The Character of the People—Their Quietness and 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 _Pasos_.
The character of the Spaniard, as one gradually learns to know it, not
from a brief visit spent tourist fashion in hurrying from one city to
another, but from living among the people, sharing their common life and
entering into their spirit, is a very positive character. And this
character, though at first seemingly full of contradictions, is one of an
almost curious uniformity, strongly individual, and not easy to
comprehend.
A significant quality of the Spaniard is his quietness—the grave
enjoyment which he retains even under the influence of strong emotion,
such as we have seen in the dances and in the national pastime of the
bull-fight. His countenance will keep its accustomed gravity even whilst
his mind is inflamed. The Spaniard has what one would like to call an
active languor. On the one hand we find in his character a deeply rooted
dislike, which is almost a contempt, for useful work, with, on the other
hand, a reserve of untiring energy and a special aptitude for violent and
emotional action.
In Spain work is not the highest aim of life. This is the reason why
time is of so much less value. It explains the tendency to delay
everything to a convenient to-morrow—that annoying _mañana_ with which
the Spaniard cheerfully responds to every demand.
One of the first lessons I learnt in Spain was the unimportance of time.
We were staying in a country village off the beaten tracks of travel, and
had to drive a long distance to meet the train which was to take us to
Madrid. When we arrived at the small wayside station, we found we had
three hours to wait. There was no waiting-room, no refreshments could be
procured, and it was raining and very cold. I felt angered at the
discomfort and waste of time; but the Spaniards who were our companions
accepted the delay with true philosophy. They were genuinely distressed
at my annoyance—the Spaniard is always courteous to the foreigner—but
they did not at all share it. They wrapped their great cloaks around
them, and walked up and down the wind-driven platform for three hours,
calmly indifferent.
I understood their acceptance of life on its own terms, which is the very
root of the Spanish character, at once its strength and its weakness, the
cause of its beauty and of its defects.
[Picture: The Cave of the Doves, “El Chorro,” between Boladilla and
Malaga]
A charge of cruelty is often made against this people. But the cruelty
which one meets so often, and especially in the treatment of animals, is
almost always misunderstood by the stranger. It arises from a certain
hardness of fibre, which makes the Spaniard indifferent to pain. And if
he is cruel to others, the Spaniard is also cruel to himself. I know of
no people who are as little careful of personal comfort. Stoicism may be
said to be the religion of the true Spaniard. Every form of asceticism
has been practised by him, and to-day there exist brotherhoods whose
members flagellate themselves with special instruments made of sharp
broken glass till the blood flows, just in the same way as the
_banderilleros_ prick the bulls in the ring.
The Spaniards have always shown an interest in blood and a satisfaction
in shedding it. Two centuries ago it was a common custom for lovers to
scourge themselves in the streets during Holy Week, to win admiration
from their mistresses. The Spaniard still gains the approval of his
women by feats of daring, and the bull-fighter is the idol of the people.
We find an expression of this insistence on pain in the Spanish pictures
and sculpture. Artists in no other country have depicted the sufferings
of the Christ and the tortures of martyrs with the same delight of
detail. I recall the pictures of Zurbaran and Ribera, or those agonized
images of the Christ by Juan Juni at Valladolid, in which sorrow is
carried to a distortion that is almost caricature. The Spaniard accepts
these images; he clothes them with little embroidered skirts and lace
petticoats with the _naïveté_ of a child; to him they are the most
poignant expression of his religious emotion.
[Picture: The Limestone Quarries, Almeria]
It would seem, then, that in the Spanish character there is not only an
indifference to pain, but an actual delight in the emotion of suffering,
which prevents an understanding of cruelty. It is the temperament that
makes the martyr and the fanatic. I remember on one occasion some boys
were torturing a young bird, which one boy held by a string tied to its
leg. I offered to buy the bird for a few _reales_. At once it was given
to me, and I set it free. But what was the result? In less than an hour
some twenty birds had been caught, fastened to strings, and were brought
to me. No payment was asked: the birds were a gift to the foreign
señora. The boys had not understood at all that I disliked their
cruelty; they thought that I had a strange fancy for captive birds.
The incident is characteristic of what the stranger will meet constantly
in Spain. Your driver will flog his mules with the butt-end of his
whip—yes, beat them till they fall. If you remonstrate, he will smile,
rarely will he be angry; but never will you make him understand. Once
during a long drive I gained respite for a team of mules at the cost of a
bribe of two pesetas. I know that driver pitied my foolishness.
