“What did you expect?” they replied. “These are political matters in which we take no part beyond going where we are ordered. It seems to be the fashion to talk about the prevalence of anarchical ideas in our country, so presumably it suits some persons that the public should think our people are anarchists. But we see no symptoms of it. No doubt it is right for the authorities to take precautions if they believe there are fellows of that sort about. It is not our place to inquire why they believe in a condition of affairs which we know does not exist. The Civil Governor naturally does not ask for our opinion on matters connected with politics. If he did we could tell him that he need not be nervous, for anarchy is a disease which does not progress in our nation, at any rate in any part of the districts we have to travel over.”
Remarks of this tenour have been made to me by members of the force in many times and in many places. A couple of Civil Guards accompany every train, and detachments of them are stationed in every town and village, in addition to mounted men charged with the care of the rural districts. They are continually changed from place to place, to prevent any danger of becoming too friendly with those they are intended to control, and the result is that they have an exhaustive knowledge of the feeling of the people. A Government genuinely desirous of gauging the popular point of view at any crisis need only apply to the Benemerita for information. But so long as the Civil Governors who command the Civil Guard are appointed for party purposes and changed with every change in the Government, this means of contact between the Government and the governed will be neglected in the interests of party.
It must not be supposed that the Civil Guard talk in public about the duty with which they are entrusted. On the contrary, their non-committal attitude is always honourably maintained before their fellow-countrymen. But when I travel alone with them—for I frequently take a second-class ticket merely for the sake of their company—they are not unwilling to express an opinion on affairs in general, feeling secure that I, as an Englishman, can be trusted not to turn anything they may say to their disadvantage. Before Spaniards they are extremely reserved, but when the compartment is empty save for myself and them conversation runs easily.
I was struck by this one day when a hot-headed individual shouted his vehemently Radical views to a friend at the opposite end of the carriage. The second-class carriages in many parts of the country are only divided half-way up, so that it is not unusual to talk from one end to the other on country lines where simple manners prevail. The Radical knelt on his seat and his opponent stood up on his, and the passengers sitting between them chimed in at intervals. The Constitution was suspended at the time, and Señor Maura would certainly have had the whole company clapped into prison had he heard what was said. But the Civil Guards turned a deaf ear, affecting to be entirely absorbed in their cigarettes. Later on I took an opportunity of asking what they thought of the oratorical exhibition we had been favoured with.
“We think nothing at all, and that is just how much it is worth,” they said. “We know that gentleman very well, and he would no more commit an act of violence or an offence against the law than we would ourselves. But all Spaniards love talking, and if he could not relieve himself by that sort of gabble he might become a danger to the public peace. There are a fair number of his kidney scattered about the country, though they are chiefly to be found in the big northern cities. They revel in the nonsense spouted at Republican meetings and love to read out violent articles from the Pais and the Motin, but they are quite satisfied with talking. Very few indeed of them would fire a shot for what they call their principles. That is why we never take any notice of what they say before us in the trains or elsewhere. We know it means nothing and is an excellent safety-valve. If Maura had done as we always do—let them talk and take no notice—there would have been no riots in Barcelona. But Spaniards have hot tempers, and if you make them angry, trouble begins. What harm does their talk do to any one? You have only to reflect that they are pretty nearly all fathers of families, who know very well that any such revolution as they romance about would only make it ten times harder for them to earn a living for their children, and God knows it is hard enough already to live in our country. We have to eat beans and bread, and often don’t get enough even of that. Do you imagine that any working man wants civil war in the country to make his food dearer still? Ca! Let them talk! It amuses them and it makes no difference to the Government. Whichever party is in power the poor have the same difficulty in bringing up their families.”
The Civil Guards had to shut their ears to a good deal of conversation which the Ultramontane Government would have found it desirable to suppress, during the three months after the “Red Week” in Cataluña; for the attitude of the people towards the priests and Religious Orders, not only in the North of Spain, but all over the country, became daily more aggressive, and I have frequently admired the tact and good temper with which members of that force contrived to do their duty and yet avoid fanning the embers of discontent into a blaze of passion.
It has been sometimes remarked to me that it is the Civil Guard who really govern Spain, and that without them anarchy would shortly ensue. So far as the maintenance of public order is concerned, there is a good deal of truth in this remark. They go quietly about their business, never interfering with any one unless there is need, but if there is, their intervention is immediately and conclusively efficacious. They are at once feared and respected, and it is only in extreme cases that resistance to them is ever attempted.
POLITICS
