The innumerable and fanciful gradations of family rank which the Spaniards have formed to themselves, without the least foundation in the laws of the country, are difficult to describe. Though the Hidalguia is a necessary qualification, especially in country towns, to be admitted into the best society, it is by no means sufficient, by itself, to raise the views of every Hidalgo to a family connexion with the “blue blood”—sangre azul of the country. The shades by which the vital fluid approaches this privileged hue, would perplex the best colourist. These prejudices, however, have lost much of their force at Madrid, except among the grandees, and in such maritime towns as Malaga and Cadiz, where commerce has raised many new, and some foreign families into consequence. But there is a pervading spirit of vanity in the nation, which actuates even the lowest classes, and may be discovered in the evident mortification which menials and mechanics are apt to feel, on the omission of some modes of address intended, as it were, to cast a veil on the humbleness of their condition. To call a man by the name of blacksmith, butcher, coachman, would be considered an insult. They all expect to be called either by their Christian name, or by the general appellation Maestro and in both cases with the prefixed Señor; unless the word expressing the employment should imply superiority: as Mayoral, chief coachman—Rabadán, chief shepherd—Aperador, bailiff. These, and similar names, are used without an addition, and sound well in the ears of the natives. But no female would suffer herself to be addressed cook, washer-woman, &c.; they all feel and act as if, having a natural claim to a higher rank, misfortune alone had degraded them. Poverty, unless it be extreme, does not disqualify a man of family for the society of his equals. Secular clergymen, though plebeians, are, generally, well received; but the same indulgence is not readily extended to monks and friars, whose unpolished manners betray too openly the meanness of their birth. Wholesale merchants, if they belong to the class of Hidalgos, are not avoided by the great gentry. In the law, attorneys and notaries are considered to be under the line of Caballeros, though their rank, as in England, depends a great deal on their wealth and personal respectability. Physicians are nearly in the same case.
Having now made you acquainted with what is here called the best sort of people, you will probably like to have a sketch of their daily life: take it, then, neither from the first, nor the last of the class.
Breakfast, in Spain, is not a regular family meal. It generally consists of chocolate, and buttered toast, or muffins, called molletes. Irish salt-butter is very much in use; as the heat of the climate does not allow the luxuries of the dairy, except in the mountainous tracts of the north. Every one calls for chocolate whenever it suits him; and most people take it when they come from mass—a ceremony seldom omitted, even by such as cannot be reckoned among the highly religious. After breakfast, the gentlemen repair to their occupations; and the ladies, who seldom call upon one another, often enjoy the amusement of music and a sermon at the church appointed on that day for the public adoration of the Consecrated Host, which, from morning till night, takes place throughout the year in this, and a few other large towns. This is called el jubileo—the jubilee; as, by a spiritual grant of the Pope, those who visit the appointed church, are entitled to the plenary indulgence which, in former times, rewarded the trouble and dangers of a journey to Rome, on the first year of every century—a poor substitute, indeed, for the ludi sæculares, which, in former times, drew people thither from all parts of the Roman empire. The bait, however, was so successful for a time, that jubilees were celebrated every twenty-five years. But when the taste for papal indulgences began to be cloyed by excess, few would move a foot, and much less undertake a long journey, to spend their money for the benefit of the Pope and his Roman subjects. In these desperate circumstances, the Holy Father thought it better to send the jubilee, with its plenary indulgence, to the distant sheep of his flock, than to wait in vain for their coming to seek it at Rome. To this effort of pastoral generosity we owe the inestimable advantage of being able, every day, to perform a spiritual visit to St. Peter’s at Rome; which, to those who are indifferent about architectural beauty, is infinitely cheaper, and just as profitable, as a pilgrimage to the vicinity of the Capitol.
About noon the ladies are at home, where, employed at their needle, they expect the morning calls of their friends. I have already told you how easy it is for a gentleman to gain an introduction to any family: the slightest occasion will produce what is called an offer of the house, when you are literally told that the house is yours. Upon the strength of this offer, you may drop in as often as you please, and idle away hour after hour, in the most unmeaning, or it may chance, the most interesting conversation.
The mention of this offer of the house induces me to give you some idea of the hyperbolical civility of my countrymen. When an English nobleman, well known both to you and me, was some years ago travelling in this country, he wished to spend a fortnight at Barcelona; but, the inn being rather uncomfortable for himself and family, he was desirous of procuring a country-house in the neighbourhood of the town. It happened at this time that a rich merchant, for whom our friend had a letter, called to pay his respects; and in a string of high-flown compliments, assured his Lordship that both his town-house and his villa were entirely at his service. My lady’s eyes sparkled with joy, and she was rather vexed that her husband had hesitated a moment to secure the villa for his family. Doubts arose as to the sincerity of the offer, but she could not be persuaded that such forms of expression should be taken, in this country, in the same sense as the—“Madam I am at your feet,”—with which every gentleman addresses a lady. After all, the merchant, no doubt, to his great astonishment, received a very civil note, accepting the loan of his country house. But, in answer to the note, he sent an awkward excuse, and never shewed his face again. The poor man was so far from being to blame, that he only followed the established custom of the country, according to which it would be rudeness not to offer any part of your property, which you either mention or show. Fortunately, Spanish etiquette is just and equitable on this point; for as it would not pardon the omission of the offer, so it would never forgive the acceptance.
A foreigner must be surprised at the strange mixture of caution and liberty which appears in the manners of Spain. Most rooms have glass doors; but when this is not the case, it would be highly improper for any lady to sit with a gentleman, unless the doors were open. Yet, when a lady is slightly indisposed in bed, she does not scruple to see every one of her male visitors. A lady seldom takes a gentleman’s arm, and never shakes him by the hand; but on the return of an old acquaintance after a considerable absence, or when they wish joy for some agreeable event, the common salute is an embrace. An unmarried woman must not be seen alone out of doors, nor must she sit tête-à-tête with a gentleman, even when the doors of the room are open; but, as soon as she is married, she may go by herself where she pleases, and sit alone with any man for many hours every day. You have in England strange notions of Spanish jealousy. I can, however, assure you, that if Spanish husbands were, at any time, what novels and old plays represent them, no race in Europe has undergone a more thorough change.
Dinners are generally at one, and in a few houses, between two and three. Invitations to dine are extremely rare. On some extraordinary occasions, as that of a young man performing his first mass—a daughter taking the veil—and, in the more wealthy houses, on the saint-days of the heads of the family, they make what is called a convite, or feast. Any person accustomed to your private dinners, would be thrown into a fever by one of these parties. The height of luxury, on these occasions, is what we call Comida de Fonda—a dinner from the coffee-house. All the dishes are dressed at an inn, and brought ready to be served at table. The Spanish houses, even those of the best sort, are so ill provided with every thing required at table, that wine, plates, glasses, knives and forks, are brought from the inn together with the dinner. The noise and confusion of these feasts is inconceivable. Every one tries to repay the hospitable treat with mirth and noise; and though Spaniards are, commonly, water-drinkers, the bottle is used very freely on these occasions; but they do not continue at table after eating the dessert. Upon the death of any one in a family, the nearest relatives send a dinner of this kind, on the day of the funeral, that they may save the chief mourners the trouble of preparing an entertainment for such of their kindred as have attended the body to church. Decorum, however, forbids any mirth on these occasions.
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