Spanish children share the love of the theatre which belongs to their elders. At the afternoon performances, which are given on every Sunday and fiestas, half the house is occupied by child ticket-holders, whose interest in the action of the piece is astonishing. They applaud with cries of “bonito”; they ask questions, and the house is never still for a single instant.
Spanish children are already grown up when quite young, but they are the most fascinating little people, at the same time natural and self-conscious, with a sort of precocious winsomeness. Their bodies are so full of energy that they give an impression of more vivid life than the children of Northern countries.
Nowhere are children happier and more loved than in Spain; the niños are the idols of their parents, and are universally treated with indulgence. Yet the Spanish child is not spoilt, and the obedient spirit is never lacking. Even the poorest child is taught to practise those courtesies of life which in Spain are never forgotten. Ask a child his name, and after the answer he will always add, “at the service of God and yourself.” No child forgets the “mil gracias” with which a benefit is accepted. I recall a small boy of peasant parentage who acted as my guide upon one occasion, and who, when asked what gift he would like for his service, answered: “I shall like best, señora, what pleases you most to give me.” Even in the prayer which Spanish children offer at night you find an expression of this quaint, delicious politeness:
“Jesus, Joseph, Mary,
Your little servant keep,
While, with your kind permission,
I lay me down to sleep.”
Those who have taught Spanish children all praise their intelligence. During the first twelve years of life both girls and boys develop more rapidly than other European children.
This precocious understanding is manifest in their games. Go to the great park of the Buen Retiro, where during each afternoon the young Madrileños are busy with their plays of bull-fighting, politics, and flirtations. The children are attended by their nurses, who most frequently are the pasiegas from Santander, who wear the charming national costumes of a pleated red petticoat with silver-lace border, velvet bodice, and brightly coloured handkerchief as head-dress.
Al toro is the favourite game. The niños, using a mask for the bull and the capes of red and yellow which are sold on the stalls, go through the whole pantomime of the bull-ring with a vivid and quite grown-up delight in the sharp appeal made to their sensations. Another group play at soldiers, armed with sticks for swords and holding a great flag. Other children, a little older, pass the time in flirtations. The boys pay the extravagant Spanish compliments to little girls, or in the wooded groves they sing the native melodies to the answering songs of the nightingales.
I talked with one young singer, who told me he had reached his fifteenth year, and already was betrothed. I asked him if he were not too young. “No, señora,” was his answer; “God is good, and my parents have money to maintain us.” Afterwards he took up his song, that had something wild and Oriental in its passionate notes.