The burning of Judas is a grotesque affair. Stuffed figures, like our old Guys, are suspended from ropes in the middle of the street, charged with combustibles and fire-works. On the night of Saturday, they are fired, and Mr. Judas is blown up, amidst the shouts of the multitude. This, like our Guy Fawkes, has much fallen off, and may soon drop altogether. The newspapers have designated it barbarism. I am not for meddling with the sports of the lower orders, if they do not offend decency. The quarrel with Captain O’Brien happened about Easter, 1821; and one of the Judases of that period was observed in something of the dress of a naval officer: report said, it was meant for Captain O’Brien. It was ordered to be taken down. The people took very little interest in that dispute. When it was at its height, the Captain passed through a crowd opposite the College church, and they treated him with great respect, making way for the “English Commandant” to pass. “We may all suffer in this business,” said our captain to one of his countrymen; “but we shall, if extremes are resorted to, be gloriously revenged.”
The holy or passion week in 1825 passed off much as usual. On the Thursday evening the ladies crowded the churches and streets in their black attire; and being a fine moonlight night, the scene (to me at least) was very interesting; and although I did not follow the custom of visiting seven churches on this evening, I went to four. At the Cathedral I remained a considerable time, listening to the music of the vespers. The fine bass voice of Friar Juan was sadly missed. He was banished for being concerned in the conspiracy of the 19th March, 1823. Valentin Gomez, one of the canons of the church, sat in full pontifical robes. Some of the Spaniards were jesting, in the church, upon his portly appearance, so different from the figure he cut at nearly the same period last year, when shipwrecked upon the English bank in the river Plate. I felt much impressed with my visit to the Cathedral: every thing combined to make me so;—the music, lights, and glittering altars, with the prostrate females attended by their slaves and servants.
The sermons at the churches, on the evenings of Lent, were well attended. The friar who preached at the church of Le Merced always attracted great crowds. At the porch of this church was placed an image of Christ, as large as life, in the act of being scourged; many devout females kissed the ropes which tied the wrists of the image.
Till late in the evening of Holy Thursday, people were kneeling before the church doors, counting beads, and saying their Ave-Marias. At nine o’clock at night, three military bands of music, of the artillery, Caçadores, and Legion de la Patria, each preceded by the globe, or balloon, with transparencies, carried upon a pole, entered the Plaza with drums muffled, and playing solemn airs. The artillery band was much admired; Masoni, and other professors, performed in it. I followed two of the bands to their barracks, at the Retiro. The night was lovely; and it was late ere I returned home, my thoughts entirely absorbed in the scenes of the day.
On the afternoon of Good Friday, the mass at the cathedral was well attended.
The custom of burning Judas has fallen off. On the Saturday, this year, the rain fell in torrents; but, a few nights after, Judas was burnt near the Victoria coffee-house, amidst fire-works and music.
Another great object of attention to us Protestants is the Holy Ghost proceeding through the streets, to administer the last offices of religion to those who are presumed to be in a dying state. The holy father, and one attendant, both richly attired, are seated in a coach drawn by white mules. They go at a walking pace, with a few soldiers for escort; negresses, boys, and others, carrying lighted lanterns, both by night and day. A bell warns passengers of its approach, when all within view must be uncovered, and, when they are near the carriage, kneel. This last operation, not being very agreeable in dirty weather, foreigners try to avoid his holiness altogether, by going up other streets. Equestrians descend from their horses, and kneel. At night, lights are placed in the windows of the houses they pass, and their inmates kneel. Why do you kneel? said I, to a slave boy, at a house in which I resided. “Because God is in the coach,” he replied. A brutal soldier, of the escort, once knocked an Englishman down, for not kneeling in time. The magistrates took cognizance of it; and, I hear, that strangers are not now obliged to kneel, though common respect will always teach them to be uncovered. In passing the guardhouses, the guards turn out, drums are beat, &c. They have now a large bell, the small one having been mistaken for those belonging to the water carts:[29] a Londoner might mistake it for the bell of the six-o’clock-afternoon postman.
Great veneration is paid to all that concerns this ceremony of the Holy Ghost: the very mules, it is said, were formerly looked upon as sacred. In passing coffee-houses, billiard-players, and gamblers of all descriptions, leave their profane games, to kneel. At the theatre, the performance is stopped; actors and actresses kneel on the stage, and the audience upon their seats. I have several times been present at scenes of this sort, and regarded them with great curiosity; though I have been very angry with the holy father, and impious enough to wish he had taken another route. I recollect, during an opera, one evening, the cavalcade passed no less than three times, and interrupted a delightful duet between Rosquellas and Señora Tani.
The summer of 1824-5, judging from the frequent appearance of the Holy Ghost in the streets, must have been rather a sickly one. Great respect is still paid to this holy visitant, who generally selects the evening to pay his visits. A smile will now and then take place, when the procession suddenly appears in a crowded neighbourhood, forcing all to bend the knee. The contrast of such Catholic customs with those of our sober England often occurs to me.
I am informed that great preparations take place in the sick chamber, where the sacrament is to be given. I do not admire this. The patient, enfeebled by disease, concludes there is no hope left; and often yields to despair. In England, on such occasions, a clergyman comes without pomp or attendants: his attentions are more like those of a friend, and he insensibly prepares the mind of the sufferer for the purposes of his visit. But we have much to correct in the dismal funeral bell, closing shops and windows, usual with us at burials. Life hourly presents enough to remind us of death, without those auxiliaries.