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Ebook has 585 lines and 64569 words, and 12 pages

"And you are not afraid the dead will stay longer in purgatory if they die without the holy oils?" I have frequently asked on hearing such statements.

"Why should they? My brother, may his soul rest in peace! was a good man. God will look after him without any priest putting in his oar. Yes, it is true that the priests talk of purgatory, but for my part I have never well understood what it is, and I do not care. I say a prayer for my dead on All Souls' Day, and there is an end of it. There may be purgatory, God knows. But certainly I will not pay money to a priest on that account. I want it more than he does."

The popular idea of purgatory is very confused, and many declare that they do not believe in it, while betraying in every word that they pray heartily for the souls that they assume to be there.

"There are always seven souls clinging to the cloak of the Virgin--not the Virgin on any altar, but the real Virgin in heaven. They are all climbing up, one above the other, and by prayers or good works you can help the uppermost to get out and make room for the next."

"And where do they go then?"

"No, indeed; but you never know who may be clinging to the robe of the Virgin, and some one belonging to you might just be climbing up. At least, nothing is lost by saying a prayer."

The custom of attending a Mass for the dead on All Souls' Day is very general. There are thousands of men and women who never set foot in a church during the rest of the year, yet rise an hour earlier than usual to go to Mass before beginning their work on November 2nd. But the proportion of communicants even on this occasion is very small. I have counted the congregations present at churches attended by the working and the lower middle classes on All Souls' Day. At one early Mass, out of forty present, four communicated; at another, two out of thirteen; and so on. Communion involves previous confession, and the poor will not confess. Nevertheless, their faces show that this Mass is not a mere empty form to them. They do not, of course, understand a syllable of the words the priest mutters at the altar, but they are absorbed in earnest intercession for the dead whom they are commemorating. Then they go their way to take up the round of work, and probably do not attend another Mass until All Souls' Day comes round again, while the rich celebrate the "Day of the Dead" by paying for and attending frequent Masses, and by taking or sending wreaths of flowers to adorn the graves of relatives in the distant cemetery.

Curiously enough, infant baptism bulks far larger in the religion of the poor than any other office of the Church, and the parents, and especially the mother, will make heavy sacrifices to obtain the fee demanded for the performance of this rite. The ceremony itself has some singular features, for the mother must on no account be present, and even the father remains in the background. But the social function which follows the ceremony in the Church is almost as important an event in the family life as a wedding, and the festivities are kept up far into the night. It may seem fanciful to trace these baptismal customs back to the time of Islam, but it is a fact that the accounts of the birth-feasts among the Moslems of Spain offer certain resemblances to those of to-day, while the term used to describe an unbaptized child among the peasantry links us directly to the time when to be a follower of the Prophet was to be an object of contumely. The explanation of the efforts made by the family and friends of a child of poor parents to scrape together the 7.50 pesetas demanded by the priest for the performance of the baptismal office is: "I could not leave him a Moor" .

Burial often takes place without the offices of the Church, for there are few among the working classes who can afford to pay for a funeral Mass, and very many are unaware that they can insist upon the attendance of a priest even without a fee. And since the charge for a marriage in church amounts in many parishes to as much as 25 pesetas--the average weekly wage of the agricultural labourer certainly not exceeding half that sum--it is only to be expected that the civil ceremony, which costs one peseta, or the stolen "blessing" snatched from an unwilling priest by the pair proclaiming themselves man and wife at the close of any Mass, should be more frequently resorted to than the orthodox function. Many couples, moreover, live all their lives as husband and wife, as faithfully as if married by the Church or the mayor, without any religious or legal tie at all.

"The women don't like it," said a working man to the writer, "but what is one to do? How can we pay twenty-five pesetas to get married? And the women are only now beginning to understand that the civil marriage is quite as good as the other, if there is any question of money to be left to the children. I could show you plenty among my neighbours who live as if married, and no one takes notice that they are not. The priests only say such couples are living in sin because they have not got the marriage fee out of them."

