias, Madrid, 1611 and 1674, abounds with quaint and amusing information. The Arabic etymologies are, however, to be taken with caution. To this volume usually is prefixed a valuable and learned treatise on the Spanish language by Dr. Bernardo Aldrete, 'Del Origen y Principio de la Lengua Castellana.' Don Gregorio Mayans y Siscar published at Madrid,{133} in 1737, 2 vols. 12mo., a compilation on the Spanish language, 'Origenes de la Lengua Española, compuestas por varios Autores.'

The French and Spanish dictionary of Nuñez de Taboada is perhaps the best for the traveller, although it does not satisfy some learned Spaniards; but as our great lexicographer said, "Dictionaries are like watches; the worst is better than none, and the best can't be expected to go quite true." Those who wish to trace the Arabic influence on the Spanish language should look out for the works of Pedro de Alcalá, 'Arte de la Lengua Arabica,' and the 'Vocabulario Arabico,' Granada, 1504. There is an earlier but not so useful an edition. It is by far the most valuable work for ascertaining the exact Arabic which was spoken by the Granada Moors. It was published in that city soon after the conquest, by its first archbishop, the benevolent Talavera, in the hopes of converting the infidels to Christianity by gentle means, by enabling them to read the Scriptures. Antonio de Nebrissa, the celebrated grammarian, gives a list of about 400 words from the Arabic, together with a curious etymological account of the streets of Granada, which was prepared by Francisco Lopez Tamarid, interpreter of Arabic to the Inquisition; this is appended to his 'Diccionario de Romance y Latin.' Our edition is that of Madrid, 1638; the earlier editions are very rare black-letter curiosities,—Salamanca, 1492; ditto, 1494 or 1495; Seville, 1506. A modern Spanish and Arabic dictionary was published at Madrid in 1787, 3 vols. folio, by Francisco Canes, 'Diccionario Español-Latino-Arabico,' of which a smaller portion, in 8vo., was previously published at Madrid in 1775. The Royal Academy of History have printed in their 4th vol., p. 26, an essay of Marina's, with an Hispano-Arabico dictionary. João de Souza's work, which is entitled 'Vestigios da Lingua Arabica em Portugal,' Lisbon, 4to., 1789, is much more to be depended upon than the thin 8vo. 'Remains of Arabic in the Spanish and Portuguese Languages,' by Stephen Weston, London, 1810. In Mr. George Cornewall Lewis's 'Essay on the Romance Language,' Oxford, 1835, which we cannot too highly recommend, will be found a letter from Dr. Rosen on this subject, together with some Arabic etymologies. Cean Bermudez (Arq. i. 243) and Gayangos (Moh. Dyn. ii. clix.) have given many others. Those who aspire to gipsy Rommany cannot possibly do without Mr. Borrow's book. Spanish slang has found its Dr. Johnson in Joanes Hidalgo; he published at Barcelona, in 1609, 'Romance de Germania con el Vocabulario.' The later editions are Zaragoza in 1644 and Madrid in 1799. Quevedo, Cervantes, and the{134} Picaresque school cannot be full appreciated without Hidalgo; albeit Nicolas Antonio, the Spanish Dibdin, treats him rather cavalierly, and not like an Hidalgo—"Joanes Hidalgo, nescio quis, nec multum interest ut sciam ignoremve" (Bib. Nova, i. 710). The works on the Basque, and the Unknown Iberian tongue, and medallic inscriptions, are endless. W. von Humboldt's 'Urbewohner von Hispanien,' Berlin, 1821, like Aaron's rod, swallows them all up; no one can do without it. Manuel de Larramendi ranks high amongst Spanish authorities; his best works are 'De la Antiguedad y Universalidad del Bascuense en España, 8vo., Salamanca; 'El Imposible Vencido, o arte de la Lengua Bascongada,' Salamanca, 1729; and his copious dictionary, 'Diccionario trilingue del Castellano, Bascuense, y Latin,' San Sebastian, 1745, 2 vols. folio. Humboldt pronounces as "durchaus unbedeutend" ('Mithr.' iv. 336, Berlin, 1817) the work of Juan de Perochegui, Pamplona, 1760, 'Origen de la Nacion Bascongada y de su Lengua.' We also possess the 'Alfabeto' of Erro, the different works of Velazquez, the 'Apologia' of Astarloa, and others which it would be swelling these pages to mention. Great assistance is to be derived from the habit of writing down on sundry blank pages, purposely bound up within Taboada's dictionary, such conversational, colloquial, or conventional phrases as are most current among all classes; these, thus impressed on the memory, should be used as often as possible. A leaf or two from such conversational exercises are submitted as an example to the student. Phrases bearing on common every day and light subjects have been purposely selected.

• Ojola! I wish I could, would to Allah it were so!
• Si Dios quiere, if God pleases. The Inch allah! of the Moors.
• Valgame Dios, God bless me.
• Ave Maria purisima, a form of admiration.
• Sabe Dios, quien sabe? God knows, who can tell?
• No se sabe, nobody knows, that depends.
• Muy bien, very well.
• Segun y conforme, just as it may turn out.
• Corriente, all's right, certainly.
• Es regular que si, I should suppose so.
• No hay inconveniente, it is quite convenient.
• Está dos leguas mas alla, it is two leagues further on.
• Me han dicho que era mas aca, they told me that it was two leagues nearer on this side.{135}
• En el dia de hoy, now-a-days.
• Lo hago por amor de V^md., I do it for your sake.
• Es casa de mucho aseo, it is a very comfortable house.
• Me armó una trama, he laid a trap for me.
• Con mucho descoco y descaro, with a regular brazen face.
• Vaya V^md. mucho en mala hora, ill luck betide you (an oath).
• Ya se ve, mas claro, certainly, quite clear.
• Cabal, no cabe duda, exactly, there can be no doubt.
• Es verdad, tiene V^md. razon, it is true, you are right.
• Por supuesto, of course.
• Me lo presumo, me lo figuro, I presume so, I conclude so.
• Sin embargo, a pesar de eso, nevertheless, in spite of.
• Que buena moza! what a pretty girl!
• Muy guapa, muy guapita, very nice, uncommonly nice.
• Me lo dijó un tal, Don Fulano, so and so told me, Mr. What-d'ye-call him. Fulan is pure Arabic.
• Perdone, V^md., dispense V^md., excuse me, forgive me.
• Disimule V^md., pardon me.
• Eso no puede ser de ningun modo, that cannot be on any account.
• Eso no era en mi año, it was not in my year, it did not happen in my time.
• Y no era mi daño, I have no right to complain.
• Pues, señores, and so, sirs, as I was saying.
• Con que luego, and so then.
• De botones adentro, inside outside.
• Me viene como anillo al dedo, it suits me like a ring does a finger.
• Que se aguante, hasta el jueves, let him wait (till Thursday).
• Sabe muy bien guisar, he is a capital cook.
• Muy hinchada, que tono se da! very proud, what airs she gives herself!
• No me da la gana, I don't choose, I am not in the humour.
• Ya está hecha la diligencia, the commission or thing is already done.
• Que disparate! what nonsense!
• Hombre de bien, a good, an honest fellow.
• Tunante y embustero, a good-for-nothing liar.
• Picaro, picara, rogue (may be used playfully).
• Buena alhaja, buena prenda es V^md., you are a pretty jewel.
• Calavera, atolondrado, empty noddle (scull).
• Muy ordinario, very bad style.
• No vale nada, it is worth nothing.{136}
• Me quiere mucho, he is very fond of me.
• Le mande a un recado, I sent him a message.
• Una esquela, una esquelita, a note, a billet.
• A medio pelo, half-seas over.
• Vamos á las tiendas, let us go shopping.
• Vamos, vamonos á la calle, let us go out (literally, into the street).
• Que lastima! what a pity!
• Me da lastima, I am very sorry.
• Me da tanto coraje, it puts me in such a rage.
• Ne me quemes la sangre, don't vex me (burn my blood).
• Me hace volver loco, he drives me mad.
• Vengo sofocado, I am suffocated with rage.
• Quedarse fresco, Llevar chasco, to be done.
• Ah que me burlas, ah, you are joking at me.
• Lo dice en broma, he says it in jest.
• Corazon de cuartel, a heart as roomy as a barrack.
• No como pan de valde, I don't eat my bread gratis.
• No compro nada de gangas, I buy nothing a bargain.
• Le pone el pie en el pescuezo, she henpecks him.
• Tengo mi angel de guarda, I have my guardian angel.
• Tengo bula para todo, I have a bull for everything (I am a privileged person).
• Tiene el diablo en el cuerpo, he has the devil in him.
• Que mas le da a V^md.? what is that to you?
• No le hace, it does not signify.
• No por los lindos ojos de V^md., not for the sake of your good looks (eyes).
• Recelo que lo tomen a mal, I am afraid they may take it amiss.
• Una cosa de tres semanas, about three weeks.
• Mande V^md. con toda franqueza, command me quite freely.
• Echaremos un paseito, let us take a walk.
• Tenga V^md. cuidado, take care.
• No tenga V^md. miedo, cuidado, don't be afraid, don't mind.
• Aqui estoy yo, I am here.
• No lo reparé, I paid no attention to it.
• He leido una porcion de ellas, I have read some of them.
• Pondré tierra por medio, I shall be off (put earth between).
• Hace mucho papel, he makes a great show.
• Salió a las tablas, went on the stage (boards).
• Echaremos un cigarillo, let us make a cigar.
• No fumo, no gasto cigarros, I do not smoke, I never use cigars.
• Fuego, candela, light (to light cigars).{137}
• Que tonto eres! how silly you are!
• Me volvió la hoja, he changed the subject, turned over another leaf.
• Dice sandezes, he talks nonsense.
• Sabe mucho, he is a clever fellow.
• Sabe un punto mas que el diablo, he knows a trick more than the devil.
• Cachaza, hay tiempo, patience, there's plenty of time.
• No corre priesa, there is no hurry.
• Conque se marcha V^md. de veras? so you are really going?
• Es preciso, no hay remedio, it must be, there's no help.
• Hola! Señor Don José, que tal? Hollo! Mr. Joseph, what news?
• Se dice en el pueblo, they say in the town.
• Mentiras, no lo creo, fibs, I don't believe it.
• Que chismografia! what tittle-tattle!
• Mala lengua tiene Conchita, little Concha has a wicked tongue.
• No te metas en eso, have nothing to do with it.
• Que caidas tiene! how droll he is!
• Que ocurrencias! how witty!
• Eso va largo, that's a long affair.
• Por lo que toca á mi, as far as depends on me.
• Que cara tan risueña! what a cheerful countenance!
• Tiene V^md. buena cara, you are looking very well.
• Que compuesta estás! how well dressed you are!
• Venida en batea, you seem to come in a waiter (out of a bandbox).
• Hija de mi alma, de mis ojos, de mi corazon, daughter of my soul, of my eyes, of my heart.
• Calle V^md. hombre! hold your tongue, sir!
• Calle V^md. muger! hold your tongue, madam!
• Que le parece á V^md.? what do you think of it?
• De me V^md. el pico de la cuenta, give me the change of my bill.
• Estoy muy de priesa, I am in a great hurry.
• Esto no acaecerá otra vez, it shall not happen another time.
• Que enfado, que pesadez—que molestia, que majaderia! what a bore, what a nuisance!
• Diga V^md., mire V^md., tell me, look here.
• Tenga V^md. la bondad de decirme, be so good as to tell me.
• Hagame V^md. el favor, do me the favour.
• Guste a V^md. decirme, pray please to tell me.
• Acaeció en el tiempo del rey Wamba, it happened in the time of Wamba.
• No me pasa el pellejo, it does not wet through my skin.{138}
• Tomar el aire, el fresco, to take an airing.
• Jesus! que calor hace! how hot it is!
• Vengo molido, hecho pedazos, I am knocked all to pieces.
• Manos blancas no ofenden, white hands (the fair sex) never hurt.
• Conque me marcho, so I must go now.
• Vaya V^md. con Dios, well, God bless you.
• Quede V^md. con Dios, may you remain with God.
• A los pies de la señora, my respects to your wife.
• Agour, good bye; pronounced abour.
• Muchas memorias, remember me to all.
• Adios, adieu.
• Expressiones, say everything civil from me.
• Hasta la vista, Hasta despues, au revoir.

19. THE GEOGRAPHY OF SPAIN.

From Spain being the most southern country in Europe, it is very natural that those who have never been there should imagine the climate to be as delicious as that of Italy or of Greece: this is far from being the fact; some of the sea coasts and sheltered plains in the S. and E. provinces are warm in winter, and exposed to an almost African sun in summer, but the N. and W. districts are damp and rainy, while the interior is either cold and cheerless, or sunburnt and wind-blown; winters have occurred at Madrid of such severity that sentinels have been frozen to death, and frequently all communication is suspended by the depth of the snow in the elevated roads of the Castiles. All, therefore, who are about to travel through the Peninsula, are particularly cautioned to consider well their line of route beforehand; by referring to our skeleton tours, they may select certain portions, to be visited at certain seasons, and thus avoid every local disadvantage.

One glance at a map of Europe will convey a clearer notion of the relative position of Spain in regard to other countries than pages of letter-press: this is an advantage which every school-boy possesses over the Plinys and Strabos of antiquity; the ancients were content to compare the shape of the Peninsula to that of a bull's hide, nor was the comparison ill chosen in some respects. Referring for geographical details to the maps which accompany these volumes, it will suffice to say that this country is placed between the latitudes 36° 57´ and 43° 40´ north, and{139} extends from longitude 9° 13´ west to 30° 15´ east; the most northern point is Cape Ortegal, and the most southern, Tarifa; it is bounded to the north by France and the Bay of Biscay; to the east, by the Mediterranean; to the south, by the Mediterranean and the Atlantic; and to the west, by the Atlantic; the extreme length has been calculated at about 200 leagues of twenty to the degree, and the greatest breadth at somewhat less than 200; the whole superficies, including Portugal, is stated to contain upwards of 19,000 square leagues, of which somewhat more than 15,500 belong to Spain; it is thus almost twice as large as the British Islands, and only one-tenth smaller than France; the circumference or coast-line is estimated at 750 leagues. This compact and isolated territory, inhabited by a fine, hardy, warlike population, ought, therefore, to have rivalled France in military power, while its position between those two great seas which command the commerce of the old and new world, its indented line of coast, abounding in bays and harbours, offered every advantage of vying with England in maritime enterprise. Nature has provided commensurate outlets for the infinite productions of a country which is rich alike in everything that is to be found either on the face or in the bowels of the earth; the mines and quarries abound with precious metals and marbles, from gold to iron, from the agate to coal; fertile soil and every possible variety of climate admit of unlimited cultivation of the natural productions of the temperate or tropical zones: thus in the province of Granada the sugar-cane and cotton-tree luxuriate at the base of ranges which are covered with eternal snow. It has, indeed, required the utmost ingenuity and bad government of man to neutralise the prodigality of advantages which Providence has lavished on this highly favoured land, and which, while under the dominion of the Romans and Moors, resembled an Eden, a garden of plenty and delight, as in the days of Solinus (xxvi.), when there was "nihil otiosum, nihil sterile in Hispaniâ." A sad change has come over this fair vision, and now the bulk of the Peninsula offers a picture of neglect and desolation, moral and physical, which it is painful to contemplate: the face of nature and the mind of man have too often been dwarfed and curtailed of their fair proportions; they have either been neglected and their inherent fertility allowed to run into luxuriant weeds and vice, or their energies have been misdirected, and a capability of all good converted into an element equally powerful of evil.

The geological construction of Spain is very peculiar, and unlike {140}that of most other countries: it is almost one mountain or agglomeration of mountains; it rises on every side from the sea, and the central portions are higher than any other table-lands in Europe, ranging on an average from two to three thousand feet above the level of the sea, while from this elevated plain chains of mountains rise again to a still greater height. Madrid, which stands on this central plateau, is situated about 2000 feet above the level of Naples, which lies in the same latitude; the mean temperature of the former is 59°, while that of the latter is 63° 30´; it is to this difference of elevation that the extraordinary difference of climate and vegetable productions between the two capitals is to be ascribed. Fruits which flourish on the coasts of Provence and Genoa, which lie four degrees more to the north than any portion of Spain, are rarely to be met with in the elevated interior of the Peninsula: on the other hand, the low and sunny maritime belts abound with productions of a tropical vegetation. The mountainous character and general aspect of the coast are nearly analogous throughout the circuit which extends from the Basque Provinces to Cape Finisterre; and offer a remarkable contrast to those sunny alluvial plains which extend, more or less, from Cadiz to Barcelona, and which closely resemble each other in vegetable productions, such as the fig, orange, pomegranate, aloe, and carob tree, which grow everywhere in profusion, except in those parts where the mountains come down abruptly into the sea itself. Again, the central table-lands, las Parameras, Tierras de campo, y Secanos, closely resemble each other in their monotonous denuded aspect, in their scarcity of fruit and timber, and their abundance of cereal productions.

Spanish geographers have divided the Peninsula into seven distinct chains of mountains. These commence with the Pyrenees and end with the Bœtican or Andalucian ranges; these cordilleras arise on each side of intervening plains, which once formed the basins of internal lakes, until the accumulated waters, by bursting through the obstructions by which they were dammed up, found a passage to the ocean: the dip or inclination of the country lies from the east towards the west, and, accordingly, the chief rivers which form the drains of the great leading channels between the principal water-sheds flow into the Atlantic: their courses, like the basins through which they pass, lie in a transversal and almost a parallel direction; thus the Duero, the Tagus, the Guadiana, and the Guadalquivir, all flow into their recipient between their distinct chains of mountains. The sources of the supply to these leading arteries arise in the longitudinal range of elevations which descends all through the Peninsula, approach{141}ing rather to the eastern than to the western coast, whereby a considerably greater length is obtained by each of these four rivers, when compared to the Ebro, which disembogues in the Mediterranean.

The Moorish geographer Alrasi was the first to take difference of climate as the rule of dividing the Peninsula into distinct portions. The French, carrying out this idea, have drawn an imaginary line, which runs north-east to south-west, from Solsona, Zaragoza, Soria, Avila, to the Sierras of Gata and Estrella down to the Cabo de Roca—thus separating the Peninsula into the northern, or the boreal and temperate, and the southern or the torrid; nor is this division altogether fanciful. Our accurate friend, Captain Cook (now Widdrington), working out these hints, has divided Spain into three portions, which blend and amalgamate with each other; other authors have preferred four divisions; all, however, are guided by the same principle. The first or northern zone is the Cantabrian, the European; this portion skirts the base of the Pyrenees, and includes portions of Catalonia, Arragon, and Navarre, the Basque provinces, the Asturias, and Gallicia. This is the region of humidity; the winters are long, and the springs and autumns rainy. It should only be visited in the summer. It is a country of hill and dale; it is intersected by numerous streams, which abound in fish, and which irrigate rich meadows for pasture. The valleys form the now improving dairy country of Spain, while the mountains furnish the most valuable and available timber of the Peninsula. In some parts corn will scarcely ripen, while in others, in addition to the cerealia, cider and an ordinary wine are produced. It is inhabited by a hardy, independent, and rarely subdued population. The mountainous country offers natural means of defence to brave highlanders. It is useless to attempt the conquest with a small army, while a large one would find no means of support in the hungry localities. The second zone is the Iberian or eastern, which, in its maritime portions, is more Asiatic than European, and where the lower classes partake of the Greek and Carthaginian character, being false, cruel, and treacherous, yet lively, ingenious, and fond of pleasure; this portion commences at Burgos, and is continued through the Sierras of Albarracin and Segura to the Cabo de Gata. It thus includes the southern portion of Catalonia and Arragon, with parts of Castile, Valencia, and Murcia. The sea-coasts should be visited in the spring and autumn, when they are delicious. They are intensely hot in the summer, and infested with myriads of moskitoes. The districts about Burgos are among{142} the coldest in Spain; they have little at any time to attract the traveller, who will do well to avoid them except during the summer months. The population is grave, sober, and Castilian. The elevation is very considerable. Thus the upper valley of the Miño and some of the north-western portions of Old Castile and Leon are placed about 6000 feet above the level of the sea, and the frosts often last for three months at a time.

The third zone is the Lusitanian, or western, which is by far the largest, and includes the central parts of Spain and all Portugal. The interior of this portion, and especially the provinces of the two Castiles and La Mancha, both in the physical condition of the soil and the moral qualities of the inhabitants, presents a very unfavourable view of the Peninsula: these inland steppes are burnt up by summer suns, tempest and wind-rent during winter. The common absence of trees exposes these wide unprotected plains to the rage and violence of the elements; poverty-stricken mud houses, scattered here and there in the desolate extent, afford a wretched home to a poor, proud and ignorant population. These localities, which offer in themselves neither pleasure nor profit to the stranger, contain many sites and cities of the highest interest. New Castile is the sovereign province, and besides the capital Madrid, contains Toledo, the Escorial, Segovia, Aranjuez, Avila, Cuenca, which none who wish to understand Spain can possibly pass by unnoticed. The base of operations of course will be Madrid.

The best periods for this portion of Spain are May and June, or September and October. The more western districts of this Lusitanian zone are not so disagreeable; the ilex and chesnut abound, the rich plains produce vast harvests of corn, and the vineyards powerful red wines. The whole central table-land occupies about 93,000 square miles, and forms nearly one-half of the entire area of the Peninsula. The peculiarity of the climate is its dryness; it is not, however, unhealthy, being free from the agues and fevers which are prevalent in the lower plains, river-swamps, and rice-grounds of parts of Valencia and Andalucia. "Rain is comparatively scarce on this table-land: it is stated that the annual quantity on an average does not amount to more than ten inches. The least quantity falls in the mountain regions near Guadalupe, and on the high plains of Cuenca and Murcia, where sometimes eight or nine months pass without a drop falling." The occasional thunder-storms do but just lay the dust, since here moisture dries up quicker even than woman's tears. The face of the earth is tanned. It is wonderful how the principle of life in the green herb is{143} preserved; everything seems scorched and dead; yet when once the rains set in, vegetation springs up, phœnix-like, from the ashes, and bursts forth in gigantic luxuriance and life, carpeting the desert with verdure, gladdening the eye with flowers, and intoxicating the senses with perfume. The periods of rains are the winter and spring, and when these are plentiful, all kinds of grain, and in many places wines, are produced in abundance. The olive, however, is only to be met with in a few favoured localities.

The fourth zone is the Bœtican, which is the most southern and African; it coasts the Mediterranean, basking at the foot of the mountains which rise behind and form the mass of the Peninsula; this mural barrier offers a sure protection against the cold winds which sweep across the central region. Nothing can be more striking than the descent from the table elevations into these maritime strips; in a few hours the face of nature is completely changed, and the traveller passes from the climate and vegetation of Europe into that of Africa. This region is characterised by a dry burning atmosphere during a large part of the year. The winters are short and temperate, the springs and autumns delightful beyond all conception. Much of the cultivation depends on artificial irrigation, which was carried by the Moors to the highest perfection: indeed water, under this forcing, vivifying sun, is synonymous with fertility; the productions are tropical: sugar, cotton, rice; the orange, lemon, and date. Capt. Widdrington considers the algarrobo, the carob tree, and the adelfa, the oleander, as forming boundary marks between this the tierra caliente, and the colder regions by which it is encompassed.

Such are the geographical divisions of nature with which the vegetable and animal productions are closely connected. This Bœtican zone, Andalucia, which contains in itself many of the most interesting cities, sites, and natural beauties of the Peninsula, will always take precedence in any plan of the traveller. Andalucia includes Cadiz, Gibraltar, Ronda, Malaga, the Alpujarras, Granada, Cordova, Seville, Xerez; and each of these points has its own peculiar attractions. These embrace a wide range of varied scenery and objects, which it will be our duty to point out, at a greater length than some other provinces of Spain, which are less visited, and which in truth hold out fewer temptations, in comparison to the more than counterbalancing distances and discomforts, which deter the majority of travellers. Andalucia, easy of access, may be gone over almost at every portion of the year. The winters may be spent at Cadiz, Seville, or Malaga, the sum{144}mers in the cool mountains of Ronda, Aracena, or Granada. April, May, and June, or September, October, and November, are, however, the most preferable. Those who go in the spring should reserve June for the mountains; those who go in the autumn should reverse the plan, and commence with Ronda and Granada, ending with Seville and Cadiz.

Spain, it has thus been shown, is one mountain, or rather a jumble of mountains, for the principal and secondary ranges are all, more or less, connected with each other. They descend in a serpentising direction throughout the Peninsula, with a general inclination to the west. The Pyrenees extend from the Cape Creux to that of Finisterre; an offshoot branches away near Lugo, into a minor chain, which terminates at the sea near the Miño; another ramification passes on from Pajares to Astorga, and winds by the Sierra de Culebra, along the confines of Portugal, towards the Tagus, extending westward in the direction of Coimbra, eastward towards Avila, and south-eastward towards Guadalupe and Toledo. The Avila branch, connecting itself with the Guadarrama, joins the nucleus from the Pyrenean trunk, which descending from Pancorvo connects Moncayo and Albarracin with Valencia, running southwards to Segura, where it inosculates with the Sierra Morena, and terminates at Cape St. Vincent. It casts off in its course a lateral chain, which diverges down to Gibraltar, dividing the basins of Jaen and Seville from those of Granada. A second and more southern branch isolates the plain of Granada, and connects the Alpujarras or the snowy range, La Sierra Nevada. This extends to the sea eastwards at Cabo de Gata, and joins, near Alhama and Loja, the Ronda chain, which terminates at Gibraltar. Nature, by thus dislocating the country, seems to have suggested localism and isolation to the inhabitants, who each in their valleys and districts are walled off from their neighbours.

The internal communication of the Peninsula, which is thus divided by the mountain-walls of the Cordilleras, or chains, is effected by roads, which are carried over the most convenient points, where the natural dips are the lowest, and the ascents and descents the most practicable. These passes are called Puertos—portæ—mountain-gates; the precise ghaut of the Hindoos. As a general rule, the traveller should always pass the mountains by one of these grand puertos. There are, indeed, mule-tracks and goat-paths over other and intermediate portions of the chain, but they are difficult and dangerous, and seldom provided with ventas or villages: the farthest and fairest way about will always be found the best and shortest road.{145}

The term Sierra, which is commonly applied to these serrated ranges, has been derived from the Spanish sierra, a saw; while others refer it to the Arabic Sehrah, an uncultivated tract. Montaña means a mountain; Cerro, Arabicè Cehro, a hog-backed hill; pico, picacho, a pointed height. Una Cuesta, a much-used expression, means both an ascent and a descent. Cuesta arriba, cuesta abajo, up hill, down hill. There are few of the singular-shaped hills which have not some local name, such as Cabeza del Moro, the Moor's head; or something connected with religion, such as San Cristobal, el Fraile, &c.

There are six great rivers in Spain,—the arteries which run between the seven mountain chains, the vertebræ of the geological skeleton. These six water-sheds are each intersected in their extent by others on a minor scale, by valleys and indentations, in each of which runs its own stream. Thus the rains and melted snows are all collected in an infinity of ramifications, and carried by these tributary conduits into one of the six main trunks, or great rivers: all these, with the exception of the Ebro, empty themselves into the Atlantic. The Duero and Tagus, unfortunately for Spain, disembogue in Portugal, thus becoming a portion of a foreign domination exactly where their commercial importance is the greatest. Philip II. saw the true value of the possession of Portugal, which rounded and consolidated Spain, and insured to her the possession of these valuable outlets of internal produce, and inlets for external commerce. Portugal annexed to Spain gave more real power to his throne than the dominion of entire continents across the Atlantic. The Miño, which is the shortest of these rivers, runs through a bosom of fertility. The Tajo, Tagus, which the fancy of poets has sanded with gold and embanked with roses, tracks much of its dreary way through rocks and comparative barrenness. The Guadiana creeps through lonely Estremadura, infecting the low plains with miasma. The Guadalquivir eats out its deep banks amid the sunny olive-clad regions of Andalucia, as the Ebro divides the levels of Arragon. Spain abounds with brackish streams, Salados, and with salt-mines, or saline deposits, after the evaporation of the sea-waters. The central soil is strongly impregnated with saltpetre: always arid, it every day is becoming more so, from the singular antipathy which the inhabitants of the interior have against trees. There is nothing to check the power of evaporation, no shelter to protect or preserve moisture. The soil becomes more and more baked and calcined; in some parts it has almost ceased to be available for cultivation: another serious evil, which arises from want of{146} plantations, is, that the slopes of hills are everywhere liable to constant denudation of soil after heavy rain. There is nothing to break the descent of the water; hence the naked, barren stone summits of many of the sierras, which have been pared and peeled of every particle capable of nourishing vegetation: they are skeletons where life is extinct. Not only is the soil thus lost, but the detritus washed down either forms bars at the mouths of rivers, or chokes up and raises their beds; they are thus rendered liable to overflow their banks, and convert the adjoining plains into pestilential swamps. The supply of water, which is afforded by periodical rains, and which ought to support the reservoirs of rivers, is carried off at once in violent floods, rather than in a gentle gradual disembocation. The volume in the principal rivers of Spain has diminished, and is diminishing. Rivers which once were navigable are so no longer; the artificial canals which were to have been substituted remain unfinished: the progress of deterioration advances, while little is done to counteract or amend what every year must render more difficult and expensive, while the means of repair and correction will diminish in equal proportion, from the poverty occasioned by the evil, and by the fearful extent which it will be allowed to attain. The rivers which are really adapted to navigation are, however, only those which are perpetually fed by those tributary streams that flow down from mountains which are covered with snow all the year, and these are not many. The majority of Spanish rivers are very scanty of water during the summer time, and very rapid in their flow when filled by rains or melting snow: during these periods they are impracticable for boats. They are, moreover, much exhausted by being drained off, sangrado, bled, for the purposes of artificial irrigation. The scarcity of rain in the central table-lands is much against a regular supply of water to the springs of the rivers: the water is soon sucked up by a parched, dusty, and thirsty soil, or evaporated by the dryness of the atmosphere. Many of the sierras are indeed covered with snow, but to no great depth, and the coating soon melts under the summer suns, and passes rapidly away.

These geographical peculiarities of Spain, and particularly the existence of the great central elevation, when once attained are apt to be forgotten. The country rises from the coast, directly in the north-western provinces, and with an intervening alluvial strip, and swell in some of the southern and eastern: but when once the ascent is accomplished, no real descent ever takes place—we are then on the summit of a vast elevated mass. The roads{147} indeed apparently ascend and descend, but the mean height is seldom diminished: the interior hills or plains are undulations of one mountain. The traveller is often deceived at the apparent low height of snow-clad ranges, such as the Guadarrama; this will be accounted for by adding the great elevation of their bases above the level of the sea. The palace of the Escorial, which is placed at the foot of the Guadarrama, and at the head of a seeming plain, stands in reality at 2,725 feet above Valencia, while the summer residence of the king at La Granja, in the same chain, is thirty feet higher than the summit of Vesuvius. This, indeed, is a castle in the air—a château en Espagne, and worthy of the most German potentate to whom that element belongs. The mean temperature on the plateau of Spain is as 15° Reamr., while that of the coast is as 18° and 19°, in addition to the protection from cutting winds which their mountainous backgrounds afford; nor is the traveller less deceived as regards the heights of the interior mountains than he is with the champaigns, or table-land plains. The eye wanders over a vast level extent bounded only by the horizon, or a faint blue line of other distant sierras; this space, which appears one townless level, is intersected with deep ravines, barrancos, in which villages lie concealed, and streams, arroyos, flow unperceived. Another important effect of this central elevation is the searching dryness and rarefication of the air. It is often highly prejudicial to strangers; the least exposure, which is very tempting under a burning sun, will often bring on ophthalmia, irritable colics, and inflammatory diseases of the lungs and vital organs. Such are the causes of the pulmonia, which carries off the invalid in a few days, and is the disease of Madrid. The frozen blasts descending from the snow-clad Guadarrama catch the incautious passenger at the turning of streets which are roasting under a fierce sun.

Such are the geographical, geological, and natural divisions of the Peninsula, throughout which a leading prevailing principle may be traced. The artificial, political, and conventional arrangement into kingdoms and provinces is entirely the work of accident and absence of design; indeed, one who only looked at the map might sometimes fancy that some of the partitions were expressly devised for the sake of being purposely inconvenient and incongruous.

These provincial divisions were however formed by the gradual union of many smaller and previously independent portions, which have been taken into Spain as a whole, just as our incon{148}venient counties constitute the kingdom of England. Long habit has reconciled the inhabitants to these divisions, and they now suit them infinitely better than any new arrangement, however better calculated, according to statistical and geographical principles.

The French, during their intrusive rule, were struck with this apparent irregularity, and introduced their own system of départements, by which districts were neatly squared out and people re-arranged, as if Spain were a chess-board and Spaniards mere pawns; but however specious in theory, it was no easy matter to remodel ancient demarcations, or to re-combine their antipathetic inhabitants. Accordingly, no sooner were Spaniards free again, than they cast off these paper arrangements, and reverted like the Italians, on whom the same experiment was tried, to their own pre-existing divisions, which however defective in theory, and unsightly and inconvenient on the map, had from long habit been found practically to suit better. Recently, in spite of this experience, among other reforms and innovations, the Peninsula has been re-divided: but it will be long before the original deeply impressed divisions, which have grown with the growth, and are engraved on the retentive memories of the people, are effaced and a fusion completed.

The political divisions in former times consisted of fourteen large provinces, some of which were called kingdoms, as Granada, Seville, Jaen, Murcia, Valencia, &c.; others principalities, like Asturias; others counties, like Barcelona, Niebla, &c.; and lastly, others were called provinces, like New and Old Castile, Estremadura, &c.; Biscay was termed el Señorio. Spain, by the decree November 30, 1833, is now divided into forty-nine provinces; viz.—Alava, Albacete, Alicante, Almeria, Avila, Badajoz, las Baleares, Barcelona, Burgos, Caceres, Cadiz, las Canarias, Castellon de la Plana, Ciudad Real, Cordoba, la Coruña, Cuenca, Gerona, Granada, Guadalajara, Guipuzcoa, Huelva, Huesca, Jaen, Leon, Lérida, Logroño, Lugo, Madrid, Malaga, Murcia, Navarra, Orense, Oviedo, Palencia, Pontevedra, Salamanca, Santander, Segovia, Sevilla, Soria, Tarragona, Teruel, Toledo, Valencia, Valladolid, Viscaya, Zamora, Zaragoza. The article on Spain in the 'Penny Cyclopædia' by our learned friend Don Pascual Gayangos is excellent.

It may, however, be useful, until these new sub-divisions are become generally familiar, to furnish an account of those which prevailed before; we copy some particulars from the work of{149} Paez, who has adopted Antillon as his model. These authors[25] are considered to be deserving of credit in their geographical and statistical details; their works are otherwise duller than the high roads of Castile, and never freshened by a single sideway rivulet, nor gladdened by a stray flower, but "dry as the remainder of the biscuit after a voyage."

GENERAL TABLE.

The two last columns must be taken only as approximations; nothing is more difficult to ascertain than the exact number of the population of any country. The people at large consider any attempt to number them as boding no good; they have a well-grounded apprehension of ulterior objects, and dread an increase of taxation and of recruitment. To "number the people," was a crime in the East; and many moral and practical difficulties exist in arriving at a true census of Spain. Thus while some writers on statistics hope to flatter the powers that be, by a glowing exaggeration of national strength, "to boast of which," says the Duke, "is the national weakness," the suspicious many, on the other hand, are disposed to conceal and diminish the truth. The traveller therefore should be always on his guard when he hears accounts of the past or present population, commerce, or revenue of Spain. The better classes will magnify them both, for the credit of their country; the poorer, on the other hand, will appeal ad misericordiam, by representing matters as even worse than they really are. They never afford any opening, however indirect,{151} to information which may lead to poll-taxes and conscriptions. The population and the revenue have generally been exaggerated, and all statements may be much discounted. The present population may be reckoned, at rough calculation, at about 10,000,000 or 11,000,000, with a slow tendency to increase; the present revenue may be taken at about 12,000,000l. or 13,000,000l. sterling: but it is badly collected, and at a ruinous per centage, and at no time during the last century has been sufficient for the national expenses. Recourse has been had to the desperate experiments of usurious loans and wholesale confiscations; this system necessarily cannot last. Since the reign of Philip II. every act of dishonesty has been perpetrated. Public securities have been "repudiated," interest unpaid, and principal spunged out. No country in the Old World stands lower in financial discredit; and whatever be the line of the traveller who reads these pages, let him beware how he embarks in Spanish speculations: however promising in the prospectus, they will, sooner or later, turn out to be deceptions; and, whether they assume the form of loans, rails, waters, or lands, none are real securities: they are mere castles in the air, châteaux en Espagne: "The earth has bubbles as the water has, and these are of them."

20. SKELETON TOURS.

Another division of the Peninsula might easily be constructed in addition to those preceding, which are based on differences of geology or of climate. The country might be portioned off morally, into districts containing peculiar antiquarian and artistical interests: for instance, as regards the past, into the Roman, the Moorish, the Gotho-Spaniard, and into the modern periods. The evidences of these distinct epochs will be found to run in certain strata, and to accord with the residence, more or less lengthened, of those different nations, who have left behind them indelible impressions of their character. Thus, those who wish to study Roman antiquities should follow the waving line of route which connects Seville with Valencia and Catalonia. See No. 5. This tract will include all the finest aqueducts, bridges, arches, amphitheatres, temples, and other monuments of Roman construction; then Andalucia is the best province wherein to understand the Moors,{152} whose delicate filigree elegance stands in remarkable contrast with the majestic solidity of the Romans. A line, No. 6, will comprehend the most interesting specimens of their palaces, mosques, castles, and systems of irrigation. The fashions of the Moors did not change, nor is there any very great difference between those of their works which were constructed in the ninth century and those in the fifteenth. Any single specimen once seen in perfection, is a type to which all others, in all other parts of Spain, are closely analogous. Andalucia, from the first to the last, was the cherished province of the Moors, who felt at home in its African peculiarities. There they lavished their greatest magnificence. In the other portions of Spain they were much sooner dispossessed, and their mosques were pulled down, and their edifices adapted to Christian and Gotho-Spanish habits. Granada, which was conquered the last, suffered little from positive and intentional destruction. The triumph was then certain, and the bitterness of a doubtful contest had passed away.

The amateur of Gothic or pointed architecture, especially as applied to ecclesiastical buildings, must visit the north-western provinces, which, being the first to be wrested from the Moors, contain the earliest specimens of that style of construction, of which the Peninsula is a mine of almost unknown wealth, commencing from the Obras de Los Godos of the eighth century; while Germany, Normandy, and England have been ransacked, few antiquarians have been aware that Spain is inferior to neither, in the number or magnificence of her Gothic cathedrals, which date from the twelfth to the sixteenth century. And these remain in their unshorn pristine order, in all the symmetry and arrangement for which they were originally intended. No reformation as in England, no revolution as in France, has ever deprived them of their best religious ornaments, or converted them to base purposes. Their shrines have not been stripped, nor their storied windows smashed by iconoclastic Dowsings. Neither have all sacred paintings been transferred from the altar to the museum, nor their monumental sculpture knocked to pieces. The confiscation and the appropriation of church property has latterly dried up the sources by which these ancient fabrics were maintained in decorous repair. The expenses were enormous; and, the means withdrawn, they must sink into decay, slowly indeed, for the progress will be somewhat retarded by the dry climate of Spain, which is far more conservative than our fatal moisture. But ruin eventually would have awaited them under a system which{153} wished to deal heavy blows to the establishment.

The best line of route for those who wish to study the Spanish Gothic will be to commence at La Coruña, taking Santiago, Oviedo, and Leon, and descending to Salamanca, Segovia, Avila, and Toledo, and thence through Valladolid to Burgos; at the same time, as this style of architecture prevailed down to the 16th century, and subsequently to the final conquest of the Moors, Gothic cathedrals are to be found in almost every principal city of Spain, and none can, for instance, rival that of Seville, which is a perfect museum of the fine arts. Arragon and Catalonia abound in specimens of peculiar solemnity and solidity. Nor in cathedrals alone is Spain remarkable for her Gothic architecture. Many of her ancient palaces, castles, her town-houses and convents, are second only to the metropolitan churches. These, however, are infinitely less well preserved. War, foreign and civil, has laid them waste, while the recent changes have signed the doom of some of those which escaped the invader. Many buildings, which, in an artistical point of view, deserved to have been walled round and preserved as models for posterity, and which were only gutted by the armed enemy, have since been pulled down, while those which have not been levelled have been degraded into barracks, manufactories, and even prisons: thus, indeed, turning the house of God into a den of thieves. Indeed, to destroy has been the national business ever since 1836. The noblest monuments of art and piety have been vandalized, and in many instances taken down to be sold for the paltry value of the materials. The reforming Exaltado has followed in the path of the French revolutionist, the great architect of ruin. Speculators, like the bande noire, purchased the edifices of religion, partly on the John Knox principle of "pulling down the rooks' nests," but still more to put money in their own purses. The havoc in the Castiles and Arragon has been frightful: and now, when it is almost too late, a remedy is attempted, a true socorro de España, which, tarde o nunca, only begins to shut the door when the steed has been stolen; a "commission of conservation," or Junta de conservacion de monumentos artisticos y antigüedades, has been appointed. No convent, chapel, or object of art and antiquity can now be sold or destroyed, without permission being first obtained from these inspectors: and as one member is our friend Carderera, in whose portfolios now exist the only memorials of many a chef-d'œuvre of antiquity, possibly the hand of some barbarians be arrested: yet all who know the do-nothing system of{154} every Spanish Junta, and the facility with which a bribe and empeño manages every thing, must tremble for the remnant of what invasions and revolutions have spared.

The fine arts naturally form a most important item in what to observe. In Numbers 11, 12, and 16 of our subsequent Skeleton Tours, the best lines are laid down for investigating the sculpture, painting, and architecture of Spain, which are all exponents of the peculiar national mind and character; they are idiosyncratic, and differ essentially from those of other nations: thus far beyond the Pyrenees lie mighty works of great men, whose names are scarcely known to our countrymen—planets whose light has yet to reach our distant hemisphere.

To make a GRAND or GENERAL TOUR of Spain would be a work of much time and difficulty. The square form of the country and the central position of the capital offer many obstacles; all the lines of great roads are commenced at Madrid, and terminate at the chief sea-ports; the different extremities are sufficiently accessible from the capital, but by no means so as regards each other: for instance, a traveller will find an excellent road from Madrid either to La Coruña or to Oviedo; but should he wish to proceed in a carriage from La Coruña or Lugo, to Leon or Oviedo, he would be obliged to retrace his steps at least to Astorga, where there is an indifferent cross road to Leon, and then ascend again to Oviedo; the communications between Seville and Granada, between Granada and Murcia, are equally imperfect. The Peninsula may be compared to Seville, Tarifa, or some Moorish city, in which, from the narrowness of the streets, two persons almost neighbours who wish to visit each other en coche are obliged to make a great détour in order to find streets which are wide enough for their vehicles to pass through; so it is with the roads—they were traced before travelling in coaches was in fashion, and when the better classes rode on horseback, and the limited internal commerce was carried on by means of mules and pack-horses: at the same time, and we speak from personal experience, the whole tour of the Peninsula is to be performed by a proper combination of the different modes of getting on which we have before detailed.

The grand tour could scarcely be accomplished under a year and a half; indeed we ourselves devoted three years to the task. The line which perhaps would include the greatest variety of interest, and offer the fewest difficulties, would be to commence at Cadiz in March, devoting April and May to Andalucia, and{155} moving upwards to Madrid about June, either through La Mancha, or, which is far preferable, through Estremadura, by Badajoz and Merida, diverging thence to Alcantara, Coria, and Placencia, and coming down through Avila. July might be devoted to Toledo, Aranjuez, Cuenca, and Madrid; moving upwards by the Escorial and Segovia, the traveller might pass on to Salamanca, and thence by Astorga to Santiago and La Coruña: he might ramble during the hot weather in the hills of Gallicia and the Asturias, descending from Oviedo by Leon, to Valladolid, and thence to Burgos and Vitoria, from whence an excursion might be made to Bilbao and the Basque provinces; he would next pass through Pamplona on to Zaragoza and Barcelona. November and the beginning of December are by no means winter in those charming districts which lie between Valencia and Alicante, where steamers will always be found, which communicate either with Italy viâ Marseilles, or with England viâ Gibraltar. See also No. 1. The fancied dangers are all nonsense.

Those who are pressed for time might run down from Bayonne to Madrid, through Vitoria, Burgos, Valladolid, Segovia, and the Escorial; might visit Toledo, Aranjuez, and Cuenca, and thence on to Valencia and Barcelona, all of which could be easily accomplished in the three summer months; or take Jaca, Zaragoza, Barcelona, Valencia, Madrid, Granada, Malaga, Gibraltar, Ronda, Cordova, Seville, and by Xerez to Cadiz.

Andalucia is still easier both of access and return by means of the weekly communication by steamers with England; from six weeks to two months will suffice to visit this interesting province. The tourist would commence at Cadiz, which, with the neighbourhood, might occupy three or four days; thence he would go on through Xerez to Seville, where ten days will be sufficient, or a fortnight, if an excursion be made to the copper-mines at Rio Tinto, and to those of quicksilver at Almaden. Thence he would continue through Carmona to Cordova, where a day will be enough. He might then proceed either by the high road through Andujar and Jaen to Granada, or ride across the country through Alcalá la Real. A week is ample for Granada, and another may be well bestowed in a ramble into the Alpujarras, visiting the lead-mines at Berja, and making for Motril. Those who proceed directly to Malaga will either ride by Alhama, or take the circuitous carriage road through Colmenar. A couple of days is enough for Malaga. Gibraltar may be reached either by sea or by land, through Monda, in three short days; or, which is far more interesting, by riding to Antequera, Ronda, and Gaucin.{156} This delightful circuit will require from five days to a week; and there is but one Ronda in the whole world, and it alone is worth the sea voyage out to Cadiz and back again. Gibraltar and the neighbourhood may be seen in a few days, and Cadiz regained either by the steamer or by riding over-land through Tarifa and Chiclana.

The grand objects in the Peninsula are Andalucia—Madrid, in which we would include Toledo, Avila, Salamanca, Valladolid, Segovia, the Escorial, Cuenca, and Guadalajara—and then Valencia, in which we would comprehend Tarragona, Zaragoza, Monserrat, and Barcelona. Those who pass from Andalucia to Madrid will find the route through Estremadura to be full of interest, while that of La Mancha, excepting for the ideal charm of Don Quixote, is altogether dreary and tiresome. Estremadura deserves a visit of itself, and those who land at Lisbon might enter Spain at Badajoz. Merida is a second Rome, and contains remains of every sort and kind, and many in admirable preservation. The road to Alcantara and Placencia is practicable only on horse-back; but it leads into the heart of English victories, while Madrid may be reached by passing through Avila and Talavera.

