i am an englishman, living, as all englishman should do, in england, and my wife would not, i think, be well pleased were any one to insinuate that she were other than an englishwoman; but in the circumstances of my marriage i became connected with the south of spain, and the narrative which i am to tell requires that i should refer to some of those details.
the pomfrets and daguilars have long been in trade together in this country, and one of the partners has usually resided at seville for the sake of the works which the firm there possesses. my father, james pomfret, lived there for ten years before his marriage; and since that and up to the present period, old mr. daguilar has always been on the spot. he was, i believe, born in spain, but he came very early to england; he married an english wife, and his sons had been educated exclusively in england. his only daughter, maria daguilar, did not pass so large a proportion of her early life in this country, but she came to us for a visit at the age of seventeen, and when she returned i made up my mind that i most assuredly would go after her. so i did, and she is now sitting on the other side of the fireplace with a legion of small linen habiliments in a huge basket by her side.
i felt, at the first, that there was something lacking to make my cup of love perfectly delightful. it was very sweet, but there was wanting that flower of romance which is generally added to the heavenly draught by a slight admixture of opposition. i feared that the path of my true love would run too smooth. when maria came to our house, my mother and elder sister seemed to be quite willing that i should be continually alone with her; and she had not been there ten days before my father, by chance, remarked that there was nothing old mr. daguilar valued so highly as a thorough feeling of intimate alliance between the two families which had been so long connected in trade. i was never told that maria was to be my wife, but i felt that the same thing was done without words; and when, after six weeks of somewhat elaborate attendance upon her, i asked her to be mrs. john pomfret, i had no more fear of a refusal, or even of hesitation on her part, than i now have when i suggest to my partner some commercial transaction of undoubted advantage.
but maria, even at that age, had about her a quiet sustained decision of character quite unlike anything i had seen in english girls. i used to hear, and do still hear, how much more flippant is the education of girls in france and spain than in england; and i know that this is shown to be the result of many causes—the roman catholic religion being, perhaps, chief offender; but, nevertheless, i rarely see in one of our own young women the same power of a self-sustained demeanour as i meet on the continent. it goes no deeper than the demeanour, people say. i can only answer that i have not found that shallowness in my own wife.
miss daguilar replied to me that she was not prepared with an answer; she had only known me six weeks, and wanted more time to think about it; besides, there was one in her own country with whom she would wish to consult. i knew she had no mother; and as for consulting old mr. daguilar on such a subject, that idea, i knew, could not have troubled her. besides, as i afterwards learned, mr. daguilar had already proposed the marriage to his partner exactly as he would have proposed a division of assets. my mother declared that maria was a foolish chit—in which by-the-bye she showed her entire ignorance of miss daguilar’s character; my eldest sister begged that no constraint might he put on the young lady’s inclinations—which provoked me to assert that the young lady’s inclinations were by no means opposed to my own; and my father, in the coolest manner suggested that the matter might stand over for twelve months, and that i might then go to seville, and see about it! stand over for twelve months! would not maria, long before that time, have been snapped up and carried off by one of those inordinately rich spanish grandees who are still to be met with occasionally in andalucia?
my father’s dictum, however, had gone forth; and maria, in the calmest voice, protested that she thought it very wise. i should be less of a boy by that time, she said, smiling on me, but driving wedges between every fibre of my body as she spoke. “be it so,” i said, proudly. “at any rate, i am not so much of a boy that i shall forget you.” “and, john, you still have the trade to learn,” she added, with her deliciously foreign intonation—speaking very slowly, but with perfect pronunciation. the trade to learn! however, i said not a word, but stalked out of the room, meaning to see her no more before she went. but i could not resist attending on her in the hall as she started; and, when she took leave of us, she put her face up to be kissed by me, as she did by my father, and seemed to receive as much emotion from one embrace as from the other. “he’ll go out by the packet of the 1st april,” said my father, speaking of me as though i were a bale of goods. “ah! that will be so nice,” said maria, settling her dress in the carriage; “the oranges will be ripe for him then!”
on the 17th april i did sail, and felt still very like a bale of goods. i had received one letter from her, in which she merely stated that her papa would have a room ready for me on my arrival; and, in answer to that, i had sent an epistle somewhat longer, and, as i then thought, a little more to the purpose. her turn of mind was more practical than mine, and i must confess my belief that she did not appreciate my poetry.
