Just close to the cathedral of Compostella lived a barber whose real
name was Pedro Moreno, but who was better known by that of El Macho,
“the mule,” because he was so stubborn that if he happened to be playing
the guitar, he would not leave off though a dozen customers were waiting
to be shaved. But in Spain a barber also applies leeches, draws teeth,
and extracts corns, so that it was very annoying for a man who was
suffering from tooth-ache, and wanted his tooth taken out or stopped, to
have to wait until the barber had finished playing on the guitar.
He was also a soothsayer, and could repeat the whole of the prophetical
_Buena Dicha_ by heart. He was, in fact, the most useful man in
Compostella, and had cultivated the art of shaving the face and head
from the commencement which consists in watching the flies when
standing close to the master who is showing off his skill on a customer,
to being able to play the guitar with such proficiency that, holding the
neck in his left hand and pressing the cords with the fingers, he shall,
by thumping the instrument on the big toe of his left foot, cause it to
vibrate the air of the immortal _Cachucha_ or the _Bolero_, while with
his right hand he plays the castanets.
A barber may have his brass chin-basins, which hang outside the door,
burnished every day; his fly-catcher renovated every month; his bottles
containing leeches nice and clean; and he may know all the scandal of
the town, which is decidedly a part of his duty; but if he cannot play
the guitar and the castanets at the same time—which he can only do by
calling the big toe of his left foot into requisition—he must not be
considered a barber of the first class. He may do for shaving poor
priests and water-carriers; but he may not shave an abbot, nor an
archbishop, still less a grandee of Spain, who may sit before the king
with his hat on.
In other countries the position of a barber is somewhat less important
than it used to be when cleanliness required of a man that he should
appear at early mass on the Sunday well shaved; but in Spain,
cleanliness of the face is a great recommendation, for a rough chin
never earned kisses. Therefore is a barber still held in great respect
in the land of the Cid; and although Don Pedro Moreno was known by the
name of “El Macho,” no one would have dared address him thus.
One day the archbishop called on El Macho to request of him to come and
look at the image of St. James in the cathedral, to whom the edifice is
dedicated, because this miraculous figure, who had wrought so many
miracles, had, strange to say, commenced letting his beard grow, much to
the astonishment of all the priesthood and of the common people, and to
the dismay of several knights who had been knighted at the altar of St.
James, because in those days knights did not use beards.
The barber, seeing the archbishop enter his house, advanced, knelt, and
kissed his ring; and, knowing on what errand he was come, he was so
solicitous of securing the archbishop’s favour, that he put aside his
guitar, and respectfully awaited the prelate’s commands.
The archbishop having informed Pedro of the state of St. James’s chin,
proceeded to inform him that it had been decided, at a meeting of the
clergy, to entrust the shaving of the saint to him, Pedro Moreno; but
that, as this growth of hair was most exceptional, seeing that the image
was of wood, it was probable that the usual process of shaving might not
be sufficient.
“And you are quite right, most excellent sir, in your supposition,”
exclaimed the barber; “for unless I obtain some of the holy water in
which the good saint was baptized, and a piece of the soap with which
Judas Iscariot greased the rope with which he hanged himself, it will be
useless to try and shave him, for the hair will grow as fast as it is
taken off.”
“But that is impossible,” answered the archbishop; “for we do not even
know where the good saint was baptized; and as for the soap last used by
the arch-traitor, I should not be astonished to hear that Satan had
taken it away with him when he came to fetch Judas. No, good Pedro; you
must help me out of this difficulty in some other manner.”
“Then we must do with St. James of Compostella what the men of Burgos
did with their alcaide, who persisted in getting drunk when he ought to
have been getting sober. They got another alcaide as much like the
other as possible, excepting that he was not a _borracho_. We must get
another St. James like this one, but without a beard, and the people
will be none the wiser.”
“But,” whispered the venerable archbishop, “what are we to do without
our real, own, good, sweet St. James, whose miracles have been the means
of restoring so many erring ones to the fold, and bringing in so much
money to the Church? How can we replace him? And then, again, where can
we hide him?”
“All this can be arranged very easily,” answered El Macho. “Any St.
James will perform the same miracles, for the people have faith in him.
It is the same with me; the hidalgos have faith in me, and therefore
believe I am the only man in Compostella that can shave them, although
there are many other barbers. It is the people’s faith that performs the
miracles. As for hiding the saint, I will put him in a box I have got,
and lock him up safely.”
“Fair sir, I leave the matter in your hands,” continued the archbishop;
“but beware lest the people get to hear of it.”
And having said this he mounted his mule and rode off.
El Macho went in search of a sculptor, a friend of his, and told him
that he wanted an image made exactly like that of St. Iago’s in the
cathedral, because he had made a vow that should he live single up to
the age of fifty, he would endow his parish church in Cordova with a St.