Yet, let there be no mistake, the Spaniard is not without the tenderer
emotions of humanity. And, after all one has heard of Spanish cruelty,
it is interesting to note the signs of gentleness and kindness that meet
one in many unexpected ways. I have never seen any other people so
friendly with one another. The home life of the people, be they rich or
poor, is charming, with a standard of kindness that compares favourably
with that of other countries. Domestic crimes are comparatively
infrequent. The Spaniard is known for his considerate love for children,
and the relations between parents and children are universally happy. In
no country does less stigma fall upon a child who is born out of wedlock.
One of the strongest impressions I gained during my stay in the Peninsula
was the happiness of the charming children. It is noteworthy that the
first hospital for the insane was established in the country of the
bull-ring. The practice of allowing counsel to poor persons in criminal
cases is of much older origin than in our own country. The pest of
beggars is another witness to this softness in their character; the
Spaniard feels that it is inhuman to refuse alms.
[Picture: A Gipsy house at Coria]
It is when the Spaniard comes into personal relationships that his real
native kindness appears. For his friend he is ready to sacrifice his
life—a quality which Strabo notes as belonging to the ancient Iberians.
You will often meet with a curious mingling of cruelty and kindness in
the same individual. I recall a characteristic incident. An artist
friend was sketching in a small town in the province of Old Castile, and
upon one occasion was greatly annoyed by a lad who threw sand upon the
wet canvas, thereby showing, I suppose, his hostility to the foreigner,
whose actions he did not understand and therefore disliked. The artist,
rather than contend with his rudeness, left the spot and returned home.
By mistake a small purse-bag was left behind. The boy found it, and
followed with it to the hotel. What a change! There was no rudeness
now; instead, a real pleasure in rendering a service. Smiling and
bowing, the persecutor of half an hour before returned the purse with the
fine Spanish courtesy, refusing to receive any reward.
It is these seemingly contradictory impulses that puzzle the stranger in
estimating the Spanish character. But the truth is, that the deep-rooted
conservatism of the race has kept alive in the Spaniard of to-day the
qualities that belong to primitive peoples. Mr. Havelock Ellis, the
English writer who has best understood the Spanish spirit, says truly:
“The Spaniard is, and remains to-day, in the best sense of the word, a
savage.” The Spanish nature is elemental, and responds to all the
emotions that touch the elemental passions: love, religion, war—these are
the emotions that stir life into action.
Much of what is characteristic of the life of the people may be studied
in the _Feria_, the great spring festival, which is held at Seville each
year in the middle of April. From all parts of Spain people flock to the
southern city, and for three days at this national picnic they make
holiday together. In the Prado de San Sebastian streets of wooden
pavilions, or _casetas_, have been erected, consisting mainly of one
room, which is furnished with chairs, a piano, and beautiful flowers.
Here on each day the families of Seville assemble in their own _caseta_,
and pass the joyous hours in receiving guests, dancing, guitar-playing,
and singing. One side of the _caseta_ is entirely open, so that all can
see the company within. The women and the older men sit upon the chairs;
the _majos_, in faultless costume, stand about, each smoking his
cigarette; the children, brilliant, fascinating little people, play in
front. Some of the women, and many children, are dressed in the old
Andalusian costume, with black lace over bright yellow silk; all the
women wear _mantillas_ upon their hair. Fans are fluttering everywhere;
there is a soft tinkling of guitars. Dark eyes flash upon you, and red
lips part in smiles as you stand and look within. It is a family party,
carried out with a publicity that seems strange to us, but is perfectly
natural to the Spaniard. At the _Feria_ everyone is accepted as a
friend. Someone clicks a pair of castanets, and a beautiful girl gets up
to dance the _seguidilla_, that most graceful dance which every
Andalusian child is taught. The effect on the company is magical. How
animated they are! every face is smiling. Their chairs are drawn in a
circle around the dancer, whom they applaud with rhythmic clapping. It
is the _seguidilla_, with its gracious memories, which gives life to the
_Feria_.
In another part of the fair the Gitanas have their tents. All the women
from Triana and the Macarena are here, amusing themselves simply and
quietly with a joyous decorum. Some of the Gitana women are remarkably
handsome; all have superb hair, and the gay colours of their dresses give
brightness to the scene. There is dancing here, too, the _flamenco_
dances, with slow movements and passionate suggestion of love, and the
noise of the constant clapping of the spectators.