As nothing in life is of more consequence than making a good start, and having a well-defined previous plan of route, the substance of what we have just observed as to the variety of lines of journey will be made clearer by giving the chief towns on each route, which the traveller will easily understand by following them out on the map. The letters annexed signify, S. the existence of steamers, C. of public conveyance, while R. indicates the necessity of riding; and as it often occurs, it will be well to attend to our preliminary directions, p. 77.

No. 1. the grand tour.

Start from England by the Steam-packet about the end of March for Cadiz, and then proceed thus—

No. 2. A TOUR OF THE CREAM OF SPAIN.

No. 3 A SUMMER'S TOUR IN THE NORTH OF SPAIN.

No. 4. A CENTRAL TOUR AROUND MADRID.

No. 5 A ROMAN ANTIQUARIAN TOUR.

No. 6. A MOORISH ANTIQUARIAN TOUR.

No. 7. GEOLOGICAL AND MINERALOGICAL TOUR.

No. 8. A MILITARY AND NAVAL TOUR.

No. 9. AN ARTISTICAL TOUR—THE PICTURESQUE.

The artist should, before leaving England, lay in a stock of materials, such as block-books, liquid water-colours, camel-hair brushes, permanent white, and good lead pencils, hardly any of which are to be procured in Spain (the few there who use water colours, which their painters despise, are still in the dark ages of indian ink;)—N.B. all before using pencil in Spain should read our suggestions, p. 16.

No. 10. SHOOTING AND FISHING TOURS.

The shooting is wild and excellent; where Nature has resumed her rights and clothed the soil with brushwood, where domestic and foreign enemies have destroyed the habitation of man, before whom the wild beasts of the field and birds of the air fly, there is not only excellent lodging for owls in ruined buildings, but first-rate cover for game of every kind, which, left in undisputed possession, thrive in these lonely wastes. The game takes care of itself, and is abundant, less from being preserved than from not being destroyed. There is very little difficulty in procuring leave to shoot in Spain; a licence to carry a gun is required of every native, but it is seldom necessary for an Englishman: the moment a Spaniard gets out of town, licence or no licence, he likes to have a gun, for to go armed is immemorial (see Toledo). The sword and lance, the weapons of the Iberians, which were dearer to them than life itself, continued down to the 17th century to be the national defence: now the gun and knife have replaced them. It is reasonable to suppose that Spaniards, from always having these weapons in their hands, know how to use them; hence the facility with which what is here called an army is got together.

No sporting Englishman should omit bringing his own double-barrel detonator, with a good supply of caps and cut wadding. N.B. Never to fail when at Gibraltar to secure a supply of English gunpowder: it is scarcely to be had in Spain, being prohibited.

Spain was always the land of the rabbit, the coney, conejo, which the Phœnicians saw here for the first time, and hence some have read the origin of the name Hispania, in the Hebrew Sephan, or rabbit. This animal figured on the early coins—cuniculosæ Celtiberiæ, Catullus (xxxv. 18). Large ships freighted with them were regularly sent from Cadiz for the supply of Rome (Strabo, iii. 214). The rabbit is still the favourite shooting of Spaniards, who look invariably to the pot: pheasants are very rare; a bird requiring artificial feeding cannot be expected to thrive in a country where half the population is under-fed: red-legged partridges and hares are most plentiful: the izzard, a sort of chamois, abounds in the Pyrenees. In Andalucia the multitude of bustards and woodcocks is incredible. The river-banks and marshes swarm with aquatic birds and wild fowl of every kind, while inland the caza mayor y menor is equally abundant: the former consists of deer, venados, and wild boars, javalis; the latter of hares, rabbits, quails, red-legged partridges, and a multitude of birds which we have not. These the traveller, who does{162} not shoot, will see in the market-places of the great cities; they deserve the attention of ornithologists: for mere purposes of shooting, we may cite the alcaravan and sison, the small bustard. Andalucia is, as it always was, the land of bustards; the multitudes were remarked by Strabo (iii. 248). They are drawn up in long rows on the plains, and especially near the Guadalquivir. They may be approached by stalking them. The sportsman takes a pasteboard-horse, which is made with the head down, as if grazing; he carries this like a shield on his arm till he gets up, behind it, within shot. They may also be approached in a common cart of the country, the shooter concealing himself till he gets near. The name of the bustard, abutarda, is probably Iberian: the Romans (Plin. 'N.H.' x. 22), catching at sound, not sense, called them aves tardas—quasi, slow birds—which no one who has ever seen them fly or run, as we have, would do. Pliny, however, blundered about the bustard; he confounded this ωτις with the ωτος, the owl. The lower classes of Spaniards do not like eating the bustard.

The Spaniards generally go shooting in very large parties, especially when the object is the caza mayor. This is conducted very much in the manner of driving deer in the Highlands of Scotland. Many are mounted and carry their long spears, garrochas, across their saddles, and when an obstinate boar, javali, breaks into the open country in a contrary direction to the guns, their quickness in riding and in spearing him, after the original type the Indian hog-hunter, is highly exciting and masterly. The intelligence with which these Spanish beaters track and recover a wounded deer, although not quite equal to that of the American Indian, is very little inferior to the best efforts of a skilful Highland forester. Parties remain out on these campaigns for many days in the wild country, and indeed are clad almost as wild as nature: their dress is a jacket of fur or leather, with a profusion of belts, bags, powder-flasks, strapped over the body; the cartridge-belt, cañama, which is fastened round the waist, holds the rabbits, whose heads are tucked under it. This exact furred costume, and the manner of carrying the game, is represented in an ancient statue in the Museo Borbonico at Naples; and so the Egyptians did ages before (Wilk. iii. 47). Very often their thighs are armed with fleeces against the brushwood; which gives them the appearance of satyrs. Fair play, throwing away a shot, or giving a chance, is considered a weakness, for their sporting code is assassin-like, and a good bag is everything. The usual plan of filling it, is to fix on a proper spot, where the{163} shooters are placed at certain distances, and generally concealed. The beaters depart, make a wide circuit, and then drive, as in a net, the whole country up to where the guns are. No Spaniard, unless he can help it, shoots at anything in motion; nor are their rude guns and ammunition much more on the hair-trigger snap-shot principle. Often the sportsman takes up a position after the fashion of a Gil Blas robber or rifleman: having cleared away the underwood in front of his ground, and made a sort of path to entice the driven animals to come out at, he gets his gun to his shoulder beforehand, and stands aiming at a fixed spot, and as soon as the unsuspicious victim creeps out, fires. It is wonderful how well many of them shoot from nice artillery calculation. They know exactly how long their gun will be going off, and make allowances for its tardy motion, by shooting so much in advance of their object, which unconsciously arrives in time to meet the shot. Francisco, one of the royal gamekeepers at the Coto del Rey, near Seville, with whom we have often been out, killed snap-shots at rabbits, firing apparently at nothing but underwood, yet his gun went off thus, if words can describe it:—he pulled the trigger—the heavy hammer descended—struck the pan—which opened reluctantly—ignition—fizzing—bang, but the process of explosion was completed under a quarter of a minute. Now that detonators are coming slowly in, many shoot quicker than they used, and miss in consequence.

In spite of game-law enactments, some Spaniards continue to shoot partridges after the manner of the Phœnicians of old, and the modern Moors: they take a call-bird, a tame partridge, which is kept in a small mousetrap-shaped wicker cage, in which the decoy can scarcely stand up. Bochart ('Hierozoicon,' i. 13) gives the true meaning of the text of Ecclesiasticus (xi. 30), "Like as a partridge kept in a cage;" and shows how ancient and identical this Oriental device is. The decoy is placed in a space cleared out, and some grains of corn are sprinkled; he calls the wild coveys, which are shot on the ground. It is needless to say that such shooters as these never waste their ammunition on snipes: when they see an Englishman running wild after them and woodcocks, putting up hares and rabbits, which he might have shot on their form, they think him demented. Just as Spanish soldiers, in case of alarm and apprehended rescue, often shoot their prisoners to make sure of them, so they treat their game. The Spanish pointer is a regular brute in Spain, with tail like a rope, and docked like those of the cats, not quite so closely however. When Spanish sportsmen see a neat English shot killing his ten and{164} twenty couple of snipes, and double shots of woodcocks, they attribute it either to the demon by whom most foreigners consider our countrymen to be possessed—son demonios esos Ingleses,—or to the excellence of his gun: so foreigners, when Sir Humphrey Davy first showed them that trout could be caught with artificial flies, suspected that there was a chemical attractive worked into his tackle. Whatever, in all countries, surpasses the limited understanding of ignorance, is attributed to supernatural means, and the devil gets the credit of many an excelling Englishman. The lovers of woodcocks (gallinetas, chochas) and snipes (agachonas) should go to Andalucia: the whole southern part, from the cork-woods of Gibraltar, from the western bank of the Guadalquivir, from Bonanza to Seville, are absolutely alive with them; four, five, and six woodcocks come out at a time from a small copse of half an acre. The snipes are as countless as motes in the sun's beam. They are never shot at by the natives; first, because a dozen of them is hardly worth the cost of one charge of powder and shot, which, being a royal monopoly and sold at the estanco, or licensed-to-sell shop, is very dear; and secondly, because they could not hit them. A person living in Seville may walk outside the walls and kill ten or a dozen couple of a morning, between that town and Alcalá, or El Bodegon. The snipes when flushed get up in clouds, fly and hover about for a short time, and then settle again: however, a double-barrelled Purdey, in a few days, produces a wonderful march in their intellect, and they get much wilder. There is an abundance of plovers, and especially the golden (chorlito). The flight of quails (codornices) in May and October, when they arrive from and return to Africa, are, indeed, miraculous: thirty or forty couple may be killed in a morning. The Spaniards are fond of keeping quails in small cages. The click of this bird is one of the three common sounds in an Andalucian town, and mingles with the castanet and the eternal pounding in brass mortars of spices, garlic, and what not. The quail was honoured by the Phœnicians as having saved Hercules; a myth which Bochart ('Hieroz.' i. 15) refers to the miraculous support, in the desert, of the Israelites, the powerful neighbours of Tyre. The worship of Hercules continued at Cadiz down to the fifth century (Festus Avien. 'Or. Mar.' 278).

The lover of the angle will find an abundance of virgin rivers in Spain, in which fly has never been thrown. Spain is a jumble of mountains, down the bosoms of which flow clear streams: most of these abound in trout, and those which disembogue into the Bay of Biscay, in salmon. The natives have no idea whatever{165} of fly-fishing, nor, which is better, have the fish; they take any fly with the greediness that a young savage damsel does a glass bead. As no sort of tackle is to be procured in Spain, the angler will bring out everything from England. The lower classes take to water and poaching like otters; they use nets, spears, night-lines, and every unsportsmanlike abomination. They do not mind water, except in a basin, and say that it passes to, but not through their skin, that impervious Macintosh, with which nature and their oily diet have encased them. The best localities are Placencia, Avila, Cuenca, and the whole country from El Vierzo, Gallicia, the Asturias, the Basque provinces, and Pyrenean valleys. El Vierzo and Oviedo contain streams, the sight of which would make honest Izaak Walton rise, like a trout at a May-fly, out of his grave; far from the sewers and pollutions of cities, these streams are as pure, as the peasants who live on their banks are unsophisticated.

For best sporting quarters see Index, under "Fishing."

No. 11. ARTISTICAL TOURS—SCULPTURE.

There is very little good ancient sculpture in Spain, and there never was much. Before the Roman dominion, no statue of the tutelar was admitted into the temple of Hercules at Gades. Sil. Ital. iii. 30. It would seem that when the Phœnicians traded with the Jews to Tarshish, they adopted their objection to graven images (Exod. xx. 4): when the Peninsula became a Roman province, the arts of Greece were in the decline, and whatever sculpture was executed, was the work either of Romans or Spaniards, neither of whom have ever excelled in that department, and they felt this themselves: thus, as ancient Rome was content to import her best marble sculpture and sculptors from Greece, so the modern Spaniard has been from Italy. Again, most of whatever statuary was introduced into the Peninsula by the Trajans and Adrians was destroyed by the Vandal Goths: first, because as Christians {166}they abhorred the graven images of Pagan gods; and, secondly because they hated Rome and its works, and especially those connected with the fine arts, to which these rude soldiers attributed their foes' degeneracy and effeminacy; thus, when they struck down the world-oppressor, they cast the statues of its chiefs from the pedestal, and the idols from the altar. The Goth was supplanted by the Moor, who swept away whatever had escaped from his predecessor; nay, the fragments were treated with studied insult, either buried, to prevent resurrection, in the foundations of their buildings, or worked in as base materials for their city walls. The Moslem re-introduced the old Jewish principle of tolerating no representations of living objects in their temples, while the Gotho-Spaniard, acting on an antagonistic principle, filled his churches with graven images, until they became Pantheons; the Moorish annalists, rigid upholders of the unity of the Godhead, speak with horror of their opponents as Moschrik or Polytheists; hence, iconoclasm became a sacred duty, and was termed (as in Deut. vii.), Purification. As the Moor everywhere brake down statuary, very little either of early Spanish sculpture exists, nor has the Spaniard himself ever had much feeling for antiquity or æsthetics; a love for archæological inquiries betokens a high grade of civilization and security. It is only when the present is exhausted that men recur to the past, and to the philosophy and abstract of learning, rather than to the tangible and material: we must construct before we analyze. Thus, now while Europe is decyphering the hieroglyphics of Egypt, and unravelling the inscriptions of Tyre and Sidon, the notes of Spaniards indicate, in matters even of Greek and Latin knowledge, a schoolboy want of classical and antiquarian information in the nation at large.

The Spaniard, the mass of whom, like the Orientals, have seldom known what security of person and property is, "scarcely looks beyond his own beard;" he lives for himself without taking thought either of the past or the morrow; sufficient for his day is the evil thereof. He views ruins with the familiarity and contempt of the Bedouin, and holds them as mere old stones, which he neither admires nor preserves; accordingly, whenever antique remains are dug up they have mostly been reburied, or those which any rare alcalde of taste may have collected are left at his death to chance and decay; and in the provincial towns the fragments are lumped together after the fashion of "Rubbish may be shot here." Fatal indeed to antiquity is the new pretence of the authorities to form, or rather to talk about forming, museums; it {167}is like Mehemet Ali's fancy to collect Egyptian remains. The prohibitions act against intelligent foreigners, who would excavate with zeal and science, and remove their discoveries to collections where they would be understood and valued. Entrusted to the natives, jealous as ignorant, either they are taken to some stone-mason's-yard-like receptacle to be neglected, or are left unmoved on the ground to be destroyed by accidental violence (see R. xx.). Classification and arrangement are not Spanish or Oriental qualities. They are as rare in most of their museums or collections, as uniform and discipline are in their ill-organized armies.

The church again, almost the sole patron of sculpture, only encouraged that kind which best served its own purpose. It had no feeling for ancient art for itself, which if over-studied necessarily has a tendency to reproduce a heathen character, and it hated it because Pagan and anti-Christian. It had its own models of Astartes, Minervas, and Jupiters in the images of the Virgin and Saints: it abhorred a rival idol, and this spirit is far from being extinct. Thus Florez and other antiquarians (the best of whom have been clergymen and busied about their own church's and religion's archæology) constantly apologise for bestowing attention on such un-Christian inquiries: nowhere was the distinction between things sacred or profane kept up more to the injury of the literature and art of the latter than in Spain; a common painting in the Jeronimite convents was the scourging by angels of the tutelar saint for reading his Cicero instead of his mass-book. This supernatural rod became a reality in the hands of the Inquisition, who watched alike over all, whether using the pencil or the pen.

The historical research of antiquarian Spaniards is seldom critical; they love to flounder about Hercules and Tubal; and when people have recourse to mythology, it is clear that history will not serve their ends. The discussion and authenticity of a monk's bone have long been of more importance than a relic of Phidias. Yet Spain ought to have been a storehouse of Roman architectural antiquity, a Herculaneum above ground. It was the favourite province of the empire, and the four centuries which elapsed between Augustus and Alaric, would seem to have been the happiest age of this ill-fated country: safe in her isolation, and far from the intrigues and enemies of Rome, this province is seldom mentioned by contemporary writers during that eventful period, when history was busy in recording human sufferings and national calamities. How much peace and prosperity is not to be{168} inferred from that eloquent silence! The land during this time was covered with Roman monuments, always useful and magnificent, although deficient in high quality of beautiful art. The climate of many portions of the Peninsula rivals even that of Egypt, in the absence of "damp, your whoreson destroyer." Thus many of the bridges, aqueducts, and of subsequent mediæval stone-built cities, exist almost unimpaired; nay, even the fragile Tarkish, the plaster of Paris wall-embroidery, the "diaper, or pargetting," of the Moors, wherever man has not destroyed it, looks, after the lapse of ten centuries, as fresh and perfect as when first put up. Many of the antiquities appear of any age, for there is no officious mania for repairing them; the catena of monuments from the cradle of the restored monarchy is almost complete; and such is the effect of dryness that they often disappoint from lacking the venerable ærugo of age to which we are accustomed in a less beneficent climate. The sepulchre is hardly shrouded by a lichen; things look younger by centuries than they really are; alas, for Spain, where the destructive propensities, both of the foreigner and native, have too often been in direct contradiction to nature, who, like a kind mother, exerts herself only to preserve.

Of all ruins, Spain itself, morally and physically, is the most impressive; her soil is strewed with broken temples and dynasties; like Palmyra and Balbeck, the vast fragments denote the colossal proportions of former magnificence. The moral of this noble land and nation, fallen from a high estate, is most impressive, and teaches how vicious institutions in church and state can neutralize—nay, convert into evil—a soil and people which Providence had destined for good, in a lavish gift of her choicest favours; and Foy (ii. 271) has remarked with equal truth and eloquence, that "Le peuple Espagnol a brillé sur la terre, sans avoir traversé la civilisation: il ne s'est pas mêlé aux autres peuples. Il est resté avec ses habitudes et ses vertus natives: c'est un roi détrôné, qui n'a pas perdu le souvenir de sa puissance, et que l'infortune a renversé sans l'humilier." The noble people of Spain stand yet upright as a column amid ruins; they are the material on which the edifice of future prosperity is to be supported: they are the object, the best and proper study of mankind.

The sculpture therefore of Spain is comparatively modern, and consists chiefly of religious and sepulchral subjects. In one branch it is very peculiar, and without any rival in Europe, and this is the dressed and painted images which are placed in chapels, or carried about in the streets for public adoration. These are the{169} identical ξοανα, the ειδωλα, the idols which the lust of the human eye required, the doli or cheats of the devil, whence St. Isidoro derives the name of an invention which nowhere now rules more triumphantly than in his own Seville. The Spanish names Simulacros Imagenes are as little changed from the Roman Simulacra Imagines, as the objects to which they once were applied. Those familiar with ancient art will be struck with beholding how little even subjects have been changed. The Virgin and Child have taken the place of Isis and Horus, and of Cupid and Venus; Santiago has of Mars; San Miguel and San Jorge, with their dragons, of Horus and Apophis, Apollo and Python, Hercules and Hydra, and of all those myths which represent the victory obtained by the good, over the evil principle, or old serpent; Esculapius has been converted into San Roque, whence our term, "sound as a roach;" San Antonio of Padua and San Francisco exercise by preaching the same influence over fishes and beasts which Amphion and Orpheus did by fiddling; S^a. Teresa is either a Sibyl or a Muse; and San Cristobal nothing but "Cœlifer Atlas."

The great demand for these carvings has induced many first-rate artists in Spain to devote themselves to this branch of sculpture; hence Cano, Montañes, Roldan, Becerra, Juni, and Hernandez rank exactly as Dædalus, Emilis, and the Telchines did among the antients. Their works have a startling identity: the stone statues of monks actually seem petrifactions of a once living being; many others are exquisitely conceived and executed; unfortunately, from the prudery of draperies, much of the anatomical excellence is concealed: from being clothed and painted they are failures as works of art, strictly speaking, for they attempt too much. The essence of statuary is form, and to clothe a statue, said Byron, is like translating Dante: a marble statue never deceives; it is the colouring it that does, and is a trick beneath the severity of sculpture. The imitation of life may surprise, but, like colossal toys, barbers' blocks, the Madame Tussaud's wax-work figures, it can only please the ignorant and children of a large or small growth, to whom a painted doll gives more pleasure than the Apollo Belvidere. Many of the smaller ξοανα are preserved in glass cases, exactly like our surgical preparations. The resemblance is obvious, and cannot give pleasure, from the absence of life. The imitation is so exact in form and colour, that it suggests the painful idea of a dead body, which a statue does not. But no feeling for fine art or good taste entered into the minds of those who set up those tinsel images. They made sculpture the slave of their end and system; they used it to feed the{170} eye of the illiterate many; to put before those who could not read, a visible tangible object, which realised a legend or a dogma; and there is no mistake in the subject which was intended to be thus represented; nothing was risked by trusting to the abstract and spiritual. Now that these graven images are removed into museums from the altar, and dethroned as it were from Olympus, they, like sacred Spanish pictures, have lost much of their prestige, and have become objects of study to the artist, instead of fear and veneration to devotees. Torn from the semi-gloom of the chapel and cloister, they are robbed of much of the religio loci, and now stand staring and out of place like monks turned out of their cells into the public streets, and the cheat is explained; and those alone who, like ourselves, have seen them in their original positions, can estimate how much they have lost both in a devotional and artistical point of view.

The Spanish painted and dressed images tally in the minutest particulars with those which were introduced from Babylon and Egypt into Greece and Rome. Those who wish to pursue this subject are referred particularly to Muller, Hand-buch der Kunst, p. 42 et seq. Marble statues were quite a late introduction in Italy (Plin. 'Nat. Hist.,' xxxiv. 7), and are still very rare in Spain. Cedar and the resinous woods were preferred as being "eternal" as the immortal gods themselves (Plin. 'N.H.,' xiii. 5). The Cyllenian Mercury was made of the arbor vitæ, Θυου, the exact Alerce of Spain, ex quovis ligno non fit Mercurius. When decayed they were replaced. Pliny, jun. (Ep. ix. 39), writes to his architect, Mustius, to make or get him a new Ceres, as the old one was wearing out. The artists became famous; thus Pausanias (ii. 19. 3) mentions the ξοανον of Argos, the work of Attalus the Athenian, just as Ponz would cite the San Jeronimo of Montañes at Italica. It is impossible to read Pausanias, and his accounts of the statues new and old, the temples ruined and rebuilt, without being struck how closely the facts and objects therein pointed out tally with parallels now offered in Spain; then some ξοανα, as is the case in Spain at this moment, were made of baked clay, or terra cotta, because, as he says, they were cheaper; and although the profane Juvenal (Sat. xi. 115) and Josephus (contr. Ap. ii. 35) laughed at these makeshifts, they answered the purposes for which they were intended just as well then as now. The resemblance is equally striking as regards ages, attributes, colours, and dresses. Thus Pliny ('Nat. Hist.' ii. 7) mentions, that some gods were always young, others always old, some had hair, some were bald: thus San Juan and S^n. Sebastian, comely and {171}fair haired, represent Apollo and Bacchus, while S^n. Pedro, always bald, represents Esculapius, as San José, always aged, does Saturn. And see Cicero, 'N.D.' i. 30. The gods of the Heathens were always distinguished by some particular instrument or symbol, in exact imitation of which S^a. Catalina bears the palm of Juno, San Roque the staff or crook of Osiris, Santo Domingo the torch and dog, the Cerberus of the hell-born furies; San Vicente has his crow, as Jupiter his eagle; S^a. Teresa has her dove, like Venus, just as Minerva had her owl, &c. The ancient ξοανα had also their prescriptive colours. Re of Egypt, like Pan, was painted red; Osiris, black and green; the Athena of Skiras, white, while Apollo's face was frequently gilded. Thus in Spain the Virgin in 'La Concepcion,' is always painted in blue and white; St. John is always dressed in green, and Judas Iscariot in yellow: "and so intimately," says Blanco White (p. 289), "is this circumstance associated with the idea of the traitor, that it is held in universal discredit." Persons taken to execution are clad in yellow serge. That colour was also adopted by the Inquisition for their san benito, or dress of heresy and infamy. The hair of Judas is always red; of Rosalind's "dissembling colour something browner than Judas's." Athenæus (v. 7), describes the Paso of Bacchus being carried by sixty men, and by an ingenious mechanism: his αγαλμα was clad in purple, and that of his nurse Nyssa in yellow. Much of this, no doubt, is based on immemorial traditions, which are preserved by these formulæ. As the ancient temples, like the Christian churches in the middle ages, were highly painted with blue, vermilion, and gilding, in an artistical point of view, it became necessary to dress and colour the idols up to the general tone of everything around them; they otherwise would have had a cold and ineffective character. The colouring in Spain was deemed of such importance, that Alonzo Cano and Montañes frequently stipulated that no one but themselves should paint the images which they carved. These figures were treated by the ancients exactly as if they were living deities. Real food was provided for them, which their good chaplains saw was duly consumed. They were washed and dressed by their own attendants (S. Aug. 'Civ. Dei,' vi. 10). These palladia spoke, perspired, bled, and wept (Livy, xliii. 13), just as many do in Spain, whereby, as Palomino (i. 203) justly remarks, "the Church has been much enriched, and innumerable souls converted." In Spain no man is allowed to undress the Paso or sagrada imagen of the Virgin. So the idol of Ceres could only be waited upon by women and virgins (Cic. 'In Ver.' iv. 45). Some images, like queens, have{172} their camarera mayor, their mistress of the robes, and their boudoir, or camarin, where their toilet is made. This duty has now devolved on venerable single ladies, and thence has become a term of reproach, ha quedado para vestir imagenes, just as Turnus derided Alecto, when disguised as an old woman, "cura tibi effigies Divum, et templa tueri." The making and embroidering the superb dresses of the Virgin afford constant occupation to the wealthy and devout, and is one reason why this Moorish manufacture still thrives pre-eminently in Spain. Her costume, when the Pasos are borne in triumphal procession through the streets, forms the object of envy, critique, and admiration. Much the same takes place in China, where Col. Ellis was "startled" with the identity of the splendidly dressed idol of the "Queen of Heaven," with the Madonna of Romanism.

All this dressing is very ancient. We have in Callimachus the rules for toilette and oiling the hair of the ξοανον of Minerva; any man who saw it naked was banished from Argos. This is the meaning of the myth of Acteon and Diana. The grave charge brought against Clodius by Cicero was, that he had profaned the Bona Dea by his presence. The wardrobe of Isis was provided at the public cost (Plut. 'De Isid.' 78); and Osiris had his state-dress, ἱερον κοσμον. The Peplum of Minerva was the fruit of the five years' work of Athenian matrons and virgins. Castæ velamine Divæ. The Roman signa were so well dressed, that it was considered to be a compliment to compare a fine lady to one. Plaut. 'Epid.' (v. 1, 18). The ancients paid much more attention to the decorum and propriety of costume than the Spanish clergy. In the remote villages and in the mendicant convents the most ridiculous masquerades were exhibited, such as the Saviour in a court-dress, with wig and breeches, whereat the Duc de St. Simon was so offended (xx. 113). The traveller will see stranger sights even than this. If once a people can be got to fancy that a manequin is their god, if they can get over this first step, nothing else ought to create either a smile or surprise. Some figures only have heads, feet, and arms, the body being left a mere block, because destined to be covered with drapery: these are called imagenes á vestir, images to be dressed, and are exactly those described by Pausanias (ii. 2. 6). Those Pasos are only brought out on grand occasions, principally during the holy week. The rest of the year they are stowed away, like the properties of a theatre, in regular store-houses, the exact ancient Favissæ, and for these the curious traveller should enquire. The expense is very great, both in the construction and costume of the machinery, and in the number of{173} persons employed in managing and attending the ceremonial. The French invasion, the progress of poverty, and advance of intellect, have tended to reduce the number of Pasos, which amounted, previously, to more than fifty in Seville alone. Every parish had its own figure or group, which were paraded in the Holy Week; particular incidents of our Saviour's passion were represented by companies, Cofradias, Hermandades, brotherhoods or guilds (from gelt, their annual contribution); and these took their name from the image or mystery which they upheld: they were the ἱερη εθνη of the Rosetta stone, the Κωμασιαι of Clemens Alex. ('Strom.' v. 242), the ancient εταιριαι, the Sodalitates (see Cicero, 'De Senec.' 13), the unions, which in Rome were so powerful, numerous, and well organized, that Julius Cæsar alone could put them down (Suet. 43). The King of Spain is generally the Hermano Mayor. These lodges are constituted on the masonic principle; their affairs are directed by the Teniente Hermano Mayor nombrado por S.M. There is no lack of fine sounding appellations or paraphernalia, in which Orientals and Spaniards delight; and, however great the present distress, money is seldom wanting, for these ceremonies gratify many national peculiarities. First, the show delights old and young, then it is an excuse for a holiday, for making most days in the week a Sunday, for an exhibition of dress hallowed with a character of doing a religious duty. The members, as among our Freemasons, thus gratify their personal vanity and love of parade, costume, and titles; and their tinsel tomfoolery, moreover, passes for a meritorious act. After the suppression of convents, and appropriation of church property, a new tax was imposed, called contribucion de culto y clero, ostensibly to defray the salaries of the plundered priests and their religious ceremonials. This payment, inadequate in itself, it need not be said was seldom booked up, as the proceeds were misapplied by the government; very little reached the clergy, who have no bayonets. Accordingly they, and their shows, and processions, were supported by private and voluntary contributions; and as they still command in the confessional-box, they seldom failed or ever will fail to extract largely from pious devotees and rich sinners who require indulgences and absolutions. Some revenue is also derived by the sale of "wax-ends." The candles lighted in these processions obtain a peculiar sanctity; they avert lightning, and are very beneficial on death-beds in securing salvation, and therefore are greedily purchased by women at treble their original cost.

Seville and Valencia are the head-quarters of these Lectisternia,{174} Anteludia, and processions. The holy week is the chief period; when we behold these and read the classics, time and space are annihilated. We are carried back to Arnobius (lib. vii.), "Lavatio Deum matris est hodie—Jovis epulum eras est—lectisternium Cereris est idibus proximis:" and the newspapers of the day now give the same previous notice. The images are moved on platforms, Andas, and pushed on by men concealed under draperies. The Pasos are just as heavy to the weary "as were Bel and Nebo" (Isaiah xlvi. 1). Among the ancients, not only the images of the gods, but the sacred boat of Osiris, the shrine of Isis, the ark of the Jews, were borne on staves, as are some of the smaller custodia in Spain. Those who wish to compare analogies between ancient and modern superstition, are referred to the sixth chapter of Baruch, wherein he describes the Babylonian Pasos,—their dresses, the gilding, the lights, &c., or to Athenæus (v. 7) and Apuleius ('Met.' ii. 241), who have forestalled much of what takes place in Spain, especially as regards the Pasos of the Virgin. Thus the Syrian Venus was carried by an inferior order of priests: Apuleius calls them Pastofori, the Spaniards might fairly term theirs Pasofori; Paso, strictly speaking, means the figure of the Saviour during his passion. The Paso, however, of the Virgin is the most popular, and her gold-embroidered and lace pocket handkerchief sets the fashion for the season to the Andalucian dandyzettes. This is the exact Megalesia in honour of the mother of the gods, the great goddess μεγαληθεος, which took place in April (see Pitiscus, in voce, for the singular coincidences); the paso of Salambo, the Babylonian Astarte Aphrodite (see Hesychius), was carried through Seville with all the Phœnician rites even down to the third century. Santas Rufina and Justina, the present patronesses of the cathedral tower, were torn to pieces by the populace for insulting the image; which would infallibly be the case should any one presume to do the same to the Sagrada imagen de la Virgen del mayor dolor y traspaso, which is now carried at about the same time through the same streets and almost precisely in same manner; indeed, Florez admits ('E. S.' ix. 3) that the Paso of Salambo represented the grief and agony felt by Venus for the death of Adonis. A female goddess always has been popular among all Southrons. Thus Venus, when carried in Pompa, on an ivory Andas, round the circus, was hailed with the same deafening applause, tu Dea major eris! (Ovid, 'Art. Am.' i. 147) as the goddess Doorga, when borne on her gorgeous throne, draws from the admiring Hindoos at this day, and the Santisima does from Spaniards. There is little new under the sun, and still less in{175} human devices. Every superb superstition has been anticipated by Paganism, and every grovelling vagary of dissent by the fanatics and impostors of the early ages of the church; these things of the present day have not even the poor merit of originality.

However these ξοανα and their processions have hitherto been neglected by writers on Spain, there are few subjects more interesting to the classical antiquarian, and no hand-book would have done its office without thus briefly suggesting them for observation. But there is another branch of sculpture in which Spain is singularly rich, and which has even higher claims to notice. These are images not made by mortal hands, and called by Cardinal Baronius, imagines non manufactæ. The Spanish term is, imagenes aparecidas—images that have appeared miraculously, either by revealing themselves to pious rustics in caves and thickets, where they were concealed by the Goths at the Moorish invasion, or by descending directly from heaven. Their exact prototype will be found in antiquity. They were called by the Greeks Διοπετα, as falling from Jupiter, and Αγαλματα ατευτα αχειροποιητα; and not images alone, but other objects as well. Such was the Palladium of Troy, cœlone peractum fluxit opus; such the lapsa ancilia cœlo of Numa; such the Cinta and Casulla of the Virgin (see Tortosa and Toledo). Indeed the Minerva of Ilion and tutelar of the city tallies in every respect with the Virgen del Pilar of Zaragoza. These heaven-wrought Palladia, however rude, as compared to the exquisite statuary of Cano or Hernandez, were naturally treated with far greater reverence, and the miracles which they continually wrought passed all reasonable belief; wisely, therefore, were they appealed to in public and private calamities, appointed to command armies, to superintend difficult surgical cases, &c. The French invaders, possibly dreading their opposition, destroyed many of them; and others have disappeared, doubtlessly reconcealing themselves until better times return. Some, however, have escaped, and are the pride and protection of their districts; they will be carefully pointed out. None can understand this branch of divine art without the standard work of Villafane ('Compendio Historico,' folio, Mad. 1740); it is the church-authorised record; it details the revelation and miracles of no less than 189 heavenly and holy images of the Virgin, for it excludes all those concerning which there can be a shadow of doubt. In addition to this wholesale book almost every supernatural image has its own authentic volume, which will always be cited, and the best and most approved edition named.{176}

No. 12.—ARTISTIC TOURS.—PAINTING.

Wilkie called Spain the Timbuctoo of artists. It is indeed a terra incognita of a great and national school of artists, of whom, with the exception of Velazquez, Murillo, and a few others, even the names have scarcely transpired beyond the Pyrenees. Art, like everything in that isolated and little-visited land, has long remained hermetically sealed up. The collecting propensities of sundry French generals did her a good turn, although one perfectly unintended. They emancipated many of her imprisoned disciples, who thus were admitted into the fellowship of the great masters of the rest of Europe.

Yet the knowledge of Spanish art is still vague and uncertain; beyond Velazquez and Murillo few paintings have any marketable value. They are not the fashion, and from not being understood are not appreciated. There are three grand schools in Spain; first and foremost is that of Seville, secondly that of Valencia, and thirdly that of the Castiles or Madrid; and these again (Velazquez excepted), in local and uncommunicating Spain, are best to be studied in their own homes, hanging like ripe oranges on their native branches.

Few cities in Spain possess good collections of pictures, and, with the exception of the capital, those which do are seldom enriched with any specimens of foreign schools, for such is that of Valencia as regards Seville, and vice versa. The Spaniards have ever used their art as they do their wines, and other gifts of the soil; they just consume what is produced on the spot and the nearest at hand, ignorant and indifferent as regards all other, even be they of a higher quality.

The general character of the Spanish school of painting is grave, religious, draped, dark, natural, and decent. The church, the great patron, neither looked to Apelles or Raphael, to Venus or the Graces: she employed painting to decorate her churches, not private residences; to furnish objects of devotion, not of beauty or delight; to provide painted books for those who could not read printed ones; to disseminate and fix on the popular memory those especial subjects by which her system was best supported, her purposes answered, and what Tacitus calls the "sacra ignorantia" of her flocks maintained; and this accounts for the professional character of Spanish art, which, as old{177} Thomas Coryate (ii. 256) observed at Frankfort, contains "a world of excellent pictures, inventions of singular curiosity, whereof most were religious and such as tended to mortification:" hence the hagiographic, hieratic, legendary, and conventional character of the compositions. The jealous church, in her palmy power, treated art like the priests of Egypt; it was to be silent, impassive, and immutable. She exacted a stern adhesion to an established model; she forbad any deviation from her religious type. To have changed an attitude or attribute would have been a change of Deity: thus the rude conceptions of an unartistic period were repeated by men of a later and better age, whose creative inventions were fettered to a prescribed formula. But the artists, even if they had wished it, did not dare offend a patron by whose commissions alone they lived; as among the Pagans, the painting the Virgin gave them fame and bread:

——"Pictores ab Iside pasci
Quis nescit?"

The most distinguished, however, partook of the deep sincerity of a religious age and people. Luis de Vargas and Juanes were eminently devout, and, like Angelico da Fiesole, never ventured to paint the Virgin without purifying and exalting their minds by previous prayer: so, in the more religious days of Rome, Amullius never dared to paint Minerva except togatus, that is, in grand costume (Plin. 'Nat. Hist.' xxxv. 10). These early artists were upheld by faith; they believed even in the wildest legends: hence their earnestness and honesty. It was only when Romanism itself began to be questioned, under the shadow of the tiara itself, that M. Angelo, the Luther of art, headed the reformation, and broke through conventional trammels. Form led the way, and fascinating colour followed; then pleasure, sensuality, and ostentation succeeded, until the religious apostacy of art insured its degradation. It became of earth and earthy, for never, either in ancient or modern ages, has art aspired to or attained its highest elevation without being ordained as it were and consecrated to the service of the altar. Being mortal, it contained in itself the germ of corruption; first the handmaid of the church, then the slave of its superstitions; first the exponent of creeds and religion, then the pandar of the worst passions.

Spain, isolated alike by geography and the palisadoes of the Inquisition, was long the last hold of the papacy; it held out until the end of the sixteenth century, when Herrera in painting, and Juni in sculpture, followed in the wake of Italy, then drunk with{178} form and beauty; but what art gained in attraction she lost in religious simplicity, sentiment, and impression; her works were admired, not worshipped, and they inspired pleasure rather than awe and veneration.

Still the Holy Tribunal stood sentinel over author and artist: An inspector—censor y veedor—was appointed, whose duty it was to visit the studios of sculptors and painters, either to destroy or to paint over the slightest deviation from the manner which their rubric laid down for treating sacred subjects. Pacheco,[26] the father-in-law of Velazquez, details in his official character, in 270 pages, the orthodox receipts for the usual class of devotional pictures. Although these strict rules have been latterly relaxed, yet down to 1790 every sort of caricature against religious matters, every sort of indecent or even free representation in painting, sculpture, or engraving, was prohibited (Regla xi. Indice Expurg.). Hence the fine arts of Spain are singularly chaste—they are honourably distinguished by a total absence of that lascivious prostitution of art by which youth is corrupted, morality offended, and decency and good sense insulted. Thus, when Italy poured forth her voluptuous nymphs, her Venuses, her naked Graces, which the discovery and rising taste for the antique reconciled and endeared to their tastes, the prudery of veiled Spain took fright. This class of paintings was prohibited, or the nudities of those that crept in were covered with drapery. The doctors of Salamanca pronounced it to be a deadly sin, pecado mortal, to possess them (Carducho, 123); the painters were liable to excommunication (Palom. ii. 137). Carducho mentions that the soul of an artist had appeared to his confessor to inform him that he was confined to fast in fire until a free picture which he had painted should be burnt for him. Ancient Greek art was naked; the inflammatory effect was neutralised by the constant and familiar exposition of nudity at the public games—even the goddesses unveiled their immortal charms. "Nec fuerat nudas pœna videre deas." The judgment of Paris was not then hampered by mil{179}linery: Venus sat herself to Praxiteles, favente Deâ, naked and not ashamed, just as Madame Borghese did to Canova, without minding it, because there was a fire in the room. Few Spaniards have ever known that feeling for art for itself, that perception of the beautiful, which among the ancient Grecians and the modern Italians has triumphed over the severe dignity of religion. Such Gothic scruples furnished jests at St. Peter's, where Priagio de Cesena, when he objected to the nudities of the Last Judgment, only got the nickname of Il Braghetone, for want of both judgment and inexpressibles; but your old Castilian in loyalty and religion was anything but a Sans-culotte.

A Spanish Venus, at least on canvass, is yet a desideratum among amateurs. Those of Titian and Paduanino, which are in the royal collection of Madrid, blush unseen—they, with all other improper company of that sort, Ledas, Danaës, and so forth, were lumped together, just as the naughty epigrams of Martial are collected in one appendix in well-intentioned editions; the peccant pictures were all consigned into an under-ground apartment, la galeria reservada, into which no one was admitted without an especial permission. Nothing gave the Holy Tribunal greater uneasiness than how Adam and Eve in Paradise, the blessed souls burning in purgatory, the lady who tempted St. Anthony, or the last Day of Judgment, were to be painted, circumstances in which small clothes and long clothes would be highly misplaced. Both Palomino (ii. 137) and Pacheco (201) handle these delicate subjects very tenderly. Describing the celebrated Last Judgment of Martin de Vos, at Seville, Pacheco relates how a bishop informed him that he had chanced, when only a simple monk, to perform service before this group of nakedness—the mitre had not obliterated the dire recollections; he observed (he had been a sailor in early life) that rather than celebrate mass before it again, he would face a hurricane in the Gulf of Bermuda. The moral effect of the awful day of judgment was so much counterbalanced by the immoral deshabile.

Spanish pictures, on the whole, like Spanish beauties, will, at first sight, disappoint all those whose tastes have been formed beyond the Pyrenees; they may indeed improve upon acquaintance, and from the want of anything better: again the more agreeable subjects are seldom to be seen in Spain, for these naturally have been the first to be removed by the iron or gold of foreigners, who have left the gloomy and ascetic behind; thus, in all Spain, not ten of Murillo's gipsey and beggar pictures are to be found, and the style by which he is best known in England{180} is that by which he will be least recognised in his native land.

One word of advice on making purchases in Spain. A notion exists, because few people have been there curiosity-collecting, that it is ungleaned ground. Nothing can be more erroneous. The market never was well provided with literary or artistical wares: the rich cared not for these things, and the clergy made art subservient to religion, and tied it up in mortmain. Whatever there was, has been pretty well cleared out, during the war by the swords of invaders, and since the peace by the purses of amateurs. Those who expect to be able to pick up good things for nothing, de gangas, will be wofully disappointed in Spain. Let them beware of the 'extraordinary luck of getting for an old song—by the merest chance in the world—an ORIGINAL Murillo or Velazquez.' These bargains are, indeed, plentiful as blackberries. But when the fortunate amateur has paid for them, their packing, freight, duty, repairing, lining, cleaning, framing, and hanging, he will be in a frame of mind to suspend himself. Sad is desengaño, the change which will come over the spirit of his bargain, when seen through the flattering medium of the paid or unpaid bills, and the yellow London fog, instead of the first-love sight under the cheerful sun of Spain. Again, Spanish pictures are on a large scale, having been destined for the altars of churches and chapels of magnificent proportions; and hence arises another inconvenience, in addition to the too frequent repulsiveness of the subjects, that they are ill-adapted to the confined rooms of private English houses, nay even to those of France. It is true that these pictures, by being placed in London and Paris, are more accessible to Europe than in the remote churches and convents of Spain; but the productions of artists, who were employed by priest and monk, necessarily become tinctured with their all-pervading, all-dominant sentiment. The subjects of cowled inquisidores, the Mæcenates of Spain, look dark, gloomy, and repulsive, when transported, like hooded owls, into the day-light and judgment of sensual Paris, or coupled with the voluptuous groupings of siren Italy. But Spanish art, like her literature, is with few exceptions the expression of a people long subject to a bigoted ascetic despot, and fettered down to conventional rules and formulæ, diametrically opposed to beauty and grace, and with which genius had to struggle. Seen in dimly-lighted chapels, these paintings, part and parcel of the edifices and the system, were in harmony with all around; and those who painted them calculated on giving places and intentions, all of which are changed and taken away in the Louvre: restore them to their{181} original positions, and they will regain their power, effect, and meaning.

The Spanish school is remarkable for an absence of the ideal. Religion there has been so much materialized, that the representations and exponents of necessity partook more of the flesh than the spirit, more of humanity than divinity; it seldom soared above the lower regions of reality. The Deity was anthropomorphised; to seek whose form was thought even by Pliny ('N.H.' ii. 7) to be human imbecility. The monkish saints, raised from the ranks to this Olympus, were designed after the vulgar models of conventual life: thus they held out to the masses the prospect of an equal elevation. The Capuchins painted by Murillo, the Jesuits by Roelas, and the Carthusians by Zurbaran, almost step out of their frames, and do all but move and speak.

The absence of good antique examples of a high style, the prohibition of nudity—the essence of sculpture, the semi-Moorish abhorrence of anatomical dissection, all conspired to militate against the learned drawing of the M. Angelo school. The great charm of the Spanish school is the truth of representation of Spanish life and nature. Despising the foreigner and his methods, and trusting little to ideal conception, the artists went to the nature, by which they were surrounded, for everything. Hence, Velazquez and Murillo, like Cervantes, come home at once to the countrymen of Reynolds, Wilson, and Shakspere, nature's darling. They have, indeed, been said to be the anticipation of our school, but more correctly speaking they only preceded us, who, without inter-communication, arrived at similar results by adopting similar means. Both countries drank at the same source and learned their lesson of the same mistress, who never is untrue to those who turn truly to her. The varieties are such as necessarily must arise from difference of climate, manners, religion, and other extrinsic disturbing influences; both, while preserving a distinct nationality and a peculiar borracha and raciness, are united by this common intrinsic bond, the study and reflection of nature: hence the kindred feeling and love of us English for the great masters of Spain, who are infinitely less appreciated, although more prated about, by other people, to whose cherished canons of taste, whether as regards the drama or pallet, they are diametrically opposed, or rather were; for modern Spaniards, deserting Murillo, Velazquez, and nature, have, in their present dearth of talent, turned, like the desert-benighted Israelites, even in the presence of truth, to worship false gods and bow down to molten calves, to Mengs and David.{182}

No. 13. mineral baths.