"It is true that my daughter-in-law could leave my son if she liked," said an old woman when discussing a quarrel between her hot-tempered son and his hotter-tempered "wife." "There was no money for the marriage, so I consented to their marrying without going to church. They will never separate: it does not occur to them that it would be possible. It is not as if they were not faithful to each other. My son does not look at other women, and as for my daughter-in-law , he would kill her if she set her eyes on another man, and well she knows it. There is no sin in marriages like that, whatever the priests may say about it. Of course I would have preferred that they should be married in church, and so would my daughter-in-law, but what are you to do when there is no money?"

Thus the religion of the people seems to be entirely dissociated from the forms imposed by the Church upon its members, save only that of baptism, which is respected mainly owing to an unconscious traditional antipathy to the unbaptized;--the "Moor" or Moslem, of bygone days--and an almost complete indifference to the rites of marriage and death has sprung up as a consequence of inability to pay the fees demanded for their performance. In the towns perhaps few really care if their dead are buried without a prayer, but in the villages there still remains enough feeling about it to arouse an occasional growl of indignation when a coffin is borne through the streets attended only by the mourners, without the priest, the acolytes, and the censer-bearers, who lend distinction to the last journey of those who possess a few pesetas. As for the children, who are born and die like flies, the poor have become so accustomed to see the little coffins carried by on the shoulders of small elder brothers or school friends, led by the father or uncle of the dead child, that the piteous sight no longer calls forth a comment. It is often only one out of half a dozen of the same family who have gone the same way, and notwithstanding the heartbroken lamentations of the mother when the breath leaves the little body, every one knows she will soon be consoled. The lot of the poor is too hard for indulgence in sorrow, and it is not uncommon to hear a woman who is approaching childbirth say with the utmost unconcern, "We shall see what happens. Perhaps it will please God to allow the infant to be born dead." It is not heartlessness or want of love for her offspring, for Spanish parents of both sexes and of every class are very affectionate, and indulge their children to excess. It is simply that every extra mouth to feed means so much less to fill the stomachs of the rest, while the national custom of suckling the child for at least a year, and often for two renders the mother meanwhile weak and unfit for the washing, sewing, or charing which helps out the family resources. That a great effort should be made to baptize the new baby when it comes shows the strength of the feeling in regard to this religious duty, and would make the general indifference to the intervention of the Church in marriage and death doubly remarkable, were it not that the tradition connected with the first ceremony does not extend to the other two.

Among the upper classes more attention seems to be paid to the religious funeral ceremony than to the actual committal to the grave. When a death takes place in a family of social position, all the friends and relatives are invited to attend the funeral Mass, which takes place in the parish church of the defunct, and it is expected of the guests that they shall accompany the funeral procession on foot as far as the outskirts of the town or village, the cemetery generally being some little distance beyond. There, however, the party disperse; few attend the coffin to the grave itself, and very often it is shuffled into its last resting-place with what to English eyes seems indecent haste and carelessness.

The mental attitude of the people towards images is intricate and difficult to disentangle. Even persons who have had what ought to be a liberal education in many cases believe in the miraculous virtues of the images, scapulars, and medals of their particular devotion.

"If you would only wear this medal," a devout lady said to the writer, "I know you would be converted to the true faith, for it is very miraculous, and has converted many. But you would not wear it, so it is useless to give it to you."

The speaker was a woman of culture, artistic, and fairly well read for a Spanish lady, yet she was obviously sincere in her belief in the virtues of the little cast-lead medal washed over with silver.

An intelligent man of middle age, better educated than most of his class, said to me in reference to the affection of the Spanish peasants for their images of the Virgin.

"You would be shocked if you could hear what we say to the Virgin in our houses and when we see her in the streets. But it is not irreverence or disrespect, as you would consider it. It is that we feel towards her as one of the family and talk to her as we should to one of ourselves."

A bright, clever woman of the working classes, with a strong sense of humour, told me that she could only pray to a certain Christ. "All the others are only sticks to me. I can never pass our Lord of Pity without kneeling down, and I know by the look in his eyes if he is going to grant my prayer, but I cannot pray to any of the others."

"Then when you pray to that image of Our Lord, it really is the Christ to you?"

