This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
[Picture: Women at the Al-Mida Fountain in the Patio De Los Naranjos,
Cordova]
THINGS SEEN IN
SPAIN
* * * * *
BY
C. GASQUOINE HARTLEY
AUTHOR OF
“RECORD OF SPANISH PAINTING,” “MOORISH CITIES
IN SPAIN,” ETC.
* * * * *
WITH FIFTY ILLUSTRATIONS
* * * * *
LONDON
SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LIMITED
38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET
1912
* * * * *
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
Cloth, 2s. net; leather, 3s. net; velvet leather, in a box, 5s. net
THINGS SEEN IN VENICE
By CANON LONSDALE RAGG & LAURA M. RAGG
_With 50 Illustrations_
THINGS SEEN IN NORTHERN INDIA
BY T. L. PENNELL, M.D., B.Sc. _With 50 Illustrations_
THINGS SEEN IN SPAIN
BY C. GASQUOINE HARTLEY. _With 50 Illustrations_
“A successful series by capable writers.”—_Times_.
THINGS SEEN IN HOLLAND
BY C. E. ROCHE. _With 50 Illustrations_
“A charming addition to the series . . . eminently readable.”—_The
Morning Post_.
THINGS SEEN IN EGYPT
BY E. L. BUTCHER. _With 50 Illustrations_
“Mrs. Butcher is thoroughly conversant with her subject . . .
excellently written.”—_The Globe_.
THINGS SEEN IN CHINA
BY J. R. CHITTY. _With 50 Illustrations_
“By a writer who adds grace and style to entire familiarity with the
country and people.”—_The Birmingham Post_.
“A racy description of the social life of the Chinese.”—_The
Scotsman_
THINGS SEEN IN JAPAN
BY CLIVE HOLLAND. _With 50 Illustrations_
“A delightful little book.”—_The Church Times_.
“An attractive volume; the photographs with which it is illustrated
are admirable. The subjects give a very fair idea of the beauty and
charm of a fascinating country.”—_The Manchester Guardian_.
SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LIMITED
CONTENTS {0}
PAGES
CHAPTER I
THE FASCINATION OF SPAIN
Spain the Home of Romance—The Conservatism of the 13–57
People—Spain the most Democratic of Countries—The
Tradition of Chivalry—The Cid—Spain the Connecting Link
between Europe and Africa—The Place of the Moor in the
Country To-day—The Gardens of Granada—The Bull-fight: its
National Importance—Spanish Dancing
CHAPTER II
THE SPANISH PEOPLE
The Character of the People—Their Quietness and 58–92
Sobriety—Their Cruelty—This the Result of their Stoicism
and Indifference to Pain—These the Qualities of a Strong
and Primitive People—The _Feria_, the Holiday of the
Sevillians—Religion: its Place in the National Life—The
Dance of the _Seises_—Holy Week in Seville—Religious
Processions—The _Paseos_
CHAPTER III
TOWN LIFE IN SPAIN
Toledo, the Type of the Spanish City—Its Architectural 93–129
Monuments—The Intermingling of Arab and Christian
Art—Granada—The Alhambra—Cordova—The Great
Mosque—Seville, the City of Pleasure—The Special
Character of the Streets—The _Café’s_ and Shops—The
Typical Andalusian—The Parks—The _Sevillanas_—Spanish
Courtship—The Houses of Seville—The _Patios_—The
Home-life of the Sevillians—Spanish Hospitality
CHAPTER IV
TOWN LIFE IN SPAIN (_continued_)
Madrid: its Situation—The Old Town—The Rastro—The New 130–152
Town—The Puerta del Sol—_Cafés_—The _Aguadores_—The Prado
Park—The Theatre—Spanish Children—The Museums—The
Picture-galleries
CHAPTER V
COUNTRY LIFE IN SPAIN
Life in a Spanish _Posada_—Spanish Peasants—The Toilers 153–203
of the Field and other Workers—The _Cigarreras_ of
Seville—The _Kermesse_ in the Esclava Gardens—The Love of
Festivals—Easter Day in a Spanish Village—Third-class
Travelling—Wild Life in Spain—Fishing in the Country
Districts
CHAPTER VI
SPANISH ART
Spanish Art the Reflection of the Spanish Temperament—The 204–231
Great Buildings of Spain—Spanish Gothic—Its Realistic
Naturalness, its Massiveness and Extravagance—The
Churches, the Real Museums of Art Treasures—Polychrome
Sculpture—Spanish Painting—Its Late Development—Its
Special Character—Its Strength, its Dramatic and
Religious Character
CHAPTER VII
ABOUT MANY THINGS
