RELIGIOUS LIFE
The natural bent of the Spanish mind is religious. Taking the nation as
a whole, with all its marvellous variations in race and character, no
portion of it has ever been reproached for insincerity in its religious
beliefs. It has been often held up to reproach for bigotry and
superstition; but the people have in past ages been penetrated by a
sincere reverence for what they have believed to be religion, and
perhaps no other nation has been more thoroughly imbued with an
unwavering faith in the dogmas taught by its religious instructors.
English Roman Catholics--especially those who have seceded from the
Anglican Church--are fond of declaring that Spain is "a splendid
Catholic country," "the home of true Catholicism," and so forth. To a
certain extent this has been true of it in the past, and "dignity,
loyalty, and the love of God" are still the ideals of the people at
large, although in Spain, as in some other Continental nations, the
practice of religious duties is now, to a great extent, left to the
women of the family and to the peasantry. Young Spain, and the
progressive party in it, can no longer be said to be under the
domination of the Church, even in outward appearance. It will be well if
the swing of the pendulum does not carry them very far from it, and into
open revolt.
The history of the Church in Spain and of its relations with Rome is a
curious one. It can scarcely be said to have been much more amenable to
the Papacy than that of the Church of England, though it has remained
always within the pale of the Roman Catholic persuasion. In the old time
the kings aspired to be the head of the Spanish Church, and were none
too subservient to the Pope. The Inquisition and the Society of Jesus
were distinctly Spanish, and not Roman, and were at times actually at
variance with the Vatican. Probably from their long struggles with the
barbarians, and later with the Moors, Spaniards have a habit of always
speaking of themselves as Christians rather than Catholics, which
strikes strangely on one's ears.
The evils which have been wrought in Spain by the terrible incubus of
the Inquisition, and by the domination of the Jesuits and other orders,
who obtained possession of the teaching of youth, have been little less
than disastrous, because their power has been deliberately used for ages
past to keep the lower classes in a state of absolute ignorance, slaves
of the grossest superstition, and mere puppets in the hands of the
priesthood. Even well within the memory of living people it was thought
a pity that women should be allowed to learn even to read and
write,--safer to have them quite ignorant,--while the peasantry and the
inferior classes believed anything they were told, and could be excited
to any pitch of fanaticism by the preaching of their religious teachers.
The Inquisition was often used as a political machine, and was sometimes
only clothed with the semblance of religion; but by whomsoever it was
directed, and for whatsoever purpose, it was a vile and soul-destroying
institution. It deliberately ground down and destroyed every spark of
intelligence, of liberty, of attempt at progress; it dominated the whole
nation like the shadow of the upas tree, manufactured hypocrites, and
led to the debasing of a naturally fine people of good instincts to an
ignorant and fanatical mob, who, in the name of religion, were
entertained with gigantic _autos-da-fé_, as the Roman populace were with
the terrible spectacles of their gladiatorial shows and the immolation
of Christian victims in the arena.
It was the people themselves who rose against this hateful tyranny; it
was their better instincts that put an end to the "Holy Office" and its
enormous crimes. Shortly after the Revolution of 1868, when religious
liberty had been established, and the people, for the first time in
their long history of disaster, were breathing the air of freedom,
certain improvements which were being made, in the shape of laying out
new streets, pulling down old rookeries, and building better houses, led
to a new road being cut through the raised ground outside the Santa
Barbara Gate. The exact spot of the great _Quemadero_--the oven of the
Inquisition--was not known, but it chanced that the workmen cut right
through the very centre of it. A more ghastly sight, or an object-lesson
of more potency, could scarcely be imagined. The Government of the day
found it advisable to cover it up as quickly as possible; the excitement
of the people was thought to be dangerous; and though those at the head
of affairs were no friends to the priests or the Jesuits, there was no
desire to reawaken the passions and let loose the vengeance which led
the populace in 1834 to murder them wholesale.
