hostility to the foreigner, whose actions he did not understand and therefore disliked.  The artist, rather than contend with his rudeness, left the spot and returned home.  By mistake a small purse-bag was left behind.  The boy found it, and followed with it to the hotel.  What a change!  There was no rudeness now; instead, a real pleasure in rendering a service.  Smiling and bowing, the persecutor of half an hour before returned the purse with the fine Spanish courtesy, refusing to receive any reward.

It is these seemingly contradictory impulses that puzzle the stranger in estimating the Spanish character.  But the truth is, that the deep-rooted conservatism of the race has kept alive in the Spaniard of to-day the qualities that belong to primitive peoples.  Mr. Havelock Ellis, the English writer who has best understood the Spanish spirit, says truly: “The Spaniard is, and remains to-day, in the best sense of the word, a savage.”  The Spanish nature is elemental, and responds to all the emotions that touch the elemental passions: love, religion, war—these are the emotions that stir life into action.

Much of what is characteristic of the life of the people may be studied in the Feria, the great spring festival, which is held at Seville each year in the middle of April.  From all parts of Spain people flock to the southern city, and for three days at this national picnic they make holiday together.  In the Prado de San Sebastian streets of wooden pavilions, or casetas, have been erected, consisting mainly of one room, which is furnished with chairs, a piano, and beautiful flowers.  Here on each day the families of Seville assemble in their own caseta, and pass the joyous hours in receiving guests, dancing, guitar-playing, and singing.  One side of the caseta is entirely open, so that all can see the company within.  The women and the older men sit upon the chairs; the majos, in faultless costume, stand about, each smoking his cigarette; the children, brilliant, fascinating little people, play in front.  Some of the women, and many children, are dressed in the old Andalusian costume, with black lace over bright yellow silk; all the women wear mantillas upon their hair.  Fans are fluttering everywhere; there is a soft tinkling of guitars.  Dark eyes flash upon you, and red lips part in smiles as you stand and look within.  It is a family party, carried out with a publicity that seems strange to us, but is perfectly natural to the Spaniard.  At the Feria everyone is accepted as a friend.  Someone clicks a pair of castanets, and a beautiful girl gets up to dance the seguidilla, that most graceful dance which every Andalusian child is taught.  The effect on the company is magical.  How animated they are! every face is smiling.  Their chairs are drawn in a circle around the dancer, whom they applaud with rhythmic clapping.  It is the seguidilla, with its gracious memories, which gives life to the Feria.

In another part of the fair the Gitanas have their tents.  All the women from Triana and the Macarena are here, amusing themselves simply and quietly with a joyous decorum.  Some of the Gitana women are remarkably handsome; all have superb hair, and the gay colours of their dresses give brightness to the scene.  There is dancing here, too, the flamenco dances, with slow movements and passionate suggestion of love, and the noise of the constant clapping of the spectators.

On the outskirts, in the open space of the Prado, are flocks of sheep and goats, and droves of bullocks, horses, mules, and donkeys, tended by picturesque herdsmen and muleteers in the dress of the several provinces.  Caballeros ride their horses up and down to show off their points.  The vendors haggle and chaffer with the buyers, for all the animals are for sale; but all is good-natured, there is no quarrelling.  At intervals there are little ventas, or refreshment booths, where the people buy a refresco.  Families are camping and picnicking on the grass.  Others are seated on chairs arranged in a circle around the couple who rise to dance.  At a little distance there are swings for the children.  The noise is great—the Spaniards delight in loud sounds—concertinas and barrel-organs, the sounds from the castanets of the dancers, and the loud clapping of hands, mingling with the cries of the aguadores and the vendors of shell-fish and chestnuts.  Here, too, everyone is happy; but you will not see one drunken or quarrelsome person; among all the people there is a friendly, good-natured content.

“Seville,” it has been said, “lights up for a fiesta as a face lights up with a smile.”  And evening is the time at which the Feria looks its best.  The great iron tower in the centre of the park is brilliantly illuminated, and the avenues of casetas, radiating in every direction, are softly lighted with thousands of fairy lights, electric lamps, and Chinese lanterns; in each a different scheme of colour prevails.  The soft warm air is fragrant with the scent of the blossoming orange-trees.  In each caseta there is a dancer, and from the open doors eager faces look out upon the passers-by.  The sound of castanets and guitars is heard in every direction.  The broad walks are filled with people, an unending stream, slowly walking up and down.  This is the true Spain, idle, joyous, brilliant, happily content, making the very most of life with the fine acceptance that is the gift of the Sevillians.

It is this spirit which the Spaniards have brought into their religion—the understanding that joy is a part of worship.  And although Seville is not a religious city as Toledo and Valencia are, it is here that the splendid ceremonies of the Church are carried out with more detail and spectacular appeal than in any city in Spain.  The Sevillians have made the ritual of their religion a part of their life’s enjoyment.

Nothing shows this better than the strange mediæval custom of the Seises, the sacred dances which take place in the cathedral on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and on that of Corpus Christi.  The sixteen seises, or choristers, dance in front of the high-altar, using castanets and singing in the most charming and graceful minuet fashion.  It is perfectly dignified, perfectly religious, and the young dancers perform without a suspicion of levity.  There is something specially characteristic of the Spaniards’ attitude towards religion in thus making dancing a part of the sacred ritual of the Church.  Just as the bull-fight is carried out as a solemn ceremony, so dancing, the people’s strongest passion, finds its place in the service of the house of God.  To the stranger it is an astonishing ceremony, a witness to the pagan element that lives so persistently in the Spaniard—the cause of those sharp contrasts that surprise us in his character.

All Spain gathers in Seville to take part in the great festival, which is held during the Semana Santa, the Holy Week of Easter.  It is the people’s holiday as truly as is the Feria; both are “holy days.”