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Public Fetes Of GranadaPublic Fetes Of Granada
Public Fetes Of Granada
My Devoted squire and whilom ragged cicerone Mateo Ximenes, had a
poor-devil passion for fetes and holidays, and was never so eloquent as when
detailing the civil and religious festivals of Granada. During the
preparations for the annual Catholic fete of Corpus Christi, he was in a
state of incessant transition between the Alhambra and the subjacent city,
bringing me daily accounts of the magnificent arrangements that were in
progress, and endeavoring, but in vain, to lure me down from my cool and airy
retreat to witness them. At length, on the eve of the eventful day I yielded
to his solicitations and descended from the regal halls of the Alhambra under
his escorts, as did of yore the adventure-seeking Haroun Alraschid, under that
of his Grand Vizier Giaffar. Though it was yet scarce sunset, the city gates
were already thronged with the picturesque villagers of the mountains, and the
brown peasantry of the Vega. Granada has ever been the rallying place of a
great mountainous region, studded with towns and villages. Hither, during the
Moorish domination, the chivalry of this region repaired, to join in
the splendid and semi-warlike fetes of the Vivarrambla, and hither the elite
of its population still resort to join in the pompous ceremonials of the
church. Indeed, many of the mountaineers from the Alpuxarras and the Sierra de
Ronda, who now bow to the cross as zealous Catholics, bear the stamp of their
Moorish origin, and are indubitable descendants of the fickle subjects of
Boabdil.
Under the guidance of Mateo, I made my way through streets already
teeming with a holiday population, to the square of the Vivarrambla, that
great place for tilts and tourneys, so often sung in the Moorish ballads of
love and chivalry. A gallery or arcade of wood had been erected along the
sides of the square, for the grand religious procession of the following day.
This was brilliantly illuminated for the evening as a promenade; and bands of
music were stationed on balconies on each of the four facades of the square.
All the fashion and beauty of Granada, all of its population of either sex
that had good looks or fine clothes to display, thronged this arcade,
promenading round and round the Vivarrambla. Here, too, were the majos and
majas, the rural beaux and belles, with fine forms, flashing eyes, and gay
Andalusian costumes; some of them from Ronda itself, that strong-hold of the
mountains, famous for contrabandistas, bull-fighters, and beautiful women.
While this gay but motley throng kept up a constant circulation in the
gallery, the centre of the square was occupied by the peasantry from the
surrounding country; who made no pretensions to display, but came for simple,
hearty enjoyment. The whole square was covered with them; forming separate
groups of families and neighborhoods, like gipsy encampments, some were
listening to the traditional ballad drawled out to the tinkling of the guitar,
some were engaged in gay conversation, some were dancing to the click of the
castanet. As I threaded my way through this teeming region with Mateo at my
heels, I passed occasionally some rustic party, seated on the ground, making
a merry though frugal repast. If they caught my eye as I loitered by, they
almost invariably invited me to partake of their simple fare. This hospitable
usage, inherited from their Moslem invaders, and originating in the tent of
the Arab, is universal throughout the land, and observed by the poorest
Spaniard.
As the night advanced, the gayety gradually died away in the arcades;
the bands of music ceased to play, and the brilliant crowd dispersed to their
homes. The centre of the square still remained well peopled, and Mateo assured
me that the greater part of the peasantry, men, women, and children, would
pass the night there, sleeping on the bare earth beneath the open canopy of
heaven. Indeed, a summer night requires no shelter in this favored climate;
and a bed is a superfluity, which many of the hardy peasantry of Spain never
enjoy, and which some of them affect to despise. The common Spaniard wraps
himself in his brown cloak, stretches himself on his manta or mulecloth,
and sleeps soundly, luxuriously accommodated if he can have a saddle for a
pillow. In a little while the words of Mateo were made good; the peasant
multitude nestled down on the ground to their night`s repose, and by midnight,
the scene on the Vivarrambla resembled the bivouac of an army.
The next morning, accompanied by Mateo, I revisited the square at
sunrise. It was still strewed with groups of sleepers: some were reposing from
the dance and revel of the evening; others, who had left their villages after
work on the preceding day, having trudged on foot the greater part of the
night, were taking a sound sleep to freshen themselves for the festivities of
the day. Numbers from the mountains, and the remote villages of the plain, who
had set out in the night, continued to arrive with their wives and children.
