Of los Panaderos the introductory measures are dedicated to the elaborate salutations appropriate to the etiquette of other days. The dance in general follows the motive of light coquetry through a pantomimic first part, concluding with a dance of the Seguidillas type, with castanets. Interest is enriched by the dance’s proper costume. The girl’s vestido de madroños has been described in connection with another dance, and the same reserved indulgence in the ornate is seen also in the attire of the man. The velvet jacket permits subdued but opulent colour; instead of buttonholes it has a lively design of cord loops. Down the sides of the breeches runs a broad band of colour that would be too violent were it not broken up by a superimposed band of heavy black cord lace, through the open pattern of which the background silk twinkles like jewels. It is a costume to make an impression at a distance or to tickle the eye on close inspection; the tasselled leather leggings are delicately adorned with scroll-pattern traced in stitching, and other details are elaborated with the same minute care.
Of all the energetic dances of the land of the dance, the one farthest from any concession to physical infirmity is la Jota Aragonesa. Here is no vehicle for Andalusian languor nor yet for the ceremonies of courts. The industrious peasant of Aragon is hard of muscle and strong of heart, and so is his daughter, and their strength is their pride. For indolence they have no sympathy, be it in ermine or rags; and certainly if indolence ever forgets itself and strays into the Jota, it passes a bad five minutes.
It is a good, sound fruit of the soil, full of substance, and inviting to the eye as good sound fruit may be. No academy’s hothouse care has been needed to develop or protect it; the hand of the peasant has cultivated without dirtying it. And that, when you look over the history of dancing in some more progressive nations, is a pretty significant thing. The people of Aragon are not novelty-hunters. Perhaps that is why they have been satisfied, while perfecting the dance of their province, not to pervert it from its proper motive—which is to express in terms of poetry both the vigour and the innocence of rustic, romping, boy-and-girl courtship.
A trace of stiffness of limb and angularity of movement, proper to the Jota, imbue it with a continuous hint of the rural grotesque. Yet, as the angular spire of the Gothic cathedral need be no less graceful than the rounded dome of the mosque, so the Jota concedes nothing in beauty to the more rolling movement of the dance of Andalusia. It is broad and big of movement; the castanets most of the time are held strongly out at arm’s length. One of its many surprises is in the manner of the pauses: the movement is so fast, the pauses are so electrically abrupt, and the group (or “picture,” as our stage-folk call it) in which the dancers hold themselves statue-like through a couple of measures is so suddenly formed, that a layman’s effort to understand the transition would be like trying to analyse the movements of the particles in a kaleidoscope. Out of a dazzle of cross-tied white legs there snaps on to your retina a vision of a couple face to face, each on one knee; one, two, three, four—on each count the supporting knee comes up, its mate rhythmically bumps the floor. One measure; again they are in flight. Another stop, as from a collision with some invisible but immovable body—the girl is established in a seated position on the floor, madly playing her castanets, the boy flashing pirouettes around her. Bien parada, palomita! pero anda! Another cyclone, a crescendo of energy in the thump of sandalled feet and the pulse-lifting clatter of castanets, and—dead stop! She is impudently perched on his knee. Raised with the paisanos around you to the plane of the happy gods, you too are standing, shouting your rhythm-madness, tearing at scarf-pin, bouquet or anything to throw to the performers.
Down to the tuning of the castanets is emphasised the difference between this dance of the stalwart uplanders and the more liquid expression of Andalusia. It can be understood how, with the instruments fastened to the thumb, and hanging so as not to touch the palm, vibration is not interrupted after a blow from the finger; consequently they will ring when touched. The successive taps of four skilful fingers on a castanet so hung will make it sing, as is appropriate to the flowing dance of the South. But change the tie from the thumb to the two middle fingers and you change the voice: the blow of a finger presses together the two halves of the instrument, and throws both against the palm of the hand; vibration is stopped, and the report is a dry “tak” or “tok,” which is consistent with and contributory to the crisp staccato sentiment of the Jota, with its kicking treatment of a running pas de bourrée, swift pirouettes, and abrupt starts and stops.