In Spain the Carnival does not finish, as in France, at eight o’clock on the morning of Ash Wednesday. Over the wonderful gaiety of Seville the memory that “_dust we are_,” etc., spreads its odour of sepulture for four days only, and the first Sunday of Lent all the Carnival reawakens. It is the _Domingo de Pinatas_, or the Sunday of Marmites, the Grand Fête. All the populous town has changed its costume, and one sees in the streets rags and tatters of red, blue, green, yellow or rose, that have been mosquito-nets, curtains or women’s garments, all waving in the sunlight and carried by a small body of ragamuffins. The youngsters, noisy, many-coloured and masked, push their way through the c…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.