Here Are No Colonies Of Germans, As At Saint
Petersburg; No English Factories, As At Lisbon; No Multitudes Of
Insolent
Yankees lounging through the streets as at the Havannah,
with an air which seems to say, the land is our
Own whenever we
choose to take it; but a population which, however strange and
wild, and composed of various elements, is Spanish, and will remain
so as long as the city itself shall exist. Hail, ye aguadores of
Asturia! who, in your dress of coarse duffel and leathern skull-
caps, are seen seated in hundreds by the fountain sides, upon your
empty water-casks, or staggering with them filled to the topmost
stories of lofty houses. Hail, ye caleseros of Valencia! who,
lolling lazily against your vehicles, rasp tobacco for your paper
cigars whilst waiting for a fare. Hail to you, beggars of La
Mancha! men and women, who, wrapped in coarse blankets, demand
charity indifferently at the gate of the palace or the prison.
Hail to you, valets from the mountains, mayordomos and secretaries
from Biscay and Guipuscoa, toreros from Andalusia, riposteros from
Galicia, shopkeepers from Catalonia! Hail to ye, Castilians,
Estremenians and Aragonese, of whatever calling! And lastly,
genuine sons of the capital, rabble of Madrid, ye twenty thousand
manolos, whose terrible knifes, on the second morning of May,
worked such grim havoc amongst the legions of Murat!
And the higher orders - the ladies and gentlemen, the cavaliers and
senoras; shall I pass them by in silence? The truth is I have
little to say about them; I mingled but little in their society,
and what I saw of them by no means tended to exalt them in my
imagination. I am not one of those who, wherever they go, make it
a constant practice to disparage the higher orders, and to exalt
the populace at their expense. There are many capitals in which
the high aristocracy, the lords and ladies, the sons and daughters
of nobility, constitute the most remarkable and the most
interesting part of the population. This is the case at Vienna,
and more especially at London. Who can rival the English
aristocrat in lofty stature, in dignified bearing, in strength of
hand, and valour of heart? Who rides a nobler horse? Who has a
firmer seat? And who more lovely than his wife, or sister, or
daughter? But with respect to the Spanish aristocracy, the ladies
and gentlemen, the cavaliers and senoras, I believe the less that
is said of them on the points to which I have just alluded the
better. I confess, however, that I know little about them; they
have, perhaps, their admirers, and to the pens of such I leave
their panegyric. Le Sage has described them as they were nearly
two centuries ago. His description is anything but captivating,
and I do not think that they have improved since the period of the
sketches of the immortal Frenchman. I would sooner talk of the
lower class, not only of Madrid but of all Spain. The Spaniard of
the lower class has much more interest for me, whether manolo,
labourer, or muleteer. He is not a common being; he is an
extraordinary man. He has not, it is true, the amiability and
generosity of the Russian mujik, who will give his only rouble
rather than the stranger shall want; nor his placid courage, which
renders him insensible to fear, and at the command of his Tsar,
sends him singing to certain death. {6} There is more hardness and
less self-devotion in the disposition of the Spaniard; he
possesses, however, a spirit of proud independence, which it is
impossible but to admire. He is ignorant, of course; but it is
singular that I have invariably found amongst the low and slightly
educated classes far more liberality of sentiment than amongst the
upper. It has long been the fashion to talk of the bigotry of the
Spaniards, and their mean jealousy of foreigners. This is true to
a certain extent: but it chiefly holds good with respect to the
upper classes. If foreign valour or talent has never received its
proper meed in Spain, the great body of the Spaniards are certainly
not in fault. I have heard Wellington calumniated in this proud
scene of his triumphs, but never by the old soldiers of Aragon and
the Asturias, who assisted to vanquish the French at Salamanca and
the Pyrenees. I have heard the manner of riding of an English
jockey criticized, but it was by the idiotic heir of Medina Celi,
and not by a picador of the Madrilenian bull ring.
Apropos of bull-fighters:- Shortly after my arrival, I one day
entered a low tavern in a neighbourhood notorious for robbery and
murder, and in which for the last two hours I had been wandering on
a voyage of discovery. I was fatigued, and required refreshment.
I found the place thronged with people, who had all the appearance
of ruffians. I saluted them, upon which they made way for me to
the bar, taking off their sombreros with great ceremony. I emptied
a glass of val de penas, and was about to pay for it and depart,
when a horrible looking fellow, dressed in a buff jerkin, leather
breeches, and jackboots, which came half way up his thighs, and
having on his head a white hat, the rims of which were at least a
yard and a half in circumference, pushed through the crowd, and
confronting me, roared:-
"Otra copita! vamos Inglesito: Otra copita!"
"Thank you, my good sir, you are very kind, you appear to know me,
but I have not the honour of knowing you."
"Not know me!" replied the being. "I am Sevilla, the torero. I
know you well; you are the friend of Baltasarito, the national, who
is a friend of mine, and a very good subject."
Then turning to the company, he said in a sonorous tone, laying a
strong emphasis on the last syllable of every word, according to
the custom of the gente rufianesca throughout Spain:
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