All were in high spirits; greeting each other and exchanging jokes and
pleasantries. The gay tumult thickened as the day advanced. Now came pouring
in at the city gates, and parading through the streets, the deputations from
the various villages, destined to swell the grand procession. These village
deputations were headed by their priests, bearing their respective crosses and
banners, and images of the blessed Virgin and of patron saints; all which were
matters of great rivalship and jealousy among the peasantry. It was like the
chivalrous gatherings of ancient days, when each town and village sent its
chiefs, and warriors, and standards, to defend the capital, or grace its
festivities.
At length all these various detachments congregated into one grand
pageant, which slowly paraded round the Vivarrambla, and through the principal
streets, where every window and balcony was hung with tapestry. In this
procession were all the religious orders, the civil and military authorities,
and the chief people of the parishes and villages: every church and convent
had contributed its banners, its images, its relics, and poured forth its
wealth for the occasion. In the centre of the procession walked the
archbishop, under a damask canopy, and surrounded by inferior dignitaries and
their dependants. The whole moved to the swell and cadence of numerous bands
of music, and, passing through the midst of a countless yet silent multitude,
proceeded onward to the cathedral.
I could not but be struck with the changes of times and customs, as I saw
this monkish pageant passing through the Vivarrambla, the ancient seat of
Moslem pomp and chivalry. The contrast was indeed forced upon the mind by
the decorations of the square. The whole front of the wooden gallery erected
for the procession, extending several hundred feet, was faced with canvas, on
which some humble though patriotic artist had painted, by contract, a series
of the principal scenes and exploits of the Conquest, as recorded in
chronicle and romance. It is thus the romantic legends of Granada mingle
themselves with every thing, and are kept fresh in the public mind.
As we wended our way back to the Alhambra, Mateo was in high glee and
garrulous vein. "Ah, senor," exclaimed he, "there is no place in all the
world like Granada for grand ceremonies (funciones grandes); a man need
spend nothing on pleasure here, it is all furnished him gratis. Pero, el dia
de la Toma! ah, senor! el dia de la Toma!" "But the day of the Taking! ah,
senor, the day of the Taking" - that was the great day which crowned Mateo`s
notions of perfect felicity. The Dia de la Toma, I found, was the anniversary
of the capture or taking possession of Granada, by the army of Ferdinand and
Isabella.
On that day, according to Mateo, the whole city is abandoned to
revelry. The great alarm bell on the watchtower of the Alhambra (la Torre de
la vela), sends forth its clanging peals from morn till night; the sound
pervades the whole Vega, and echoes along the mountains, summoning the
peasantry from far and near to the festivities of the metropolis. "Happy the
damsel," says Mateo, "who can get a chance to ring that bell; it is a
charm to insure a husband within the year."
Throughout the day the Alhambra is thrown open to the public. Its halls
and courts, where the Moorish monarchs once held sway, resound with the
guitar and castanet, and gay groups, in the fanciful dresses of Andalusia,
perform their traditional dances inherited from the Moors.
A grand procession, emblematic of the taking possession of the city,
moves through the principal streets. The banner of Ferdinand and Isabella,
that previous relic of the Conquest, is brought forth from its depository,
and borne in triumph by the Alferez mayor, or grand standard-bearer.
The portable camp-altar, carried about with the sovereigns in all their
campaigns, is transported into the chapel royal of the cathedral, and placed
before their sepulchre, where their effigies lie in monumental marble. High
mass is then performed in memory of the Conquest; and at a certain part of the
ceremony the Alferez mayor puts on his hat, and waves the standard above the
tomb of the conquerors.
A more whimsical memorial of the Conquest is exhibited in the evening
at the theatre. A popular drama is performed, entitled Ave Maria, turning
on a famous achievement of Hernando del Pulgar, surnamed "el de las
Hazanas" (he of the exploits), a madcap warrior, the favorite hero of the
populace of Granada. During the time of the siege, the young Moorish and
Spanish cavaliers vied with each other in extravagant bravadoes. On one
occasion this Hernando del Pulgar, at the head of a handful of followers,
made a dash into Granada in the dead of the night, nailed the inscription
of Ave Maria with his dagger to the gate of the principal mosque, a token
of having consecrated it to the Virgin, and effected his retreat in safety.
