_Seville of To-day_
'To have seen real doñas with comb and mantle, real caballeros with
cloak and cigar, real Spanish barbers lathering out of brass
basins, and to have heard guitars upon the balconies.'--THACKERAY,
_Cornhill to Cairo_.
'Many monuments, fine religious processions, splendid bull fights, and
not much business,' was the pithy description of modern Seville given to
me by an intelligent Basque _señora_, living in the Province of
Santander. The picture is a good one. As to the monuments, we have seen
that the city abounds with them. But it is not only the historic
buildings, associated with the Romans, Goths, Berbers and Almohades,
that lend the fascination of antiquity to Seville. The Andalusian
features, the manners, the speech, the domestic habits, the music, songs
and dances of the people remind us hourly, while in the city, of the
Seville of a thousand years ago.
A spell of Orientalism, strange and seductive, comes upon the stranger,
as he sits on the marble benches under the palms in the Plaza de San
Fernando, watching the olive-skinned _chicos_ at their evening pastime
of mimic bull-fighting, or dancing, with quaint, slow movement of the
feet and much swaying of the body, to a semi-barbaric accompaniment of
clapping hands and a low chanting. The gaunt mules, with their Arabesque
wool trappings and panniers, that pass slowly by, the water-sellers in
their white garments and hemp-soled shoes, and the women with their
black lace _mantillas_, which must surely be a survival of the
Mohammedan veil, all serve to impress one with their suggestion of
Moorish influence.
Electric lights and electric tramcars scarcely mar the charming
illusions of the Oriental and the mediæval in the Seville of to-day. The
tokens of modernity are subservient; they do not jar continually as in
Madrid, perhaps the most commonplace of Spanish cities. In Seville you
cannot forget the Moriscoes, and the part they played in the making of
the city, the memories of Christopher Columbus, the art of Velazquez and
Murillo, the romances of Cervantes, and the traditions of the Mother
Church of Christendom. Every step causes reflection upon the past. You
are carried back to the Middle Ages from the ringing of matin bells till
the midnight cry of the watchman.
The costume of the Sevillian _caballero_--and remember that every man in
Spain is a cavalier--has suffered, no doubt, in picturesqueness since
the time of Don Quixote. But there is a real grace and a romantic charm
in the winter _capa_, flung upon the shoulders, with one of its
plenteous folds muffling the mouth, and another thrown back to show the
gorgeous lining of amber, green, or crimson. One looks for the point of
a scabbard, containing a good Toledan blade, below the cloak. It is not
there, though the practice of carrying weapons still survives everywhere
in the Peninsula.
Once only have I seen the sword carried by a civilian in Spain.
Travelling from Córdova to Toledo by rail, I had as companion a young
man who had provided himself with a cutlass and a revolver, in case of
assault by robbers. The sword was thrust through the straps of his bag.
Revolvers are frequently worn on a belt under the coat, and most of the
working class carry the _navaja_, a knife with a long blade, a sharp
edge, and a keen point.
[Illustration: Patio del Collegio San Miguel.]
There is, however, no need for the traveller to provide himself with a
six-shooter or a dagger; indeed, the revolver hung at the head of the
bed, as I have seen it in a Seville hotel, is not only superfluous, but
the mere possession of arms is apt to cause surmises as to the valuables
carried by the armed stranger, and may lead to the pilfering of his
portmanteau.
The custom of going about armed is just one of those mediæval usages
that still prevail in spite of the suppression of brigandage and the
protection of the railway trains and stations by the vigilant,
well-trained and courteous Civil Guards. Spaniards are conservative;
they cling to practices that are no longer necessary, and the carrying
of knives and pistols is one of those quixotic characteristics of the
race, which will probably survive for several generations. As a matter
of fact, the stranger in Seville is as safe, to say the least, as he is
in London. The species Hooligan is unknown in Spain, though, of course,
there are thieves in the country as in every other quarter of
Christendom throughout the globe. The _navaja_ is never worn and used
ostentatiously. It is the weapon of the criminal population and the
disreputable, and it is too often drawn in street broils and for
vendetta purposes.
It is not necessary that I should caution the visitor against wandering
alone, after dark, in the low streets of the city, nor warn him that it
is risky to engage professional guides, who are not well known for
honesty, and recommended by one of the proprietors of the better-class
hotels. I do not wish to alarm the timid traveller. One should point
out, however, that highway robberies do occasionally occur in the
country districts.
Two years ago, in the neighbourhood of Granada, a party of travellers
found themselves and the guides surrounded by ruffians on a
mountain-side, and were submitted to a complete rifling of their pockets
before they were allowed to proceed on their way. A friend of mine, an
English artist, was one of the party. You are frequently told in Spain
that brigandage has been entirely suppressed. It is quite true that the
Civil Guards have almost exterminated the organised bands of brigands
that used to infest the lonelier roads of the country. But, here and
there, as in Galicia, robbers sometimes work in small parties on the
high roads, after dark. In Seville, however, one may feel as secure as
in any other continental city. The average Andalusian is honest. Railway
porters, cabmen, and hotel servants expect a _propina_ or 'tip'; but
they are seldom exacting, and rarely addicted to pilfering. The
_propina_ is a national institution; but a small gratuity is, as a rule,
gratefully received, and I have met porters and others who have refused
a fee for their assistance. Railway servants and hotel waiters are so
poorly paid in Spain that they rely largely for their living upon the
generosity of travellers. There is, however, a protest afloat against
the _propina_, and a society has been formed in Madrid to combat the
custom of giving 'tips.'
