Spanish Life in Town and Country Part 4

Alfonso XIII., born a king after his father's death, has always been rather a delicate boy; his mother has determined that his health and his education shall be the first and chief care of her life, and nothing turns her from this purpose. If she has never been exactly popular, she has at least the unbounded respect and admiration of the people. She does not love the "bulls," and, therefore, she is not _Espanola_ enough to awaken enthusiasm; she keeps the boy King too much out of sight, so that his people scarcely know him, even in Madrid; but this is the very utmost that anyone has to say against her, while all shades of politicians, even to declared Republicans, speak of her with respect and with real admiration of her qualities of heart and mind.

All Court gaieties are, however, at an end. Once a year or so a ball at the palace, a formal dinner, or reception, when it cannot be avoided--that is all, and for the rest the Queen is rarely seen except at religious ceremonies or state functions, and the King, never. He is supposed to take his amus.e.m.e.nts and exercise in the Casa de Campo, and rarely crosses Madrid.

Numerous stories used to be told of his precocity as a child, and of his smart sayings; sometimes of his generosity and sympathy with the poor and suffering. Now one is told he is somewhat of a pickle, but fables about royalty may always be received with more than a grain of salt. One of the stories told of him, which ought to be true, since it has the ring of childhood about it, is well known. When a small boy, his Austrian governess, of whom he was very fond, reproved him for using his knife in place of a fork. "Gentlemen never do so," she said. "But I am a King," he replied. "Kings, still less, eat with their knives," said the governess. "_This_ King does," was the composed reply of the child.

The etiquette of the Spanish Court, although it was much modified by Alfonso XII., is still very formal. A perfectly infinite number of _mayordomos, caballerizos, gentiles hombres de casa y boca, ujieres, alabarderos, monteros_, aides-de-camp, _Grandes de Espana de servicio_, ladies-in-waiting, lackeys, servants, and attendants of every possible description abound. A man going to an audience with royalty uncovers as he enters the Palace. First, he will find the _alabardero de servicio_ placed at the entrance of the vestibule; farther on, more _alabarderos_.

Whenever a Grande de Espana, a prelate, a grand cross, or a t.i.tle of Castile pa.s.ses, these guards strike the marble floor with their arms--a noise which may well cause the uninitiated to start. Three halls are used for grouping, according to their rank, those who are about to be presented: first, the _saleta_, where ordinary people--all the world, in fact--wait; next, the _camara_, for those who have t.i.tles or wear the grand cross; third, the _antecamara_, reserved for the Grandes of Spain, and _gentiles hombres en ejercio_. The Grandes of Spain, chamberlains of the King, share between them the service of his Majesty. They are called in rotation, one day's notice being given before they are expected to attend in the Palace. In the ante-chamber of the King there is always the _Grande_ in waiting, the lady-in-waiting on the Queen, two aides-de-camp, and a _gentil hombre del interior_ (the last must not be confounded with the _gentiles hombres en ejercicio_, who have the right to enter the ante-chamber). There are, of course, equerries (_caballerizos_) who attend, as ours do, on horseback, when the King or Queen goes out; but the most essentially Spanish attendants are the Monteros de Espinosa, who have the exclusive right to watch while Royalty sleeps. These attendants must all be born in Espinosa; it is an hereditary honour, and the wives of the existing Monteros are careful to go to Espinosa when they expect an addition to their family, as no one not actually born there can hold the office. At the present time this guard is recruited from captains or lieutenants on the retired list.

In the ante-chamber of each member of the Royal Family two of these take their place at eleven o'clock; they never speak, never sit down, but pa.s.s the whole night pacing the room, crossing each other as they go, until morning relieves them from what must be rather a trying watch. At eleven o'clock each evening there is a solemn procession of servants and officials in imposing uniforms down the grand staircase of the Palace; every door is closed and locked by a gentleman wearing an antique costume and a three-cornered hat, and having an enormous bunch of keys.

