Tarifa is perhaps the quaintest town left in the world, either in or out
of Spain, but whether it is more Moorish than parts of Cordova or
Seville I could not say. It is at least pre-eminent in a feature of the
women's costume which you are promised at the first mention of the
place, and which is said to be a survival of the Moslem civilization. Of
course we were eager for it, and when we came into the first wide
street, there at the principal corner three women were standing, just as
advertised, with black skirts caught up from their waists over their
heads and held before their faces so that only one eye could look out at
the strangers. It was like the women's costtime at Chiozza on the
Venetian lagoon, but there it is not claimed for Moorish and here it was
authenticated by being black. "Moorish ladies," our guide proudly
proclaimed them in his scanty English, but I suspect they were Spanish;
if they were really Orientals, they followed us with those eyes single
as daringly as if they had been of our own Christian Occident.
The event was so perfect in its way that it seemed as if our guiding
policeman might have especially ordered it; but this could not have
really been, and was no such effect of his office as the immunity from
beggars which we enjoyed in his charge.
Pages:
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446