The Real Spirit of Spain—The Spiritual Instinct of the 232–252
Race—The Escorial—Spanish Beggars—The Spaniard belongs to
the Past, but also to the Future
INDEX 253–254
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Women at the Al-Mida Fountain in the Patio de los _Frontispiece_
Naranjos, Cordova
A Peasant of Andalusia 12
A Busy Street leading to the Market, Valencia 14
The Puerta Visagra Antigua, Toledo 20
Pastimes of the Gitanos in the Camino del Sacre 26
Monte, Granada
Walls and Towers of the Alhambra on the Bank of 33
the Darro, Granada
A Glimpse of Granada from the Walls of the 36
Generalife, the Summer Palace of the Moors
A Group of Dancers at the _Feria_, Seville 43
The Old Town of Ronda 46
The Falls of the Guadalevin, the Great Gorge, and 50
the New Bridge, Ronda
Spanish Dancers, Seville 54
The Cave of the Doves 60
The Limestone Quarries, Almeria 64
A Gipsy House at Coria 68
Interior of the Same House 74
A Village _Pasos_ 80
A Rope and Matting Factory, Seville 84
Sacristy of the Convent of the Cartuja, Granada 88
Bridge of Alcantara and the Alcázar, Toledo 94
A Street in Cordova 100
Puerta del Perdon 107
The Queen’s Chamber, Alhambra 110
Court of Lions, Alhambra 116
A Group of Workers in a _Patio_ 120
“Las Planchadoras” 129
The Throne-Room, Royal Palace, Madrid 133
The Rastro Market, Madrid 134
Mounting Guard in the Plaza de Armas 143
Children at Play 147
A Bridge and Country Homes 154
The Village _Posada_ 158
A Medieval Ox-Cart 164
Harvesting Wheat 168
An Orange-Picker 172
Pottery Vendors 178
A Basque Peasant-Girl driving an Ox-Cart 184
Sherry a Half-Century Old 191
Ruins of an Old Aqueduct 194
Beaching Fishing-Boats 198
Choir-Stalls in the Mosque, Cordova 207
Burgos Cathedral 210
Residence of the Mexican Minister, Madrid 214
The Old Aqueduct of Trajan 218
Main Gallery in the Museo del Prado 222
The Cross by the Wayside 226
Town and Monastery of the Escorial 234
Puerta Judiciana, or Gate of Justice 238
Municipal Plaza and Cathedral, Toledo 242
The Valley of the Guadelevin River 246
Flamenco Dance of a Gitana, Seville 249
[Picture: A Peasant of Andalusia]
CHAPTER I—THE FASCINATION OF SPAIN
Spain the Home of Romance—The Conservatism of the People—Spain the most
Democratic of Countries—The Tradition of Chivalry—The Cid—Spain the
Connecting Link between Europe and Africa—The Place of the Moor in the
Country To-day—The Gardens of Granada—The Bull-fight: its National
Importance—Spanish Dancing.
Coming into Spain by any of the chief portals—at Port Bou, at Algeciras,
or at Irun—one finds oneself in a totally new country. You cast much
behind you as you come, for instance, from France; you will be impressed
by a certain strangeness of aspect far different from all you have learnt
to expect in other countries. You will feel transplanted back into
another world. It is as if Spain had sat aside waiting, indifferent and
proud, while elsewhere life has rushed onwards.
The conservatism of Spain may be gathered from the old impressions we
find in the pages of writers describing the people and the country of
more than a century ago, which are still true in so much as they refer to
what is essential in the national spirit, and to the survival of the
customs of mediæval Europe. “I regard the Spanish people,” says
Stendhal, “as the living representatives of the Middle Ages.”
[Picture: A Busy Street Leading to the Market, Valencia]
Spain is still the home of the romance which belonged to an age that has
passed. And although the more flourishing Spanish towns are nowadays
full of animation—factories are springing up and signs of commercial
activity are not wanting—this new movement of progress has not destroyed
this romance. The Spain which Cervantes immortalized still lives. We
may still take Don Quixote and Sancho Panza as typical figures, whom you
may see any day in the towns of Castile or walking on the roads of La
Mancha. These are the types that have remained unchanged.
