Spain from Within

by Rafael Shaw

The use of the term nuera here is significant. No social stigma attaches to these “wives” who are no wives at all, unless they leave one man to go to another. Then they are branded as “women of bad repute” by their neighbours, and shunned accordingly.

Thus the religion of the people seems to be entirely dissociated from the forms imposed by the Church upon its members, save only that of baptism, which is respected mainly owing to an unconscious traditional antipathy to the unbaptized;—the “Moor” or Moslem, of bygone days—and an almost complete indifference to the rites of marriage and death has sprung up as a consequence of inability to pay the fees demanded for their performance. In the towns perhaps few really care if their dead are buried without a prayer, but in the villages there still remains enough feeling about it to arouse an occasional growl of indignation when a coffin is borne through the streets attended only by the mourners, without the priest, the acolytes, and the censer-bearers, who lend distinction to the last journey of those who possess a few pesetas. As for the children, who are born and die like flies, the poor have become so accustomed to see the little coffins carried by on the shoulders of small elder brothers or school friends, led by the father or uncle of the dead child, that the piteous sight no longer calls forth a comment. It is often only one out of half a dozen of the same family who have gone the same way, and notwithstanding the heartbroken lamentations of the mother when the breath leaves the little body, every one knows she will soon be consoled. The lot of the poor is too hard for indulgence in sorrow, and it is not uncommon to hear a woman who is approaching childbirth say with the utmost unconcern, “We shall see what happens. Perhaps it will please God to allow the infant to be born dead.” It is not heartlessness or want of love for her offspring, for Spanish parents of both sexes and of every class are very affectionate, and indulge their children to excess. It is simply that every extra mouth to feed means so much less to fill the stomachs of the rest, while the national custom of suckling the child for at least a year, and often for two renders the mother meanwhile weak and unfit for the washing, sewing, or charing which helps out the family resources. That a great effort should be made to baptize the new baby when it comes shows the strength of the feeling in regard to this religious duty, and would make the general indifference to the intervention of the Church in marriage and death doubly remarkable, were it not that the tradition connected with the first ceremony does not extend to the other two.

Among the upper classes more attention seems to be paid to the religious funeral ceremony than to the actual committal to the grave. When a death takes place in a family of social position, all the friends and relatives are invited to attend the funeral Mass, which takes place in the parish church of the defunct, and it is expected of the guests that they shall accompany the funeral procession on foot as far as the outskirts of the town or village, the cemetery generally being some little distance beyond. There, however, the party disperse; few attend the coffin to the grave itself, and very often it is shuffled into its last resting-place with what to English eyes seems indecent haste and carelessness.

Indeed, whatever be the reason, small respect is shown for the empty shell, once the spirit of life has fled. The rich buy a freehold grave for themselves and their family, but the poor can seldom afford to pay for more than a six years’ concession, if that; and if they do not renew payment the bones of their dead are disinterred and thrown on a heap in the osario or bone-house, a building with a locked door built for the purpose within the walls of the cemetery.

The mental attitude of the people towards images is intricate and difficult to disentangle. Even persons who have had what ought to be a liberal education in many cases believe in the miraculous virtues of the images, scapulars, and medals of their particular devotion.

“If you would only wear this medal,” a devout lady said to the writer, “I know you would be converted to the true faith, for it is very miraculous, and has converted many. But you would not wear it, so it is useless to give it to you.”

The speaker was a woman of culture, artistic, and fairly well read for a Spanish lady, yet she was obviously sincere in her belief in the virtues of the little cast-lead medal washed over with silver.

Nor is this singular simplicity confined to women. Every year men of the upper classes (never, I think, of the lower) may be seen during Holy Week walking barefoot before the images carried in procession through the streets; and since their faces are covered and there is nothing to reveal their identity to the world at large, it cannot be supposed that the act of penance is performed for political reasons, as, unfortunately, is too often the case with public demonstrations of adherence to the Church. Moreover, these processions are attended by men of Liberal as well as Conservative opinions. That the particular image plays an important part is shown by the fact that the act of penitence is never performed save in connection with its appearance in the streets. The penitent walks barefoot before or after the platform on which is carried the Virgin of his adoration, and although it may be one among fifty representations of the Virgin in his city, it is understood that no other would have the same efficacy in cleansing his particular sin. It must be a genuinely penitential experience for a man used to luxury to tramp barefoot over badly paved streets at a rate of progress which makes the two or three miles of distance occupy twice as many hours of time, and sometimes these aristocratic penitents reach the end of their journey in a state of complete exhaustion. But there does not seem to be any sentiment of shame or disgrace attached to the act, as though there were some great sin to purge, for it is not unusual to hear a young man of orthodox proclivities say to a girl whom he meets in society shortly before Holy Week: “You must look out for me at such a place in the route of the procession; I am going in penitence and I will lift my hood there for you to know it is I.” Yet, frivolous as such penitence may appear, the rich man shares with his poor and ignorant brother a personal feeling for the image of his devotion, which leads him to disregard even danger to life in connection with it, should the need arise. This is quite dramatically shown in the case of the fires which frequently occur in churches and chapels, where lights burn continually before images adorned with lace and other combustible fabrics. The santos are always the first thought of the crowd on these occasions, and even men who scoff aloud at “all those fooleries” in daily life will be seen risking personal injury to save “the Virgin of Hope” or “Our Lady of Miracles” from destruction.

One very puzzling question in connection with this worship of the images is how far even the better educated Spaniards recognise the fact that the different images, e.g., of the Virgin—the Virgin of Sorrows, of Miracles, of the Pillar, of the Kings, and hundreds more—are all representations of one and the same Virgin Mary, and how far they consider them to be distinct individuals. Probably the worshippers themselves are not at all clear on the point: that the prayers offered before these images are in most cases addressed, not to the Person represented, but to the image itself, there seems little doubt. In the case of the populace the images certainly seem to be distinct individuals; indeed, I have been pitied more than once by kindly peasants for having “only one Christ.” “We have many: there is the Christ of the Descent from the Cross, and the Christ of the Waters, besides the Christ of the Flagellation in the Parish Church, all very miraculous.”

An intelligent man of middle age, better educated than most of his class, said to me in reference to the affection of the Spanish peasants for their images of the Virgin.