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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.