Читать книгу The Magic of Spain - Aubrey F. G. Bell - Страница 6

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“And indeed,” wrote Pepys, “we do all naturally love the Spanish and hate the French,” and if, since his day, we have learned to love the French, the character of the Spanish has not ceased to attract and interest Englishmen. Yet any attempt to generalize concerning Spanish character would seem a vain and foolish task, since Spain is the country of Europe which has most stringently preserved its local differences of race and language, and it is still true, as in Ford’s time, that “the rude agricultural Gallician, the industrious manufacturing artisan of Barcelona, the gay and voluptuous Andalucian, the sly vindictive Valencian are as essentially different from each other as so many distinct characters at the same masquerade,” and the Basque[13] and andaluz, for instance, are as far apart as Frenchman and Spaniard. It is possible to take the various ingredients, Castilian pride,[14] Catalan thrift,[15] Andalusian imagination, Gallegan dullness,[16] the grimness of Navarre, the stubbornness of Aragon,[17] Valencian or Murcian cunning, and, tying them into a convenient bundle, to speak of the Spanish as proud, thrifty, etc., or, in a more pessimistic key, as haughty, avaricious, untruthful, stolid, cruel, obstinate, malicious. But, though such a judgment is notoriously false, a few qualities may perhaps be attributed to the whole of Spain as in some measure common to her various peoples. Foremost among these qualities are independence and personal dignity. The Spaniards are a nation of individualists, each a law unto himself, and they are thus as a nation frequently misunderstood and their pride has not suffered them to correct errors concerning them, while at the same time it would perhaps be difficult to find in any other nation so great a number of individuals whom one may admire and respect. The dramatist Don Jacinto Benavente has said[18] that in Spain “each of us would like to be the only great man in a nation of fools, the only honest man in a tribe of knaves,” and speaks of “our unbridled individualism.” No one is a more thorough individualist than Don Pío Baroja, and the principal character of his novel, César ó Nada, declares that the Spanish, “as individualists require, more than a democratic, federal organization, an iron military discipline.” “Democracy, Republicanism, Socialism have in reality little root in our country.... Moreover we admit no superiorities and do not willingly accept king or president, priest or prophet.” It is this refractoriness which has made the Spanish so hard a people to govern, and wrought permanent mischief to their prosperity as a nation. They would seem to have still to learn the true dignity of loyalty and service. Every Spaniard, of however humble a position, considers that he is well qualified to criticize the measures of his rulers, and still more the fancied measures that he chooses to attribute to them. Thus in a Republic every citizen would believe himself to be capable of conducting the affairs of the nation better than the President, as Sancho was convinced that he could govern his island as well or better than any; nevertheless Spaniards are inclined to acquiesce in a firm unquestioned authority with a kind of heroical submission, accepting its decisions as they accept the inevitable decrees of fate, and for this reason an old-established system of government, such as the Monarchy, is infinitely the best suited to the Spanish temperament. No doubt they would prefer to have no system of government, if that were possible, being restive and tumultuous under restraint. On one occasion a Spanish chauffeur while driving his mistress considered that he had been insulted by a passer in the street and, leaving mistress and motor, proceeded to punish the offender till the police interfered.[19] And if the Spanish find it difficult to work harmoniously under the orders of others, it is no easier for them to maintain a joint authority; they can never co-operate for long, their political parties and commercial unions rapidly fall asunder like the seeds of a pomegranate. Similarly one may see at a glance of any Spanish crowd that it is not a fused mass but a collection of units remaining aloof and separate; if the individual gains, the State suffers, and Spanish politics sometimes have an air of cramping angularities and crude ambitions. But this individualism and independence has its nobler and more pleasant side, for even in extreme poverty and distress, dignity and an accompanying courtesy, honesty, and sobriety,[20] rarely desert the Spaniard. Each is king in his own house, be it miserable attic or merely the space of sun that his shadow covers; mientras en mi casa me estoy rey me soy. The following dialogue bears intrinsic evidence of its nationality, it could not belong to any country but Spain: “Is your worship a thief?”—“Yes, to serve God and all good people.”[21] Thus personal dignity and individual pride may be said to be the dominant notes of Spain. So the beggars in the street address one another as Sir, señor, lord, and if you cannot give them an alms for the good of your soul you must at least give excuses—perdone Vd. por Dios. While we admire this independence we cannot help seeing that it is a false dignity, which prefers to starve, like one of the characters in Pérez Galdós’ Fortunata y Jacinta, because “mi dinidá y sinificancia no me permiten—my dignity and importance do not allow me,” to accept employment. The fair outward show given to garret poverty is pathetic, but it is liable to deceive and to create distrust. Mme. d’Aulnoy remarked that the Spanish “bear up under this Indigency with such an air of gravity as would cheat one.”