i landed at cadiz, and was there joined by an old family friend, one of the very best fellows that ever lived. he was to accompany me up as far as seville; and, as he had lived for a year or two at xeres, was supposed to be more spanish almost than a spaniard. his name was johnson, and he was in the wine trade; and whether for travelling or whether for staying at home—whether for paying you a visit in your own house, or whether for entertaining you in his—there never was (and i am prepared to maintain there never will be) a stancher friend, choicer companion, or a safer guide than thomas johnson. words cannot produce a eulogium sufficient for his merits. but, as i have since learned, he was not quite so spanish as i had imagined. three years among the bodegas of xeres had taught him, no doubt, to appreciate the exact twang of a good, dry sherry; but not, as i now conceive, the exactest flavour of the true spanish character. i was very lucky, however, in meeting such a friend, and now reckon him as one of the stanchest allies of the house of pomfret, daguilar, and pomfret.
he met me at cadiz, took me about the town, which appeared to me to be of no very great interest;—though the young ladies were all very well. but, in this respect, i was then a stoic, till such time as i might be able to throw myself at the feet of her whom i was ready to proclaim the most lovely of all the dulcineas of andalucia. he carried me up by boat and railway to xeres; gave me a most terrific headache, by dragging me out into the glare of the sun, after i had tasted some half a dozen different wines, and went through all the ordinary hospitalities. on the next day we returned to puerto, and from thence getting across to st. lucar and bonanza, found ourselves on the banks of the guadalquivir, and took our places in the boat for seville. i need say but little to my readers respecting that far-famed river. thirty years ago we in england generally believed that on its banks was to be found a pure elysium of pastoral beauty; that picturesque shepherds and lovely maidens here fed their flocks in fields of asphodel; that the limpid stream ran cool and crystal over bright stones and beneath perennial shade; and that every thing on the guadalquivir was as lovely and as poetical as its name. now, it is pretty widely known that no uglier river oozes down to its bourn in the sea through unwholesome banks of low mud. it is brown and dirty; ungifted by any scenic advantage; margined for miles upon miles by huge, flat, expansive fields, in which cattle are reared,—the bulls wanted for the bullfights among other; and birds of prey sit constant on the shore, watching for the carcases of such as die. such are the charms of the golden guadalquivir.
at first we were very dull on board that steamer. i never found myself in a position in which there was less to do. there was a nasty smell about the little boat which made me almost ill; every turn in the river was so exactly like the last, that we might have been standing still; there was no amusement except eating, and that, when once done, was not of a kind to make an early repetition desirable. even johnson was becoming dull, and i began to doubt whether i was so desirous as i once had been to travel the length and breadth of all spain. but about noon a little incident occurred which did for a time remove some of our tedium. the boat had stopped to take in passengers on the river; and, among others, a man had come on board dressed in a fashion that, to my eyes, was equally strange and picturesque. indeed, his appearance was so singular, that i could not but regard him with care, though i felt at first averse to stare at a fellow-passenger on account of his clothes. he was a man of about fifty, but as active apparently as though not more than twenty five; he was of low stature, but of admirable make; his hair was just becoming grizzled, but was short and crisp and well cared for; his face was prepossessing, having a look of good humour added to courtesy, and there was a pleasant, soft smile round his mouth which ingratiated one at the first sight. but it was his dress rather than his person which attracted attention. he wore the ordinary andalucian cap—of which such hideous parodies are now making themselves common in england—but was not contented with the usual ornament of the double tuft. the cap was small, and jaunty; trimmed with silk velvet—as is common here with men careful to adorn their persons; but this man’s cap was finished off with a jewelled button and golden filigree work. he was dressed in a short jacket with a stand up collar; and that also was covered with golden buttons and with golden button-holes. it was all gilt down the front, and all lace down the back. the rows of buttons were double; and those of the more backward row hung down in heavy pendules. his waistcoat was of coloured silk—very pretty to look at; and ornamented with a small sash, through which gold threads were worked. all the buttons of his breeches also were of gold; and there were gold tags to all the button-holes. his stockings were of the finest silk, and clocked with gold from the knee to the ankle.