From that time the Palace remains under the exclusive charge of the Monteros de Espinosa. Although this is the official programme, it is to be hoped the hour is not a fixed one. It would be a little cruel to put the Royal Family to bed so early, without regard to their feelings; especially as Madrid is essentially a city of late hours, and the various members of it would have to scamper away from opera, or in fact any entertainment, as if some malignant fairy were wanting to cast a spell at the witching hour of midnight. There are some curious superst.i.tions, however, about being abroad when the clocks strike twelve, which we must suppose do not now affect the Madrileno.

While the old church of Atocha was still standing, the Court, with a royal escort, or what is called _escadron de salut_, all the dignitaries of the Palace in attendance, guards, outriders, etc., in gorgeous array, drove in half state (_media gala_) across Madrid and the _paseos_ to hear the _salut "sa'nt"_ on Sat.u.r.day. The Queen Regent and her daughters, but not often the King, now visit in turn some of the churches, but without the old state or regularity.

Since the death of Alfonso XII., many of the purely Spanish customs of the Court have been modified or discontinued. Although the late King was credited with a desire to reduce the civil list, and to adopt more English customs, he was to some extent in the hands of the Conservatives, who had been the means of his restoration, and when he went forth to put an end to the Carlist insurrection and finish the civil war, which had laid desolate the Northern provinces and ruined commerce and industry for some seven years, it was at the head of a personal following of over five hundred people. Nor was the Court much, if any, less numerous when the Royal Family removed in the summer to the lovely Palace of St. Ildefonso at La Granja--that castle in the air, which has no equal in Europe, hanging, as it does, among gardens, forests, rivers, and lakes, three thousand eight hundred and forty feet above the level of the sea.

The Queen is Austrian, and she has never gone out of her way to conciliate the people by making herself really Spanish. This she has left to the Infanta Isabel, the eldest sister of Alfonso XII. For many years before the birth of her brother, the Infanta Isabel was Princess of Asturias, as heiress apparent of the Crown. With the advent of a boy, she became, of course, only Infanta, losing the rank which she had held up to this time. Being but a child at the time, she perhaps knew or cared little for any difference it may have made in her surroundings.

She shared in the flight of the Royal Family to France in 1868, and her education was completed in Paris. When the whirligig of Spanish politics called her brother Alfonso, who at the time was a military student at Sandhurst, to the throne from which his mother had been driven, Princess Isabel returned with him to Madrid, and was once more installed in the Palace, above the Manzanares, as Princess of Asturias. This rank remained hers during the short episode of her brother's marriage to his cousin Mercedes, and the melancholy death of the girl Queen at the moment when a direct heir to the throne was expected. Once more, when the daughter of Alfonso's second wife, the present Queen Regent, was born, the Infanta Isabel became her t.i.tle, and she took again the lower rank.

Nothing in history is more pathetic than this first marriage of Alfonso XII. and its unhappy termination. The children of Queen Isabel and those of her sister, the Duquesa de Montpensier, had been brought up together, and there was a boy-and-girl attachment between the Prince of Asturias and his cousin Mercedes. When Alfonso became King, almost as it seemed by accident, and it was thought necessary that he should marry, the boy gravely a.s.sured his Ministers that he was quite willing to do so, and in fact intended to marry his cousin. Nothing could be more inopportune, nothing more contrary to the welfare of the distracted country! From the time that the notorious "Spanish marriages" had become facts, the Duke of Montpensier had been an intriguer. The birth of heirs to the throne of Spain (it is useless to go back to those long-past scandals) had completely upset the machinations of Louis Philippe and his Ministers.

So long as Don Francisco de a.s.sis and the Spanish nation chose to acknowledge the children as legitimate, there was nothing to be done.

