Things Seen in Spain — Chapter 1, The Fascination of Spain, Part 2

In Spain dancing is something more than an amusement; it is a serious art closely connected with religious ritual, which expresses, perhaps as nothing else does, if we except the bull-fight, the true spirit of the people.

The dances are Eastern in their origin; they are dramas of love, and especially those of the Gitanas, who have adopted and kept living the ancient dances of the country.

Seville, the joyous southern capital, is the city that has given its own spirit to the most beautiful of the Spanish dances.

Granada and Malaga are also centres of dancing, and sometimes good performances may be witnessed at Madrid.

But the best _cafés cantantes_, where the true Spanish dancers perform, are hidden in back streets where the foreigner does not readily find them.

These dances are national ceremonies and belong to the people, and are far different from the dances, often quite modern in character, that are given at the popular _cafés_.

The varieties are numerous, and the names are often confusing.

Many dances date back far into antiquity, while almost all owe their special character to Arabic influences.

[Picture: A Glimpse of Granada from the walls of the Generalife] The _bolero_ is the most aristocratic dance.

“What majesty, what decorum, what distinction!

” cried Valera, speaking of the dances of Ruiz and his daughter Conchita.

It is danced by a man and a woman, and is a kind of drama between them; both use castanets.

It is a slow dance of deliberate grace and fascination.

The _jota_ is danced by a woman alone.

This dance, too, is a love drama of intense passion, but always decorous, always beautiful.

Both these dances are native to Andalusia, the province of Spanish dancing.

Outside of Andalusia, the most famous dance is the Aragonese _jota_.

This is danced by a man and a woman, and the castanets are used.

But the drama is different, the movements are quicker and less varied, and there is great vivacity.

It seems a kind of combat between the two dancers; it is more a drama of battle than a drama of love.

But the most typical of all Spanish dancing is the _flamenco_ dance of the Gitanas, which you will see best at Seville; it is the most primitive and the most African of all.

A group of performers sit in a semicircle upon a small stage.

The spectators all take their part by a rhythmic clapping of hands and stamping feet.

One of the performers—generally a man—plays the guitar and sings an accompanying song.

A dancer rises suddenly, spontaneously, as if seized by the passion of the music.

She wears a long dress, usually of white, and a beautiful Manilla shawl is folded on her shoulders.

How can one describe the dance which is so unlike all other dances?

It is not a dance of the feet; every part of the body plays its share in the performance: the swaying figure, the beckoning hands, the glittering smiles that come and go in the dark eyes—all contribute.

The dancer is alive to her fingertips, and every expressive movement has the Spanish simplicity of emphasis.

At first the movement is slow, then faster, and now increases and rises to a passion of intensity.

And all the time the spectators are actively participating, their emotion rising with the dancer’s emotion; their rhythmic clapping and beating of feet grows louder as the drama proceeds, and cries of long-drawn-out _oles_ stimulate the dancer.

The dance ends as unexpectedly as it began: a pause comes, and the swaying body is still, as if languor had followed on strong emotion.

There is silence;

the dancer goes back to her seat.

Then the singer starts a new song, the clapping is taken up again, another dancer comes forward, and a new drama is acted.

[Picture: A group of dancers at the “Feria,” Seville] The foreigner who would understand Spain must see these dances; then he will come to know yet another characteristic of the people—their love of strong, quite elemental sensation.

It is this that so often makes them seem cruel to us.

This delight of the Spaniard in all emotions that make sharp appeal to the senses explains the existence of the bull-fight, the national sport, which is so much a part of the life of the people that, although to-day there is a widespread movement to repress, or at least to mitigate, its cruelty, it seems unlikely that its real attraction will cease.

It is impossible not to condemn the bull-fight; its cruelty cannot be denied.

It is brutal, as the most cultivated Spaniards themselves admit.

And yet there are certain facts that the stranger must remember before he condemns.

The bull-fight, like the dance, is a solemn ritual rather than an amusement.

The combats take place on Sunday, while the most famous form part of the ceremonies of Holy Week.

Part of the proceeds are devoted to some religious object—a charity or other holy work.

Almost all the great bull-rings have a chapel where the fighters first prepare themselves in prayer and partake of the Holy Eucharist.

To the foreigner it may seem that this union of religion and bull-fighting is incongruous, but to most Spaniards it does not appear so.

The bull-fight is the Spaniard’s strongest, most characteristic intoxication.

The poor man will sell his shirt to buy a ticket for the bull-ring.

They are a profoundly serious people, but every incident connected with their national sport arouses them into vivid life.

I

remember on one occasion, when travelling in Andalusia in an open third-class railway carriage, the train passed a _vacada_, or training-place of bulls to be used in the ring.

The effect was magical.

These quiet, sombre people sprang upon the seats, some leaned far out of the windows; they gesticulated, they waved their sombreros, they called the names of the bulls, they cheered, they shouted.

Never had I seen the decorous Spaniard so strongly moved.

The _toreros_ are the idols of the Spanish people.

You will see them best at Seville, in their faultless tight _majo_ costumes and frilled shirts, fastened with diamond studs, and diamond rings on the fingers of their faultless hands, and with their pigtail fastened upon the top of their heads.

There is something splendidly attractive in their perfect bodily equipoise, with every muscle trained to faultless precision.

The _toreros_ have in the highest degree strength, agility, and grace.