These are very numerous, and were always much frequented. In every part of the Peninsula such names as Caldas, the Roman Calidas, and Alhama, the Arabic Al-hamun, denote the continuance of baths, in spite of the changes of nations and language. From Al-hamun, the Hhamman of Cairo, our Covent Garden Hummums are derived. Very different are the Spanish accommodations; they are mostly rude, inadequate, and inconvenient. The Junta suprema de Sanidad, or Official Board of Health, has published a list of the names of the principal baths, and their proper seasons. At each a medical superintendent resides, who is appointed by government.

No. 14. tour for the idler and man of pleasure.

Perhaps this class of travellers had better go to Paris or Naples. Spain is not a land of fleshly comforts, or of social sensual civilization. Oh! dura tellus Iberiæ!—God there sends the meat, and the evil one cooks:—there are more altars than kitchens—des milliers de prêtres et pas un cuisinier.{184}

Life in the country is a Bedouin Oriental existence. The inland unfrequented towns are dull and poverty-stricken. Madrid itself is but a dear second-rate inhospitable city; the maritime seaports, as in the East, from being frequented by the foreigner, are more cosmopolitan, more cheerful and amusing. Generally speaking, as in the East, public amusements are rare. The calm contemplation of a cigar, and a dolce far niente, siestose quiet indolence with unexciting twaddle, suffice; while to some nations it is a pain to be out of pleasure, to the Spaniard it is a pleasure to be out of painful exertion: leave me, leave me, to repose and tobacco. When however awake, the Alameda, or church show, and the bull-fight, are the chief relaxations. These will be best enjoyed in the Southern provinces, the land also of the song and dance, of bright suns and eyes, and not the largest female feet in the world.

No. 15. religious festivals tour.

Religion has long been mixed up in every public, private, and social relation of Spain. The intelligent and powerful clergy, jealous of any rival, interfered with the popular amusements, and monopolized them: the chief of these, in a country where there are very few, were the Autos de Fé, Processions, Rosarios, Pilgrimages, and church ceremonials and festivals. These have also given employment to the finest art.

The recent reforms have closed the convent, the grand theatre of monastic melo-drama, and once the leading item of public recreation. The monasteries and their inmates, white, blue, and grey, have, with all their miracles and pantomimes, been scheduled away; while the impoverished church has no longer the means of performing those more solemn and magnificent spectacles of ceremonial and music for which the Peninsula was unrivalled. Those which still remain, together with the leading pilgrimages, the holiday of the provincial peasantry, will be duly noticed in their proper places. Although only a shadow of the past, the Holy Week is observed with much solemnity and pomp, and with many circumstances peculiar to the Spanish church. Seville is by far the best town for this striking and solemn ceremonial.

The Dia de Corpus is the next grand festival. This movable feast takes place the first Thursday after Trinity Sunday. It is splendidly got up, with public processions through the streets in even the smallest villages. Valencia, Seville, Toledo, Granada, Santiago, and Barcelona are the most remarkable; but all the{185} chief cities reserve their magnificence for this occasion. Particular towns have also their particular holidays: e.g. Madrid, that of S^n. Isidro; Seville, that of S^t. Ferdinand; Valencia, of San Vicente de Ferrer; Pamplona, of S^n. Fermin; Santiago, of S^t. James.

In Spain, as in the East, the duty of performing certain pilgrimages was formerly one of the absolute precepts of faith. Spain abounds in sacred spots and "high places." Monserrat was their Ararat, Zaragoza and Santiago their Medina and Mecca. These were the grand sites to which it once was necessary to "go up." See particularly our remarks at each of them; in process of time the monks provided also for every village some consecrated spot, which offered a substitute for these distant and expensive expeditions: they will perish with the dissolution of monasteries, which derived the greatest benefit from their observance. Few pilgrims ever visited the sacred spot without contributing their mite towards the keeping up the chapel, and the support of the holy man or brotherhood to whose especial care it was consigned. "No penny no paternoster;" the masses must be paid for, as diamonds, pearls, and other matters, and the greatest sinners are the best customers. Although lighter in purse, the pilgrim on his return took rank in his village, and, as in the East, was honoured as a Hadji; the Spanish term is Romero, which some have derived from Roma, one who had been to Rome, a roamer; others from the branch of rosemary, Romero, which they wore in their caps, which is a Scandinavian charm against witches; and this elfin plant, called by the Northmen Ellegrem, is still termed alecrim in Portugal. Thus our pilgrims were called Palmers, from bearing the palm-branch, and Saunterers, because returning from the Holy Land, La Sainte Terre. These Romerias and Ferias, the fairs, offer the only amusement and relaxation to their hard and continued life of labour: Feria, as the word implies, is both a holy day and a fair. It was everywhere found convenient to unite a little business with devotion; while purer motives attracted from afar the religiously disposed, the sacred love of gold induced those who had wares to sell, to serve God and Mammon, by tempting the assembled pilgrims and peasants to carry back with them to their homes something more substantial than the abstract satisfaction of having performed this sort of conscientious duty. In every part of Spain, on the recurrence of certain days devoted to these excursions, men and women, and children desert their homes and occupations, their ploughs and spindles. The cell, hermitage, or whatever be the place of worship, is visited, and the day and night given up to song and dance, to drinking and wassail, with{186} which, as with our skittles, these pilgrimages have much sympathy and association; indeed, if observance of rites formed any test, these festivals would appear especially devoted to Bacchus and Venus; the ulterior results are brought to light some nine months afterwards: hence the proverb considers a pilgrimage to be quite as attractive to all weak women as a marriage, a Romerias y bodas, van las locas todas. The attendance of female devotees at these alfresco expeditions, whether to Missas de Madrugada, masses of peep of day, or to Virgenes del Rocio, Dew-Virgins, of course attracts all the young men, who come in saints' clothing to make love. Both sexes remain for days and nights together in woods and thickets, not sub Jove frigido, but amid the bursting, life-pregnant vegetation of the South. Accordingly, many a fair pilgrim sale Romera y vuelve Ramera; the deplorable consequences have passed into national truisms, detras de la cruz, está el diablo. Those who chiefly follow these love-meetings are, unfortunately, those whose enthusiasm is the most inflammable. In vain do they bear the cross on their bosoms, which cannot scare Satan from their hearts. La cruz en los pechos, el diablo en los hechos. This is the old story: "After the feast of Bel the people rose up to play." Bishop Patrick explains what the particular game was: το μεθυειν, this getting drunk, is derived by Aristotle, μετα το θυειν, from the Methuen wine-treaty, which was always ratified on the conclusion of such religious congresses and sacrifices. However, the sight is so curious, that the traveller, during this time of the year, should make inquiries at the principal towns what and when are the most remarkable Fiestas and Romerias of the immediate neighbourhood. They are every day diminishing, for in Spain as in the East, where foreign civilization is at work, the transition state interferes with painters and authors of "Sketches," since the march of intellect and the exposure of popular fallacies is at least paring away something from religious and national festivities. Education, the rights and responsibilities of citizenship, and the consequent increased taxation, has both dispelled the bliss of ignorance and saddened the enlightened populace. Poverty and politics, cares for to-day and anxiety for the morrow, have damped a something of the former reckless abandon of uninstructed joyousness, and lessened the avidity for immediate and perhaps childish enjoyments. Many a picturesque custom and popular usage will pass away, to the triumph of the utilitarian and political economist, to the sorrow of the poet, the artist, and antiquarian. Now the Progreso with merciless harrow is tearing up many a wild flower of Spanish nature, which are to{187} be rooted up before "bread-stuffs" can be substituted.

The most remarkable Panteons, or royal and private burial-places, are at the Escorial, Toledo, Guadalajara, Cuenca, Poblet, Ripoll, and San Juan de la Peña. But even these have suffered much; the destruction and profanation which commenced during the French invasion, having been carried fearfully out during the recent changes and chances of civil war. Many of the superb tombs erected in convents, which were founded by great men for their family burial-places, have been swept away from the face of the earth. They had previously been grossly neglected by the degenerate possessors of their names and estates, who, however proud of the descent, were indifferent to the fate of the effigies of their "grandsires cut in alabaster." The feeling of respect for these monuments died away with the custom of erecting them; nor, even supposing that the patrons had had the inclination to protect them, would it have been in their power. The suppression of the convents was decreed in a hurry, and executed by popular violence. Their hatred against the monk, as a drone and Carlist, was stimulated by licensed plunder. Art and religion were trampled on alike; objects once the most revered became in the reaction the most abhorred; scarcely anything was respected; for had any sentiment of respect existed, the spirit which directed the movement never could have been roused up to demolition pitch. Here and there in the larger towns a few monuments have escaped, having been removed, as objects of art, to museums and other receptacles. It is true that they are thus preserved from destruction, but the religio loci, and the charm of original intention and associations, are lost for ever. Spain has in our time gone through a double visitation, which in England took place after long intervals. The French invasion represents the Reformation of Henry VIII., and the recent civil wars, those of our Charles I. In both a war of destruction was waged against palace and convent. Time has healed the wounds of our ecclesiastical ruins, but in Spain they remain in all the unsightliness of recent onslaught, still smoking, still, as it were, bleeding.{188}

No. 16. ecclesiological tour.

21. CHURCH AND ARCHITECTURAL TERMS.

The religious architecture in Spain is still of the highest and most varied quality, notwithstanding these deplorable ravages. In common with Spanish art and literature, it has been an exponent of the national mind during its different periods, and has shared in the rise, power, and decline of the monarchy. The earliest edifices erected after the Moorish conquest will naturally be found in the Asturias and Gallicia, the cradles of Gotho-Spanish monarchy. These simple solid specimens, with round-headed arches, are termed by Spanish architects Obras de los Godos; Gothic, or the works of the Goth, which indeed they were, while the pointed style to which in English that term is most erroneously applied, has nothing whatever in common with that people, or their works. As the Spanish monarchy waxed stronger, it followed in the wake of Europe, with the peculiarity of a Moorish infusion. The rude Gotho-Spaniard employed Saracenic workmen for the ornamental, just as the Normans did in Sicily. This admixture prevails chiefly in the south and east. In Catalonia, and portions of Leon and Castile, the infusion is Norman, and was introduced by the French allies of the Spanish Christians. The earliest periods are marked by a simple, solid, Gothic style; for in the days of border foray, churches and convents, as now in Syria, served frequently as fortresses. Specimens of this period abound in Salamanca, Zamora, Santiago, and Oviedo, and generally to the north-west.

When the monarchy was consolidated under Ferdinand and Isabella, a more royal, florid, and ornate decoration was introduced. This was exchanged by their grandson Charles V. for the chivalrous cinque-cento, or renaissance, which Italy taught to{189} Europe. This the Spaniards call the Græco-Romano style, and the term is well chosen, for it was more antique and Pagan than Christian. The newly discovered literature and arts of the classical ages, which engrossed and absorbed European attention, wrestled with the creed of the cross even in the churches themselves. The decorations of altars and sepulchres became mythological; tritons, flowers, and griffins disputed with monks, chaplets, and saints. This rich arabesque style the Spaniards appropriately called el Plateresco, from its resemblance to the chasings of silversmiths. It is also called the style of Berruguete, from the name of that great architect, sculptor, and painter, who carried it to such perfection. In the ornamental working of plate few countries can compete with Spain; she had her Cellinis in the family of the D'Arphes and the Becerriles; the age of Leo X. was that of her Charles V., when she was the dominant power of Europe. He was succeeded by Philip II., who, with all his faults, perfectly understood art, and was its most liberal encourager. He introduced a severer style, and abandoned the fantastic caprices of the Berruguete cinque-cento. The classical orders became the model, especially the chaste Doric and grateful Ionic. This is termed the Herrera style, because much promulgated by that great architect, the builder of the Escorial, and appointed by Philip II., the sole supervisor of all the edifices of the Peninsula.

Architecture, which grew with the monarchy, shared in its decline. Thus, when the Gongoras corrupted literature with euphuism and conceit, this second expression of the spirit of the age was tortured by Churriguerra. This heresiarch of flagitious taste has bequeathed his name a warning to mankind. El Churriguerismo, el Churrigueresco, in the language of Spanish criticism, designates all that is bad and vicious; to wit, those piles of gilded wood, and fricassees of marbles, with which the old churches of Spain were unfortunately filled, by a well-intentioned mistaken desire to beautify. This was indeed the age of gold, when viceroys and officials, returning from distant dependencies with cankered heaps of strangely achieved gold, sought on their death-beds to bribe St. Peter, and listened to their confessors, ever ready to absolve a penitent who was willing to bequeath legacies for obras pias, or pious works. But it was an age of leaden dross in art. The shell of the temples shared in the degeneracy of the spirit of their creed; never was religion more crusted over with tinsel ceremonial, but more stripped of realities; and so her shrines, albeit plastered over with gilding, were poverty-stricken as regarded alike the beautiful and sublime, or the{190} Christian, in art. Seneca, although a Spaniard, could see the glittering cheat: "Cum auro tecta perfundimus quid aliud quam mendacio gaudemus? Scimus enim sub illo auro fœda ligna latitare" (Ep. 115). But everything then was a lie, and bunglers, who called themselves artists, endeavoured to make up by barbaric ornament for want of sentiment, feeling, and design.

The Churrigueresque mania continued to prevail during the reign of Philip V., who superadded to its unmeaning monstrosities the gaudy French rococo of Louis XIV. About 1750 the Churrigueresque was succeeded by the Academical, of which Mengs, the type of learned mediocrity and commonplace, was the apostle. This Academical still prevails: hence the poor conventionalities of modern buildings in Spain, which, without soul, spirit, or nationality, are an emblem of the monarchy fallen from its pride of place. Yet the Spaniards turn from the Gothic, the Cinque-cento, and the Moorish, to admire these formal workings by line and rule, coldly correct and classically dull. They point out with pride the bald adaptations and veneerings of other men's inventions, which characterize the piles of brick and mortar reared during the reign of Charles III., whose passion was architecture, and whose taste was that of his vile period, contemporary and common-place as that of our George III.

The cathedrals and churches of Spain, built in better times, are unrivalled in number and magnificence. They are museums of art in all its branches, of which the clergy have always been the best patrons; not from any love of art itself, but in order to make it the handmaid of their system and creed. Much also of the private outlay of kings and princes has been lavished on the chapels of their tutelar saints and family burial-places. Hence the remarkable religious tendency of the fine arts in Spain. The cathedrals range from the eleventh to the seventeenth century; they embrace every transition-style, and constitute the emphatic feature of their respective cities. They differ in details from each other, but one and the same principle prevails in the general intention and arrangement; and this requires to be explained once for all. The Spanish terms will be retained throughout these pages. They are those used by the natives, and therefore will best facilitate the traveller's inquiries.

The exteriors frequently remain unfinished; Spanish grandeur of conception too often outstrips the means of execution; and when the original religious motive began to decline, the funds destined for completion were misappropriated by jobbing individuals. The fachada principal, or western façade, is generally{191} the most ornate. It sometimes is placed between two towers, with deeply recessed portals and niche work, studded with statues and sculpture. It is seldom that both towers are finished. The plan of the body of the edifice is almost always a cross. The number of naves, naves (navis, ναος, the ark), vary. The side aisles, alas, wings, las laterales, colaterales, are divided by piers, pilones, from whence the roof, boveda, springs. The font, pila, is usually placed at the entrances, typical of the entrance of the baptized into the church of Christ, and also to be readier for digital immersion. No Spaniard comes into church without dipping his finger into this holy water, or agua bendita, which the devil is said to hate even worse than monks did the common abstersive fluid. The persons having dipped into the pila, may pass on the liquid to their companions, who all cross themselves, Santiguarse, hagan cruces, touching the breast, forehead, and lips, and ending with apparently kissing the reversed thumb. All this is most ancient, Oriental, and Phallic. Compare Job xxxi. 27; Pliny, 'Hist. Nat.' xi. 45; xxviii. 2; and particularly Apuleius, 'Met.' iv. 83; indeed the kiss is the root and essence of adoration: προσκυνησις, απο τον κυνειν.

Advancing up the centre aisle is the heart, cor, el coro, the quire, which is occupied by the canons and quiristers. This isolated portion is enclosed on three sides, open only to the east. This mode of structure, although very convenient for the occupants, is a grievous eyesore in the edifice; it blocks up the space, and conceals the high altar. The back of the coro is called el trascoro: this, which faces those who enter the cathedral from the west, is frequently most elaborately adorned with marbles, pictures, and sculpture. The lateral walls of the quire are called los respaldos del coro, and often contain small chapels. Over these the organs are generally placed, of which in larger cathedrals there are usually two. They are, as instruments, of a rich and deep tone; the ornaments, however, being of the seventeenth century, are too often in the vilest taste, and out of harmony with everything around. The coro is lined with stalls, sillas, frequently in two tiers, and backed by a highly enriched carved wainscoting, and crowned with finials, poppyheads, and ornamental decoration. The seats, silleria del coro, should be carefully examined, especially the "misereres," subsilia, or turn-up stools; many are extremely ancient and grotesque. The atriles, or desks on which the books of the quiristers are placed, are also frequently exquisitely designed in wood and metal; as are the facistoles, the letterns or eagles. The throne of the bishop and the confessional{192} chair of the great penitentiary, el penitenciario, are always the most elaborate.

Opposite to the coro is an open space, which marks the centre of the transept, crucero, and over which is the great dome, el cimborio. This space is called the "entre los dos coros," and divides the quire from the high altar, el altar mayor, capilla mayor, or el presbiterio. This, again, is usually isolated and fenced off by a reja, or railing, the cancelli, gratings, whence comes our term chancel. These rejas are among the most remarkable and artistical peculiarities of Spain, and, from being made of iron, have escaped the melting-pot of armed power, both foreign and domestic. The minor chapels frequently have their reja or "par-close;" and they should always be examined. The pulpits, pulpitos, ambones, generally two in number, are placed in the angle outside the chancel: they are fixed N.W. and S.W., in order that the preacher may face the congregation, who look towards the high altar, without his turning his back to it. Ascending usually by steps is the capilla mayor, or the αρχιον, or summum templum, called el altar (ab altitudine), and on this is placed a tabernacle, el tabernaculo, or ciborio, under which the consecrated wafer, La Hostia, is placed in a viril, or open "monstrance," when displayed, or manifestado. This term viril was thought by Blanco White to be a remnant of the Phallic abomination. Pliny ('Hist. Nat.' xxxiii. 3), however, mentions the names viriolæ, viriæ, as Celtic and Celtiberian words for golden ornaments. When the wafer is not exhibited, it is enclosed in a sagrario, andas, ciborium, or tabernacle. In some churches, as at Lugo and Leon, the host is always displayed for public adoration; in others, only at particular times: generally, in great towns, this is done in all the churches by rotation, and during forty hours, las cuarenta horas, which are duly mentioned in almanacs and newspapers, and which may be seen by the cluster of beggars at the particular church-door, who well know that this church will be the most visited by the devout and charitable.

The church plate, as might be expected in a land the mistress of the gold and silver of the New World, and of a most wealthy clergy, was once most splendid and abundant; (see some remarks on the D'Arphes of Leon;) but, as usual in troubled times, the precious material attracted the spoiler, foreign and domestic. Vast quantities have disappeared; a few specimens, however, of the Cellinis of Spain remain, and chiefly at Toledo, Seville, Santiago, and Oviedo. The most remarkable objects to examine are the altar candlesticks, candeleros, blandones; the calix, or{193} sacramental cup; the porta pax, in which relics are enclosed, and offered to devout osculation; the cruces, crosses; baculos, croziers; and the vergers' staves, cetros. The traveller should always inquire if there be a custodia, whether of silver, plata, or of silver gilt, sobredorada; these are precisely the Moslem Mahh'mil. (Lane, ii. 247.) They are called custodias, because in them, on grand festivals, the consecrated host is kept. The custodia, containing the wafer, thus guarded, is deposited on Good Friday in the sepulchre, el monumento. This is a pile of wood-work which is put up for the occasion; and in some cathedrals—Seville, for instance—is of great architectural splendour.

At the back of the high altar rises a screen, or reredos, called el retablo; these often are most magnificent, reared high aloft, and crowned with a "holy rood," or the representation of Christ on the cross, with St. John and the Virgin at his side. The retablos are most elaborately designed, carved, and gilt; they are divided into compartments, either by niches or intercolumniations; and these spaces are filled with paintings or sculpture, generally representing the life of the Virgin, or of the Saviour, or subjects taken from the Bible, and not unfrequently the local legends and tutelars: these are the books of those who can see, but cannot read. The place of honour is usually assigned to La Santisima, the Virgin, the "Queen of heaven" (Jer. xliv. 17), either in the attitude of her Concepcion, Assumption, or as bearing the infant Saviour. She is the Astarte, Isis, and great Diana, the focus of light and adoration; and to her indeed the majority of cathedrals of Spain are dedicated, whilst in every church in the Peninsula, she at least has her Lady Chapel. Few Spaniards ever at any time, in crossing the cathedral, pass the high altar without bowing and crossing themselves to this, the Sanctum Sanctorum, since the incarnate host is placed thereon: and in order not to offend the weaker brethren, every considerate Protestant should also manifest an outward respect for this the holy of holies of the natives, and of his Redeemer also. Sometimes kings, queens, and princes are buried near the high altar, which is then called a Capilla real. The sarcophagus, or bed on which the figure representing the deceased kneel or lie, is called Urna. The sepulchral monuments of Spain are, or rather were, most numerous and magnificent: vast numbers were destroyed by the French; many of those which escaped have perished in the recent suppression of convents: leaving the capilla mayor, the two outsides are called respaldos, and the back part el trasaltar. Spaniards, in designating the right and left of the altar, generally use the terms lado del{194} Evangelio, lado de la Epistola: the Gospel side, that is the right, looking from the altar; the Epistle side, that is the left. These are the spots occupied by the minister while reading those portions of the service. The altar on grand occasions is decked with superbly embroidered coverlets; a complete set is called el terno. The piers of the nave are then hung with damask or velvet hangings, colgaduras. The cathedrals generally have a parish church attached to them, La Parroquia, and many have a royal chapel, una capilla real, quite distinct from the high altar, in which separate services are performed by a separate establishment of clergy. The chapter-houses should always be visited. The Sala del Cabildo, Sala capitular, have frequently an ante-room, ante-sala, and both generally contain carvings and pictures. The Sagrario is a term used for the additional chapel which is sometimes appended to the cathedral, and also for the chamber where the relics and sacred vessels are kept. Spain is still the land of relics: for bones and other fragments have escaped better than their precious settings, which the irreverent spoiler removed. In case any traveller may miss seeing any particular Relicario, he has the satisfactory reflection that there will be found a bit of almost any given article in every other grand repository of the Peninsula: for in proportion as objects were rare, nay unique, they possessed a marvellous power of self-reproduction, for the comfort and consolation of true believers.

The vestry is called la Sacristia, and its showman, or official servant, el Sacristan: here the robes and utensils of the officiating ministers are put away. These saloons are frequently remarkable for the profusion of mirrors which are hung, like pictures, all around over the presses: the looking-glasses are slanted forwards, in order that the priest, when arrayed, may have a full-length view of himself in these clerical Psyches. The dresses and copes of the clergy are magnificently embroidered: the Spaniards excel in this art of working silver and gold. It is Oriental, and inherited from Phœnician and Moor. The enormous wealth and display of the church, moreover, created a constant demand for artificers in this manufacture. The use of mantillas also encourages embroidery; it is, indeed, the great occupation of all Spanish women, who, as in the East, are continually thus employed, and at precisely the same low frames. Many of the side chapels have also their Sagrario and Sacristia, and vie in magnificence with the Capilla mayor or high altar; they are museums of art, it having been the study of the rich and pious of the founder's family, to whom each belonged, to adorn them as much as possible, since{195} all wished to leave, in the security of the temple, some memorial of their munificence, some, non omnis moriar.

The painted glass in the windows, las vidrieras de las ventanas, is often most superb, although the Spaniards have produced very few artists in this chemical branch; they mostly employed painters from Flanders and Germany.

The cathedrals of Spain are truly metropolitan, and set a mother's example, a decorous type and model, in architecture and ceremonial, to the smaller parish churches; therefore, on entering a new province or diocese the cathedral should be well studied; for by it the parochial temples will be best explained and understood, and ecclesiastical architecture has its provincialisms, like dialects. The cathedrals may be visited every day, except during a few hours in the afternoon, the vacation of dinner, and the siesta. They do not lie shut during the week, dead and idle, like tombs: the door of the house of God is never closed; it is open, like his ear and mercy, to all, and always. Thus those who are prompted by the sudden still small voice may realize the warning on the spur of the happy yearning, and in the place where prayer is best offered up. It can be done "to-day, if the voice be heard," and now: there is no risk in being forced to wait, and thus sanding life with good intentions never to be carried out: there need be no putting off until "a more convenient season," when the greedy vergers, tax-gatherers, and the money-changers of absent deans and married canons, unwillingly unlock their spiked gratings, and grudge a gratuitous glance, even to those who come not to pry but to pray. There are no extortionate fees, no disgraceful tariff printed and hung up on the door of God's house: all is free to all, like the light of the sun and air of heaven; whether the stranger comes to kneel in penitence, or to elevate his mind with religious art and magnificence.

The services are impressive. They are performed at all hours, and are thus suited to the habits and necessities of all classes, from the hard worker at chilly dawn, to the invalid at the aired mid-day. The whole chapter attends at the grand mass; there are no non-residents; the canons alone are seated in the coro, and have appointed places. The rest of the church is unencumbered with shabby pews or pens, and undesecrated by any worldly distinctions: all here assemble before their Creator in a perfect equality, high and low, rich and poor: they meet in the church as they will in the grave, where all are levelled. The public behaviour is very respectful: many of their actions, such as beating the breast, prostration of the body, are borrowed from the East, and are very{196} ancient (compare Herod, ii. 40 (see Larcher's note) and 85; Gen. xlii. 6; Luke xxiii. 48). The men generally stand up or kneel, the women sit on the pavement, resting on their heels, a remnant of the Moor; indeed, down to the times of Philip IV. Spanish females seldom sat on chairs, even in their houses. The action of sitting down is very peculiar; it is like what our children call making a cheese: they turn round once or twice, and, when their drapery expands, plump down. This is quite Roman: "Capite velato circumvertens se, deinde procumbens" (Suet. 'Vitell.' 2), the Περιστεθομενος by Numa (Plut.) Such was the position of the ancient Egyptian females (Wilkinson, ii. 204). So David "sat before the Lord."

Many and distinct masses are celebrated every day, and often simultaneously at the different lateral altars; the grander processions and ceremonials are conducted in the vasty aisles. Thus the whole space of the cathedral is available for worship; hence the propriety and fitness. The edifice is used for the purposes for which it was constructed. It does not look thrown away upon Protestants who, having no occasion for such space, do not know what to do with the superfluous room, the vacuum against which even nature protests. The services again are short and impressive. Everywhere the sacramental sacrifice is offered up on the altar. The import of the mass being the most solemn of the whole ritual, devotion is thus concentrated. In time and tone the performance is commensurate with the limited powers of mortal reverence and capability of sustaining attention; nor are these feelings frittered away by repetitions or mere subordinate and disconnected services. Sermons—the word of man—are the exception, not the rule; they, indeed, are quite secondary, but when delivered, a person of natural eloquence is usually selected, who pours forth a fervid, impassioned, and extemporaneous exhortation. He seldom fails to arrest and rivet attention. A written sermon would be thought a professor's lecture; and those of the congregation who did not go away—which any one in this well-considered system always may—would infallibly become siestose.

22. THE ERA.

The antiquarian will frequently meet with the date Era in old books or on old inscriptions. This mode of reckoning prevailed in the Roman dominions, and arose from a particular payment of{197} taxes, æs æra, therefore the Moors translated this date by Safar, "copper," whence the Spanish word azofar. It commenced in the fourth year of Augustus Cæsar; according to some, on March 25th, according to others December 25th. Volumes have been written on this disputed point: consult 'Obras Chronologicas,' Marques de Mondejar, folio, Valencia, 1744, and the second volume of the 'España Sagrada.' Suffice it now to say that to make the Era correspond with the Anno Domini, thirty-eight years must be added; thus A.D. 1200 is equivalent to the Era 1238. The use of the Era prevailed in Spain down to the twelfth century, when the modern system of reckoning from the date of the Saviour was introduced, not, however, to the exclusion of the Era, for both were for a long time frequently used in juxtaposition: the Era was finally ordered to be discontinued in 1383, by the Cortes of Segovia.

The Moorish Hegira commences from Friday, July 16, A.D. 622.

The New Style was introduced by Gregory XIII. into Spain in 1582, at the same time that it was at Rome; October 5th of the Old Style was then called October 15th. This change must always be remembered, in ascertaining the exact date of previous events, and especially in comparing Spanish and English dates, since the New Style was introduced into England only in 1751.

KINGS OF SPAIN.

The subjoined Chronology of the order of succession of the Kings of Spain, from the Goths, is useful for the purposes of dates. The years of their deaths are given from the official and recognised lists.

TABLE OF CONTEMPORARY SOVEREIGNS.

The periods have been selected during which leading events in Spanish history have occurred.

THE ROYAL ARMS OF SPAIN

Those which appear on most religious and public buildings are certain aids in fixing dates. They have from time to time undergone many changes, and those changes marked epochs. The "canting" Castle was first assumed for Castile, and the Lion for Leon; the earliest shields were parted per cross, gules, a castle or, argent a lion rampant or. In 1332 Alonzo XI. instituted the order of La Vanda, the "Band," or scarf; the charge was a bend dexter gules issuing from two dragons' heads vert. This was the charge of the old banner of Castile. It was discontinued in 1369, by{200} Henry II., who hated an order of which his brother had deprived him.

The union of Arragon and Castile in 1479, under Ferdinand and Isabella, made a great change in the royal shield. It was then divided by coupe and party: the first and fourth areas were given to Castile and Leon quartered, the second and third to Arragon—Or, four bars, gules—and Sicily impaled; Navarre and Jerusalem were added subsequently: Ferdinand and Isabella, who were much devoted to St. John the Evangelist, adopted his eagle, sable with one head, as the supporter of their common shield: they each assumed a separate device: Isabella took a bundle of arrows, Flechas, and the letter F, the initial of her husband's name and of this symbol of union. The arbitrary Ferdinand took a Yoke, Yugo, and the letter Y, the initial of his wife's name and of the despotic machine which he fixed on the neck of Moor and Spaniard: he added the motto Tato mota, Tanto monta, Tantamount, to mark his assumed equality with his Castilian queen, which the Castilians never admitted.

When Granada was captured in 1492, a pomegranate stalked and leaved proper, with the shell open-grained gules, was added to the point of the shield in base: wherever this is wanting, the traveller may be certain that the building is prior to 1492. Ferdinand and Isabella are generally called Los Reyes Catolicos, the Catholic sovereigns; they were very great builders, and lived at the period of the most florid Gothic and armorial decorations: they were very fond of introducing figures of heralds in tabards.

The age of their grandson Charles V. was again that of change: he brought in all the pride of Teutonic emblazoning; and the arms of the empire, Austria, Burgundy, Brabant, and Flanders were added: the apostolic one-headed eagle gave way to the doubled-headed eagle of the empire: the shield was enclosed with the order of the Golden Fleece; the ragged staff of Burgundy, and the pillars of Hercules, with the motto Plus ultra, plus oultre, were added. Philip II. discontinued the Imperial Eagle: he added in two escutcheons of pretence the arms of Portugal, Artois, and Charolois. These were omitted by his grandson Philip IV. when Spain began to fall to pieces and her kingdoms to drop off; on the accession of Philip V. the three Bourbon fleur de lys were added in an escutcheon of pretence.

The arms of every city in Spain will be found in the 'Rasgo Heroico' of Ant. Moya, Madrid, 1756. Those of private families are endless. Few countries can vie with Spain in heraldic pride and heraldic literature, on which consult 'Bibliotheca Hispanica{201} Historico Genealogico Heraldica,' Q. E. de Frankenau, 4to., Leipsig, 1724: it enumerates no less than 1490 works; the real author was Juan Lucas Cortes, a learned Spaniard, whose MS. treatises on heraldry and jurisprudence fell into the hands of this Frankenau, a Dane, by whom they were appropriated in the most bare-faced manner; consult also 'Quart. Review,' No. cxxiii.

23. AUTHORITIES QUOTED.

As this 'Hand-book' is destined chiefly for a reader in Spain, we shall, in quoting authorities for historical, artistical, religious, and military statements, either select Spanish authors, as being the most readily accessible in a country where foreign books are very rare, or those authors which, by common consent, in Spain and out, are held by their respective countrymen to be most deserving of credit; a frequent reference will be made to authorities of all kinds, ancient as well as modern; thus the reader who is anxious to pursue any particular subject will find his researches facilitated, and all will have a better guarantee that facts are stated correctly than if they were merely depended on the unsupported assertion of the author of this 'Hand-book.' He, again, on his part will be relieved from any personal responsibility, when inexorable history demands the statement of unpalatable truths. The subjoined are those to which most frequent reference will be made, and, in order to economise precious space, they will be usually quoted in the following abbreviated forms:

HISTORICAL AND ARTISTICAL AUTHORITIES.

Mar^a. vi. 13; book and chapter of the learned Mariana's history of Spain, which offers a fair collection of facts, for it was not likely that the author, a Jesuit, would have taken a liberal or philosophical view of many of the most important bearings of his country's annals, even had any truly searching spirit of investigation been ever permitted by the censorship of the government and inquisition.

'Moh. D.' ii. 367; volume and page of the 'Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain,' 2 vols. 4to., London 1841-43, by Don Pascual Gayangos. This gentleman (and our valued friend) is by far the first Hispano-Arabic scholar of his day, and unites to indefatigable industry a sound critical judgment; he has unravelled the perplexed subject, which he may be said to have exhausted.{202}

Conde, iii. 156; volume and page of 'Historia de los Arabes en España,' by Juan Antonio Conde, 4 vols. 4to. Mad. 1820-21. It is compiled entirely from Arabic authorities, and is very dry reading; the premature death of the author prevented his giving it the last finishing touches; hence sundry inaccuracies, and a general want of lucid arrangement. It was translated into French by a M. Marles, 3 vols. Paris, 1825. This worthless performance, in which not only the original text is misrepresented, is rendered worse than useless by the introduction of new and inaccurate matter of the translator's.

C. Ber.; thus will be cited Cean Bermudez, a diligent accurate modern author, on the arts and antiquities of the Peninsula, and whose works, on the whole, are among the soundest and most critical produced by a Spaniard: writing after the French revolution, he has ventured to omit much of the legendary, &c. in which his predecessors were so prone to indulge.

C. Ber. D. iv. 39; vol. and page of the 'Diccionario de las Bellas Artes,' 6 vols. 8vo. Mad. 1800. This is a complete dictionary of all the leading artists of Spain in every branch except architecture; it is alphabetically arranged; a short biography is given of each artist, and then a list of his principal works, and the places where they are to be seen. Appended are many excellent and useful indexes. This, one of the few methodical books ever published in Spain, unintentionally occasioned the loss of much fine art, as it was used by the French invaders as a guide. Thus, on taking possession of any city, collecting generals knew at once what was most valuable, and where to go for it. Accordingly, at least half of the treasures indicated in the pages have disappeared.

C. Ber. A. iii. 74; volume and page of 'Noticias de los Arquitectos y Arquitectura,' 4 vols. 4to., Mad. 1829. This is a dictionary of architecture, based somewhat on the plan of the preceding work. The ground-plan was prepared by Don Eugenio Llaguno y Amirola,' who left to Cean the task of filling up and completing. Herein will be found many documents, agreements, and specifications of the highest interest, and evidences of the extreme care and foresight with which the Spaniards of old planned and carried out their magnificent cathedrals, &c.

C. Ber. S. 49; page of 'Sumario de las Antigüedades Romanas en España,' 1 vol. fol. Mad. 1832. In this single volume are collected all the chief remains of antiquity which still exist in Spain. The work is subdivided, classified, and furnished with indexes, which so rarely is the case in Spanish publications.{203}

Mas. H. C. xvi. 26; vol. and page of the 'Historia Critica' of J^n. F^ro. Masdeu, 20 vols. 4to., Mad. 1784, 1805. This is a work of great research and utility, although overdone and tedious. It contains a vast collection of ancient inscriptions, which are now doubly valuable, as many of the originals have perished. These, indeed, are precious records of the past, and may be trusted; they are the title-deeds of the dead, the planks saved from the wreck of time. For the ancient geography of Spain, consult 'Geographie von Hispanien,' Konrad Mannert, 8vo., 3rd edit., Leipsig, 1829; and, better still, 'Hispanien,' Fr. Aug. Ukert, Weimar, 1821, second part, p. 229. These works are such as German scholars alone can produce; they are mines of patient research, and accurate unostentatious learning. The references are most elaborate; although dry and curt for reading, they are invaluable as books of reference.

For early histories down to the Goths, Depping's work, Paris, 2 vols., 1814, is excellent; also the 'Histoire de l'Espagne,' by Romey, now publishing at Paris. They have drawn largely from Masdeu, who, although a bad maker of a book, was a good pioneer for others.

The Spanish Cronicas contain most curious details of early national history, and are often almost as interesting to read as Froissart or Monstrelet. The first and black-letter editions are bibliographical curiosities; the modern 4to. reprints by Sancha at Madrid, are very convenient. In respect, however, to real history, no country is more indebted to another than Spain is to English writers; suffice it to mention the names of Robertson, Watson, Dunlop, Coxe, and Washington Irving, Prescott, and Lord Mahon. The two Americans have with singular good grace repaid, by their contributions to the romance and history of Spain, the obligation which their new country owes to the old land, of which Columbus was a protégé. Not so Lord Mahon, who by his able account of the 'War of the Succession,' and 'Spain under Charles II.,' has engrafted the bay of the historian on the laurel of his soldier ancestor: deep indeed are Spain's obligations to the noble race of Stanhope, which, in a long series of generations, has bled and conquered for her in war, and has in peace sustained her by diplomacy, and illustrated her by literature—esto perpetua.

Ponz, vi. 35; vol. and page of the 'Viaje de España,' by Antonio Ponz, 18 v. Mad. 1786-94; a very useful itinerary of Spain. The author was a kind-hearted, pains-taking man, and, albeit given to prosy twaddle—the vice of the commonplace period at which{204} he wrote—was honest and well intentioned. A true Spaniard leaves nothing in his inkstand, no deja nada en el tintero, for time and ink are of little value in the Península. Woe unto him who tells us all that he knows: but the pith of these eighteen volumes might well have been condensed into six; amid an infinite deal of nothing, good grains of wheat are hid in the bushels of chaff, and the work is now curious as describing temples and palaces as they existed before they were desecrated or destroyed by invaders or reformers.

Min. ix. 305; vol. and page of the 'Diccionario Geografico' of Spain, by Sebastian de Miñano; 10 v. 4to. Mad. 1826-9. This geographical and topographical description of the Peninsula was compiled under the patronage of Ferdinand VII., and really was a creditable performance. A new work is now publishing which is to supersede it, 'Descripcion Geografica,' &c., by Tomás Beltran Soler, with maps and woodcuts. There are a vast number of county and city histories, the chief of which will be named in their respective localities.

RELIGIOUS AUTHORITIES.

E. S. xxiii. 97; vol. and page of 'La España Sagrada;' the grand compilation of the learned Padre Henrique Florez; the Dugdale, Muratori, and Monfaucon of Spain. It was commenced in 1747, in imitation of the 'Italia Sacra' of Ferd. Ughelli, Roma, 1644-62. This admirable work has been carried down to 1832, and now consists of 45 vols. 4to. The Academia de la Historia of Madrid is charged with its continuance. So many of the archives of cathedrals and convents were burnt by the French, and during the recent civil wars and sequestrations, that the latter dioceses must of necessity be somewhat inferior to the former, from the lack of those earliest and most interesting documents, which have fortunately been printed by Florez, and thus rescued from oblivion. Florez is the author of several other excellent works, one of which will constantly be referred to thus:

Florez, M., ii. 83; vol. and page of his 'Medallas de España,' 3 vols. folio. Mad. 1757, 73. The third volume is rather rare, and is smaller than the two preceding; herein are described the coins and medals from before the Romans down to the Goths: plates are given of the specimens, and a short account of the mints in which they were struck. The coinage of Spain is highly interesting. These are the portraits and picture-books of antiquity, and of all its remnants those which have the best escaped. They now{205} possess a value far beyond that merely monetary, and one which the ancients never contemplated: they illustrate at once religion, war, and history. They are chiefly copper.

Ribad, iii. 43; vol. and page of the 'Flos Sanctorum,' or 'Vida de los Santos,' by the Jesuit Pedro Ribadeneyra and others. The Madrid fol. edit. of 1790, 3 vols., is that quoted. Without this book, none can hope to understand the fine arts of the Peninsula, where biography, like heraldry, constitutes a wide branch of its literature, as all may verify by looking at the comparative numbers given by Antonio in his 'Bibliotheca Nova.' These branches were not only not persecuted by the Inquisition, the enemy of the press, but encouraged; they flattered the national pride, and upheld the system of the church. Ribadeneyra must be considered as the best vade mecum of Spanish picture-galleries and cathedrals; indeed, it will be as impossible to understand the subjects without some guide of this sort, as it would have been the mythological arts of Greece without a Pausanias, or of the Pantheon without Ovid's Fasti. At the same time, in the legends of the monkish tribe, there is wanting the elegant poetical fiction which suited the fine arts of the classical period. No traveller, as we have said, can fully understand these subjects without a flos sanctorum, a work which Palomino (ii. 131) considers quite indispensable to every Spanish artist about to paint. The subjects are seldom much varied: they represent mystical visions and groupings, in defiance of chronology and human probability. But a legend is not a history; and these pictures, like poetical fictions, disdain dry matter-of-fact. Their harmony does not consist in agreement with dates, real life, or possibilities, so much as in colour and arrangement of lines and forms. The traveller's acquaintance with the proper names, epithets, histories, and attributes of the saints the most honoured in each locality, will do him a good turn; it will conciliate the natives, not from their valuing his knowledge as a connoisseur of art, but from a latent suspicion that he may be a Christian, which no man can possibly be who asks questions or displays his ignorance on matters which are familiar to the veriest babies, beggars, and barbers; while the Protestant who understands the subject, will be better qualified to estimate the talent of artists in handling the theme proposed to them. The other most authentic lives of local saints, the legends and local miracles, will be cited at their respective places.

The reader is assured, and he may verify it by a reference to the pages cited, that nothing has been quoted from these works, which is not almost a literal translation of the Spanish church-{206}approved original. And let none undervalue these monastic vellum-clad quartos and folios. Entertaining as any romance, they are original sources of information, and often the only records of their periods. They unfold the spirit of their age. They are true contemporary accounts, when touching incidentally on matters unconnected with their saint or miracle, for whose honour alone they commit pious frauds. These, certainly, to the Protestant reader, when not purely mythological, amount often to down-right blasphemy. Yet here and there precious items of history glitter like globules of gold in the sands of monastic absurdities. This Hand-book is not a book of criticism. Facts will be therefore stated as authorized by the responsible ecclesiastical authorities for the implicit belief of Spaniards; and such inventions never would have been thus palmed on a people and universally received, if not in harmony with, and adapted to the national character, which exaggerates and believes everything, and delights in calling on Hercules and Santiago, rather than practically setting its own shoulders to the cart-wheel, and which "loves and will have false prophecies."

MILITARY AUTHORITIES.

These necessarily are of three classes: and belong to the invader, the French; the invaded, the Spanish; and the deliverer, the English. They correct and explain each other.

Œuvr. de B. ii. 75, vol. and page of 'Œuvres de N. Buonaparte,' 5 vols., 8vo., Paris, 1822. These contain his military proclamations, his bulletins, and leading Moniteur articles, and information, "garbled," as the Duke says, "in the usual Jacobin style," and filled with "the usual philippics" against la perfide Albion et son or. True exponents of the man and his system, they breathe fire and spirit—splendide mendax; and if occasionally Ossianic, and the very reverse of the dispatches of the plain veracious Duke, they were admirably suited for his readers and purposes. Although the truth is never in them, yet they fascinate by their daring, and burn like sparks struck from granite by the sword.

Foy, i. 259, vol. and page of General Foy's 'Histoire de la Guerre dans la Péninsule,' 4 vols. Paris, 1827. It only comes down to the convention of Cintra: it is said to have been tampered with after the author's death, hence possibly some of its inaccuracy and injustice against the English. Ingenious, eloquent, and clever as Foy was, he could not always invent facts, or guess numbers{207} accurately; nor was he equal to that most difficult of all tasks, the sustaining consistently throughout, a "fiction of military romance." The truth creeps out in accidental contradictions. Foy is thus justly characterized by Sir G. Murray ('Quart. Rev.' cxi. 167), who knew him well in peace and war as "A writer who has shown notoriously the grossest ignorance in respect to many particulars connected with England, about which a very slight inquiry would have set him right." Foy denies to the Duke the commonest military talent, and attributes his successes to accident, and ascribes the valour of British soldiers principally to "Beef and Rum," see i. 230, 259, 290, 325, et passim; and yet this is a text-book in France.

Bel. iv. 16, vol. and page. 'Journaux des Siéges dans la Péninsule,' J. Belmas, 4 vols. 8vo., Paris, 1836. Projected by Buonaparte in 1812, it was finished by Soult. It professes to be based on authentic documents in the French war-office—it details how the English were always double in number to the French; the reverse being nearer the truth. It is valuable as containing some of the rebukes administered by the master-hand of Buonaparte to his beaten and out-generaled marshals.

V. et C. xx. 231, vol. and page. This denotes the 'Victoires et Conquêtes des Français,' 26 vols. 8vo., Paris, 1818-21. It was compiled by a set of inferior officers and small gens-de-lettres, after the second capture of Paris, and exhibits throughout a most unfair and virulent tone against the countrymen of Nelson and Wellington.

Lab. iii. 263, vol. and page. The third edition of the 'Itinéraire descriptif de l'Espagne,' by Alex. de Laborde, 6 vols., Paris, 1827. The first edition was published in 1806-21, in 4 vols. fol., by Didot, and is a fine work as far as type and paper go, all the rest is leather and prunella: the plates are miserable, both as designs and engravings. This work was, like Murphy's "Alhambra," a bookseller's speculation, and in both cases it is difficult to believe that the authors ever were at all in Spain, so gross, palpable, and numerous are the inaccuracies; some idea of the multitudinous and almost incredible mistakes and misstatements of Laborde may be formed by reading the just critique of the Edin. Rev. xv. 5. It was re-edited in 1827 by Bory de St. Vincent, an aide-de-camp to Soult, and a tolerable geographer: he was author of a Guide des Voyageurs en Espagne, Paris, 1823, a thing of very slender merit.

