Tracks of a Rolling Stone [98]
a red FAJA or sash, and the sombrero which I believe is worn nowhere except in the bull-ring. The whole of this picturesque dress is now, I think, given up. I have spent the last two winters in the south of Spain, but have not once seen it.
It must not be supposed that we chose this 'get-up' to gratify any aesthetic taste of our own or other people's; it was long before the days of the 'Too-toos,' whom Mr. Gilbert brought to a timely end. We had settled to ride through Spain from Gibraltar to Bayonne, choosing always the bridle- roads so as to avoid anything approaching a beaten track. We were to visit the principal cities and keep more or less a northerly course, staying on the way at such places as Malaga, Cordova, Toledo, Madrid, Valladolid, and Burgos. The rest was to be left to chance. We were to take no map; and when in doubt as to diverging roads, the toss of a coin was to settle it. This programme was conscientiously adhered to. The object of the dress then was obscurity. For safety (brigands abounded) and for economy, it was desirable to pass unnoticed. We never knew in what dirty POSADA or road-side VENTA we should spend the night. For the most part it was at the resting-place of the muleteers, which would be nothing but a roughly paved dark chamber, one end occupied by mules and the other by their drivers. We made our own omelets and salad and chocolate; with the exception of the never failing BACALLAO, or salt fish, we rarely had anything else; and rolling ourselves into our cloaks, with saddles for pillows, slept amongst the muleteers on the stone flags. We had bought a couple of ponies in the Seville market for 7L. and 8L. Our ALFORJAS or saddlebags contained all we needed. Our portmanteaus were sent on from town to town, wherever we had arranged to stop. Rough as the life was, we saw the people of Spain as no ordinary travellers could hope to see them. The carriers, the shepherds, the publicans, the travelling merchants, the priests, the barbers, the MOLINERAS of Antequera, the Maritornes', the Sancho Panzas - all just as they were seen by the immortal knight.
From the MOZOS DE LA CUADRA (ostlers) and ARRIEROS, upwards and downwards, nowhere have I met, in the same class, with such natural politeness. This is much changed for the worse now; but before the invasion of tourists one never passed a man on the road who did not salute one with a 'Vaya usted con Dios.' Nor would the most indigent vagabond touch the filthy BACALLAO which he drew from his wallet till he had courteously addressed the stranger with the formula 'Quiere usted comer?' ('Will your Lordship please to eat?') The contrast between the people and the nobles in this respect was very marked. We saw something of the latter in the club at Seville, where one met men whose high-sounding names and titles have come down to us from the greatest epochs of Spanish history. Their ignorance was surprising. Not one of them had been farther than Madrid. Not one of them knew a word of any language but his own, nor was he acquainted with the rudiments even of his country's history. Their conversation was restricted to the bull-ring and the cockpit, to cards and women. Their chief aim seemed to be to stagger us with the number of quarterings they bore upon their escutcheons; and they appraised others by a like estimate.
Cayley, tickled with the humour of their childish vanity, painted an elaborate coat of arms, which he stuck in the crown of his hat, and by means of which he explained to them that he too was by rights a Spanish nobleman. With the utmost gravity he delivered some such medley as this: His Iberian origin dated back to the time of Hannibal, who, after his defeat of the Papal forces and capture of Rome, had, as they well knew, married Princess Peri Banou, youngest daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella. The issue of the marriage was the famous Cardinal Chicot, from whom he - George Cayley - was of direct male descent. When Chicot was slain by Oliver
It must not be supposed that we chose this 'get-up' to gratify any aesthetic taste of our own or other people's; it was long before the days of the 'Too-toos,' whom Mr. Gilbert brought to a timely end. We had settled to ride through Spain from Gibraltar to Bayonne, choosing always the bridle- roads so as to avoid anything approaching a beaten track. We were to visit the principal cities and keep more or less a northerly course, staying on the way at such places as Malaga, Cordova, Toledo, Madrid, Valladolid, and Burgos. The rest was to be left to chance. We were to take no map; and when in doubt as to diverging roads, the toss of a coin was to settle it. This programme was conscientiously adhered to. The object of the dress then was obscurity. For safety (brigands abounded) and for economy, it was desirable to pass unnoticed. We never knew in what dirty POSADA or road-side VENTA we should spend the night. For the most part it was at the resting-place of the muleteers, which would be nothing but a roughly paved dark chamber, one end occupied by mules and the other by their drivers. We made our own omelets and salad and chocolate; with the exception of the never failing BACALLAO, or salt fish, we rarely had anything else; and rolling ourselves into our cloaks, with saddles for pillows, slept amongst the muleteers on the stone flags. We had bought a couple of ponies in the Seville market for 7L. and 8L. Our ALFORJAS or saddlebags contained all we needed. Our portmanteaus were sent on from town to town, wherever we had arranged to stop. Rough as the life was, we saw the people of Spain as no ordinary travellers could hope to see them. The carriers, the shepherds, the publicans, the travelling merchants, the priests, the barbers, the MOLINERAS of Antequera, the Maritornes', the Sancho Panzas - all just as they were seen by the immortal knight.
From the MOZOS DE LA CUADRA (ostlers) and ARRIEROS, upwards and downwards, nowhere have I met, in the same class, with such natural politeness. This is much changed for the worse now; but before the invasion of tourists one never passed a man on the road who did not salute one with a 'Vaya usted con Dios.' Nor would the most indigent vagabond touch the filthy BACALLAO which he drew from his wallet till he had courteously addressed the stranger with the formula 'Quiere usted comer?' ('Will your Lordship please to eat?') The contrast between the people and the nobles in this respect was very marked. We saw something of the latter in the club at Seville, where one met men whose high-sounding names and titles have come down to us from the greatest epochs of Spanish history. Their ignorance was surprising. Not one of them had been farther than Madrid. Not one of them knew a word of any language but his own, nor was he acquainted with the rudiments even of his country's history. Their conversation was restricted to the bull-ring and the cockpit, to cards and women. Their chief aim seemed to be to stagger us with the number of quarterings they bore upon their escutcheons; and they appraised others by a like estimate.
Cayley, tickled with the humour of their childish vanity, painted an elaborate coat of arms, which he stuck in the crown of his hat, and by means of which he explained to them that he too was by rights a Spanish nobleman. With the utmost gravity he delivered some such medley as this: His Iberian origin dated back to the time of Hannibal, who, after his defeat of the Papal forces and capture of Rome, had, as they well knew, married Princess Peri Banou, youngest daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella. The issue of the marriage was the famous Cardinal Chicot, from whom he - George Cayley - was of direct male descent. When Chicot was slain by Oliver