“The crosses in the mountain pass, Mules gay with tassels, the loud din Of muleteers, the tethered ass That crops the dusty wayside grass, And cavaliers with spurs of brass Alighting at the inn.”
The inns, _mesones_, _ventorrillos_, _ventas_, _posadas_, _paradores_, are still much the same as in the times of Cervantes, moderately clean, immoderately uncomfortable, bare alike of furniture and food.[48] Still to your first inquiry the answer is, “_Hay de todo_, we have everything,” still to your further inquiry the abstract _todo_ shrinks to _nada_. But for an understanding of the Spanish people, nothing is more interesting and one may add, more pleasant than to listen to their talk as they sit round some great inn fire of crackling scented twigs burning on the stone floor of the court and kitchen. The discomfort and hardships of travel in remote parts of Spain are repaid in flowing measure. Here a solitary peasant is seen ploughing land so precipitous and steep that the stones rattle down as he advances; there the mules stand hour by hour at the plough while the peasants--in this case servants on some great estate--play cards, the large earthenware _botijos_ of water standing ready to their hand; or a group of workers in the fields stand shivering in early morning round a great common _puchero_, dipping their spoons in turn, and in turn raising the _bota_ high above their heads to drink; or one has a glimpse of some peasant’s dress[49] of brilliant colouring, of some ancient vanishing costume of leather or velvet, silk embroidery or silver buttons--at every turn some quaint custom, some curious picturesque scene and colour appears, and the talk of the peasants is a delight. The two most successful English travellers in Spain were beyond doubt, Ford and Borrow. They won the respect of all classes of Spaniards, and saw practically the whole of Spanish life three-quarters of a century ago. Borrow describes himself on one occasion as “dressed in the fashion of the peasants of the neighbourhood of Segovia in Old Castile, namely, I had on my head a species of leather helmet or _montera_, with a jacket and trousers of the same material.” And Ford says: “In all out-of-the-way districts the traveller may adopt the national costume of the road, to wit, the peaked hat (_sombrero gacho_), the jacket of fur (_zamarra_).” But without the peaked hat, now almost extinct, or Borrow’s leathern helmet, a few changes of dress and especially what Ford calls “a graceful and sleeveless Castilian _manta_” or rather _capa_, excellently suited to the climate, will bring many advantages. For to the ordinary traveller, with red book and camera, the Spaniard will hardly disclose his true nature, and remains an impenetrable mystery; not that the foreigner often realizes the existence of the unsolved riddle, the Spaniard presenting a sufficient number of striking aspects to make a swift superficial impression. The best guides to Spain are still Ford’s “Gatherings,” and a thorough acquaintance with “Don Quixote,” a fluent knowledge of Spanish, and, lastly, the advice of Spaniards, since as Sancho sagely observed, “más sabe el necio en su casa que el cuerdo en casa ajena.” The traveller in Spain may in the heat of summer listen to the silver plashing of fountains in marble _patios_, and feel the coolness of snowy Sierras; he may in early morning gather frozen oranges to be eaten later beneath a burning sun; but it is this sun which with the cold winds tends to limit his wanderings to a brief period of spring or autumn. Martial indeed says--