The Alhambra 21
PUBLIC FÊTES OF GRANADA
My devoted squire and whilom ragged cicerone Mateo Ximenes had a
poor-devil passion for fêtes and holidays, and was never so eloquent as
when detailing the civil and religious festivals at Granada. During the
preparations for the annual Catholic fête 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 escort, 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 fêtes of the Vivarrambla, and
hither the élite 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 façades 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 stronghold
of the mountains, famous for contrabandistas, bullfighters, 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 gypsy
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 mule-cloth, 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 everything, 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, Señor,” 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, Señor! el dia de la Toma! “But the day of
the Taking! ah, Señor 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 watch-tower 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 precious 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
Hazañas” (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.[15]
While the Moorish cavaliers admired this daring exploit, they felt bound
to resent it. On the following day, therefore, Tarfé, 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 Lamanche, at the puppet-show of Gines de Passamonte;
for, when the infidel Tarfé 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.
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