Christmas in Spain, 1877
I must premise that in a short sketch it is impossible to treat of every provincial and peculiar mode of keeping Christmas-Day. Spain in winter must be divided into Spain…
From: 1877 C.E. To: 1877 C.E.
“Christmas in Spain.” from Among the Spanish People, by Hugh James Rose, 1877.
There is, perhaps, no country in the world—or, at least, no continental country—where people still cling to old traditions, keep their feast days, and guard jealously the holy days of the Church with such firmness, to the great detriment of business of all sorts, as in Spain. The line has been swept away by a flood, a thousand men must be requisitioned to repair it; but no, it is All Saints' or Christmas-Day, and it is "un dia de fiesta,'' our holyday. Not only does the nation, as a nation, observe the great Christian festivals as holydays, but the manner of observance varies in each province; the food, the dance, the song, the wine, the customs are different. I will tell you how Christmas-time is observed in Spain.
I must premise that in a short sketch it is impossible to treat of every provincial and peculiar mode of keeping Christmas-Day. Spain in winter must be divided into Spain the frigid and Spain the semi-tropic; for while snow lies a foot deep at Christmas in the north, in the south the sun is shining brightly and flowers of spring are peeping out, and a nosegay of heliotrope and open-air geraniums is the "Christmas holly and mistletoe" of Andalusia. There is no chill in the air; there is no frost on the window-pane. So that in the south there is no sitting over the blazing fire, no sense of joy in drawing the home circle round their "winter sun," as Spaniards call the English fire. On the other hand, in the north, bitter as is the cold, these primitive people have absolutely no comfort or warmth at all, save what is yielded by the glowing embers of the small copa or brasero of charcoal, which always makes one believe it is on the point of going out. They crouch over this, rich and poor; say "Patience," and "Oh, what a bitter cold!" and never dream of a log fire to warm their dark, damp houses.
When Christmas-Eve comes the two days' holy day commences. At twelve the labourers leave their work, repair home, and dress in their best. Then the shops are all ablaze with lights, ribbons, and streamers; with tempting fare of sweets and sausages; with red and yellow serge to make warm petticoats; with cymbals, drums, and zambombas. The chief sweetmeats peculiar to Christmas, and bought alike by rich and poor (for Spain is the land of luscious sweetmeats), are the various kinds of preserved fruits, incrusted in sugar, and the famous turron. This last—which is of four kinds, and may be called in English phraseology, "almond rock"—is brought to your door; and buy it you must. A coarse kind is sold to the poor at a cheap rate. Other comestibles peculiar to Christmas are the sopa de almendras, or almond soup, the pavo trufado, or truffled turkey, roasted chestnuts, and nuts of every sort.
In Madrid, the stranger will wonder to see the Plaza Mayor thronged with people of all ranks, buying vesugo, or sea bream, which is sent in large quantities from Cadiz, for this day. This is one of the few old customs still lingering in modernized, un-Spaniardized, Frenchified Madrid. These old customs of Christmas, Easter, and All Saints, are dying out in Madrid; but in such towns as Valencia, at Easter every family still makes and eats its cake, piled up with eggs and fruits—called there the mona, and in Malaga, hornazo—a piece of which is always sent to the cura of the parish.
Before the Noche-buena, or Christmas-Eve, however, one or two good deeds have been done by the civil and military authorities. On the 23rd or 24th the custom is for the military governor to visit all the soldier prisoners, in company with their respective defensores, or advocates; and, de officio, there and then, he liberates all who are only in jail for light offences. This plan is also pursued in the civil prisons; and thus a beautiful custom is kept up in classic, romantic. Old-World Spain, and a ray of hope enters into and illuminates even the bitter darkness of a Spanish prisoner's den.
It is Christmas-Eve. The poor man has his relations round him, over his humble puchero; the rich man likewise. Friends have not come, "for it is not the custom:" in Spain only blood relations eat and drink in the house as invited guests. Families meet as in England. Ten per cent, of the soldiers get a fortnight's leave of absence and a free pass, and there is joy in peasant homes over peasant charcoal-pans.
