In the cafés you will have an opportunity of studying the typical Andalusian. He wears a short coat and very tight trousers of a light colour, and a felt hat with a broad, flat brim. He is always clean-shaven, and his hair is cut very short. These men are often handsome, and have a striking expression of strength; the faces, dignified and always humorous, often resemble a comic actor. They are an affectionate and friendly company, and their conversation echoes with a deafening buzz. Notice the way in which they smoke their cigarettes, and at intervals drink their refrescos or sip from their small glasses of aguardiente. Their enjoyment is so Spanish, so epicurean. And women in the street fan themselves in the same way. All these people are happy in the frank acceptance of life as it is.
Inside the shops, which have doors wide open to the street, groups of women sit to buy fans and mantillas. Making purchases is a delightful game, in which all Spanish women excel. They smile, and chatter, and use their fans, bargaining with delicious grace, while the salesman, cigarette in hand, shrugs his shoulders and gesticulates.
“But the mantilla is dear, señor.”
He throws out his hands in protest.
“No, señorita; I am giving it away at ten pesetas.”
“Is the quality good?” and she raises her eyebrows in bewitching incredulity.
“As good as God’s blessing.”
And with mutual smiles and salutations the purchase is made.
It is in the Paseo de las Delicias—the name will tell you of the beauty of this park, with its orange-groves, hedges of blue aloes, and all manner of tropical trees and flowers—that the ladies of Seville drive and promenade each afternoon. The majos cast languishing glances upon them as they walk to and fro, and compliments are given: “Oh, Jesus, what an air!” “Happy is the mother that bore thee!” “Your eyes are as runaway stars that would rather shine in your face than in the heavens!”