And herein rests the fascination of Spain—this conservatism which has
lasted into an age of hurrying progress. It is a fascination that
everyone will not feel, but for those whom it touches the glamour is more
permanent and irresistible than that of any other country I know.
Many details of life, and especially in the smaller towns still unvisited
by the tourist, remind us of a past that other countries have left
behind. The _serenos_, or night watchmen, with long hooded cloaks,
tipped staves, and lanterns, are familiar figures in every town. In the
country the shepherd is seen, wrapped in his coloured blanket, leaning on
his tall staff in the midst of his flock. The wandering palmer with his
cockle-shell, known to the England of Chaucer, may still be met in Spain.
You realize how far you are from the present when you enter a Spanish
town. You pass under a Moorish gateway, dark and imposing, with a
suggestion of savage strength in its gaunt yellow masonry that carries
memories of battles that have been fought. Here you wait for the
_consumos_ to examine your luggage, which, if they doubt your honesty,
they will probe with their long steel prong. The dull jangle from the
bells of your straining mules gives an unaccustomed sound as you drive
upwards, for almost every Spanish town is set upon a hill.
If the town is small, the _posada_ where you seek for lodging will have a
wineshop below. You will see a crowd of wild-looking men, with great
cloaks and _sombreros_ pulled low upon their foreheads, seated at a rude
table. They are taking wine from the _bota_, the long-spouted leather
bottle from which only the Spaniard has the skill to drink. Thoughts of
brigands will crowd your mind. But you need have no fear; these are
simple townsmen. Savage looks and this strange, wild appearance cover
the simple friendliness of the child. The excited conversation will
cease as you enter. Most likely you will hear the word “Francéses”
muttered by one and another, for in Spain every foreigner is first taken
to be French. You answer, “No, Ingléses.” At once an atmosphere of
friendliness springs up, and an exchange of greetings will be made. No
one will take any further notice of you. It is not the custom of the
Spanish landlord to force his attentions upon his guests. He is
constitutionally incapable of the obsequious fussiness that belongs to
commercial hospitality. You will be accepted as one of the family, and
the friendly trustfulness that is one characteristic of the fine Spanish
courtesy will soon cause the foreign _caballero_ to feel at home.
Spain is still the most democratic of countries. Every Spaniard expects
as a matter of right to be treated as an equal. It is significant that
the title _Señor_ is given alike to God and to a beggar. Your host at
the _posada_ will sit down with you to meals, and his son, who waits upon
you, will slap you on the back with easy friendliness as he makes plans
for your enjoyment. These familiar and intimate relationships, which
once were common in every country, are found to-day nowhere so
universally practised as in Spain. Each Spaniard that you meet gives the
greeting which commends you to God. And no native ever eats in company
without first uttering the customary _gusta_, an invitation to share in
the repast, which is a survival, most probably, of the belief of
primitive peoples in the evil eye that poisons the food of those who eat
alone.
[Picture: The Puerta Visagra Antigua, Toledo]
The snobbery that has arisen out of modern progress is unknown to the
Spanish man and woman. Business is not here the highest aim of life.
The Spaniard still feels true what Ganivet made Hernan Cortes say: “The
grandest enterprises are those in which money has no part, and the cost
falls entirely on the brain and heart.” The hustling, besmirching spirit
of commercialism is absent from the Spanish character; and for this
reason, although Spain belongs to the past, the country, to those who
have eyes to see, will seem to belong also to the future.
El Mitayo Cid Campeador, as the old chronicles affectionately call the
Spanish hero, with his democratic manners, his rough-and-ready justice,
and his acts at once ideal and yet practical in achievement, is the
supreme representative of chivalry. Valour and virtue, the qualities
peculiarly identified with the Spanish romantic spirit, were his. His
energy in warfare, his power in love, his childlike religious faith, and
his fearlessness in facing pain and also death, are characteristics that
belong to all the men who have made Spain great.
Spain was the land of the sword, and the business of the true Spaniard
was war. And this love of action, strange as it may seem to those
accustomed to think of the lazy Spaniard, is a very real trait in the
Spanish character. But the action must be connected with romance. It
has nothing at all to do with the idea of working for the gain of money
which belongs to the “getting on” spirit of modern civilization. The
Spaniard works as the child works, for joy, and not for gain.
