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.
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