B. U. xxi. 19, vol. and page of 'Biographie Universelle,' 74 vols. 8vo., Paris, 1811-43. This is a respectable compilation, although{208} not free from bias whenever tender national subjects are concerned.

The generality of French authors on the war in Spain naturally desire to palliate the injustice of the invasion, the terrorism with which it was carried out, and to explain away defeats sustained; they seem to be written solely to conciliate French readers at the expense of truth and history, nay facts are occasionally so de-naturalized that an Englishman often supposes that the accounts must have reference to some totally distinct campaign and results.

It is strange that authors of a nation of such undisputed military skill, and chivalrous gallantry, should refuse to our soldiers that laurel which we never deny to theirs; nay, we indeed honour and admire the brave French in the words of Picton, "as the only troops worth fighting with." It is marvellous that the conquerors of Austerlitz and Jena should not know how easily they could afford to admit a reverse in a fair well-fought field.

Some, at the same time, have sincerely hoped and imagined that they were writing the truth. They could only construct from the materials placed within their reach: these, under Buonaparte, were systematically tampered with; the sources of correct information were corrupted as a matter of course; his throne was hung around with a curtain of falsehood, lined with terror; or, in the words of his own agent, l'Abbé de Pradt, with ruse doublée de terreur. Under him, says Foy, i. 17, "La presse était esclave; la police repoussait la vérité avec autant de soins, que s'il fut agi d'écarter l'invasion de l'ennemi." "At all times," says the Duke ('Disp.' July 8, 1815), "of the French revolution, the actors in it have not scrupled to resort to falsehood either to give a colour or palliate their adoption or abandonment of any line of policy, and they think, provided the falsehood answers the purpose of the moment, it is fully justified." Some allowance therefore must be made for honest Frenchmen writing under the thick mists and atmosphere of deception—"Où on peut dire des mensonges sans mentir, et commettre des erreurs sans croire de tromper." Thus the honey of the bees of Xenophon, by continually sucking the flowers of bitter lupines, became tainted in flavour. Nor has this inevitable tendency escaped the French themselves; and one of their best writers justly laments "that France, since the murder of Louis XVI., has been fed with lies. Under the system adopted by the heads of the army, formed in the school of revolutions, the truth can never be known. Formerly, when the sentiment of honour was delicate and profound, it was not required from{209} generals to be constantly conquerors, but they were expected to be always brave. It followed that if victory had its joys, defeat was not without its consolations. It followed also that the reports of military events were sincere and natural, and that a disaster was not represented as a victory. In the Revolution all honour consisted in success, and therefore it was not allowed to meet with a check. The consequences of this alteration in the notions of military honour are, that commanders must disguise events, swell out advantages, dissemble losses—in fact, tell lies; and this, it must be confessed, is most admirably done."

SPANISH MILITARY AUTHORITIES.

They have two objects: one, to detail the ill usage which they sustained from their invaders; the second, to blink as much as possible the assistance afforded by England, and to magnify their own exertions. They all demonstrate, to their own and Spain's entire satisfaction, that the Peninsula, and Europe also, was delivered by them alone from the iron yoke of France. They are wordy and wearisome to read, floundering through petty debates of juntas and paltry partisan "little war," by which the issue of the great campaign was scarcely ever influenced; they, in a word, join issue with the Duke, who, when a conqueror in France, Spain's salvation being accomplished, wrote thus: "It is ridiculous to suppose that the Spaniards or the Portuguese could have resisted for a moment, if the British force had been withdrawn" ('Disp.' Dec. 21, 1813). The traveller, when standing even on the battle-plains of Salamanca and Vitoria, will hear the post of superiority assigned to Nosotros. And such was the language of the juntas and authorities, even at the very moment when the English generals were winning battles, and the Spanish officers were losing them; but Españoles sobre todos was then, as now, the national axiom. Nor is this high opinion of self and country, when not carried to abuse, any element of mean or ignoble actions.

Schep. iii. 294; vol. and page of 'Histoire de la Révolution d'Espagne,' 3 vols. Leipzig, 1829-31, by Schepeler, a Westphalian, holding a commission in the Spanish service, and imbued with all the worst national prejudices. He vents his dislike to the French by appalling details of sacks, &c., and his hatred to the English by sneering at her general and soldiers. His details of Spanish camps and councils are authentic.

Mal. iii. 441, vol. and page of 'La Historia politica y militar,'{210} 3 vols. Mad. 1833. It was compiled by José Muñoz Maldonado, from official Spanish papers, to write down Col. Napier's truthful revelations. Hear the Duke's opinions on these Peninsular sources of historical information:—"In respect to papers and returns, I shall not even take the trouble of reading them, because I know that they are fabricated for a particular purpose, and cannot contain an answer to the strong fact from me. Nothing shall induce me even to read, much less to give an answer to documentos very ingeniously framed, but which do not contain one word bearing on the point." "I have no leisure to read long papers, which are called documents, but which contain not one syllable of truth." (Disp., May 22, June 4, 1811.) These are the precise pièces officielles et justificatives of some of our ingenious neighbours; Anglicè lies. Maldonado ascribes the result to the petty war of the guerrilleros and not to Salamanca and Vitoria nominatim (iii. 442), for the part of Hamlet is pretty much omitted; it was the Spanish armies that the Duke led to victory (iii. 594), the English are not even named: the Spanish military conduct throughout humbled Buonaparte, and "obfuscated in sublimity anything in Greek or Roman history" (iii. 601).

Tor^o. vi.; meaning book of the 'Historia del Levantámiento, etc. de España,' 5 vols. 4to., Mad. 1833-37, by the Conde de Toreno, the celebrated loan financier and minister. The work is written in pure Castilian, although tainted with an affectation of quaint phraseology. The object of the author is to justify the misconduct of the Cortes, of which he was a star, and to magnify the exertions of the Spanish government: he too often allows party feelings to get the better of his judgment.

All these works, written either by official personages or under the eye of the government, are calculated to suppress the true, and suggest the false; they advocate the few at the expense of the many; they defend the shallow heads and corrupt hearts by which the honest members of the nation were sacrificed; by which armies were left wanting in everything at the most critical moment, and brave individuals exposed to certain collective defeat. Far be it from us to imitate their example; for, however thwarted by their miserable leaders in camp and cabinet, honour eternal is due to the brave and noble people of Spain, worthy of better rulers and a better fortune! And now that the jobs and intrigues of their juntas, the misconduct and incapacity of their generals, are sinking into the deserved obscurity of oblivion, the national resistance rises nobly out of the ridiculous details, a grand and impressive feature, which will ever adorn the annals{211} of haughty Spain. That resistance was indeed wild, disorganised, undisciplined, and Algerine, but it held out to Europe an example which was not shown by the civilized Italian or intellectual German.

ENGLISH MILITARY AUTHORITIES.

These are of all classes and quality, from the sergeant to the commander-in-chief. Among the minor and most entertaining are the works of Gleig, Sherer, Hamilton, and Kincaid. We shall chiefly quote three others.

Southey, xvi. A reference to chapters in Southey's 'History of the Peninsular War.' It is a true exponent of its author, a scholar, poet, and lover of Spaniards, their ballads and chronicles. It breathes a high, generous, monarchical tone; a detestation of the tyrannical and revolutionary, and a loathing for cruelty, bad faith, and Vandalism. It is somewhat descriptive, excursive, and romantic.

Nap^r. xii. 5. Book and chapter of Col. Napier's 'History of the War in the Peninsula,' 6 vols., London, 1828-40. This is in most respects the antithesis to Southey; it is the book of a real soldier, and is characterized by a bold, nervose, and high-toned manliness. The style is graphic, original, and attractive. He records, in stern language and scornful indignation, the sins of our own and the Spanish government, which, without the Duke's Dispatches, the world never could have believed. The author, although anxious to be impartial, is unaware of his strong under-current of democratic prejudices; his advocacy of Soult and idol-worship of Buonaparte, not merely as a general, but as a man, and statesman, justify the excellent criticism of Lord Mahon, that this is by far the best French account of the war.

Disp., June 18, 1815. Thus will be quoted the Dispatches of "The Duke." This is the true English book, the Κτημα ες αει; this is the antidote and corrective of all foreign libels. Here is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and no mistake; nothing is extenuated, nothing is set down in malice. Born, bred, and educated like a gentleman, he could not lie, like revolutionary upstarts. A conqueror of conquerors, he scorned to bully, and was too really powerful to exchange the simplicity of greatness for bombast. He was too just and generous to deny merit to a brave although a vanquished opponent. Serene and confident in himself—αξιος—he pursued his career of glory, without condescending to notice the mean calumnies, the "things invented{212} by the enemy," who judged of others by themselves: for wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile. The Duke's writings are the exponent of the man; they give a plain unvarnished tale, with no fine writing about fine fighting. Eodem animo scripsit, quo bellavit, et dum scribebat legenda, scribenda perficiebat. The iron energy of his sword passed, like Cæsar's, into his didactic pen, and inscribed on tablets of bronze, more enduring than the Pyramids, the truth. Every line bears that honest English impress, without which there can be no real manliness or greatness.

The best histories and works on localities and other subjects, which it is impossible fully to investigate in a practical and limited hand-book, will be carefully mentioned in their proper places. They will form in the aggregate a tolerable specimen of a new branch of Spanish literature, which is well worth the consideration of travellers and collectors; to whom also we would especially recommend the two Catalogues published by Salva, London, 1826 and 1829; and the grand work in 4 vols. folio, by Nicolas Antonio, 'Bibliotheca Hispana Vetus et Nova,' Mad., 1788, and edited by the learned Bayer; although the arrangement is very Spanish, that is, inartificial and confused, it contains a vast body of bibliographical information, and is the best work of the kind in Spain. The lover of black letter and of books printed in Spain before 1500, cannot dispense with the 'Typographia Española,' Fro. Mendez, 4to., Mad., 1796.

As this 'Hand-book,' it is hoped, may be of service to the scholar and antiquarian, a few words will not be out of place on the subject of Spanish books, and those who sell them.

A Spanish bookseller is a queer uncomfortable person for an eager collector to fall foul of. He sits ensconced among his parchment-bound wares, more indifferent than a Turk. His delight is to twaddle with a few cigaresque clergymen, and monks, when there were monks, for they were almost the only purchasers. He acts as if he were the author, or the collector, not the vendor of his books. He scarcely notices the stranger's entrance: neither knows what books he has, or what he has not got; he has no catalogue, and will scarcely reach out his arm to take down any book which is pointed out; he never has anything which is published by another bookseller, and will not send for it for you, nor always even tell you where it may be had. As for gaining the trade-allowance by going himself for a book, he would not stir if it were twenty-five hundred instead of twenty-five per cent. Now-a-days, as more books are let in and sold, the genus bibliopolum is getting a trifle sharper. In the days of Ferd. VII., whenever we{213} were young enough to hint at the unreasonable proposition of begging the book-seller to get any book, the certain rejoinder was, "Ah que! I must mind my shop; you are doing nothing else but running up and down streets"—tengo que guardar la tienda, V^md. está corriendo las calles.

When a Spanish bookseller happens not to be receiving visitors, and will attend to a customer, if you ask him for any particular book, say Caro's 'Antiquities of Seville,' he will answer "Veremos," "call again in a day or two." When you return the third or fourth time, he will hand you Pedraza's 'Antiquities of Granada.' It is in vain to remonstrate. He will reply, "No le hace, lo mismo tiene, son siempre antigüedades"—"what does it signify? it is the same thing, both are antiquities." If you ask for a particular history, ten to one he will give you a poem, and say, "This is thought to be an excellent book." A book is a book, and you cannot drive him from that; "omne simile est idem" is his rule. If you do not agree, he will say, "Why, an Englishman bought a copy of it from me five years ago." He cannot understand how you can resist following the example of a paisano, a countryman. If he is in good humour, and you have won his heart by a reasonable waste of time in gossiping or cigarising, he will take down some book, and, just as he is going to offer it to you, say, "Ah! but you do not understand Spanish;" which is a common notion among Spaniards, who, like the Moors, seldom themselves understand any language but their own; and this although, as you flatter yourself, you have been giving him half an hour's proof to the contrary: then, by way of making amends, he will produce some English grammar or French dictionary, which, being unintelligible to him, he concludes must be particularly useful to a foreigner, whose vernacular they are. An odd volume of Rousseau or Voltaire used to be produced with the air of a conspirator, when the dealer felt sure that his customer was a safe person, and with a much self-triumph as if it had been a Tirante lo Blanc. His dismay at the contemptuous bah! with which these tomes of forbidden knowledge were rejected could only be depicted by Hogarth. The collector of rare and good books may be assured that a better and cheaper Spanish library is more likely to be formed in one month in London than in one year in Spain.

Books in Spain have always been both scarce and dear: there are few purchasers, and prices must be high to remunerate the publisher or importer. The commonest editions of the classics are hardly to be had. The Spaniard never was a critic or learned annotator; and, in general, there are very few Spanish books by{214} which a foreigner, accustomed to better works on the same subjects, will be much benefited or amused. Spanish literature, depressed and tinctured by the Inquisition, was a creature of accident, and good books occurred only like palms in the desert; it never exercised a connected influence on national civilization, excepting its ballads, the poetry of heroism, which the learned despised. How vast was the proportion dedicated to scholastic theology, monkish legends, and wasted polemical research. In general, there is a want of sound critical judgment, of bold, searching, truth-grappling philosophy. We adventure on this remark with some hundred Spanish volumes frowning around us. The Spaniards themselves are well aware of the comparative inferiority of their literature, although none dared, for fear of the scaffold and furnace, to name the real cause. Half their works on literature take the explanatory and apologetical tone. 'Ensayo Historico Apologetico de la Lengua Española,' Xavier Lampillas, 7 vols. 4to., Mad., 1789; 'Oracion Apologetica por la España,' Juan Pablo Forner, Mad., 1786. This list might be swelled till an apology would be necessary from us. There is no surer criterion of the wants and wealth of a nation than by looking at their shops. In Madrid every September a general fair is held: every person of every rank places in the street whatever he may wish to sell; and a beggarly turn-out it is. Those who delight in picking up knowledge at book-stalls might then see how ordinary are the wares thus exposed. Since the recent changes matters have had some tendency to improve. Theology, law, and medicine, form the chief subjects. There are very few classical works beyond mere school-books, and those mostly in Latin. Greek was never much known in Spain; even learned men quoted from Latin translations, and when they used the Greek word, often printed it in Roman letters. Greek books were either printed in Flanders, or procured from Italy, owing to the scarcity of Greek type in Spain. German is altogether modern Greek to Spaniards—non potest intelligi. There is a sprinkling of English works, grammars, 'Vicars of Wakefield,' and 'Buchan's Domestic Medicine.' They are much behind in receiving modern publications. 'Valter Scott' is double done into Spanish from the French. He fares no better than the Bard of Avon—'Chespire, que les Anglais écrivent Schakspir;' who "en français" is like Niagara passed through a jelly-bag. Real French books are more common, and especially those which treat on medical, chemical, and mechanical subjects. It is one of the worst misfortunes of Spain that she is mistaught what is going on in intellectual Germany and practical England,{215} through the unfair alembic of French translation. This habit of relying on other nations for original works on science has given a timidity to Spanish authors. It is easier to translate and borrow than to invent. They distrust each other's compositions as much as they do each other, and turn readily to a foreign book, in spite of all their dislike to foreigners, which is more against persons than things. Those who buy these books are like the wares which they purchase,—clergymen, thin, hungry, fee-less-looking lawyers, and doctors: the lower and better classes pass on without even giving a glance. The bulk of Spaniards would as soon think of having a cellar as a library. The trash offered for sale has few attractions for a foreigner. Most of the curious private Spanish libraries were dispersed during the war of independence; those which were not made into cartridges, or burnt to boil French soldiers' kettles, escaped to England, and even the best of these are seldom in good condition; the copies are torn, worm-eaten, stained, and imperfect. The Spaniards, like the Orientals, never were collectors or conservators, nor ever had any keen relish or perception of matters of taste and intellectual enjoyment; they are to modern nations what the old Romans were to the Greeks—soldiers, conquerors, and colonists, rather than cultivators of elegance, art, fancy and æsthetic enjoyments.

To those who take further interest in some Spanish matters which, though very essential in the country itself, are of necessity only touched upon in these pages, the author of this Hand-book would venture to suggest for perusal the following essays:—

24. EXPLANATION OF OTHER ABBREVIATIONS.

• Cath.—Catedral, Cathedral.
• Col^a.—Colegiata, Collegiate church.
• Par^a.—Parroquia, Parish church.
• Ca.—Capilla, Chapel.
• Conv^o.—Convento, Convent.
• Ret^o.—Retablo, Reredos, altar-screen.
• Silla—Silleria del coro, Stalls in quire.
• Card.—Cardenal, Cardinal.
• Archb.—Arzobispo, Archbishop.
• B^p.—Obispo, Bishop.
• S^n., S^a.—San, Santo, Santa, a Saint.
• S^n. J^n. B^a.—San Juan Bautista, St. John the Baptist.
• S^n. Ant^o.—San Antonio, St. Anthony.
• S^n. Fr.—San Francisco, St. Francis.
• S^o. Dom^o.—Santo Domingo, St. Dominick.
• N. S.—Nuestro Señor, Our Lord.
• N^a. S^a.—Nuestra Señora, Our Lady.
• "The Duke"—Wellington.
• C^e.—Calle, street.
• Pl^a.—Plaza, place, square.
• Pr^a.—Puerta, gate.
• P^da.—Posada, an inn.
• P^dor.—Parador, a halting-place, a khan.
• F^a.—Fonda, an hotel.
• V^a.—Venta, a pothouse.
• L^a.—or L.—Legua, a league.
• N.—Norte, North.
• E.—Est, Este, Oriente, East.
• S.—Sud, Mediodia, South.
• W.—Poniente, Occidente, West.{217}
• R.—Derecho, right.
• L.—Izquierdo, left.
• Inhab.—Vecinos, inhabitants.
• Pop^n.—Population; Spaniards, for the term householders, use vecinos, and assume 6 to be the average of a family; when the epithet escasos is added it means 4 or 5.
• M^s—Marques, Marquis.
• C^de.—Conde, Count.
• Gen^l.—General, General.
• Cap^n.—Capitan, Captain.
• Ferd. VII.—Fernando, Ferdinand.
• Ferd. and Isab.—Fernando y Isabel, Ferdinand and Isabella; or Los Reyes Catolicos, the Catholic Sovereigns: their period is between 1474-1516.
• V^md. or V.—Vuestra Merced, "Usted," Your worship, the common form of "you;" it is now usually written simply V.
• Mad., Val^a., Bar^a.—Madrid, Valencia, Barcelona: this sort of abbreviation will be used in quoting editions of books published in these and other cities.
• [   ]—Whenever words are introduced between these brackets, thus [S^n. Isidoro, Leon, p.], without any apparent connexion with the text, the intention is to refer the reader to something analogous or illustrative; indeed, whenever any doubt occurs, consult the Index.
• Está por acabar, Quedó por concluir.—"It has to be finished;" the common condition of much mighty promise in Spain.
• Nosotros.—We, i.e. the Spaniards; the collective expression of individual egotism; each I or item of the aggregate considering himself as No. 1 among mortals, as Spain is the first and foremost of nations.
• Cosas de España.—"Things of Spain;" i.e. peculiarities tending to illustrate national character. The expression is common among all classes, and is that by which the natives express anything, which they either cannot or will not explain to strangers.
• Bisoños—Wanters; an old Spanish term, and much used by Toreno to express the soldiers of a regular Spanish army—Cosas de Σπανια paupertas, Egestas—"always," as the Duke says "hors de combat," always "in want of everything{218} at the most critical moment;" and such Spanish armies have too often been from the neglect of vicious administrations. The term arose in Italy, where the troops of Charles V. were always asking for everything—Bisogna carni, Bisogna denari.
• index.—In all cases where a word or name does not explain itself, refer to the Index, as it will be found to have been used and explained in some previous page.{219}

SECTION II

ANDALUCIA

Kingdom of Andalucia; its History and Geography; Character of the People and Country; Uncultivation; Botany; Shooting; Skeleton Tours.—Social Manners; Religious peculiarities; Symbols and Attributes; Purgatory; Beggars; Charitable Institutions.—Bull-fights.—Theatre; Dances; Music and Guitar.—The Cigar; Spanish Costume; the Mantilla; the Fan; the Cloak.

• ROUTE I.—ENGLAND TO CADIZ AND GIBRALTAR
• Steamers to Spain; Cape St. Vincent; Cadiz; Bay of Cadiz; Isla de Leon; Barrosa; Trafalgar; the Straits; Tarifa; Algeciras; Carteia.
• ROUTE II.—CADIZ TO SEVILLE, BY STEAM.
• San Lucar; Mansanilla wine; the Guadalquivir.
• ROUTE III.—CADIZ TO SEVILLE BY LAND.
• Xerez; sherry wines; Utrera; Alcalá de Guadaira.
• ROUTE IV.—XEREZ TO SEVILLE.
• ROUTE V.—SAN LUCAR TO PORTUGAL.
• Moguer; Lepe; Normans in Spain.
• ROUTE VI.—SAN LUCAR TO PORTUGAL.
• Niebla; shooting; Coto del Rey.
• SEVILLE.
• Excursion to Italica.
• ROUTE VII.—A MINING TOUR.
• Rio Tinto; Aracena; Llerena; Almaden.
• ROUTE VIII.—SEVILLE TO MADRID.
• Carmona; Ecija; Cordova; Andujar; Bailen; Navas de Tolosa; La Mancha; Cervantes and his works; Valdepeñas; cross-road to Ciudad Real; Ocaña; Aranjuez.
• ROUTE IX.—SEVILLE TO BADAJOZ.
• Zafra.
• ROUTE X. — SEVILLE TO BADAJOZ.
• Albuera.{220}

ANDALUCIA

The kingdom or province of Andalucia, in local position, climate, fertility, objects of interest, and facility of access, must take precedence over all others in Spain. It is the Tarshish of the Bible, a word interpreted by Sir Wm. Betham as the "furthest known habitation." It was the "ultima terræ" of the classics, the "uttermost parts of the earth," to which Jonah wished to flee. Tarshish—Tartessus in the uncertain geography of the ancients, who were purposely kept mystified by the jealous Phœnicians, scouters of all free trade—was long a vague general name, like our Indies. It was applied sometimes to a town, to a river, to a locality, by authors who wrote for Rome, the blind leading the blind. But when the Romans, after the fall of Carthage, obtained an undisputed possession of the Peninsula, these difficulties were cleared up, and the S. of Spain was called Bætica, from the Bætis, the Guadalquivir, which intersects its fairest portions.

At the Gothic invasion this province was overrun by the Vandals: their occupation was brief, as they were soon driven out into Barbary by the Visi-Goths; yet they left their name behind, and fixed the nomenclature of both sides of the straits, which were long called Vandalucia, or Beled-el-Andalosh, the territory of the Vandal. The inhabitants, however, never were Vandals in its secondary meaning; on the contrary, they were, and always have been, the most elegant, refined, and sensual of the Peninsula. They were the Ionians, while the Cantabrians and Celtiberians were the Spartans. And nowhere to this day is race more evident: they sprang from a Southern stock, the Phœnician, while the Arragonese and Catalonians came from a Northern or Celtic. Similar differences exist between the N. of Ireland, which is peopled with an Anglo-Saxon Scotch race, and the S. who boast to be, like the Andalucians, true Milesians. Nor is the national character dissimilar; both alike are impressionable as children, heedless of results, uncalculating of contingencies, passive victims to violent impulse, gay, clever, good-humoured, and light-hearted, and the most subservient dupes of plausible nonsense. Tell them that their country is the most beautiful, themselves the finest, handsomest, bravest, and most civilized of mortals, and they may be led forthwith by the nose. Of all Spaniards the Andalucian is the{221} greatest boaster; he brags chiefly of his courage and wealth. He ends in believing his own lie, and hence is always pleased with himself, with whom he is on the best of terms. His redeeming qualities are his kind and good manners, his lively, social turn, his ready wit and sparkle: he is ostentatious, and, as far as his limited means will allow, eager to show hospitality to the stranger, after the Spanish acceptation of that term, which has no English reference to the kitchen. As in the days of Strabo, he rather affects the foreigner than dislikes him, for the intercourse of his rich maritime cities has broken down somewhat of inland prejudices.

The Oriental imagination of the Andalucians colours men and things up to the bright hues of their glorious sun; their exaggeration, Ponderacion, is only exceeded by their credulity, its twin sister. Everything is in the superlative or diminutive, especially as regards talk in the former, and deeds in the latter. They have a yearning after the unattainable, and a disregard for the practical; never, in fact, either much knowing or caring about the object in pursuit. They are incapable of sustained sobriety of conduct, which alone can succeed in the long run. Nowhere will the stranger hear more frequently those talismanic words which mark national character—No se sabe, no se puede, conforme, the "I don't know," "I can't do it;" the Mañana, pasado mañana, the "to-morrow and day after to-morrow;" the Boukra, balboukra, of the procrastinating Oriental. Here remain the Bakalum or Veremos, "we will see about it;" the Pek-éyi or muy bien, "very well;" and the Inshallah, si Dios quiere, the "if the Lord will" of St. James (iv. 15); the Ojala, or wishing that God would effect what he wants, the Moslems Enxo-Allah. In a word, the besetting sins of the Oriental, his ignorance, indifference, procrastination, tempered by a religious resignation to Providence.

Eminently superstitious, Mariolatry has here succeeded to the adoration of the Bætican Salambo, the Venus and Astarte of the Phœnicians, and a reliance on supernatural aid, and the chapter of accidents, is the common resource in all circumstances of difficulty. Their intellect, energy and industry wither under this perpetual calling on gods and men to do their work for them. Their church has provided a tutelar, and an interruptive Patron or Genius for every emergency of life, however trivial. Every town has its local saint, male or female, its miracle, its legends; and once for all, it may be observed that a wide distinction is to be made between these inventions palmed on a credulous people, and the serious truths of real religion for which they have been here substituted. Little moral benefit has been the result, for, if{222} proverbs are to be trusted, the Andalucian is not over honest in word or deed. Al Andaluz cata la Cruz; del Andaluz guarda tu capuz, that is, keep a sharp look-out, even if he makes the sign of the cross, for your cloak, not omitting the rest of your goods and chattels. In no province are robbers and smugglers (convertible terms) more a weed of the soil.

Whatever may be the analogies of race with the congener Milesians, the Irish beat the Andalucians hollow in fighting propensities. The latter were always men of peace. Strabo (iii. 225) praises their gentle manners, their το πολιτικον; and this "muy politico"—politus, well polished—is their present unchanged quality.

"La terra molle e lieta e dilettosa
  Simili a se gli abitatori produce."

However "inflated their nostrils," as the Moors said, or big their talk, their natural defence is their heels, and their bark is worse than their bite. Perro ladrador nunca bien mordedor; they are the Gascons of Spain; they seldom wait to be attacked. Ocaña, in 1810, was but a repetition of the run described by Livy (xxxiv. 17), who there spoke of the Andalucians as "Omnium Hispanorum maxime imbelles;" nor are they at all changed. Soult subdued the whole province in fifteen days; and its conquest was quite as much a "promenade militaire" to the feeble Angoulême in 1823. Nowhere were the French better received: they called it "their province:" for the Andalucians, spaniel-like, fawned most on those who used them the worst; at the same time, however dastardly their collective conduct, the Andalucian as an individual shares in the personal valour and prowess for which all Spaniards, taken singly, are remarkable. If the people are sometimes cruel and ferocious when collected in numbers, we must remember that the blood of Africa boils in their veins; their fathers were the children of the Arab, whose arm is against every man; they have never had a chance given them—an iniquitous and long-continued system of misgovernment in church and state has tended to depress their good qualities and encourage their vices; the former, which are all their own, have flourished in spite of the depressing incubus. Can it be wondered that their armies should fly when every means of efficiency is wanting to the poor soldier, and when unworthy chiefs set the example? Is there no allowance to be made for their taking the law into their own hands, when they see the fountains of justice habitually corrupted? The world is not their friend, nor the world's law; their lives, sinews, and{223} little properties have never been respected by the powers that be, who have ever favoured the rich and strong, at the expense of the poor and weak; the people, therefore, from sad experience have no confidence in institutions, and when armed with power, and their blood on fire, can it be expected that they should not slake their great revenge?

Whatever may be their failings, none will at least deny them those high intellectual qualities, for which they have ever been celebrated. The Turdetani, their ancestors, where always renowned for their imagination: when the Augustan age of literature died away at Rome, it was revived in Bætica by the two Senecas, Lucan, and Columella. Again, from the ninth to the fourteenth century, during the darkest periods of European barbarism, Cordova was the bright spot, the Athens and Rome of the west, at once the seat of arts, science, and elegance, as of arms and valiant soldiers. Again, when the sun of Raphael set in Italy, painting here arose in a new form in the Velazquez, Murillo, and Cano school of Seville. The Moorish Andalucians took the lead in every branch of intellectual pursuit, and in spite of protracted misgovernment, the Andalucian to this day is the wit, the gracioso of Spain. The gracia, the sal Andaluza, is proverbial. This salt is not exactly Attic, having a tendency to gitanesque and tauro-machian slang; but it is almost the national language of the smuggler, bandit, bull-fighter, dancer, and Majo, and who has not heard of these worthies of Bætica, the Contrabandista, Ladron, Torero, Bailarin, and Majo? Their fame has long scaled the Pyrenees, while in the Peninsula itself such persons and pursuits are the rage and dear delight of the young and daring, of all indeed who aspire to the "Fancy," or aficion. These truly provincial Andalucian pastimes represent, with Spaniards, our road, ring, race, chace and everything, in short, connected with a sporting character. Andalucia is the head-quarters of all this, and the cradle of the most eminent professors, who in the other provinces become stars, patterns, models, the observed of all observers, and the envy and admiration of their applauding countrymen. The qualities are essentially Andalucian, and like the delicate flavour and aroma of Sherry wines, are local and inimitable.

The provincial dress is so extremely picturesque, that it is adopted in our costumeless land for fancy balls; to judge of its full effect, an Andalucian village must be visited on some holiday, when all are clad in their best. Whatever the merits of tailors and milliners, nature has lent her hand in the good work; the Andalucian is cast in her happiest mould, he is tall, well-grown, strong{224} and sinewy. The female is worthy of her mate, and often presents a form of matchless symmetry, to which is added a peculiar and most fascinating grace and action, all of which are essential to the dancer, bull-fighter, and Majo. These are certainly among the "objects to observe" in this province, and indeed, whether the traveller chooses or not, they will at every step be forced into his notice.

The Majo, the Figaro of our theatres, is entirely in word and deed of Moorish origin; he is akin to the Greek Pallicar; he is the local dandy. The derivation of the word is the Arabic Majar, brilliancy, splendour, jauntiness in walk. Martial, as described by Pliny, jun. (Ep. iii. 21), although an Arragonese by birth, was, in fact, an Andaluz. "Erat homo ingeniosus (ingenioso hidalgo)—acutus, acer, et qui plurimum in scribendo salis haberet et fellis." This mixture of salt and gall is most peculiar to the satirical Sevillians, whose tongues flay their victims alive; quitanle a uno el pellejo." The graver Castilians, truer children of the Goth, either despise the Andalucians as half Moors, or laugh at them as mere clowns and merrymen, and certainly they are somewhat idle, insincere, fickle, and undignified. The Majo glitters in velvets and filigree buttons, tags and tassels; his dress is as gay as his sun; external appearance is all and everything with him. This love of show, boato, is precisely the Arabic batto, betato; his favourite epithet bizarro, "distinguished," is the Arabic bessarâ, "elegance of form," from bizar, a youth. The Majo is an out-and-out swell, muy fanfaron; this fanfaronade in word and thing is also Moorish, since fanfar and hinchar both signify to "distend," and are applied in the Arabic and in the Spanish to las narices, the inflation of the barb's nostrils, and in a secondary meaning, to pretencion. The Majo, especially if crudo (See Xerez), is fond of practical jokes; his outbreaks and "larks" are still termed in Spanish by their Arabic names jarana, jaleo, i.e. khala-a, "waggishness."

He is amorous, of course, and full of requiebros, or passing jests, compliments, and repartees. He addresses his querida with Oriental devotion; she is hija de mi alma, de mis ojos, the precise ya rohee, ya aynee ya habeeby of Cairo. The putting on the Majo dress is hoisting the signal of fun and licence: an elegant well-turned out Maja animates the whole vicinity; all men give the wall to her, many uncloak themselves, while students cast their tattered capas on the ground for the spangled feet to pass over. A las plantitas de V^md.—"Benditas sean tus ligas"—que compuesta estás—vaya una majita—mas vale que toda Sevilla. Que aire, que toná, que ojos matadores, ay de mi! The individuals thus complimented, especi{225}ally the male majo, ought never to omit having the last word. No tailor nor hand-book can, however, make a majo, nor let any stranger venture too soon to play these frisks and gambols. Those who can, and do it well, become the envy and admiration of the Plaza, que saleroso, que gracioso, que travesura que trastienda! que caidas tiene, que occurencias, derrama sal y canela, y es la sal de las sales The Majo of the lower classes often degenerates into a Bravo, a bully, a fire-eater, and flashman, muy guapo, y valiente. He is the Baratero, who levies forfeit-money from all who will not fight him.

Such are the natives of Andalucia. The soil of their province is most fertile, and the climate delicious; the land overflows with oil and wine. The vines of Xerez, the olives of Seville, and the fruits of Malaga, are unequalled. The yellow plains, girdled by the green sea, bask in the sunshine, like a topaz set around with emeralds. Strabo (iii. 223) could find no better panegyric for the Elysian fields of Andalucia, than by quoting the charming description of the father of poetry ('Od.' Δ, 563): and here the classics, following his example, placed the Gardens of the Blessed, and these afterwards became the real paradise, the new and favoured world of the Oriental. Here the children of Damascus rioted in a European Arabia Felix. On the fame of the conquest reaching the East, many tribes abandoned Syria to settle in Andalucia, just as the Spaniards afterwards emigrated to the golden S. America. The new comers kept chiefly apart, isolated in clans, each tribe hating each other; hence a seed of weakness was sown in the very cradle of the Moorish dominion. Thus the Yemenite Arabs of the stock of Kháttan lived in the plains, while the Syrians of the stock of Adhán lived in the cities, and thence were called "Beladium," to both of which the Berbers from the Atlas were opposed.

When these heterogeneous ingredients became more amalgamated, it was here, in a congenial soil, that the Oriental took the deepest root. Here he has left the noblest traces of power, taste, and intelligence—here he made his last desperate struggle. Six centuries after the chilly north had been abandoned to the Gotho-Spaniard, Granada still was held; and from this gradual recovery of Andalucia, the Oriental divisions into separate principalities are still retained, and it is still called Los Cuatro Reinos, the "Four Kingdoms," viz. Seville, Cordova, Jaen, and Granada.

These occupy the S. extremity of Spain, and are defended from the cold N. table-lands by the barrier-mountains of the Sierra Morena—a corruption of the Montes Marianos of the Romans, and not referring to the tawny-brown colour of its summer garb.{226} Andalucia contains 2281 square l. It is a land of mountain and valley; the grand productive locality is the basin of the Guadalquivir, which flows under the range of the Sierra Morena. To the S.E. rise the mountains of Ronda and Granada, which sweep down to the sea. Their summits are covered with eternal snow, while the sugar-cane ripens at their bases. The botanical range is, therefore, inexhaustible. These sierras are absolutely marble and metal-pregnant. The cities are of the highest order in Spain, in respect to the fine arts and social life. Nowhere is el trato more amiable—nowhere is the Englishman better received, for Andalucia produces fruits and wines, and is an exporting province. Thus Malaga and Xerez are diametrically opposed to anti-British, manufacturing, monopolising Catalonia. Here, again, is a portion of England itself, Gibraltar; while Seville, Cordova, Ronda, and Granada, each in their peculiar line, have no rivals in Spain or in Europe.

However fertile the soil, and favourable the climate, no province in Spain, except Estremadura, has been turned to less account by the natives, who with strange apathy have allowed the two richest districts and those the best cultivated under the Roman and Moor, to relapse into weed and underwood; everywhere the luxuriance of wild vegetation shows what crops might be raised with even common cultivation. Hence from the recesses of the barrier Sierra Morena down to the plains which fringe the Straits of Gibraltar, there is a wide and unexplored field for the botanist and sportsman. Nothing is more striking than the brilliant Flora of May and June: it is that of a hothouse growing wild; flowers of every colour, like perfumed cups of rubies, amethysts, and topazes filled with sunshine, tempt the stranger at every step. They bloom and blush unnoticed by the native. The nomenclature of the commonest plants is chiefly taken from the Arabic, which sufficiently denotes whence the Spaniard derived his limited knowledge.

These dehesas y despoblados, or depopulated wastes, are of vast extent. The country remains as it was left after the discomfiture of the Moor. The early chronicles of both Spaniard and Moslem teem with accounts of the annual forays inflicted on each other, and to which a frontier-district was always exposed. The object of these border guerrilla-warfares was extinction, talar, quemar y robar, to desolate, burn, and rob, to cut down fruit-trees, and exterminate the fowls of the air. The internecine struggle was that of rival nations and creeds. It was truly Oriental, and such as Ezekiel, who well knew the Phœnician, has described: "Go ye after him through the city and smite; let not your eye have pity,{227} neither have ye pity; slay utterly old and young, both maids and little children and women." The religious duty of smiting the infidel precluded mercy on both sides alike, for the Christian foray and crusade was the exact counterpart of the Moslem algara and algihad; while, from military reasons, everything was turned into a desert, in order to create a frontier Edom of starvation, a defensive glacis, through which no invading army could pass and live; the "beasts of the field alone increased" (Deut. vii. 22). Nature, thus abandoned, resumed her rights, and has cast off every trace of former cultivation, and districts, the granaries of the Roman and the Moor, now offer the saddest contrasts to that former prosperity and industry. The physiognomy of the soil and climate in these wastes is now truly African. A few wild nomad peasants, half Berbers, tend herds of cattle, which wander over the lonely and unenclosed plains. The chief shrubs and evergreens which clothe these, and most of the wastes of the warm portions of the Peninsula, these montes, cotos, matas y dehesas, these preserves of the sportsman and botanist, are varieties of heaths, helecho; of brooms, retama, inhiesta; rosemary, romero; spurge, torvisco; lavender, espliego, cantueso, alhuzema; tamarisk, tamariz; thyme, tomillo; the citisus laurestinus phillarea, sao, and bay-tree laurel; the juniper, enebro; the arbutus, madroño; the alaternus and privet, ladierna; the mugwort, artemisia; liquorice, oruzuz, regaliz; the savine and passerina hirsuta; the oleander, adelfa; every kind of cistus, jara; the dwarf fan-palm, palmito, Chamærops humilis; the wild olive, acebuche; the ilex, encina; the kermes oak, coscojo; the dwarf scrub oak, chaparro; the myrtle, arrayan; the cork-tree, alcornoque; the rhododendrum, ojaranzo; the cistus halinifolius, saquazo; the hedysarum coronatum, sulla; the caper, alcaparro; the lentisk, lentisco; to say nothing of the aquatic plants of the marshes and swamps. The fences, where there are any, are composed of the prickly pear, higo chumbo, ficus Indica, cactus opuntia, and of the aloe, pita aloe, agava americana. Nothing can be more impenetrable; these palisades would defy a regiment of dragoons or fox-hunters. The natives call the pointed-aloe leaves the devil's toothpicks, Mondadientes del diablo.

The botany of Spain, like other branches of her natural history, has not been sufficiently described: what has been done has, as in the East, been very much the work of foreigners, and at their suggestion. It was Linnæus who first accused the Spaniards of a barbaries botanica, and he sent his pupil, Peter Lœfling, to collect a Flora Hispanica. Richard Wall, an Irishman, and prime minister{228} to Charles III., also employed his countryman, William Bowles, to investigate the natural history of Spain; and his work, 'Introduccion á la Historia Natural,' although scarcely touching the alphabet of the question, is still one of the most quoted in the Peninsula. It has gone through many editions: the third, Mad. 1789, is the best. In our times Captain Widdrington has paid much attention to this subject, and has pointed out to future labourers the different branches which require investigation; indeed, the larger portion of the Peninsula is still almost a terra incognita to the naturalist.

Agriculture also is at a low ebb, and yet this is the real source of Spanish wealth, the inexhaustible mine which lies on the surface. The Carthaginian Magos and Columellas were the instructors of ancient Italy, as the Moors were of mediæval Europe. Their system of irrigation in Valencia and Murcia is unrivalled. The works of Abu Zucaria Ebn al Awan obtained an European authority; and Gabriel Alonzo de Herrera, who borrowed from them, is the father of modern husbandry. But agriculture has declined with most things in Spain. The processes of oil and wine-making resemble those of the ancients. This is the country in which Adam Dickson's work on their 'Husbandry,' 2 v. Edin. 1788, may be perfectly illustrated. Spain was once in the advance of Europe in many matters; but her sun has long stood still: moored by pride and prejudice, she has allowed the world to sail by and leave her far behind. Never have geology, zoology, ornithology, entomology, or any of the ologies, flourished here; the many prefer the olla, and have small love for nature, nor ever investigate her works. Yet the air teems with the vitality of the creation, and the earth is ever busy in providing flowers and fruits; how much is there yet to observe in these inquiries, of all others the most fascinating, as bringing the student in close contact with nature. At the same time this agreeable pursuit is not unattended with danger; agues are caught in the swamps by those who cull curious bulrushes; and the man of the Vasculum risks the being robbed by raterillos, worried by ignorant alcaldes, and suspected by the peasants of searching for hidden treasures; take, therefore, a guide with you, having first duly prepared the authorities by explaining to them your objects.

SKELETON TOURS IN ANDALUCIA.

The best towns for residence are Granada for the summer, and Seville for the winter; at Gibraltar (which is English, not Spanish),{229} the creature comforts and good medical advice abound; but the rock is, after all, but a military prison. The spring and autumn are the best periods for a tour in Andalucia: the summers, except in the mountain districts, are intensely hot, and the winters very rainy.

The river Guadalquivir is well provided with steamers to Seville; but with the exception of the Camino real to Madrid, and that from Malaga to Granada, there are no public carriages, nay, scarcely roads, though they are talking much of rails. From Cadiz, therefore, to Xativa, near Valencia, the primitive Bedouin conveyance, the horse, prevails. There are indeed a few galeras, which drag their slow weight through miry ruts, deep as Spanish routine and prejudices, or over stony tracks made by wild goats, but into them no man who values time or his bones will venture. "Que, Diable! attait-il faire à cette galère?"

A THREE MONTHS' TOUR.

This may be effected by a combination of Steam, Riding, and Coaching.

Those going to Madrid may ride from Ronda to Cordova, by Osuna. Those going to Estremadura may ride from Ronda to Seville, by Moron.

MINERALOGICAL-GEOLOGICAL TOUR.

SOCIAL LIFE AND MANNERS IN THE SOUTH OF SPAIN.

In dislocated, disunited Spain, where the differences of climate are so great, it is natural that houses and domestic habits should also be varied and modified, to suit peculiar circumstances; accordingly some insight into the leading peculiarities of social life in the S. of Spain will be useful to the traveller who aims at something more than a mere acquaintance with the external husk of the country, which his passport and letter of credit will procure. These can only open the gates of towns and inns, and secure the greedy pack who fawn for the sake of loaves and fishes, while a knowledge of, and conformance with, the former, unlocks the hearts and homes of those good people who do not take money at their doors for admission. The Oriental criterion, that Manners make the man, still forms a marked rule in the social code of Spain, where a breach of the conventional rules of fashion and good breeding entails more disgrace on the offender than does the breaking the laws of God. The former are self-imposed, and being things of mere opinion, exist only by the utter exclusion of those who disobey them. As in the East, "nothing in point of form, address, or manner, is indefinite, arbitrary, mutable, or left to the impulse of the moment, or to the taste of the individual: the unchangeable exigences of society are familiar to all: all, therefore, know how to act any new part with dignity, without embarrassment, awkwardness, or vulgarity." The Oriental, promoted to office from a previously low condition, at once assumes the correct manner and bearing of the pacha; Sancho Panza did the same in his government, so did the Regent Espartero, although also the son of a Manchegan peasant. This seems out of English nature, but it is what takes place every day in Spain, where in the absence of fixed institutions men rely on individuals, the happy accidents of the day; there the power still obtained by mere personal influence is scarcely inferior to that of the chatir among the Turks; a pleasing manner, breathing a courtesy from heaven, plucks allegiance from Spanish hearts. Care must, however, be{231} taken (as Hamlet knew) that this "courtesy be of the right breed;" or, rather, what the natives consider to be the right, for every country has its own standard, to which the new comer must conform. The admitted and prescriptive manner to which Spaniards are accustomed, and the ceremonies of their external life are so bound up with their feelings, that they with difficulty can separate things and ideas from their outward signs and representatives. National character never expresses itself more intelligibly than in these forms, to under-value which argues no knowledge either of the world or of the heart of man. The Spaniards, both from geographical and idiosyncratical causes, have never mixed much with other nations: Strabo (iii. 200, 234) attributes the rudeness of the Iberians to their aversion to social intercourse with foreigners, their το αμικτον και ανεπιπλεκτον, and to their living out of the way, το εκτρπισμον. Like their ancestors, Spaniards, who have few opportunities of beholding other manners than their own, act and reason when they see a stranger, as we do when we meet a strange bull with whom we have not the pleasure of being acquainted: the first impression is rather to be on one's guard. They have good cause to adhere to the ancient interpretation of hostis, a stranger, and an enemy, for from the time of the Phœnicians downwards Spain owes little to foreigners but invasion and subjection. The essence of true Españolismo is an impatience of foreign dictation. Ferd. VII., who was a wag in his way, and a Spaniard to the backbone, used to wish to see his enemies the French gavachos hung (con las entrañas) of his friends the English borrachos, a royal and pleasing metaphor for a rope taken from the gentle pastime of bull-fighting, in which the gored horses drag their long protruding entrails over the arena. Whenever, as happily is often the case with John Bull, the first abstract feeling of distrust against a foreigner is somewhat neutralized, the Spaniard still eyes the stranger as one does a dog, who if he does not wag his tail, is expected to bite; and if we do not pick up a stone, we certainly consider him to be a surly ill-mannered cur, and at least never pat or patronize him. If the fatal verdict has once been pronounced, that the stranger no tiene, no conoce el mundo, or no tiene educacion, or es sin educacion—in other words, has not what they consider the manners of a gentleman—he is tabooed. Neither fortune nor bribery, neither the puffing of toadies, nor even a good cook will procure admission for the Gallego Ingles into good society. The education of a gentleman is rather understood by them to refer to manners and behaviour, than to reading, writing, and arithmetic: uneducated means with{232} them not ill-read but ill-bred: and every particular society has a right to lay down its own conditions and qualifications to candidates, and to reject those who decline to conform to the majority, which must decide those questions. Thus Plutarch tells us that, when Agesilaus was received by Tachos, a magnificent dinner was given him after the most approved Egyptian style: the natives had the highest opinion of their guest until he refused the sweet-meats and perfumes, when they all immediately held him in profound contempt as a person unaccustomed to and unworthy of the manners of civilized life. Now, as the ancient and Oriental influences operate more powerfully in isolated Spain than in other countries of Europe, if we wish to be well received among Spaniards, we must show our readiness and disposition to meet them more than half way, and in their way. The Spaniard, like an Englishman, improves on better acquaintance; his first approach is somewhat distant and reserved. He does not anticipate the friendship of others, nor volunteer or make advances of his own; he is proud rather than vain, well-bred rather than affable; he does not prostitute his regards and admiration alike on every chance passer-by, and, by not being lavish of civilities, he makes them, when conferred, worthy of acceptance and a distinction.