"No; the Christ is in heaven with His Mother, but I pray to our Lord of Pity, and he always answers me. No other is the same. When I pass Our Lord of the Miracles, for instance, in the Church of San Jos?, I have to say: 'Excuse me, Lord, but you are only a stick to me, and I cannot pray to you. I do not know why this should be so, Lord, but that is how I find it.'" All this was said quite gravely, and the prayer addressed to "Our Lord of Pity" was recited with sincere piety.

A good old widow of my acquaintance finds St. Anthony of Padua particularly sympathetic, and feels constrained to pray for the soul of her husband at 7 a.m. on All Souls' Day before one particular St. Anthony in one particular chapel at a quite inconvenient distance from her home. On any other occasion the first St. Anthony of Padua she comes across serves her purpose, and I once saw her stop short and break into a fervent prayer under her breath at the sight of an abominable penny chromo of the saint which suddenly attracted her attention in a shop window.

MORALITY AND CEREMONIAL

MORALITY AND CEREMONIAL

That it is a duty to speak the truth is a proposition practically unrecognised in Spain. This is chiefly, if not entirely, due to the influence of the Church, for, as a great historian says in reference to this question, "when credulity is inculcated as a virtue, falsehood will not long be stigmatised as a vice." I have heard the peasant's creed on this point put into a nutshell, thus:

"Very often it is necessary to lie, either for your own or for some one else's benefit. There is nothing wrong in that. But to tell an unnecessary lie is a sin."

This sophism, which I have translated word for word, seems altogether too subtle to be instinctive, and we trace in it some echo of the Church's teaching, instilled into the mind of the uneducated, who have come to adopt it as an axiom of common morality.

In certain matters there is extreme sensitiveness to any suspicion of dishonesty, but it is not clear that any conscious religious principle underlies this feeling. It seems rather an instinct of self-protection; for when we learn that it is a common practice for employers to examine their servants' boxes when they leave a situation, even although their good conduct has not been called into question, we see that the friendliest relations between master and man do not necessarily imply confidence in the honour of the latter. The result of assuming evil where there is none is to encourage its genesis. I have heard working-class Spaniards say bitterly: "The rich people believe that we are all thieves, so what is the use of being honest? Yet most of us are honest, even though we go hungry for being so." Stealing is considered by the poor as a sin, but I am inclined to think that the degree of sinfulness depends in the criminal's eyes upon the nature of the theft. Thus, while no respectable peasant will steal money or clothes, servants have no hesitation in appropriating sweets and wine, to which, indeed, they think they have a right, very possibly dating from the time when domesticated aliens were fed on the leavings of their masters' table. It would be difficult to convince them that to drink their employer's wine without permission is just as immoral as to steal his cash.

The instruction given by the Church on these points is hardly ambiguous, if one may judge by a parish leaflet in my possession. It contains the following questions of conscience resolved under the head of "Consultations."

"May a servant give to the poor the food which remains over, without asking permission of her master?"

"She may do so when her master does not make use of or dispose of it."

"And may she give it to her poor relations?"

Such moral teaching as this would quite account for the conduct of a pious cook once in my employ, who fed her entire family for some time at my expense. She, it is perhaps needless to say, did not "consult her master" on the point. She may have consulted her priest, for all I know, and if she did was probably told that it was a meritorious act to rob a heretic.

To turn to another branch of the subject, it will probably be news to many people that a "Bull of the Crusade" is still largely sold in Spain. This indulgence was first instituted in the days of the Moorish wars, to permit those who were fighting the infidel to keep up their strength by eating meat whenever they could get it. Few or none of the poor purchase this or any other indulgence nowadays, but it is still freely sold to people of means, and the day of its issue is kept as a minor feast day. It now costs the modest sum of pesetas 1.75, having been gradually reduced from pesetas 7.50, and is a source of income to the Government, producing, according to the Budget for 1909, 2,670,000 pesetas, or, say, ?106,800. Any one can obtain it, as no questions are asked as to the religion of the purchaser.