While the Moorish cavaliers admired this daring exploit, they felt bound
to resent it. On the following day, therefore, Tarfe, one of the stoutest
among them, paraded in front of the Christian army, dragging the tablet
bearing the sacred inscription Ave Maria, at his horse`s tail. The cause of
the Virgin was eagerly vindicated by Garcilaso de la Vega, who slew the Moor
in single combat, and elevated the tablet in devotion and triumph at the end
of his lance.
The drama founded on this exploit is prodigiously popular with the
common people. Although it has been acted time out of mind, it never fails to
draw crowds, who become completely lost in the delusions of the scene. When
their favorite Pulgar strides about with many a mouthy speech, in the very
midst of the Moorish capital, he is cheered with enthusiastic bravos; and
when he nails the tablet to the door of the mosque, the theatre absolutely
shakes with the thunders of applause. On the other hand, the unlucky actors
who figure in the part of the Moors, have to bear the brunt of popular
indignation, which at times equals that of the Hero of La Mancha, at the
puppetshow of Gines de Passamonte; for, when the infidel Tarfe plucks down
the tablet to tie it to his horse`s tail, some of the audience rise in fury,
and are ready to jump upon the stage to revenge this insult to the Virgin.
By the way, the actual lineal descendant of Hernando del Pulgar was the
Marquis de Salar. As the legitimate representative of that madcap hero, and
in commemoration and reward of this hero`s exploit, above mentioned, he
inherited the right to enter the cathedral on certain occasions, on horseback;
to sit within the choir, and to put on his hat at the elevation of the host,
though these privileges were often and obstinately contested by the clergy.
I met him occasionally in society; he was young, of agreeable appearance and
manners, with bright black eyes, in which appeared to lurk some of the fire
of his ancestors. Among the paintings in the Vivarrambla, on the fete of
Corpus Christi, were some depicting, in vivid style, the exploits of the
family hero. An old gray-headed servant of the Pulgars shed tears on beholding
them, and hurried home to inform the marquis. The eager zeal and enthusiasm of
the old domestic only provoked a light laugh from his young master; whereupon,
turning to the brother of the marquis, with that freedom allowed in Spain to
old family servants, "Come, senor," cried he, "you are more considerate than
your brother; come and see your ancestor in all his glory!"
In emulation of this great Dia de la Toma of Granada, almost every
village and petty town of the mountains has its own anniversary,
commemorating, with rustic pomp and uncouth ceremonial, its deliverance from
the Moorish yoke. On these occasions, according to Mateo, a kind of
resurrection takes place of ancient armor and weapons; great two-handed
swords, ponderous arquebuses with matchlocks, and other warlike relics,
treasured up from generation to generation, since the time of the Conquest;
and happy the community that possesses some old piece of ordnance,
peradventure one of the identical lombards used by the conquerors; it is kept
thundering along the mountains all day long, provided the community can afford
sufficient expenditure of powder.
In the course of the day, a kind of warlike drama is enacted. Some of the
populace parade the streets, fitted out with the old armor, as champions of
the faith. Others appear dressed up as Moorish warriors. A tent is pitched in
the public square, inclosing an altar with an image of the Virgin. The
Christian warriors approach to perform their devotions; the infidels surround
the tent to prevent their entrance; a mock fight ensues; the combatants
sometimes forget that they are merely playing a part, and dry blows of
grievous weight are apt to be exchanged. The contest, however, invariably
terminates in favor of the good cause. The Moors are defeated and taken
prisoners. The image of the Virgin, rescued from thraldom, is elevated in
triumph; a grand procession succeeds, in which the conquerors figure with
great applause and vainglory; while their captives are led in chains, to the
evident delight and edification of the spectators.
These celebrations are heavy drains on the treasuries of these petty
communities, and have sometimes to be suspended for want of funds; but, when
times grow better, or sufficient money has been hoarded for the purpose, they
are resumed with new zeal and prodigality.
Mateo informed me that he had occasionally assisted at these fetes and
taken a part in the combats, but always on the side of the true faith;
"Porque senor," added the ragged descendant of the cardinal Ximenes, tapping
his breast with something of an air, "porque senor, soy Cristiano viejo."
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