The dusky shades of evening are stealing over olive grove and withering vineyard, and every house lights up its tiny oil lamp, and every image of the Virgin is illuminated with a taper. In Northern Andalusia you hear the zambomba—a flower-pot perforated by a hollow reed, which, whetted and rubbed with the finger, gives out a hollow, scraping, monotonous sound. In Southern Andalusia, the pandereta, or tambourine, is the chief instrument. It is wreathed with gaudy ribbons, and decked with bells, and beaten, shaken, and tossed in the air with graceful abandon to the strains of the Christmas hymn —
“Esta noche es noche buena
Y no es la noche de dormir,"
i.e., " This night is the good night, and therefore is no night of rest ; "or, perhaps, the church chant is sung, called —
"Nacio el niño de Dios,"
i.e, "The Child of God was born." Then, also, men click the castañeta, or castanet, in wine-shop and cottage ; and in such Old- World towns as Ecija, near Cordova, where no railway has penetrated, a breast-plate of eccentrically strung bones, slung round the neck and played with sticks—is still seen and heard. From every house is heard the strain of music; every church is lit up; every wine-shop is full; from every street smoke rises from the chestnut stalls; every girl wears a gaudy red or yellow dress, for "the Child of God is born."
The turkeys have been slaughtered and are stewing on the fire. The night is drawing on, and now the meal is over. Twelve o'clock strikes, and, in one moment, every bell from every belfry clangs out its summons. Poltroon were he who had gone to bed before twelve on Noche-buena.
From every house the inmates hurry to the gaily lit church, and throng its aisles, a dark-robed crowd of worshippers. The organ peals out; the priests and choir chant, at this midnight hour, the Christmas hymn; and, at last (in some out-of-the-way towns), the priests, in gaudiest robes, bring out from under the altar and expose aloft to the crowds, in swaddling clothes of gold and white, the Babe newborn, and all fall down and cross themselves in mute adoration. This service is universal, and is called the Misa del Gallo, or Cock-crow Mass; and even in Madrid it is customary to attend it.
There are three misas also on Christmas-Day; and the Church rule, strictly observed, is, that if a man fail to attend this midnight misa he must, to save his religious character, attend all three on Christmas-Day. In antique towns, like Ecija, there are ten days' early mass (called Misa de Luz) anterior to the Misa del Gallo, at 4 a.m., and in the raw morning the churches are thronged with rich and poor. In that strange unvisited town, also, the chief dame goes to the midnight misa, all her man-servants in procession before her, each playing a different instrument.
Christmas-Eve is over. It is 1:30 a.m., on Christmas morning, and the crowds, orderly, decent, cheerful, are wending their way home. Then all is hushed; all have sought repose; there are no drunken riots; the dark streets are lit by the tiny oil lamps; the watchman's monotonous cry alone is heard, "Ave Maria purisima ; las dos ; y sereno.”
The three misas at the churches on Christmas- Day are all chanted to joyous music. Then the poor come in to pay their rent of turkeys, pigs, olives, or what not to their landlord; and he gives them a Christmas-box, such as a torta, or pie of salt fish, or money, or what may be. Then, when you enter your house, you will find on your table, with the heading, " Felicitan al usted la Pascua,” i.e., " A Happy Christmas," a host of little leaflets, printed, with verses. These are the petitions of the postman, scavenger, telegraph man, newsboy, etc., asking you for a Christmas-box. Poor fellows, they get little enough, and a couple of francs is well-bestowed on them once a year. After mid-clay breakfast or luncheon is over, rich and poor walk out and take the air; and a gaudy, joyous crowd they form, as a rule.
As regards presents at Christmas, the rule is, in primitive Spain, to send a present to the cura and the doctor. Many Spaniards pay a fixed annual sum to their medical man, and he attends all the family, including servants. His salary is sent to him at Christmas with the addition of a turkey, or a cake, or some fine sweetmeats.
Rose, Hugh James. Among the Spanish People, Richard Bentley and Son, 1877.
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