Sonneck Society for American Music
Bulletin, Volume XXIV, no. 3 (Fall 1998)
The Fiesta of Santiago in Loiza Aldea, Puerto Rico: A Caribbean Version of a 13th Century Spanish Pageant
Henrietta Yurchenco, Professor Emerita of the City College of New York
1492 was a fateful year for Spain and the Americas. Christopher Columbus's first journey to the
Americas, the defeat of the Moors at Granada, and the expulsion of Spanish Jews all took place that
year. For the first time in almost eight centuries, Spain was finally a Christian country united
under Catholic monarchs, Isabel and Fernando. For the Americas the Spanish Conquest was cataclysmic. Within
a gneration, the three great civilizations, Inca, Aztec and Maya, were reduced to rubble. But on their ruins a
new race was born, and a new European-centered culture took root from Central America to Patagonia. In
these lands, dancers, singers, drummers and flutists who once had entertained Indian nobility now played
European guitars, violins and harps, composed sixteenth-century polyphony, and danced the jota and
fandango. Spanish children's songs and ballads, the romances, spread even to remote
rural areas. Ancient rituals honoring pagan gods now paid tribute to new Christian saints, especially
the gentle and compassionate Virgin Mary. Only the most isolated and inaccessible tribes continued to
preserve their ancient music, dance, and ritual.
In the colonial Americas, as in Spain, each town honored its principal saints with festivals. Although
religious in purpose, these events were also holidays, the time to visit family and friends, to exhibit
wares, buy and sell produce in the marketplace. The pride of the village, however, was always its
dance group and brass or string musical ensemble without which no festival could be held. Of all the many
ritual dances performed in the Spanish colonies none is more ubiquitous than the Baile de la
Conquista or Baile de los Moros y Christanos. Because it proclaimed the power and authority of
Christianity, it was considered an important tool in the conversion of Indians to the New Doctrine. Proselytizing
priests taught it to the indigenous peoples of the Americas as entertainment, but the religious message
was clear and unambiguous. Although called "dances," these pageants were actually theatrical
events; the story was told with music, costumes, mime, dance, and dialogue. In time, it lost its
historical significance and became a symbolic struggle of Good against Evil. Centuries have gone
by since the European conquest; Indian America has weathered changes in government, social structure,
and technology, yet even today the Dance of the Conquest is still performed in many places.
Long before appearance of this dance in the New World, however, it was performed in the Spanish court to
celebrate its first victories over the Moroccan invaders. According to thirteenth century documents, it
was staged before the nobility as an elaborate pageant. Mock battles were fought with warriors on
both sides elegantly attired in silks and brocades, brandishing jeweled swords with much pomp and
circumstance. Later, the drama was presented in the marketplace where street actors and musicians performed
for ordinary citizens.
When I first traveled to Puerto Rico in the winter of 1967, I wondered in anything of its traditional
culture had survived seventy years of American occupation. I had recorded music in other Spanish-speaking
countries on both sides of the Atlantic and had found many other ancient traditions alive and well.
My first sight of San Juan was discouraging; a neon sign at the airport McDonald's read "2,000,000
hamburgers sold," the wares in Walgreen's drug stores were advertised in English, and the university book
store was crammed with books in English. American factories were everywhere, and the University of
Puerto Rico was even dubbed 'The American University in Puerto Rico."
Soon after arrival I was told about Loiza Aldea, a black town on Puerto Rico's North Shore. "Come back
for the Fiesta of Santiago" said Ricardo Alegrias, director of the Institute of Puerto Rican
Culture, "There is nothing like it in all Puerto Rico." I could hardly resist the invitation and returned in
July with several City College students and my son, Peter.
The heat was oppressively humid. We rented a car, headed down the main highway, and in an hour arrived at the
church in Loiza, where the festival was to begin. The churhc, redolent with the odor of incense, was
jammed with people. Natie Loizans, residing in the United States or elsewhere in Puerto Rico, often
return each year for the fiesta of their patron saint. The priest in satin and gold vestments was
saying Mass when we arrived. Soon a big statue of Santiago, the town's patron saint, was
hauled onto a wooden litter and carried outside on the shoulders of several burly men. Cries of joy
from the waiting crowd rent the air. Men, women and children, lined up behind the saint,
the men in costumes and masks, the women in cotton dresses and black lace mantillas, some
with curlers in their hair, and the children in varied comical attire. The procession moved to the
highway where not a tree or shelter provided shade from the blazing sun. With perspiration pouring
down their faces, the villagers careened joyously down the road, a daunting five-mile trip, dancing to
rhythms provided by a brass and a steel band mounted on open trucks. Adding to the tumult was the
sound of hundreds of cars honking their horns to the rhythm of the drums. As the parade ended on
the main street of Loiza Aldea everyone dispersed, some continuing to watch the horse races at the
seashore, others staying in town, exhausted from the heat and dancing. Soon the main drag was
transformed into a huge restaurant. Everywhere there were delicious things to eat and drink: ice-cold
beer, barbecued meat roasting over open pits, blue-crab pones, and meat-filled banana-pulp pasteles.