Living in Spain, you come to understand that this land is really the
connecting link between Europe and Africa. Both in his physical traits
and in his character, the Spaniard shows his relation to the North
African type—“the child of a European father by an Abyssinian mother” he
has been called. This is true. Lithe and vigorous, with long-shaped
heads and rich pigmentation of skin—the type is clearly seen in the
pictures of Murillo and Zurbaran, and with a more vivid expression in the
portraits of El Greco—the Spaniard has more points of contact with the
Eastern than with the Western races. Seldom indeed is he entirely a
European.
But it is among the women that the resemblance stands out most clearly.
There are women with dark long African faces. You will see them among
the _flamencas_ of Seville, or in the gipsy quarter of the Camino del
Sacro Monte at Granada—women with slow, sinuous movements, which you
notice best when you see them dance, and wonderful eyes that flash a slow
fire, quite unforgettable in their strange beauty.
In dress we still find the Oriental love of bright and violent colours.
The elegant Manilla shawls and the mantilla, which give such special
distinction to the women of Spain, are modifications of the Eastern veil.
The elaborately dressed hair, built up with combs, with the rose or
carnation giving a note of colour, has also a very ancient origin. Then,
the men in some districts still retain the fashion of loose, baggy
trousers such as women wear in the East.
We see the Moorish influence in the Oriental seclusion of the houses,
with the barred windows and high gates, often studded with bosses,
seeming to forbid an entrance. The Spaniard still constructs his house
as the Moors built their houses, around the inner court, or _patio_,
those gardens of colour and rest, sometimes quite hidden from the
passer-by, as at Toledo; sometimes visible through an openwork iron
gateway, like the gay _patios_ of Seville. Each house still has its
_buzon_, and is fronted with a _zaguán_, or vestibule of wood.
In every department of Spanish life we meet with this persistence of the
Moorish influence. This need not surprise us.
The coming of the Moors into Spain was a civilizing expedition more than
a conquest. It was the Orient entering Europe. The invaders—for the
most part Berbers with a few Arabs—were a race of young and vigorous
culture, of such astonishing and rapid growth that, although in Africa
they had hardly emerged from savagery, in Spain they manifested a truly
wonderful receptivity, and absorbed and developed the best elements they
found in the life of the country.
[Picture: Pastimes of the Gitanos in the Camino Del Sacre Monte, Granada]
In two years the Moors became masters, and under their dominion, from the
eighth to the fifteenth century, the most elevated and opulent
civilization flourished. All the arts, sciences, industries, inventions,
and culture, of the old civilization budded out into fresh discoveries of
creative energy. Religious toleration came with them, and was lost with
them. The spirit of chivalry arose among the Moors, and was afterwards
appropriated by the Christian warriors of the North. A Moorish knight
was in every respect like a Spanish knight. It was religion alone that
divided them—one called on the name of Allah, the other on that of
Christ.
We must remember that the primitive Iberians of Spain were themselves of
Berber stock, and this affinity in racial origin explains the peaceful
amalgamation of the conquerors with the conquered. Afterwards by the
constant mingling of their bloods the Moors and the old Spaniards became
one. The Moor gave to the Spaniard and he took from him, and they
contributed to the same work of national civilization.
Ganivet has said truly that those who deny the Moorish influence show
themselves unable to comprehend the Spanish character. The Moorish
dominion ended, passing almost as swiftly as it came. But the spirit of
their exquisite civilization, perhaps the most exquisite that the world
has yet seen, moulded their Christian conquerors into its likeness. And
penetrating the Spanish character, and the daily life and habits of the
people, this influence remains; indeed, it is not overstating the truth
to say that to-day the pulse of the land still beats with Moorish life.
It is in the gardens of Spain that the stranger will find best the
reflection of the Moorish spirit. The Moors made their cities places of
gardens and waters. The very names that they gave to their pleasure
places speak of joy. “The Meadow of Murmuring Waters,” “The Garden of
the Water-wheel”—what magic lingers in the suggestion of the words!
Many of these old gardens have perished. Cordova has lost all except its
Orange Court and the old garden of the ruined Alcázar. In Seville the
parks are new. But in Granada the gardens have triumphed over the
devastations of the Christians; and it is one of the exquisite surprises
of the place to come suddenly on some fragment of a delicious garden
where the Moorish tradition lives almost undisturbed.
