CHAPTER IX.

EXCURSION ROUND THE STRAITS.

Cadiz, Oct. 24th.

In the land of the Hindoos, far away from the ocean, there is a building called the _Pearl_ Mosque. The Spaniards call their Cadiz, the City of Silver. But Cadiz is the daughter, not of the land but, of the sea, and is the pearl of cities.

The impression of brightness I have received in Cadiz does not, however, arise from the lustre of these silvery turrets, but from a swarm of women covering the floor of the cathedral with a mass of silk blonde tresses, and eyes, shining, fluttering, gleaming--and all is black. I had passed from the Ommiades to the Abassides. In that monumental uniformity there are a fascination and a grandeur, which scatter to the wind our freaks of fashion. How contemptible the devices of our continual change, when contrasted with the things discovered, used, and preserved by a whole people!

If I venture on this track so often beaten, and re-attempt the description of things so often described, yet never conveyed, my excuse is, that I have adjusted my eye and observation to a more distant point, and have looked to making what I saw, intelligible to a future time. To this I have been led by the fact that changes are in progress. The day may come when, having exhausted variety without finding contentment, this people may try to go back, and endeavour with pain to regain what now, in heedlessness, they are casting away: then will it be interesting to know what, while Spain still retained manners of her own, struck the passing stranger.

The milliners of Paris, it is a common saying, have accomplished[79] what the arms of Napoleon were unable to achieve,--as if female vanity had broken down national character and taste, which masculine sense struggled to uphold. Alas! for the dignity of manhood;--it is the tailors, not the milliners of Paris, who have triumphed where German insolence, Bourbon fraud, and imperial victories alike had failed.

Spain lives only in the peasantry, and in that sex which an Eastern sage has said is “the first to hope and the last to despair.” The men we see walking about the streets are the ordinary persons inhabiting European towns. You are reminded that you are in a country which is itself only when you see the women.

The crown of this costume is the _mantilla_. It belongs to the class of vestures intended to screen, not to parade: it nevertheless enhances and sets off beyond every device and contrivance of mere display. The ancient form, the _manta_, was within the century known in sequestered places. It is in common use in the transatlantic possessions or offshoots of Spain: it lingers still on the verge of the Peninsula at Tarifa, where I have mentioned it.

The manta[80] is a stripe of black taffeta or serge, two yards long by one broad. Three cords are run through it lengthways at one edge; by these it is bound and puckered round the waist: it is then turned up like a petticoat over the head and shoulders, and is gathered in the hand upon the breast. In front there is a lappet of about six inches’ width, lined with crimson silk, which comes round the face. Encasing the person from the waist upwards, it is an admirable protection against wind, rain, and sun. One eye only--generally the left one--is exposed. Thus Solomon sings:

“With thy one eye thou hast bewitched me.”

Backed by such authority, I may venture to say that it is not without its ostensible beauties as well as its revelations of grace and attractions of concealment. The Turkish _yashmac_ conceals the face; the _farigee_ shrouds the person: the manta serves at once for both purposes. The _faldett_ of the women of Malta is of the same description. The petticoat being also black, the dress appears all of one piece, as originally it was. The name of the costume is _saya-manta_.

The _mantilla_ is the manta narrowed, loosened from the waist and fastened on the head. There are two kinds.[81] The _mantilla de tiro_ is that worn by the peasantry: it is of black serge trimmed with velvet. It is worn high on the head, and round upon the face. The second, the costume of the city, is the _mantilla de blonda_: it is of silk, rich and stiff; plain or flowered, and differs from the other by having blonde to the depth of twelve inches all round. The blonde is deeper in front, so as to serve as a veil. The edge of the silk is fastened to the comb at the crown of the head; the silk falls behind, the lace before, unless gathered up. It is secured in windy weather against the cheek by the tip of the fan. The mantilla, when dropped on the shoulders, degenerates into a veil joined to an unmeaning scarf or a tippet; yet this is now become the fashion. The whole is sometimes of lace--when it is only a bagged hood.

The mantilla is not spoken of as a piece of dress that fits well or