Spanish Life in Town and Country

by L. Higgin; Eugène E. Street

For love of my ear-rings,

Which I left in the stream.'

The old man obtained much money from the audiences attracted by his singing leather bag. The authorities of one town, however, became suspicious, and, examining the sack while its owner was asleep, found and released the child. They filled up the bag with all the filth they could pick up, and left it where they had found it. The little girl was sent back to her mother. When the old man woke next morning, and took out the sack to earn his breakfast, the usual incantation had no effect, and when he applied the threatened stick the bag burst, and all the filth came out, which he was compelled to lick up by the enraged populace." At the close of the story the cigarettes glow, the white teeth gleam, the bushy whiskers wag, the old women chuckle, the girls giggle, and the youths snigger, and as the short twilight is now over, the group breaks up, and each vanishes into his or her own vermin-pasture to sleep until amanhã has actually become to-day, and the sun shines on another exact repetition of yesterday.

The Portuguese are superstitious, and are devout up to a certain point, and the clerics are exceedingly intolerant. In the morning one sees, as in all Roman Catholic countries, devout worshippers kneeling about in the churches before their favourite shrines, but, unlike the practice of most Roman Catholic countries, the churches are closed at or about noon for the most part, and are only open for special masses after that time. The procession of the Host is greeted with most extreme reverence, and whether it be in the fashionable Chiado at Lisbon or along a country lane, all uncover and make the sign of the cross, and many, even fashionably dressed ladies and gentlemen, kneel down and bow themselves humbly as the sacred wafer passes by, borne by the gorgeously vested priest; at least, in the cities the vestments are gorgeous, and a long train of acolytes and attendants makes the procession imposing, but in the country the vestments are often mildewed and decayed, and the one or two rustic attendants are not dignified in appearance. Still, the sacred symbol is the same, and the reverence and the devotion are the same.

There is an excessive hierarchy for the size of the country, there being in Portugal proper three ecclesiastical provinces, ruled respectively by the Patriarch of Lisbon and by the Archbishops of Braga and Evora. Besides these, there is the colonial province which is ruled by the Archbishop of Goa, Archpriests and other dignitaries abound, so that a priest has something to look forward to in the way of promotion; and yet, as a rule, the priests perform their duties without zeal and in a slovenly manner. One often hears it said that their behaviour and their morality leave much to be desired. There are among them gentlemen of blameless life and even of ascetic practices, but it is commonly reported that, as a whole, they are of inferior birth and education. It is not easy for a stranger to form any opinion on these points, but it must be conceded that their appearance is generally suggestive of the truth of the statement, and it may be admitted that there is an undue proportion of ignoble and sensuous faces amongst them.

Funerals are occasions of great pomp, and are often picturesque enough, while the masses for the dead at intervals after and on the anniversary are, no doubt, profitable to the Church. By attending these one has a good opportunity of testifying to the esteem in which the deceased was held, or to one's good will towards the family or representatives. These masses are generally advertised in the papers, with thanks to those friends who have attended funeral masses. As there is scarcely any intellectual activity in Portugal, there is practically no religious thought. A dull acquiescence in the dictates of the Church may be crossed by an occasional gleam of rebellion against sacerdotalism, roused by some temporary stirring up of the hatred felt against the Jesuits. But it in no way alters the habitual attitude of the people towards religion and its outward manifestations. One thing is certain, and that is that in town or country a man or a woman must be in the lowest depths of poverty and distress to refuse to throw a few reis into the bags of the licensed mendicants who, bareheaded, and clad in scarlet or white gowns, go round soliciting alms for the support of the churches on whose behalf they are sent out.