[Picture: Walls and Towers of the Alhambra, on the banks of the Darro,
Granada]
There are few cities, even in Spain, that hold so many gardens. There is
the Alameda of the Alhambra, the green garden which lies around the
Moorish citadel; the _paseos_ on the banks of the Genil, planted with
trees and cooled by fountains, the pleasure-grounds of the people; and
the Jardín de los Adarves, on the south terrace of the Alhambra hill, a
trellised retreat, with climbing vines and flowers, and splendid view of
Vega and distant snow-capped hills. Everyone will find in these gardens
something that makes special appeal to him.
But the most exquisite haunt even among the gardens of Granada is the
Generalife—the summer palace of the Moorish Princes, at the foot of the
Cerro de Sol, and to the east of the Alhambra hill. Here you have the
charm of small and perfect gardens laid out in terraces, with great
clipped cypresses, myrtles, and orange-trees, and the glow of flowers,
with that of the delicate Moorish architecture, of richly coloured tiles
and rare inscriptions. And everywhere is the joyous sound of flowing
water; the fountains are always playing, and water runs in channels made
of inverted tiles placed on the top of the balustrades. One of the
charms of Moorish life was the love of pure water.
An old legend says that the name Generalife in Arabic signifies the
“house of love, of dancing, and of pleasure,” and, further, that it was
built by one Omar, a passionate lover of music, that he might retire here
and entirely give himself up to that amusement. The story is probably
untrue, and the name, as the chronicles state, is a corruption of the
Arabic “Djennat-al’-Arif,” which means “the garden of Arif.” But romance
so often is more beautiful than fact. One likes to think that this
exquisite palace and gardens were designed as a place wherein a man could
give his soul to music.
“Charming place! Thy garden is embellished with flowers which repose
upon their stalks and exhale the sweetest perfumes; fresh air agitates
the orange-trees and spreads abroad the sweet odour of its blossoms. I
hear voluptuous music joined to the rustling of the leaves of thy grove.
Everything around is harmonious, green, and flowering.”
Such is part of the inscription upon the arcades of the Garden of the
Pond, and how perfectly the rich imagery of the words conveys the charm
of the garden! The Generalife has kept more than any place in Spain its
Moorish character, combining in its palace and garden, in spite of decay
and alterations, much of that full suggestion of all beautiful things
that was their gift.
In Spain dancing is something more than an amusement; it is a serious art
closely connected with religious ritual, which expresses, perhaps as
nothing else does, if we except the bull-fight, the true spirit of the
people. The dances are Eastern in their origin; they are dramas of love,
and especially those of the Gitanas, who have adopted and kept living the
ancient dances of the country.
Seville, the joyous southern capital, is the city that has given its own
spirit to the most beautiful of the Spanish dances. Granada and Malaga
are also centres of dancing, and sometimes good performances may be
witnessed at Madrid. But the best _cafés cantantes_, where the true
Spanish dancers perform, are hidden in back streets where the foreigner
does not readily find them. These dances are national ceremonies and
belong to the people, and are far different from the dances, often quite
modern in character, that are given at the popular _cafés_. The
varieties are numerous, and the names are often confusing. Many dances
date back far into antiquity, while almost all owe their special
character to Arabic influences.
[Picture: A Glimpse of Granada from the walls of the Generalife]
The _bolero_ is the most aristocratic dance. “What majesty, what
decorum, what distinction!” cried Valera, speaking of the dances of Ruiz
and his daughter Conchita. It is danced by a man and a woman, and is a
kind of drama between them; both use castanets. It is a slow dance of
deliberate grace and fascination. The _jota_ is danced by a woman alone.
This dance, too, is a love drama of intense passion, but always decorous,
always beautiful. Both these dances are native to Andalusia, the
province of Spanish dancing. Outside of Andalusia, the most famous dance
is the Aragonese _jota_. This is danced by a man and a woman, and the
castanets are used. But the drama is different, the movements are
quicker and less varied, and there is great vivacity. It seems a kind of
combat between the two dancers; it is more a drama of battle than a drama
of love.