The smart or fashionable life of Seville may be studied, after five in
the evening in the warm months, in the narrow central thoroughfare
called Sierpes, or in the drives of the beautiful gardens bordering the
Guadalquivir. The Calle de Sierpes signifies in English the street of
the serpents. It is a street for foot passengers only, with many
_cafés_, wine bars, nick-nack stores, and superior hatters', tailors'
and tobacconists' shops. In this quarter ladies will find a fine array
of fans, _mantillas_ and showy Andalusian shawls. Some of these articles
bear the label 'made in Austria.' The shawls worn by the _majas_, or
Sevillian smart dames, and maidens of the middle and working class, are
sometimes very beautiful. Yellow is a favourite hue, as it accords with
the black which is universally worn by the women of southern Spain.
The _majo_ costume, as 'sported' by the dandies of Sierpes, is correctly
made up of a wide-brimmed brown or white felt hat, a shirt with a
frilled front, and diamond or paste studs, a low waistcoat, or broad
silk band around the middle, a short coat, resembling an Eton jacket,
and trousers cut exceedingly tight across the hips. A _majo_ affects the
dress and conversation of his ideal, the bull-fighter. He favours the
tightest, thin-soled, pointed brown shoes, crops his hair, shaves his
cheeks and chin clean, walks with a self-consciousness, and ogles and
bandies repartee whenever he passes a _maja_. The loungers of Sierpes
exhibit more or less amused interest in the English or American lady
visitors. Their hats are a wonder to them; their serviceable travelling
dresses appear severely plain, their coats masculine in fashion, and
their shoes short, broad, and absurdly low in the heel.
How different is the guise and demeanour of the Spanish _señora_! If she
is of the upper rank of society, she may wear a Parisian hat and a dress
in the English style; but her slow, erect and graceful walk proclaim her
an Andalusian. She will not start and seem insulted when a man stares
her full in the face, smiles, and exclaims: 'How lovely you are! Blessed
be the mother who bore you!' A parting of the lips, perhaps a slight
flush, show that she is pleased when the gallant turns to gaze at her.
So much has been sung and written about the loveliness of the Sevillian
_doñas_ that I may perhaps be taken to task if I do not join in the
rapturous chorus. The beauty of the Andalusian women does not startle
one immediately upon setting foot in Seville. It seems to me to be a
charm that needs comprehension. Undoubtedly you may see a proportion of
handsome faces among the ladies in the evening parade in the park, on
the racecourse, at the bull fights, and in the theatres. If you expect
to find that every other woman in Seville is a belle--well, I think you
will be disappointed.
'If Shakespeare is right in saying that there is no author in the world
"teaches such beauty as a woman's eyes," then Andalusia easily leads the
world in personal beauty.' So writes Mr. Henry T. Finck, in his
_Romantic Love and Personal Beauty_. Byron comments in the same strain,
and so does Blanco White, not to mention other authors. Perhaps Mr. G.
P. Lathrop's description of the girls of the Seville tobacco factory
may, by reason of its dispassionateness, be accepted as a fair estimate.
In _Spanish Vistas,_ Mr. Lathrop writes: 'Some of them had a spendthrift
common sort of beauty, which, owing to their southern vivacity and fine
physique, had the air of being more than it really was.... The beauty of
these Carmens has certainly been exaggerated. It may be remarked here
that, as an offset to occasional disappointment arising from such
exaggerations, all Spanish women walk with astonishing gracefulness, and
natural and elastic step, and that it is their chief advantage over
women of other nations.'
The opinion of Washington Irving on the charms of the Seville fair may
perhaps explain my qualification that the graces do not make a sudden
and arresting appeal, but require reflection and comprehension, like
many interesting works of art. Washington Irving says: 'There are
beautiful women in Seville as ... there are in all other great cities;
but do not, my worthy and inquiring friend, expect a perfect beauty to
be staring you in the face at every turn, or you will be awfully
disappointed.... I am convinced the great fascination of Spanish women
arises from their natural talent, their fire and soul, which beam
through their dark and flashing eyes, and kindle up their whole
countenance in the course of an interesting conversation. As I have had
but few opportunities of judging them in this way, I can only criticise
them with the eye of a sauntering observer. It is like judging of a
fountain when it is not in play, or a fire when it lies dormant and
neither flames nor sparkles.'
A true appreciation of the Sevillian dame is only possible to such as
possess the wit to understand the quality known as _sal_ or 'salt.'
Andalusian _sal_ has a flavour of its own. It is made up of _persiflage_
and the quality called 'smartness.' _Sal_ is more esteemed than beauty
in a woman; it is more fascinating than physical comeliness. 'The
Andalusian women,' writes the author of _Costumbres Andaluzas_, 'has on
her lips all the salt of the foam of two seas.' ... The woman of
Andalusia 'is frank, passionate, loving or hating without taking the
trouble to dissemble her sentiments.' She is 'life, light, fire'; she
'is beauty illumined by the torch of Paradise,' etc. Such is the strain
of Spanish gallantry.
