I am, Sir, &c. &c.
T. A.
Good Friday at Lisbon.
To a protestant, the observance of this holiday in catholic countries is especially remarkable. In 1768, the late rev. George Whitefield published “An Account of some Lent and other Extraordinary Processions and Ecclesiastical Entertainments seen at Lisbon; in four Letters to an English Friend.” Very early in the morning of Good Friday, he had gone on board a vessel at Bellem for the purpose of sailing, but the wind dying away he returned ashore. “But how was the scene changed! Before, all used to be noise and hurry; now all was hushed and shut up in the most awful and profound silence. No clock or bell had been heard since yesterday noon, and scarce a person was to be seen in the street all the way to Lisbon. About two in the afternoon we got to the place where (I had heard some days ago) an extraordinary scene was to be exhibited: it was ‘the crucifixion of the Son of God, represented partly by dumb images, and partly by living persons, in a large church belonging to the convent of St. De Beato.’ Several thousands crowded into it, some of which, as I was told, had been waiting there ever since six in the morning. I was admitted, and very commodiously situated to view the whole performance. We had not waited long before the curtain was drawn up. Immediately, upon a high scaffold, hung in the front with black baize, and behind with silk purple damask laced with gold, was exhibited to our view an image of the Lord Jesus, at full length, crowned with thorns, and nailed on a cross, between two figures of like dimensions, representing the two thieves. At a little distance on the right hand was placed an image of the virgin Mary, in plain long ruffles, and a kind of widow’s weeds. The veil was purple silk, and she had a wire glory round her head. At the foot of the cross lay, in a mournful pensive posture, a living man dressed in woman’s clothes, who personated Mary Magdalen; and not far off stood a young man, in imitation of the beloved disciple. He was dressed in a loose green silk vesture and bob-wig. His eyes were fixed on the cross, and his two hands a little extended. On each side, near the front of the stage, stood two sentinels in buff, with formidable caps and long beards; and directly in the front stood another yet more formidable, with a large target in his hand. We may suppose him to be the Roman centurion. To complete the scene, from behind the purple hangings came out about twenty little purple-vested winged boys, two by two, each bearing a lighted wax taper in his hand, and having a crimson and gold cap on his head. At their entrance upon the stage, they gently bowed their heads to the spectators, then kneeled and made obeisance, first to the image on the cross, and then to that of the virgin Mary. When risen, they bowed to each other, and then took their respective places over against one another, on steps assigned for them on the front of the stage. Opposite to this, at a few yards’ distance, stood a black friar in a pulpit hung with mourning. For a while he paused, and then breaking silence, gradually raised his voice till it was extended to a pretty high pitch, though I think scarcely high enough for so large an auditory. After he had proceeded in his discourse about a quarter of an hour, a confused noise was heard near the great front door; and turning my head, I saw four long-bearded men, two of whom carried a ladder on their shoulders; and after them followed two more, with large gilt dishes in their hands, full of linen, spices, &c.; these, as I imagined, were the representatives of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimatlian. On a signal given from the pulpit, they advanced towards the steps of the scaffold; but, upon their first attempting to mount it, at the watchful centurion’s nod, the observant soldiers made a pass at them, and presented the points of their javelins directly to their breasts. They are repulsed. Upon this, a letter from Pilate is produced. The centurion reads it, shakes his head, and with looks that bespoke a forced compliance, beckons the sentinels to withdraw their arms. Leave being thus obtained, they ascend; and having paid their homage by kneeling first to the image on the cross and then to the virgin Mary, they retired to the back of the stage. Still the preacher continued declaiming, or rather, as was said, explaining the mournful scene. Magdalen persists in wringing her hands, and variously expressing her personated sorrow; while John (seemingly regardless of all besides) stood gazing on the crucified figure. By this time it was nearly three o’clock, and the scene was drawing to a close. The ladders are ascended, the superscription and crown of thorns taken off; long white rollers put round the arms of the image; and then the nails knocked out which fastened the hands and feet. Here Mary Magdalen looks most languishing, and John, if possible, stands more thunderstruck than before. The orator lifts up his voice, and almost all the