"But my sister got better and persuaded me to put it out of my head. Then she suddenly became very ill again; all one night she seemed to be dying, so I knew I must keep my promise to the Virgin, and after that I would not let any of them put it out of my head."

enemies deliver us Lord.

In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.

Amen. .

In the south people always take up a handful of water and cross themselves before bathing in the sea or in a river, some even before taking an ordinary bath at home. It will be remembered that the Moslem, when preparing for prayer, washes his nose, mouth, and ears, as well as his hands and feet, and possibly this elaborate mode of making the sign of the cross may be a survival of the Moslem ceremonial of purification, especially when combined with the water. One distinctly Islamic tradition is seen in the custom of touching anything unclean, if it has to be touched, with the left hand, the right being put behind the back. A woman of Andalusia when washing the dead for burial always begins operations with the left hand, just as the Moslem does, and will not use the right until it becomes necessary. Thus it is not impossible that the curious sign of the cross described, like the traditional reason for insistence on infant baptism, even when the other offices of the Church are viewed with indifference, may be connected more or less closely, as the peasants say, with Mohammedan practices.

"Blessed and washed be the most holy Sacrament of the Altar, pure and clean, of the always Virgin Mary, Our Lady, conceived without spot of original sin from the first instant of her most pure human nature. Amen."

No matter how great their aversion from the Confessional and indifference to the offices of the Church, the most careless never omit this invocation when they change their underclothes.

Another prayer, which is universal, reminds one of the--

"Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, Bless the bed that I lie on"

of our own peasantry in bygone days. It runs thus:

As will be observed, the Virgin here takes the place of Christ in the Trinity. I have inquired of a number of people how the verse goes, and find it does not vary. They say that evil would befall them if they failed to recite the lines every morning and night.

The Radicals, Republicans, and Socialists, who are all branded alike as atheists by the Ultramontanes, understand the people's faith better than their priests do. The cry of the Church is that the nation is indifferent to all things holy. But men like Melquiades Alvarez, the novelist Galdos, Sol y Ortega, and many other leaders of the Lefts, continually explain that the national quarrel is only with the priests and the Religious Orders, not with the Church as an institution, for they recognise and proclaim that religion is an essential part of Spanish national life.

There is, indeed, no room for doubt that the mass of the people love God, Christ, the Virgin, and the saints with a warmth and sincerity rare in these materialistic days. His God is a living God to the peasant of Spain, his Virgin a mother always prepared to protect him, her image and those of the saints the most beautiful things in the world to his unsophisticated eyes. This may seem to the enfranchised intellect a degrading superstition. But the fact remains that the religion of the working classes of Spain in the mass does what many a more advanced creed cannot do, for it carries conviction and comfort to its possessors.

THE CONFESSIONAL AND CHURCH ABUSES

THE CONFESSIONAL AND CHURCH ABUSES

Something must now be said about the way in which the people refer to the confessional, and this I will endeavour to do in their own words, premising that I offer no opinion as to the truth or falsehood of their stories, most of which have been told me by women. The abuse of the confessional is such a heinous sin that Catholics of other nations will not believe what is currently said as to its prevalence in Spain; they hold that such things are impossible, and it is to be hoped, for the sake of the Church, that prejudice distorts the popular view, and that what the working classes in town and country assert to be of frequent occurrence does not in fact take place. But whatever be the actual truth, it is impossible to doubt that the people are convinced that the confessional is habitually abused, and this conviction--which nothing can shake--constitutes a peril which must ultimately endanger the very existence of the Church in this country.

When first I was told, several years ago, that the secrets of the confessional were betrayed, as a matter of course, in the interests of the rich as against the poor, I flatly said that I did not believe it. The thing was unthinkable to one brought up in the belief that such secrets were inviolate. I was given actual instances of domestic servants sent to confession "so that the mistress might learn from the priest what the maid had been doing wrong." As my informant was a young foreigner, born and bred a Catholic, in the employment of a family of title, and with a somewhat limited knowledge of Spanish, I found it easier to assume that he had misunderstood what was said in his presence than to believe that he had accurately repeated his employer's words, although he declared that the above remark had been made in his hearing on several occasions. It should be said that he was in a house noted for its clerical leanings.

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