James. He pressed his friend to make haste, and told him he would pay
him well for his trouble.
At the end of ten days the image was finished and handed over to the
barber, who, in the middle of the night, with the assistance of the
archbishop, entered the cathedral, took down good St. James, disrobed
him of his armour, and having put it on the new St. James, placed him on
the altar, and then carried the old image home.
Having locked the door, he proceeded to place the saint in the wooden
box, but found out that his legs were too long; so he cut two holes in
the side, through which he allowed them to project, and, putting down
the lid, locked it.
Next morning, after the first mass was over, the people gave vent to
their pleasure at seeing that St. James had a shaven face as formerly;
and the barber, who was at the door, gained great praise by informing
them that he had been the unworthy means of shaving their saintly
patron.
Now, the saint, who heard this from his box, commenced to hit about him,
and shouted out—
“Good people, I am St. James with the beard. El Macho is a villain!”
But the people laughed, thinking it was the apprentice who was in the
alcova, or inner room, and had not got over the previous night’s
drinking. So they went their way, laughing at the idea of a beardless
boy thinking he was good St. James with the beard.
Matters went on very well with regard to the new St. James, who was not
deficient in working such miracles as the people liked to ascribe to him
and to believe of him. The belted knights were pleased to find out that
the growing of a beard was only a passing fancy of their patron; and as
all were satisfied, and the revenues increased, the priests were also
well pleased.
Good St. James had been confined within his box for about three months
when the day for his annual procession came round, and great
preparations had been made for the occasion. Each knight had sent his
war-horse fully caparisoned, led by two servants in the livery of the
family, and followed by his shield and spear-bearers. There were about
one hundred and fifty such chargers which preceded the horse bearing the
image of St. James, who was kept secure in the saddle by a knight
walking on each side, holding his legs, while another one followed
bearing his banner. Then came the standard-bearers of the knights, each
with a page richly dressed, and then came the archbishop under the
pallio, surrounded by the dignitaries of the cathedral and minor priests
of the neighbouring villages. All the holy brotherhoods presented
themselves in their different coloured robes, with their gold and silver
crosses, their richly emblazoned banners; and in their midst walked
little girls dressed up to imitate angels, while the little boys swung
censers of burning incense. In the rear came twelve squadrons of
cavalry, four batteries of artillery, and five brigades of infantry,
which had arrived from different garrison towns to take part in the
procession. From every window scarlet damask drapery hung, as well as
from the balconies where the lovely daughters of Spain in all their
holiday grandeur appeared, fanning themselves gracefully—which art they
have cultivated to the detriment of conversation, which to them is still
an art little attended to.
The streets through which the procession had to pass were strewn with
flowers, especially fleurs-de-lis, and crowds had congregated on the
pavements.
El Macho had given his apprentice a half-holiday, and was standing
outside his house, speaking to some customers, when he suddenly heard a
great noise, and turning round he saw that good St. James in the box was
running towards the cathedral from which the procession was emerging.
Peals of laughter and shouts of “El cajon” (“The box”) were taken up by
the multitude; but, fortunately for El Macho, they did not see from
which house the box on legs had come.
Not waiting for admittance, and knocking over the sentries at the door,
the saint in the box made straight for the archbishop, who, knowing what
it was, quietly walked into the vestry, followed by St. James, and
locked the door.
Then he undid the box, and beheld good St. James with a three months’
beard on his chin, who shouted—
“Have me shaved, good archbishop! Let me take my place in this grand
cavalcade, and I promise not to grow a beard again.”
The archbishop enjoined silence; and calling for one of his acolytes, he
ordered him to stop the procession for half an hour, to have the horse
carrying the other St. James led into the enclosed yard, and send for
the barber, El Macho. This having been done, the barber was ordered to
shave the saint and put on his armour, which the other one was wearing.
This did not take long; but even so the people wondered at what had
happened, which, however, they were never to know—not even the mystery
of this box on legs—because the archbishop issued a pastoral granting
plenary absolution to all such as should not ask him any questions, and
excommunication to all such as should find out.
Once again on horseback, and surrounded by his faithful knights, St.
James received the homage of the vulgar crowds and of the lovely ladies,
and returned to his old place on the altar.
That he did not relish being locked up in the box for three months is
proved by the fact that when, on three or four occasions, his vanity got
the better of him, and the archbishop thought he saw signs of letting
his beard grow, it was quite sufficient to show him the big box for him
to withdraw the obnoxious bristles.
The new St. James was presented to the parish church at Cordova by El
Macho, and his vow having been thus accomplished, he married the
archbishop’s niece, gave up business, and died shortly after.