Even women have been _toreros_ and Madame Dieulafoy tells of one _Doña_, Maria de Gaucin, who left her convent to become a _torero_; then, after gaining renown throughout Spain for her exploits in the bull-ring, returned to the practices of religion.

Only in Spain would such division of a life be thought perfectly natural, perfectly seemly.

[Picture: The old town of Ronda] The bull-fight was established in Spain in the eleventh or twelfth century, and is of Moorish origin.

The bull would also seem to have come first from Africa.

But the spectacular and ceremonial character of the contest is certainly adapted from the Roman combats, the influence of which had survived among the old Spaniards.

Every Spanish town has its Plaza de Toros.

Here, and especially at Seville during the Easter festival, you will see all the population of the place, a motley crowd of men and women.

Señoras in white lace _mantillas_ and white dresses, and their cavaliers, the gay _Sevillanos_, side by side with the _gente flamenca_ and the _cigarreras_ in lovely shawls, their hair elaborately arranged, with a white flower showing against its blackness; for the bull-fight is a democratic institution, where the greatest foregather with the people.

The patience of the vast crowd is perfect as they await the advent of the appointed hour.

All are animated with a suppressed seriousness, the prelude to violent emotion which is so characteristic of the Spaniard.

The entire performance is carried out with an elaborate ceremony of detail which the stranger often finds difficult to appreciate.

The President enters his _palco_.

Then follows the _paseo de la cuadrilla_, the processional entrance of the bull-fighters, grave, handsome men, in their beautiful and varied costumes of yellow and violet, gold and green, or whatever the chosen colours may be.

The procession moves slowly across the ring; there is no haste.

Each one in turn gravely and with perfect grace salutes the President, who then throws down the key of the bulls’ den, the _toril_.

In a few moments the first bull rushes into the arena.

The combat has begun.

The fight is divided into three acts.

In the _Suerte de Picar_, the first, the _picadores_, dressed in round felt hats, short cloaks, and long leggings of plaited steel, and mounted on blindfolded horses, in turn receive the charge of the bull, thrusting him aside with their long pikes.

Sometimes they come to close quarters, a _picador_ is thrown, his horse is wounded, or perhaps killed.

The shouts of the now excited crowd show that this is the critical moment.

The _picador_ rises quickly, another horse is brought, while the _chulos_ divert the attention of the bull by dexterous waving of their brightly coloured cloaks.

When the bull is sufficiently wearied—for this is the object of the first act in the drama—the President gives a signal, and the _picadores_ retire.

[Picture: The Falls of the Guadalevín, the Great Gorge and New Bridge, Ronda] The _banderilleros_ take their place.

This is the _Suerte de Banderillear_, the second act, the object of which is to inflame the bull.

The _banderilleros_ place the barbed darts, or _banderillas_, in the shoulders of the bull.

Each is about 2 feet long, of curious device, and ornamented with long coloured streamers.

It is the most exciting part of the combat.

The utmost skill, agility, and daring, are needed to plant the darts.

There must be no bungling, no second of hesitation.

It is now that the excitement of the spectators is really aroused, for a sense of solemnity is given by the possible presence of death.

A

_banderillero_ may be seen to seize hold of the lashing tail, swing himself along the beast’s side, and plant his dart between its horns.

It is done with surprising skill, with delight, and with passion; and the applause of the spectators swells to a great roar, which refuses to be silenced.

The last act is the _Suerte de Matar_.

The chief _espada_ comes into the ring; to him belongs the honour of the death.

First he approaches the President, and solemnly dedicates to him the slaying of the bull.

He is armed with a short Toledan blade and the _muleta_, a small red cloth.

Calmly he walks towards the bull.

And now a silence falls upon the hitherto raging crowd.

It is the moment of pause, of silent waiting for the most violent emotion of all.

First he plays with the now infuriated and wearied beast.

There is still no hurrying.

The Spaniard wishes always to gain the very utmost out of his sensations.

The bull is teased by the waving of the red cloth, and in this way is made to take the proper position for the death-blow.

The _espada_ watches his moment;

then, with unerring decision, he buries the blade in the bull’s neck between the shoulders, and walks slowly to the President’s box, with absolute composure and a dignity that is almost defiant.

Deafening cheers greet him, rewards and costly tributes are thrown, and he is presented with a great bouquet of flowers.

How Spanish is this ending, which rewards the slayer with flowers!

It is over; the ring is cleared, sand is raked over the pools of blood, a new bull is driven forward, again the drama begins.

Six times the scene is re-acted, and a seventh bull, a _toro de gracia_, is added at the first bull-fight of the year.

[Picture: Spanish Dancers, Seville] In this repetition of emotions, this delight in heaping up sensations, we have a very real revelation of the Spanish temperament.

And this explains the devotion of the people to the bull-fight.

When we come to estimate the Spanish character, we shall find that the Spaniard has the qualities which belong to all primitive people.

The sentiment of sympathy with suffering is essentially a modern one.

The Spaniard is still the Moor, his ancestor.

He is cruel because he is indifferent to pain, his own or another’s. CHAPTER II—THE SPANISH PEOPLE

The Character of the People—Their Quietness and Sobriety—Their Cruelty—This the Result of their Stoicism and Indifference to Pain—These the Qualities of a Strong and Primitive People—The _Feria_, the Holiday of the Sevillians—Religion: its Place in the National Life—The Dance of the _Seises_—Holy Week in Seville—Religious Processions—The _Pasos_.