As we rested at an open-air restaurant, roving actors entertained us with tricks, songs, poetry, and
comic acts. Some were in Indian costumes (a reminder of the original inhabitants of the island). A
transvestite in wig and Spanish costume swept by snapping his fingers and stamping his feat in true
flamenco style; a man in a long skirt, he tee-shirt stuffed with pillows, stopped in front of us.
"Help me, help me," he cried, "I'm pregnant. How do I get to Bronx Hospital?" The locos, little
kids in stocking masks, did somersaults and recited verses for pennies.
What caught my attention, however, were two characters: the caballeros (Spanish knights) and the
vejigantes (the Moors). The Spanish knight was truly splendid; seated on a spirited small
horse, a pasofino, he was elaborately dressed in brilliant colored silk pants, a voluminous cape, and
an elaborately decorated hat, more like a courtier than a warrior. A chicken-wire mask painted white with
blue eyes and mustasche covered his dark-skinned face. But of all the motley characters on parade, none were
more compelling than the vejigantes; the stunning three-horned coconut-husk masks and brightly
colored bat-like costumes were totally original, sugesting, but not imitating, either African, Indian,
or European models.
All we had witnessed on that hot July day in 1967 --the Mass, the processions, the saint mounted on a litter,
the Spanish Knights and the vejigantes -- was no doubt Loiza Aldea's own version of the Baile
de la Conquista that I had seen in Indian America. Although dance, music, and costumes were different,
the story was the same. Proselytizing Spanish priests made no distinction between the indigenous peoples and
African slaves; all were potential Christian converts, and all could understand the message in the
Baile de la Conquista.
When night fell, the fiesta changed dramatically. Suddenly, the bypnotic sounds of drums reverberated
throughout the dimly lit coconut groves; a bomba was in process. The entire community -- the old,
the infirmed, mothers with babies in their arms, and children clinging to their elders -- gathered
in the clearing to form a semi-circle around the two drummers and a solo dancer who were to start the evening's
event. At a signal from the lead musician, the first drummer played a steady beat. Soon the second
drummer joined in with another rhythmic pattern. A yound dancer stepped into the ring, jumping, twisting his
body in gracefull arcs, his hips undulating in Afro-Caribbean style. Meanwhile, the singers sang over and over
the standard verses of the bomba until the dancer from sheer exhaustion left the ring.
Immediately, another dancer and other drummers replaced him. This display of Loiza's African heritage
continued until dawn, each person in turn showing off their skill
We remained until two in the morning recording the performance from the sidelines until weak from
exhaustion. We returned to nearby Rio Piedras for a night's sleep. The next night we returned to
the village and were greeted by the dancers. "Why did you leave?" they complained. "We danced all
night, and you left right in the middle!" I realized we had offended them, and like artists
everywhere, they had felt slighted. We promised to stay to the end.
Here are the words of a few traditional songs sung at bombas; it is evident that the subjects have
nothing to do with Santiago, referring instead to the pleasures and incidents in village life.
Nobody seems to known when they were composed, or under what circumstances. Everybody in town knows
them for they are an important bond, uniting the community.
Ron, non, pido yo, Rum I beg of you
anis, ais de corazon Anis, Anis de corazon (the brand name)
so no hay anis If there is no anis
que venga ron. Bring on rum.
Llegando al puente Arriving at the bridge
agua tire I threw in water
O, li, agua tire O, li, I threw in water.
By the time the week-long fiesta was over I had made friends with two families, the Ayalas and the Parrillas.
Sofia Parrilla was an espiritista (the Puerto Rican Afro-Christian cult) and lead singer of the family
musical ensemble; Castor Ayala was the town historian, a great story-teller, and the maker of the vejigante
masks. Both of them were mines of information about the Santiago legend and the origins of the fiesta.
"Mr. Ayala," I said, "according to the banners in town the Apostle St. James is the patron saint of
Loiza. Yet all the images in the procession were of Santiago de los Matamoros (St. James, the
Moor-killer). Wasn't that the saint who led the Spaniards ot victory against the Moors?"