——"He does not flatter and speak fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy."

He stands somewhat aloof, and on his guard; but when he sees that the stranger is of his own order, and one that he can trust, and with whom he can live and deal, con quien puede tratar, he opens his heart widely and frankly, and, like the Arab, passing from one extreme to another, casts away reserve, and becomes free and intimate. He desires his friend to treat him con toda franqueza Española, and often, as he will add, y Inglesa. The value of an Englishman's good faith has sunk deeply into the national mind. This mutual sense of honour, pundonor, this personal respect, has long formed a quality of which they, as individuals, are and justly proud. The two nations are sympathetic, not antipathetic. Thus a Spaniard who would never dream of trusting one of his own countrymen, will advance money, or confide valuable effects to an Englishman, although a perfect stranger. He considers "la fe de caballero Ingles," the word of an English gentleman, to be, like the kilmet el Ingleez in the East, a sufficient security; and hitherto, from Spain never having been made a Boulogne or a Botany Bay, no self-expatriated swindler has tarnished the honourable reputation of his country.{233}

The traveller in Spain cannot be too often counselled to lay aside his preconceived prejudices and foregone conclusions, the heaviest of all luggage. It will be time to form his opinion when he has seen the country, and studied the natives; many things there may appear, and possibly are, very absurd and old-fashioned to free, easy, and enlightened individuals from the Old and the New World; but will they ever argue a Spaniard out of his natural and national predilections? He will only smoke his cigar, and think the critics either envious, fools, or both; and after all, he must be a better judge of what suits himself and his climate than the mere stranger who is ignorant of the religious, political, and social influences of which manners are the exponent; mas sabe el necio en su casa, que el cuerdo en la agena. "The blockhead knows more of his own house than the wise man in that of another person." In Spain, costumbres hacen leyes; and to these laws of custom their most despotic rulers have submitted, and they have practically neutralized many an institution most atrocious in theory: with them, therefore, the wise man will endeavour to conform, and he who cannot, but prefers finding fault with what a whole nation approves of, must not be surprised or offended if the Spaniards should say, as they certainly will, Vaya V^md. con Dios!—"God be with you! let us meet as little as we can, and be better strangers. There was no thought of pleasing you when we were christened."

It is incredible how popular an Englishman will become among Spaniards, if he will assimilate himself to their forms of society; a few bows are soon made, and the taking off one's hat, especially to ladies, and in a fine climate, is no great hardship. Our countrymen when at home are too busy, and are too much afraid of the catch-cold, to stand bandying compliments bare-headed in the open air and draft, besides the fear of being thought unmanly and affected. It is not the custom of the country, and therefore is and looks odd, which no man likes: this is all very well in Pall-Mall, but will not do on the Prado. The better rule is, on landing at Cadiz, to consider every stranger in a long-tailed coat to be a marquis, until you find him out to be a waiter, and even then no great harm is done, and you dine the quicker for the mistake. You are always on the safe side. When Spaniards see an Englishman behaving to them as they do to him and to other gentlemen, from not expecting it, a reaction takes place. He tratado con el Ingles; es tan formal y cumplido como nosotros. "I have met the Englishman; he is as perfect a gentleman as one of us." He stands in favourable contrast with those surly boors who confirm{234} the continental caricature of our national morgue and gaucherie. Let not, however, the ill-mannered culprit think that he escapes unscathed; no nation has a truer sense of propriety or quicker perception of the ridiculous than the Spaniard, and still more the Andalucian; the individual is toised at one glance from head to toe, every blot is hit, he is flayed alive, le quitan el pellejo, while a delicious nickname, apodo, follows him wherever he goes like his own shadow.

The best notion of life and manners in Andalucia will be conveyed by describing the houses of Seville, and a stranger's first visit. This town, like most of those of Moorish construction, is full of tortuous, narrow, winding lanes. It is very easy to lose one's way in this labyrinth: carriages can only pass through the widest of these calles, which were built before coaches were, when men walked or rode. In winter they resemble the bottoms of wells, but in summer they are cool and pleasant from being always in shade. The Moors knew what they were about: now, the enlightened corporations, urged on by royal academicians, are doing their utmost to widen them, thus letting in the fierce sun, and destroying their irregular picturesqueness. So Nero treated Rome, but those who follow such an example will find out the inconveniences which did not escape the philosophical Tacitus.—'An. xv. 43;' Suet. 'Ner. 38.'

The houses are solid, and have a prison-like look from the iron gratings, the rejas, which barricade the windows: for niñas y viñas son mal á guardar. These celocias have survived, and are the relics of jealous husbands—a race now almost extinct, and which, like the Spanish dueñas, witches, dragons, and other mediæval sentinels over damsels of suspected virtue, are handed over to novelists, to point a moral or adorn a tale. Since the French revolution, to be jealous is not bon ton; it is considered to be a vulgar habit. Among the lower classes, however, the green-eyed passion still burns with the Othello-like revenge of the Moor: and whatever may or may not be predicated of the better classes, there are no cortejos, no cavaliere serventes among the humble many. The cortejo, however, is also a thing of the past; it was the name which the honest Southrons gave to what, in other countries, either had none or some other—"my cousin," for instance, just as the Turks consider the English equivalent of visiting their harem to be "Going to my club."

The deep embrasures of the windows of Spain are frequently converted into boudoirs, and shaded by awnings: in them the dark sex sit for air and exercise, singing like blackbirds in a cage,{235} embroidering, or looking out and being looked at; and certainly these superior beings, when seen in their balconies from below, are, as Byron says, more interesting than the unreal heroines of Goldoni, or pictures by Giorgione. This habit is considered to be incurable, muger ventanera tuercela el cuello si la quieres buena. "The remedy for a woman who is always thrusting her head from the casement is to twist her neck." These bars resemble the lattices of the harem, behind, which the Oriental ladies are ensconced, and like them the Andaluzas do not repine at the apparent confinement. Tolerance is but indifference, and they are guarded like precious treasures. They are safe behind the bars from everything except glances, the flying artillery of Cupid, serenading and requiebros, or expressions of compliment and endearment, to which they have no objection. Shut up, they look so like nuns (which they are not) and captive princesses of romance, that all men who have tender hearts feel imperatively disposed to deliver them from apparent durance vile.

Accordingly at night-fall, the chosen one, enveloped in his cloak, leans against these rejas, "sole witnesses," as Cervantes says, "of secret love," and whispers soft nothings to his querida, his sweetheart who cannot get out; hence this is called comer hierro, to eat iron, and is another form of expression for flirting—pelar la pava, "to pluck the hen-turkey." This metallic diet makes the lovers as bold as fire-eating does elsewhere. They are the German eisen fressern, iron gorgers, who eat, digest, and defy everything. The point of honour is never to allow any person to pass between themselves and the window, and thus take the wall or the space from them. These assignations were in former days absolutely necessary, although the parties might have seen each other all day; yet the real compliment was for the warm lover to remain outside half the night al fresco. The higher classes now find it answer quite as well to make love indoors, for either the ladies' hearts are less cold or the nights are more so. The lower orders continue the old caterwauling plan. Nothing formerly was or is still considered more degrading to the lover than being forced from his post; accordingly a Spaniard will say, jestingly, "Take care that I don't come and take your place, the change out of you, or the bread out of your mouth"—cuidado que no venga yo a cobrarle a V^md. el piso. The actual doing it is one of the fatal causes of the "treacherous night-stab of the sharp knife." The lower orders stand no nonsense when thus engaged: it is a word and a blow. This jealous occupation suits the narrowness of the streets, where there is no gas, and only here and there a flickering lamp before{236} a Madonna image, just making darkness visible. It is acting the Barbiere de Sevilla in reality. This propinquity encourages love-proposals, which in villages is effected by the agency of a stick, which most Spaniards carry: one with a knob at an end, called a porra, is preferred as administering the most impressive whack; its legitimate use is to punish cattle, the amatory abuse is as follows: whenever an aimable rustic thinks that he has battered his true love's heart sufficiently, he pops the question after this wise. He puts his stick inside the bars, saying: "porra dentro o porra fuera?" stick in or stick out? If the kind maiden be nothing loth, the porra remains in. If she won't have him, by ejecting the envoy stick, she rejects its master, de la calabazas; whereupon he picks up his porra, is off, desiring her politely to remain with God, "Pues, quede V^md. con Dios." This phrase, "Porra dentro o porra fuera," is often used as equivalent to "Yes," or "No," among Sevillian Majos.

Narrow, dark, cribbed, confined, and gloomy as are the streets, the interior of the houses is exactly the reverse. The exterior was always kept forbidding among the Moors, in order to disarm the dreaded evil eye of him who coveted his neighbour's house, not to say wife: thus wealth which tempted the spoiler was concealed, to say nothing of keeping out heat and keeping in women: an Andalucian, and especially a Sevillian house is the personification of coolness, the contrast of passing from the glaring furnace of the open plaza into this fresh demi-obscure is enchanting. Many houses have the coats of arms of the owner carved over the portal, or painted on porcelain azulejos: this denotes the casa solar, the family or manor mansion, and also is a protection against the law of Mostrencos, by which all properties whose title could not be proved passed to the crown. It was also usual to hang chains over the portals of any house into which the king had entered; the owners gloried in these fetters, which were not merely decorations of honour, but exempted the building from having soldiers billeted therein; it was the sign "which prevented the destroyer from coming in."

One word before knocking, or rather ringing at the door. The traveller having armed himself with his letter of introduction, the seed of future friendship, should not send it, but deliver his credential in person: he will do well, however, to manage that the family should have same previous hint of his intended visit and its object. Paying visits, as the verb indicates, is everywhere a serious affair, and nowhere more so than in Spain. Time is of no value there, and the loss of it a blessing; accordingly a visit is a{237} godsend: Spaniards have no notion of its being done by merely leaving a card; it is no real visit: accordingly when people are not at home, the visitor writes E.P., or en persona, at the corner of his card just as a London hall-porter marks cards "sent," or "called." Spanish visiting cards seldom have any address; as all live in a well-defined set, they are supposed to know, and do know, where all their friends live; the traveller, of course, must put his address, until he become one of us, uno de nosotros. The lines and demarcations of society are rigid: the Rubicon of caste is seldom passed; the blue blood, the ichor, sangre azul, sangre su, never mingles by intermarriage with the red or black puddle of the roturier; until lately the aristocratic division was seldom broken in by new-fangled upstarts; no sudden fortunes could be made out of the bankrupt stock of Spain, where an aristocracy of the bung, till, or spinning-jenny is unknown. If a few inefficient jobbing-ministers were occasionally pitchforked into titulos de Castilla, the real possessors of gentle blood, which no patent can confer, looked down with contempt on the intruder. This multiplicity of new titles rather degrades the old nobility than elevates the new. This limited number of the really ancient nobility accounts for the intimate and minute acquaintance which the members have of each other's connexions and alliances. High society remains in the same sort of state as it was in England under Queen Anne, when one drawing-room could receive the court and those entitled to go there. The upper classes often inscribe on their cards the chief titles of their own and their wives' families; el Duque de San Lorenzo, de Val Hermoso—Conde de Benalua; the latter being that of his wife. The title of Duque is the highest, and necessarily implies grandeeship. It however by no means follows that every grandee is a duke; many are only marquises and counts, such as Alcañiçes, Puñonrostro (fist in face), Chinchon; title is in fact of no importance. The real rank consists in being a grandee, in a perfect equality among each other, being pares, peers, which is neither affected by degree of rank nor by date of creation. The dignity is conferred by the King desiring them to be covered in his presence. Hence (for form will swallow up substance), just as the woolsack means the lord chancellor, the crown the sovereign, so a hat means a grandee. The civility shown to a private gentleman's hat when paying a visit is very marked among the formal gentry of the provinces; he is not allowed to hold it in his hand, nor to put it on the ground; the punctilious master of the house rushes at this cardinal type of gentility, seizes it, and, in spite of gentle resistance, cushions it on a chair by itself,{238} or on the sofa-seat of honour. The difference between Spaniards and Moors, in many more things than this, consists only in the one wearing a hat and the other a turban. Lane (i. 40) describes the similar attention paid to the turban; the chair on which it reposes is called koo'rsee el'emámeh. The ancients paid the same honour to the sword; Minerva, after taking Telemachus by the hand, takes next care of his χαλκεον εγχος. (Od. i. 121.) The traveller, if he wishes to be muy cumplido y muy formal, complete and formal, which latter has not the priggish signification of our term, must remember, whenever a Spaniard to whom he desires to show attention calls upon him, to take his hat nolens volens, and seat it like a Christian on a chair of its own. The grandees take a pride in uniting a number of hats in themselves,—dos veces tres veces grande de primera clase. It is a true, though a sorry jest, that they have many hats but no heads. Grandees treat each other as cousins, primos, and with the tu, the thou of familiar relationship; they are all entitled to the Eccelenza: this, the most coveted title in Spain, is pronounced in common parlance vo essencia. The inferior titular nobility, titulos de Castilla, are countless in number; they are held in small estimation by the real grandees, although, like our baronets in country towns, they have a sort of local rank in the distant provinces: they are addressed su señoria, your lordship, which is abbreviated into usia, the common term given by the lower classes in Spain to foreigners who in their eyes appear to have rank or money. Vo essencia and usia are terms seldom used in good society; the common form of address to universal humanity is usted, the abbreviation of vuestra merced, your worship. The Sovereign addresses all grandees as primos, as his cousins,—"Our trusty and well-beloved cousin," which they really were in the early times of intermarriage with royal infantas. To the rest of his subjects he applies the vos, os, or you; an exception is only made in favour of the clergy, who are addressed by him as usted. Nobility of blood does not depend in Spain on mere title, which descends with the mayorazgo, or entailed estate, to the eldest son. The younger branches, although simply hidalgos, hijos de algo, sons of somebody, are nevertheless considered as good gentlemen in blood as the possessor of the mere title. In Spain, where poverty is not a crime, donde pobreza no es vileza, a good name is a better passport than a spick and span new title, by which the gaping, gulping English or American, qui stupet in titulis, is captivated; the Spaniard is contented with the Don, the simple prefix of gentle birth. This word, corrupted from the Latin Dominus, is to be traced to the Adhon Adonai, the Lord of the{239} Hebrews. The Carthaginian in the Pœnulus (Plaut. v. 2. 38) uses donni exactly in the present sense, gentlemen; the once honoured don was equivalent to our knightly sir, and both have alike degenerated in value. They are used in the same manner, and require the Christian name, Don José—Don Juan—Sir Joseph, Sir John; to say Don Quesada would be as ridiculous as to say Sir Peel; it must be Don Vincente Quesada. When the Christian name is unknown, the title of señor is prefixed with the addition of de, which, although a Gallicism, has become nationalized, and the omission offensive. Señor de Quesada is the address of a gentleman, Señor Quesada of a nobody, who is nowhere less than nothing than in Spain. Spaniards show a great tact in the avoiding the omission of the don, a sound which is pleasing to all Spanish ears, whether long or short, rich or poor, high or low. Like the Orientals, they delight in personal distinctions and appellations; an operative is affronted if not called Señor Maestro, as if he were a master of his craft.[27] This, albeit a most gratuitous assumption, should not be forgotten by the traveller who is in a hurry to get a job done. A Spaniard commonly calls his wife mi muger, ma femme; but when speaking of his neighbour's wife, he either says La señora, or La Esposa de V^md. A foreigner may live years in a Spanish town, and know and be known to every person in it, without ten Spaniards knowing what his surname is, any more than people in England do that Tenorio was that of the Don Juan. Those Spaniards who are well born, but without titles, write their simple names on their cards, thus: "Rafael Perez de Guzman." Such, indeed, is the usual and best form. If the name be a good one, "Carlos Stuart," it requires no bush: if it be Thomsonic, no plating, no double gilding will convert Brummagem into bullion. If the hidalgo be married, sometimes "y su señora" is added. Ladies however, generally use their own independent cards, in which their maiden family name is introduced, like the geborne of the Germans, e.g., Maria Luisa de Pimentel de Giron; Ynes Arias de Saavedra, de Aragon. Their daughters and sisters often lump themselves in a lot, las de Olaeta. Military men never omit their rank; widows prefix their widowhood and append their daughters, "la viuda de Carreno y sus hijas." The traveller must remember not to put his name Anglicè—"Mr. Smythe;" that confers very little identity: the correct form is "Plantagenet Smythe." Surnames are little known or used in social parlance: every man, as in olden times, goes by his Christian name—Don Juan, Don Francisco{240}. All this may seem trivial, but great offences are given by the neglect of little things; one spark explodes the mine:—

"Vilibus in Cartis——qualis.
  Consistit sumptus neglectis dedecus ingens."

These trifles, light as air, give no trouble, while the omission is to jealous country-people proofs of bad breeding as strong as holy writ. They are necessary at starting, in order to make sure of a good first impression, which is not the worst of introductions. If a thing be worth doing at all, it ought to be done as well as possible: none but those who have lived long among punctilious, touchy Spaniards can form any idea of their sensitive disposition to take affront; their personal self-love will forgive injury rather than insult, and anything rather than desden, or menosprecio; they may be tickled and guided with a feather, but not driven by a rod of iron; their good-will is ensured at a very small cost, and infinite misunderstanding and discredit avoided; and if once their Pundonor is satisfied, no nation knows better to return the compliment. Of course, as intimacy increases, and the stranger has established his good character, a considerable relaxation may be allowed, but the less even then the safer, especially in the external observances of the established rules of social intercourse. Having provided his card, the traveller must next think of his costume and conveyance; no man carries his passport nor his name and rent-roll on his forehead; strangers can only form their estimation of new introductions by how they look and act: Polonius although a fool and lord of the bed-chamber, was well selected by Shakspere for the mouth-piece of some of the best precepts ever given to travellers. He knew that a life spent at court at least would teach the manners and bearings of high life. We scarcely need say that a gentleman will avoid that nondescript half-bandit masquerade, which occasionally is adopted by our countrymen on the continent. The only fancy dress allowable in Spain is that of the majo, which, from being a real national costume, ceases to be a fancy dress in the eyes of Spaniards. It however must never be worn except when travelling, or on those special occasions when etiquette is intended to be laid aside. It must never be put on for visits of any ceremony, for which black is the correct thing, of which more presently; nor should ladies or gentlemen ever then walk, and still less should return a first visit in their ordinary walking dress, or on foot, since Spaniards come in grand costume, muy compuestas, and in a carriage. Minerva (that is, tact, good sense, knowledge of the world) gave the same advice to Nausicaa some {241}thousand years ago; get a coche de colleras, "Εμιονους και αμαξαν" (Od. z. 37). These were thought handsomer than going on foot, Καλλιον—more becoming to the lady, the daughter of the Καλος και αγαθος—the hidalgo. The first thing Sancho, on coming into office, writes to his wife, is recommending her keeping her coach, "which is the real thing, for all other going is cat-fashion:" que es lo que hace al caso, porque todo otro andar, es andar de gatas. A visit en coche, when the fair is drest in all her best, affords matter of talk and wondering to the whole barrio, or quarter, for a week; a coche is a luxury in the Moorish cities, where only a few streets are wide enough to allow them to pass. Few private carriages are now to be seen in Spain, except at the Corte. Poverty has put down coaches; and those who could afford to keep them are afraid to appear rich, which, as in the East, would expose them to contributions. A coche in one of the inland towns makes a sensation not much less than a ballon or baboon does in the west of England; accordingly Venido en coche is a mark of respect. The corporations, Los ayuntamientos, perform all their grand processions in a sort of stand of hackney-coaches set in motion. Cuesta, before the battle of Talavera, came to the Duke, whom he had kept waiting some most critical hours, in a coach and six. The Archduke Charles, in the war of succession, hesitated entering Madrid, because he had no state equipage, "Sir," said Stanhope, "our William III. drove into London in a hackney-coach, with a cloak-bag behind it, and was made king."

Having arrived at a Sevillian house, the visitor, on passing the strong wooden outer door, an Oxford Oak, enters a porch, el Zaguan, the Moorish sahan; this again is secured by an open filigree-worked gate of iron, La cancela, (cancelli, bars,) through which the interior of the house is seen. On ringing a bell, a voice demands "quien es?" The countersign to this challenge is, "gente de paz" people of peace. This is a remnant of Oriental insecurity. It is the Salam Aleikoum—Aleikoum Salam. Such was the question and answer of the Greek priests, Τις Τηδε?—Καλοι χ'αγαθοι, good men and true. Sometimes the stranger is inspected from a wicket, and when he has enquired "Estan en casa los señores?" if the family is at home, and he is approved of as clearly neither a dun nor a beggar, the welcome is given: "Pase V^md. adelante," "walk in", and the door-latch is pulled up by a string, guided by an invisible hand. Spanish servants seldom open the door in person: like their masters they hate trouble and staircases. Formerly, on passing the threshold, all persons, and beggars do so still, used to ejaculate the watchword of Seville, Ave Maria Purisima (the ancient Χαιρε Δημητηρ of Ceres). This talismanic "Open sesame" is{242} an additional guarantee of respectability, as the Devil cannot pronounce these words. The inmates respond "Sin pecado concebida:" this refers to a touch-stone of Mariolatry, the immaculate conception of the Virgin, long the monomania of Spain, and of Seville particularly, where "great is the Diana of Ephesus."

The Andalucian houses are constructed on an Oriental plan, and not unlike those at Pompeii. The court-yard, el Patio, is an hypethral, impluvium, open to the sky: in summer it is covered with an awning, el velo, toldo, the Arabic dholto, which is withdrawn when the sun sets. The patio is nicely paved, enlozado, embaldosado, with marble or porcelain tiles, azulejo; in the corners are pots of flowers, macetas, and in the centre a bubbling fountain, la fuente; but hence results a sad plague of flies, los mosquitos, which breed in myriads. Providentially these tiny vampires are not so big as dragon-flies; but malignity makes up for size, and they are a gigantic nuisance: the heat imparts fire and venom to their bite, which produces fever, while the buzzing noise—the warwhoop of these cannibals—banishes sleep. These guerrilleros of the air, winged Sangrados, give notice of their visits, y dan aviso con sus trompetas, se guarden de sus lancetas; from this music they are also called violeros. The Moors imagine that the words of their song are Habeeby, Habeeby, oh my beloved! and certainly they eat up those whom they love. Although the pagans worshipped Baalzebub, or Hercules Απομυιος, the driver away of flies, the Spaniards, with all their polytheism, have no saint, no abogado especial, no retained counsel contra los mosquitos; in fact they do not suffer so seriously as strangers, although they complain considerably, Ay! como me pican. The inflammation subsequent to the bite is trifling to what takes place when the victim is a ruddy roast-beef-fatted Briton, a muy rubio, for whom, like the beggars, these importunate blood-suckers have a singular predilection and perception; if the last of the mosquitos be in the province, he will hum fee foo fum, when he smells the blood of an Englishman; but the oil and garlic diet of the natives confers such a peculiar odour and flavour to their epidermis that no mosquito willingly returns to the banquet. Let no thin-skinned gentleman, no lady who values her complexion, allow one night or day pass without buying a mosquetera or gauze net; the best are made at Barcelona. Vermin, with and without wings, are the curse of Eastern travel: they are the unavoidable results of a fine warm climate. In summer, legions of fleas, pulgas, breed in the Esteras or mattings; the leaf of the oleander, adelfa, is often strewed as a preventive. Chinches, bugs, or French lady{243}birds, make bad beds resemble busy ant-hills, and the walls of ventas, where they especially lodge, are often stained with the marks of nocturnal combat, evincing the internecine guerrilla, waged against enemies who, if not exterminated, murder innocent sleep; were the chinches and pulgas unanimous, they would eat up a Goliath, but fortunately, like true Iberians, they never pull together, and are conquered in detail. The number slain is so great, that the phrase mueren como chinches is applied to any unusual mortality among men. A still smaller and worse creeper, el piojo, non nominandum inter caballeros, colonizes the dark locks of the lower classes; in the poorer suburbs picturesque groups, clad in browns and yellows, and looking rather bilious, and perfect Murillos, bask in the sun, with their heads in each other's laps, carrying on a regular chasse against this caza menor, or "small-deer;" indeed, since Mendizabal has clipped the beards of the mendicant monks, formerly the grand preserves, the dispossessed tenants have migrated to the congener beggar, from a sort of free-masonry of bad taste which prefers the low company of dirt and poverty to that of the consumers of soap and clean linen. The traveller in out of the way provinces is sometimes exposed in poor ventas to an invasion of these brutes; but such evils may always be kept down by a vigilant preventive service, and by the avoidance of suspected localities, quien duerme con perros, se levanta con pulgas, those who sleep with dogs will awake with fleas.

From these evils, however, the best houses in Seville are comparatively free; on entering the principal door, the Patio, or central court is enclosed by open arcades, corredores, which run round, the upper of which are sometimes glazed in; they are supported by pillars of white Macael marble, and of which they say there are more than 60,000 in Seville: they are mostly Moorish; the house has two stories, and generally a flat roof, as in the East; to this azotea the inmates often resort to dry their linen and warm themselves (for the sun is the fire-place of Spain), and according to Solomon, for peace "it is better to dwell in the corner of a house-top than with a brawling woman in a wide house;" here the Spanish women keep their flowers and bird-cages.

The upper and under story, la vivienda alta y baja, exactly resemble each other; the former is the winter, the latter the summer residence. The family migrates up and down with the seasons, and thus have two houses under one roof; the doors, windows, and furniture are moved with them, and fit into corresponding positions above and below. The doors which open from{244} one room to another are sometimes glazed, but whether thus transparent or solid, they never must be shut when a gentleman is calling on a lady: this is a remnant of ancient jealousy. It is safer to risk sitting in a draft, than to shut the door during the tête-à-tête, which would alarm and distress the whole house. Each quarter previously to being inhabited is whitewashed with the cal de Moron, and thus is rendered scrupulously clean and free from insects: the furniture is scanty, for much would harbour vermin and caloric; coolness and space are the things wanting; the chairs, tables, and everything are of the most ordinary kind; whatever once existed of value disappeared during the invasion, and the little that escaped has since been sold to foreigners by the impoverished proprietors, especially books, pictures, and plate; a few bits of china are occasionally placed in open cupboards, chineros, alacenas. There is, however, no want of rude engravings and images of saints and household gods, the Lares and Penates, after whose names the different inmates are called, for to say christened would be incorrect. Thus the Mahometans take their names from those of their Santons, or from those of the relatives of the prophet. These familiar household gods are made of every material; and before these graven and painted relics, dolls, and baby toyshop idols, small lighted wicks, mariposas, ελυχνια, floating in a cup of thick green oil, are suspended. The ancient Egyptians lighted up their deities exactly in the same manner (Herod, ii. 62). The bedrooms are the chosen magazine for these dii cubiculares. They are supposed to allure Morpheus and banish Satan, and some husbands, in case of a fire, would carry them off, after the example of the pious Æneas, whatever they might do in regard to their wives. No Spanish Laban would trust his Rachel alone with his little Pantheon, particularly in the agricultural districts. Farmers are everywhere slow to learn anything, and the Peninsular Pagani, who meddle more with manure than philosophy, depend on the aid of these Penates whenever their carts stick in the mire; the making these useful little household gods gives much employment to silversmiths. See Santiago.

The defective portion of most Spanish houses is the "offices;" the kitchens and other necessaries, are on the dirtiest and most continental scale. Few chimneys, windpipes of hospitality, indicate the visible agency of the carbonic elements on undressed food, or, as far as the foreigner is concerned, the residence of a veritable Amphitryon: smoke issues more from labial than brick apertures, and denotes rather the consumption of cigars than fuel. According to Jovellanos, even at Madrid, the court, there were{245} mas aras que cocinas, which a lively Frenchman has paraphrased, "des milliers de prêtres et pas un cuisinier:" but so it always was. When Lord Clarendon arrived at Madrid in 1649, he was lodged in the house of a Grandee in the C^e. de Alcalá, which had no other kitchen than a sort of a hearth in a garret, just big enough for a few pipkins; no wonder another altered house of English embassy was called la casa de las siete chimeneas. A grate is a curiosity even in a Grandee's kitchen, and a roasting-jack a still greater one, but it never was the fashion in Spain to give dinners (Justin. xliv. 2). The nation at large is just as frugal and parsimonious as, according to Justin, were their ancestors. Dura omnibus et adstricta est parcimonia; their domestic gastronomy remains both in quantity and quality in unchanged primitive darkness, a small stove, nay, often a portable one, un anafe, serves for the daily olla; they do not live to eat, but eat to live, like the beasts that perish. These hungry doings gave great offence to ancient deipnosophists and men of letters who lined their bellies with good capons (Athe. ii. 6). They have recorded the solitary meals and dining off one dish, the το μονοσιτειν of these μονοτροφουντες (Strabo, iii. 232), nor have matters much changed. Ferdinand and Isabella lived on puchero, and the king once asked his uncle, the admiral of Castile, to dine with him because he had an additional chicken, the exact algun palomino de añadidura of Don Quixote's Sunday bill of fare. To give dinners is neither a Spanish nor Oriental habit. The fear of the Inquisition, which was all eyes and ears, shut up every family like shell-fish in their own houses. They dreaded the self committal, the chance arrows shot from the secret quiver of their thoughts, when the glass applied to their lip brought up the secret of the heart, in the moments of unguarded conviviality—in vino veritas. But whenever Spaniards do venture to give a dinner, as in the East, it is an Azooma, a feast. Then there never can be enough; neither solids nor fluids are spared, to say nothing of oil and garlic. The unfortunate stranger is treated like Benjamin—served sevenfold, and expected to eat it all and three plates more; so let any of our readers thus invited avoid for that day luncheon, and keep all their stowage-room clear, for assuredly on them will be tried the perilous experiment of seeing how much the human stomach and skin can be made to contain without bursting. Occasionally, comidas de fonda, convites de campo, dinners at an inn, parties into the country, and escotes, the nookoot of Cairo, or pic-nics, are made up; and there, as at balls, the female survivors are pressed to take home sweatmeats in their handkerchiefs, not to say napkins, according to Martial, xii. 29.{246}

But the honest lower classes are the persons who best exercise the hospitality of the Bedouin, never failing when at their meals to offer them to the passing stranger, who is earnestly invited to partake. An excusable pride interferes with their betters, who hate to reveal their domestic arrangements, which they suspect are inferior to those of the foreigner; thus the door of dining, or un-dining, rooms are closed against the impertinente curioso, like the gates of their citadels, in which a batterie is the one thing needful; indeed, de municion is a Spanish term for anything "too bad," such as pan, the coarse, soldier, black bread; the paraphrase is framed on the usual condition of the ammunition in fortresses, larders, and arsenals: the Pundonor, however, of the Hidalgo extends even to pucheros, and the slightest menosprecio of his menu makes the pot of his wrath boil over, oleum adde camino. Thus Howell, writing from Madrid soon after our Charles's arrival, laments that some of his suite "jeered at the Spanish fare, and used slighting speeches;" and this was one cause why the match with the Infanta failed.

The natives of isolated Castile isolate themselves still more: they meet in church, on the Alameda, and at their tertulias, but not around the mahogany. Their hospitality does not consist in giving dinners to those who do not want them; it is exhibited in personal attentions. Thus, in old-fashioned out of the way towns, the stranger who brings a letter of introduction is encumbered with help and company; as in the East, he is never left alone: to let a man amuse himself, or go his own way, is not their way.

To return to the first visit: as soon as the visitor is ushered in, he will be struck with the style of his reception. The Spaniard is an Oriental of high caste, and nothing can be easier or better than the manner in which all classes, and especially the women, do the honours of their house, be it ever so humble. Spanish women seldom rise from their seats to welcome any one; this is a remnant of their former Oriental habit of sitting on the ground. The visitor is usually conducted to the best, the withdrawing room, the Sala de Estrado, the Cairo Sudhr. He is placed on the r. hand of a sofa, the Oriental position of honour, great respect being shown to his hat, quasi turban. When he retires, he takes his leave thus, "Señora, á los pies de V^md.," madam, at your feet; to which the lady replies, "Caballero, beso á V^md. la mano, que V^md. lo pase bien," Sir, kiss your hand, and wish you well. In case of a lady visitor, the host conducts her to her carriage, holding her by the hand, but without pressure, for no shaking hands with ladies is permissible to gentlemen. A requiebro, or compliment, on good{247} looks and dress, is, however, never taken amiss. "Montes allana lisonja," flattery levels mountains, and renders the steepest staircase of Dante pleasant.

At these first visits, on taking leave, the host usually offers his house to the stranger. Esta casa está muy á la disposicion de V^md. If he does not do so, it is equivalent to saying, "I never wish to see you again," and almost is an affront. All this is very Carthaginian. Thus Dido made her offer to the pious Æneas:—"Urbem quam statuo, vestra est." The form is more than a form, for it is equivalent to making and retaining an acquaintance; it is never to be omitted. Thus, when a person marries or changes his house, he writes round to his friends to inform them, and to offer the new home. "Don A. B. y Doña B. C. participan á V^md. su efectuado enlace, y le ofrecen su casa, Calle S^n. Vicente, No. 26;" or "Ofrecen su nueva habitacion en calle Catalanes No. 19, para cuando guste favorcerla." Mr. and Mrs. so and so beg to inform you of their marriage, and offer you their house, whenever you choose to honour it. These billets are sent open, and seldom sealed; the correct thing was to pay a visit en persona within twenty-four hours after the receipt; but the progreso, or march of intellect is gradually rubbing down the salient points of national peculiarities. Everything, as we have before said, is offered in Spain; from the ancient and Oriental dread of the evil eye (see p. 56), something also remains of the Eastern custom of making presents on all occasions, which is a mark of respect and attention independently of interested motives. They become so much a matter of course that while the gift is received without thanks, the failure to offer it is held as an affront; all inquirers have been struck with the apparent ingratitude with which Spaniards speak of the salvation of their country and independence by the exertions of England. "In the very varied intercourse" (says even their firm ally Capt. Widdrington, ii. 297) "I have had with every description of people during my travels in this extraordinary country, I never heard a hint, in a single instance, that to England they were under the slightest obligation." "Their natural unwillingness to allow any motives for gratitude" (Ditto, ii. 249) is partly a defect of race; thus the ancestors of the Visigoths "gaudent muneribus, sed nec data imputant nec acceptis obligantur" (Tacitus, G. 21).

The stranger, after this first introduction, when he next meets any mutual friends of the person at whose house he has just called, should announce his satisfaction at his reception in some phrase of this kind, Don Fulano estuvó tan fino conmigo y me ofreció su casa. Mr. so and so was very civil to me, and offered me his house.{248} Let all travellers remember whenever a Spaniard calls upon him, or returns his visit, to offer him his house, without consulting the innkeeper, if he be at the posada; and, also, whenever out walking in company, and passing by it, to invite his friend to walk in and untire himself.

Whenever this mystical offering has been made, the stranger ceases to be one. It is an "Open sesame;" he may drop in whenever he will, without "hoping that he does not intrude." He is sure, except at Siesta time, of finding a kind and uniform welcome, and will sit at their right hand. Remember always, in walking with a Spaniard, that, as among the ancient Romans, it is a mark of civility to give him the right side—that is, to let him be inside and closest to the wall, "tu comes exterior." Well-bred men always make way for a lady, even if they do not know her. The narrowness of the streets, and their dirt, frequently render this more than a mere compliment. The refusal to do so has always led to fatal broils among Spaniards, touching in matters of etiquette and precedence, each thinking himself the first person in the world. If once the point of honour is conceded to them, no people are more anxious to give it up to one who has done them justice. The strict law for correct street-walkers is, that whoever has the wall on the right hand is entitled to keep it, in preference to all persons who have the wall to the left. The prudent man will generally give way to ladies of course, and to gentlemen, and he will be thought one himself; while it avoids all evil contact and communications with blackguards. Al loco y toro dale corro, make way for a bull and a madman.

The grand place to study Spanish walking, especially that of the ladies, which is inimitable, is on the Alameda. Every town and village has its public walk, the cheap pleasure of all classes. The term alameda is derived from alamo, the elm, with which the shady avenues are sometimes planted; the walk is often called El Prado, the meadow, and El Salon, the saloon; and it is indeed an al fresco rout, or an out-of-doors assembly or ridotto; tomar el fresco, to take the cool, is equivalent to our taking exercise, but no Spaniard, in ancient or modern history, ever took a regular walk on his own feet, that is a walk for the sake of mere health, exercise, or pleasure. When the old autochthonic Iberians saw some Roman centurions walking for walking's sake, they laid hold of them and carried them to their tents, thinking that they must be mad (Strabo, iii. 249). A modern Spaniard having stumbled over a stone, exclaimed on getting up, "voto a Dios—this comes of a caballero's ever walking!" A Spanish walk, "un paseo, un{249} paseíto," like the otiose saunter of an Oriental, means a creeping lounge on the "alameda," where, under the pretence of walking, the pedestrians can stop every two out of five minutes to recognise a friend, to sit down, "no quiere V^md. descansar un ratito;" to discuss a truism, "es verdad;" for unexciting twaddle refresheth the respectable Spaniard and Oriental, as scandal doth the fair sex; or to lay hold of a friend's button, "Pues Señor," or to restore exhausted nature by an oblivious antidote—a cigar—"echaremos un cigarrillo." Their walk is so called from their not walking, just as our workhouse is from people doing nothing in it.

But whether on the alameda or in-doors, there is no greater mistake than to suppose all the Spaniards to be a grave, serious, formal people: they—and particularly the Castilians—may be so at first, but among themselves and intimate friends, they are the gayest of the gay; nay, almost to the romping as children on a holiday, when present relaxation is increased by previous restraint. The song and dance is never ceasing, nor, as among the ancients, the practical joke; ceremony is dismissed, for good friends do not stand upon compliments; entre amigos honrados, los cumplimientos van escusados. In winter the tertulia assembles round their brasero, which with them is equivalent to our cosy fireside. This is the Oriental chafing-dish, the Arabic mun'chud, the há-ach or brazier of Jehoiakin. The flat metal pan is filled with fine charcoal, cisco, and is carefully ignited outside the room, and fanned with the palmita, as among the old Egyptians. When quite lighted, and the noxious charcoal effluvium has evaporated, a few lavender seeds or strips of bitter orange-peel are then sprinkled on the white ash, and it is brought in. At best, it is a poor makeshift for the fireplace, is unwholesome, and gives little heat and much headache; yet the natives—such is habit—dote on this suffocation-pregnant pan, and consider the wholesome open fireplace, la chimenea francesa, to be highly prejudicial to health. The warmer seasons at Seville are the most enjoyable, for none can tell the misery of a fireless house during a southern winter.

When cold has fled, the tertulia, or "at home," is held in the patio, which is converted into a saloon. It is lighted up by lamps of fantastic forms made of tin, which glitter like frosted silver: the smaller are called farolas, the larger (of which there ought correctly only to be one) is termed el farol, the male, the sultan, as the macho is of a coach team. During the day every precaution is taken, by closing doors and windows, to keep out light and heat; at night-fall everything is reversed, and opened in order to let in the refreshing breeze. Nothing can be more Oriental or pictur{250}esque than these tertulias in a patio. By day and night the scene recalls the house of Alcinous in the 'Odyssey:' the females, always busy with their needles, group around the fountain; they are working their mantillas, zapatitos, medias caladas, slippers, and embroidered stockings, petacas, cigar-holders, bultitos, paper-cases, and what not. Spanish women are very domestic, and even among the better classes, like the Greek Ταμιαι, and, as in England a century ago, many are their own housekeepers. They "study household good;" the perfection of female excellence, according to Milton; and although foreigners think they make bad wives, which those who are married to them do not, many a hint might be taken from these observers of the great keep-indoors maxim of Pericles, the το ενδον μενειν. They are muy casaderas, labranderas y costureras, very good stay-at-home work and needle housewives. Their proceedings are quite à l'antique; tables are scarce; each has at her feet her canasta or basket; the ταλαρος of Penelope, the qualas of Neobule; such as Murillo often introduced in his domestic pictures of the Virgin.

It is the fashion of some foreigners to assert that these ladies, although quite as industrious, are not all quite so exemplary as Penelope or Lucretia, Unas tienen la fama y otras cardan la lana, many have the reputation, while others really card the wool; here and there a relacioncita, like any other accident, may happen in the best regulated patio, for where people live in sets and meet each other every day, the propinquity of fire and tow in an inflammable climate makes some insurances doubly hazardous; but Ubi amor ibi fides is nowhere truer than in Spain; the tenacity of female constancy, when reciprocated, is indubitable; a breach of relacion is termed felonia, a capital crime, a pecado mortal, for they are equal fanatics in love and religion. The consequences of spretæ injuria formæ are truly Didonian; at once all love is whistled to the winds, and welcome revenge. In what can self-love—the pivot of the Iberian—be more offended than by inconstancy? It is said that self-imposed bands link faster in Spain than those forged by Hymen—Quos diabolus conjunxit, Deus non separabit. These, however, are occasionally the pure calumnies of the envious, the ill-favoured and the rejected, and "the ostler's" gossip to which the chivalrous Ariosto turned a deaf ear.

"Donne, e voi che le donne havete in pregio,
  Per Dio non date a queste historie orecchia,
  —— e sia l'usanza vecchia,
  Che 'l volgare ignorante ognun riprenda
  E parli piu de quel, che meno intenda!"
{251}

Blanco White has truly observed, "No other nation in the world can present more lively instances of a glowing and susceptible heart preserving unspotted purity, not from the dread of opinion but in spite of its very encouragement;" occasionally these dark-glancing daughters of bright skies and warm suns are too much perhaps "the woman," the feminine, in the gender sense. To be admired and adored is their glory and object; the sincerity of their affections and the ardor of their temperament scarcely permit them to be coquettes. Their young thoughts are divided between devotion and love, and to these cognate influences they abandon their soul and body. In this land of the Moor a remnant of the Oriental system is still under-current. The mistress is contented with the worship of the body rather than of the mind; hence, when the fierce passion is spent in its own violence, the wife remains rather the nurse and housekeeper than the friend and best counsellor of her husband. Too many thus become victims of the stronger sex from taking this low ground, and thus contribute to perpetuate the evil. Thus the lax and derogatory treatment of women is one main cause of the inaptness of eastern nations for liberty and true civilization.

Whatever be their faults—and man and the stars are certainly more to blame than they are—evil betide him who would point out motes in their bright eyes; and, at all events, few women talk better or more than the Andaluzas; practice makes perfect. The rabbins contend that ten cabs (a dry measure) of talk were assigned to the whole creation, of which the daughters of Palestine secured nine; and doubtless, some parcels of this article were shipped to Tarshish by king Hiram. This dicacity is unrivalled; it is a curious felicity of tongue—dolce parlar e dolcemente inteso—and does speaker and listener equal good, which is not everywhere else the case. A hypercritic possibly might say that their voices were somewhat loud and harsh, and their liberty of speech too great. Certainly their Spartan simplicity calls many things by their right names which in our more delicate phraseology could be wrapped up in the silver paper of a paraphrase; and the more so the better; since the homage of the male, sensitive and capricious, never should be slightly risked. The Spanish man is the real culprit; for did he not tolerate, nay encourage, what to us seems indelicate, no woman would originate the use: however, little of the kind is either meant or conveyed among the natives, and the stranger must never forget how much these things are of convention. At all events, in the words of Lord Carnarvon, although "with some exceptions, these women are not highly educated,{252} and feel little interest in general subjects, and consequently have little general conversation, a stranger may at first draw an unfavourable inference as to their natural powers, because he has few subjects in common with them; but when once received into their circle, acquainted with their friends, and initiated in the little intrigues that are constantly playing along the surface of society, he becomes delighted with their liveliness and ready perception of character." Their manner is marked with a natural frankness and cordiality: their mother-wit and tact, choice blossoms of common-sense, has taught them how to pick up a floating capital of talk, which would last them nine lives, if they had as many. It supplies the want of book-learning—à quoi bon tant lire? They are to be the wives of husbands, of whom 99 in 100 would as soon think of keeping a pack of fox-hounds as having a library. Few people read much in Spain, except monks and clergymen, and they never marry.

The fair sex here are not more afraid of blue-beards, than the men are of blue-stockings: those ladies who have an azure tendency are called Eruditas á la violeta, Marisabidillas; they are more wondered at than espoused. Martial (ii. 90), a true Spaniard, prayed that his wife should not be doctissima; learning is thought to unsex them. The moderns think these Epicenes never likely to come to a better end than to dress up images for the altar, the sole refuge of virgin devotees: Mula que hace hin-hin, muger que sabe latin-tin, nunca hicieron buen fin; mule that whinnies, women that know Latin, come to no good end. The men dislike to see them read, the ladies think the act prejudicial to the brilliancy of the eyes, and hold that happiness is centred in the heart, not the head; the fatal expression sin educacion has reference to manners, to a bad bringing out, rather than anything connected with Messrs. Bell and Lancaster (see p. 231). Let those who wish to be well with the ladies, who, as in the days of Strabo, govern society in Spain, avoid discussions on gases, æsthetics, metapheesics, political economy, quoting San Isidore like us, and so forth; for if once set down as a bore, or Majadero, all is over.

