“Did you see who was sitting opposite her?” asked J. “It was O’Shea.”
“He’s easily consoled for Trinidad.” In spite of Patsy’s natural jealousy, that meeting with O’Shea was a comfort to us all. It seemed to bring us out of musty, dusty Cordova’s dead past, and link us with dear, living Seville. In the cool of the afternoon, the streets woke up a little; there were more carriages than one would have supposed possible in the Paseo of El Gran Capitan.
That evening we went to the theatre. The performance began at half-past eight. The price of box was five pesetas for each play. There were four different pieces, each lasting about an hour. The advantage of the system is, you can drop into a theatre early or late, and are not obliged to pay for more of the performance than you see. The first play, about a contrabandista and his sweetheart, a cigarrera, was full of gunshots and morality, and highly applauded, though the acting was mediocre. Patsy, who discovered several pretty girls in the audience, asked the Don if the women of Northern Spain were as charming as in the South.
“Not all women in Andalusia is beautifool,” the Don admitted, “but all is gracious; the young gels have a naturality. The Madrileñas, it is affective their manniers for to speak, it is different from the Andaluz!”
J. and I were satisfied with two plays. Patsy and Don Jaime stayed for the last, an operetta.
“I like him better the music, it is the end representation,” said the Don.
The next day Pasty had a great deal to tell us about Cordova. “There are about twenty of the old aristocratic families who still live here,” he said. “There is literally nothing for the young men to do but loaf about the Club of Friendship, where, Don Jaime says, half the nobility of the province have been ruined by gambling. Some people he knows have had to sell their silver. They had a complete silver service, tureen, vegetable dishes, plates, platters, all the rest of it, for every day. They only used their English porcelain for best; now they have to use it every day. The same people had solid silver basins and pitchers, and dozens of those stunning old repoussé silver trays and platters they used to make here. You see the Don knows Cordova well; he can tell you more about it in an hour than you could get out of books in a year.”
The Don twirled his mustache and ran his fingers through his hair. “I have a custom to come to Cordoba every winter,” he admitted. “At that season all families is at their coontry place in the hills for the shootings. In the coto of my friend it is no luxury, all comfort. The ladies go very simple, put a handkerchief over the head, or an old hat; the children is dressed very plain, like the poor.”
“Is the sport good?” asked Patsy.
“In my youth it was more plenty the black beasts (wild boar). Now is much deer, hares, rabbits, partridges.”