The direct hope of seeing his sons Kings of Spain faded from the view of the French husband of the sister of Isabel II., but he never for one moment ceased to intrigue. Although loaded with benefits and kindness by the Queen, Montpensier took no small part in the revolution which drove her from the country. Topete, and Serrano--who had once been what the Spaniards called _Pollo Real_ himself--were bound in honour to uphold his candidature for the vacant throne; their promise had been given long before the _p.r.o.nunciamiento_ at Cadiz had made successful revolution possible. Prim alone stood firm: "_Jamas, jamas!_" (Never, never!) he replied to every suggestion to bring Montpensier forward. In those words he signed his own death-warrant. His actual murderers were never brought to justice, ostensibly were never found; but there never was a Spaniard who doubted that the foul deed was the result of instigation.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN THE WOODS AT LA GRANJA]

To have Mercedes as Queen Consort, was to bring her father once more within the limits of practical interference with national politics. To all remonstrance, however, the young King had one answer: "I have promised," and the nation, recognising that as a perfectly valid argument, acquiesced, though with many forebodings. The marriage took place, and within a few months the girl Queen was carried with her unborn child to the melancholy Panteon de los Principes at the Escorial.

The marriage of the Infanta Isabel with Count Girgenti, a Neapolitan Bourbon, was an unhappy one, and she obtained a legal separation from him after a very short matrimonial life. Spaniards have a perfect genius for giving apt nicknames. Scarcely was the arrangement for the marriage made known when the Count's name was changed to that of _Indecente_. He fought, however, for Isabel II. at Alcolea, which was at any rate acting more decently than did Montpensier, who had furnished large sums of money to promote the rising against his confiding sister-in-law, and, in fact, never ceased his machinations against every person and every thing that stood in his way, until death fortunately removed him from the arena of Spanish politics, his one overmastering ambition unfulfilled.

He had neither managed to ascend the throne himself, nor see any of his children seated there, except for the few months that Mercedes, "beloved of the King and of the nation," shared the throne of Alfonso XII.

The Infanta Isabel, except for the episode of her exile in France, has always lived in the Royal Palace of Madrid, having her own quarters, and her little court about her. At times she has been the b.u.t.t of much popular criticism, and even dislike, but she has outlived it all, and is now the most popular woman in Spain. It must have required no common qualities to have lived without discord--as a separated wife--with her brother and her younger sisters; then with Queen Mercedes, her cousin as well as sister-in-law; again, during the time of the King's widowhood and her own elevation to the rank of Princess of Asturias, and, finally, since the second marriage of her brother, and his untimely death, with Maria Cristina and her young nephew and nieces.

One thing is to be said in favour of Isabel II. Deprived of all ordinary education herself, as a part of the evil policy of her mother, she was careful that her own children should not have to complain of the same neglect. One and all have been thoroughly educated: the Infanta Paz, now married to a Bavarian Archduke, has shown considerable talent as a poetess; and the Infanta Isabel is universally acknowledged to be a clever and a cultivated woman, inheriting much of her mother's charm of manner, and noted for ready wit and quick repartee. Her popularity, as I have said, is great, for she is careful to keep up all the Spanish customs. She is constantly to be seen in public, and, above and beyond all things, she never fails in attendance at the bull-fight, wearing the white mantilla. This alone would cover a mult.i.tude of sins, supposing the Infanta to be credited with them; but there has never been a breath of scandal connected with her. She is very devout, and never fails in the correct religious duties and public appearances. At the fair, and on _Noche buena_, she fills her carriage with the cheap toys and sweetmeats which mean so much to Spanish children, and she must be a veritable fairy G.o.dmother to those who come within her circle. She takes a close personal interest in many sisterhoods and societies for the help of the poor. In a word, she is _muy simpatica_ and _muy Espanola_. What could one say more?