I happened to be returning from a ride with a companion when, quite
accidentally, we came upon this excavation, and even passed down the new
road before we realised where we were. The _Quemadero_ had evidently
been in the shape of an immense basin. There in the banks at each side
were the stratified layers of human ashes; between each _auto-da-fé_ it
was evident that the remains had been covered with a thick layer of
earth; finally, at the top of all these smaller bands of black, horrible
ashes, came one huge deposit, which marked the awful scene of the last
gigantic _auto_. This ghastly bonfire was sixty feet square, and seven
feet high, as history records, when one hundred and five victims were
slowly tortured to a frightful death in the name of Christ, while the
King, Charles II., and his Court and the howling rabble of Madrid looked
on with savage enjoyment. Nothing can ever obliterate the impression of
that scene, nor make one forget the deadly clinging of those ghastly
black ashes, which the wind scattered about, and which it was impossible
to escape or to get rid of. The fell work of the "religious" authors of
the holocaust had been well done--nothing was left but ashes; and the
next day, by order of the Government, sand or soil had been thrown over
all that could bear witness to this horrible episode in the history of
the Church in Spain, while the people who inhabit the houses built over
the spot probably know nothing of the records of human agony and brutal
bigotry that still lie beneath their homes.
We hear of these things and read of them in history, but one needs to
have seen that awful memorial to realise what share the Inquisition has
had in transforming a naturally heroic and kindly people into the inert
masses which nothing, or almost nothing, would move so long as they had
_pan y toros_ (bread and bulls). Thanks to the horrors of the
Inquisition and the _Autos-da-fé_, the whole people have acquired a
character which assuredly they do not deserve. The blind bigotry and
cynical cruelty of Philip II. and his lunatic successors have been
identified with the races over which, unfortunately for Spain, they
ruled for so many years. When one remembers that this is the view taken
of the Inquisition, and of the domination of the Church in effacing all
kinds of culture, by the liberal and educated Spaniard of to-day, and
that there is, even now, an extreme party which would fain see the "Holy
Office" re-established, with all its old powers, it is easy to
understand at what a critical point the clerical question has arrived in
Spain; nor need one wonder at the feeling which in all parts of the
kingdom has been aroused by the recrudescence of the religious orders,
more especially of the determined struggle of the Jesuits to retain and
even to reassert their power.
The Madonna, who is always spoken of as "La Vírgen," never as "Santa
María," is the great object of love and of reverence in Spain, while the
words _Dios_ and _Jesus_ are used as common exclamations in a way that
impresses English people rather unfavourably. It is a shock to hear all
classes using the _Por Dios!_ which with us is a mark of the purest
blackguardism, and the use as common names of that of Our Lord and of
_Salvador_, or Saviour, always strikes a disagreeable note. There is in
Madrid a "Calle Jesus," and the sacred name, used as a common expletive,
is heard on all sides. One of the most charming of Yradier's Andalusian
songs, addressed by a _contrabandista_ to his _novia_, runs thus:
Pero tengo unas patillas.
Que patillas puñála!
Es lo mejor que se ha jecho
En de Jesu Cristo acá![2]
[2] "But I have such a stunning pair of whiskers!
The best that have ever been seen since those of Jesus Christ!"
And no one is offended; in fact, no irreverence is probably meant.
But the innumerable "Vírgenes" which abound throughout the country, and
all seem different, have the heartfelt devotion of all classes. To one
or other of them the bull-fighter goes for protection and aid before he
enters the arena; the mother whose child lies sick vows her magnificent
hair to the Virgin of the Atocha, or of the Pillar, or some of the many
others scattered about the country, if only she will grant what she
asks; and you may see these marvellous locks, tied with coloured
ribbons, hanging amongst the motley assemblage of votive offerings by
the side of her altar, when the prayer has been answered. It is
difficult for us, with the best intentions, not to let prejudice colour
our judgment, and to understand what we are told--that these are really
all the same "Mother of God"; for, if so, one would imagine that she
would hear the devout prayers of her worshippers, to whichever of the
wooden images--most of them said to have been carved by St. Luke, and
black by age, if not by nature--they are addressed. But no, the Virgen
del Cármen is only efficacious in certain circumstances; and in the time
of Isabel II. she used to be taken down from her altar and placed in the
Queen's bedroom whenever an addition to the Royal Family was imminent.
Those in the other parts of Spain have each their specialty, and
pilgrimages are necessary to their shrines before the prayers addressed
to them can be listened to by the original.