dress any englishman in such a garb and he will at once give you the idea of a hog in armour. in the first place he will lack the proper spirit to carry it off, and in the next place the motion of his limbs will disgrace the ornaments they bear. “and so best,” most englishmen will say. very likely; and, therefore, let no englishman try it. but my spaniard did not look at like a hog in armour. he walked slowly down the plank into the boat, whistling lowly but very clearly a few bars from a opera tune. it was plain to see that he was master of himself, of his ornaments, and of his limbs. he had no appearance of thinking that men were looking at him, or of feeling that he was beauteous in his attire;—nothing could be more natural than his foot-fall, or the quiet glance of his cheery gray eye. he walked up to the captain, who held the helm, and lightly raised his hand to his cap. the captain, taking one hand from the wheel, did the same, and then the stranger, turning his back to the stern of the vessel, and fronting down the river with his face, continued to whistle slowly, clearly, and in excellent time. grand as were his clothes they were no burden on his mind.
“what is he?” said i, going up to my friend johnson with a whisper.
“well, i’ve been looking at him,” said johnson—which was true enough; “he’s a — an uncommonly good-looking fellow, isn’t he?”
“particularly so,” said i; “and got up quite irrespective of expense. is he a—a—a gentleman, now, do you think?”
“well, those things are so different in spain that it’s almost impossible to make an englishman understand them. one learns to know all this sort of people by being with them in the country, but one can’t explain.”
“no; exactly. are they real gold?”
“yes, yes; i dare say they are. they sometimes have them silver gilt.”
“it is quite a common thing, then, isn’t it?” asked i.
“well, not exactly; that—ah! yes; i see! of course. he is a torero.”
“a what?”
“a mayo. i will explain it all to you. you will see them about in all places, and you will get used to them.”
“but i haven’t seen one other as yet.”
“no, and they are not all so gay as this, nor so new in their finery, you know.”
“and what is a torero?”
“well, a torero is a man engaged in bull-fighting.”
“oh! he is a matador, is he?” said i, looking at him with more than all my eyes.
“no, not exactly that;—not of necessity. he is probably a mayo. a fellow that dresses himself smart for fairs, and will be seen hanging about with the bull-fighters. what would be a sporting fellow in england—only he won’t drink and curse like a low man on the turf there. come, shall we go and speak to him?”
“i can’t talk to him,” said i, diffident of my spanish. i had received lessons in england from maria daguilar; but six weeks is little enough for making love, let alone the learning of a foreign language.
“oh! i’ll do the talking. you’ll find the language easy enough before long. it soon becomes the same as english to you, when you live among them.” and then johnson, walking up to the stranger, accosted him with that good-natured familiarity with which a thoroughly nice fellow always opens a conversation with his inferior. of course i could not understand the words which were exchanged; but it was clear enough that the “mayo” took the address in good part, and was inclined to be communicative and social.
“they are all of pure gold,” said johnson, turning to me after a minute, making as he spoke a motion with his head to show the importance of the information.
“are they indeed?” said i. “where on earth did a fellow like that get them?” whereupon johnson again returned to his conversation with the man. after another minute he raised his hand, and began to finger the button on the shoulder; and to aid him in doing so, the man of the bull-ring turned a little on one side.
“they are wonderfully well made,” said johnson, talking to me, and still fingering the button. “they are manufactured, he says, at osuna, and he tells me that they make them better there than anywhere else.”
“i wonder what the whole set would cost?” said i. “an enormous deal of money for a fellow like him, i should think!”
“over twelve ounces,” said johnson, having asked the question; “and that will be more than forty pounds.”
“what an uncommon ass he must be!” said i.
as johnson by this time was very closely scrutinising the whole set of ornaments i thought i might do so also, and going up close to our friend, i too began to handle the buttons and tags on the other side. nothing could have been more good-humoured than he was—so much so that i was emboldened to hold up his arm that i might see the cut of his coat, to take off his cap and examine the make, to stuff my finger in beneath his sash, and at last to kneel down while i persuaded him to hold up his legs that i might look to the clocking. the fellow was thorough good-natured, and why should i not indulge my curiosity?
“you’ll upset him if you don’t take care,” said johnson; for i had got fast hold of him by one ankle, and was determined to finish the survey completely.
