pictures drawn of it by the casual tourist; and it is scarcely
surprising that it should be so. It has been well said that "the
contrast between the ideal of honour and the practice of pecuniary
corruption has always been a peculiar feature of Spain and her
settlements." If we hear one thing oftener than another said of Spain,
it is fault-finding with her public men; the evils of bribery,
corruption, and self-seeking amongst what should be her statesmen, and,
above all, her Government employees, are pointed out, and by none more
than by Spaniards themselves. There is a good deal of truth at the
bottom of these charges; they are the melancholy legacy of the years of
misrule and of the darkness through which the country has struggled on
her difficult way. No one looks for the highest type of character in any
country among its party politicians. The creed that good becomes evil if
it is carried out under one _régime_, and evil good under another, is
not calculated to raise the moral perception; and it is only when a
politician has convictions and principles which are superior to any
office-holding, and will break with his party a hundred times sooner
than stultify his own conscience, that he earns the respect of
onlookers. There are, and have been, many such men among the politicians
of Spain whose names remain as watchwords with her people; but they
have too often stood alone, and were not strong enough to leaven the
mass and raise the whole standard of political integrity. Some of the
highest and best men, moreover, have thrown down their tools and
withdrawn from contact with a life which seemed to them tainted. But
because Spain has done much in overthrowing her evil rulers and is
struggling upwards towards the light, we expect wonders, and will not
give time for what must always be a slow and difficult progress.
In Spain, everyone is a politician. The schoolboy, who with us would be
thinking of nothing more serious than football, aspires to sum up the
situation and give his opinion of the public men as if he were an
ex-prime minister at least. These orators of the _cafés_ and the street
corners are delighted to find a foreigner on whom they can air their
unfledged opinions, and the traveller who can speak or understand a few
words of Spanish comes back with wonderful accounts of what "a Spaniard
whom I met in the train told me." In any case, no one ever says as hard
things of his countrymen as a Spaniard will say of those who do not
belong to the particular little political clique which has the extreme
honour of counting himself as one of its number. These cliques - for one
cannot call them parties - are innumerable, called, for the most part,
after one man, of whom no one has heard except his particular friends,
_Un Señor muy conocido en su casa, sobre todo á la hora de comer_, as
their saying is: "A gentleman very well known in his own house,
especially at dinner-time."
[Illustration: PAST WORK]
[Illustration: KNIFE-GRINDER]
Ford is answerable for many of the fixed ideas about Spain which it
seems quite impossible to remove. Much that may have been true in the
long ago, when he wrote his incomparable Guide Book, has now passed away
with the all-conquering years; but still all that he ever said is
repeated in each new book with unfailing certainty. Much as he really
loved Spain, it must be confessed that he now and then wrote of her with
a venom and bitterness quite at variance with his usual manner of
judging things. It is in great part due to him that so much
misunderstanding exists as to the Spanish custom of "offering" what is
not intended to be accepted. If that peculiarity ever existed - for my
part, I have never met with it at any time - it does so no longer. When a
Spaniard speaks of his house as that of "your Grace" (_su casa de
Usted_), it is simply a figure of speech, which has no more special
meaning than our own "I am delighted to see you," addressed to some one
whose existence you had forgotten, and will forget again; but nothing
can exceed the generous hospitality often shown to perfect strangers in
country districts where the accommodation for travellers is bad, when
any real difficulty arises.
It is customary, for instance, in travelling, when you open your
luncheon-basket, to offer to share its contents with any strangers who
may chance to be fellow-passengers. Naturally, it is merely a form of
politeness, and, in an ordinary way, no one thinks of accepting
it - everyone has his own provision, or is intending to lunch somewhere
on the way; but it is by no means an empty form. If it should chance, by
some accident, that you found yourself without - as has happened to me in
a diligence journey which lasted twenty hours when it was intended only
to occupy twelve - the Spanish fellow-travellers will certainly insist on
your accepting their offer. Also, if they should be provided with fresh
fruit - oranges, dates, or figs - and you are not, their offer to share is
by no means made with the hope or expectation that you will say _Muchas
gracias_, the equivalent of "No, thank you."