"Ah, yes," he said, (and these are his exact words, for he spoke in English), "that's true, but we
worshiop Santiago as the Apostle, too." Then he told me his version of the final battle between Christians
and Muslims. "One evening there was a great battle between the Spaniards and Moors, and the
Spaniards wanted to win before sunset. So they make big masks with horns, like the ones in our
festivals, and costumes like a vampire bat, like a devil in colors. When the Moors saw those
devils jumping around, they get afraid and run away. In the confusion, the Spanish Army attack and
won the battle before sunset." Santiago de los Matamoros actually exists. The original
is preserved in the Spanish national shrine, the Cathedral at Santiago de Compostela in
the northwestern province of Galicia, and, like the copies in Loiza, it represents a Spanish
knight on horseback in full battle gear with the severed head of a Moor under the horse's feet.
According to Mr. Ayala, an old woman more than 150 years ago found the Santiago image on the trunk of
a tree. Three times it was removed to the church and three times it miraculously returned to the
tree. The village priest declared it a miracle and since then it has been revered by the village.
Later on, I repeated this story to the oldest member of the Perrilla family, "Oh no," said the peppery
Mai Bargas, shaking her head vigorously, "that isn't what happened. It was Abelardo, a
fisherman who found the statue in a copper, airtight box washed up on shore. In it there was a
letter that read, 'My name is St. James the Apostle(!), he who won the Spanish Wars. [Just thinking
about it gives me goose pimples!] Now, Christian people, I want a festival in my name to be celebrated,
with processions for three days.'" Mai Vargas continued, "The first statue was the little
Santiago (santiagito), then a rich man sent to Spain for a Santiago for men, and then a rich
woman had one made for the women. That's way," she concluded, "we have three statues." As evident from
these stories, folklore is not fixed in concrete; each person tells it in his/her own way.
"People wait the whole year for the festival," says Mr. Ayala. "They prepare their best suits, the
best foods, and new chairs and utensils for the house. Even the little kids are in the road to
see the masks and parade. And they dance, too. Yeah, we feel it in the blood! Many people wait to be
married, baptize their children during the fiesta because it is an occasion." His son who worked in
San Juan television still lives in Loiza Aldea: "I was born here," says Raul Ayala, "and I like
this town. When I build a house it will be here, but if progress kills off our tradition I won't
want to live here anymore."
The Spanish-born local priest sees the fiesta another way: "Loizans," he says, "are half-Christian,
half pagan. The Santiago festival is a carnival, not a religious celebration. It is an excuse for them to drink and
dance and have a good time. Of course, I say Mass the opening day of the fiesta. Many priests in
Puerto Rico close church doors during fiesta time, but I don't think that's right." He has a high
opinion of the people; nevertheless, because they are good-natured and without racial prejudice. Mr.
Ayala explains the lack of racial prejudice. He notes the Conquest of the Taino Indians by
the Spaniards. "Then came the blacks," says Ayala. "My second grandfather told me the Spaniards like
very much the black race and mix the race. Nobody here is pure black; there are many mixes: Spanish
race, Indian race, and black race. Nobody can say, 'I am pure.' And that's the reason there is no
racial problem. We live like brothers."
I haven't been to Puerto Rico in many years, but have heard rumors that the Santiago festival has become
an important tourist attraction. I don't know what changes have come about but, at least in New York,
Mr. Ayala's fascinating masks are worn in New York's Puerto Rican parade every year, now, I am told,
made by his son.
A final thought: Why did the Indians and African descendents in Puerto Rico identify with the Spaniards
instead of the Moors, like them, a defeated people? My srmise is because they had become devoted
Christians. Yet, a few decades ago a note discovered in the margins of a Mexican church Bible indicated
that the local Indians had murdered the priest who had taught them the play. Apparently, they had resented
being cast as a conquered people and acted accordingly.
Notes
All quotes are from my book Hablanos, Puerto Rican Speak (New York: Prager, 1971).
Musical selections: Folk Songs from Puerto Rico (Folkways Records, AHM 4412, 1971. Now
available from Smithsonian-Folkways, Smithsonian Institute, Washington, D.C.)
Henrietta Yurchenco, Professor Emerita of the City College of New York, is an ethnomusicologist whose
research in popular culture of the Spanish world for more than fifty years includes countries on both
sides of the Atlantic: Mexico and Guatemala, Spain, the Balearic Islands, Morocco, and Puerto Rico.
Author of numerous articles and several books, she also edited fourteen recordings of her field work
for Folkway-Smithsonian, Nonesuch, Library of Congress, and Rounder labels. She has been a recipient of grants
from the American Philosophical Society, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and the Faculty Fund
of The City University of New York. Her collections are housed in the Library of Congress.
Updated 1/04/99