A gala procession in Madrid is something to be remembered, if it be only for the wealth of magnificent embroideries and fabrics displayed. The royal carriages are drawn by eight horses, having immense plumes of ostrich feathers, of the royal colours, yellow and red, on their heads, and gorgeous hangings of velvet, with ma.s.sive gold embroideries reaching almost to the ground; the whole of the harness and trappings glitter with gold and silk. The grooms, leading each horse, are equally magnificently attired, their dresses being also one ma.s.s of needlework of gold on velvet. Equerries, outriders, and military guards precede and surround the royal carriages, and the cavalcade is lengthened by having a _coche de respecto_, caparisoned with equal splendour, following each one in which a royal person is being conveyed. Behind come the carriages of the Grandes, according to rank, all drawn by at least six horses, with trappings little, if at all, inferior to those of the Court, and each with its enormous plume of gaily-coloured ostrich feathers, showing the livery of its owner. In addition to all this grandeur, the balconies of the great houses lining the route of the processions display priceless heirlooms of embroideries, hanging before each window from bas.e.m.e.nt to roof. If these ancient decorations could speak, what a strange story they might tell of the processions they have seen pa.s.s! In honour of the victories over the Moors; of the heroes of the New World; of the miserable murders of the _Autos-da-fe_; of the entry of the _Rey absoluto_, to inaugurate the "Terror," on to the contemptible "galas" of Isabel II., supposed to keep the people quiet; and, almost the last, the entry of Alfonso XII., after he had put an end to the Carlist war! On the day of rejoicing for "La Gloriosa" there was no such display, although all Madrid was _en fete_. It was the triumph of the people, and their heirlooms do not take the form of priceless embroideries.

In former days the receptions at the Palace were known as _besamanos_ (to kiss hand). On Holy Thursday the Royal Family and all the Court visit seven churches on foot--at least, that is the correct number, though sometimes not strictly adhered to. As no vehicular traffic is allowed on that day or on Good Friday, the streets where the royal procession pa.s.s are swept and laid with fresh sand. The ladies are in gala costume, and drag their trains behind them, all wearing the national mantilla. All Madrid also visits its seven or less number of churches, pa.s.sing without obeisance before the high altars, on which there is no Host,--as the people will tell you _su Majestad_ is dead,--and after the _funcion_ is over there is a general parade in the Puerta del Sol and the Carrera de San Geronimo, to show off the smart costumes of the ladies, while the officers sit in chairs outside the Government offices and smoke, admiring the prospect.

CHAPTER VII

POPULAR AMUs.e.m.e.nTS

Nothing strikes one so much in studying the popular customs and pleasures of Spain as the antiquity of them all. Constantly one finds one's self back in prehistoric times, and to date only from the days when Spain was a Roman province is almost modernity. No one can travel through Spain, or spend any time there, without becoming aware that, however many other forms of recreation there may be, two are universal and all-absorbing in their hold on the widely differing provinces--dancing and the bull-ring. In the Basque Provinces, the national game of _pelota_, a species of tennis, played without rackets, is still kept up, and is jealously cultivated in the larger towns, such as Vitoria, San Sebastian, and Bilbao. In Madrid at the present time it is played in large courts built on purpose, and attracts many strangers.

To view it, however, as a national sport, one should see it in some of the mountain villages, where it is still the great recreation for Sundays and religious _fiestas_. The working-cla.s.ses also play at throwing the hammer or crowbar. This is more especially the case in the Northern provinces, where the workmen are a sound, healthy, and sober race, enjoying simple and healthy amus.e.m.e.nts, and affording an excellent example to those of countries considering themselves much more highly civilised.

Pigeon-shooting, which was a great favourite with the late King Alfonso XII., and was made fas.h.i.+onable among the aristocracy in Madrid by him, is a very old sport--if it deserves the name--among the Valencians. Near La Pechina, at Valencia, where the great _tiro de las palomas_ takes place, was found, in 1759, an inscription: _Sodalicium vernarum colentes Isid_. This, Ford tells us, was an ancient _cofradia_ to Isis, which paid for her _culto_. c.o.c.k-fighting is still practised in most of the Spanish towns, as well as in Valencia, the regular c.o.c.k-pits being constantly frequented in Madrid; but it is looked upon as suited only to _barrio's bajos_, and is not much, if at all, patronised even by the middle cla.s.ses. It is said by those who have seen it to be particularly brutal; but it was never a very humanising amus.e.m.e.nt when practised by the English n.o.bility not such a very long time back.