[Picture: Interior of the same house at Coria]
On the outskirts, in the open space of the Prado, are flocks of sheep and
goats, and droves of bullocks, horses, mules, and donkeys, tended by
picturesque herdsmen and muleteers in the dress of the several provinces.
_Caballeros_ ride their horses up and down to show off their points. The
vendors haggle and chaffer with the buyers, for all the animals are for
sale; but all is good-natured, there is no quarrelling. At intervals
there are little _ventas_, or refreshment booths, where the people buy a
_refresco_. Families are camping and picnicking on the grass. Others
are seated on chairs arranged in a circle around the couple who rise to
dance. At a little distance there are swings for the children. The
noise is great—the Spaniards delight in loud sounds—concertinas and
barrel-organs, the sounds from the castanets of the dancers, and the loud
clapping of hands, mingling with the cries of the _aguadores_ and the
vendors of shell-fish and chestnuts. Here, too, everyone is happy; but
you will not see one drunken or quarrelsome person; among all the people
there is a friendly, good-natured content.
“Seville,” it has been said, “lights up for a _fiesta_ as a face lights
up with a smile.” And evening is the time at which the _Feria_ looks its
best. The great iron tower in the centre of the park is brilliantly
illuminated, and the avenues of _casetas_, radiating in every direction,
are softly lighted with thousands of fairy lights, electric lamps, and
Chinese lanterns; in each a different scheme of colour prevails. The
soft warm air is fragrant with the scent of the blossoming orange-trees.
In each _caseta_ there is a dancer, and from the open doors eager faces
look out upon the passers-by. The sound of castanets and guitars is
heard in every direction. The broad walks are filled with people, an
unending stream, slowly walking up and down. This is the true Spain,
idle, joyous, brilliant, happily content, making the very most of life
with the fine acceptance that is the gift of the Sevillians.
It is this spirit which the Spaniards have brought into their
religion—the understanding that joy is a part of worship. And although
Seville is not a religious city as Toledo and Valencia are, it is here
that the splendid ceremonies of the Church are carried out with more
detail and spectacular appeal than in any city in Spain. The Sevillians
have made the ritual of their religion a part of their life’s enjoyment.
Nothing shows this better than the strange mediæval custom of the
_Seises_, the sacred dances which take place in the cathedral on the
Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and on that of Corpus Christi. The
sixteen _seises_, or choristers, dance in front of the high-altar, using
castanets and singing in the most charming and graceful minuet fashion.
It is perfectly dignified, perfectly religious, and the young dancers
perform without a suspicion of levity. There is something specially
characteristic of the Spaniards’ attitude towards religion in thus making
dancing a part of the sacred ritual of the Church. Just as the
bull-fight is carried out as a solemn ceremony, so dancing, the people’s
strongest passion, finds its place in the service of the house of God.
To the stranger it is an astonishing ceremony, a witness to the pagan
element that lives so persistently in the Spaniard—the cause of those
sharp contrasts that surprise us in his character.
All Spain gathers in Seville to take part in the great festival, which is
held during the _Semana Santa_, the Holy Week of Easter. It is the
people’s holiday as truly as is the _Feria_; both are “holy days.”
[Picture: A Village “Pasos.”]
The most characteristic of the ceremonies are the religious processions,
which take place on each day during the week, and all day long on Good
Friday. At Granada and many other towns the Church processions have been
given up; but at Seville the custom remains unchanged from the Middle
Ages. The whole city is given up to the _pasos_, vehicular traffic is
stopped, all business ceases. Everyone, from the Archbishop and the
_Alcalde_ downwards, assembles in the public squares, where seats are
erected, in the streets, or in the balconies and windows of the houses,
to witness the performance. It is an amazing sight, this multitude
gathered to watch the procession of an image! But the Spaniards give
themselves up to it with simple abandonment. Nothing seen in Spain will
give so true an impression of the part that religion takes in the life of
the people. The stranger will feel himself carried back at least three
centuries.
