Dress any Englishman in such a garb and he will at once give you the idea of a hog in armour. In the first place he will lack the proper spirit to carry it off, and in the next place the motion of his limbs will disgrace the ornaments they bear. “And so best,” most Englishmen will say. Very likely; and, therefore, let no Englishman try it. But my Spaniard did not look at all like a hog in armour. He walked slowly down the plank into the boat, whistling lowly but very clearly a few bars from an opera tune. It was plain to see that he was master of himself, of his ornaments, and of his limbs. He had no appearance of thinking that men were looking at him, or of feeling that he was beauteous in his attire;—nothing could be more natural than his footfall, or the quiet glance of his cheery gray eye. He walked up to the captain, who held the helm, and lightly raised his hand to his cap. The captain, taking one hand from the wheel, did the same, and then the stranger, turning his back to the stern of the vessel, and fronting down the river with his face, continued to whistle slowly, clearly, and in excellent time. Grand as were his clothes they were no burden on his mind.
“What is he?” said I, going up to my friend Johnson, with a whisper.
“Well, I’ve been looking at him,” said Johnson—which was true enough; “he’s a—an uncommonly good-looking fellow, isn’t he?”
“Particularly so,” said I; “and got up quite irrespective of expense. Is he a—a—a gentleman, now, do you think?”
“Well, those things are so different in Spain, that it’s almost impossible to make an Englishman understand them. One learns to know all this sort of people by being with them in the country, but one can’t explain.”
“No; exactly. Are they real gold?”
“Yes, yes; I dare say they are. They sometimes have them silver gilt.”
“It is quite a common thing, then, isn’t it?” asked I.
“Well, not exactly; that—Ah! yes; I see! of course. He is a torero.”
“A what?”
“A mayo. I will explain it all to you. You will see them about in all places, and you will get used to them.”
“But I haven’t seen one other as yet.”
“No, and they are not all so gay as this, nor so new in their finery, you know.”
“And what is a torero?”
“Well, a torero is a man engaged in bullfighting.”
“Oh! he is a matador, is he?” said I, looking at him with more than all my eyes.
“No, not exactly that;—not of necessity. He is probably a mayo. A fellow that dresses himself smart for fairs, and will be seen hanging about with the bullfighters. What would be a sporting fellow in England—only he won’t drink and curse like a low man on the turf there. Come, shall we go and speak to him?”
“I can’t talk to him,” said I, diffident of my Spanish. I had received lessons in England from Maria Daguilar; but six weeks is little enough for making love, let alone the learning of a foreign language.
“Oh! I’ll do the talking. You’ll find the language easy enough before long. It soon becomes the same as English to you, when you live among them.” And then Johnson, walking up to the stranger, accosted him with that good-natured familiarity with which a thoroughly nice fellow always opens a conversation with his inferior. Of course I could not understand the words which were exchanged; but it was clear enough that the “mayo” took the address in good part, and was inclined to be communicative and social.
“They are all of pure gold,” said Johnson, turning to me after a minute, making as he spoke a motion with his head to show the importance of the information.
“Are they indeed?” said I. “Where on earth did a fellow like that get them?” Whereupon Johnson again returned to his conversation with the man. After another minute he raised his hand, and began to finger the button on the shoulder; and to aid him in doing so, the man of the bullring turned a little on one side.
“They are wonderfully well made,” said Johnson, talking to me, and still fingering the button. “They are manufactured, he says, at Osuna, and he tells me that they make them better there than anywhere else.”
“I wonder what the whole set would cost?” said I. “An enormous deal of money for a fellow like him, I should think!”
“Over twelve ounces,” said Johnson, having asked the question; “and that will be more than forty pounds.”
“What an uncommon ass he must be!” said I.
As Johnson by this time was very closely scrutinising the whole set of ornaments I thought I might do so also, and going up close to our friend, I too began to handle the buttons and tags on the other side. Nothing could have been more good-humoured than he was—so much so that I was emboldened to hold up his arm that I might see the cut of his coat, to take off his cap and examine the make, to stuff my finger in beneath his sash, and at last to kneel down while I persuaded him to hold up his legs that I might look to the clocking. The fellow was thoroughly good-natured,