But the most typical of all Spanish dancing is the _flamenco_ dance of
the Gitanas, which you will see best at Seville; it is the most primitive
and the most African of all. A group of performers sit in a semicircle
upon a small stage. The spectators all take their part by a rhythmic
clapping of hands and stamping feet. One of the performers—generally a
man—plays the guitar and sings an accompanying song. A dancer rises
suddenly, spontaneously, as if seized by the passion of the music. She
wears a long dress, usually of white, and a beautiful Manilla shawl is
folded on her shoulders. How can one describe the dance which is so
unlike all other dances? It is not a dance of the feet; every part of
the body plays its share in the performance: the swaying figure, the
beckoning hands, the glittering smiles that come and go in the dark
eyes—all contribute. The dancer is alive to her fingertips, and every
expressive movement has the Spanish simplicity of emphasis. At first the
movement is slow, then faster, and now increases and rises to a passion
of intensity. And all the time the spectators are actively
participating, their emotion rising with the dancer’s emotion; their
rhythmic clapping and beating of feet grows louder as the drama proceeds,
and cries of long-drawn-out _oles_ stimulate the dancer. The dance ends
as unexpectedly as it began: a pause comes, and the swaying body is
still, as if languor had followed on strong emotion. There is silence;
the dancer goes back to her seat. Then the singer starts a new song, the
clapping is taken up again, another dancer comes forward, and a new drama
is acted.
[Picture: A group of dancers at the “Feria,” Seville]
The foreigner who would understand Spain must see these dances; then he
will come to know yet another characteristic of the people—their love of
strong, quite elemental sensation. It is this that so often makes them
seem cruel to us.
This delight of the Spaniard in all emotions that make sharp appeal to
the senses explains the existence of the bull-fight, the national sport,
which is so much a part of the life of the people that, although to-day
there is a widespread movement to repress, or at least to mitigate, its
cruelty, it seems unlikely that its real attraction will cease.
It is impossible not to condemn the bull-fight; its cruelty cannot be
denied. It is brutal, as the most cultivated Spaniards themselves admit.
And yet there are certain facts that the stranger must remember before he
condemns. The bull-fight, like the dance, is a solemn ritual rather than
an amusement. The combats take place on Sunday, while the most famous
form part of the ceremonies of Holy Week. Part of the proceeds are
devoted to some religious object—a charity or other holy work. Almost
all the great bull-rings have a chapel where the fighters first prepare
themselves in prayer and partake of the Holy Eucharist. To the foreigner
it may seem that this union of religion and bull-fighting is incongruous,
but to most Spaniards it does not appear so.
The bull-fight is the Spaniard’s strongest, most characteristic
intoxication. The poor man will sell his shirt to buy a ticket for the
bull-ring. They are a profoundly serious people, but every incident
connected with their national sport arouses them into vivid life. I
remember on one occasion, when travelling in Andalusia in an open
third-class railway carriage, the train passed a _vacada_, or
training-place of bulls to be used in the ring. The effect was magical.
These quiet, sombre people sprang upon the seats, some leaned far out of
the windows; they gesticulated, they waved their sombreros, they called
the names of the bulls, they cheered, they shouted. Never had I seen the
decorous Spaniard so strongly moved.
The _toreros_ are the idols of the Spanish people. You will see them
best at Seville, in their faultless tight _majo_ costumes and frilled
shirts, fastened with diamond studs, and diamond rings on the fingers of
their faultless hands, and with their pigtail fastened upon the top of
their heads. There is something splendidly attractive in their perfect
bodily equipoise, with every muscle trained to faultless precision. The
_toreros_ have in the highest degree strength, agility, and grace. Even
women have been _toreros_ and Madame Dieulafoy tells of one _Doña_, Maria
de Gaucin, who left her convent to become a _torero_; then, after gaining
renown throughout Spain for her exploits in the bull-ring, returned to
the practices of religion. Only in Spain would such division of a life
be thought perfectly natural, perfectly seemly.
[Picture: The old town of Ronda]
The bull-fight was established in Spain in the eleventh or twelfth
century, and is of Moorish origin. The bull would also seem to have come
first from Africa. But the spectacular and ceremonial character of the
contest is certainly adapted from the Roman combats, the influence of
which had survived among the old Spaniards.