“oh, no, i shan’t,” said i; “a bull-fighting chap can surely stand on one leg. but what i wonder at is, how on earth he can afford it!” whereupon johnson again began to interrogate him in spanish.
“he says he has got no children,” said johnson, having received a reply, “and that as he has nobody but himself to look after, he is able to allow himself such little luxuries.”
“tell him that i say he would be better with a wife and couple of babies,” said i—and johnson interpreted.
“he says that he’ll think of it some of these days, when he finds that the supply of fools in the world is becoming short,” said johnson.
we had nearly done with him now; but after regaining my feet, i addressed myself once more to the heavy pendules, which hung down almost under his arm. i lifted one of these, meaning to feel its weight between my fingers; but unfortunately i gave a lurch, probably through the motion of the boat, and still holding by the button, tore it almost off from our friend’s coat.
“oh, i am so sorry,” i said, in broad english.
“it do not matter at all,” he said, bowing, and speaking with equal plainness. and then, taking a knife from his pocket, he cut the pendule off, leaving a bit of torn cloth on the side of his jacket.
“upon my word, i am quite unhappy,” said i; “but i always am so awkward.” whereupon he bowed low.
“couldn’t i make it right?” said i, bringing out my purse.
he lifted his hand, and i saw that it was small and white; he lifted it and gently put it upon my purse, smiling sweetly as he did so. “thank you, no, se?or; thank you, no.” and then, bowing to us both, he walked away down into the cabin.
“upon my word he is a deuced well-mannered fellow,” said i.
“you shouldn’t have offered him money,” said johnson; “a spaniard does not like it.”
“why, i thought you could do nothing without money in this country. doesn’t every one take bribes?”
“ah! yes; that is a different thing; but not the price of a button. by jove! he understood english, too. did you see that?”
“yes; and i called him an ass! i hope he doesn’t mind it.”
“oh! no; he won’t think anything about it,” said johnson. “that sort of fellows don’t. i dare say we shall see him in the bull-ring next sunday, and then we’ll make all right with a glass of lemonade.”
and so our adventure ended with the man of the gold ornaments. i was sorry that i had spoken english before him so heedlessly, and resolved that i would never be guilty of such gaucherie again. but, then, who would think that a spanish bull-fighter would talk a foreign language? i was sorry, also, that i had torn his coat; it had looked so awkward; and sorry again that i had offered the man money. altogether i was a little ashamed of myself; but i had too much to look forward to at seville to allow any heaviness to remain long at my heart; and before i had arrived at the marvellous city i had forgotten both him and his buttons.
nothing could be nicer than the way in which i was welcomed at mr. daguilar’s house, or more kind—i may almost say affectionate—than maria’s manner to me. but it was too affectionate; and i am not sure that i should not have liked my reception better had she been more diffident in her tone, and less inclined to greet me with open warmth. as it was, she again gave me her cheek to kiss, in her father’s presence, and called me dear john, and asked me specially after some rabbits which i had kept at home merely for a younger sister; and then it seemed as though she were in no way embarrassed by the peculiar circumstances of our position. twelve months since i had asked her to be my wife, and now she was to give me an answer; and yet she was as assured in her gait, and as serenely joyous in her tone, as though i were a brother just returned from college. it could not be that she meant to refuse me, or she would not smile on me and be so loving; but i could almost have found it in my heart to wish that she would. “it is quite possible,” said i to myself, “that i may not be found so ready for this family bargain. a love that is to be had like a bale of goods is not exactly the love to suit my taste.” but then, when i met her again in the morning i could no more have quarrelled with her than i could have flown.
