Things Seen in Spain — Chapter 5, Country Life in Spain, Part 2
[Picture: Pottery vendors in a Spanish Market] Their love of festivals is shared by all Spaniards, and everywhere holiday-making is a part of life.
In the country districts, as in the towns, the _Pascua de Resurrección_ of Easter is the most popular festival, when the days are spent in a curious combination of religious ceremonial and holiday-making.
It was my good fortune to spend one Easter in a mountain village, where I had an opportunity of seeing the customs of the people of old Spain.
On Palm Sunday the village was filled to overflowing with peasants, many of whom had travelled long distances, riding on mules or driving in the wooden ox-carts, from the hamlets among the mountains.
They were dressed in the native costumes.
The men wore velvet breeches adorned with silver buttons, and leather gaiters, open to show the calves; bright sashes of red or yellow silk; jackets of brown cloth, with embroidered cuffs and collars; blue or maroon cloaks, brightly lined; and pointed hats, adorned with silver tassels.
The fantastic dress gave the scene an aspect more African than European.
The women were not so gay, and were almost universally attired in black; but the _mantilla_ with the white flower, which all wore, gave them an incomparable grace.
All day the streets were filled with bustle and life.
Vendors of palms were stationed in every corner selling their wares, while boys ran to and fro among the crowds with arms full of olive branches.
The great function was the procession, when the _pasos_ were carried through the streets after the celebration of Mass.
In the _plaza_ a stand had been erected, and every seat was filled; people crowded the pavements, and in the balconies of every house men and women were closely packed.
The gendarmes of the little town walked first, marching gravely, the representatives of law and order; then followed the children, clad in white, and bearing the consecrated palms and olive branches; while after them came the priests, dressed in robes richly embroidered and trimmed with lace.
Upon the shoulders of hidden bearers was carried the litter, illuminated with hundreds of candles, upon which rested the figure of the Virgin, the patron saint of the village.
The image was hideous, quite without beauty, and decked out in cheap tawdry finery, strangely incongruous.
But to the peasants she was the Mother of God.
I saw no sign of levity; the attitude of the men as well as of the women was perfectly dignified, perfectly religious.
All eyes were riveted upon the sacred figure, heads were bared, and each man and woman bowed and made the sign of the cross as the lighted litter passed.
Prayers were murmured and blessings invoked.
“Holy Mother, cause the crops to ripen,” “the sick child to be healed,” “the lover’s heart to soften”—such were the cries of the women.
Children pressed forward, dodging unchecked among the gendarmes and priests, clamouring for a blessing.
One small _niña_ knelt upon the pavement in front of the _pasos_, holding up a white carnation in offering.
A priest stepped forward, took the flower, and placed it upon the litter.
To the children of the village the Easter days brought special enjoyment.
The part they played in the festival was a strange one, giving an example of the old-world customs that live so persistently in Spain.
On the _Viernes Santo_, or Good Friday, each boy and girl went to church armed with a horn and large wooden clapper, upon which strange instruments they played to frighten the spirit of the traitor Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Señor Dios, the name by which they quaintly designate the Saviour.
They blew and rattled with a will, and the hideous, deafening noise mingled strangely with the music of the Mass, for the evil spirit must not escape.
Incomprehensible survival of an old superstition, blending the grotesque with the most sacred service of the Church—how often the stranger is surprised in Spain!
[Picture: A Basque peasant-girl driving an ox-cart] The Spaniards are more friendly with one another than any people that I know.
The stranger will realize this travelling in the third-class trains, as he must in the country districts, where the expresses do not stop.
These trains are known as _mixto_, and convey luggage as well as passengers.
The carriages are uncomfortable, and not always clean, and the speed is very slow.
Patience is a quality that the visitor to Spain must cultivate.
The train may start before the advertised time; it may be an hour late.
No Spaniard is disturbed by such trifles.
At the stations there is always a crowd of people waiting.
There is a kind of fatalistic patience in their appearance; they seem not so much to be waiting for a particular train, as hoping that presently a train will come that will take them to their destination.
Even when the train arrives there is no hurrying; a start will not be made until everyone is ready, for punctuality is a small virtue compared with politeness.
The long-drawn cry of _A-a-gua fresco_!
is always heard.
Much time is occupied, as everyone in the train seems to want to drink.
In the carriages the company talk together with excessive volubility, and have the appearance of being members of one family.
As soon as you enter questions will be asked.
“Where are you going to?
” “Are you Francéses or Ingléses?
