[6] In 1830 the nobility alone enjoyed that privilege. To-day (1847) under the constitutional _régime_, the plebeians have obtained the privilege of the _garrote_. [7] Ironshod staves carried by the Basques. [8] The magistrate at the head of the police and municipal administration. [9] The ordinary costume of the peasant women of Navarre and the Basque provinces. [10] Yes, sir. [11] Enclosure, garden. [12] Bravoes, bullies. [13] All the Spanish cavalry are armed with lances. [14] Alcala de los Panaderos, a hamlet two leagues from Seville, where they make delicious small loaves. It is claimed that their excellence is due to the water of Alcala, and great quantities of them are taken to Seville daily. [15] Good-day, comrade. [16] Most of the houses in Seville have an interior courtyard surrounded by porticos. The inhabitants live there in summer. The courtyard is covered with canvas, which is kept wet during the day and removed at night. The gate into the street is almost always open, and the passage leading into the courtyard is closed by an iron gate of elaborate workmanship. [17] _Mañana sera otro dia._--A Spanish proverb. [18] A gypsy proverb. [19] Sugared yolks of eggs. [20] A kind of nougat. [21] King Don Pedro, whom we call the _Cruel_, but whom Isabella the Catholic always called the _Justiciary_, loved to walk the streets of Seville at night in search of adventures, like the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid. On a certain night he had a quarrel in an out-of-the-way street with a man who was giving a serenade. They fought and the king slew the love-lorn knight. Hearing the clash of swords, an old woman put her head out of a window and lighted up the scene with a small lamp (_candilejo_) which she held in her hand. You must know that King Don Pedro, who was very active and powerful, had one physical peculiarity: his knees cracked loudly when he walked. The old woman had no difficulty in recognising him by means of that cracking. The next day the Twenty-four who was on duty came to the king to make his report. “Sire, there was a duel last night on such a street. One of the combatants was killed.” “Have you discovered the murderer?” “Yes, sire.” “Why is he not punished before now?” “I await your orders, sire.” “Carry out the law.” Now the king had recently issued a decree providing that every duellist should be beheaded, and that his head should be exposed on the battle-field. The Twenty-four extricated himself from the dilemma like a man of wit. He caused the head of a statue of the king to be sawed off, and exposed it in a recess in the middle of the street where the murder had taken place. The king and all the good people of Seville thought it an excellent joke. The street took its name from the lamp of the old woman, who was the sole witness of the adventure. Such is the popular tradition. Zuñiga tells the story a little differently. (See _Anales de Sevilla_, vol. ii., p. 136.)