In the old days the ardent lover was wont to beat himself beneath a
maiden's window, until the blood trickled down his back. Nowadays, the
amorous cavalier waits below the casement, and when he catches a glimpse
of the object of his devotion, exclaims: 'Your beauty ravishes me! Your
eyes burn into my soul!'
The peculiarly guarded life of the young Spanish woman, which is in part
a relic of Orientalism, and in part traceable to her religion, forces
her to develop ingenuity in attracting an admirer, and in her means of
communicating with him.
Mr. Lathrop, in his _Spanish Vistas_, says that the beggars around
Seville Cathedral are sometimes the bearers of love letters to the
ladies who attend the services and go to confession. A piece of silver
is dropped into the mendicant's dirty palm, and a little note is
transferred to the _señorita's_ hand. And with eyes fixed modestly upon
the ground, the maiden steps out of the portal of the sacred building,
clutching the tender missive which she burns to read. In all countries
stealthy courtship has its charm and romance for lovers; and in Spain
the zest of wooing is quickened by the devices employed for clandestine
assignations, and the secret conveying of gifts and letters from one
lover to another. Our forthright British mode of love-making might
appear almost barbarous to an Andalusian girl.
The women of Southern Spain are short, and they incline to stoutness.
Mr. Finck says that sexual selection 'is evolving the _petite_ brunette
as the ideal of womanhood,' and that 'the perfected woman of the
millennium will resemble the Andalusian brunette, not only in
complexion, hair, eyes, gait, and tapering plumpness of figure, but also
in stature.'
Among the men of Seville one sees many slim, lissome, well-proportioned
figures of medium height. Some of the _majos_ of Sierpes are of this
type, and among the working class there are many good-looking,
clean-limbed men. The masculine physiognomies impress me as being much
more varied in contour and more expressive than those of the women.
Faces that might be English are not uncommon among the men of Seville.
But the true Andalusian features are distinctive, and have an Arab cast.
The hair is dark, black or brown, and the skin olive or tawny. There is
an unshaven look about many of the middle-class men. A _majo_ who
dresses in the height of fashion will often go out to parade the streets
with a three days' beard on his chin. But his hands will be
scrupulously washed several times a day, and the finger nails will be
carefully trimmed and polished.
[Illustration: The Golden Tower]
To see Sevillian society out of doors, go to the Parque Maria Luisa and
the adjoining Paseo de las Delicias about five in the afternoon. This is
the fashionable promenade, and here the _élite_ of the city drive in
open carriages daily. The costumes of the _señoras_ are varied and
stylish. Some of the ladies wear English gowns and hats, and one sees a
few of the latest Paris fashions in dresses. But the majority have not
discarded the _mantilla_ of black or white lace, and the fan is in every
hand. A 'smart turn-out' is a sort of four-wheeled dogcart, drawn by
four mules, with bells, and gay worsted ear-caps and worked bridles.
The servants are dressed in London livery, the landaus are of French or
English make, and many fine horses may be seen. _Caballeros_ ride upon
prancing nags. Under the palms and orange trees there are seats filled
with loungers, the women fanning themselves, the men smoking cigars or
cigarettes. None but foreigners smoke a pipe in the streets of Seville.
A _majo_ would not be guilty of such vulgarity.
Beneath the odorous orange trees, where innumerable nightingales warble,
one may watch the afternoon procession of carriages and pedestrians. A
breeze blows from the wide Guadalquivir. It is cool by the ornamental
water, where roses and camellias are rife. The blue uniform of an
officer, the white duck trousers of a dandy, the sunshades of the ladies
show amidst the greenery of the avenues. From the cavalry barracks comes
the blare of bugles. In the Parque there are peacocks and a den of wild
boars.
In April, during the _feria_ week, there is horse-racing on the broad
meadows beyond the Paseo de las Delicias. English horses, ridden by
English jockeys, sometimes compete in the races. The grand stand is a
large one, with a long enclosure. It is well filled on race days with
the rank and fashion of Andalusia. One is struck with the gravity of the
spectators as contrasted with the animation of a British crowd upon a
racecourse. The people are thoroughly enjoying the spectacle; but they
do not shout, and there is no ring of bellowing bookmakers. Backers of
horses purchase a ticket at a little office in the enclosure. There is
only one of these offices, and there are no betting men behind the ropes
of the course.
An element of pageant is introduced by the company of cavalry drawn up
near the grand stand. When officers of the State arrive upon the course,
they are saluted with a flourish of trumpets. A number of mounted men
of the Civil Guard keep the course clear of pedestrians. The resplendent
dresses of the ladies, the bright uniforms of the soldiers and the
costumes of the jockeys make a brilliant scene in the dazzling southern
sunshine.