” “Why have you come to visit their country?
” “Are you married, and is the señor who is with you your husband?
” “How many children have you?
” “How old are you?
” “Why do you wear a hat, and not a _mantilla_?
” “And how is it you have no earrings and no fan?
” You will soon become accustomed to this interrogation, which is made with no hint of familiarity, and is the outcome of a friendliness that wishes to make the stranger at home.
The natives seem to be without a thought of themselves, and incapable of considering personal comfort.
They will crowd upon one seat of the carriage to give the English strangers more room.
If the weather is cold, they will insist upon giving you their cloaks.
They talk to you incessantly, explaining to you the scenery and various places through which the train passes, with delightful childish enthusiasm.
They will offer you everything in their possession that you chance to admire.
[Picture: Sherry a half-century old, Jerez] I remember saying to a little Spanish maid, “What a beautiful carnation in your hair!
” Off came the flower.
“It is at your disposal, señora.
” I protested with the fitting answer: “A thousand thanks, but, no, I could not accept.
” But the offer was quite sincere, and, in spite of protest, the flower was fastened into my hair, amidst the compliments and congratulations of every occupant of the carriage.
On another journey a fan and a beautiful peasant brooch, which I rashly admired, were pressed upon me with the same delightful politeness.
When meal-time arrives, each peasant brings out the _alforja_, or embroidered wallet, which Sancho Panza kept so well filled.
A huge Spanish loaf is produced, and some of the long thin garlic sausages.
Slices of the bread are cut to serve as plates.
But before the meal is begun a hearty _gusta_ invites all the other occupants to share in the feast.
It is customary at this stage to refuse, and “Muchas gracias” is politely murmured.
Soon the black-leather wine-bottle is brought out of the wallet and a packet of some kind of sweetmeat.
Now is the time for acceptance; the bottle is handed round for everyone to drink, and small pieces of the sweetmeat are divided.
It is a charming experience, provided that you have acquired the skill to drink from that curious long-spouted bottle of leather.
And if you fail, the Spaniards will enjoy the task of teaching you the art.
But, indeed, there is no limit to the helpful friendliness of these simple happy people.
On one occasion a workman abandoned his own journey, and, in spite of our protests, came with us.
When we arrived at our destination, he spent several hours in assisting us to find suitable lodgings in the village in which we had planned to stay, where there was no regular house of hospitality.
He introduced us to the inhabitants of the place as his friends, and expended much energy to insure our comfort.
It is only when work is profitable that the Spaniard is ever lazy.
He delights to expend an immense amount of effort, which may not be considered useful, so long as the work makes appeal to his Spanish love of romantic effects.
It is because this trait is so often overlooked by the stranger, who too quickly condemns “the lazy Spaniards,” that I recount this characteristic incident.
Our friend was genuinely surprised when we offered payment for his services; there was a note of dignified sorrow in the “Muchas gracias” of his refusal.
It had been a privilege to assist _los Ingléses_, whom he admired.
Had he not once visited our country?
We were a great people.
He desired that we should think well of his country.
All he would accept was to share our meal, after which he left us—I suppose, to continue his own journey.
Among the mountains and in many country districts there are still no railways.
The stranger who travels here has to use the diligences, which on certain days in the week run from the nearest town to the outlying hamlets.
The diligence is a kind of coach without springs.
I know of no other conveyance so uncomfortable, except the long car of Ireland.
It is drawn by a team of gaunt mules, usually six in number, with gay harness, and each animal has jangling bells around its neck.
The driver wears a picturesque dress: a brown jacket with coloured collar, a red sash and knee-breeches, and a peaked hat adorned with tassels.
He drives with a tremendous amount of noise, stamping his feet, shouting, and brandishing his whip.
He beats incessantly the wretched mules.
The coach is kept at full gallop, and ascends and descends the steep hills with a rapidity which is often alarming; but accidents are rare, owing to the sure-footedness of the mules.
[Picture: Ruins of the Old Aqueduct, which supplied the Alhambra with water, Granada] It was when travelling in these mountainous districts that we gained some knowledge of the wild animals of Spain.
We were often near to the haunts of boars, wolves, and deer.
Bears are common in many hilly districts, and that fine wild creature, the ibex, ranges the peaks of the higher mountains.
Foxes are plentiful everywhere, and the wild-cat is far from scarce.
The marten is often found, and otters live in most of the rivers.
The swamps and ponds are filled with big green frogs, and lizards of the same colour are common.