What is really difficult and embarrassing sometimes is to avoid having
pressed on your acceptance some article which you may have admired, in
your ignorance of the custom, which makes it the merest commonplace of
the Spaniard to "place it at your disposition," or to say: "It is
already the property of your Grace." Continued refusal sometimes gives
offence. The custom of never doing to-day what you can quite easily put
off till to-morrow is, unfortunately, still a common trait of Spanish
character; but as the Spaniard is rapidly becoming an alert man of
business, it is not likely that that will long remain one of the
national characteristics. Time in old days seemed of very little value
in a country where trade was looked upon as a disgrace, or at least as
unfitting any one to enter the charmed circle of the first _Grandeza_;
but that is of the past now in Spain, as in most countries. To be sure,
it has not there become fashionable for ladies to keep bonnet-shops or
dress-making establishments, nor to open afternoon tea-rooms or
_orchaterias_, still less to set up as so-called financiers, as it has
with us. However, even that may come to pass in the struggle for "_el_
high life," of which some of the Spanish writers complain so bitterly.
Imagination absolutely refuses, however, to see the Spanish woman of
rank in such surroundings.
For the rest, the Spanish woman, wherever you meet her, and in whatever
rank of society, is devout, naturally kind-hearted and sympathetic,
polite, and entirely unaffected; a good mother, sister, daughter;
hard-working and frugal, if she be of the lower class; fond above all
things of gossip, and of what passes for conversation; light-hearted,
full of fun and harmless mischief; born a coquette, but only with that
kind of coquetry which is inseparable from unspoiled sex, with no taint
of sordidness about it; and, before all things, absolutely free from
affectation. Their own expression, _muy simpática_, gives better than
any other the charm of the Spanish woman, whether young or old, gentle
or simple.
It was the possession of all these qualities in a high degree by Doña
Isabel II. that covered the multitude of her sins, and made all who
came within her influence speak gently of her, and think more of excuses
than of blame. It is these qualities which give so much popularity to
her daughter, the Infanta Isabel, who, like her mother, is above all
things _muy Española_. That the Spanish woman is passionate, goes
without saying; one only has to watch the quick flash of her
eye - "throwing out sparks," as their own expression may be
translated - to be aware of that. While the eyes of the men are for the
most part languid, only occasionally flashing forth, those of the women
are rarely quiet for a moment; they sparkle, they languish, they
flame - a whole gamut of expression in one moment of time; and it must be
confessed that they look upon man as their natural prey.
CHAPTER IV
SPANISH SOCIETY
There is something specially charming about Spanish society, its freedom
from formality, the genuine pleasure and hospitality with which each
guest is received, and the extreme simplicity of the entertainment. In
speaking, however, of society in Madrid and other modern towns, it must
be remembered that the old manners and customs are to a great extent
being modified and assimilated with those of the other Continental
cities. A great number of the Spanish nobility spend the season in Paris
or in London as regularly as any of the fashionable people in France or
England. There is no country life in Spain, as we understand the word;
those of the upper ten thousand who have castles or great houses in the
provinces rarely visit them, and still more rarely entertain there. A
hunting or a shooting party at one of these is quite an event; so when
the great people leave Madrid, it is generally to enter into London or
Paris society, and, naturally, when they are at home they to a great
extent retain cosmopolitan customs. At the foreign legations or
ministries also, society loses much of its specially Spanish character.