Whatever amus.e.m.e.nts, however, may be popular in the towns, or in particular provinces, the guitar and the dance are universal. So much has been written about the Spanish national dances that an absurd idea prevails in England that they are all very shocking and indecent. It is necessary, however, to go very much out of one's way, and to pay a good round sum, to witness those gypsy dances which have come down unchanged from the remotest ages. As Ford truly says, "Their character is completely Oriental, and a.n.a.logous to the _ghawa.r.s.ee_ of the Egyptians and the Hindoo _nautch_." "The well-known statue at Naples of the Venere Callipige is the undoubted representation of a Cadiz dancing-girl, probably of Telethusa herself." These dances have nothing whatever in common with the national dances as now to be seen on the Spanish stage.

They are never performed except by gypsies, in their own quarter of Seville, and are now generally gotten up as a show for money. Men pa.s.sing through Seville go to these performances, as an exhibition of what delighted Martial and Horace, but they do not generally discuss them afterwards with their lady friends, and to describe one of these more than doubtful dances as being performed by guests in a Madrid drawing-room, as an English lady journalist did a short time ago in the pages of a respectable paper, is one of those libels on Spain which obtain currency here out of sheer ignorance of the country and the people.

Wherever two or three men and women of the lower cla.s.ses are to be seen together in Spain during their play-time, there is a guitar, with singing and dancing. The verses sung are innumerable short stanzas by unknown authors; many, perhaps, improvised at the moment. The _jota_, the _malaguena_, and the _seguidilla_ are combinations of music, song, and dance; the last two bear distinct indications of Oriental origin; each form is linked to a traditional air, with variations. The _malaguena_ is Andalusian, and the _jota_ is Aragonese; but both are popular in Castile. All are love-songs, most of them of great grace and beauty. Some writers complain that some of these dance-songs are coa.r.s.e and more or less indecent; others aver that they never degenerate into coa.r.s.eness. _Quien sabe?_ Perhaps it is a case of _Honi soit qui mal y pense_. In any case, throughout the length and breadth of Spain, outside the wayside _venta_, or the barber's shop, in the _patios_ of inns, or wherever holiday-makers congregate, there is the musician tw.a.n.ging his guitar, there are the dancers twirling about in obvious enjoyment to the accompaniment of the stamping, clapping, and encouraging cries of the onlookers, and the graceful little verse, with its probably weird and plaintive cadence:

Era tan dichoso antes De encontrarte en mi camino!

Y, sin embargo, no siento El haberte conocido.

I was so happy before I had met you on my way!

And yet there is no regret That I have learned to know you.

The _malaguena_ and the _seguidilla_, which is more complicated, are generally seen on the stage only in Madrid, where they must charm all who can appreciate the poetry of motion. The dance of the peasant in Castile is always the _jota Aragonesa_. The part the tambourine and the castanets play in these dances must be seen and heard to be understood: they punctuate not only the music, but also the movement, the sentiment, and the refrain. The Andaluces excel in playing on the castanets. These are, according to Ford, the "Baetican _crusmata_ and _crotola_ of the ancients": and _crotola_ is still a Spanish term for the tambourine.

Little children may be seen snapping their fingers or clicking two bits of slate together, in imitation of the castanet player; but the continuous roll, or succession of quick taps, is an art to be learned only by practice. The castanets are made of ebony, and are generally decorated with bunches of smart ribbons, which play a great part in the dance.

The popular instrument in the Basque and Northern provinces is the bagpipe, and the dances are quite different from those of the other parts of Spain. The _zortico zorisco_, or "evolution of eight," is danced to sound of tambourines, fifes, and a kind of flageolet--_el silbato_, resembling the rude instruments of the Roman Pifferari--probably of the same origin.

Theatrical representations have always been a very popular form of recreation among the inhabitants of the Iberian continent, from the days when the plays were acted by itinerant performers, "carrying all their properties in a sack, the stage consisting of four wooden benches, covered with rough boards, a blanket suspended at the back, to afford a green-room, in which some musician sang, without accompaniment, old ballads to enliven the proceedings." This is Cervantes's description of the national stage in the time of his immediate predecessor, Lope de Rueda.

