I Subsequently Met The Young
Spaniard At Cadiz, And Repaid Him With Thanks.
A few cabriolets were waiting near the wharf, in order to convey us
to San Lucar.
I ascended one, and we proceeded slowly along the
Playa or strand. This place is famous in the ancient novels of
Spain, of that class called Picaresque, or those devoted to the
adventures of notorious scoundrels, the father of which, as also of
all others of the same kind, in whatever language, is Lazarillo de
Tormes. Cervantes himself has immortalized this strand in the most
amusing of his smaller tales, La Ilustre Fregona. In a word, the
strand of San Lucar in ancient times, if not in modern, was a
rendezvous for ruffians, contrabandistas, and vagabonds of every,
description, who nested there in wooden sheds, which have now
vanished. San Lucar itself was always noted for the thievish
propensities of its inhabitants - the worst in all Andalusia. The
roguish innkeeper in Don Quixote perfected his education at San
Lucar. All these recollections crowded into my mind as we
proceeded along the strand, which was beautifully gilded by the
Andalusian sun. We at last arrived nearly opposite to San Lucar,
which stands at some distance from the water side. Here a lively
spectacle presented itself to us: the shore was covered with a
multitude of females either dressing or undressing themselves,
while (I speak within bounds) hundreds were in the water sporting
and playing; some were close by the beach, stretched at their full
length on the sand and pebbles, allowing the little billows to dash
over their heads and bosoms; whilst others were swimming boldly out
into the firth.
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