Things seen in Spain

by C. Gasquoine Hartley

The Sevillanas smile and chatter together; this play of love is a part of the accustomed homage which is their due.

There is a fascination about Spanish women not easy to define. Many of them are not beautiful, but they are always graceful, and they all walk beautifully. Then, most of them have the soft, expressive eyes which the East has bequeathed to Spain. There is a quality and certain finish about them which is unique; each one looks as if she understood that she was a woman, and was very glad that this was so. Perhaps this is why they are so attractive; this is the reason, too, why the old women are so good-humoured, smiling, and gay. The indefinite unquietness that so often characterizes English and American women is entirely absent. These Spanish señoras, for their happiness, have kept the pagan content.

Much of what is characteristic of the home life of the Sevillians may be gathered from the arrangement of their houses. They are all—the houses of the poor as well as those of the rich citizens—built around the patio, or shaded court, where palms, myrtles, pomegranates, and jasmines grow, and the singing of caged birds mingles with the sound of the playing fountains. Into this patio all the windows of the house open and the rooms lead. The doors are of open ironwork—no two doors are alike—and often, even in the small houses, the grating is of exquisite workmanship. One door, which also has an open reja, or grating, leads into the street. It is in these patios that the Sevillians spend their lives, and this throwing open of their homes to the gaze of all who pass in the streets is exactly characteristic of this simple, happy people. Every afternoon and evening the youth of the family laugh and sing and dance to the rattle of the castanets. It is against the rejas that the lovers stand at night and sing their serenades, and so persistent is their patience that they have gained the title of “iron-eaters.” All Andalusians are musical; even the beggar thrums his guitar, which he will not part with for bread; to him music is a necessity, and bread a luxury with which he can dispense.

The Andalusian’s leisure is a perpetual source of delight. What impresses the serious foreigner, who is so fortunate as to become an inmate of a Sevillian home, is the mirth and courtesy of the family, who all seem to enjoy endless leisure. Spanish households have a pleasantness quite their own. The men are never preoccupied with business; smoking cigarettes, they will pass hours chattering to the women of the family, who spend the greater part of the day working their beautiful embroideries. Few books are read, and talking is the chief occupation. No people can talk like the Spaniards, and the excitement is so spontaneous that often the conversation is carried on far into the night. The slightest incident gains a poetic vividness from their dramatic telling. Cigarette-smoking and talking are the only indulgences which the Sevillians carry to excess.

In their home life there is a love of visiting and a love of receiving visitors. Tertulias, or parties, are frequent. But a Spanish party differs materially from an English, in so far as there are no refreshments—if we except the glasses of pure water and plate of azucarillos to sweeten the water, which are placed upon a side-table. This is an instance of the sobriety of the Sevillians. The guests dance and sing and talk incessantly, and are perfectly satisfied to enjoy themselves without eating.

The Spaniards are good hosts; the exquisite politeness which is natural to them, even to those of the very lowest classes, causes them to lay themselves out to entertain; boredom would seem to be unknown to the native host and hostess. They make a pleasure of the slightest social intercourse. I recall one occasion in Seville, when I asked permission to enter the house of a poor woman in the Macarena quarter, in order that my artist friend might make a drawing from her balcony of a building of which a satisfactory view could not be obtained in the street.

“My house is yours, señoras; make whatsoever use of it you will,” was her answer to my request. And during the hours that my friend was at work she put aside her occupations—she was a planchadora, and was ironing with her assistants on our entrance—and gave herself up solely to help and entertain us. A refresco was brought to us; calientes, the twisted doughnuts which are made in every Andalusian house, were fried for us. Nor would she consent to receive the payment which we, with our foreign stupidity, offered to her on our departure. No, the kindly, cheery woman did not understand payment for hospitality.

But it is during the days of festival at Easter and the Feria that the fine hospitality of the Sevillians is seen at its best. The houses are filled to overflowing, and hospitality is taxed to a degree that only the most perfect courtesy and good-nature could endure. Every corner is received with a chorus of welcome, and embraced like a brother. Beds are surrendered, even sofas are given up, and as fresh strangers arrive, unable to gain accommodation in the crowded inns, mattresses, pillows, and rugs are brought out of cupboards, and beds are made upon the floor. All the members of the family, and even the tired servants, who are always joyously ready to help, sit up, because there is literally nowhere for them to sleep. The difficulty of obtaining provisions in these seasons of festivity is very great: the butcher cannot provide meat; even bread is hard to buy. But the señora of the house is never troubled; she tells you her woes, and then goes smiling to fry calientes and prepare other delicacies for the refreshment of her guests. The constant Spanish courtesy never fails, and the foreigner who happily chances among this crowded joyous party can but wonder.