The word _tertulia_ simply means a circle or group in society; but it
has come to signify a species of "At Home" much more informal than
anything we have in the way of evening entertainment. The _tertulia_ of
a particular lady means the group of friends who are in the habit of
frequenting her drawing-room. The Salon del Prado is the general
meeting-place of all who feel more inclined for _al fresco_
entertainment than for close rooms, and the different groups of friends
meeting there draw their chairs together in small circles, and thus hold
their _tertulia_. The old Countess of Montijo was so much given to
open-handed hospitality, and it was so easy for any English person to
obtain an introduction to her _tertulia_, that her daughter, the Empress
Eugénie, used to call it the _Prado cubierto_ - "only the Prado with a
roof on." It is not customary for anything but the very lightest of
refreshments to be offered at the ordinary _tertulia_, and this is one
of its great charms, for little or no expense is incurred, and those who
are not rich can still welcome their friends as often as they like
without any of the terrific preparations for the entertainment which
make it a burden and a bore, and without a rueful glance at the weekly
bill afterwards. Occasionally, chocolate is handed round, and any amount
of tumblers of cold water. The chocolate is served in small coffee-cups,
and is of the consistency of oatmeal porridge; but it is delicious all
the same, very light and well frothed up. It is "eaten" by dipping
little finger-rusks or sponge-chips into the mixture, and you are
extremely glad of the glass of cold water after it. This is, however,
rather an exception; lemonade, _azucarillas_ and water, or tea served in
a separate room about twelve o'clock, is more usual. The _azucarilla_ is
a confection not unlike "Edinburgh rock," but more porous and of the
nature of a meringue. You stir the water with it, when it instantly
dissolves, flavouring the water with vanilla, lemon, or orange, as well
as sugar. Sometimes you are offered meringues, which you eat first, and
then drink the water.
I have a very perfect recollection of my first _tertulia_ in Madrid,
when I was a very young girl. We had been asked to go quite early, as we
were the strangers of the evening. Between seventy and eighty guests
dropped in, the ladies chiefly in morning dress, as we understand the
word. A Spanish lady never rises to receive a gentleman; but when any
ladies entered the large drawing-room where we were all seated, every
one rose and stood while the new arrivals made the circuit of the room,
shaking hands with their friends or kissing them on both cheeks, and
giving a somewhat undignified little nod to those whom they did not
know. The first time every one rose I thought we were going to sing a
hymn, or take part in some ceremony; but as it had to be repeated each
time a lady entered the room, I began to wish they would all come at
once. As soon as the dancing began, however, this ceremony was
discontinued. When you are introduced to a partner, the first thing he
does is to inquire your Christian name; from that time forth he
addresses you by it, as if he had known you from infancy, and in
speaking to him you are expected to use his surname alone. If there be
more than one brother, you address the younger one as "Arturo," "Ramon,"
or whatever his Christian name may be. The diminutives are, however,
almost always used - Pacquita, Juanito, etc., in place of Francisca or
Juan. Even the middle-aged and old ladies are always spoken to by their
Christian names, and it is quite common to hear a child of six
addressing a lady who is probably a grandmother as "Luisa" or
"Mariquita."
Between the dances the pauses were unusually long, but they were never
spent by the ladies sitting in rows round the walls, while the men
blocked up the doorways and looked bored. There were no "flirting
corners," and sitting out on the stairs _Ã deux_ would have been a
_compromiso_. The whole company broke up into little knots and circles,
the chairs, which had been pushed into corners or an ante-room, were
fetched out, and the men, without any sort of shyness, generally seated
themselves in front of the ladies, and kept up a perfectly wild hubbub
of conversation until the music for the next dance struck up. Dowagers
and _dueñas_ were few; they sat in the same spot all the evening, and
asked each other what rent they paid, how many _chimeneas_ (fireplaces)
they had, whether they burned wood or coal, and lamented over the price
of both. They reminded one irresistibly of the "two crumbly old women"
in _Kavanagh_ "who talked about moths, and cheap furniture, and the best
cure for rheumatism."
The dances were the same as ours, with some small differences: the
_rigodon_ is a variation of the quadrille, and the lancers are slightly
curtailed. There was a decided fancy for the polka and a species of
mazurka, which I remembered having learned from a dancing-master in the
dawn of life, under some strange and forgotten name. Spaniards dance
divinely - nothing less. They waltz as few other men do, a very poetry of
motion, an abandonment of enjoyment, as if their soul were in it,
especially if the music be somewhat languid. This is especially the case
with the artillery officers, who are great favourites in society, and
belong exclusively to the upper ranks.