Every Spanish town has its Plaza de Toros. Here, and especially at
Seville during the Easter festival, you will see all the population of
the place, a motley crowd of men and women. Señoras in white lace
_mantillas_ and white dresses, and their cavaliers, the gay _Sevillanos_,
side by side with the _gente flamenca_ and the _cigarreras_ in lovely
shawls, their hair elaborately arranged, with a white flower showing
against its blackness; for the bull-fight is a democratic institution,
where the greatest foregather with the people. The patience of the vast
crowd is perfect as they await the advent of the appointed hour. All are
animated with a suppressed seriousness, the prelude to violent emotion
which is so characteristic of the Spaniard.
The entire performance is carried out with an elaborate ceremony of
detail which the stranger often finds difficult to appreciate. The
President enters his _palco_. Then follows the _paseo de la cuadrilla_,
the processional entrance of the bull-fighters, grave, handsome men, in
their beautiful and varied costumes of yellow and violet, gold and green,
or whatever the chosen colours may be. The procession moves slowly
across the ring; there is no haste. Each one in turn gravely and with
perfect grace salutes the President, who then throws down the key of the
bulls’ den, the _toril_. In a few moments the first bull rushes into the
arena. The combat has begun.
The fight is divided into three acts. In the _Suerte de Picar_, the
first, the _picadores_, dressed in round felt hats, short cloaks, and
long leggings of plaited steel, and mounted on blindfolded horses, in
turn receive the charge of the bull, thrusting him aside with their long
pikes. Sometimes they come to close quarters, a _picador_ is thrown, his
horse is wounded, or perhaps killed. The shouts of the now excited crowd
show that this is the critical moment. The _picador_ rises quickly,
another horse is brought, while the _chulos_ divert the attention of the
bull by dexterous waving of their brightly coloured cloaks. When the
bull is sufficiently wearied—for this is the object of the first act in
the drama—the President gives a signal, and the _picadores_ retire.
[Picture: The Falls of the Guadalevín, the Great Gorge and New Bridge,
Ronda]
The _banderilleros_ take their place. This is the _Suerte de
Banderillear_, the second act, the object of which is to inflame the
bull. The _banderilleros_ place the barbed darts, or _banderillas_, in
the shoulders of the bull. Each is about 2 feet long, of curious device,
and ornamented with long coloured streamers. It is the most exciting
part of the combat. The utmost skill, agility, and daring, are needed to
plant the darts. There must be no bungling, no second of hesitation. It
is now that the excitement of the spectators is really aroused, for a
sense of solemnity is given by the possible presence of death. A
_banderillero_ may be seen to seize hold of the lashing tail, swing
himself along the beast’s side, and plant his dart between its horns. It
is done with surprising skill, with delight, and with passion; and the
applause of the spectators swells to a great roar, which refuses to be
silenced.
The last act is the _Suerte de Matar_. The chief _espada_ comes into the
ring; to him belongs the honour of the death. First he approaches the
President, and solemnly dedicates to him the slaying of the bull. He is
armed with a short Toledan blade and the _muleta_, a small red cloth.
Calmly he walks towards the bull. And now a silence falls upon the
hitherto raging crowd. It is the moment of pause, of silent waiting for
the most violent emotion of all. First he plays with the now infuriated
and wearied beast. There is still no hurrying. The Spaniard wishes
always to gain the very utmost out of his sensations. The bull is teased
by the waving of the red cloth, and in this way is made to take the
proper position for the death-blow. The _espada_ watches his moment;
then, with unerring decision, he buries the blade in the bull’s neck
between the shoulders, and walks slowly to the President’s box, with
absolute composure and a dignity that is almost defiant. Deafening
cheers greet him, rewards and costly tributes are thrown, and he is
presented with a great bouquet of flowers. How Spanish is this ending,
which rewards the slayer with flowers!
It is over; the ring is cleared, sand is raked over the pools of blood, a
new bull is driven forward, again the drama begins. Six times the scene
is re-acted, and a seventh bull, a _toro de gracia_, is added at the
first bull-fight of the year.
[Picture: Spanish Dancers, Seville]
In this repetition of emotions, this delight in heaping up sensations, we
have a very real revelation of the Spanish temperament. And this
explains the devotion of the people to the bull-fight. When we come to
estimate the Spanish character, we shall find that the Spaniard has the
qualities which belong to all primitive people. The sentiment of
sympathy with suffering is essentially a modern one. The Spaniard is
still the Moor, his ancestor. He is cruel because he is indifferent to
pain, his own or another’s.