ints and that exquisite
mellowness.

II

[Sidenote: The Churches of Ronda]

That necessity of realism which is, perhaps, the most conspicuous of
Spanish traits, shows itself nowhere more obviously than in matters
religious. It is a very listless emotion that is satisfied with the
shadow of the ideal; and the belief of the Andaluz is an intensely
living thing, into which he throws himself with a vehemence that
requires the nude and brutal fact. His saints must be fashioned after
his own likeness, for he has small power of make-believe, and needs all
manner of substantial accessories to establish his faith. But then he
treats the images as living persons, and it never occurs to him to pray
to the Saint in Paradise while kneeling before his presentment upon
earth. The Spanish girl at the altar of _Mater Dolorosa_ prays to a
veritable woman, able to speak if so she wills, able to descend from the
golden shrine to comfort the devout worshipper. To her nothing is more
real than these Madonnas, with their dark eyes and their abundant hair:
_Maria del Pilar_, who is Mary of the Fountain, _Maria del Rosario_, who
is Mary of the Rosary, _Maria de los Dolores_, _Maria del Carmen_,
_Maria de los Angeles_. And they wear magnificent gowns of brocade and
of cloth-of-gold, mantles heavily embroidered, shoes, rings on their
fingers, rich jewels about their necks.

In a little town like Ronda, so entirely apart from the world,
poverty-stricken, this desire for realism makes a curiously strong
impression. The churches, coated with whitewash, are squalid, cold and
depressing; and at first sight the row of images looks nothing more than
a somewhat vulgar exhibition of wax-work. But presently, as I lingered,
the very poverty of it all touched me; and forgetting the grotesqueness,
I perceived that some of the saints in their elaborate dresses were
quite charming and graceful. In the church of _Santa Maria la Mayor_ was
a Saint Catherine in rich habiliments of red brocade, with a white
_mantilla_ arranged as only a Spanish woman could arrange it. She might
have been a young gentlewoman of fifty years back when costume was gayer
than nowadays, arrayed for a fashionable wedding or for a bull-fight.
And in another church I saw a youthful Saint in priest's robes, a
cassock of black silk and a short surplice of exquisite lace; he held a
bunch of lilies in his hand and looked very gently, his lips almost
trembling to a smile. One can im