The Spanish _zarzuela_ appears to have been the forerunner and origin of all musical farce and "opera comique," only naturalised in our country during the present generation. The theatres in all the provinces are always full, always popular; the pieces only run for short periods, a perpetual variety being aimed at by the managers--a thing easily to be understood when one remembers that the same audience, at any rate in the boxes and stalls, frequent them week in, week out. In Madrid, with a population of five hundred thousand inhabitants, there are nineteen theatres. With the exception of the first-cla.s.s theatres, the people pay two _reales_ (_5 d._) for each small act or piece, and the audience changes many times during the evening, a constant stream coming and going. Long habit and familiarity with good models have made the lower cla.s.s of playgoers critical; their judgment of a piece, or of an actor, is always good and worth having.

The religious _fiestas_ must also count among the amus.e.m.e.nts of the people in Spain. Whether it be the Holy Week in Seville or Toledo, the _Romeria_ of Santiago, the _Veladas_, or vigils, of the great festivals, or the day of Corpus Christi, which takes place on the first Thursday after Trinity Sunday--at all these the people turn out in thousands, dressed in their smartest finery, and combine thorough enjoyment with the performance of what they believe to be a religious duty. There is little or no drunkenness at these open-air festivities, but much gaiety, laughter, fluttering of fans, "throwing of sparks" from mischievous or languis.h.i.+ng eyes--and at the end always a bull-fight.

Here we touch the very soul of Spain. Take away the bull-rings, make an end of the _toreros_, and Spain is no longer Spain--perhaps a country counting more highly in the evolution of humanity as a whole, but it will need another name if that day ever comes, of which there does not now seem to be the remotest possibility. All that can be said is that to-day there is a party, or there are individuals, in the country who profess to abhor the bull-fight, and wish to see it ended; it is doubtful if up to this time any Spaniard ever entertained such an "outlandish" notion. The bull-fight is said to have been founded by the Moors of Spain, although bulls were probably fought with or killed in Roman amphitheatres. The principle on which they were founded was the display of horsemans.h.i.+p, use of the lance, courage, coolness, and dexterity--all accomplishments of the Arabs of the desert. It is undoubtedly the latter qualities which make the sport so fascinating to English _aficionados_, of whom there are many, and have caused the _fiestas de toros_ to live on in the affections of the whole Spanish people. In its earliest days, gentlemen, armed only with the _rejon_, the short spear of the original Iberian, about four feet long, fought in the arena with the bulls, and it was always a fair trial of skill and a display of good horsemans.h.i.+p.

When the fatal race of the French Bourbons came to the throne, and the country was inundated with foreign favourites, the Court and the French hangers-on of the kings turned the fas.h.i.+on away from the national sport, and it gradually fell into the hands of the lower cla.s.ses, professional bull-fighters taking the place of the courtly players of old, and these were drawn from the lowest and worst ranks of the ma.s.ses; the sporting element, to a great extent, died out, and the whole spectacle became brutalised. _Pan y toros_ (bread and bulls) were all the people wanted, and, crushed out of all manliness by their rulers, and taught a thirst for cruelty and bloodshed by the example of their religious _autos-da-fe_, the bull-fight became the revolting spectacle which foreigners--especially the English--have been so ready to rail against as a disgrace to the Spanish nation, while they rarely let an opportunity escape them of a.s.sisting as interested spectators at what they condemned so loudly, and they quite forgot their own prize-ring, and other amus.e.m.e.nts equally brutal and disgraceful. If the _corrida de toros_ was ever as bad as it has been described by some, it has improved very much of late years, and most of its revolting features are eliminated. The pack of dogs, which used to be brought in when a bull was dangerous to the human fighters, has long been done away with. The _media luna_, which we are told was identical with the instrument mentioned in _Joshua_, is no longer tolerated to hamstring the unfortunate bull; and if a horse is gored in the fair fight, there are men especially in attendance to put him out of his misery at once. It is doubtful whether the animal suffers more than, or as much as, the unhappy favourites, that are sent alive, and in extremest torture, to Amsterdam and other foreign cities, to be manufactured into essence of meat and such-like dainties, after a life of cruelly hard work in our omnibuses and cabs has made them no longer of use as draught animals.