Spanish women seldom write, carte canta; and when they do, sometimes neither the spelling nor letters are faultless: they can just decipher a billet-doux and scrawl an answer. The merit of the import atones for all minor faults, which after all no one but a schoolmaster would notice. Spanish paper is excellent; it is made of linen, not cotton rags, and for this raw material the supply is inexhaustible. One word on the form of letter-writing in Spain, which is peculiar. The correct place of dating from should be de{253} esta su casa, from this your house, wherever it is; you must not say from this my house, as you mean to place it at the disposition of your correspondent; the formal Sir is Muy Señor mio; My Dear Sir, is Muy Señor mio y de todo mi aprecio; My Dear Friend is Mi apreciable amigo: a step more in intimacy is querido amigo and querido Don Juan. All letters conclude after something in this fashion—quedando en el interim S.S.S. [su seguro servidor] Q.S.M.B. [que su mano besa]. This represents our "your most obedient and humble servant;" the more friendly form is "Mande V^md. con toda franqueza á ese S.S.S. y amigo af^mo. Q.S.M.B." When a lady is in the case, P [pies] is substituted for Mano, as the gentleman kisses her feet. Ladies sign su servidora y amiga; clergymen, su S.S.S. y capellan. Letters are generally directed thus:—

Al Señor
Don Fulano Apodo
B.L.M.
S.S.
R.F.

Most Spaniards append to their signature a Rubrica, which is a sort of intricate flourish, like a Runic knot or an Oriental sign-manual. The sovereign often only rubricates; he makes his mark and does not sign his name. No saber firmar, not to be able to sign one's name, is with being cornudo y endeudado, a cuckold and in debt, one of the qualifications of grandeeship, so say those who laugh at Usías desabríos, or insipid lordlings. Formerly all persons headed their letters with a cross, as the Seville physicians did their prescriptions, even when senna was an ingredient; the archbishop having conceded a certain exemption from purgatory for this meritorious act, which operated on the soul of the practitioner exactly as it did not on the body of the patient.

There are particular occasions on which all who frequent the Tertulia, or particular set of any house, are expected to make a visit of ceremony: one is on El día de su Santo, the saint's day of the gentleman or ladies: this is equivalent to our birthday. All Spaniards are under the especial protection of some tutelar or guardian, whose name they bear—Francisco, Juan, &c. Almost every woman is christened Maria, and some men also, although anything but feminine, the bandit José Maria for instance: this is borrowed from the very general use among the ancient Egyptians of the name of Osiris. In order to distinguish these infinite Marias{254} they are addressed by the attribute of the particular virgin after whom they have been Marianised. Thus a Maria de las Angustias, "Sorrows," or a Maria de los Dolores, "Griefs," is called Dolores, Angustias, names not less inapplicable to the lively damsels than unchristian.

On this Dia de su Santo everybody calls in full dress, the women wearing diamonds and feathers in day-time, the subject of homage alone being clad in ordinary attire: this is quite Roman. Persius (i. 14), speaking of this natalician splendour, mentions the outrageous extravagance of even a new capa togâque recenti. Presents are usually made now, as in those good old times, when the Spaniard Martial complained (viii. 64) that Doña Clyte had eight birthdays in one year.

New-year's day is another occasion when the visit never must be omitted, and the ancient custom of bringing some little offering continues. These estrenas are the unchanged strenæ, σχενια. January, from these presents, is called el mes de aguinaldo, and by the lower classes el mes de los gatos, the month of cats, who imitate on the roofs the caterwaulings and merry-makings of human life below.

Whenever a death occurs in a family, a visit to condole, para dar el pesame, is always expected. Nothing can exceed the observance of all filial and parental relations in Spain. Families to the fourth generation live together under the same roof, after the primitive patriarchal system. The greatest respect is shown to parents and grand-parents. As in the East, age ensures precedence and deference: few survivors speak of their deceased parents except as being in heaven—Su merced, his worship, as the lower classes call the defunct, que en la gloria está, who is in paradise. The simple Oriental form of address, "my son, my daughter," hijo mio, hija mia (Arabicè ya bint), are very common, and used when no such relationship exists. Of such class are the seemingly unceremonious "Hombre," man, "Muger," woman, which are proofs rather of intimacy and good will than the contrary. The kind feeling between sisters and brothers is perfect: indeed the whole family and domestic economy is union, and contrasts with the national house divided against itself out of doors. The isolated families, like the tribes of the Bedouin, are each so many little republics, or rather absolute monarchies, each revolving on its own axis, without loving or thinking of its neighbour: nay, there is a jealousy in Tertulias, and this is a stumbling-block to the stranger, to whom many more houses are often opened than to the natives themselves. He generally ends in selecting that set{255} which he finds the most agreeable; and even then, when once a regular member, de nosotros, de la familia, if he happen to miss coming for a few evenings, he is received with a good-humoured reproof, such as "Dichosos los ojos que ven a V^md.," happy the eyes which see you.

A volume might be written on the vestiges of ancient and Oriental manners with which private life in Spain is strewed. These turn up every moment in the inland towns, where the march of intellect and strangers seldom treads down the relics. At Madrid there is an aping of French and English manners, and at the seaports an Italian or lingua Franca admixture. The traveller will seldom go amiss in adopting the old Spanish formulæ, at which, even when the more reformed and enlightened of los Nuevos Españoles smile, they are never offended. Thus when any one sneezes, the correct thing is to say Jesus, pronounced Heesus. This is the antique Ζεν σωσον. Sternutation was a good omen (2 Kings iv. 35). Cupid sneezed to the right, while the performance of Telemachus shook the house, and drew a smile from the wan countenance of Penelope. The modern Arabs congratulate a judicious sneezer with "Praise be to Allah!"

One word on religion, which pervades every part and parcel of Spain and the Spaniard, and is, as the word implies, a real binding power, and one of the very few, in this land of non-amalgamation and disunion: here no rival creeds, no dissents, weaken, as in England, the nation's common strength; his crowning pride is that he is the original Christian of Christendom, and that his religion, la fe, the faith, is the only pure and unadulterated one. He boasts to be "El cristiano viejo rancio y sin mancha," the old genuine and untainted Christian, not a newly converted Jew or Morisco: these he abhors, as the Moor did those new Moslems, the Mosalimah, who deserted the Cross, whose children they despised as Muwallad, or Mulatt, i.e. not of pure caste, but hybrid and mulish. The word Catolico is often used as equivalent to Spanish, and as an epithet bears the force of "excellent." In these respects Spain is more ultra-Roman than Rome itself; she stands in relation to indifferent Italy, as the bigot Moor did to the laxer Ottoman: it is a remnant of the crusade preached against the invading infidel, when faith was synonymous with patriotism. There is no tolerance, or in other words, indifference: intolerance is the only point on which king and Cortes, liberal and servile, are agreed. Bigotry has long, in the eyes of Spain, been her glory; in the eyes of Europe, her disgrace: here every possible dissent prevails except the religious.{256}

Foreign invasions and recent reforms have weakened, but not broken down, this inveterate exclusiveness. It may appear to slumber in large towns, but burns fiercely amid the peasantry, and everywhere needs but a trifle to be called into action, as Borrow has truly and graphically shown. The traveller will frequently be asked if he is a Cristiano, meaning thereby a Romanist; the safe answer will be, Catolico si, pero Catolico Romano no, I am a Catholic, but not a Roman Catholic. It will be better to avoid all religious discussions whatever, on which the natives are very sensitive. There is too wide a gulf between, ever to be passed. Spaniards, who, like the Moslem, allow themselves great latitude in laughing at monks, priests, and professors of religion, are very touchy as regards the articles of their creed: on these, therefore, beware of even sportive criticism; con el ojo y la fe, nunca me burlaré. The whole nation, in religious matters, is divided only into two classes—bigoted Romanists or Infidels; there is no via media. The very existence of the Bible is unknown to the vast majority, who, when convinced of the cheats put forth as religion, have nothing better to fall back on but infidelity. They have no means of knowing the truth; and even the better classes have not the moral courage to seek it; they are afraid to examine the subject, they anticipate an unsatisfactory result, and, therefore, leave it alone in dangerous indifferentism. And even with the most liberal, with those who believe everything except the Bible, the term Hereje, Heretic, still conveys an undefined feeling of horror and disgust, which we tolerant Protestants cannot understand. A Lutheran they scarcely believe to have a soul, and almost think has a tail. The universal high-bred manner of Spaniards induces them to pass over, sub silentio, whatever unfavourable suspicions they may entertain of a foreigner's belief; they are even willing to commit a pious fraud, in considering him innocent and a Roman Catholic, until the contrary be proved. It, therefore, rests with the traveller to preserve his religious incognito; and, unless he wishes to enjoy the sufferings of a martyr, he will not volunteer his notions on theology. One thing is quite clear, that, however serious and discouraging the blows recently dealt to the Pope, the cause of Infidelity, and not of Protestantism, has hitherto been the sole gainer.

Most Spaniards date in the primitive manner, and less by days in the month, than festivals and church ceremonies, of which we have a remnant in our Lady-day, Michaelmas, &c. The traveller should purchase a Spanish almanac, or he will never understand dates. Every day has its saint, some of which are very remarkable{257} among them, none more so than the 2nd of November, which is sacred to todos los difuntos. This, our "All-Souls' day," is the precise Eed-es-segheer of the Moslem. In Spain the customs of the similar pagan Feralia, Νεμεσια, are strictly observed; the cemeteries are visited by the whole population. In the S. and W. provinces long processions of females, bearing chased lamps on staves, walk slowly round the burial-ground, chanting; offerings are made at the tombs of the deceased of garlands of flowers, manibus date lilia plenis. The Greek ερωτες and lamps are suspended. These funes accensi, funeral lights, were in vain prohibited at the early Spanish council of Illiberis. The defunct, however, are always borne in mind by the survivors, and the artist will be struck with the infinite paintings, inside and outside churches, of naked men and women, half-length, who emerge from red flames, which look like bunches of radishes reversed; they are only seen down to the navel, the other half being either consumed or doubled in like an opera-glass, although, in the fire, they do not apparently burn, or even seem uncomfortable; for they represent las animas benditas del purgatorio, the blessed souls in purgatory, and relieved by the interference of the church. The belief in this intermediate state is, perhaps, the religious point the most believed in Spain. It was invented by the Amenti of Egypt. Virgil exactly describes the process ('Æn.' vi. 735); doomed, as Hamlet says, to fast in fires "Till the foul crimes done in the days of nature are burnt and purg'd away." Those pagans who had philosophised sincerely, according to Plato, were let off with only 3000 years. Now the Pope rules paramount in purgatory, of which he holds the keys, and to him it is indeed a subterraneous mine of gold; Æneas bribed Charon with a branch of that metal; for Orpheus, who got out his wife's soul for an old song, failed in the end, from this want of a valuable consideration: a rich Spaniard can now get easily into heaven, by purchasing pontifical stock, the accumulated surplus of the supererogatory good works of the Vatican, which constitute no small item in the papal budget. This adaptation of man's idea of justice in this world to the Deity scheme of the next is a purely human invention, and derogatory to the one great atonement, and teaches that the wages of sin are not death, but merely transportation for a time to a penal settlement, with ready means of buying a release. The parish clergy set up biers in the streets, which are ornamented with real skulls. They never omit a large dish, into which the smallest contributions are received. The great attraction is the representation of the suffering souls, which appeal ad misericordiam et charitatem of all be{258}holders. The hope of releasing a sufferer from the fire extracts the last mite even from Spanish poverty to pay for holy water. Many, however, who have the means make assurance doubly sure by a sort of mutual insurance. Numberless guilds (from gelt, contribution) or confraternities, hermandades, light up a capilla muerta, or chapelle ardente, for the benefit of deceased members' souls; the cost is defrayed by a small annual payment, called la averiguacion. This policy, though not exactly a fire insurance, partakes somewhat of a life one, since no benefit is derived from paying the premiums until the person has qualified by dying. Now at nightfall, at las animas, men enveloped in shroud-like cloaks come out like glow-worms, with a bell and a lantern, on which is painted a blessed couple in fire. The bearers call upon los devotos de las animas, the friends of the souls, to contribute towards the expense of masses for their relief. The traveller who will read the extraordinary number of days' redemption from purgatory which may be obtained in every chapel, in every church in Spain, for the performance of the most trumpery routine, can only wonder how any believer should ever be so absurd as not to have secured his delivery from this spiritual Botany Bay without even going there at all. Again, even those who have neglected to take these precautions have another chance. The devil cannot take away a soul who is provided with the rosary of Santo Domingo, or a body which was buried in his or the cowl of the order of San Francisco. The rochet of San Simon protects the wearer, like the badge of a fire-insurance office. All these and more are to be had of the priest for money. The formerly universal habit of burying the dead in Spain in monastic dresses led a lively French author to observe that none died in the Peninsula except monks and nuns.

The indifference which all Spaniards exhibit towards their own and their friends' bodies, when alive, is made up by the tender anxiety they evince for the souls of mere strangers if in purgatory; as those which once get there are sure of eventually being saved, they are called benditas, blessed by anticipation. Thus El Griego painted Philip II., even when alive, as if in purgatory. The great object of survivors is to get their friends out of limbo as soon as possible. This can only be done by paying for masses and holy water, every drop of which sprinkled on the tomb puts out a certain quantity of the fire below. All small fractions of change or accounts used to be devoted to this pious purpose, just as Athenæus tells us the ancients reserved for their dead friends the fragments, τα πιπτοντα, which fell from their tables. Many people leave legacies for masses for themselves, with a proviso, that{259} whatever remains unexpended after they have been rescued should go in ultimate remainders to the most unprayed-for soul in purgatory. The horrors of the auto de fé, and the readily-understood pains of burning, have created a sort of mendicity societies, who perform the last rites for those who, for want of friend and assistance, may be lingering in the purifying flames. There were formerly soul-bazars, fancy sales, to which the pious contributed various articles, which were sold at high prices, and the profits laid out in masses; and there used to be a lottery, in which humane gamblers might purchase tickets; opposite to each number, and there were no blanks, certain crimes were affixed, and what money penalty was to be paid. The winner, by taking this and the prescribed penances on himself, might thereby liberate any unknown soul who was suffering in purgatory for the actual commission of the crimes drawn. The comprehensive variety of offences specified and provided for could only have been prepared by the aid of the confessional, and profound study of the enormities prohibited in Spanish prontuarios morales, or explained by the school of Dr. Sanchez of Cordova. Blank bulls also were sold for sixpence, in which the name of the person wished to be liberated might be inserted, as in a species of habeas animam writ; and for fear the nominee might already have been delivered, the bull was endorsed with other names, and finally with an ultimate remainder to the most worthy and most disconsolate (see Blanco White, p. 173). Philip IV. left money for one hundred thousand masses to be said for his royal soul, and, in case all that number should not be requisite, he appointed as his residuary legatee el alma mas sola, the most solitary, most unthought-for soul. The foreigner will be struck with often seeing, on church-doors, a printed notice on a flat board, Hoy se saca anima, "This day you can get out a soul;" hence tiene pecho como tabla de animas is an irreverent metaphor applied to a woman who has a scraggy neck. Near these tablas are placed a box for receiving money, and a basin of holy water wherewith to put the fires out. These soul-delivering days are mentioned in the annual almanacs, and are distinguished from ordinary days by a cross being affixed to them. The doomed souls are generally left in their warm quarters during winter, and taken out in spring. No handbook can point out the exact days. The traveller who wishes to withdraw souls must make inquiries in the respective towns. The church will generally be known by the crowds of beggars who collect around the doors, and who seem to regret this outlay on future and distant objects, and suggest that a portion of the{260} charity might be equally well dispensed in relief of the present and certain sufferings of their living bodies. The singing of psalms expressly for those in purgatory takes place at the end of October, and continues nine days. The term is called el novenario de animas. It offers a most singular spectacle to Protestants, especially the vigil of All Saints' day, Nov. 1, Todos los Santos, which is also the night of love-divination, when Spanish maidens sat at the windows to watch the raith of their future husbands pass by.

The hour of sunset, which at heretical Gibraltar is announced by gun-fire, is marked in orthodox Spain by a passing bell, which tolls the knell of parting day. It is the exact Mughreb of the Moors. It is the chosen moment to pray for the souls of the departed, and hence the time is called á las animas. The traveller will hear no other term but this, and á las oraciones, which is somewhat later, when the short twilight is over and darkness grows apace. This is the Eschee of the Moor. It is called las oraciones because the Angelus, the Ave Maria bell, is rung. This is supposed to be the exact hour when Gabriel bid the Virgin hail. The observance of the Ave Maria is very impressive; when the bell rings, the whole population stop, uncover, and cross themselves, and actors used to do so even on the stage; the jest and laugh on the public Alameda are instantly hushed, and the monotonous hum of some thousand voices uttering one common prayer is heard. This feeling is, however, but for the moment; it is a mere mechanical form, and devoid of inner spirituality. The next instant every one bows to his neighbour, wishes him a happy night, and returns to the suspended conversation, the interrupted bon mot is completed: even this, which strikes the stranger as a solemn spectacle, has become a routine form of devotion to the callous performers, while the Englishman from the cold Protestant north exclaims with Byron—

"Ave-Maria! blessed be the hour!
The time, the clime, the spot where I so oft
Have felt that moment in its fullest power
Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft,
While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,
Or the faint dying day hymn stole aloft,
And not a breath crept through the rosy air,
And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer!"

The beggars of Spain know well how to appeal to every softening and religious principle. They are now an increased and increasing nuisance. The mendicant plague rivals the moskitos; they smell the blood of an Englishman: they swarm on every side; they interrupt privacy, worry the artist and antiquarian, disfigure{261} the palace, disenchant the Alhambra, and dispel the dignity of the house of God, which they convert into a lazar-house and den of mendacity and mendicity. They are more numerous than even in the Roman, Neapolitan, and Sicilian states. They form the train of superstition and misgovernment which defile the most beautiful, and impoverish the richest portions of the earth.

The Spanish beggars are dead to all shame; indeed, as Homer says, that feeling is of no use in their profession. They wear away the portals of the churches; they sit before the Beautiful gate, the old and established resort of cynics and mendicants (Juv. iii. 296). There they cluster, like barnacles, unchanged since the days of Martial (iv. 53), with their wallet, staff, dog, filthy tatters and hair, and barking importunity. Their conventional whine is of all times and countries; no man begs in his natural voice; Quien llora, mama,—the child that cries is suckled. Importunity, and coaxing appeals to our common nature and good nature, are their stock in trade, the wares by which they hope to barter their nothing for a something. Their tact and ingenuity are amazing; surer than any ecclesiastical almanac, they know every service which will be the best performed in any particular church; thither they migrate, always preferring that where the jubileo, the cuarenta horas, the "hoy se saca animas," the saint, relic, show, firework, or whatever it may be, attracts the devout. In the provincial cities vast numbers, the women especially, make it a point never to miss hearing the mass of the day; they perform this daily routine from habit, to show their dresses, from having nothing else to do, and some few from religion. The beggars, while they lift up the heavy curtain which hangs before the church-door, always allude to the particular object of the day's veneration as an additional inducement for a trifling donation, and the smallest are given and accepted. To bestow alms before prayer constitutes part of the religious exercise both of Moor and Spaniard. The mendicant of all countries endeavours to conciliate charity by appealing to the ruling passion of the people whom he addresses. In Spain there is none of our operative philoprogenitiveness—"Poor man out of work;" "widow with twins;" "fourteen small children;"—magnets which have been known to extract iron tears from an Overseer's eyes, and even copper from an Assistant Poor Law Commissioner's pockets. In Spain all pauper appeals are religious: "Por el amor de Dios,"—"For the love of God," (hence they are also called Pordioseras)—"por el amor de la Santisima; Señorita, me da V^md. un ochavito—Dios se lo pagará á V^md."; "for the love of the most{262} holy Virgin, dear sir, give me one little halfpenny—God will pay it you again." These beggars, like members of juntas, trust the repayment of all principal and interest to Providence; yet they prefer the sound of Loan to Gift; the mere shadow of an impossible repayment soothes their pride, which resents the suspicion of a donation, and the admission of obligation.

During the appropriation of church property by the government, while the Treasury exacted with infinite rigour the tithes and former sources of ecclesiastical income, it seldom paid the pitiful stipend which was pledged to be assigned to the clergy out of their own despoiled revenues. Thus, even canons and dignitaries were reduced to absolute distress, and not unfrequently solicited charity from the passing Englishman. The gold of the heretic, like the profits from the Roman sewers, has no objectionable smell or taint. There is, moreover, in Spain a licensed class of beggars, who are privileged by the alcaldes of their towns; they wear a badge, and are much affronted if on showing it they get nothing. This permission was given by Charles V. in 1525, just as in England it was granted by justices of the peace under their hand and seal (27 Henry VIII. c. 12). Philip II., in 1552, introduced the legionary decoration. The universal badge is, however, a display of rags and sores; where there are so many applicants, each tries to outdo his rival by presenting the most attractive exhibition of disgusting condition. No wounds are ever healed, no tatters are ever mended; that would be drying up the sources of their living; none, however, die either of their incurable wounds or destitution. In their latter good fortune they resembled their clever colleagues the mendicant Franciscans, who got rich by the profession of poverty. They are the pets of all artists, for the pauper groups seem as if they had stept out from one of Murillo's pictures, and become living real beings.

The general poverty of Spain is very great, the natural consequence of foreign invasion and civil wars. It presses heavily on the middling and higher classes, the well-born and once affluent, who doubly writhe and suffer. To those who have known better things, misfortune undeserved and unexpected descends with corrosive and appalling intensity. None can tell how the iron eats into souls of thousands whose properties have been ravaged or confiscated, whose incomes were dependent on bankrupt government securities, on unpaid official salaries—those widowed homes, where even the paltry pensions on which the orphan family starved are withheld; nor can the full and real extent of suffering be easily ascertained. It is sedulously concealed, and to the{263} honour of all ranks of Spaniards be it said, that in no country in the world are decayed circumstances endured with equal dignity, or such long-suffering patience and uncomplaining resignation.

Few Spaniards can afford to give much; the many pass on the other side. Familiarity has blunted their finer emotions of sympathy, and their charity must begin at home, and from seldom stirring out, is the coldest thing in this torrid climate; but the Spaniard never had much milk of human kindness. This insensibility is increased by the sang-froid with which he bears his own griefs, pains, misfortunes, and even death: if, like the Oriental, he endures them with patient apathy, he cannot be expected to show much more sensation for similar sufferings when the lot of others.

Now John Bull is held abroad to be a golden calf, and is worshipped and plundered; the Spaniard, from the minister of finance downwards, thinks him laden with ore like the asses of Arcadia, and that, in order to get on lighter, he is as ready as Lucullus to throw it away. The moment one comes in sight, the dumb will recover their speech and the lame their legs; he will be hunted by packs as a bag-fox, his pursuers are neither to be called nor whipped off. They persevere in the hopes that they may be paid a something as hush-money, in order to be got rid of; nor let any traveller ever open his mouth, which betrays that, however well put on his capa, the speaker is not a Spaniard, but a foreigner—Quære peregrinum vicinia rauca reclamat. If the pilgrim does once in despair give, the fact of the happy arrival in town of a charitable man spreads like wildfire; all follow him the next day, just as crows do a brother-bird in whose crop they have smelt carrion at the night's roost. None are ever content; the same beggar comes every day; his gratitude is the lively anticipation of future favours; he expects that you have granted him an annuity. But there is a remedy for everything. The qualche cosa of the Italian beggar is chilled by the cutting cè niente; the English vagrant by the hint of "policemen," or the gift, not of sixpence, but of a mendicity ticket. Lane (ii. 23) gives the exact forms, Al'lah yer-zoock, God will sustain, the Al'lah yaatee'k, God give thee, with which alone the analogous Egyptian beggar will be satisfied. So, in Spain, the specific which operates like brimstone, the plea to which there is no demurrer, is this—and let the traveller character the form on the tablet of his memory—Perdone V^md. por Dios, Hermano! My brother, let your worship excuse me, for God's sake! The beggar bows—he knows that all further application is useless; the effect is certain if the words be quietly and gravely pronounced.{264}

The Peninsular pauper has nothing left for him except to beg for his bread; there are no Unions or relieving-officers; and however magnificently endowed in former times were the hospitals and almshouses of Spain, the provision now made for poor and ailing humanity is miserably inadequate. The revenues were first embezzled by the managers, and since have almost been swept away. Trustees for pious and charitable uses are defenceless against armed avarice and appropriation in office: being corporate bodies, they want the sacredness of private interests, which every one is anxious to defend. Hence Godoy began the spoliation, by seizing the funds, and giving in lieu government securities, which turned out to be worthless. Then ensued the French invasion, and the wholesale confiscation of military despots. Civil war has done the rest; and now that the convents are suppressed, the deficiency is increasing, for in the remoter country districts the monks bestowed relief to the poor, and provided lodging and medicines. With few exceptions, the Casas de Misericordia, or houses for the destitute, are far from well conducted in Spain, while those destined for lunatics, Casas de Locos, and for exposed children, Cunas, Casas de Espositos, do little credit to science and humanity. See for specimens La Cuna of Seville, and Los Locos either of Granada or Toledo.

The hospitals for sick and wounded are but little better. The sangrados of Spain have long been the butts of novelists, who spoke many a true word in their jests. The common expression of the people, in regard to the busy mortality of their patients, is mueren como chinches. This recklessness of life, this inattention to human suffering, and backwardness in curative science, is very Oriental. However science may have set westward from the East, the arts of medicine and surgery have not. There, as in Spain, they have long been subordinate, and the professors held to be of a low caste—a fatal bar in the Peninsula, where even now a medical man is scarcely admissible into the best society. The surgeon of the Spanish Moors was frequently a despised and detested Jew, which would create a traditionary loathing of the calling. The physician was of somewhat a higher caste, but he, like the botanist and chemist, was rather to be met with among the Moors. Thus Sancho el Gordo was obliged to go in person to Cordova in search of good advice.

The neglect of well supported, well regulated hospitals has recoiled on the Spaniards. The rising profession are deprived of the advantages of walking them, and thus beholding every nice difficulty solved by experienced masters. Recently some efforts have{265} been made in large towns, especially on the coasts, to introduce reforms and foreign ameliorations; but official jobbing and ignorant routine are still among the diseases that are not cured in Spain. In 1811, when the English army was at Cadiz, a physician, named Villarino, urged by some of our indignant surgeons, brought the disgraceful condition of Spanish hospitals before the Cortes. A commission was appointed, and Schepeler (iii. 5) gives their sad report, how the food, wine &c., destined for the patients were consumed by the managers and empleados; quis custodes custodiat? The results were such as might be expected, the authorities held together, and persecuted Villarino as a revolucionario, or reformer, and succeeded in disgracing him. The superintendent was the notorious Lozano de Torres, who starved the English army after Talavera; for who and what this "thief and liar" was (see 'Disp.' Aug. 18, 1812.) The Regency, after this very exposure of his hospital, promoted him to the civil government of Old Castile; and Ferd. VII., in 1817, made him Minister of Justice. As buildings, the hospitals are generally very large; but the space is as thinly peopled as the wide despoblados of Spain. In England wards are wanting for patients—in Spain, patients for wards. The poor, in no country, have much predilection for a hospital; and in Spain, in addition to pride, a well-grounded fear deters the invalid—they prefer to die a natural death. If only half in the hospital die, it is thought great luck: the dead, however, tell no tales, and the living sing praises for their miraculous escape. El medico lleva la plata, pero Dios es que sana!—God works the cure, the doctor sacks the fee!

SPANISH MEDICAL MEN.

Unfortunate the wight who falls ill in Spain, as, whatever his original complaint, it is too often followed by secondary and worse symptoms, the native doctor. The faculty at Madrid are little in advance of their provincial colleagues, nay, often they are more destructive, since, being practitioners en la Corte, the heaven on earth, they are in proportion superior to the medical men of the rest of the world, of whom of course they can learn nothing. They are, however, at least a century behind the practitioners of England. Their notions and practice are classical, Oriental, and antiquated, and their acquaintance with modern works, inventions, and operations very limited. Their text-books and authorities are Galen, Celsus, Hippocrates, and Boerhaave; the names of Hunter, Harvey, and Astley Cooper are scarcely more known{266} among their M.D.s than the last discoveries of Herschell; the light of such distant planets has not had time to arrive.

Meanwhile, as in courts of justice and other matters in Spain, all sounds admirably on paper—the forms, regulations, and system are perfect in theory. Colleges of physicians and surgeons superintend the science; the professors are members of learned societies; lectures are delivered, examinations are conducted, and certificates, duly signed and sealed, are given. The young Galenista is furnished with a licence to kill. What is wanting from beginning to end, to practitioner and patient, is life. The salaries of teachers are ill paid, and the pupils are tampered with and their studies thought dangerous, not to private but the public weal; thus Ferdinand VII., on the news of the three glorious days of Paris, shut up the medical schools, opening, it is true, by way of compensation, a university for killing bulls secundum artem. The medical men know, nevertheless, every aphorism of the ancients by rote, and discourse as eloquently and plausibly on any case as do their ministers in Cortes. Both write capital documentos (see p. 210), theories and opinions extemporaneously. Their splendid language supplies words which seem to have cost thought. What is wanting is practice, and that clinical and best of education where the case is brought before the student with the corollary of skilful treatment.

As in their modern art and literature, there is little originality in Spanish medicine. It is chiefly a veneering of other men's ideas, or an adaptation of ancient and Moorish science. Most of their technical terms, jalea, elixir, jarave, rob, sorbete, julepe, &c., are purely Arabic, and indicate the sources from whence the knowledge was obtained; and whenever they depart from the daring ways of their ancestors, it is to adopt a timid French system. The few additions to their medical libraries are translations from their neighbours, just as the scanty materia medica in their apothecaries' shops is rendered more ineffective by quack nostrums from Paris. In spite of these lamentable deficiencies, the self-esteem of the medical men exceeds, if possible, that of the military; both have killed their "ten thousands." They hold themselves to be the first sabreurs, physicians, and surgeons on earth, and best qualified to wield the shears of the Parcæ. It would be a waste of time to try to dispel this fatal delusion: the well-intentioned monitor would simply be set down as malevolent, envious, and an ass; for they think their ignorance the perfection of human skill. No foreigner can ever hope to succeed among them, nor can any native who may have studied abroad easily introduce a{267} better system. All his brethren would make common cause against him as an innovator. He would be summoned to no consultations, the most lucrative branch of practice, while the confessors would poison the ears of the women (who govern the men), with cautions against the danger to their souls of having their bodies cured by a Jew, a heretic, or a foreigner, for the terms are almost convertible.

Dissection is even now repulsive to their Oriental prejudices; the pupils learn rather by plates, diagrams, models, preparations, and skeletons, than from anatomical experiments on a subject: their practice necessarily is limited. In difficult cases of compound fracture, gun-shot wounds, the doctors give the patient up almost at once, although they continue to meet and take fees until death relieves him of his complicated sufferings. In chronic cases and slighter fractures they are less dangerous; for as their pottering remedies do neither good nor harm, the struggle for life and death is left to nature, who sometimes works the cure. In acute diseases and inflammations they seldom succeed; for however fond of the lancet, they only nibble with the case, and are scared at the bold decided practice of Englishmen, whereat they shrug up shoulders, invoke saints, and descant learnedly on the impossibility of treating complaints under the bright sun and warm air of catholic Spain, after the formulæ of cold, damp, and foggy, heretical England.

Most Spaniards who can afford it, have their family doctor, or Medico de Cabecera, and their confessor. This pair take care of the bodies and souls of the whole house, bring them gossip, share their puchero, purse, and tobacco. They rule the husband through the women and the nursery; nor do they allow their exclusive privileges to be infringed on. Etiquette is the life of a Spaniard, and often his death. Every one knows that Philip III. was killed, rather than violate a form. He was seated too near the fire, and, although burning, of course as king of Spain the impropriety of moving himself never entered his head; and when he requested one of his attendants to do so, none, in the absence of the proper officer whose duty it was to superintend the royal chair, ventured to take that improper liberty. In case of sudden emergencies among her Catholic Majesty's subjects, unless the family doctor be present, any other one, even if called in, generally declines until the regular Esculapius arrives. An English medical friend of ours saved a Spaniard's life by chancing to arrive when the patient, in an apoplectic fit, was foaming at the mouth and wrestling with death; all this time a strange doctor was sitting quietly{268} in the next room smoking his cigar at the brasero with the women of the family. Our friend instantly took 30 ounces from the sufferer's arm, not one of the Spanish party even moving from their seats, hunc sic servavit Apollo!

The Spanish medical men pull together—a rare exception in Spain—and play into each other's hands. The family doctor, whenever appearances will in anywise justify him, becomes alarmed, and requires a consultation, a Junta. What any Spanish Junta is, need not be explained; and these are like the rest, they either do nothing, or what they do do, is done badly. At these meetings from three to seven Medicos de apelacion, consulting physicians, attend, or more, according to the patient's purse: each goes to the sick man, feels his pulse, asks him some questions, and then retires to the next room to consult, generally allowing the invalid the benefit of hearing what passes. The Protomedico, or senior, takes the chair; and while all are lighting their cigars, the family doctor opens the case, by stating the birth, parentage, and history of the patient, his constitution, the complaint, and the medicines hitherto prescribed. The senior next rises, and gives his opinion, often speaking for half an hour; the others follow in their rotation, and then the Protomedico, like a judge, sums up, going over each opinion with comments: the usual termination is either to confirm the previous treatment, or order some insignificant tisana: the only certain thing is to appoint another consultation for the next day, for which the fees are heavy, each taking from three to five dollars. The consultation often lasts many hours, and is a chronic complaint. It occurred to our same medical friend to accidentally call on a person who had an inflammation in the cornea of the eye: on questioning he found that many consultations had been previously held, at which no determination was come to until at the last, when sea-bathing was prescribed, with a course of asses' milk and Chiclana snake-broth; our heretical friend, who lacked the true Fe, just touched the diseased part with caustic. When this application was reported at the next Junta, the Medicos all crossed themselves with horror and amazement, which was increased when the patient recovered in a week.

The trade of a druggist is anything but free; none may open a Botica without a strict examination and licence: of course this is to be had for money. None may sell any potent medicine, except according to the prescription of some local medical man; everything is a monopoly. The commonest drugs are often either wanting or grossly adulterated, but, as in their arsenals and larders, no dispenser will admit such destitution; hay de todo, swears he, and{269} gallantly makes up the prescription simply by substituting other ingredients; and as the correct ones nine times out of ten are harmless, no great injury is sustained; if, by chance, the patient dies, the doctor and the disease bear the blame. Perhaps the old Iberian custom was the safest; the sick was exposed outside their doors, and the advice of casual passengers was asked (Strabo, iii. 234), whose prescriptions were quite as likely to answer as images, relics, bouillon aux vipres, or milk of almonds or asses:—

"And doctor, do you really think,
That asses' milk I ought to drink?
It cured yourself, I grant is true,
But then 't was mother's milk to you."

The poor and more numerous class, especially in the rural districts, seldom use physic—oh fortunati nimium! Like their mules they are rarely ill: they only take to their beds to die. If they do consult any one, it is the barber, the quack, or curandero; for there is generally in Spain some charlatan wherever sword, rosary, pen, or lancet is to be wielded. The nostrums, charms, relics, incantations, &c., to which recourse is had, when not mediæval, are pagan. For the spiritual pharmacopeia see S^a. Engracia's lamp-oil and our remarks (Zaragoza). The patients cannot always be expected to recover even then, since "Para todo hay remedio, sino para la muerte."—"There is a remedy for everything except death." The transition from surgeons to barbers is easy in Spain; nay, shaving in this land, where whiskers were the type of valour and knighthood, long took the precedence over surgery; and even now, the shops of the Figaros are far more interesting than the hospitals. Here most ludicrous experiments are tried on the teeth and veins of the brave vulgar. The Tienda de Barbero is distinguished by a Mambrino's helmet basin, by phlebotomical symbols, and generally a rude painting of bleeding at the foot; huge grinders are hung up, which in a church would be exhibited as relics of St. Christopher; inside is a guitar and prints of bull-fights, while Figaro, the centre of all, is the personification of bustle and gossip. Few Spaniards can shave themselves: it is too mechanical, even supposing their cutlers could make a razor. Like Orientals, they prefer a "razor that is hired" (Isaiah vii. 20). These Figaros shave well, but not silently, the request of the Andaluz Adrian: garrulous by nature and trade, they have their own way in talk; for when a man is in their operating chair, with his jaws lathered, his nose between a finger and thumb, and a sharp blade at his throat, there is not much conversational fair play or reciprocity.{270}

THE BULL-FIGHT.

As Moorish Andalucia is the head-quarters of the Moorish bull-fight, and the alma mater of Toreros for all the Peninsula, no Hand-book can be complete without some hints as to what to observe in this, the sight of Spain par excellence. The bull-fight, or, to speak correctly, the bull-feast, Fiesta de Toros, is decidedly of Moorish origin, and is never mentioned in any authors of antiquity. Bulls were killed in ancient amphitheatres, but the present modus operandi is modern. The principle of this spectacle is the exhibition of gallant horsemanship, personal courage, and dexterity with the lance, which constituted the favourite accomplishments of the children of the desert. The early bull-fight differed essentially from the modern: the bull was attacked by gentlemen armed only with the Rejon, a short projectile spear about four feet long. This, the pilum of the Romans, was taken from the original Iberian spear, the Sparus of Sil. Ital. (viii. 388), the Lancea, an Iberian weapon and word, the ακοντιον of Strabo (iii. 247). This spear is seen in the hands of the horsemen of the old Iberian-Roman coinage. To be a good rider and lancer was essential to the Spanish Caballero. This first class of bull-fight is now only given on grand occasions, and is called a royal Festival, or Fiesta Real. Philip IV. exhibited such a one on the Plaza Mayor of Madrid before our Charles I.; and Ferd. VII. another in 1833, at the ratification of the Juramento, the swearing allegiance to Isabel II (See 'Quar. Rev.', cxxiv. 395.)

These Fiestas Reales form the coronation ceremonial of Spain; the Caballeros en Plaza represent our champions. Bulls were killed, but no beef eaten; a banquet was never a thing of no-dinner-giving Iberia. "Nullus in festos dies epularum apparatus." (Justin, xliv. 2.)

The final conquest of the Moors, and the subsequent cessation of the border chivalrous habits of Spaniards, occasioned these dangerous exercises to fall into comparative disuse. The gentle Isabella was so shocked at a bull-fight which she saw at Medina del Campo, that she did her utmost to put them down. The accession of Philip V., which deluged the Peninsula with Frenchmen, proved fatal to this and to many other ancient usages of Spain. The puppies from Paris pronounced the Spanish bulls, and those who baited them, to be brutes and barbarous. The spectacle, which had withstood the influence of Isabella, and beat the Pope's bulls, bowed before the despotism of fashion. The periwigged courtiers deserted the arena on which the royal eye of Philip V., who only{271} wanted a wife and a mass-book, looked coldly: but sturdy lower classes, foes to the foreigner and innovation, clung closer to the pastime of their forefathers; by becoming, however, their game, instead of that of gentlemen, it was stripped of its chivalrous character, and degenerated into the vulgar butchery of low mercenary bull-fighters, as our rings and tournaments of chivalry did into those of ruffian pugilists.

The Spanish bulls have been immemorially famous. Hercules, that renowned cattle-lifter, was lured into Spain by the lowing of the herds of Geryon—Giron,—the ancestor (se dice) of the Duque de Osuna. The best bulls in Andalucia are bred by Cabrera at Utrera, in the identical pastures where Geryon's herds were pastured: they, according to Strabo (iii. 258), were obliged, after fifty days' feeding, to be driven off from fear of bursting from fat. The age of lean kine has succeeded. Notwithstanding that Spaniards assert that their bulls are braver than all other bulls, because Spaniards, who were destined to kill and eat them, are braver and hungrier than all other mortal men, they (the bulls) are far inferior in weight and power to those bred and fed by John Bull; albeit, the latter are not so fierce and active, from not being raised in such wild and unenclosed countries. We are not going to described a bull-fight; the traveller will see it. Our task is to put him in possession of some of the technical rules and terms of art, which will enable him to pass his judgement on the scene as becomes a real amateur, un aficionado. This term aficion is the true origin of our "fancy."

It is a great mistake to suppose that bull-fights are universal in Spain. They are extremely expensive, costing from 300l. to 400l. a time; and out of the chief capitals and of Andalucia, they are only got up now and then on great church festivals and holy days of saints and public rejoicings. Nor are all bulls fit for the plaza: only the noblest and bravest are selected. The first trial is the Herradura, "Ferradura, à ferro," from the branding with hot iron. The one-year-old calf bulls are charged by the conocedor, the herdsman, with his garrocha, the real Thessalian goad, ορπηξ. Those which flinch are thrown down and converted into oxen. The bulls which pass this "little go" are in due time again tested by being baited with tipped horns. As these novillos, embolados are only practised on, not killed, this sham fight is despised by the torero and aficionado, who aspire only to be in at the death, at toros de muerte. The sight of the bull-calf is amusing, from the struggle between him and his majesty the mob; nor is there any of the blood and wounds by which strangers are offended at the {272}full-grown fight. Bull-baiting in any shape is irresistible to the lower classes of Spaniards, who disregard injuries done to their bodies, and, what is far worse, to their cloaks. The hostility to the bull grows with the growth of a Spaniard: children play at toro, just as ours do at leap-frog; one represents the bull, who is killed secundum artem. Few grown-up Spaniards, when on a journey, can pass a bull (or hardly even a cow) without bullying him, by waving their cloaks in the defiance of el capeo. As bull-fights cost so much, the smaller towns indulge only in mock-turtle, in the novillos and embolados. In the mountain towns few bulls, or even oxen, are brought in for slaughter without first being baited through the streets. They are held by a long rope, and are hence called toros de cuerda, gallumbo. Ferd. VII., at the instigation of our friends the Conde de Estrella, and of Don José Manuel de Arjona, founded a tauromachian university, a Bull-ford, at Seville, near the matadero, or slaughter-house, which long had been known by the cant term of el colegio. The inscription over the portal ran thus:—Fernando VII., Pio, Feliz, Restaurador, para la enseñanza preservadora de la Escuela de Tauromachia: Ferd. VII., the pious, fortunate, and restored, for the conservative teaching of the Tauromachian School. In fact, bread and bulls, pan y toros, the Spanish cry, is but the echo of the Roman panem et Circenses. The pupils were taught by retired bull-fighters, the counterpart of the lanistæ of antiquity. Candido and Romero were the first professors: these tauromachian heroes had each in their day killed their hecatombs, and, like the brother-lords Eldon and Stowell, may be said to have fixed the practice and equity of their arenas on principles which never will be upset.

The profits of the bull-fight are usually destined for the support of hospitals, and, certainly, the fever and the frays subsequent not unfrequently provide more patients than funds. The Plaza is usually under the superintendence of a society of noblemen and gentlemen,—arenæ perpetui comites. These corporations are called Maestranzas, and were instituted in 1562, by Philip II., in the vain hope of improving the breed of Spanish horses and men-at-arms. The king is always the Hermano mayor, or elder brother. They were confined to four cities, viz., Ronda, Seville, Granada, and Valencia, to which Zaragoza was added by Ferdinand VII., which was the only reward it ever obtained for its heroic defence against the French. The members, or maestrantes, of each city are distinguished by the colour of their uniforms: as they must all be Hidalgos, and are entitled to wear a smart costume, the honour is much sought for.{273}

The day appointed for the bull-feast is announced by placards of all colours. We omit to notice their contents, as the traveller will see them on every wall. The first thing is to secure a good place beforehand, by sending for a Boletin de Sombra, a shade-ticket. The prices of the seats vary according to position. The great object is to avoid the sun: the best places are on the northern side, which are in the shade. The transit of the sun over the Plaza, the zodiacal progress into Taurus, is decidedly the best calculated astronomical observation in Spain: the line of shadow defined on the arena is marked by a gradation of prices. The names of the different seats and prices are everywhere detailed in the bills of the play, with the names of the combatants and the colours of the different breeds of bulls.

The day before the fight the bulls destined for the spectacle are driven towards the town. The amateurs never fail to ride out to see what the ganado, or cattle, is like. The encierro, the driving them to the arena, is a service of danger; the bulls are enticed by tame oxen, cabestros, into a road which is barricadoed on each side, and then driven full speed by the mounted conocedores into the Plaza. It is an exciting, peculiar, and picturesque spectacle; and the poor who cannot afford to go to the bull-fight risk their lives and cloaks in order to get the front places, and best chance of a stray poke en passant.

The next afternoon all the world crowds to the Plaza de toros. Nothing can exceed the gaiety and sparkle of a Spanish public going, eager and full-dressed, to the fight. They could not move faster were they running away from a real one. All the streets or open spaces near the outside of the arena are a spectacle. The merry mob is everything. Their excitement under a burning sun, and their thirst for the blood of bulls, is fearful. There is no sacrifice, no denial which they will not undergo to save money for the bull-fight. It is the birdlime with which the devil catches many a male and female soul. The men go in all their best costume and majo-finery: the distinguished ladies wear on these occasions white lace mantillas, and when heated, look, as Adrian said, like sausages wrapt up in white paper; a fan, abanico, is quite necessary, as it was among the Romans (Mart. xiv. 28). They are sold outside for a trifle, are made of rude paper, and stuck into a handle of common reed. Fine ladies and gentlemen go into the boxes, but the real sporting men, los aficionados, prefer the pit, the tendido, or los andamios, the lower range, in order, by being nearer, that they may not lose the nice traits of tauromaquia.