I have described this _tertulia_ at length because it was a typical one
of many. The cotillon was a great favourite, and generally closed the
evening. I always had an idea that one cause of its popularity was the
extended opportunities it gave for a couple who found each other's
company pleasant to enjoy it without much interference. It rather made
up for the loss of the staircase and the window-seats, or balconies,
dear to English dancers. The rooms are generally kept in a stifling
state of heat, a thick curtain always hanging over the door, and never
an open window or any kind of ventilation; this, however, does not
inconvenience the Spaniard in the least. It is usual to smoke during the
intervals of the dances - cigarettes as a rule; but I have often known a
man to lay his cigar on the edge of a table, and give it a whiff between
the rounds of a _valse_ to keep it going.
This, however, is the Spanish _tertulia_. You are "offered the house"
once and for always, and told the evenings on which your hostess
"receives," generally once, sometimes many more times in the week; then
you drop in, without further invitation, whenever you feel inclined;
after the opera, or on the days when there is no opera, or on your way
from the theatre, or at any hour. This sort of visiting puts an end to
what we, by courtesy, call "morning calls." There is always conversation
to any amount, generally cards, music, and, when there are sufficient
young people, a dance.
There is no exclusiveness and no caste about Spanish society; all the
houses are open, and the guests are always welcome. There are, of
course, the houses of the nobility, and there are many grades in this
_Grandeza_, some being of very recent creation, others of the
uncontaminated _sangre azul_; but there is no hard-and-fast line. The
successful politician or the popular writer has the entrée anywhere,
and there is no difficulty about going into the very best of the Court
society, if one has friends in that _tertulia_. One guest asks
permission to present his or her friend, the permission is courteously
granted, and the thing is done. Poets and dramatists are in great
request in Madrid society. It is the custom to ask them to recite their
own compositions, and as almost every Spaniard is a poet, whatever else
he may be, there is no lack of entertainment. All the popular
authors - Campoamor, Nuñez de Arce, Pelayo, Valera, and many others - may
thus be heard; but the paid performer (so common in London
drawing-rooms) of music, light drama, or poetical recitation, is
probably absolutely unknown in Madrid society.
During the season balls are given occasionally at the Palace, and at the
houses of the great nobility, the Fernan-Nuñez, the Romana, the
Medinaceli, and others, whose names are as well known in Paris and
London as in Madrid. Dinner-parties are also becoming much more common
in private houses than they were before the Restoration, and as for
public dinners, they are so frequent that they bid fair to become of the
same importance as the like institution in England. Costume balls,
dances, dinners, and evening entertainments among the _corps
diplomatique_ abound. Everyone in Madrid has a box or stall at the
Teatro Real, or opera-house, and many ladies make a practice of
"receiving" in their _palcos_; and in the entrance-hall, after the
performance is over, an hour may be spent, while ostensibly waiting for
carriages, in conversation, gossip, mild flirtation, and generally
making one's self agreeable among the groups all engaged in the same
amusement. Almost everyone, also, whatever his means may be, has an
_abono_ at one or other of the numerous theatres, sometimes at more than
one; and if it be a box, the subscribers take friends with them, or
receive visits there. It is a common thing, either in the opera-house or
in the theatres, for a couple of friends to join in the _abono_; in this
case it is arranged on which nights the whole box or the two or three
stalls shall be the property of each in turn. Besides paying for the
seats, there is always a separate charge each night made for the
_entrada_ - in the Teatro Real it is a peseta and a half, in the others
one peseta. By this arrangement anyone can enter the theatre by paying
the _entrada_, and take chance of finding friends there, frequently
spending an hour or so going from one box to another. All this gives the
theatre more the air of being an immense "At Home" than what we are
accustomed to in England. The intervals between the acts are very long,
and, as all the men smoke, somewhat trying.
Spanish women are great dressers, and the costumes seen at the
race-meetings at the Hippodrome, and in the Parque, are elaborately
French, and sometimes startling. The upper middle class go to Santander,
Biarritz, or one of the other fashionable watering-places, and it is
said of the ladies that they only stop as many days as they can sport
new costumes. If they go for a fortnight they must have fifteen
absolutely new dresses, as they would never think of putting one on a
second time. They take with them immense trunks, such as we generally
associate with American travellers; these are called _mundos_
(worlds) - a name which one feels certain was given by the suffering man
who is expected to look after them.
