The pillars of Hercules

by David Urquhart

The mere habit of politeness is a possession greater than all a people has besides, and for the want of which there is no compensation; and that tone of voice, and those forms of address which in individuals are the sign of proper bringing up, are to a nation the source and stay of their good order and well-being. In Spain the term “politico” is still synonymous with polite. They have dignity, which we take for pride, and none of our so-called ease, which to them is vulgarity. Therefore did they beat France when all Europe was at her feet, and therefore will Spain live on when we shall have passed away—unless, indeed, we live long enough to teach them our civility.

Chateaubriand in 1805 anticipated the events of 1808. He said: “Spain, separated from other nations, presents yet to history an original character: the stagnation of manners may yet save her; and when the people of Europe are exhausted by corruption, she alone may re-appear with splendour on the scene of the world, because the foundation of manners is still undisturbed.”

Spain has been called a “fragment of Africa;” the Spaniards have been called “the Arabs of Europe.” They have proved alike inscrutable and indomitable to all who have attempted to study or subdue them; and so completely has that peninsula swayed in the events of our world, that you may calculate the ascent or the decline of great enterprises according to the estimation of her by its conductors. Marius, Pompey, Napoleon, failed through their misjudgment of Spain: by apprehending her, Cæsar won the diadem, Scipio saved his country, and Wellesley Europe.

Whenever Europeans have judged of Spain, they have been at fault; whenever they have acted upon her, they have failed; whenever they have administered nostrums to her, she has suffered. Madrid presents the features of European governments: Spain preserves the character of the Moorish people—the character that enabled them to expel the Moors, in after times the English, and more recently the French; and the capital is actually in arms against the spirit of the age. The familiar forms we see at Madrid, the glibness with which the diplomatist speaks of this thing and that, this party and that, paves the way to plans and schemes;—then intervenes the unknown element, the spirit of the Spanish people, and capsizes all the plots.

If Europe is the source of the evils of Spain, so is Spain the source of the dangers of Europe. As she cannot leave our follies alone until she be wise, so can we not leave her affairs alone till we be honest.

It requires little to secure the good will of a Spaniard: in fact, it is secured when he is not offended. A question addressed with deference will always meet a courteous answer, and a ready offer of service and assistance. If you ask a Spaniard your way, he will not be content with pointing it out to you: he will generally accompany you. If you exceed the strict bounds of civility, you lay him under an obligation; if you do less, you have done him a wrong, which as surely he will remember. A little kindness goes a great way; and the worst of injuries is mistrust.

An English merchant in this neighbourhood, having no money in his pocket, gave a handful of cigars to a beggar: the poorest Spaniard will be more gratified with a cigar than with money, as it is a compliment. Three years afterwards, this merchant was seized near his country-house by a band of robbers. While they were settling his ransom, they were joined by an absent comrade, who instantly dismounted and, approaching the Englishman, saluted him, and asked if he did not remember having given at such a place and time a handful of cigars to a beggar; then turning to his comrades he said, “This is my benefactor—whoever lays a hand on him lays it on me.”

On turning over the pages of a writer on Spain, I am reminded that the offer of the house is nothing more than an evidence of Spanish hollowness and insincerity. The offer of the house is a sign of civility, just as much as the words, “Your obedient humble servant,” and these words are just as much an evidence of our insincerity as the “offer of the house.”

It is the same thing with the offer of pot-luck. When first made, it is declined. But when the answer is, “No se meta usted in eso,” “Do not trouble yourself in that matter,” by which is implied that no engagement stands in the way, the offer is then again repeated and accepted. That there should be three questions put and answered, in reference to an invitation to dinner, will be construed into an evidence of a want of hospitality. Are we a people to judge of hospitality? A very hospitable person (in our way) I had once the misfortune to arouse to fierce indignation by selecting this term to show the perversion, in modern idioms, of classical terms, we applying the Latin word to a repast from which are excluded those to whom the Roman hospitality was offered—the poor and hungry.

Those who have travelled in the East will surely not say that the people of the East are inhospitable; yet the people of the East never invite you to dinner. In fact, hospitality is incompatible with invitations to dinner. Where every one is welcome, it is impossible that you should invite. You may invite a person for the sake of his company, and coming to you at the time of meals, he may eat with you; but he is not invited for the purpose of eating. The meal offered is, in fact, an obligation conferred, and must be felt as such by a person of delicacy, and will be accepted with the same measure as any other favour. Is not this the interpretation of the contempt of the Romans for the Parasites or the Dinner-hunters. In one of the Dialogues of Xenophon the difference is illustrated. Socrates being invited to supper, at first refuses, and only accepts after a due reluctance on his part, and as due a persistence on the part of Amphytria,—Xenophon taking care to point out that he had acted in this respect properly.