hearers expressed their concern by weeping, beating their breasts, and smiting their cheeks. At length the body is gently let down; Magdalen eyes it, and gradually rising, receives the feet into her wide spread handkerchief; while John (who hitherto had stood motionless like a statue), as the body came nearer the ground, with an eagerness that bespoke the intense affection of a sympathizing friend, runs towards the cross, seizes the upper part of it into his clasping arms, and, with his disguised fellow-mourner, helps to bear it away. And here the play should end, was I not afraid that you would be angry with me if I did not give you an account of the last act, by telling you what became of the corpse after it was taken down. Great preparations were made for its interment. It was wrapped in linen and spices, &c. and being laid upon a bier richly hung, was carried round the churchyard in grand procession. The image of the virgin Mary was chief mourner; and John and Magdalen, with a whole troop of friars with wax tapers in their hands, followed. Determined to see the whole, I waited its return, and in about a quarter of an hour the corpse was brought in, and deposited in an open sepulchre prepared for the purpose; but not before a priest, accompanied by several of the same order, in splendid vestments, had perfumed it with incense, sang to, and kneeled before it. John and Magdalen attended the obsequies, but the image of the virgin Mary was carried away, and placed in the front of the stage, in order to be kissed, adored, and worshipped by the people. And thus ends this Good Friday’s tragi-comical, superstitious, idolatrous droll. I am well aware that the Romanists deny the charge of idolatry; but after having seen what I have seen this day, as well as at sundry other times since my arrival here, I cannot help thinking but a person must be capable of making more than metaphysical distinctions, and deal in very abstract ideas indeed, fairly to evade the charge.”
Good Friday at Seville.
The rev. Blanco White relates the celebration of the day at Seville in the following terms:—
The altars, which, at the end of yesterday’s mass, were publicly and solemnly stripped of their clothes and rich table-hangings by the hands of the priest, appear in the same state of distressed negligence. No musical sound is heard, except the deep-toned voices of the psalm, or plain chant singers. After a few preparatory prayers, and the dramatized history of the passion, already described, the officiating priest (the archbishop at the cathedral), in a plain albe or white tunic, takes up a wooden cross six or seven feet high, which, like all other crosses, has for the last two weeks of Lent been covered with a purple veil, and standing towards the people, before the middle of the altar, gradually uncovers the sacred emblem, which both the clergy and laity worship upon their knees. The prelate is then unshod by the assistant ministers, and taking the cross upon his right shoulder, as our saviour is represented by painters on his way to Calvary, he walks alone from the altar to the entrance of the presbytery or chancel, and lays his burden upon two cushions. After this, he moves back some steps, and approaching the cross with three prostrations, kisses it, and drops an oblation of a piece of silver into a silver dish. The whole chapter, having gone through the same ceremony, form themselves in two lines, and repair to the monument, from whence the officiating priest conveys the deposited host to the altar, where he communicates upon it without consecrating any wine. Here the service terminates abruptly; all candles and lamps are extinguished; and the tabernacle, which throughout the year contains the sacred wafers, being left open, every object bespeaks the desolate and widowed state of the church from the death of the saviour to his resurrection.
The ceremonies of Good Friday being short, and performed at an early hour, both the gay and the devout would be at a loss how to spend the remainder of the day but for the grotesque passion sermons of the suburbs and neighbouring villages, and the more solemn performance known by the name of Tres Horas,—three hours.
The practice of continuing in meditation from twelve to three o’clock of this day,—the time which our saviour is supposed to have hung on the cross,—was introduced by the Spanish Jesuits, and partakes of the impressive character which the members of that order had the art to impart to the religious practices by which they cherished the devotional spirit of the people. The church where the three hours are kept is generally hung in black, and made impervious to daylight. A large crucifix is seen on the high altar, under a black canopy, with six unbleached wax candles, which cast a sombre glimmering on the rest of the church. The females of all ranks occupy, as usual, the centre of the nave, squatting or kneeling on the matted ground, and adding to the dismal appearance of the scene by the colour of their veils and dresses.