The frogs are much larger than the English frog, and their peculiar cry, a sort of monotonous rumbling, is so loud that it can be heard a mile away.
The legs of these green frogs are a table delicacy much esteemed in many districts.
In the country hamlets the stranger must be prepared to meet discomfort.
One of the trials will be hunger.
In the _fondas_ of the Basque provinces and in the smaller towns the fare is ample, and as a rule well cooked.
But the peasants of Central and Southern Spain are the most frugal people, who subsist on a diet that would be refused by the poorest workers in England.
For the stranger the peasants do their utmost, but the diet is limited to eggs, leathery, quite tasteless beef, hard stale bread, and thin wine.
The cooking is always indifferent.
The first meal of the day consists of a cup of chocolate or coffee, often without milk, and a lump of dry bread.
There is no butter, and no milk except goat’s milk, and, strange as it seems in this fertile land, vegetables and fruit are always scarce in the country villages.
The universal dish is _garbanzos_, a large dried pea, which is cooked with garlic as a flavour.
We spent several months fishing in these districts, and, although sometimes we fared tolerably well, more often we had to be content with indifferent and inadequate meals.
But for the sake of experience the stranger can endure discomfort with fortitude.
[Picture: Beaching fishing-boats: the Blue Mediterranean] There are numerous sport-giving rivers in all parts of Spain, which possess all the qualities for the production of fish-life.
Such rivers as the Sil and Minho contain trout as big as any in Europe.
The fishing is free, except for a licence costing about three shillings.
There can be no doubt that with proper cultivation these rivers might become a fisherman’s paradise in the course of a few years.
But a complete revision of the _ley de pesca_—fishing law—is necessary.
Rivers are not stocked, and trout hatcheries are almost unknown.
The poacher is everywhere, using snares, spears, and the deadly dynamite.
Thousands of small fish are scooped out of the small pools of the tributaries with pole-nets during dry seasons.
But, on the other hand, Spain is, happily, almost free, except in the mining districts of the north, from poisoned and contaminated waters.
There are thousands of miles of beautiful rivers with no factories, works, or big cities within many leagues of their lengths.
Then, the fish in the Spanish rivers are splendidly prolific.
Trout teem in many rivers, where the deep pools baffle the poachers, who devote their attention to the shallows and tributaries.
Salmon are found in many rivers; shad or sábalos, escalos—a kind of cross between a chub and a dace—barbel, bogas, and other coarse fish, and eels, are plentiful.
The barbel is different from the barbel of England, being a handsomer fish and not so coarse; it is more golden in colour, and the scales are less thick.
The beautiful silvery sábalos are caught in sunk nets, whose opening is concealed by a green bough which looks like water-weed, and so deceives the travelling fish.
The sábalos will not rise to any bait.
They vary from 4 pounds to 12 pounds in weight, and are an excellent fish to eat, resembling the salmon.
In all parts of Spain there are native anglers.
The tackle they use is of the rudest description—a rod made of maize stalks, with a hazel switch for the top, coarse casts, and flies clumsy and big.
But they are all keen, and many of them are clever fishermen.
At Materosa, a small hamlet on the wild Sil, some leagues from the town of Ponferrada, the peasants gain their living by fishing with the rod for trout, which they send to the market at Madrid.
I recall Estanislao, a _chico_ who fished with a great bamboo rod, which he looked too small to handle.
We talked to him.
“You are also a fisherman?
” “Yes, señora; I have fished all my life, and my father before me.
” This _chico_ was a good angler.
Standing on a great boulder, he cast with a loud swishing noise across the river, letting his dozen flies swim on the rough water.
At each cast the weight of his great rod nearly threw him into the whirling current.
But he caught more fish than we did.
We offered him a present of some of our flies.
He looked at them and smiled.
“Muchas gracias, they are very pretty.
But how can I catch big trout with these little hooks?
” He laughed till the tears ran down his face.
But in a minute he remembered the good manners in which every Spanish child is trained.
He added: “Mil gracias, señora!
Es favor que usted me hace (A thousand thanks, señora!
It is a favour you make me).
_I will keep them as toys_!
” CHAPTER VI—SPANISH ART
Spanish Art the Reflection of the Spanish Temperament—The Great Buildings of Spain—Spanish Gothic—Its Realistic Naturalness, its Massiveness and Extravagance—The Churches, the Real Museums of Art Treasures—Polychrome Sculpture—Spanish Painting—Its Late Development—Its Special Character—Its Strength, its Dramatic and Religious Character.