The _pasos_, which are carried in these processions, consist of a single
sacred figure, or a group of figures illustrating a scene from the
Passion. Many of the statues have real beauty; they are the work of
Montañés, the seventeenth-century sculptor, whose polychrome carvings
express so perfectly the Spanish religious spirit. Borne by twenty-five
invisible carriers, at an extremely slow pace, the sacred groups pass
through the streets of the city. Each _paso_ is followed by the members
of the _cofradia_, or brotherhood, to whom the statue belongs. They are
dressed in the costume of their Order, the long gown, usually of white
cloth, with the peaked cowl covering the head. Each brother carries a
lighted candle. Companies of acolytes, white and scarlet robed, swing
censers and chant anthems. A line of gendarmes, in capes of vivid red,
march in advance to clear the way. Women clad in white walk beside them;
barefooted, they are fulfilling a vow. The sacred figures, and
especially the Virgin, to whom the chivalrous Spaniard has always
rendered his homage, are vested in rich gowns of silk and velvet,
enriched with jewels of such great price that a soldier with drawn sword
walks on guard behind. The platforms on which the statues rest are
thickset with lighted tapers and laden with flowers.
[Picture: A rope and matting factory, Seville]
The slow procession proceeds through the densely crowded streets and
squares to the accompaniment of solemn music, with which mingle the
_vivas_ and _bravas_ of the spectators. Before the doors of the City
Hall there is a pause to greet the _Alcalde_, who rises from his velvet
chair. Then the procession passes onwards through the reverent,
bare-headed crowd to the cathedral. The women, black-robed and with
black _mantillas_, in the balconies, where rows of lamps and candles
burn, rise in reverence. One and another sings an ardent petition, with
eyes fastened on the sacred figure. Now a young girl presses forward in
the crowd with a gift of marigolds, which are placed at the Virgin’s
feet.
There is a completeness and simplicity in the worship, the great crowd,
rich and poor, women and men, all moved by one strong emotion. And the
spell of the strange scene penetrates the spirit; one forgets its pagan,
mediæval childishness; one begins to understand how these outward symbols
have had power to hold the faith of the people.
The cathedral is the chief centre of all the ceremonies; and the vast
edifice—Santa Maria is the largest Gothic church in the world—which is
not too vast for its part in the great functions, is seen best on these
days of festival. The gold and silver plate, all the splendid Church
treasures—silver candelabra beyond counting, jewelled censers, chalices,
and crosses, golden keys and diamond stars, Arfe’s rich and delicate
monstrance—have been laid out by the side of the great altar. Crimson
drapings cover the walls; the priests wear their _terno celeste_,
vestments of blue and gold. The great doors are wide open, and all day
long the people come and go in endless procession, as the pageants of the
_pasos_ arrive and then depart. The Mass, with its elaborate ritual, is
sung to the Spanish music of Eslava; the Sacrament is borne in priestly
procession. Each day has its special function. On Palm Sunday is the
consecration of the palms and olive branches; on Maundy Thursday the
typical Spanish ceremony of the washing of feet takes place; on Good
Friday there is the Passion Sermon; and on Saturday the _Cirio Pascual_,
the great candle, 25 feet high and 770–880 pounds in weight, is
consecrated.
[Picture: Sacristy of the Convent of the Cartuja, Granada]
All the days the cathedral is filled with relays upon relays of
worshippers: some kneel upon the bare stones, one by one or in groups
together; some stand; others sit on the chairs they have brought with
them. The black dresses and _mantillas_ of the women mingle with the
bright colours of the peasants who have come from the country districts.
There is something social, well-nigh domestic, in the scene. In the
intervals between their devotions the women chatter loudly together and
use their fans; children play about as if in their own homes; even dogs
and cats are there, quite unmolested. The Spaniard is wholly at home in
his church, which to him is so much a part of the world and his daily
life that he can talk, eat, sleep, and transact business, there.
As the week advances an indescribable emotion grows, which culminates on
the Saturday, when, at ten o’clock in the morning, the Veil of the Temple
is rent in twain. The great purple curtain, which has hung in front of
Roldan’s beautiful Christ upon the Cross, is sharply drawn by hidden
cords. The signal is given; all the bells of the city ring out joyously,
the great organ peals forth jubilees of victory, _Gloria in Excelsis_
soars out in choral chants. It is the moment of supreme emotion. The
multitude falls upon its knees before the great symbol of the
accomplished Passion.
This is the end of the Holy Week ceremonies. The women put off their
black, and now appear in white lace _mantillas_ and dresses predominantly
white. In the afternoon the children’s festival of the lambs takes
place. Then on Easter Sunday the bull-fight is celebrated.