But horse-racing is not the national pastime of Spain. Bull-fighting is
deemed the nobler sport, and Seville has been called 'the Alma Mater of
the bull-fighter.'[G] I do not here propose to describe one of these
combats. Such descriptions have perhaps occupied an undue space in many
books about Spanish ways and customs. The most reliable accounts of
bull-fighting are to be found in Mr. Williams's _The Land of the Dons_,
and in _Wild Spain_, by A. Chapman and W. T. Buck.
There is a handsome Plaza de Toros at Seville, built in 1870, with seats
for fourteen thousand spectators. At Easter, and during the _feria_
festivals in April, there are several fights in the arena, which are
attended by immense crowds made up of all classes from the duke to the
girls from the cigarette factory. The enthusiasm which bull fights evoke
is so great that large crowds collect around the hotels, where the
bull-fighters reside during Holy Week and fair time, in order to watch
the heroes of the ring start for the Plaza de Toros.
I was in Seville during the _feria_ of 1902, and I may now attempt to
describe the scene on the Prado de San Sebastian. The city was thronged
with sight-seers; every hotel and boarding-house was overcrowded, and
hundreds of cattle and horse dealers, gipsies and itinerants slept on
the fair ground in booths or upon the bare earth. I found the open space
on the Prado covered with flocks of sheep and goats, droves of bullocks,
horses, mules and donkeys, tended by picturesque herdsmen and muleteers
in the dress of several provinces. An English carriage and pair of
handsome horses paraded the ground, and changed hands at a high price.
_Caballeros_ rode their steeds up and down, to show off their points,
and gipsy 'copers' haggled and chaffered. In the long row of refreshment
tents was one bearing the sign of _Los Boers_. I entered one of the
booths, and ordered a _refresco_, a bitter, syrupy decoction, with a
tang of turpentine. Men and women were sipping this beverage with much
zest, and watching the continual procession of holiday-makers under the
trees. Everyone was quiet, orderly and sober. I did not see one drunken
or quarrelsome person on either of the fair days, which I think may be
taken as a token of the sobriety of the Spaniards. The diversions of the
_feria_ struck me as innocent, perhaps childish; but there was none of
the coarseness and the squalor of a fair in England. There were only a
few shows.
The Gitanas had their tents, where they danced to _gorgio_ audiences,
exacting exorbitant fees for each performance. Importunate gipsy dames
stood at the doors of their tents, inviting the visitors to enter, and
to taste their curious liquors, or to have their fortunes told. It was
not easy to escape from these syrens, for they seized one's coat sleeve,
and almost dragged one into their shows and booths. Some of the Gitana
girls are remarkably handsome, and the gay colours of their clothing
lend animation to this part of the _feria_.
One of the most interesting streets of the fair is that of the
_casetas_, or pavilions of the influential Sevillians, who spend the day
in receiving guests, dancing, guitar playing and singing. The doors of
the _casetas_ are open. You can look within at the merry company. The
old folk sit around on chairs; someone clicks a pair of castanets, and a
graceful girl begins to dance. Fans are fluttering everywhere; there is
a soft tinkling of guitars. Dark eyes flash upon you, and red lips part
in smiles as the hats of _majos_ are raised. Some of the children are
dressed in old Andalusian costume, with black lace over yellow silk, and
_mantillas_ upon their dark hair. They dance to the castanets, and win
handclaps from grandfathers and grandmothers, who recall their own
dancing days of forty or fifty years ago.
There is an iron tower in the centre of the fair ground. I ascended it,
and gained a view of the bright crowd, the flocks, the prancing horses
and the waving bunting everywhere displayed. At night the avenues of
booths are illuminated with thousands of fairy lights, electric lamps
and Chinese lanterns. The fair is then thronged in every part, and
everyone submits to a good-humoured jostling. At this festive time you
must be prepared for disturbed nights. The streets are never quiet by
day or night, and there is a constant tramping up and down the stairs of
the hotels. Long after midnight one hears the revellers in the _plazas_,
singing and dancing to the clapping of hands or the strumming of
guitars.
This 'fantastic pandemonium,' as it is called by a Sevillian rhymer,
lasts for about eight to ten days. During the three days of the _feria_,
the hotel charges are doubled, and in some cases trebled. The city
profits considerably through the influx of visitors at this time, and
also during _Semana Santa_, or Holy Week, when Seville is very crowded.
Nothing can prove so instructive concerning the Spanish devotion to
ritual and religious pageant as a visit to Seville at Easter. The
processions and celebrations of _Semana Santa_ are exceedingly
interesting from the artistic and the antiquarian point of view. All the
costly vestments, the rare ecclesiastic treasures of the Cathedral, the
works of artists and sculptors, and the sacred images of Christ and the
Virgin are then displayed, in the midst of high pomp, to the adoring
eyes of the vast crowds lining the streets and filling the windows. It
is during these ceremonies that one may catch the spirit of mediævalism
still surviving in Spain. Even the religious dances of antiquity are
performed in the Cathedral before the high altar on Corpus Christi day.
The dancers are boys, sixteen in number, and they are called the
_Seises_. They dress in the costume of the reign of Felipe III.