The various saints in their way are wooed with candles burnt before
their images, or little altars set up to them at home; but they are
sometimes treated with scant courtesy if they do not answer the
expectations of their worshippers. On one occasion in Madrid, I
remember, San Isidro, who is the patron of the labouring classes, had
the bad taste, as his votaries considered, to send rain on his own
_fiesta_--a thing unknown before. Lest he should err in this way again,
the mob went to his church, at that time the principal one in Madrid,
smashed the windows, and did all the damage they could compass before
the Civil Guards came to the rescue. A servant-girl I knew, had for a
long time been praying to San Antonio to send her a _novio_
(sweetheart), expending money in tapers, and otherwise trying to
propitiate the saint. At last, finding him deaf to all entreaties, she
took the little wooden image she had bought, tied a string round his
neck, and hung him in the well, saying: "You shall stop there till you
send me what I want." Some little time after, she actually found a
_novio_, and hastened gratefully to take San Antonio out of his damp
quarters, set him up on his altar again, and burn tapers for his
edification. I had thought this an example of special ignorance and
superstition; but the other day, in reading some of the papers of the
_Spanish Folklore Library_, I found there is a widespread belief that if
San Antonio, and probably some other saints, do not answer the prayers
of their votaries who burn candles before them, it is a good thing to
hang them in a well till they come to their senses! It is difficult for
any unbiassed person to understand that this is not fetish worship, as
it would certainly seem to be, but we are told that it is something
quite different.
The religious _fiestas_, as I have said, may be classed among the
amusements of the people. During the warm season they invariably end
with a bull-fight. In winter there are no bulls. Whether it be the
_Romería_ of Santiago de Compostelo, the _Santa Semana_ in Toledo or
Seville, _Noche-Buena_ and the _Day of the Nativity_ in Madrid or
Barcelona, gaiety and enjoyment seem to be the order of the day. Even
Lent is not so bad, for just before it comes the Carnival and the
grotesque "Burial of the Sardine" by the _gente bajo_, and of the three
great masked balls, one is given in mid-Lent, to prevent the Lenten
ordeal being too trying, and Holy Thursday is always a _fiesta_ and day
of enjoyment. On this day, in Madrid, takes place the washing of the
feet of the poor in the Royal Palace--a function that savours a good
deal of the ridiculous, but which was never omitted by the _piadosa_
Isabel II., and was revived by her son. For forty-eight hours the bells
of all the churches remain silent, no vehicles are allowed in the
streets, which are gravelled along the routes Royalty will take to visit
on foot seven of the churches, where the Holy Sepulchres are displayed;
and in the afternoon all Madrid resorts to the Plaza del Sol and the
Carrera San Geronimo, to show off their gayest costumes in a regular
gala promenade. Finally, on Saturday morning--why forty-eight hours only
is allowed for the supposed entombment does not quite appear--the bells
clang forth, noise and gaiety pervade the whole city, and the day ends
with a cock-fight and the reopening of the theatres, and the first grand
bull-fight of the season is held on Easter Sunday. Verily, the Church is
mindful of the weakness of its vassals, and shows as much indulgence as
is thought needful to keep the people amused and careless of all else. I
remember, when I first noticed this wearing of the most gaudy colours on
Maundy Thursday, a day one would naturally expect to be one of special
mourning, I was told it was allowed by the Church because on that day
Pilate put the purple robe on Our Lord!