As is customary in most countries, the women are more amenable to religious influences than the men, and are more under the dominion of the priest. This is not likely to be altered yet awhile, for, under the present system of education and bringing up, the female portion of the community is not only not intellectual, but may even be described as being unintelligent. They are slovenly, and cannot be described as good housewives. They are pleasure-loving and garrulous, though this latter trait is not, I suppose, a specially national characteristic. They do much hard work, especially in the fields. In the classes above (if above be the proper word) the hand-workers, the young girls are still kept very strictly, and are not allowed to go out alone. Their knowledge of life is limited to the view from the windows of their homes, where they may be seen looking out on the street scenes below whenever the shade allows them to stand at the window or on the balcony. No "new woman" movement of any importance has yet taken place, and though there are modifications in woman's position in the national life, it is probable that it will take one if not more generations before women in Portugal achieve the emancipation which their sisters have attained in more progressive countries.

In one circumstance, however, woman does take her place by the side of man, and that is in the bull-ring—not, indeed, in the arena, but in every part of the amphitheatre, from the worst seats on the sunny side to the costly boxes in the shade. She takes as great an interest in the bull-fight as the man, and if she does not shout and swear, or fling her hat into the ring in her enthusiasm, she delights probably more than the man in the beauty of the spectacle, and appreciates almost as fully the feats of skill and daring which give such special attraction to the national pastime. This is a right royal sport, and as in Portugal the horrid cruelty which defaces it in Spain is absent, there is no overwhelming reason why the women should not sit and applaud the picturesque scene and the exhibitions of pluck and agility shown by the performers.

The scene is really magnificent, and the enthusiasm of the audience must be witnessed in order to understand the underlying potentialities of the Portuguese character. The vile abuse of a bull who will not show fight is comical to listen to. Probably, in such a case, the bull has been through it all before, and he does not care to make wild rushes at cloaks which have nothing substantial behind them. So he paws up the sand and looks theatrical, but refuses to budge. Then a nimble bandarilhero faces him, and fixes a pair of bandarilhas in his neck—one on each side if he can manage it. This is unpleasant, no doubt, but the bull's former experience tells him that it is not serious, and not even very painful. It was irritating the first time, but no well-bred bull should condescend to be upset by such a trifle. Another pair of bandarilhas, and yet another, are fixed into his shoulders by their barbed points—or the attempt is made to fix them. Then the bull begins to play the game in a condescending sort of way. Then the great man, the espada himself, comes on the scene, and arranges and waves his scarlet flag, and walks up to the obstinate animal, perhaps flicks him in the nostrils with his pocket-handkerchief and calls him vacca (cow)! At last, seemingly out of good nature, the bull rushes at the red flag, has the highly decorated dart stuck between his shoulders, by the daring espada who may perform some other feat, listens to the applause, and laughs to himself when he hears the bugle-call and sees the trained oxen rush in with their long bells and their attendant herdsmen, and with more or less of a frolicsome air he trots out of the arena in their company and, having had his sore shoulders attended to, and having had a good feed, chews the cud with a pleasant reminiscence of the afternoon's work. It is a mistake not to kill the bull, which is not cruel in itself, but which would prevent some rather tiresome interludes when a knowing old bull refuses to be coaxed into playing his part of the game.

Far different, however, is the scene when a really spirited bull comes in with a rush and charges wildly at the brightly attired performers, and makes them skip over the barrier, often leaving their cloaks behind them. Sometimes the bull skips over too, and then there is a most amusing scene, as performers, attendants, and all vault back over the barrier into the ring itself. When the espada finally performs his courageous feat under such conditions, he obtains such an ovation as his skill deserves. Hats of all sorts and shapes are cast to him in the arena, which he has to pick up and throw or hand back to the admirers who testify their satisfaction in this curious manner. Cigars, also, are thrown at the successful bull-fighter's feet, and these he keeps. The most famous espadas are all Spaniards, and they all wear the traditional dress of their calling. If, on the one hand, there is not the thrill of the actual killing of the bull, on the other there are no miserable old horses to be ripped up, and no smell of blood. Next to the actual bull-fights come the selections of the young bulls from the herds, when the members of the Tauromachian Societies exhibit their skill, and where many a gay young fellow gets much knocked about in exhibiting his agility or the want of it.