The ceremonies of the high mass (the only one which is publicly
performed on this and the next day) being especially intended as
a remembrance of the last supper, are, very appropriately, of a
mixed character--a splendid commemoration which leads the mind from
gratitude to sorrow. The service, as it proceeds, rapidly assumes
the deepest hues of melancholy. The bells, which were joining in one
joyous peal from every steeple, cease at once, producing a peculiar
heavy stillness, which none can conceive but those who have lived in
a populous Spanish town, long enough to lose the conscious sense of
that perpetual tinkling which agitates the ear during the day, and
great part of the night.
A host, consecrated at the mass, is carried with great solemnity
to a temporary structure called the _Monument_, erected in every
church with more or less splendour, according to the wealth of the
establishment. There it is deposited in a silver urn, generally
shaped like a sepulchre, the key of which, hanging from a gold chain,
is committed by the priest to the care of one of the most respectable
inhabitants of the parish, who wears it round his neck as a badge
of honour, till the next morning. The key of the Cathedral Monument
is entrusted to the archbishop, if present, or to the dean in his
absence.
The striking effect of the last-mentioned structure is not easily
conceived. It fills up the space between four arches of the nave,
rising in five bodies to the roof of the temple. The columns of
the two lower tiers, which, like the rest of the monument, imitate
white marble filletted with gold, are hollow, allowing the numerous
attendants who take care of the lights that cover it from the ground
to the very top, to do their duty during four-and-twenty hours,
without any disturbance or unseemly bustle. More than three thousand
pounds of wax, besides one hundred and sixty silver lamps, are
employed in the illumination.
The gold casket set with jewels, which contains the host, lies
deposited in an elegant temple of massive silver, weighing five
hundred and ten marks, which is seen through a blaze of light, on
the pediment of the monument. Two members of the chapter in their
choral robes, and six inferior priests in surplices, attend on their
knees before the shrine, till they are relieved by an equal number
of the same classes, at the end of every hour. This act of adoration
is performed without interruption from the moment of depositing the
host in the casket till that of taking it out the next morning. The
cathedral, as well as many others of the wealthiest churches, is kept
open and illuminated the whole night.
One of the public sights of the town, on this day, is the splendid
cold dinner which the archbishop gives to twelve paupers, in
commemoration of the Apostles. The dinner is to be seen laid out on
tables, filling up two large rooms in the palace. The twelve guests
are completely clothed at the expense of their host; and having
partaken of a more homely dinner in the kitchen, are furnished with
large baskets to take away the splendid commons allotted to each in
separate dishes, which they sell to the _gourmands_ of the town.
Each, besides, is allowed to dispose of his napkin, curiously made
up into the figure of some bird or quadruped, which people buy both
as ornaments to their china cupboards, and as specimens of the
perfection to which some of our poorer nuns have carried the art of
plaiting.
At two in the afternoon the archbishop, attended by his chapter,
repairs to the Cathedral, where he performs the ceremony, which, from
the notion of its being literally enjoined by our Saviour, is called
the _Mandatum_. The twelve paupers are seated on a platform erected
before the high altar; and the prelate, stripped of his silk robes,
and kneeling successively before each, washes their feet in a large
silver bason.
About this time the processions, known by the name of _Cofradías_,
(Confraternities) begin to move out of the different churches to
which they are attached. The head of the police appoints the hour
when each of these pageants is to appear in the square, where stand
the Town Hall, and the _Audiencia_ or Court of Justice. From thence
their route to the Cathedral, and out of it, to a certain point, is
the same for all. These streets are lined by two rows of spectators
of the lower classes, the windows, being occupied by those of a
higher rank. An order is previously published by the town-crier,
directing the inhabitants to decorate their windows, which they do
by hanging out the showy silk and chintz counterpanes of their beds.
The processions themselves, except one which enjoys the privilege of
parading the town in the dead of night, have little to attract the
eye or affect the imagination. Their chief object is to convey groups
of figures, as large as life, representing different scenes of our
Saviour’s passion.
There is something remarkable in the established and characteristic
marks of some figures. The Jews are distinguished by long aquiline
noses. Saint Peter is completely bald. The dress of the Apostle
John is green, and that of Judas Iscariot yellow; and so intimately
associated is this circumstance with the idea of the traitor, that it
has brought that colour into universal discredit. It is, probably,
from this circumstance (though yellow may have been allotted to Judas
from some more ancient prejudice,) that the Inquisition has adopted
it for the _Sanbeníto_, or coat of infamy, which persons convicted
of heresy are compelled to wear. The red hair of Judas, like Peter’s
baldness, seems to be agreed upon by all the painters and sculptors
of Europe. _Judas hair_ is a usual name in Spain; and a similar
appellation, it should seem, was used in England in Shakspeare’s
time. “His hair,” says Rosalind, in As you like it, “is of the
dissembling colour:” to which Celia answers--“Something browner than
Judas’s.”
The midnight procession derives considerable effect from the
stillness of the hour, and the dress of the attendants on the sacred
image. None are admitted to this religious act but the members of
that _fraternity_; generally young men of fashion. They all appear
in a black tunic, with a broad belt so contrived as to give the
idea of a long rope tied tight round the body; a method of penance
commonly practised in former times. The face is covered with a long
black veil, falling from a sugar-loaf cap three feet high. Thus
arrayed, the nominal _penitents_ advance, with silent and measured
steps, in two lines, dragging a train six feet long, and holding
aloft a wax-candle of twelve pounds, which they rest upon the
hip-bone, holding it obliquely towards the vacant space between them.
The veils, being of the same stuff with the cap and tunic, would
absolutely impede the sight but for two small holes, through which
the eyes are seen to gleam, adding no small effect to the dismal
appearance of such strange figures. The pleasure of appearing in a
disguise, in a country where masquerades are not tolerated by the
Government, is a great inducement to our young men for subscribing
to this religious association. The disguise, it is true, does not
in the least relax the rules of strict decorum which the ceremony
requires; yet the mock penitents think themselves repaid for the
fatigue and trouble of the night by the fresh impression which they
expect to make on the already won hearts of their mistresses, who,
by preconcerted signals, are enabled to distinguish their lovers, in
spite of the veils and the uniformity of the dresses.
It is scarcely forty years since the disgusting exhibition of people
streaming in their own blood, was discontinued by an order of the
Government. These _penitents_ were generally from among the most
debauched and abandoned of the lower classes. They appeared in white
linen petticoats, pointed white caps and veils, and a jacket of the
same colour, which exposed the naked shoulders to view. Having,
previously to their joining the procession, been scarified on the
back, they beat themselves with a cat-o’-nine-tails, making the blood
run down to the skirts of their garment. It may be easily conceived
that religion had no share in these voluntary inflictions. There was
a notion afloat that this act of penance had an excellent effect on
the constitution; and while vanity was concerned in the applause
which the most bloody flagellation obtained from the vulgar, a still
stronger passion looked forward to the irresistible impression it
produced on the strapping belles of the lower ranks.