In Love’s Labour’s Lost Don Adriano de Armado says to Moth that he is “ill at reckoning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster,” but to Moth’s observation, “You are a gentleman and a gamester, Sir,” he answers well-pleased, “I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete man” (todo un hombre). The Spanish have ever shown themselves to be ill at reckoning, they are careless of details and have indeed an Oriental incuriousness of facts and figures; in no country is it more difficult to obtain accurate returns or consecutive statistics. Against all drudgery the Spanish temperament rebels[22]; they act by impulse, in disconnected moments without persistency; their concentration is of instants,[23] without consequence; and it has been observed that “Spain has developed her life and art by means of spiritual convulsions.” What is said in one of Pérez Galdós’ novels[24] of Narváez might with truth be applied to many Spaniards: “He has a great heart and a great intelligence, but they manifest themselves only by fits and starts, by impulses, por arranques.” There is plenty of intelligence among Spaniards but little continuity of judgment; no perseverance. They are enthusiastic for a project and, their thoughts outrunning action, they see the matter begun, in progress, finished, so that their very keenness prevents accomplishment, and finally nothing is done. Don Quixote, we remember, thought little of the winning of a kingdom and cutting off a giant’s head: “all that I consider already done, que todo esto doy ya for hecho.” Or sometimes their intelligence mars their labour and, not content with doing a simple thing simply, they spoil it by being a little too clever, or decide a matter too readily by a swift judgment that may happen to be false. The Spanish are a people of immense and abiding energy,[25] but their energy is often dormant or misdirected. Two Spaniards in the twentieth century have been seen to converse with so fierce an intensity that it seemed over and over again in the course of a protracted and loud discussion that they must come from words to blows; and the matter in dispute, conducted with a heat that would have exhausted less energetic natures, was whether it was right or wrong to expel the Moriscos from Spain at the beginning of the seventeenth century. Yet it is not certain that the Spanish can be called unpractical; they are often idle, indifferent, aloof from the events of daily life, but when a matter truly interests them, they would seem to be sufficiently shrewd and practical. King James I. of Aragon aimed an accusation at the Castilians which has often been applied to all Spaniards: “You do nothing without extravagance.[26]” But a fundamental ingredient of Spanish character is realism and clear vision; it is their birthright of transparent subtle air and unclouded skies. They are keen to detect all falseness and hypocrisy, and display a shrewd insight into character; but their study has been ever of persons rather than of books and things,[27] so that they may act extravagantly themselves even while they are the first to see another’s extravagance, keenly practical, it may be said, in the affairs of others, strangely abstract and improvident in their own. Their realism, if it drives them by reaction into a barren love of words and visions of impossible ideals, expresses itself in a directness which is very characteristic of all classes of Spaniards, in the pregnant brevity of countless proverbs, in concentrated intensity at a given moment, in humour and satire and a strong love of ridicule. Their proverbs show a thriftiness and practical good sense very different from the prudence that enriches, but equally far removed from the romantic view of Spaniards sometimes held by foreigners. In noble lines Calderón has said of life that it is “a shadow, a fantasy, and the greatest good is of small worth, since all life is a dream and dreams themselves a dream”:—