RAINY DAYS
"MAMMA, would you allow me to go to the bull-fight with father and
Pablo?" asked Fernando next day.
"No, indeed, my son, a bull-fight is no place for women and children,"
his mother replied. "I have never been to one in all my life, and
Juanita shall never attend. I wish Pablo did not care to go, either,
but he must do as he wishes now that he is grown. A boy cannot always
be at his mother's girdle, but you must be much bigger than now before
you will see such a sight."
Fernando sighed, but he knew that there was no use saying more, for the
word of _la madre_ was law. He was very anxious to see a bull-fight,
for every boy in Spain desires that above all things. The fights are
held on all holidays, but the finest one of all is at Easter. The
immense amphitheatre of Sevilla holds thousands of spectators, men wild
with excitement over the sport, and even women, though the most refined
ladies do not frequent the _corridos_. The bull is turned loose in the
centre of the huge ring and tormented until he is ready to fight. Men
with sharp-pointed darts, called _banderillos_, tease him by throwing
their barbs at him, and pricking his skin until he is nearly crazy.
Then men mounted on horseback, the _picadores_, wave scarlet cloths
before his eyes, exciting him still more, for a bull hates red worse
than anything in the world. He dashes at the cruel cloth, and sometimes
is too quick for the man who carries it, tossing him on his horns,
but generally it is the poor horse who is killed, and the man jumps
away to safety. The _matador_ is the one who slays the bull, and he
is sometimes killed himself. It is a terribly cruel affair, though
Spaniards say it is not so cruel as our prize-fighting.
It was late that evening when Fernando went to bed, and ere he did so
there was quite an excitement. They were all seated upon the piazza of
the house, he and Juanita, his cousins and their elders, when there was
a great cry from the street, "The toro! The toro!" and a clatter of
horses' hoofs. All screamed loudly, for to have a bull escape from the
pens is a frequent occurrence, and not a very pleasant one. The cries
became louder, the horses' hoofs beat nearer and nearer, and as in the
dusk a figure dashed down the street, the señora, screaming loudly,
caught Juanita to her and tried to climb the pillar at her side. She
was very stout, and the pillar was very slippery, and she could not
climb with one arm, so she slid down as fast as she climbed up,
squealing all the time, "_A toro, Madre di Dios! a toro!_"
Fernando was frightened, too, but he was a brave boy, and he tried his
best to push his mother up out of danger, boosting her as she slipped
down, but not helping very much, as you might suppose. It seemed to
him an hour, but it was only a minute before servants came from the
house, and as they did so a horse dashed up before the pillars, and,
stopped too hastily by his rider, slid along the stones on his hind
feet. On his back was Pablo, waving his _sombrero_, and crying, "What
a _corrido_! It was glorious! Six bulls to die, and Rosito never in
such form! But, _madre mia_, what is the matter?" as he sprang from his
horse and assisted his mother to a seat.
The señora could not speak, but Fernando said, "We thought the noise
was a bull escaped, and I was assisting my mother to a height of
safety."
Pablo looked at the little figure speaking so gravely, then threw
back his head and shouted with laughter, but seeing Fernando's hurt
expression, stopped quickly, and said:
"Bravo, little brother, thou art a good knight to care for thy mother
and sister!"
"Better than thou!" His mother had regained her voice by this time.
"Thou art still the same Pablo, and will yet be the death of thy poor
mother," but Pablo kissed her hand so gallantly, and begged her pardon
so amiably, that she quite forgave him.
Next day, alas! it was raining, and it rained so hard all that day,
and nearly all of the next, that the children were like little bears
in a cage. They played with everything they could think of, but after
awhile they grew restless and quarrelled so that the grown-up folk grew
nervous, too.
At last, Mariquita's father, gay and charming Uncle Ruy, came to the
rescue.
"Who wants to take a trip into the country with me?" he asked, and as
each one squealed "I!" he said:
"Of course we can't go, really, but we can make believe, and I shall
take you to a _hacienda_ outside the old wall of Sevilla.
"It lies amidst orange and olive groves, and all kinds of flowers, and
many of the things we eat come from that very place. Who knows how they
pickle olives?"
"Are olives pickled?" asked Juanita, and Mariquita said:
"How queer it seems that all the things we eat have to go through so
much before they can be eaten. I did not know that olives had to be
pickled."
"Yes, _mi niña_, and we will play that we are visiting an olive grove,
and we can see the way the olives are picked and made ready for food.
See, here are the trees, and the fruit is picked from them and placed
in baskets. There are two kinds of olives used, green and ripe, the
green ones are picked just before they begin to turn soft. These are
separated from the others, and the bitter taste is removed by soaking
in fresh water for a long time, or some picklers soak them for a
shorter time in a solution of potash lye. This softens the skin and
extracts all bitterness, but the olives must be soaked in clear water,
which is frequently changed to get all the potash off. Then they are
placed in weak brine, and afterward in stronger, until they have the
salty taste which we like so much. Then they are put in small barrels
and taken to the bottling rooms, where they are bottled and labelled
for the market."