The _pasos_ or processions of _Semana Santa_ pass through Sierpes to the
Plaza de la Constitución, where the mayor of the city is seated on a
daïs before the Ayuntamiento. Here there are stands for spectators. The
processions are headed by men of the Guardia Civil; mummers dressed as
Romans follow, then come masked monks, girls in white raiment, bands of
music, and city officials. On Palm Sunday there is a blessing of the
palms in the Cathedral by the Cardinal Archbishop, who is clothed in
purple canonicals. The procession leaves the edifice by the Puerta San
Miguel. At Vespers the sacred banner is elevated, and at six in the
evening four _pasos_ parade the streets, in honour of San Jacinto,
Santisimo Cristo, San Juan Bautista and San Gregorio.
Figures by Montañez, the celebrated ecclesiastical sculptor, are borne
in these processions. One of the most imposing objects of veneration is
the immense crucifix, carried on a stand by thirty concealed bearers. It
is followed by musicians playing the solemn funeral music of Eslava.
Miguel Hilarion Eslava, the composer, was born in 1807, near Pampeluna,
in the north of Spain. He sang in the cathedral choir of that city, and
afterwards played the violin in services. First a priest, he became
chapel-master at Seville, in 1832, where he composed a great number of
pieces of church music and masses. His chief work is _Lira Sacro
Hispaña_, a collection of sacred music from the sixteenth to the
nineteenth century, with brief biographies of the composers. This
_magnum opus_ is in ten volumes.
Eslava also wrote secular music, and his operas of _Il Solitario_, _La
Tregura di Ptolemaide_ and _Pedro el Cruel_ were first produced at
Cadiz. The eighth volume of the _Lira_ contains only Eslava's music, and
the _Museo Organico Español_ embodies some of his own organ
compositions. This famous composer spent many years of his life in
Seville. He lived in a house in the Calle del Gran Capitan, now used as
the Colegio de San Miguel, a school for boys. Over the gateway is an
inscription announcing that Eslava lived in this house. The courtyard is
extremely quaint, and should be seen.
The solemn strains of Eslava's _Miserere_ may be heard in the Capilla
Mayor of the Cathedral during Holy Week, upon the day of 'rending the
Veil of the Temple.' This ceremony is accompanied by peals of artificial
thunder. On the Saturday after Good Friday, the _Velo Negro_ (black
curtain) is torn amidst the clanging of bells and claps of thunder. On
the same day a candle, twenty-five feet in height, is consecrated.
There is a similarity in the processions of Semana Santa, and they are
less sumptuous than in bygone times. But they are still popular, and the
visitor should endeavour to obtain a favourable point of view for
watching the ceremonials in the streets and in the Cathedral. The figure
of the Virgin is always the same in Spain; an image clad in black
velvet, trimmed with lace, and adorned with diamonds, while the
_tableaux_ of the Saviour upon the Cross are often very realistic and
ghastly. On Good Friday the large image of the Virgin is carried by
thirty-five men, and there is a representation of Christ in the throes
of death upon a splendid cross of tortoiseshell and silver.
An interesting rite is performed on Thursday afternoon, when the
Cardinal Archbishop washes the feet of twelve poor persons, who are
given new clothes and a substantial meal. In the evening the _Miserere_
of Eslava is again sung in the Cathedral by a chorus of one hundred and
fifty voices, accompanied by ninety instrumentalists.
During Holy Week a lamb fair is held in the Feria del Rastro. The lambs
are bought and given to children, who lead them about the streets.
The Corpus Christi festivals, or _La Fiesta del Santisimo Corpus_, are
less gorgeous than those of _Semana Santa_, but they are not without
interest to the student of religious custom. The dancing of the _Seises_
in the Cathedral is certainly a curious spectacle. Blanco White says
that among the treasures carried in the Corpus Christi procession of his
day were the tooth of St. Christopher, the arm of St. Bartholomew, the
head of one of the eleven thousand virgins, a part of the body of St.
Peter, a thorn from the crown of the Saviour, and a fragment of the True
Cross.
Special services and pageants are also celebrated on All Saints' Day and
at Christmas (_La Natividad_). The pilgrimages are another Andalusian
custom dating from early Christian times. These _romerias_ are of a
festal character. The people resort to Rocio in Almonte on Whit Sunday,
dressed in holiday garb, and riding in carriages decked with banners.
Dancing, singing and feasting are the chief attractions of these
semi-religious _fêtes_. _La Consolación de Utrera_ is celebrated on
September 8, when excursion trains are run from Seville to Utrera. In
October there are _romerias_ on each Sunday at Salteras, eight miles
from the city. The festivities usually end with a display of fireworks.
Passion plays are still represented in Seville. At Easter the drama of
the 'Passion and Death of our Lord Jesus Christ, with the Glorious
Resurrection' is acted at the Teatro Cervantes. The Teatro de San
Fernando is the home of opera and spectacle, and there is a summer
theatre, the Eslava, in the Paseo de la Puerta de Jerez.