The real thing is to sit across the opening of the toril, which{274} gives an occasion to show a good leg and embroidered gaiter. The plaza has a language to itself, a dialect peculiar to the ring. The president sits in a centre box. The despejo, or clearing out the populace, precedes his arrival. The proceedings open with the procession of the performers, the mounted spearmen, picadores, then the chulos, the attendants on foot, who wear their silk cloaks capas de durancillo, in a peculiar manner, with the arms projecting in front; then follow the slayers, the matadores, and the mule team, el tiro, which is destined to carry off the slain. The profession of bull-fighter is very low caste in Spain, although its heroes, like our blackguard boxers, are much courted by some young nobles and all the lower classes. Those who chance to be killed on the spot are denied the burial rites of Christians, as dying without confession; but a clergyman is always in waiting with a consecrated host, su magestad, in case there may be time to administer the sacrament before death. As the toreros spring from the dregs of the people, they are eminently superstitious; they cover their breasts with relics, amulets, and papal charms. When the stated hour has arrived and the president has taken his seat, the games open: first, all the actors advance, arrayed in their gorgeous majo costume, and attended by alguaciles in the ancient dress. The sports being legally authorised, the trumpet now sounds; the president throws the key of the toril, the cell of the bull, to the alguacil, who ought to catch it in his hat. The door opens and the bull comes out; the three picadores are drawn up, one behind the other, to the right at the tablas, or barrier between the arena and spectators. They wear the broad-brimmed Thessalian hat; their legs are cased with iron and leather; and the right one, which is presented to the bull, is the best protected. This grieve is espinillera—the fancy call it la mona—the scientific name is Gregoriana, from the inventor, Don Gregorio Gallo—just as we say a Spencer, from the noble Earl. The spear, garrocha, is defensive rather than offensive; the blade, la pua, ought not to exceed one inch; the sheathing is, however, pushed back when the picador anticipates a charging bull. They know them better than Lavater or Spurzheim. Such a bull is called butcherous, carnicero, from rushing home, and again one charge more; siempre llegando y con recargo. None but a brave bull will face this garrocha, which they remember from their youth. Those who shrink from the rod, castigo, are scientifically termed blandos, parados, temerosos, recelosos, tardes á partir, huyendose de la suerte, tardes á las varas. When the bull charges, the picador, holding the lance under his right arm, pushes to the right, and turns his horse to the left; the{275} bull, if turned, passes on to the next picador. This is called recibir, to receive the point—recibió dos puyazos, tomó tres varas. If a bull is turned at the first charge, he seldom comes up well again—teme el castigo. A bold bull sometimes is cold and shy at first, but grows warmer by being punished—poco prometia á su salida, bravo pero reparoncillo, salió frio, pero creció en las varas; ducit opes animumque ferro. Those who are very active—alegres, ligeros, con muchas piernas: those who paw the ground—que arañan, escarban la tierra—are not much esteemed; they are hooted by the populace, and execrated as blandos, cabras, goats, becerritos, little calves, vacas, cows, which is no compliment to a bull; and, moreover, are soundly beaten as they pass near the tablas, by forests of sticks. The stick of the elegant majo, when going to the bull-fight, is sui generis. It is called la chivata; it is between four and five feet long, is tapered, and terminates in a lump or knob, while the top is forked, into which the thumb is inserted. This chivata is peeled, like the rod of Laban, in alternate rings, black and white or red. The lower classes content themselves with a common shillelah; one with a knob at the end is preferred, as administering a more impressive whack. Their stick is called porra (see p. 236), i.e. heavy, lumbering. While a slow bull is beaten and abused, nor is his mother's reputation spared, a murderous bull, duro chocante carnicero y pegajoso, who kills horses, upsets men, and clears the plaza, is deservedly a universal favourite; "Viva toro! viva toro! bravo toro!" resounds on all sides. The nomenclature of praise or blame is defined with the nicety of phrenology: the most delicate shades of character are distinguished; life, it is said, is too short to learn fox-hunting, let alone bull-fighting and its lingo. Suffice it to remark that claro, bravo, and boyante are highly complimentary. Seco carnudo pegajoso imply ugly customers: there are, however, always certain newspapers which give fancy reports of each feat. The language embodies the richest portions of Andalucian salt. The horses destined for the plaza are those which in England would be sent to the more merciful knacker: their being of no value renders the contractors, who have an eye only to what a thing is worth, indifferent to their sufferings. If you remark how cruel it is to let that poor horse struggle in death's agonies, they will say, "Ah que! no vale ná," Oh! he's worth nothing. This is one blot of the bull-fight: no Englishman or lover of the noble horse can witness his tortures without disgust; their being worth nothing in a money point of view increases the danger of the rider; it renders them slow, difficult to manage, and very unlike those of the ancient combats,{276} when the finest steeds were chosen, quick as lightning, turning at touch, and escaping the deadly rush: the eyes of these poor animals, who will not face the bull, are often bound with a handkerchief like criminals about to be executed; thus they await blindfold the fatal gore which is to end their life of misery. The picadores are subject to severe falls: few have a sound rib left. The bull often tosses horse and rider in one ruin; and when the victims fall on the ground, exhausts his rage on his prostrate enemies, till lured away by the glittering cloaks of the chulos, who come to the assistance of the fallen picador. These horsemen show marvellous skill in managing to get their horses between them and the bull. When these deadly struggles take place, when life hangs on a thread, the amphitheatre is peopled with heads. Every expression of anxiety, eagerness, fear, horror, and delight is stamped on their speaking countenances. These feelings are wrought up to a pitch when the horse, maddened with wounds and terror, plunging in the death-struggle, the crimson streams of blood streaking his foam and sweat-whitened body, flies from the infuriated bull, still pursuing, still goring; then is displayed the nerve, presence of mind, and horsemanship of the undismayed picador. It is, in truth, a piteous, nay, disgusting sight to see the poor dying horses treading out their entrails, yet, devoted to the death, saving their riders unhurt; the miserable horse, when dead, is dragged out, leaving a bloody furrow on the sand, as the river-beds of the arid plains of Barbary are marked by the crimson fringe of the flowering oleanders. A universal sympathy is shown for the horseman in these awful moments; the men shout, and the women scream—this soon subsides. The picador, if wounded, is carried out and forgotten—los muertos y idos, no tienen amigos, the dead and absent have no friends,—a new combatant fills the gap, the battle rages, he is not missed, fresh incidents arise, and no time is left for regret or reflection. We remember at Granada seeing a matador gored by a bull; he was carried away for dead, and his place immediately taken by his son, as coolly as if he were succeeding to his estate and title. The bull bears on his neck a ribbon, la divisa; this is the trophy which is most acceptable to the querida of a buen torero. The bull is the hero of the scene, yet, like Milton's Satan, he is foredoomed and without reprieve. Nothing can save him from a certain fate, which awaits all, whether brave or cowardly. The poor creatures sometimes endeavour in vain to escape. They have favourite retreats in the plaça, su querencia; or they leap over the barrier, barrera, into the tendido among the spectators. The{277} bull which shows this craven turn—un tunante cobarde picaro—is not deemed worthy of the noble death of the sword. The cry of dogs, perros, perros, is raised. He is baited, pulled down, and stabbed in the spine. The spectacle is divided into three acts: the first is performed by the picadores on horseback; at the signal of the president, and sound of a trumpet, the second act commences with the chulos. This word signifies, in the Arabic, a lad, a merry-man, as at Astley's. Their duty is to draw off the bull from the picador when endangered, which they do with their coloured cloaks; their address and agility are surprising, they skim over the sand like glittering humming-birds, scarcely touching the earth. They are dressed, á lo majo, in short breeches, and without gaiters, just as Figaro is in the opera of the 'Barbiere de Sevilla.' Their hair is tied into a knot behind, moño, and enclosed in the once universal silk net, the retecilla—the identical reticulum—of which so many instances are seen on ancient Etruscan vases. No bull-fighter ever arrives at the top of his profession without first excelling as an apprentice, chulo; then they are taught how to entice the bull to them, llamar al toro, and learn his mode of attack, and how to parry it. The most dangerous moment is when these chulos venture out into the middle of the plaza, and are followed by the bull to the barrier. There is a small ledge, on which they place their foot and vault over; or a narrow slit in the boarding, through which they slip. Their escapes are marvellous; they seem really sometimes, so close is the run, to be helped over the fence by the bull's horns. The chulos, in the second act, are the sole performers; their part is to place small barbed darts, banderillas, which are ornamented with cut paper of different colours, on each side of the neck of the bull. The banderilleros go right up to him, holding the arrows at the shaft, and pointing the barbs at the bull; just when the animal stoops to toss them, they dart them into his neck and slip aside. The service appears to be more dangerous than it is; it requires a quick eye, a light hand and foot. The barbs should be placed exactly on each side—a pretty pair, a good match—buenos pares. Sometimes these arrows are provided with crackers, which by means of a detonating powder, explode the moment they are affixed in the neck, banderillas de fuego. The fire, the smell of roasted flesh, mingled with blood, faintly recall to many a dark scowling priest the superior attractions of his former amphitheatre, the auto de fe. The last trumpet now sounds, the arena is cleared, the matador, the executioner, the man of death, stands before his victim alone; on entering, he addresses the president, throws his montera, his cap, to the ground. In his right hand{278} he holds a long straight Toledan blade, la espada; in his left he waves the muleta, the red flag, the engaño, the lure, which ought not (so Romero laid down in our hearing) to be so large as the standard of a religious brotherhood, or cofradia, nor so small as a lady's pocket-handkerchief, pañuelito de señorita; it should be about a yard square. The colour is red, because that best irritates the bull and conceals blood. There is always a spare matador, in case of accidents, which may happen in the best regulated bull-fights; he is called media espada, or sobresaliente. The matador, el diestro (in olden books), advances to the bull, in order to entice him towards him—citarlo á la suerte, á la jurisdiccion del engaño—to subpœna him, to get his head into chancery, as our ring would say; he next rapidly studies his character, plays with him a little, allows him to run once or twice on the muleta, and then prepares for the coup de grâce. There are several sorts of bulls: levantados, the bold and rushing; parados, the slow and sly; aplomados, the heavy and cowardly. The bold are the easiest to kill; they rush, shutting their eyes, right on to the lure or flag. The worst of all are the sly bulls; when they are marajos y de sentido, cunning and not running straight, when they are reveltosos, cuando ganan terreno y rematen en el bulto, when they stop in their charge, and run at the man, instead of the flag, they are most dangerous. The matador who is long killing his bull, or shows a white feather, is insulted by the jeers of the impatient populace. There are many suertes, or ways of killing the bull; the principal is la suerte de frente, o la veronica—the matador receives the charge on his sword, lo mató de un recibido. The volapie, or half-volley, is beautiful, but dangerous; the matador takes him by advancing, corriendoselo. A firm hand, eye, and nerve, form the essence of the art; the sword enters just between the left shoulder and the blade—buen estoque. In nothing is the real fancy so fastidious as in the exact nicety of the placing this death-wound; when the thrust is true, death is instantaneous, and the bull, vomiting forth blood, drops at the feet of his conqueror. It is the triumph of knowledge over brute force; all that was fire, fury, passion, and life falls in an instant, still for ever. The gay team of mules now enter, glittering with flags, and tinkling with bells; the dead bull is carried off at a rapid gallop, which always delights the populace. The matador wipes his sword, and bows to the spectators, who throw their hats into the arena, a compliment which he returns by throwing them back again (they are generally "shocking bad" ones); when Spain was rich, a golden, or at least a silver, shower was rained down—those ages are past.{279}

When a bull will not run at all at the picador, or at the muleta, he is called a toro abanto, and the media luna, the half-moon, is called for; this is the cruel ancient Oriental mode of houghing the cattle (Joshua xi. 6). The instrument is still the old Iberian bident, or a sharp steel crescent placed on a long pole. The cowardly blow is given from behind; and when the poor beast is crippled, an assistant, with the "cachetero," "puntilla," or pointed dagger, pierces the spinal marrow. This is the usual method of slaughtering cattle in Spain. To perform all these vile operations, el desjarretar, is considered beneath the dignity of the matador; some, however, will kill the bull by plunging the point of their sword in the vertebrae—the danger gives dignity to the difficult feat, which is termed el descabellar.

The Spaniards are very tender on the subject of the cruelty or barbarity of this Moorish spectacle, which foreigners, who abuse it the most, are always the most eager to attend. It will form such a topic of discussion, that the traveller may as well know something of the much that may be said on both sides of the question. Mankind has never been over-considerate in regarding the feelings or sufferings of animals, when influenced by the spirit of sporting. This rules in the arena. In England, no sympathy is shown for game—fish, flesh, or fowl. They are preserved to be destroyed, to afford sport, the end of which is death; the amusement is the playing the salmon, the fine run, as the prolongation of animal torture is termed in the tender vocabulary of the chace. At all events, in Spain horses and bulls are killed, and not left to die the lingering death of the poor wounded hare in countless battues. Mr. Windham protested "against looking too microscopically into bull-baits or ladies' faces." We must pause before we condemn the bull in Spain, and wink at the fox at Melton. As far as the loss of human life is concerned, more aldermen are killed indirectly by turtles, than Spaniards are directly by bulls. The bull-fighters deserve no pity; they are the heroes of low life, and are well paid—volenti non fit injuria. In order to judge of the moral effect of the bull-fight, we must remember that we come coldy and at once into the scene, without the preparatory freemasonry of previous associations. We are horrified by details to which the Spaniards have become as familiar as hospital nurses, whose finer sympathetic emotions of pity are deadened by repetition.

A most difficult thing it is to change long-established usages, customs which we are familiar from our early days, and come down to us connected with many interesting associ{280}ations and fond remembrances. We are slow to suspect any evil or harm in such practices; we dislike to look the evidence of facts in the face, and shrink from a conclusion which would require of us the abandonment of a recreation which we have long regarded as innocent, and in which we, as well as our parents before us have not scrupled to indulge. Children, L'age sans pitié, do not speculate on cruelty, whether in birds'-nesting or bull-baiting. They connect with this sight their first notions of reward for good conduct, finery, and holidays, where amusements are few; they return to their homes unchanged, playful, timid, or serious, as before; their kindly social feelings are unimpaired. And where is the filial, parental, and fraternal tie more affectionately cherished than in Spain? The Plaza is patronized by royalty, and is sanctified and attended by the clergy; it is conducted with great show and ceremony, and never is disgraced by the blackguardism of our disreputable boxing-matches. The one is honoured by authority, the other is discountenanced. How many things are purely conventional; no words can describe the horror felt by Asiatics at our preserving the blood of slaughtered animals (Deut. xii. 16; Wilkinson, ii. 375). The sight of our bleeding shambles appears ten times more disgusting to them than the battle-wounds of the bull-fight. Foreigners have no right to argue that the effects produced on Spaniards are exactly those which are produced on themselves, or which they imagine would be produced on their readers. This is not either logical or true; and those who contend that the Spaniards are cruel because they are bull-fighters—post hoc et propter hoc—forget that, from the unvaried testimony of all ages, they have never valued their own or the lives of others. Fair play, which at least redeems our ring, is never seen in the bull-fight, nor in their other fights or friendships. True Orientals, the Toreros scout the very idea of throwing away a chance,—"dolus an virtus quis in hoste requirat?" The bull-fight is rather an effect than a cause. The Spanish have always been guerrilleros; and to such, a cruel mimic game of death and cunning must be extremely congenial. From long habit they either see not, or are not offended by those painful and bloody details, which the most distress the unaccustomed stranger, while on the other hand, they perceive a thousand novelties in incidents which, to untutored eyes, appear the same thing over and over again, as Pliny complained ('Ep.' ix. 6); but the more the toresque intellect is cultivated the greater the capacity for tauromachian enjoyment; then alone can all minute beauties, delicate shades, be appreciated in the character{281} and conduct of the combatants, biped and quadruped. It is possible to deny that the coup d'œil is magnificent of the gay costume and flashing eyes of the assembled thousands; and strange indeed is the charm of this novel out-of-door spectacle, à l'antique, under no canopy save the blue heavens; we turn away our eyes during moments of painful details, which are lost in the poetical ferocity of the whole. The interest of the awful tragedy is undeniable, irresistible, and all-absorbing. The display of manly courage, nerve, and agility, and all on the very verge of death, is most exciting. These are features in a bold bull and accomplished combatants which carry all before them; but for one good bull, how many are the bad. Those whose fate it has been, like ourselves, to see 99 bulls killed in one week, and as many more at different places and times, will have experienced in succession the feelings of admiration, pity, and bore. Spanish women, against whom every puny scribbler darts his petty banderilla, are relieved from the latter infliction, by the never-flagging, ever-sustained interest, in being admired. They have no abstract nor Pasiphaic predilections, no crudelis amor tauri; they were taken to the bull-fight before they knew their alphabet, or what love was. Nor have we heard that it is has ever rendered them particularly cruel, save and except some of the elderly ill-favoured and tougher lower-classed females. The younger and the more tender scream and are dreadfully affected in all real moments of danger, in spite of their long familiarity. Their grand object, after all, is not to see the bull, but to be seen themselves, and their dress. The better classes generally interpose their fans at the most painful incidents, and certainly show no want of sensibility. The women of the many, as a body, behave quite as respectably as those of other countries do at executions, or other dreadful scenes, where they crowd with their babies, yearning after strange excitement. The case with English ladies is far different. They have heard the bull-fight not praised, but condemned, from their childhood: they see it for the first time when grown up, when curiosity is their leading feeling, and an indistinct idea of a pleasure, not unmixed with pain, of the precise nature of which they are ignorant, from not liking to talk on the subject. The first sight delights them: as the bloody tragedy proceeds, they get frightened, disgusted, and disappointed. Few are able to sit out more than one course, corrida, and fewer ever re-enter the amphitheatre.

"The heart that is soonest awake to the flower
Is always the first to be touched by the thorn."
{282}

Probably a Spanish woman, if she could be placed in precisely the same condition, would not act very differently; test her, by way of trial, at an English boxing-match.

Thus much for practical tauromachia; those who wish to go deeper into its philosophy are referred to 'La Carta historica sobre el Origen y Progresos de las Fiestas de Toros,' Nicholas Fernandez de Moratin, Mad. 1777; 'Tauromaquia, o Arte de Torear; por un Aficionado,' Mad. 1804. This was written by an amateur named Gomez; but José Delgado (Pepe Illo) furnished the materials. It contains thirty engravings, which represent all the implements, costumes, and different operations; 'La Tauromaquia, o Arte de Torear,' Mad. 1827; 'Elogio de las Corridas de Toros,' Manuel Martinez Rueda, Mad. 1831; 'Pan y Toros,' Gaspar Melchior de Jovellanos, Mad. 1820; and the recent work by Montes, the Pepe Illo of his day—the joy, glory, and boast of Spain; and nothing since the recent Ilustracion, or march of intellect, and the civilization of constitutional changes, has progressed more than the bull-fight. Churches and convents have been demolished, but, by way of compensation, amphitheatres have been erected; but now the battlement comes down and the dung-heap rises up—Bajan los adarves y alzan los muladares. The antiquity of the bull-fight has been worked out in the 'Quarterly Review,' cxxiv. 4.

SPANISH THEATRE.

The theatre, dances, and songs of Spain form an important item in the means of a stranger passing his evenings. This stage was the model of that of Europe, which borrowed not only the plays, but the arrangement of the house, from the Peninsula; and Spain is still the land of the Fandango, the Bolero, and the guitar.

The Spanish drama rose under the patronage of the pleasure-loving Philip IV. It is now at a low ebb; few towns, except the largest, can afford the expense of maintaining a theatre; the times, moreover, have recently been too serious for men to seek for amusement in fictitious tragedy. In Spain actors long were vagabonds by Act of Parliament, and not allowed to prefix even the title of Don before their names. This was a remnant of the opposition of the clergy to a profession which interfered with their monopoly of providing melo-dramas and spectacles to the public; the actor was excluded from decent society when alive, and refused Christian burial when dead. For Lope de Vega, and the origin and decline of the Spanish stage, consult 'Quart. Rev.,' cxvii. 4;{283} 'Tratado del Histrionismo,' Pellicer, Mad. 1804; 'Origen del Teatro Español,' M. Garcia, Mad. 1802; and 'Origines del Teatro Español,' Moratin, Mad. 1830.

The standard plays of Lope de Vega and Calderon have given way to translations from the French; thus Spain, as in many other things, is now reduced to borrow from the very nation whose Corneilles she first instructed, those very articles which she once taught. The Sainete or Farce is admirably performed by the Spaniards, for few people have a deeper or more quiet relish for humour than all classes in the Peninsula, from the sober, sedate Castilian, to the gay, frivolous Andalucian. In acting these farces, the performers cease to be actors; it appears to be only a part and parcel of their daily life; they fail in tragedy, which is spouted in a sort of unnatural rant, something between German mouthing and French gesticulation. The Spanish theatres, those of Madrid not excepted, are small, badly lighted, and meagerly supplied with scenery and properties.

The first Spanish playhouses were merely open court-yards, corrales, after the classical fashion of Thespis. They were then covered with an awning, and the court was divided into different parts; the yard, the patio, became the pit, into which women were never admitted. The rich sat at the windows of the houses round the court, whence these boxes were called ventanas; and as almost all Spanish windows are defended by iron gratings, rejas, the French took their term loge grillée for a private box. In the centre of the house, above the pit, was a sort of large lower gallery, which is still called la tertulia, a name given in those times to the quarter chosen by the los Tertulianos, the erudite, among whom at that period it was the fashion to quote Tertulian. The women, excluded from the pit, have a place reserved for themselves, into which no males are allowed to enter; this is a peculiarity in Spanish theatres; this feminine preserve is termed La Cazuela—the pipkin or olla, from the hodgepotch or mixture therein congregated; it was also called "la jaula de las mugeres," the women's cage. They all go there, as to church, dressed in black, and with mantillas. This dark assemblage of sable tresses, raven hair, and blacker eyes, looks at the first glance like the gallery of a nunnery; that is, however, a simile of dissimilitude, for, let there be but a moment's pause in the business of the play, then arises such a cooing and cawing in this rookery of turtle-doves, such an ogling, such a flutter of mantillas, such a rustling of silks, such telegraphic working of fans, such an electrical communication with the pittites below, who look up with wistful, foxite glances, on the dark cluster{284}ing vineyard so tantalizingly placed above their reach, as dispel all ideas of seclusion, sorrow, or mortification. The boxes, palcos, are, for the most part, let out by the season; however, one is generally to be obtained by sending in the morning. Good music, whether harmonious or scientific, vocal or instrumental, is seldom heard in Spain, notwithstanding the eternal strumming that is going on there. Even the masses, as performed in their cathedrals, from the introduction of the pianoforte and the violin, have very little impressive or devotional character; there is sometimes an attempt at an Italian opera in Madrid, which here and there is feebly imitated in Seville or the larger maritime cities. The Spaniards are musical enough, and have always been so in their own way, which is Oriental, and most unlike the melody of Italy or Germany. In the same manner, although they have danced to their rude songs from time immemorial, they are merely saltatory, and have no idea of the grace and elegance of the French ballet; the moment they attempt it they become ridiculous, which they never are when natural, and take, in their jumpings and chirpings, after the grasshopper; they have a natural genius for the bota and bolero. The great charm of the Spanish theatres is their own national dance—matchless, unequalled, and inimitable, and only to be performed by Andalucians—the bolero. This is la salsa de la comedia, the essence, the cream, the sauce piquante of the night's entertainments; it is attempted to be described in every book of travels—for who can describe sound or motion?—it must be seen. However languid the house, laughable the tragedy, or serious the comedy, the sound of the castanet awakens the most listless; the sharp, spirit-stirring click is heard behind the scenes—the effect is instantaneous—it creates life under the ribs of death—it silences the tongues of countless women—on n'écoute que le ballet. The curtain draws up; the bounding pair dart forward from the opposite scenes, like two separated lovers, who, after long search, have found each other again. The glitter of the gossamer costume of the Majo and Maja, invented for the dance—the sparkle of gold lace and silver filigree adds to the lightness of their motions; the transparent form-designing saya heightens the charms of a faultless symmetry which it fain would conceal; no cruel stays fetter a serpentine flexibility. They pause—bend forward an instant—prove their supple limbs and arms; the band strikes up, they turn fondly towards each other, and start into life. What exercise displays the ever-varying charms of female grace, and the contours of manly form, like this fascinating dance? The accompaniment of the castanet gives employment to their up{285}raised arms. C'est le pantomime d'amour. The enamoured youth—the coy, coquettish maiden; who shall describe the advance—her timid retreat, his eager pursuit? Now they gaze on each other, now on the ground; now all is life, love, and action; now there is a pause—they stop motionless at a moment, and grow into the earth. It carries all before it. There is a truth which overpowers the fastidious judgement. Away, then, with the studied grace of the French danseuse, beautiful but artificial, cold and selfish as is the flicker of her love, compared to the real impassioned abandon of the daughters of the South. There is nothing indecent in this dance; no one is tired or the worse for it. "Un ballet ne saurait être trop long, pourvu que la morale soit bonne, et la métaphysique bien entendue," says Molière. The jealous Toledan clergy once wished to put the Bolero down, on the pretence of immorality. The dancers were allowed in evidence to "give a view" to the court: when they began, the bench and bar showed symptoms of restlessness, and at last, casting aside gowns and briefs, joined, as if tarantula-bitten, in the irresistible capering.—Verdict, for the defendants with costs; Solvuntur risu tabulæ.

The Bolero is not of the remote antiquity which many, confounding it with the well-known and improper dances of the Gaditanas, have imagined. The dances of Spain have undergone many changes in style and name since the times of the Philips. Pellicer ('Don Quixote,' i. 156) enumerates the licentious chacona, el quiriguirigay and other varieties of the zarabanda—a term which, derived, it is said, from the name of a courtesan, became our saraband. The bolero is more modern; according to Blanco White, the name is derived from that of a Murcian Vestris who invented it, exactly as the Roman Bolero, the Bathylus, was so called from its inventor: some derive it from the flying step, que bolava; the sauces, however, of Soubise and Béchamel owe their names not to intrinsic flavour, but to the renowned maréchal and marquis who ate them, like our Sandwich, so the learned French Abbé de Bos thought that saltatio did not come from saltare, but from an Arcadian dancing-master named Salius, who gave lessons to the Romans; be this as it may, fandango is considered to be an Indian word.

Covarrubias, in his 'Tesoro,' pronounces the zarabanda to be the remnant of the ancient dances of Gades, which delighted the Romans, and scandalized the fathers of the church, who compared them, and perhaps justly, to the capering performed by the daughter of Herodias. They were prohibited by Theodosius, because, according to St. Chrysostom, at such balls the devil never{286} wanted a partner. The well-known statue at Naples called the Venere Callipige is the undoubted representation of a Cadiz dancing-girl, probably of Telethusa herself (see Martial, vi. 71, and 'Ep. ad Priap.' 18; Pet. Arbiter, Var^m. Ed. 1669). In the Museo Borbonico (Stanza iii. 503) is an Etruscan vase representing a supper-scene, in which a female dances in this precise attitude. She also appears in the paintings in the tomb at Cumæ, where the persons applaud exactly as they do now, especially at the pause, the bien parado, which is the signal of clappings and cries—mas puede! mas puede! dejala, que se canse. The performers thus encouraged continue in violent action, until nature is all but exhausted: meanwhile the spectators beat time with their hands in measured cadence, almost making it an accompaniment to the dance: a most primitive Oriental custom (Wilk. ii. 329; Herod. ii. 60.) Aniseed, brandy, &c., is then handed about, and the balls often end in broken heads, which are called merienda de gitanos, "gipsy's fare."

These most ancient dances, in spite of all prohibitions, have come down unchanged from the remotest antiquity; their character is completely Oriental, and analogous to the ghowazee of the Egyptians and the Hindoo nautch. They existed among the ancient Egyptians as they do still among the moderns. (Compare Wilkinson, ii. 330, with Lane, ii. 98.) They are entirely different from the bolero or fandango, and are never performed except by the lowest classes of gipsies; those curious to see an exhibition which delighted Martial, Petronius, Horace, and other ancients, may manage to have a funcion got up at Seville. This is the romalis in gipsy language, and the ole in Spanish; the χειρονομια, brazeo, or balancing action of the hands,—the λακτιομα, the zapateado, los taconeos, the beating with the feet,—the crissatura, meneo, the tambourines, and castanets, Bætica, crusmata, crotola,—the language and excitement of the spectators,—tally in the minutest points with the prurient descriptions of the ancients, which have been elucidated so learnedly by Scaliger, Burmann, the Canon Salazar ('Grandezas de Cadiz,' iv. 3), and the Dean Marti (Peyron, i. 246). These Gaditanian dances, which our good friend Huber pronounces "die Poesie der Wollust," are more marked by energy than by grace, and the legs have not more to do than the body, hips, and arms. (Mart. iii. 63. 6.) The sight of this unchanged pastime of antiquity, which excites the Spaniards to frenzy, will rather disgust an English spectator, possibly from some national mal-organization, for, as Molière says, "l'Angleterre a produit des{287} grands hommes dans les sciences et les beaux arts, mais pas un grand danseur, allez lire l'histore." However indecent these gipsy dances may be, yet the performers are inviolably chaste, and as far as the Busné guests are concerned, may be compared to iced punch at a rout; young girls go through them before the applauding eyes of the parents and brothers, who would resent to the death any attempt on their sister's virtue, and were she in any weak moment to give way to a busné, or one not a gipsy, and forfeit lacha ye trupos, or her unblemished corporeal chastity, the all and everything of their moral code, her own kindred would be the first to kill her without pity. Borrow, in his 7th chapter, enters into some curious and most accurate details, which confirm everything we heard in Spain.

The dances of other Spaniards in private life are much the same as in other parts of Europe, nor is either sex particularly distinguished by grace in this excercise, to which, however, they are much attached. Little dances and Rigodones form a common conclusion to the tertulia, where no great attention is paid either to music or costume. The lower classes adhere, as in the East, to the clapping of hands to their primitive dances and primitive Oriental accompaniments—the "tabret and the harp;" the guitar and tambourine—toph, tabor, tympanum—and the castanet; tympana vos buxusque vocat. The essence of the instrument was to give a noise on being beaten: hence the derivation of the terms Crotala, Crusmata Bætica, from κροτἑω, κροὑω, pulso. The term crotalo still survives in Seville, and means a tambourine. Simple as it may seem to play on these things, it is only attained by a quick ear and finger, and great practice; accordingly, as in the days of Petronius Arbiter, they are the deliciæ populi, and always in their hands ('Ad Priap.' xxvi.).

"Cymbala cum crotalis, pruriginis arma Priapi,
Crusmata et adducta tympana pulsa manu,"

nor do they ever fail, now as then, to attract a crowd of admiring spectators. No people play more or better on the castanets than the Andalucians. There are many names for them: Castañuelas, palillos, and sometimes in Castile postizas; the very urchins in the street begin to learn by snapping their fingers, or clicking together two shells or bits of slate, to which they dance; in truth, next to noise, some capering seems essential; these are the exponents of what Cervantes describes, as the "bounding of the soul, the bursting of laughter, the restlessness of the body, and the quicksilver of the five senses." It is the rude sport of people who dance from the necessity of motion; and of the young, the healthy, and the{288} joyous, to whom life is of itself a blessing, and who, like skipping kids, thus give vent to their superabundant lightness of heart and limb. Sancho, a true Manchegan, after beholding the saltatory exhibitions of his master, professes his ignorance of such elaborate dancing, but maintained that for a zapateo, a knocking of shoes, he was as good as a gerilfante. Unchanged as are the instruments, so are their dancing propensities. All night long, says Strabo (iii. 249), did they dance and sing, or rather jump and yell, for ululare is the term correctly applied by Sil. Italicus (iii. 346) to these unchanged "howlings of Tarshish." The same author goes on to say, that so far from its being a fatigue, they kept up the ball all night, by way of resting. Hæc requies ludusque viris ea sacra voluptas.

The Gallicians and Asturians retain many of their aboriginal dances and tunes; the latter have a wild Pyrrhica saltatio, which is performed with their shillelah, like the Gaelic Ghillee Callum. This is of most remote antiquity, and the precise Iberian Tripudium, or armed dance, which Hannibal had performed at the funeral of Gracchus (Livy, xxv. 17). These recreations prevail all over these N.W. districts and Old Castile. These quadrille figures are intricate and warlike, requiring, as Diod. Sic. (v. 311) said of the Iberian caperings, much leg-activity, πολλην ευτονιαν σκελων, or buenos jarretes, for which the wiry sinewy active Spaniards are still remarkable. These are the Morris dances imported from Gallicia by our John of Gaunt, who supposed they were Moorish. The peasants still dance them in their best costumes, to the antique castanet, pipe, and tambourine. They are usually directed by a parti-coloured fool, the old Μωρος, unde Morio, or, what is equivalent, a master of the ceremonies, el bastonero.

The Iberian warriors danced armed; they beat time with their swords on their shields. When one of their champions wished to show his contempt for the Romans, he appeared before them dancing a derisive step (App. 'Bell. Hisp.' 480). But this Pyrrhica saltatio is of all ages and climes, and the albanatico of the Grecian Archipelago is as little changed from what it was in Homer's time. This armed Salic dance, or mimic war, was, it is said, invented by Minerva, who capered for joy after the overthrow of the rebel angels, the giants, or Titans, a myth which shadowed out the victory of knowledge over brute force. Masdeu in the last century describes these unchanged dances as he saw them at Tarragona. Some of the performers got on each other's shoulders to represent the Titans. The Dance retained its Pagan name—el Titans, Bailes de los Titanes—but Spain is a land preserved for antiquarians. The different provinces of the Peninsula have their different national,{289} or rather local dances, which, like their wines, fine arts, sausages, &c., can only be really relished on the spot. The chief dances are the Jota of Arragon, the Rondalla and Fiera of Valencia, the Bolero, Fandango, Cachucha, and Sereni of Andalucia, the Zapateado and Seguidilla of La Mancha, the Habas verdes of Leon and Old Castile, the Muñeira and Danza prima of the Asturias, and the Zortico of Biscay.

The seguidilla, the guitar, and dance, at this moment, form the joy of careless poverty, the repose of sunburnt labour. The poor forget their toils, sans six sous et sans souci, nay they forget even their meals, like Pliny's friend Claro, who lost his supper, Bætican olives and gazpacho, to run after a Gaditanian dancing-girl (Plin. 'Ep.' i. 15). In every venta and court-yard, in spite of a long day's work and scanty fare, at the sound of the guitar and click of the castanet a new life is breathed into their veins—viresque acquirit eundo: so far from feeling past fatigue, the very fatigue of the dance seems refreshing, and many a weary traveller will rue the midnight frolics of his noisy and saltatory fellow-lodgers. Supper is no sooner over than "après la panse la danse," then some black-whiskered performer, the very antithesis of Farinelli, "screechin' out his prosaic verse," screams forth his "coplas de zarabanda, los caños," either at the top of his voice, or drawls out his ballad, "melancholy as the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe," and both alike to the imminent danger of his own trachea, and of all un-Spanish acoustic organs. So would he sing, says Lope de Vega, even in a prison, "á costa de garganta cantareis, aunque en la prision estareis." It reminds us of Gray's unhandsome critique on the Grand Opéra de Paris: "des miaulemens et des hurlemens effroyables, mêlés avec un tintamare du diable." As, however, in Paris, so in Spain, the audience are in raptures; "all men's ears grow to his tunes as if they had eaten ballads;" they take part with beatings of feet, "taconeos;" with clapping of hands, the χροτος, "palmeado," and joining in a chorus Estrevillo at the end of each verse. There is always in every company of Spaniards, whether soldiers, civilians, muleteers, or ministers, some one who can play the guitar, poco mas o menos. It is a passport into society, and an element of success amatory as well as political: thus Godoy, the Prince of the Peace, first captivated the royal Messalina by his talent of strumming on the guitar; so Gonzalez Bravo, first editor of the Madrid Punch, then Premier, conciliated the virtuous Christina, who, soothed by the seguidillas of this pepper-and-salted Amphion, forgot his libels on herself and Señor Muñoz.{290}

It may be predicated of Spain that when this strumming is mute the game is up, and so Isaiah (xxiv.) wishing to give the truest image of the desolation of an Eastern city, conceives the "ceasing of the mirth of the guitar and tambourine," but those sad days are yet to come, and now the traveller will happily find in most villages some crack performer; generally the barbero is the Figaro, who seldom fails to stroll down to the venta unbidden and from pure love of harmony, gossip, and the bota, where his song secures him supper and welcome; a funcion is soon armada, or a party got up of all ages and sexes, who are attracted by the tinkling like swarming bees. The guitar is part and parcel of the Spaniard and his ballads; he slings it across his shoulder with a ribbon, as was depicted on the tombs of Egypt 4000 years ago (Wilk. ii. vi.). It is the unchanged kinoor of the East, the κιθαρα, cithara, guitarra, githorne; the "guiterne Moresche" of the ministrellers (Ducange). The performers seldom are very scientific musicians; they content themselves with striking the cords, which is varied by sweeping the whole hand over the strings, rasgueando, or flourishing, floreando, and tapping the guitar-board with the thumb, golpeando, at which they are very expert. Occasionally in the towns there is a zapatero or a maestro of some kind, who has attained more power over this ungrateful instrument; but the attempt is a failure. The guitar responds coldly to Italian words and elaborate melody, which never come home to Spanish ears or hearts, for, like the guitar of Anacreon, love is its only theme, ἑρωτα μονον. The multitude suit the guitar tune to the song, both of which are frequently extemporaneous. They lisp in numbers, not to say verse; but their splendid idiom lends itself to a prodigality of words, whether prose or poetry; nor are either very difficult, where common sense is no necessary ingredient in the composition; accordingly the language comes in aid to the fertile mother-wit of the natives; rhymes are dispensed with at pleasure, or mixed according to caprice with assonants, indeed more of the popular refranes are rounded off in assonants than in rhymes. The assonant consists of the mere recurrence of the same vowels, without reference to that of consonants. Thus santos, llantos, are rhymes; amor and razon are assonants; even these, which poorly fill a foreign ear, are not always observed; a change in intonation, or a few thumps more or less on the guitar-board, does the work, and supersedes all difficulties. These moræ pronunciationis, this ictus metricus, constitute a rude prosody, and lead to music just as gestures do to dancing and to ballads,—que se canta ballando;" and which, when heard, reciprocally inspire a Saint Vitus's desire{291} to snap fingers and kick heels, as all will admit in whose ears the habas verdes of Leon, or the cachucha of Cadiz, yet ring. The words destined to set all this capering in motion are not written for cold British critics. Like sermons, they are delivered orally, and are never subjected to the disenchanting ordeal of type; and even such as may be professedly serious and not saltatory are listened to by those who come attuned to the hearing vein—who anticipate and re-echo the subject—who are operated on by the contagious bias. Thus a fascinated audience of otherwise sensible Britons tolerates the positive presence of nonsense at an opera—

"Where rhyme with reason does dispense,
And sound has right to govern sense."

In order to feel the full power of the guitar and Spanish song, the performer should be a sprightly Andaluza, taught or untaught; she wields the instrument as her fan or mantilla; it seems to become part of herself, and alive; indeed the whole thing requires an abandon, a fire, a gracia, which could not be risked by ladies of more northern climates and more tightly-laced zones. No wonder one of the old fathers of the church said that he would sooner face a singing basilisk than one of these performers: she is good for nothing when pinned down to a piano, on which few Spanish women play even tolerably, and so with her singing, when she attempts 'Adelaide,' or anything in the sublime, beautiful, and serious, her failure is dead certain, while, taken in her own line, she is triumphant; the words of her song are often struck off, like Theodore Hook's, at the moment, and allude to incidents and persons present; sometimes those of la gente ganza, las qui tienen zandunga, are full of epigram and double entendre; they often sing what may not be spoken, and steal hearts through ears; at other times their song is little better than nonsense, with which the audience is just as well satisfied. For, as Figaro says—"ce qui ne vaut pas la peine d'être dit, on le chante." A good voice, which Italians call novanta-nove, ninety-nine parts out of the hundred, is very rare; nothing strikes a traveller more unfavourably than the harsh voice of the women in general. The ballad songs of Spain from the most remote antiquity have formed the delight of the people, have tempered the despotism of their church and state, have sustained a nation's resistance against foreign aggression. The subject is full of interesting matter, and well worthy of the traveller's attention ('Edin. Rev.' cxlvi. 389).

There is very little music ever printed in Spain; the songs and airs are generally sold in MS. Sometimes, for the very illiterate,{292} the notes are expressed in numeral figures, which correspond with the number of the strings. Andalucia is the chosen spot to form the best collection. Don N. Zamacola has published a small selection—'Colleccion de Seguidillas, Tiranas, y Polos,' Mad. 1799, under the name of Don Preciso. The Seguidillas, Manchegas, Boleras, are a sort of doggrel madrigal, and consist of 7 verses, 4 lines of song and 3 of chorus, estrevillo; the Rondeñas and Malagueñas are couplets of 4 verses, and take their names from the towns where they are most in vogue; the Araña comes from the Havana.

The best guitars in the world were appropriately made in Cadiz by the Pajez family, father and son; of course an instrument in so much vogue was always an object of care and thought in fair Bætica; thus in the seventh century the Sevilian guitar was shaped like the human breast, because, as Sⁿ. Isidoro says ('Or.' iii. 21), the sounds came from it, the chords being the pulsations of the heart, à corde. The guitars of the Andalucian Moors were strung after these significant heartstrings; Zaryáb, a singer of the East, became the Pajez of Abdu-r-rahman in 821, and was favoured as Farinelli was by Ferd. VI. He remodelled the guitar or lute, adding a fifth string of bright red to represent blood, the treble or first being yellow to indicate bile; and to this hour, on the banks of the Guadalquivir, when dusky eve calls forth the cloaked serenader, the ruby drops of the heart female are more surely liquified, by a judicious manipulation of cat-gut than ever were those of San Januario by book or candle; nor, so it is said, when the tinkling is continuous are all marital livers unwrung; but see, for these musical mysteries, 'Moh. Dyn.' ii. 119.

Meanwhile the airs and tunes, as sung by the peasants and lower classes, are very Oriental; nor can we doubt their remote antiquity, or their forming a portion of the primitive airs, of which a want of the invention of musical notation has deprived us. Melody among the Egyptians, like sculpture, was never permitted to be changed, lest any new fascination might interfere with the severe influence of their mistress, religion. That both were invented for the service of the altar, is indicated in the myth of their divine origin. These tunes passed into other countries, so the plaintive Manerõs of the Nile, brought by the Phœnicians into Spain, became the Linus of Greece (Herod, ii. 79). The national tunes of the Fellah, the Moor, and the Spaniard, are cognate, slow, and monotonous, often in utter opposition with the sentiments of the words, which have varied, whilst the airs remain unchanged. They are diatonic rather than chromatic, abounding in suspended{293} pauses, and unisonous, not like our glees, yet generally provided with a chorus in which the audience joins. They owe little to harmony, the end being rather to affect than to please. Certain sounds seem to have a mysterious aptitude to express certain moods of the mind in connexion with some unexplained sympathy between the sentient and intellectual organs: the simplest are by far the most ancient. Ornate melody is a modern invention from Italy; and although, in lands of greater intercourse and fastidiousness, the conventional has ejected the national, fashion has not shamed nor silenced the old-ballad airs of Spain—those "howlings of Tarshish." Indeed, national tunes, like the songs of birds, are not taught in orchestras, but by mothers to their infant progeny in the cradling nest. As the Spaniard is warlike without being military, saltatory without being graceful, so he is musical without being harmonious; he is just a prima materia made by nature, and treats himself as he does the raw products of his productive soil, leaving art and industrial development to the foreigner.

SPANISH CIGARS.

But whether at the bull-fight or theatre, lay or clerical, wet or dry, the Spaniard during the day, sleeping excepted, solaces himself when he can with a cigar; this is his nepenthe, his pleasure opiate, which, like Souchong, soothes but not inebriates; it is to him his te veniente die et te decedente.

The manufacture of the cigar is the most active one carried on in the Peninsula. The buildings are palaces; witness those at Seville, Malaga, and Valencia. Since a cigar is a sine quâ non in a Spaniard's mouth, it must have its page in a Spanish Hand-book, for as old Ponz remarked, "You will think me tiresome with my tobacconistical details, but the vast bulk of my readers will be more pleased with it than with an account of all the pictures in the world." "The fact is, Squire," says Sam Slick, "the moment a man takes to a pipe, he becomes a philosopher; it is the poor man's friend; it calms the mind, soothes the temper, and makes a man patient under trouble." Can it be wondered at that the Oriental and Spanish population should cling to this relief from whips and scorns, and the oppressor's wrong, and steep in sweet oblivious stupefaction, the misery of being fretted and excited by empty larders, vicious political institutions, and a very hot climate? "Quoique l'on puisse dire," said Molière, "Aristote et toute la philosophie, il n'y a rien d'égal au tabac." The divine Isaac Barrow resorted to this panpharmacon whenever he wished to col{294}lect his thoughts; Sir Walter Raleigh, the patron of Virginia, smoked a pipe just before he lost his head, "at which some formal people were scandalized; but," adds Aubrey, "I think it was properly done to settle his spirits." The pedant James, who condemned both Raleigh and tobacco, said the bill of fare of the dinner which he should give his Satanic majesty, would be "a pig, a poll of ling, and mustard, with a pipe of tobacco for digestion." What's one man's meat is another man's poison, but at all events, in hungry Spain it is meat and drink both, and the chief smoke connected with proceedings of the mouth issues from labial chimneys.

Tobacco, this ψυχης ιατρεἱον, this anodyne for the irritability of human reason, is, like spirituous liquors which make it drunk, a highly-taxed article in all civilized societies. In Spain, the Bourbon dynasty (as elsewhere) is the hereditary tobacconist-general; the privilege of sale is generally farmed out to some contractor: accordingly, such a trump as a really good home-made cigar is hardly to be had for love or money in the Peninsula. Diogenes would sooner expect to find an honest man in any of the government offices. There is no royal road to the science of cigar-making; the article is badly made, of bad materials, and, to add insult to injury, is charged at a most exorbitant price. In order to benefit the Havana, tobacco is not allowed to be grown in Spain, which it would do in perfection in the neighbourhood of Malaga; the experiment was made, and having turned out quite successfully, the cultivation was immediately prohibited. The badness and dearness of the royal tobacco makes the fortune of the well-meaning smuggler; this great corrector of blundering chancellors of exchequers provides a better and cheaper thing from Gibraltar. The proof of the extent to which his dealings are carried was exemplified in 1828, when many thousand additional hands were obliged to be put on to the manufactories at Seville and Granada, to meet the increased demand occasioned by the impossibility of obtaining supplies from Gibraltar, in consequence of the yellow fever which was then raging there. No offence is more dreadfully punished in Spain than that of tobacco-smuggling, which robs the queen's pocket—all other robbery is as nothing, for her lieges only suffer.

The encouragement afforded to the manufacture and smuggling of cigars at Gibraltar is a never-failing source of ill blood and ill will between the Spanish and English governments. This most serious evil is contrary to all treaties, injurious to Spain and England alike, and is beneficial only to aliens of the worst character,{295} who form the real plague and sore of Gibraltar. The American and every other nation import their own tobacco, good, bad, and indifferent into the fortress free of duty, and without repurchasing British produce. It is made into cigars by Genoese, is smuggled into Spain by aliens, in boats under the British flag, which is disgraced by the traffic and exposed to insult from the revenue cutters, the guarda costas of Spain, which it cannot in justice expect to have redressed. The Spaniards would have winked at the introduction of English hardware and cottons—objects of necessity, which do not interfere with this their chief manufacture, and one of the most productive of royal monopolies. There is a wide difference between encouraging real British commerce and this smuggling of foreign cigars. Spain never can be expected to observe treaties towards us while we infringe them so scandalously and unprofitably on our parts.