The processions and functions of Holy Week and other _fiestas_ have been
so often and so fully described that there is no need to refer to them;
but there are several curious survivals and religious customs in
out-of-the-way places which seem to have escaped notice. I have not been
able to find in any book on Spain a description of the strange dance
which takes place in the cathedral of Seville on, I think, three days in
the year, of which two are certainly the day of the Virgin and that of
Corpus Christi. The origin of the dance seems to be lost, nor is its
special connection with Seville known. All that one can hear of it is
that one of the archbishops of Toledo objected to the dance as being
irreverent and unusual, and ordered it to be stopped. The indignant
people referred the matter to the Pope, but even the date of this appeal
seems to be dubious, if not unknown. His Holiness replied that he could
not judge of the matter unless he himself saw the dance. Accordingly,
the boys who figure in this strange performance were taken to Rome, and
they solemnly danced before the Pope. His verdict was that there was
nothing irreverent about the dance, but he thought, as it was known only
to Seville, it would be better eventually to discontinue it; but so long
as the dress worn on the occasions when it is practised, lasted, the
dance might continue. The dresses have lasted to the present day, and
will always continue to last, say the Sevillanos, for as one part wears
out it is renewed, but never a whole garment made. The dress is
peculiar: it consists of short trousers to the knees, and a jacket which
hangs from one shoulder, stockings and shoes with large buckles or
bows, and a soft hat, somewhat of the shape of a Tam-o'-shanter, with
one feather--that of an eagle, I think. The dress is red and white for
the day of Corpus, and blue and white for the day of the Virgin, covered
with the richest gold embroidery, for which Spain has always been
famous. The boys, holding castanets in each hand, advance, dancing with
much grace and dignity, until they reach the front of the High Altar;
there they remain, striking their castanets and performing slow and very
graceful evolutions for some time, gradually retiring again as they came
in, dancing, down the nave. The boys are regularly instructed in the
dance by the priests, and the number is kept up, so that neither dancers
nor garments ever fail. The Pope's order is obeyed, while the Sevillanos
retain their strange religious function. The fact of the performance
taking place in the evening perhaps accounts for its being so little
known, but it would seem also as if the authorities of the cathedral do
not care to have attention drawn to it. The dance is called _los
seises_, and even the origin of the name is unknown.
In Holy Week and at Christmas are performed passion plays at some of the
theatres, strangely realistic, and sometimes rousing the audience to
wild indignation, especially against Judas Iscariot, who is hissed and
hooted, and is often the recipient of missiles from the spectators,
while interspersed with this genuine feeling one hears shouts of
laughter when anything occurs to provoke it. On one occasion one of the
Roman soldiers (always unpopular in the religious processions) appeared
on the stage, dragging, by a cord round the neck, a miserable-looking
man carrying a huge cross, so heavy that it caused him continually to
fall. As the soldier kicked him up again, and continued to drag him
along by the neck, the audience became ungovernable in their rage.
"_Déjale! Déjale! Bruto! Bruto!_" they yelled; and, finally threatening
to storm the stage and immolate the offending soldier, the play had to
be stopped and the curtain rung down.
In villages too poor to possess _pasos_--the beautifully modelled
life-size figures which form the _tableaux_ in the rich churches and
processions--human actors take their place. In Castellon de la Plana,
where there is a yearly procession in honour of Santa María Magdalena,
somewhat curious scenes take place. The Magdalen, in the days of her
sin, is acted by a girl chosen for her beauty, but not for her
character. She is gorgeously attired, and is allowed to retain her dress
and ornaments after the performance. She is installed in state in a cart
decorated with palms and flowers, and is surrounded by all the men of
the village on foot, for it is part of the performance that they are
allowed to say what they please to her. She acts the part to perfection
apparently, and enjoys it, to boot. In another car comes the penitent
Magdalen, dressed in pure white, and decorated with flowers. This part
may be taken only by a young girl of unblemished character. It is
thought the greatest honour that can be paid to her, and you are told by
the people that she is always married within the year. This procession
winds its way up the mountain to a small shrine of Santa María
Magdalena, where it is said that her church once stood; but finding the
climb up the hill was inconvenient to the lame and the aged, she very
considerately, one night, moved the whole edifice down intact to
Castellon de la Plana, where it now stands.
Going by rail once, many years ago, to Toledo, to see the processions on
Good Friday, the train was accidentally delayed for some time a little
distance from one of the stations, and there, in a small garden by the
roadside, was being enacted the scene of the Crucifixion by human
actors. A full-size cross was erected, and on it, apparently, hung a man
crowned with thorns, and with head bowed upon his breast. In reality he
was kneeling on two ledges placed for the purpose at a convenient
distance from the cross-bars. It was cold, and the actor was covered by
an old brown tattered cloak, such as the peasants wear now, and which we
see in Velasquez's pictures. His feet stuck out behind the cross, but
his arms were tied in a position which must soon have become painful.
Around lay a cock tied by his legs, a ladder, a sponge tied on a stick,
a sword, a lantern, and all the usual emblems of the Passion. The holy
women and the Roman soldiers with their spears were just coming out of
the cottage near by to take up their positions in this strange and
pathetic _tableau_. The face of that peasant in the tattered brown
cloak, not less than the spectacle of the people kneeling around in
evident sorrow and worship, haunted me for many a day.