Who has not heard of the charm of Andalusian dancing? Seville is the
home of the _bailarin_, the artist of the _bolero_, _olé_, _Sevilliana_,
and other dances. On every evening in summer, the inhabitants dance in
their _patios_ to the guitar and castanets, while the street lads
perform their Oriental antics in the _plazas_ and bye-streets. The
cleverest professional dancing is to be seen at the _Café de Novedades_,
at the end of the Calle de las Sierpes, where it is joined by the Calle
de Campana. There are other _cafés_ in Sierpes where national and gipsy
dancing may be witnessed, but perhaps the most characteristic
performances are those of the Novedades. You may obtain a seat, just in
front of the stage, for half a peseta. The entertainment usually opens
with a representation of gipsy or _flamenco_ dancing, which is a strange
exercise and difficult to describe. A number of women sit in a
semi-circle on the stage, and in the centre of the dancers is a male
guitar player. Nothing happens for some time, but the spectators evince
no impatience. They sip coffee, smoke, and chat contentedly.
Presently one of the _flamenco_ women quits her chair, and begins to
strike extraordinary postures. At one moment she might be trying to
impersonate Ajax defying the lightning; in the next she is apparently
fleeing from a satyr. Her hands are held high above her head, and there
is a continual movement of the fingers. She writhes and wriggles rather
than dances, and the feet play no part, except that the heels now and
then thump the stage. Meanwhile her seated companions drown the sound of
the guitar with the clapping of their hands and cries of _anda!_
One after another the women go through these curious contortions to the
delight of the audience. I believe that there are subtle fascinations in
these dances when one understands the drama which they represent; but to
the casual spectator they are somewhat tedious, and they do not make
much appeal to the imagination or to one's sense of the graceful in
movement. Most visitors will prefer the Andalusian dancing. The dancers
of the Novedades are extremely nimble in the _bolero_, one of the
prettiest and most joyous of dances. Their shapely, lissome feet skim
and bound in bewildering and intricate steps, to the clicking of
ribbon-decked castanets. They spring into the air, hover, and bound
again; they move rapidly on their toes, float, glide, and almost fly. It
is a wonderful sight. One is sorry when the troop leave the stage. There
is an intoxication in watching such grace, lightness and agility.
The singing of _coplas_ (couplets) is one of the attractions at this
_café_. This form of vocalisation is very Andalusian. I can only
describe it as a prolonged _tremolo_; the singer appears to sing a verse
without drawing breath, and the effort often seems painful. A 'star' in
this art is exceedingly popular, and his singing is sure to be followed
by loud plaudits.
Gitana dancing of a more pronounced sort may be studied in the suburb of
Triana, where there is a colony of gipsies. Those who have read George
Borrow's _The Zincali: An Account of the Gypsies of Spain_, will
discover an increased interest in their visit to the Gitana quarter.
Some of the Triana gipsies are the swarthiest and weirdest of their
race. A hag, who might be a hundred, clutches your arm, and looks into
your face with her cunning black eyes as she begs for alms. She has the
features of an Egyptian, coal black hair, and a skin like the
calf-binding of an old book. A nude brown boy rolls in the road, a Cupid
in sepia.
Here is a lovely girl of fourteen, with a lithe figure, feline
movements, huge dark eyes, jet locks, and a rich olive tinting of the
skin. She is conscious of her beauty, and will not cease to insist upon
receiving a coin for the pleasure that her charms afford the admiring
Gentiles. Whatever you give her, she will ask for more. But she is very
beautiful, and most beauties are exacting. Some of these Romany people
are almost as swarthy as negroes. There is hardly one who would not make
a splendid model for an artist. Their graceful unstudied pose is most
alluring to the painter, while the mystery of their glowing eyes, their
strange lore, and secret speech invest them with romance and poetry that
appeal to Mr. Leland and Mr. Watts-Dunton.
George Eliot must have experienced the spell of these tawny folk during
her visit to Spain. Her 'Spanish Gypsy,' is a 'creation' but it was to
the Gitanas of the highways that the poet owed her inspiration. 'Gypsy
Borrow' found the race irresistible; the tongue, the customs, the
esoterics of the Zincali of Spain were to him a subject of fascinating
study.
In the old days the Romany fared ill in the Peninsula. He was a pariah,
a suspect, an object of persecution. But to-day Sevillian gentle-folk
are inclined to pet the Gitanas, and it is quite 'good form' to use
Romany phrases, and to appear a little gipsyish. The sons of wealthy
families are the patrons of the _flamenco_ dances; they are enthralled
by the loveliness of the lithe nut-brown maids, with piercing eyes,
carmine lips, and pearly teeth. But it all ends in admiration. No bribe
will tempt the Gitana lass to swerve from the strict code of chastity
laid down by the tradition of her class.
To see the Gitanas at their best, or living under primitive conditions,
take a trip down to Coria on the Guadalquivir. A steamboat starts daily
from the Triana Bridge at about half-past seven in the morning. The
voyage is interesting, and you can return in time for evening dinner.
You pass two or three villages with landing-stages, and gain views of
the distant marshes towards the mouth of the river, while on the right
bank are slopes clothed with olives and vines. Pottery is made from the
red clay of the foothills, and a number of gipsies work at this
industry.
At Coria you will be an object of curiosity, for very few strangers
visit the little village. The Gitanas inhabit 'dug-outs,' or caves, in
the hillside. These dens are only lit by the doorway, but they are not
so dark within as one might expect. Nor are they unwholesome, for the
gipsies appear to take pride in keeping their habitations clean. Most of
the cooking is done outside the burrow. There is quite a warren in the
hill, which is honeycombed with dwellings of this savage kind.