"How is the oil made?" asked Fernando.
"That is harder to do, but it is very interesting to watch. The
fresh olives are carefully picked, dried a little, and then crushed.
Old-fashioned stone mills are used to crush the fruit, and the mass is
pressed to extract the liquid which contains all the watery juice as
well as the oil and pulp."
"What do they do after it is pressed?" asked Fernando.
"They let it stand for a month and the refuse goes to the bottom. Then
the oil is poured off and allowed to stand another month, when the
process is repeated. After the third time the oil is ready for use. The
best oil is made in this way, as it keeps its colour and flavour better
by the settling process than when it is filtered.
"In some places the olives are placed on a platform and the millstone
is placed over them. This is turned round and round by means of a pole
to which a donkey is hitched, and the mass which is turned out is
placed in rush baskets, which are put under a press which is screwed
down by five or six men, so that the oil is squeezed out, but that is a
very old-fashioned way of making oil, and there are better ways now.
They still use this, however, when there is a big crop, and they want
to get the fruit made into oil as rapidly as possible. Great care must
be taken that everything is clean and that the oil does not become
rancid, or it will all be spoiled."
"Is everything we eat so interesting?" asked Juanita.
"The things we eat and wear, too," her uncle answered, "and nothing in
all Sevilla is more interesting than the way of making silk."
"How is that done?" asked Fernando.
"I am afraid I could not make you understand it all, unless you could
go to the silk manufactory, and even then it would be hard for you.
But I can tell you about the cocoons, and that is the strangest thing
about it. The silkworm was first brought to Europe from India in 530,
when monks brought it to the Emperor Justinian. The silkworm is a kind
of a caterpillar which feeds on the leaves of the white mulberry-tree,
and lays his eggs in a kind of gummy substance on the leaves in the end
of June to be hatched out in the following April. The caterpillar is
small at first, about a quarter of an inch long, but grows to be three
inches in length. By means of a substance in their mouths the silkworms
spin out silky strands which form cocoons, each fibre being about eight
hundred yards long. When ready for weaving, the cocoons are placed in
an oven at a gentle heat which kills the chrysalis so that the silk
fibres can be removed and wound."
"How do they get the silk wound? Doesn't it break?" asked Fernando.
"It is rather hard to do," his uncle answered, "but they learn to be
very careful, and the cocoon is soaked in warm water which loosens the
little filaments. When the cocoons are reeled the first step has been
taken, and the reeled silk is called raw silk, from which all silk
products are made."
[Illustration: "THEY WENT TO THE ALCAZAR GARDENS."]
"I wish we could see it all, but perhaps we can sometime when we are
here again," said Fernando. "Oh, it has stopped raining!"
"Yes, indeed, and the Guadalquiver has overflowed its banks," said
Pablo, coming in at that moment. "There has not been such a freshet
for years. Come along with me, Nando, and we will go boating in the
streets. I climbed to the top of the Giralda, and the whole country
looks like a great sea."
"Oh, may I go with Pablo and see?" cried Fernando, and his mother, with
many injunctions to Pablo to take care of him, said "Yes."
They went to the Alcazar gardens, those most wonderful gardens of
Spain, and as it was early spring the flowers and insects were making
merry in the sunshine, which had come back with renewed force, after
its vacation. Scarcely tumbled by the rain, lovely banksia roses
were climbing over the walls, the rosy, blossoming judas-trees,
tinted acacias, and pink almonds were in bloom, and orange-trees were
bursting into fragrant beauty. Violets and tulips, yellow oxalis, wild
hyacinths, and the scarlet dragon-flower carpeted the ground, while
tall white lilies, like fair maidens, and stately iris with sword-like
leaves, reminding one of the knights of chivalry who once walked these
paths, stood sentinel adown the walks. Fernando saw, too, the insects
which flitted among the branches, beetles with bright green coats like
emeralds, white and gold butterflies, birds with brilliant wings and
sweet voices. But Pablo was thinking more of sport than of nature,
and he hurried along until they found a man and a boat to row them,
and what a gay sail they had right down the main streets of the town!
Past the cathedral steps and the Golden Tower where Columbus piled up
gold brought from the New World, Sevillians say, and all the other
interesting sights of the city, so that Fernando came home tired and
happy, to tell Juanita of the wonderful things he had seen.
"I do not wonder that they say, 'He whom God loves has a house in
Sevilla,'" he said. "It is so beautiful a city."
"Truly,--
"'Quien no ha vista Sevilla
No ha vista un maravillo.'"[11]
said Mariquita boastingly, but little Juanita prattled in reply the
Grenadino's favourite response--
"'Quien no ha vista Grenada
No ha vista nada.'"[12]
FOOTNOTES:
[11]
He who has not visited Sevilla
Has not seen a marvel.
[12]
Who has not seen Granada
Has seen nothing.