BOOKS.
A VAGABOND IN SPAIN.*
WERE it for nothing else, we ought to thank Mr. Luff mann for having beguiled us to take down from our shelves two old friends, Mr. George Dennis's Summer in Andalucia, a lively but long-forgotten work dating back nearly sixty years ; and Borrow's Bible in Spain, which, but little more recent, still holds its own, and is likely to do so. To mention a vagabond in connection with Spanish ground cannot fail to call to the memory the name of that prince of vagabonds, George Borrow, and we have spent some happy hours in dipping into the pages of his breezy romance, so full of originality, of humour, and of wild adventure. It is a book of which one never tires. Borrow had the warmest admiration for Spain, "the most magnificent country in the world," he exclaims, "probably the most fertile, and certainly with the finest climate." With this view, our present author is totally at variance, declaring that "it is by nature one of the worst, and it is allowed to become perhaps the very worst, in the world." Except in the river-valleys, the northern districts consist for the greater part of elevated plains, with a poor soil and many stones, bleak moor- lands, and old dry river-beds, with extremes of climate. In the South, without irrigation little can be done, and the system of irrigation practised by the Moors has long perished; bat taking Spain generally, she is wanting in timber, in coal, and in water, and thus bound by natural conditions she cannot advance and keep pace with the rest of the world. In style Mr. Luff mann differs from Borrow as strongly as he does in opinion. In place of romantic adven- ture, described with great imaginative power, we have a plain tale of his progress across Spain. He entered the Peninsula at the extreme north, crossing the Bidassoa at Behobia, and first made his way over the mountains and wolds of Navarra, to the valley of the Ebro, passing through some beautiful scenery, seeing much that was strange, and before his long journey was ended, tasting very varied experiences. Mr. Luff mann tells us that the object of his journey was to gain practical knowledge of the condition of agriculture in Spain. The results of this investigation have not been included in this volume, which treats chiefly of the life and social con- dition of the common people. His outfit consisted of a knickerbocker suit of brown linen, a veiled hat, and extra broad-welted boots, with a knapsack containing changes of underclothing, &c., and a rug ; and a satchel wherein to carry books, map, passport, and writing and shaving materials. He carried no defensive weapons, only a walking-stick, and a broken-down pocket-knife. Mr. Luffmann travelled as a tramp, not merely acting the character, but living the life in real earnest. Thus he has broken new ground, and is able to tell us from actual observation what are the conditions under which the toiling peasants of Spain exist.
It was his custom, on arriving at a town after a long day's tramp, to apply to the alcalde for such relief as was afforded to a casual. This relief took the form of a night's shelter in the hospital, some wretched posacla, a stable, or a cottage. Sometimes he was fed, at others he had to buy what he wanted. The people, on the whole, were kindly. "No one can complain of the Spaniards' lack of friendliness if once they take to you." The chief drawback seems to have been the horrible state of the houses, which were often indescribably filthy, especially in the North, where the pig is much in evidence, and is inseparable from his owner. The peasants are most distressingly poor, and the labour conditions in the valley of the Ebro, a district irrigated by the waters of the Imperial Canal, are truly frightful. A man in whose hovel Mr. Luffmann lodged, worked all the hours of daylight in summer, and for ten hours in winter, the wages being a little over three shillings a week, and no extras. On Sunday, as a rest-day, the hours of labour were reduced to eight. No wonder that "a cloud of sadness seems to hang over the land." In the remote districts, very fine old brass and copper ware, curiously shaped and chased drinking-cups, quaint lamps in iron, brass, and clay, fine old red clay plates, cups and basins with enamelled Arabic and Spanish designs, are in common use, and are considered old and valueless. All across Spain Mr. Luff mann found abundance of lovely old objects in the
• 4 Vagabond in Spain. By 0. Bogus Luffmann, London John Murray.
cottages of the peasants. In Navarra and .Arragon, the kitchen utensils are very simple.
"The saucepan is unknown. Everything is cooked in tiny jars of clay or iron. The bowls, spoons, and ladles, are usually of brass, very old and curiously designed. The clay pitchers and jars resemble those shown in the Roman rooms of the British Museum. I saw a child playing with a little drinking-pitcher which had two handles and three lips. A piece of ribbon fell loosely round the neck, and heavy lace decorated the lower edge. If it had come from Etruria, all the art critics would go mad about such a thing ; but made by a living Spaniard it is of no value."
These tiny cooking utensils "are absolutely necessary in a land where there is not on a square mile enough wood to boil a gallon of water."
It needed not a little fortitude of mind and body to under- take such a journey as is here described. The length of the daily march, often in intense heat, across great plains and over mountains, ploughing through the dust under scorching sum, sleeping in filthy quarters, creeping for shelter into stable or under archway, or lying on the open plain, were not things to offer visions of delight. Yet Mr. Luffmann seems to have enjoyed himself, and to have valued his novel experiences. "Travellers by rail," he says, "must get a very false impression of the country, as nearly all the lines traverse river-beds and watered valleys ; hence they see nothing of the vast wastes which are everywhere away from the railroads." The following) must serve as a sample of his hardships. After resting a night at Sabinan, where he heard the sound of the " Nina's Campanilla," one of the most ancient customs in all Spain, and a very pretty one, he says :—
"This day was a hard one. I said good-bye to Sabinan and took another look at gloomy, fig-leaved old Parracuellos. I tramped along green gullies and bare hill-sides. I discovered and ransacked two or three nameless pueblos. I scaled and elbowed my way round mountain ledges which would have struck terror into the marrows [sic] of any Swiss guide. I crossed ten skeleton bridges swung high in air over the Jalon, and found my way through the semi-darlmess of seven long tunnels. I begged and bought and stole bread and wine and cucumbers and fruit at lonely houses and from market-going girls. I survived the fury of a terrific thunderstorm, and found safety and rest within the great church at Calatayud. I looked up at its pure white plaster ceiling and dome, with its throng of saints and flowers, till, tired of my toil, I fell asleep in the main aisle, and was only disturbed by a very masculine and un-Christian kick from an old verger. I called on the alcalde, who gave me permis- sion to occupy the lower floor of the hospital, where I deposited my bundle, and then marched round the old city. It is one of the dirtiest yet most interesting of Old World towns."