Strange to say, not a single Gitana begged from me when I visited the
colony. But the Gentile population of Coria were somewhat importunate
when our party embarked for the return journey to Seville, and most of
the lads of the village congregated on the landing-stage to beg for
_centimos_.
Macarena and Juderia, the poor _barrios_ or suburbs of Seville, are not
like our English slums. There is no sign of abject want, though the
people have a keen struggle for subsistence. The houses are all
white-washed without, and the little courts have their climbing roses
or a grape vine trained to pillars. There are malodours here and there,
owing to the insanitary practices of the people; but the inhabitants of
these quarters are seldom ragged, and they do not appear dejected, dirty
and degraded.
Now and then, a mischievous boy will throw a stone at the foreigner, or
a group of idlers will break into derisive laughter when you pass by. On
the other hand, ask a question civilly of these people, and they will
put themselves to trouble to assist you in finding the church or the
monument of which you are in quest. Beware, however, of the
soft-tongued, amiable loafer who persists in dogging your heels and
offering his services as a guide.
Begging, which is such an intolerable nuisance in some of the Spanish
towns, has been almost suppressed in Seville by the rigorous municipal
laws. The mendicant is not extinct; some of the order are sure to be
encountered in the neighbourhood of the Cathedral, but they do not
pester the visitor incessantly as in Toledo and Granada. A number of the
idle and vicious inhabitants of Seville appear to be homeless. In this
balmy Southern climate, the _al fresco_ life of the tramp is not
unendurable; still I am told that beggars sometimes die in Spain by the
roadside from sheer want.
The Plaza Nueva is a favourite nocturnal resort of the _gamins_ and
vagabonds of the city, and at one in the morning the space presents a
scene resembling that of Trafalgar Square in the days when unfortunate
'out-of-works' camped there nightly.
In the Macarena quarter is the market street of the Feria. This
thoroughfare should be seen. It is the home of metal-workers, whose
beaten brass, iron and copper ware is interesting and artistic in
workmanship. Peripatetics here display a jumble of second-hand articles
upon the ground, such as books, old pictures, brass candlesticks, tools,
buttons, pistols, rusty swords, harness, and mule bells. There are
stalls of fruit, coloured kerchiefs, hats and caps, shoes, and common
china ware. The scene is bustling and bright.
Here the young and unknown artists of Seville were wont to sell their
pictures in former times. Murillo and many another painter of renown
stood here anxiously awaiting chance purchasers for their works. These
'fair pictures' were often daubs; but sometimes, no doubt, a buyer
secured the work of a young genius for a trifling sum. If a purchaser
wished a picture altered to his taste, the artist would retouch it upon
the spot.
These were hard days for young painters. But many who hawked their
religious pictures and portraits of the Virgin and the saints for
pesetas rose to fame, and gained wealth in their later days. A _pintura
de la Feria_ became a term in Spain for a meretricious picture. Some of
the Feria paintings were still-life subjects, and others were _sargas_,
large screens or banners used in sacred processions.
One of the sights of modern Seville is the Fábrica de Tabacos, a factory
where a large number of women and girls are employed. The building is a
handsome one, in the baroque style, in the Calle de San Fernando. The
_cigarreras_ work in overcrowded rooms. On public holidays they don
their smartest dress, and are to be seen at the _romerias_ and dances.
A survival of the ancient potter's art in Seville is the factory of La
Cartuja, in Triana, owned by the English firm of Prickman and Sons. The
works supply almost the whole country with china, and examples of
antique Spanish majolica may be seen here. La Cartuja was once a
convent. The church should be seen; it has a fine door in the _Mudéjar_
style.
Campaña's paintings in the Church of Santa Ana, in Triana, may be
inspected after a visit to La Cartuja. Near this church are the streets
inhabited by the Gitanas. The SS. Justa and Rufina, mentioned elsewhere
in these pages, made pottery in this quarter in the Roman days.
The custom of selling drinking water in the streets is common almost
everywhere in Spain. Velazquez painted the familiar figure of the
water-seller, who is to be seen to-day in the _calles_ of Seville,
crying _agua fresca_. The water is carried on the men's shoulders, in
graceful Oriental jugs of earthenware.
Sometimes one hears the sound of the drum and the _dulcinea_, a pipe
played with one hand, and used to provide music for village dances in
many parts of Spain. The music proceeds from a man, who is accompanied
by a led bullock, and it announces that tickets may be bought for a
lottery in which the prize is a horse. Piano organs enliven the streets,
playing popular dance music, and these seem to have superseded the
performances of guitarists.
Time can scarcely hang heavily upon the visitor to 'the diadem in
Andalusia's crown.' Days may be spent in the noble Cathedral, dreamy
hours passed in the scented garden of the Alcázar, or by the
Guadalquivir, where the bulbul still sings as in the Moorish days. Each
time one climbs to the summit of the Giralda, a fresh beauty in the
prospect of the sunny, white city and the glowing plain fascinates the
vision. The picture gallery should be visited more than once; and there
are so many works of art in the churches, monasteries and public
buildings that one is never at a loss for pleasant recreation or serious
study.