The bull-fighter of to-day is by no means drawn from the dregs of the people; there is, at any rate, one instance of a man of good birth and education attaining celebrity as a professional _torero_. He risks his life at every point of the conflict, and it is his coolness, his courage, his dexterity in giving the _coup de grace_ so as to cause no suffering, that raise the audience to such a pitch of frenzied excitement. I speak wholly from hearsay, for I have myself only witnessed a _corrida de novillos_--in which the bulls are never killed, and have cus.h.i.+ons fixed on their horns--and a curious fight between a bull and an elephant, who might have been described as an "old campaigner," in which there was no bloodshed, and much amus.e.m.e.nt. My sympathies always went with the bull,--who, at least, was not consulted in the matter of the fight,--as I have seen the popular _espada_, with his own particular _chulo_, a ma.s.s of white satin and gold embroidery, driving out to the bull-ring on the afternoon of a _fiesta_, bowing with right royal grace and dignity to the plaudits of the people. I was even accused of having given the evil eye to one well-known favourite as he pa.s.sed my balcony, when I wished, almost audibly, that the bull might have his turn for once in a way that afternoon. And he had; for the popular _espada_ was carried out of the ring apparently dead, the spectators came back looking white and sick, and I felt like a very murderess until I learned later that he was not dead. All Madrid, almost literally, called to inquire for him daily, filling books of signatures, as if he had been an emperor at least. Personally, I was more interested in his courage after the event and the devotion of his _chulo_, who never left his side, but held his hands while the injured leg was cut off, in three separate operations, without any anaesthetic. Eventually, he completely recovered, and was fitted with an admirable mechanical cork limb in place of the one removed in three detachments; and my sense of evil responsibility was quite removed when I heard that his young wife was delighted to think that he could never enter the bull-ring as a fighter again, and her anxieties were at an end.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PLAZA DE TOROS. PICADOR CAUGHT BY THE BULL]

It is quite impossible to over-estimate the popularity of the _toreros_ with the Spanish people. They are the friends and favourites of the aristocracy, the demi-G.o.ds of the populace. You never see one of them in the streets without an admiring circle of wors.h.i.+ppers, who hang on every word and gesture of the great man; and this is no cult of the hour, it is unceasing. They are always known for their generosity, not only to injured comrades, but to any of the poor in need. Is there a disaster by which many are injured--flood, tempest, or railway accident? Immediately a bull-fight is arranged for the sufferers, and the whole _cuadrilla_ will give their earnings to the cause. Not only so, but the private charities of these popular favourites are immense, and quite unheard of by the public. They adopt orphans, pay regular incomes to widows, as mere parts of every-day work. They are, one and all, religious men; the last thing they do, before entering the arena with their life in their hands, is to confess and receive absolution in the little chapel in the Bull-Ring, spending some time in silent prayer before the altar, while the wife at home is burning candles to the Virgin, and offering her prayers for his safety during the whole time that the _corrida_ lasts.

Extreme unction is always in readiness, in case of serious accident to the _torero_, the priest (_mufti_) slipping into the chapel before the public arrive on the scene.

Rafael Molina Lagartijo, one of the veterans of the bull-fighters, and an extreme favourite with the people for many years, died recently, after living for some time in comparative retirement in his native Cordoba. Some idea of the important place which these men occupy in Spanish society may be gathered from the numerous notices which appeared in the newspapers of all shades of political opinion after his death. I quote from the article which appeared in the charming little ill.u.s.trated _Blanco y Negro_, of Madrid, on the favourite of the Spanish public. In what, to us, seems somewhat inflated language, but which is, however, quite simple and natural to the Spaniard, the writer began his notice thus:

"He who has heard the magic oratory of Castelar, has listened to the singing of Gayarre, the declamation of Cabro, has read Zorilla, and witnessed the _torear_ of Lagartijo, may say, without any kind of reservation, that there is nothing left for him to admire!" Having thus placed the popular bull-fighter on a level with orators, authors, and musicians of the first rank, the writer goes on to describe the beauties of Lagartijo's play in words which are too purely technical of the ring to make translation possible, and adds: "He who has not seen the great _torero_ of Cordoba in the plenitude of his power will a.s.suredly not comprehend why the name of Lagartijo for more than twenty years filled _plazas_ and playbills, nor why the _aficionados_ of to-day recall, in speaking of his death, times which can never be surpa.s.sed.... The _toreo_ (play) of Lagartijo was always distinguished by its cla.s.sic grace, its dignity and consummate art, the absence of affectation, or struggle for effect. In every part of the fight the figure of Rafael fell naturally into the most graceful att.i.tudes; and for this reason he has always worn the rich dress of the _torero_ with the best effect. He was the perfect and characteristic type of a _torero_, such as Spanish fancy has always imagined it. Lagartijo died with his eyes fixed on the image of the Virgen de los Dolores, to whom he had always confidently committed his life of peril, and with the dignity and resignation of a good man."

The article was ill.u.s.trated with numerous portraits of Don Rafael: in full _torero_ dress in 1886; his very last photograph; views of him in the courtyard of his home in Cordoba, and outside the Venta San Rafael, where he took his coffee in the evening, and others. The notice concludes by saying that his life was completely dedicated to his property, which he managed himself, and he was looked upon as the guardian angel of the labourers on his farm. _Probre Rafael!_ "The lovers of the bull-fight are lamenting the death of the _torero_, but the poor of Cordoba mourn the loss of their 'Senor Rafael.'"

[Ill.u.s.tration: PLAZA DE TOROS. THE PROCESSION]

The wives of the _toreros_ are generally celebrated for their beauty, their wit, and their devotion to their husbands--indeed, the men have a large choice before them when choosing their helpmates for life. To their wives is due much of the making and all the keeping up of the elaborate and costly dress of the _torero_. They are, as someone has said, "ferociously virtuous," and share in the open-handed generosity of their husbands. The earnings of a successful _torero_ are very large. In some cases, they make as much as 4000 or 5000 a year of English money, during the height of their popularity, and retire to end their days in their native and beloved Andalucia.

Whatever may be said by foreigners of the brutalising effect of the Spanish popular game, it certainly has no more effect on those who witness or practise it than fox-hunting has on Englishmen, and it is doubtful whether there is any more cruelty in one sport than in the other. The foxes are fostered and brought up for the sole purpose of being harried to death, without even a semblance of fair play being allowed to them, and if a fox-hunter risks his life it is only as a bad rider that he does so. There is no danger and certainly no dignity in the English sport, even if it indirectly keeps up the breed of horses.

A curious incident is related by Count Vasili as having happened in the Bull-Ring in Madrid some years ago during a _corrida_ of Cuchares, the celebrated _espada_. It is usual during _fiestas_ of charity to enclose live sparrows in the _banderillas_ which it is part of the play to affix, at great risk to the _torero_, in the shoulders of the bull; the paper envelope bursts, and the birds are set at liberty. Crossing the arena, one of the men carelessly hit at a bird turning wildly about in its efforts to escape, and killed it. "In my life," says the Count, "I have never seen such a spectacle. Ten thousand spectators, standing up, wildly gesticulating, shouting for death on the 'cruel _torero_'; nay, some even threw themselves into the arena, ready to lynch the heartless creature!"

Horse-racing may now be said to have been fairly established in Spain in most of the great centres, and the Hippodrome in Madrid is little behind one of England's popular race-courses in its crowds, the brilliant dresses of the ladies, and the enthusiasm evoked; but whether it will ever supersede the really national _fiesta_ is to be doubted. The upper cla.s.ses also affect polo, tennis, and croquet, and go in a good deal for gymnastics, fencing, and fives.