There are many little details in Spanish life, even of the upper
classes, which strike one as odd. One, for instance, is the perfect
_sangfroid_ with which they pick their teeth in public; but so little is
this considered, as with us, a breach of good manners, that the
dinner-tables are supplied with dainty little ornaments filled with
tooth-picks, and these are handed round to the guests by the waiters
towards the close of the meal. Nor is it an unknown thing for a Spanish
lady to spit. I have seen it done out of a carriage window in the
fashionable drive without any hesitation. At the same time, as one of
the great charms of a Spanish woman is the total absence in her of
anything savouring of affectation, one would far sooner overlook customs
that are unknown in polite society with us than have them lose their own
characteristics in an attempt to imitate the social peculiarities of
other nations that have incorporated the ominous word "snob" in their
vocabularies. It has no equivalent in the language of Castile, and it
is to be hoped will never be borrowed. Nevertheless, a recent Spanish
writer laments the fact that in the race for "_el_ high life" his
fellow-countrywomen "are not ashamed to drink whisky!" We have yet to
learn that whisky-drinking among women is an element of good style in
any class of English society. The idea that Spanish ladies were in the
habit of smoking in past times is a mistake. If they do so now it is an
instance of the race for "_el_ high life," of which the writer quoted
above complains.
In imitation of foreign customs, many of the ladies in Madrid and the
more modern cities have established their "day" for afternoon visitors.
After all, this is but the Spanish _tertulia_ at a different hour, but
if it should ever supersede the real evening _tertulia_ it will be a
thousand pities; it would be far more sensible if we were to adopt the
Spanish custom, rather than that they should follow ours. In the
evening, the hour varying, of course, with the time of year, all Madrid
goes to drive, ride, or walk in the Buen Retiro, now called the Parque
de Madrid. It is beautifully laid out, with wide, well-kept roads and
well-cared-for gardens; it has quite superseded the Paseo de la Fuente
Castellano, which used to be the "Ladies' Mile" of Madrid.
Madrid is a city of which one hears the most contradictory accounts. The
mere traveller not uncommonly pronounces it "disappointing, uninteresting,
less foreign than most Continental capitals," - "everything to be seen at
best second-rate France," etc., etc. The Museo, of course, must be
admired, - even the most ignorant know that to contemn that is to write
themselves down as Philistines; - but for the rest, they confess themselves
glad to escape, after two or three days spent in La Corte, to what they
fancy will prove more interesting towns, or, at any rate, to something
which they hope will be more characteristic. But those who settle in
Madrid, or know it well, winter and summer, and have friends among its
hospitable people, come to love it, one might almost say, strangely,
because it is not the love that springs from habit or mere familiarity,
but something much warmer and more personal. One charm it has, which is
felt while there and pleasantly remembered in absence - its much-maligned
climate. The position of Madrid at the apex of a high table-land, two
thousand one hundred and sixty feet above the level of the sea, with its
wide expanse of plain on every hand but that on which the Guadarramas
break the horizon with their rugged, often snow-capped, peaks, naturally
exposes it to rapid changes of temperature; that is to say, that if the
snow is still lying on the Sierra, and the wind should chance to blow from
that direction on Madrid, which is steeped in sunshine winter and summer
for far the greater part of the year, there is nothing to break its course,
and naturally, a Madrileño, crossing from the sheltered corner, where
he has been "taking the sun," to the shady side of the street and the
full force of the chilly blast, will be very likely to "catch an air,"
as the Spaniard expresses it. But that _tan sutil aire de Madrid_, which
Ford seems to have discovered, and which every guide-book and slip-shod
itinerary has ever since quoted, might very well now be allowed to find
a place in the limbo of exploded myths; it has done far more than its
duty in terrifying visitors quite needlessly. That _pulmonia fulminante_
(acute pneumonia) is a very common disease among the men of Madrid,
there is no doubt, and in the days when Ford wrote, they were no doubt
immediately bled, and so hastened on their way out of this troublesome
world by the doctors; but one has not very far to seek for the cause of