The hospital proved to be so dirty, that by midnight Mr. Luffmann could stand it no longer, and marched out into the night, in spite of reported danger from wolves. After tramping six miles, he slept in a hole by the roadside, where mosquitoes were abundant. Such things were not joyous, but grievous; yet having undertaken his journey voluntarily, it is a little incongruous to find our author full of self-pity, and inclined to make a martyr of himself. It is a defect in his book, which is otherwise very amusing and original. Arriving at a large town, Mr. Luffmann rose from the level of a tramp to that of a tourist, and saw what there was to be seen. At Zaragoza he was launched into society by a company of play. actors. At Alcala de Henares, he trod on classic ground, and saw the house where Cervantes was born, and in Madrid he attended the inevitable bull-fight---" fascinating in the extreme, but horribly cruel." Mr. Luff mann says that "it is impossible to conceive, without being an actual witness, how a dozen or fifteen men, a few horses, and a solitary bull can make up such a powerful picture." He tells a touching story of the death at Madrid of his fellow-lodger, a poor seamstress. Daring his journey, Mr. Luffmann crossed ten great mountain barriers, three in deep snow. In going-over one of these, the Montes de Toledo, he lost his way Night came on whilst I was in a long dreary gorge. There were several little pools of rain-water, bite of quercus scrub, and pretty little flowers of the crocus family growing beside my path. But there was no sign of a human habitation. Towards midnight I saw two lights ahead of me, and heard dogs barking. One light shone from an old castle standing on a rocky promontory, the other from the cottage of a goatherd, who sat at his door puffing a cigarette. On seeing my pligbt he placed bread and cucumber before me, and gave me permission to sleep in an empty hut. In the early morning he directed me across the Months to Nada—which I man- aged to miss, although I kept the given course over frightfully hot, desolate hills. In a dry valley I fell in with some goatherds tending a flock of two or three thonsand brown-haired hornless goats. No better examples of the primitive man could be found in Spain. Everything they wore was made of leather. Goatskin caps, shaped like an Etruscan helmet—the fur inside, and the outside black and shiny with frequent handling; shirts—also of goat-skin —tanned soft as chamois, and tied down the front with leather laces (instead of buttons); short jackets of dark-brown leather, with fancy scalloped patches adorning the front, elbows, and pockets; buttons made of rudely-cut pieces of cow and goat's horn ; and stiff, hard leather breeches. Leather sandals, and a score of green leather straps bound round ankles and calves, com- pleted their attire. They were tall, hardy, dare-devil-looking men, and I was delighted with the strong picture they presented on their native heath. All their 'kit' was equally primitive. They carried their meal (for making brown bread), their wine, and their water in skins. Oil, used for cooking and also for dressing wounds in their flocks, was held in a score or two of large cow-horns, with caps and spicket holes fitted over the large ends. All these horns were connected by links and straps, so that they could be carried over the shoulder as on mules' backs. A couple of old guns with the locks outside served to throw the picture into the long past. The blades stuck in their waist-belts were more like old reaping books than knives. Rough and wild as these men were, they were very open-hearted. They offered me of their little store, and directed me to the best track across the mountains."
Passing through Don Quixote's country, our traveller paid a visit to the cellar-prison of Argamasilla, wherein Cervantes began his famous book, explored the celebrated castle of Pennaroya, and the caves of Montesinos, and was enchanted with the thirteen lakes of Rndieva. Of all these we get most excellent descriptions, and had marked passages for quota- tion, which want of space compels us to forego. It must be enough to say that after an interesting detour through Cordoba, Sevilla, where he was stoned as being a Moor, and Granada, Mr. Luffmann struck the sea at Malaga, and his tramp of fifteen hundred miles, which had occupied one hundred and forty-five days, came to an end. When he tells us that he made his journey "without a single interruption or insult," he seems to have forgotten the incident at Sevilla, and another at Osuna. Still, on the whole, he met with a good reception, and found that the Spaniard is much more peaceable than the average Englishman.
Mr. Luffmann has given us a very entertaining and original little book. Plenty of movement and plenty of adventure mark his pages, and he keeps up the interest of his narrative from first to last. If we may venture to say so, he should suppress the slightest tendency towards cheap sentiment and gush. In conclusion, we cannot refrain from quoting one of the short moral maxims which are to be found scattered up and down these pages. "Praise is a factor in economy. We should cultivate the habit of praising all that is worthy, as by so doing we create impulses which increase the native wealth of the world." This remark comes home to the heart of the conscientious critic, and cheeringly reminds him that by the use of judicious commendation, even he is not without his value in the world.
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