Many tobacchose epicures, who smoke their regular dozen, place the evil sufficient for the day between two fresh lettuce-leaves; this damps the article, and improves the narcotic effect. The inside, the trail, las tripas, as the Spaniards call it, should be quite dry. The disordered interior of the royal cigars is masked by a good outside wrapper leaf, just as Spanish rags are cloaked by a decent capa, but l'habit ne fait pas le cigarre. Few but the rich can afford to smoke good cigars. Ferdinand VII., unlike his ancestor Louis XIV., "qui," says La Beaumelle, "haïssoit le tabac singulièrement, quoiqu'un de ses meilleurs revenus," was not only a great manufacturer but consumer thereof. He indulged in the royal extravagance of Purones, a very large thick cigar made in the Havana expressly for his gracious use, for he was too good a judge to smoke his own manufacture. Even of these he seldom smoked more than the half; the remainder was a grand perquisite, like our palace lights. The cigar was one of his pledges of love and hatred: he would give one to his favourites when in sweet temper; and often, when meditating a treacherous coup, would dismiss the unconscious victim with a royal puron: and when the happy individual got home to smoke it he was saluted by an Alguacil with an order to quit Madrid in twenty-four hours.

The bulk of the lieges cannot afford either the expense of tobacco, which is dear to them, or the gain of time, which is very cheap, by smoking a whole cigar right away. They make one afford occupation and recreation for half an hour. Though few Spaniards ruin themselves in libraries, none are without a little blank book of a particular paper, papel de hilo, which is made at Alcoy, in Valencia. At any pause all say at once—pues señores! echaremos{296} un cigarrito—well then, gentlemen, let us make a little cigar, and all set seriously to work; every man, besides this book, is armed with a small case of flint, steel, and a combustible tinder, "yesca." To make a paper cigar, like putting on a cloak, is an operation of much more difficulty than it seems. Spaniards, who have done nothing so much from their childhood upwards, perform both with extreme facility and neatness. This is the mode:—the petaca, Arabicè Buták, a little case worked by a fair hand in coloured pita, the thread from the aloe, in which the store of cigars is kept, is taken out—a leaf is torn from the book, which is held between the lips, or downwards from the back of the hand, between the fore and middle finger of the left hand—a portion of the cigar, about a third, is cut off and rubbed slowly in the palms till reduced to a powder—it is then jerked into the paper-leaf, which is rolled up into a little squib, and the ends doubled down, one of which is bitten off and the other end is lighted. The cigarillo is smoked slowly, the last whiff being the bonne bouche, the breast, la pechuga. The little ends are thrown away (they are indeed little, for a Spanish fore-finger and thumb is quite fire-browned and fire-proof, although some polished exquisites use silver holders); these remnants are picked up by the beggar-boys, who make up into fresh cigars the leavings of a thousand mouths. On the Prados and Alamedas, Murillo-like urchins run about with a slowly burning rope for the benefit of the public. At many of the sheds where water and lemonade are sold, one of these ropes, twirled like a snake round a post, and ignited, is as ready for fire, as the match of a besieged artilleryman. In the houses of the affluent a small silver chafing-dish, prunæ batillum, with lighted charcoal, is usually on a table. Mr. Henningsen (ch^r. 10), relates that Zumalacarregui, when about to execute some Cristinos at Villa Franca, observed one (a schoolmaster) looking about, like Raleigh, for a light for his last dying puff in this life, upon which the general took his own cigar from his mouth, and handed it to him. The schoolmaster lighted his own, returned the other with a respectful bow, and went away smoking and reconciled to be shot. This necessity of a light levels all ranks, and it is allowable to stop any person for fire, "fuego," "candela." The cigar forms a bond or union, an isthmus of communication between most heterogeneous oppositions. It is the habeas corpus of Spanish liberties. The soldier takes fire from the canon's lip, and the dark face of the humble labourer is whitened by the reflection of the cigar of the grandee and lounger, ex fumo fulgorem. The lowest orders have a coarse roll or rope of tobacco, palanca para picar, wherewith to solace{297} their sorrows—this is their calumet of peace, and their sosiega. Some of the Spanish fair sex are said to indulge in a quiet hidden cigarrillo, una pajita, una reyna, but it is not thought either a sign of a lady, or of rigid virtue, to have recourse to stolen and forbidden pleasures; for whoever makes one basket will make a hundred—quien hace un cesto hara un ciento.

Nothing exposes a traveller to more difficulty than carrying tobacco in his luggage; whenever he has more than a certain small quantity, let him never conceal it, but declare it at every gate, and be provided with a guia, or permit. Yet all will remember never to be without some cigars, and the better the better. It is a trifling outlay, for although any cigar is acceptable, yet a real good one is a gift from a king. The greater the enjoyment of the smoker, the greater his respect for the donor; a cigar may be given to everybody, whether high or low: thus the petaca is offered, as a Frenchman of La vieille Cour offered his snuff-box, by way of a prelude to conversation and intimacy. It is an act of civility, and implies no superiority, nor is there any humiliation in the acceptance; it is twice blessed, "It blesseth him that gives and him that takes." It is the spell wherewith to charm the natives, who are its ready and obedient slaves, and, like a small kind word spoken in time, it works miracles. There is no country in the world where the stranger and traveller can purchase for half-a-crown half the love and good-will which its investment in tobacco will ensure, therefore the man who grudges or neglects it, is neither a philanthropist nor a philosopher.

Having said this much of the Spanish pseudo-cigar, some information regarding the real article will provide the traveller with acceptable small talk, when prosing with his Spanish friend. The chief Havana manufacturers are Cabanas, Hernandez, Silva, and Rencareuil, besides many others of less note, who make from 10,000 to 100,000 a-day. The cigar is composed of two distinct parts, the inside and cover. For these two different kinds of leaves are used, of which the latter is generally finer in texture as well as more pliant. Those leaves which are to be made on a Tuesday are damped on Monday evening, and allowed to remain so all night; and when rolled they are placed on a large table, where they are divided into the various qualities of first, second, third, &c., and priced accordingly. Those which are most carefully and beautifully rolled are called regalias, and are sold at 22, 23, or 26 dollars for a thousand; while the second best, which are of the very same tobacco, and made by the same man (only with a little less attention to symmetry of form), are sold at 14, others as low as 6 dollars.{298} Señor Hernandez employs about fifty men in his manufactory. Of the best common cigars a good workman can make a thousand in a day; of the regalias, 600; so that the daily issues from that immense fabrica are about 30,000 cigars, which, at 14 dollars per thousand, would give nearly 100l. a-day. They pay an export duty of half a dollar per thousand, and an import duty in England of 9s. Allowing for freight and insurance, for 20 per cent. profit to the importer, and 20 more to the retailer, the best Havana cigars should be sold in London at 5l. per thousand, which is 18d. per sixteen, or about 1¼d. a piece; instead of which they are generally charged 30s. to 40s., and sometimes 60s. per pound, and from 3d. to 4d. a-piece. The very best in quality do not find their way to Europe, and for this simple reason—they are not fashionable, as they are generally dark-coloured, and a lighter-coloured and smoothly rolled cigar is preferred to the strong and highly-flavoured rough-looking ones; these in general are the most perfect vade mecum imaginable for the contemplative philosopher. The best tobacco in Havana grows in the Vuelta de Abajo, or lower district.

SPANISH COSTUME.

The Spaniards, both of the upper and lower classes, have a national costume; and we strongly recommend our readers, ladies as well as gentlemen, to rig themselves out à l'Espagnole at the first great town at which they arrive, for unless they are dressed like the rest of the world, they will everywhere, as in the East, be stared at, and be pestered by beggars, who particularly attack strangers.

Black has always been the favourite, the national colour, μελανειμονες ἁπαντες, το πλειον εν σαγοις (Strabo, iii. 233). This male sagum is the type of the modern saya, Arabicè sayah, a long outer garment, which is always black, and is put over the indoor dress on going out. This external petticoat is also called Basquiña, a word of unknown derivation. The Greeks translated the Tyrian phrase "Bewitching of naughtiness" by the term βασκανια. Be that as it may, black is its colour, and was that of the court of Philip II.; and it certainly became him, his priests and inquisitors, as well as physicians, undertakers, and other grave characters. It has continued to be the colour of ceremony, and was the only one in which women were allowed to enter churches. Being that of the learned professions, it makes Spaniards seem wiser, according to Charles V., than they really are; while, from being worn by{299} sorrow, it disarms the evil eye which dogs prosperity, and inspires, in the place of associations of envy, those of pity and respect. It gives an air of decorum and modesty, and softens an indifferent skin. Every one in England has been struck with the air of respectability which mourning confers, even on ladies' maids. The prevalence of black veils and dark cloaks on the Alameda and in the church, conveys to the newly arrived stranger the idea of a population of nuns and clergymen. As far as woman is concerned, the dress is so becoming, that the difficulty is to look ugly in it; hence, in spite of the monotony, we are pleased with a uniformity which becomes all alike; those who cannot see its merits should lose no time in consulting their oculist.

The beauty of the Spanish women is much exaggerated, at least as far as features and complexion are concerned: more loveliness is to be seen in one fine day in Regent Street, than in a year in Spain. Their charm consists in symmetry of form, natural grace of manner and expression, and not a little, as in the case of a carp, or Raie au beurre noir, in the dressing; yet, such is the tyranny of fashion, that these women are willing to risk the substance for the shadow, and to strive, instead of remaining inimitable originals, to become second-rate copies. Faithless to true Españolismo, they sacrifice on the altar of foreign modes even attraction itself, for the Cocos, or cottons of Manchester, are superseding the Alepines, or bombazeens of Valencia, and the blinkers and bonnets of the Boulevards are eclipsing the Mantillas.

The Mantilla is the aboriginal female head-gear. Iberia, in the early coins, those picture-books of antiquity, is represented as a veiled woman; the καλυπτρα μελαινη was supported by a sort of cock's-comb, κοραξ. This was the prototype of the Peineta, the tortoise-shell comb, which in Valencia is made of silver gilt. The real combs used to be very high, and being placed at the back of the head, formed an apex from which the veil floated gracefully away. The effect produced by low combs, or by their omission altogether (vile inventions of the foreigner), have been fatally injurious to the Mantilla.

The veil, which completely covered the back of the head, is thrown apart in front; but a partial concealment of the features is thought, in ancient days as now, to be an ornament (Strabo, iii. 249). It was adopted at Rome, and Poppæa, according to Tacitus (A. xiii. 45) thus managed her veil quia sic decebat. The cara tupida or tapada, or face thus enveloped, was always respected in Spain, and so Messalina shrouded under the mantle of modesty her imperial adulteries. This concealment evidently is of Oriental{300} origin, as in the East a woman will show anything rather than her face, for points of honour are conventional; nor is the custom quite obsolete in Andalucia. It still obtains in Marchena and Tarifa, where the women continue to wear the Mantilla as the Arabs do the Boorko', and after the present Egyptian fashion of the Tob and Hhabarah, in which only one eye is discovered; that however, is a piercer; it peeps out from the sable veil like a star, and beauty is concentrated into one focus of light and meaning. These tapadas are most effectually concealed, and, being all dressed alike, walk about as at a masquerade, insomuch that husbands have actually been detected making love to their own wives. These Parthian assassin-glances have furnished jokes abundant to the wits of Spain. Quevedo compares these rifle-women to the abadejo, which means both a water-wagtail and the Spanish-fly; the simile thus combines the meneo and the stimulant. Such doubtless, was the mode of wearing the mantilla among the Phœnician coquettes. "Woe," says Ezekiel (xiii. 18), who knew Tyre so well, "Woe to the women that make kerchiefs upon the head of every stature to hunt souls."

The Gothic mantum was so called, says S^n. Isidoro (Or. xix. 24), quia manus tegat tantum; it was made of a thickish cloth, as among the Carthaginians (see the Mantilia of Dido (Æn. i. 706)), whence the Moorish name Mantil. The mantilla is the elegant diminutive of the manto, and is now made of silk or lace: formerly it was made of serge, and other thick ordinary materials; and such to this day are the Cenereros of the Batuecas and those districts. It is in some places substituted by the coarse petticoat of the lower classes, who, like Sancho Panza's wife, turn them over their heads from pure motives of economy. In fact, as in the East, the head and face at least were never to be exposed, and, by a decree of Philip IV. a woman's mantilla, like a carpenter's box of tools, could not be seized for debt, not even in the case of the crown. From being the essential article of female gear, the manto has become a generic term, and has given its name to our milliners, who are called mantua-makers.

There are three kinds of Mantillas, and no lady a few years ago could possibly do without a complete set: first is the white, which is used on grand occasions, birth-days, bull-fights, and Easter Mondays. This is composed of fine blonde or lace embroidery, but it is not becoming to Spanish women, whose sallow olive complexion cannot stand the contrast, and Adrian compared one thus dressed to a sausage wrapt up in white paper. The second is black, and is made of raso or alepin, satin or bombazeen, often edged{301} with velvet, and finished off with deep lace fringe. The third is used for fancy or ordinary occasions, and is called Mantilla de tira. It has no lace, but is made of black silk with a broad band of velvet. This is the veil of the Maja, the Gitana, and the Cigarrera de Sevilla, and peculiarly becomes their eye of diamond and their locks of jet. This Mantilla, suspended on a high comb, is then crossed over the bosom, which is, moreover, concealed by a pañuelo, or handkerchief. These are the "hoods and ushers" of Hudibras, and without them, unless the house was on fire, no woman formerly would go out into the streets; when thus enveloped nothing can be more decent than the whole upper woman; matronæ præter faciem nil cernere posses. The smallest display of the neck, &c., or patriotismo, is thought over-liberal and improper; and one of the great secrets of a Spanish woman's attraction is, that most of her charms are hidden. The saya and mantilla are to the Spanish woman what good stock and chalots are to the French cook: let the material to be dressed be what it may, with this magical sauce piquante, a savory entrée is turned out in an instant: thus an Andaluza, who at home, where none sees her but her husband, is a Cinderella of dowdiness, just puts on her outer petticoat and veil and is fit even for church; nice little girls are got up with equal expedition, and are in fact nothing but amusing re-editions of their mothers, in a duodecimo form.

The Mantilla is kept in its proper place by the fan, abanico, which is part and parcel of every Spanish woman, whose nice conduct of it leaves nothing to be desired. No one understands the art and exercise of it like her. It is the index of her soul, the telegraph of her chamelion feelings, her countersign to the initiated, which they understand for good or evil as the wagging of a dog's tail. She can express with her dumb fan more than Paganini could with his fiddlestick. A handbook might be written to explain the code of signals. The ladies of antiquity had fans, but merely used them for base mechanical and refrigatory purposes (Mart. xiv. 28); they were utterly ignorant of the philosophy and electricity of this powerful instrument of coquetry. Remember not to purchase any of the old Rococo fans which will be offered for sale at Cadiz and Seville, as none are Spanish, but all made in France; the prices asked are exorbitant, for which foolish English collectors may thank themselves. There are more and better specimens of these fans to be had in Wardour-street than in all Andalucia, and for a quarter of the money.

The Mantilla, properly speaking, ought not to be worn with curls, rizos, which some Vandal French perruquiers have recently{302} introduced; these are utterly unsuited to the melancholy pensive character of the Spanish female face when in repose, and particularly to her Moorish eyes, which never passed the Pyrenees; indeed, first-rate amateurs pronounce the real ojos arabes, like the palm-tree, to be confined to certain localities. The finest are "raised" in Andalucia; they are very full, and repose on a liquid somewhat yellow bed, of an almond shape. They are compared to dormant lightnings, &c. &c.; but our business is to simply desire our readers to look at these eyes and leave them then to judge for themselves.

The hair is another glory of the Spanish sex; herein, like Samson's, is the secret of her strength, for, if Pope be infallible, "Her beauty draws us by a single hair"—Sancho Panza says more than a hundred oxen. It is very black, thick, and often coarser than a courser's tail. It is attended to with the greatest care, and is simply braided à la Madonna over a high forehead. The Iberian ladies, reports Strabo (iii. 249), were very proud of the size of this palace of thought, and carefully picked out the προκομια to increase its dimensions. The Andaluza places a real flower, generally a red pink, among her raven locks; the children continue to let long Carthaginian plaited Trenza hang down their backs. There are two particular curls which deserve serious attention: they are circular and flat, and are fastened with white of egg to the side of each cheek: they are called Patillas, or Picardías, Rogueries—Caracoles de Amor—they are des accroches cœur, "springes to catch woodcocks;" they are Oriental, not French, as some female mummies have been discovered with their patillas perfectly preserved and gummed on after 3000 years: the ruling passion strong in death (Wilk. iii. 370). The Spanish she-Goths were equally particular. S^n. Isidoro (Or. xix. 31) describes some curls, anciæ, which hung near the ears, with a tact which becomes rather the Barbiere de Sevilla than its archbishop.

Thus much for our fair readers; one word now on the chief item of male costume in Spain. The cloak, capa, is to the Spanish man what the saya is to the Spanish woman. The Spaniards represent the gens togata of antiquity, and the capa is the unchanged Pænula, Τεβεννα. Now in Madrid and the great cities, as the women have put on French bonnets, the men have taken to English pea-jackets, or rather Parisian paletos. Nationality in manners and costume, as far as the gentry are concerned, will soon be only to be stumbled upon in out-of-the-way inland towns, which have escaped the nuevo progreso and a diligence. Strangely enough the word paledot in Arabic signifies a "stupid fellow," "one{303} who has made an ass of himself:" thus the most picturesque and classical of garments are exchanged for the very contrary, and Spain prefers being a poor copy of bad examples, than a racy original and sole depository of the almost inimitable! but there is nothing new in this; so the national sagum was exchanged for the foreign toga. This so-called emblem of civilization, but symbol of Roman influence, was introduced into Spain by Sertorius, who, by persuading the natives to adopt the dress, soon led them to become the admirers, then subjects, of Rome—Cedant arma togæ. The Andalucians (Strabo, iii. 254) were among the first to follow this foreign fashion. They gloried in their finery like our forefathers, not seeing in it, as Tacitus did (Agr. 21) a real badge of the loss of national independence—"Inde habitus nostri honor, et frequens toga, idque apud imperitos, humanitas vocabatur, cum pars servitutis esset;" but the humbler Spaniards have never left off their cloaks and jackets, and their jacket is the ancient χιτων, tunica, synthesis. It was worn by the Carthaginians (Plaut. 'Pœn.' v. 2, 15), just as it is now by the Moors. The Spaniards live in jackets, and are still the "tunicatus popellus" of Europe. Augustus Cæsar, who, according to Suetonius, was chilly, wore as many as Hamlet's gravedigger does waistcoats. Ferdinand VII., the week before his death, gave a farewell audience to a foreign minister in a jacket; he died in harness, and, like him and Cæsar, Spaniards, when in the bosom of their families, seldom wear any other dress. O tunicata quies! exclaims Martial (x. 51, 6); nor can anything ever exceed the comfort of a well-made Zamarra, a word derived from Simúr—mustela Scythica. The merit and obvious origin of this sheep-skin costume account for its antiquity and unchanged usage. S^n. Isidoro (Or. xix. 24) calls it pallium, a pelle. The capa is shaped in a peculiar manner, and is rounded at the bottom; the circumference of the real and correct thing is seven yards all but three inches and a half: "bis ter ulnarum toga." As cloaks, like coats, are cut according to a man's cloth, a scanty capa, like the "toga arcta" of Horace, does not indicate affluence, or even respectability. S^n. Isidoro did well to teach his Goths that their toga was a tegendo, because it concealed the whole man, as it does now, provided it be a good one, una buena capa, todo tapa. It covers a multitude of sins, and especially pride and poverty, twin sisters in Iberia. The ample folds and graceful drapery give breadth and throw an air of stately decency—nay, dignity—over the wearer; it not only conceals tatters and nakedness, but appears to us to invest the pauper with the abstract classicality of an ancient peripatetic philosopher, since we never see this{304} costume of Solons and Cæsars, except in the British Museum and Chantrey's contracts. A genuine Spaniard would sooner part with his skin than his capa; so when Charles III. wanted to prohibit their use, the universal people rose in arms, and the Squillacci or anti-cloak ministry, was turned out. The capa fits its wearer admirably; it favours habits of inactivity, prevents the over-zealous arms or elbows from doing anything, conceals a knife and rags, and, when muffled around, offers a disguise for intrigues and robbery; capa y espada accordingly became the generic term for the profligate comedy which portrayed the age of Philip IV.

The Spanish clergy never appear in public without this capa, which, as it has no cape, is in fact a long black gown; and the readers of the Odyssey need not be reminded of the shifts to which Ulysses was put "when he left his cloak behind." St. Paul was equally anxious about his, when he wrote his Second Epistle to Timothy; and Raphael has justly painted him in the cartoon, when preaching at Athens, wearing his cloak exactly as the Spanish people do at this moment. Nothing can appear more ludicrous to a Spanish eye than the scanty, narrow, capeless, scape-grace cloaks of English cut: the wearer of one will often see the lower classes grinning at him without knowing why, but it is at his cloak, its shape, and way of putting it on. When a stranger thinks that he is perfectly incognito, he is found out by the children, and is the observed of all observers. All this is easily prevented by attention to a few simple rules. No one can conceive the fret and petty continual worry to which a stranger is exposed both from beggars and the impertinente curioso tribe by being always found out: it embitters every step he takes, mars all privacy, and keeps up a continual petty fever and ill-humour.

A wise man will therefore get his cloak made in Spain and by a Spanish tailor. He will choose it of blue colour, and let the broad hem or stripe be lined with black velvet; red or fancy colours and silks are muy charro, gaudy and in bad taste; he must never omit a cape. A capa without a cape is like a cat without a tail. The clerical capa is always black, and is distinguished from the lay one by its not having a cape, a dengue, or esclavina, whence our old term sclaveyn. If an Englishman sallies forth with a blue cloak without a cape, it appears quite as ludicrous to Spanish eyes as a gentleman in a sack or in a red cassock. It is applying a form of cut peculiar only to clergymen to colours which are only worn by laymen. Having got a correct cape, the next and not less important step is to know how to wear it; the antique is the true model; either the capa is allowed to hang simply down from the{305} shoulders, or it is folded in the embozo, or á lo majo: the embozar consists in taking up the right front fold and throwing it over the left shoulder, thus muffling up the mouth, while the end of the fold hangs half way down the back behind: it is extremely difficult to do this neatly, although all Spaniards can; they have been practising nothing else from the age of breeches, for they assume the toga almost when they leave off petticoats. No force is required; it is done by a knack, a sleight of hand: the cloak is jerked over the shoulder, which is gently raised to meet and catch it; this is the precise form of the ancients, the αναβαλλεσθαι of Athenæus (i. 18). The Goths wore it exactly in the same manner (S^n. Isid. 'Or.' xix. 24). When the embozo is arranged, two fingers of the right hand are sometimes brought up to the mouth and protrude beyond the fold: they serve either to hold a cigar, or to telegraph a passing friend. It must be remembered by foreigners, that, as among the ancient Romans (Suet. 'In Claud.' vi.), it is not considered respectful to remain muffled up, embozado, on ceremonious occasions, or in presence of the gods or emperor. Uncloaking is equivalent to taking off the hat; Spaniards always uncloak when Su Majestad, the host or the king, passes by; the lower orders uncloak when speaking to a superior: whenever the traveller sees one not do that with him, let him be on his guard. Spaniards, when attending a funeral service in a church, do not rend, but leave their cloaks behind them: the etiquette of mourning is to go without their capa. As this renders them more miserable than fish out of water, the manes of the deceased must necessarily be gratified by the sincerity of the sorrow of his surviving and shivering friend.

The majo fashion of the wearing the cloak is that which is adopted by the chulos when they walk in procession around the arena, before the bull-fight commences. It is managed thus: take the right front fold, and whip it rapidly under the left elbow, pressing down at the same time the left elbow to catch it; a sort of deep bosom, the ancient umbo, sinus, is thus formed, and the arms are left at liberty. The celebrated Aristides at Naples is cloaked somewhat in this fashion. We strongly advise the newly arrived traveller to get his tailor or some Spaniard just to give him a few lessons how to perform these various evolutions; without this he will never pass in a crowd. If he puts his cloak on awkwardly he will be thought a quiz, which is no element of success in society. Everybody knows that Cicero adopted the cause of Pompey in preference to that of Cæsar—because he concluded, from the unintellectual manner in which the future dictator wore{306} his cloak, that he never could turn out to be a great man. Cæsar improved as he grew older; nothing fidgeted him more than any person's disturbing the peace of his sinus (Suet. 82, and see the note of Pitiscus); and, like the Egyptian ladies' curls, the ruling passion was strong in his death: he arranged his cloak as his last will and deed. Since even Cato and Virgil were laughed at for their awkward togas, no Englishman can pass for a great man in Spain unless his Spanish valet thinks so when he is cloaked, such is the prestige of broad cloth.

The better classes of Spaniards wear the better classes of cloth, while the lower continue to cover their aboriginal sheepskin with the aboriginal cloth. The fine wools of Spain (an ancient Merino sold in Strabo's time for a talent (iii. 213)) produced a corresponding article of value, insomuch that these Hispanæ coccinæ were the presents which the extravagant Chloe gave her lover (Mart. iv. 27). The poor were contented then, as now, with a thick double cloth, the "duplex pannus," the paño basto of poverty and patience (Hor. 'Ep.' i. xvii. 25), and it was always made from the brown undyed wool. There are always several black sheep in every Spanish flock; not to say cortes and juntas. Their undyed wools formed the exact Lacernæ Bæticæ (Mart. xiv. 133), and the best are still made at Grazalema. The cloth, from the brown colour, is called "paño pardo," and is still the precise mixed red rusty tint for which Spain was renowned—"ferrugine clarus Iberiâ;" among the Goths the colour was simply called "Spanish;" our word drab, which is incorrectly used as a colour, was originally taken from the French drap, cloth, which happened to be undyed. Drab is not more the colour of our footmen and Quakers, than "brown" is of Spain, whether man or mountain—gente or Sierra Morena. The Manchegans especially wear nothing but cloaks, jackets, and breeches of this stuff and colour, and well may their king call his royal seat "el pardo." Even their metaphors are tinctured with it, and they call themselves the "browns," just as we call the Africans the blacks, or modern Minervas the blues: thus they will say of a shrewd peasant—Yorkshire—"Mas sabe con su grammatica parda que no el escribano;" he knows more with his brown grammar than the attorney. The phrase gente morena is often used as equivalent to the whole Spanish people, just as black is affixed to certain portions of our fellow-countrymen: it has, however, no moral secondary meaning, but is simply a fact, for here everything is adust and tawny, from man to his wife, his horse, his ox, or his ass. The paño pardo is very thick, not only to last longer, but because the cloak is the shield and buckler of quarrelsome people,{307} who wrap it round the left arm. The assassins of Cæsar did the same, when they rushed with their bloody daggers through frightened Rome (App. 'B.C.' ii. 818). The Spaniards in the streets, the moment the sharp click of the opened knife is heard, or their adversary stoops to pick up a stone, whisk their cloaks round their left arms with marvellous and most classical rapidity. Petronius Arbiter (c. 80) describes them to the life: "Intorto circum brachium pallio composui ad præliandum gradum." There is no end to Spanish proverbs on the cloak. They wear it in summer because it keeps out heat, in winter because it keeps out cold; Por sol que haga, no dejes tu capa en casa; the common trick upon a traveller is to steal his cloak. Dal Andaluz guarda tu capuz. A cloak is equivalent to independence, debajo mi manto, veo y canto, I laugh in my sleeve; and, even if torn and tattered, it preserves virtue like that of San Martin: debajo de una capa rota, hay buen bebedor—there is many a good drinker under a bundle of rags.

The Spaniards as a people are remarkably well dressed; the lower orders retain their peculiar and picturesque costume; the better classes imitate the dress of an English gentleman, and come nearer to our ideas of that character than do most other foreigners. Their sedate lofty port gives that repose and quiet which is wanting to our mercurial neighbours. A genuine Spaniard is well dressed, and he knows it; but he is not always thinking about his coat, nor bewildered by his finery. The prevailing use of black and of cloaks is diametrically opposed to the rainbow tints of Parisian coxcombery. The Spaniard is proud of himself, not vain of his coat; he is cleanly in his person and consistent in his apparel; there is less of the "diamond pins in dirty shirts," as Walter Scott said of certain continental exquisites. Not that the genus dandy does not exist in Spain, but it is an exotic when in a coat. The real dandy is the "majo," in his half-Moorish jacket. The elegant, in a long-tailed "fraque," is a bad copy of a bad imitation; he is a London cockney, filtered through a Boulevard badaud. These harmless animals, these exquisite vegetables, are called lechuginos, which signifies both a sucking-pig and a small lettuce. The Andalucian dandies were called paquetes, because they used to import the last and correct thing from England by the packet-boat. Such are the changes, the ups and downs, of coats and countries. Now the Spaniards look to us for models, while our ancestors thought nothing came up to

"The refined traveller from Spain,
A man in all the world's new fashions planted!"
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The variety of costumes which appears on the Spanish public alamedas renders the scene far gayer than that of our dull uniform walks, but the loss of the parti-coloured monks will be long felt to the artist. The gentlemen in their capas mingle with the ladies in their mantillas, the white-kilted Valencian contrasts with the velveteen glittering Andalucian; the sable-clad priest with the soldier; the peasant with the muleteer: all meet on perfect equality, as in church, and all conduct themselves with equal decorum, good breeding, and propriety. Few Spaniards ever walk arm in arm, and still less do a Spanish lady and gentleman—scarcely even those whom the holy church has made one. There is no denial to which all classes and sexes of Spaniards will not cheerfully submit in order to preserve a respectable external appearance. This formed one of the most marked characteristics of the Iberians, who, in order to display magnificence on their backs, pinched their bellies. The ancient Deipnosophists, who preferred lining their ribs with good capons, rather than their coats with ermine, could not comprehend this habit (Athen. ii. 6); and the shifts and starvation endured by poor gentlemen, in order to gratify their boato, or love for external personal ostentation, by strutting about in rich clothes, form one of the leading subjects of wit in all their picaresque novels, for "silks and satins put out the kitchen fire," says Poor Richard. Spaniards, even the wealthy, only really dress when they go out; when they come home, they return to a déshabillé which amounts to dowdiness. Those who are less affluent carefully put by their out-of-door costume, which consequently, as in the East, lasts for many years, and forms one reason, among many others, why mere fashions change so little: another reason why all Spaniards in public are so well dressed is, that, unless they can appear as they think they ought, they do not go out at all. In the present universal and inconceivable wreck of private fortunes, many families remain at home during the whole day, thus retiring and presenting the smallest mark for evil fortune to peck at. They scarcely stir out for weeks and months; adversity produces a keener impatience of dishonour than was felt in better days, a more morbid susceptibility, an increased anxiety to withdraw from those places and that society where a former equality can no longer be maintained. The recluses steal out at early dawn to the misa de Madrugada, the daybreak mass, which is expressly celebrated for the consolation of all who must labour for their bread, all who get up early and lie down late, and that palest and leanest form of poverty, which is ready to work but findeth none to employ. When the sad congregation have offered up their{309} petition for relief, they return to cheerless homes, to brood in concealment over their fallen fortunes. At dusky nightfall they again creep, bat-like, out to breathe the air of heaven, and to meditate on new schemes for hiding the morrow's distress.

ROUTE I.—ENGLAND TO CADIZ AND GIBRALTAR.

Those who wish to avoid passing through France may land at Vigo, and thence proceed to Madrid, through Gallicia and Leon; or they may cross over to Havre and take the steamer to Bordeaux, and thence by occasional coasting minor steamers to any of the Spanish ports in Biscay, the Asturias, or Gallicia. La Coruña is a good and central point.

The better plan is to proceed direct to Cadiz, where the change of climate, scenery, men and manners effected by a six days' voyage is indeed remarkable. Quitting the British Channel, we soon enter the "sleepless Bay of Biscay," where the stormy petrel is at home, and where the gigantic swell of the Atlantic is first checked by Spain's iron-bound coast, the mountain break-water of Europe. Here The Ocean will be seen in all its vast majesty and solitude: grand in the tempest-lashed storm, grand in the calm, when spread out as a mirror; and never more impressive than at night, when the stars of heaven, free from earth-born mists, sparkle like diamonds over those "who go down to the sea in ships and behold the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep." The land has disappeared, and man feels alike his weakness and his strength; a thin plank separates him from another element and world; yet he has laid his hand upon the billow, and mastered the ocean; he has made it the highway of commerce, and the binding link of nations.

The first point made is Cape Finisterre—finis terræ. (See Index.) Omitting Portugal as foreign to this book, the bluff cape of St. Vincent is usually the next land seen. The convent is perched on a beetling cliff. Behind, in the distance, rises the Montchique range.

El Cabo de San Vincente takes its name from one of the earliest Spanish saints; and as there is scarcely a city in the Peninsula without a church dedicated to him, in which he is carved and painted, he may be introduced at once to travellers. Vincentius, a native of Zaragoza, was put to death by Dacian, at Valencia, in 304. His body was cast on the sea-shore, to be consumed by wild beasts, when some crows descended from heaven, and watched{310} over it; thereupon Dacian ordered it to be sunk out at sea, but the corpse floated up, and was preserved by his disciples as a pearl of great price, insomuch that when their descendants fled from the Moors in the eighth century, they carried the body with them to this cape, where it again was guarded by crows, and from this a portion of the cliff is still called "El monte de los Cuervos." About the year 1147, Alonzo I. removed it to Lisbon; two of the crows, one at the prow and the other at the stern, piloting the ship. Hence the arms of the city of Lisbon, this ship with San Vicente at the mast, and the two crows aforesaid. The body was re-discovered in 1614, when magnificent festivals took place. The breed of the crows continued in the cathedral, and rents were assigned to the chapter for their support. Geddes saw many birds there, "descended from the original breed, living witnesses of the miracle, though no longer pilots" (Tracts, iii. 106). Pagan crows were also highly honoured: thus the soul of Aristeas went out in that shape, altars were erected, and the fact confirmed by the authority of the Delphic oracle (Herod. iv. 15). San Vicente, who worked infinite miracles, was a particular favourite among the Portuguese ladies, having given to an ill-favoured beata a cosmetic which converted her into a houri. The fair sex naturally flocked to an altar, which rivalled the youth-conferring fountains and the cup of Circe of the Pagans, and the enchanter's wand of the Arabian tales. The French ladies contended that they had the veritable body at Castres, near Toulouse, whereat the writers of the Peninsula are most indignant, (Consult for authentic details Morales, 'Coronica Genl.' x. 341; 'E. S.' viii. 179-231.) The legend is most ancient; indeed Prudentius, in the fourth century, put it into 576 verses. (Perist. v. 5.) This San Vicente must not be confounded with his namesake of Avila, nor with San Vicente Ferrer, of Valencia.

The headland which now bears his name has always been holy ground; the clever monks turned to account the superstitious associations; it was the Κουνεον, the Cuneus of the ancients. Here was a circular Druidical temple, in which the Iberians believed that the gods assembled at night (Strabo, iii. 202); hence the Romans, whose priests knew the value of a prescriptive religio loci, called it Mons Sacer, a name still preserved in that of the neighbouring hamlet Sagres, which was founded in 1416 by Prince Henry of Portugal, who retired here to pursue those studies which led to the circumnavigation of Africa. Sagres was long considered the most western point of Europe, and to which, as the first meridian, all longitudes were referred.

{311}

These waters have witnessed three British victories. Here Rodney, Jan. 16th, 1780, attacked the Spanish fleet, under Langara: he captured five and destroyed two men-of-war. Had the action taken place in the day, or had the weather been even moderate, "none," as he said in his dispatch, "would have escaped." Here Jervis, Feb. 14th, 1797, with fifteen small ships, gave battle to twenty-seven huge Spaniards, one of which carried 130, and six 112 guns; six of the Spaniards fled before a shot was fired, the remainder followed, having lost four ships. "The English rattled through it as if it had been a sport." By this battle Lisbon was saved from Godoy, the tool of France. Jervis was made an Earl, with a prodigality of honour never shown to Nelson, the chief hero of this day. Here again, July 3rd, 1836, Sir Charles Napier, with six small ships, carrying only 176 guns, beat ten Portuguese men-of-war, mounting 372; he captured the largest, and thus placed Don Pedro on the throne of Lisbon.

Rounding Cape St. Vincent, and steering S.E., we enter the bay of Cadiz. The distant mountains of Ronda, land-marks to ships, are seen before the low maritime strip of Andalucia which extends between the Guadiana and the Guadalquivir. For all this coast of Spain, consult the excellent 'Derroteros,' by Vicente Tofino, 2 vols. 4to., Mad. 1787-9.

CADIZ.

Cadiz is the best starting-point for a tour in the Peninsula: means of locomotion are abundant. English and Spanish steamers run up to the Bay of Biscay; French and Spanish to Marseilles; a small steamer occasionally communicates with Vigo, La Coruña, Bilbao, and San Sebastian. Spanish steamers ply regularly up the Guadalquivir to Seville. Diligences to Madrid run through Seville, and thence either by Estremadura or La Mancha. But first must be described Cadiz and the corner between Cadiz and Gibraltar.

On entering the Bay of Cadiz, the rock-built city, sparkling like a line of ivory palaces, rises on its headland from the dark blue sea. The landing when the sea is rough is inconvenient, and the sanitary precautions tedious. It is carrying a joke some lengths, when the yellow cadaverous Spanish health officers suspect and inspect the ruddy-faced Britons, who hang over the packet gang-way, bursting from a plethora of beef and good condition: but fear of the plague is the bugbear of the South, and Spaniards are no more to be hurried than the Court of Chancery. The boatmen, who crowd to land passengers, rival in noise and rascality those of{312} Naples. The common charge is a peseta per person; but they increase in their demands in proportion as the wind and waves arise: engage Medina, who is employed at the British consulate; this official connexion ensures attention.

The custom-house officers of Spain, Los Aduaneros, Los Resguardos, are a regular nuisance everywhere, both at seaports and inland towns; while they facilitate smuggling on a large scale, by acting as confederates with the contrabandistas who bribe them, they worry the honest traveller. Next to patience and good humour, the best security is the not bringing anything contraband, especially tobacco; a judicious admixture of courtesy with pesetas seldom however fails to quiet the itching palms of the Cerberi of the Dogana.

"Dumb dollars often in their silent kind,
More than quick words do win a searcher's mind."

A Spanish aduanero as a genus may be defined to be a gentleman who pretends to examine baggage, in order to obtain money without the disgrace of begging, or the danger of robbing. They excuse themselves by necessity, which has no law; some allowance must be made for the rapacity of bribes which characterises too many Spanish empleados; their regular salaries, always inadequate, are generally in arrear, and they are forced to pay themselves by conniving at defrauding the government; this few scruple to do, as they know it to be an unjust one, and say that it can afford it; indeed, as all are offenders alike, the guilt of the offence is scarcely admitted. Where robbing and jobbing are the universal order of the day, one rogue keeps another in countenance, as one goitre does another in Switzerland. A man who does not feather his nest is not thought honest, but a fool; es preciso que cada uno coma de su oficio. It is necessary, nay, a duty, as in the East, that all should live by their office; and as office is short and insecure, no time or means is neglected in making up a purse; thus poverty and their will alike and readily consent. The rich must not judge too hardly of the sad shifts, the strange bedfellows, with which want makes the less provided acquainted. Donde no hay abundancia no hay observancia. The empty sack cannot stand upright, nor was ever a sack made in Spain into which gain and honour could be stowed away together; honra y provecho, no caben en un saco o techo; and virtue itself succumbs in the increased and increasing poverty, induced by half a century of war and revolution.{313}

The traveller, having cleared his luggage, passes under the dark Puerta de la Mar at once into the din and glare of a Spanish plaza. The best Inn is Wall's Posada Inglesa, C^e. S^n. Servando; his usual charge is 35 reals per day. Ximenez is a good laquais de place, and one George Canston may be taken as a sort of courrier or attendant in a tour through Spain. Wall has also a private house on the Alameda, which is delicious in summer but cold in winter. In the C^e. San Francisco is the P^da. Francesa, or de Cuatro Naciones, or Riego, for names are every day changing in Spanish streets and things. This French inn is cheaper than the English, but it is very dirty. The table d'hôte, as far as food goes, is decent, but the company is often composed of French and German commis voyageurs, who do not travel in the truth or soap lines, and of others who are anything but the best society. Other inns are Caballo Blanco, No. 176, C^e. del Hondillo, and in the same street, No. 165, La Corona; Los tres Reyes, 183, C^e. Flamencos, and Miramons, C^e. de la Carne. The best of the private boarding-houses, Casas de pupilos, are P^a. S^n. Agustin, No. 201, 2^do. Piso—at Las S^ras. Sanquirico, C^e. del Vestuario—the C^e. del Conde Mauli, P^la. de Candelaria. None, however, going to make any lengthened stay should omit consulting Mr. Brackenbury, the consul, whose kindness and hospitality are hereditary and proverbial. His golden sherry deserves especial notice. The heavy consulate fees throughout Spain for signing passports, &c. are the fault of acts of Parliament, and in keeping with the passport exactions of the foreign-office in Downing Street, both of which are "too bad."

There are baths in the C^e. de la Cereria del Morzal and a new establishment, No. 9, P^la. de Mina; for books go to Meraleda, late Hortal, 201, P^a. S^n. Agustin. Ladies who want Mantillas may go either to Villalba, C^e. del Sacramento, or to Luis de la Orden, or á las Filipinas, C^e. Juan de Andas: the price varies from 3 to 300 dollars. For silver filigree, Sibellos, C^e. de S^n. Fran^co., and C^e. Ancha. Tailor, Jose de Arcos, C^e. Ancha. Milliners, La Urench, S^a. de Ursula. For Spanish gloves, which are excellent, especially the white kid, at El Sol, and El Indio, C^e. Ancha. Ladies' shoes are very cheap and good, as the feet at Cadiz are not among the ugliest on earth: go to Gomez, P^a. de la Constitucion, or El Madrileño, C^e. Ancha. Gentlemen's shoemakers, Bravo and Florez, and El Madrileño. Cadiz is famous for sweetmeats, or Dulces, of which Spaniards, and especially the women, as in the East, eat vast quantities, to the detriment of their stomachs and complexions, but the Mazapanes and Turrones are worth the running some risk.{314}

Cadiz is celebrated for its guitars. Those made by Juan Pajez and his son Josef rank with the violins and tenors of Straduarius and Amati: the best have a backboard of dark wood, called Palo Santo: they are now scarce and dear. Cadiz is famous also for its Esteras, or mattings made of a flat reed, or junco, which grows near Lepe, which are used instead of carpets. They are very pretty, and worked in fanciful Oriental patterns: they are cheap, may be made to any design for six to eight reals the vara. The duty on entering England is trifling: they last long, and are very cool, clean, and pleasant, as a summer substitute for carpets. It is worth while to visit one of the manufactories and see the operatives squatted down, and working exactly as the Egyptians did 3000 years ago.

Cadiz, long called Cales by the English, although the oldest town in Europe, looks one of the newest and cleanest; the latter quality is the work of an Irishman, the Governor O'Reilly, who, about 1785, introduced an English system. It is well built, paved, and lighted. The Spaniards compare it to a taza de plata, a silver dish. It rises on a rocky peninsula, (shaped like a ham,) some ten to fifty feet above the sea, which girds it around, a narrow isthmus alone connecting the main land. Gaddir, in Punic, meant an enclosed place (Fest. Av. Or. Mar. 273). It was founded by the Phœnicians 287 years before Carthage, 347 years before Rome, and 1100 B.C. (Arist. 'De Mir.' 134; Vel. Pat. i. 2. 6). Gaddir was corrupted by the Greeks, who caught at sound, not sense, into Γαδειρα quasi γης δειρα, and by the Romans into Gades. The antiquities of Cadiz are collected in the 'Grandezas,' by J^n. B^a. Suarez de Salazar, 4to., Cadiz, 1610; and again in the 'Emporio de el Orbe,' Geronimo de la Concepcion, folio, Amsterdam, 1690.

Gaddir was the end of the ancient world, the "ladder of the outer sea," the mart of the tin of England, and the amber of the Baltic. The Phœnicians, jealous of their monopoly, permitted no stranger to pass beyond it, and self has ever since been the policy of Cadiz. Gaddir proved false to the Phœnicians when Carthage became powerful; and, again, when Rome rose in the ascendant, deserted Carthage in her turn, some Gaditanian refugees volunteering the treachery. (Livy, xxviii. 23.) Cæsar, whose first office was a quæstorship in Spain, saw, like the Duke (Disp. Feb. 27, 1810), the importance of this key of Andalucia. (Bell. C., ii. 17.) He strengthened it with works, and when Dictator gave imperial names to the city, "Julia Augusta Gaditana," and a fondness for fine epithets is still a characteristic of its townsfolk. Gades become{315} enormously rich, by engrossing the salt-fish monopoly of Rome: its merchants were princes. Balbus rebuilt it with marble, setting an example even to Augustus.

Gades was the great lie and lion of antiquity; nothing was too absurd for the classical handbooks. It was their Venice, or Paris; the centre of sensual civilization, the purveyor of gastronomy, &c. Italy imported from it those improbæ Gaditanæ, whose lascivious dances were of Oriental origin, and still exist in the Romalis of the Andalucian gipsies. The prosperity of Gades fell with that of Rome. The foundation of Constantinople dealt the first blow to both. Then came the Goths, who destroyed the city; and when Alonzo el Sabio—the learned, not wise—captured Kádis from the Moors, Sept. 14, 1262, its existence was almost doubted by the infallible Urban IV. As the discovery of the New World revived the prosperity of a place which alone can exist by commerce, so the loss of the Transatlantic colonies has been its ruin. Hence the constant struggle during the war, to expend on their recovery the means furnished by England for the defence of the Peninsula. Cadiz, in the war time, contained 100,000 souls; now the population is under 56,000. It was made a free warehousing port in 1829; this was abolished in 1832, since which it is rapidly decaying. It cannot compete with Gibraltar and Malaga, while even the sherry trade is passing to the Puerto and San Lucar. For the ancient geography of Cadiz, and the temple of Hercules, the precise type of a Spanish convent, see 'Quar. Rev.' cxxvi. 1.

Cadiz has often been besieged. It was taken, in 1596, by Lord Essex, when Elizabeth repaid, with interest, the visit of the Spanish invincible armada. The expedition was so secretly planned, that none on board, save the chiefs, knew its destination. An officer, named Wm. Morgan, who having lived in Spain was aware of the bisoño condition of all the fortresses, advised an immediate attack, and on the land side. The garrison was utterly unprepared, and "wanting in everything at the critical moment;" the English got in through an unfinished portion of the defences. Antonio de Zuñiga, the corregidor, was the first to run and fall to his prayers, when every one else followed their leader's example, to "the perpetual shame and infamy of the bragging Spaniards," says Marbeck, an eye-witness. They were true fore-fathers of the modern junta of Cadiz in 1823, but unworthy leaders have always been the curse of the ill-fated Spanish people.