Delightful, too, are the cool evenings in the _plazas_, or the gardens,
when the sinking sun sheds its beams on the stately Cathedral and the
proud Giralda. The storks sail homewards far overhead in the glow of
the rising moon; a chorus of birds dies away in the tangled banks of the
Guadalquivir. Brief night succeeds the twilight; day dawn soon appears,
and the hawks flash from their eyries in the Giralda, and the mule bells
begin to jingle in the sunlit streets.
[Illustration: A Roof Garden]
The quay, which stretches from the Triana Bridge to the Delicias, forms
a pleasant promenade. By the Golden Tower there are seats under the
trees, and the kiosks of the _refresco_ sellers, who dispense
orange-water, lemonade and sarsaparilla to the sailors and the girls
from the tobacco factory. Adjoining that part of the quay where English
vessels are loaded with iron brought upon a tramway, there is a little
booth for the sale of refreshments. It is kept by a young Spaniard and
his wife, named José. The boothkeeper has made several trips to England
in trading vessels, and he speaks English very fairly. José has a
'connection' among the British sailors, who come to his pavilion for
rum, whisky and other drinks beloved of English tars. He possesses a
great regard for England and the English, and among his customers José
is often addressed as Johnson.
Near the Golden Tower there is another house of call used by seamen. In
the window you will see advertisements of British beverages, and
announcements in several European languages. Ships from Liverpool,
Glasgow and Cardiff are often anchored in this part of the Guadalquivir,
and now and then there is an English yacht in the port.
The fishermen of Seville have a curious method of taking shad. They work
a cross-line under water from two boats on opposite sides of the river.
The line is armed with hooks, baited with pieces of meat. Now and then,
the fishermen haul up a fish. But the Guadalquivir is heavily netted and
fished, and the shad are not very plentiful in this reach. There are
some very big eels in the river, which can be caught with a rod and line
from the banks.
As the _pescadores_ slowly scull their boats down the river, they sing
strange Andalusian melodies, with a kind of _yödel_. Their voices reach
far along the stream on still days. The men are hard-working, and their
catches scarcely repay them for their patience and labour in the burning
sun.
Along the quay, and at every point of entrance to Seville, there are
customs' officers in uniform, with swords at their sides. The _consumo_
is not a popular character in Spain. Peasants and small traders resent
the tax upon the produce which they bring into the markets, and many
attempts are made to evade paying the duty. At Córdova I heard a violent
altercation between a peasant and a _consumo_, who demanded duty upon a
live pigeon.
Spain is the land of officials in uniform. Down the Guadalquivir you
will see armed men who protect the wooden breakwaters. Then there are
four grades of police, the _consumos_, and the watchmen, all of them
provided with weapons.
The quaint, irregular thoroughfares of Seville, its palm trees and olive
gardens, its Morisco remains, its _hidalgos_ and _doñas_, its brightness
and gaiety, and its blue skies will not soon be forgotten by those who
pass a short time within its ancient walls. Lord Byron praises the city
as the most beautiful in Spain. It is certainly charming, but there are
towns in the Peninsula more antiquated in aspect, and more picturesque
in their surroundings. Still, the Andalusian capital possesses a strong
fascination, and few persons will dispute, in the main, the truth of
Byron's lines in the first canto of _Don Juan_:--
'In Seville was he born, a pleasant city,
Famous for oranges and women--he
Who has not seen it will be much to pity,
So says the proverb--and I quite agree;
Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty,
Cadiz, perhaps--but that you soon may see;--
Don Juan's parents lived beside the river.
A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir.'
Since the days of Cervantes, the aspect of the city and the manners and
customs of its inhabitants have not undergone any profound change. The
monumental buildings remain, and the cry of the watchman and the notes
of the guitar are still heard by night in the tortuous alleys, and under
the palm trees of the _plazas_. The careless, merry Sevillanos continue
to love the dance, the song, the bull fight and the theatre more than
science and literature. We may see the types sketched by the great
satirist in _The Jealous Estremaduran_, if we will but enter one of the
fashionable _cafés_ during the evening. It would be unfair to say that
Sevillian society is composed entirely of adventurers, but they are a
distinctive class in the pleasure-loving capital. 'In the city of
Seville,' writes Cervantes, 'is a class of idling, lazy people who
locally go by the common name of "the children of the ward"; they are
considered as foragers on the public; they are the sons of rich parents,
not of the nobility; always well-dressed, fond of pleasure, extravagant
and expensive, plunging themselves and their parents in debt; always
feasting and revelling; every way bringing discredit on society,
defrauding and injuring their creditors.'
The stranger will not be in the city many hours before he notices a
curious device on public buildings, official uniforms and elsewhere.
This is the node, or knot (_el nodo_), which forms a part of the
coat-of-arms of Seville. The knot is in the centre of an ornamental
circle, and on one side of it are the letters NO and on the other DO.
This legend in full is _No madeja do_, or, _No me ha dejado_, which
means: 'It has not deserted me.' The symbol of the _nodo_ was adopted
after the fealty of the _muy leal_ city to Alfonzo X.
[Illustration: Arms of Seville]