i was inexpressibly charmed with the whole city, and especially with the house in which mr. daguilar lived. it opened from the corner of a narrow, unfrequented street—a corner like an elbow—and, as seen from the exterior, there was nothing prepossessing to recommend it; but the outer door led by a short hall or passage to an inner door or grille, made of open ornamental iron-work, and through that we entered a court, or patio, as they i called it. nothing could be more lovely or deliciously cool than was this small court. the building on each side was covered by trellis-work; and beautiful creepers, vines, and parasite flowers, now in the full magnificence of the early summer, grew up and clustered round the windows. every inch of wall was covered, so that none of the glaring whitewash wounded the eye. in the four corners of the patio were four large orange-trees, covered with fruit. i would not say a word in special praise of these, remembering that childish promise she had made on my behalf. in the middle of the court there was a fountain, and round about on the marble floor there were chairs, and here and there a small table, as though the space were really a portion of the house. it was here that we used to take our cup of coffee and smoke our cigarettes, i and old mr. daguilar, while maria sat by, not only approving, but occasionally rolling for me the thin paper round the fragrant weed with her taper fingers. beyond the patio was an open passage or gallery, filled also with flowers in pots; and then, beyond this, one entered the drawing-room of the house. it was by no means a princely palace or mansion, fit for the owner of untold wealth. the rooms were not over large nor very numerous; but the most had been made of a small space, and everything had been done to relieve the heat of an almost tropical sun.
“it is pretty, is it not?” she said, as she took me through it.
“very pretty,” i said. “i wish we could live in such houses.”
“oh, they would not do at all for dear old fat, cold, cozy england. you are quite different, you know, in everything from us in the south; more phlegmatic, but then so much steadier. the men and the houses are all the same.”
i can hardly tell why, but even this wounded me. it seemed to me as though she were inclined to put into one and the same category things english, dull, useful, and solid; and that she was disposed to show a sufficient appreciation for such necessaries of life, though she herself had another and inner sense—a sense keenly alive to the poetry of her own southern chime; and that i, as being english, was to have no participation in this latter charm. an english husband might do very well, the interests of the firm might make such an arrangement desirable, such a mariage de convenance—so i argued to myself—might be quite compatible with—with heaven only knows what delights of superterrestial romance, from which i, as being an english thick-headed lump of useful coarse mortality, was to be altogether debarred. she had spoken to me of oranges, and having finished the survey of the house, she offered me some sweet little cakes. it could not be that of such things were the thoughts which lay undivulged beneath the clear waters of those deep black eyes—undivulged to me, though no one else could have so good a right to read those thoughts! it could not be that that noble brow gave index of a mind intent on the trade of which she spoke so often! words of other sort than any that had been vouchsafed to me must fall at times from the rich curves of that perfect month.
so felt i then, pining for something to make me unhappy. ah, me! i know all about it now, and am content. but i wish that some learned pundit would give us a good definition of romance, would describe in words that feeling with which our hearts are so pestered when we are young, which makes us sigh for we know not what, and forbids us to be contented with what god sends us. we invest female beauty with impossible attributes, and are angry because our women have not the spiritualised souls of angels, anxious as we are that they should also be human in the flesh. a man looks at her he would love as at a distant landscape in a mountainous land. the peaks are glorious with more than the beauty of earth and rock and vegetation. he dreams of some mysterious grandeur of design which tempts him on under the hot sun, and over the sharp rock, till he has reached the mountain goal which he had set before him. but when there, he finds that the beauty is well-nigh gone, and as for that delicious mystery on which his soul had fed, it has vanished for ever.
i know all about it now, and am, as i said, content. beneath those deep black eyes there lay a well of love, good, honest, homely love, love of father and husband and children that were to come—of that love which loves to see the loved ones prospering in honesty. that noble brow—for it is noble; i am unchanged in that opinion, and will go unchanged to my grave—covers thoughts as to the welfare of many, and an intellect fitted to the management of a household, of servants, namely, and children, and perchance a husband. that mouth can speak words of wisdom, of very useful wisdom—though of poetry it has latterly uttered little that was original. poetry and romance! they are splendid mountain views seen in the distance. so let men be content to see them, and not attempt to tread upon the fallacious heather of the mystic hills.
in the first week of my sojourn in seville i spoke no word of overt love to maria, thinking, as i confess, to induce her thereby to alter her mode of conduct to myself. “she knows that i have come here to make love to her—to repeat my offer; and she will at any rate be chagrined if i am slow to do so.” but it had no effect. at home my mother was rather particular about her table, and maria’s greatest efforts seemed to be used in giving me as nice dinners as we gave her. in those days i did not care a straw about my dinner, and so i took an opportunity of telling her. “dear me,” said she, looking at me almost with grief, “do you not? what a pity! and do you not like music either.” “oh, yes, i adore it,” i replied. i felt sure at the time that had i been born in her own sunny clime, she would never have talked to me about eating. but that was my mistake.
