THE PEASANTRY
The peasants are very hard-working, particularly in the north,
where they are a finer race altogether than in the south, not only
better-looking, manlier, and more resolute in character, but thriftier
and more industrious.
In a previous chapter I told you about the dancing and singing that
they are so fond of; but they are not always light-hearted, for there
is another and darker side to their lives.
The wages are much lower than in England, and the working hours much
longer; sunrise to sunset is the measure of labour, and the summer days
are long and the sun is cruelly hot. By the time work is over, the
tired peasants can often have but little heart left for fun or frolic.
Very few agricultural machines are used in Portugal, all the sowing
and reaping being done by hand. The grain, too, is threshed out with
flails. The workers stand round a heap of maize and swing their flails
rhythmically up and down with a dull, thudding sound, till all the
grain is threshed out. There is an old folk-song about this which
I must quote for you. The feeling that runs all through the verses
reveals pathetically the dull monotony of the long hours spent in weary
toil. The singer begins by reproaching his flail; then his conscience
smites him as he remembers that it is by the aid of this trusty friend
that he earns his bread, and that to-morrow will be as to-day--an
endless to-morrow of toil and labour.
[Music: “O MY FLAIL.”
O my flail, my sor-ry flail!
A ve-ry clum-sy tool art thou.
Ear-ly and late I feel thy weight.
The sweat is pour-ing from my brow,
Yet my flail, my trust-y flail!
My flail that thresh-est out the grain,
Though wear-y now,
Both I and thou
To-mor-row must to work a-gain.
The above is a well-known Portuguese folk-song. As is always the case
with folk-songs which are traditional, there are slight differences in
the versions in use in different places. The above is the version as
sung by students at Coimbra. All present should clap their hands on the
first three beats of every bar. The author is indebted for the English
translation to Mr. Morton Latham.]
Wheat is separated from the husk in a very odd way. It is trodden out
by oxen, and beans are worked out of their pods in the same manner. The
women toil in the fields just as hard as the men--if anything harder,
and one may often see a woman carrying a huge load on her head with
a man strolling idle and empty-handed beside her. Even the children
have to make themselves useful, starting work at a very early age. A
solemn little boy or girl carrying a goad twice their own height will
walk barefooted in front of ox-cart or plough, guiding the great docile
beasts in the way they should go. The children, too, are sent out to
herd the cattle and to look after the flocks.
I knew a little boy who seemed to spend his whole life shepherding his
father’s flock of sheep and goats, which are always mixed in Portugal.
Early in the morning he would leave the farm and wander off over the
moors. In cold weather he would wear a sack over his head to protect
himself from the piercing wind; in summer he would try to find a
cool spot beneath some high rock or shady tree, and there he
would contentedly eat his midday meal of black bread, olives,
and goat’s-milk cheese, always, however, keeping an eye
on his charges, lest any should stray.
[Illustration: HERD BOY AND FLOCK.]
Quite different is the work of the shepherds in the mountainous country
of the north and in the great Estrella range, where the lofty crags and
deep gorges of the mountains stretch away as far as the eye can see.
Here it is men’s work, and in the summer, when the flocks are taken to
the high upland pastures, the shepherds live in roughly-built stone
huts. At night they often sleep in the midst of their flocks, while
their dogs, big long-haired mastiffs, keep guard on the outskirts to
give warning at the approach of danger.
Very real danger it is at times, for in the narrow, precipitous ravines
of these wild hills are still to be found--though of late years much
more rarely--the large brown wolves, which steal down at dead of night
to carry off their prey. The struggle is fierce between the faithful
watch-dogs and their savage enemies. The shepherds in the darkness lay
about them lustily with their staves, the growling and snarling of the
wolves and mastiffs mingle with the bleating of the sheep and goats
and the shouts of the men, till at last the wolves are beaten off,
slinking away as noiselessly as they came.
The cottages of the poor are often only small, one-storied houses,
built of loose stones without cement, and just plastered roughly
over to keep out the wind. Inside they are dark and dreary, and very
scantily furnished. Although they work so hard, the peasants in many
parts are wretchedly poor, and their food none too plentiful. It is
different from that of an English labourer, being mainly black bread,
made from a mixture of maize and rye-flour. They also eat olives,
rice, oil, vegetables, and a considerable quantity of dried and salted
cod-fish--_bacalhau_, as it is called. It smells and tastes very
strong, and before it is cooked is as hard as a board. Nevertheless,
it is very nutritious. The whole population is particularly fond of
it, so much so that it is by no means unusual to see people eating it
uncooked, though to us it would not seem at all a tempting delicacy.
[Illustration: THE END OF A LONG DAY.]