Some of these are so absurd as to call for pity rather than exasperation on the part of outsiders. For example, the conviction of even educated Spaniards with regard to the recent war with the United States is that the latter won because they sent out every man they had; while Spain was too indifferent to the petty issues involved to go to the expense of mustering troops! Half the nation has no idea what those issues were, nor of the outcome of the various battles fought over them; indeed, so distorted were the accounts of the newspapers and the governmental reports that Admiral Cervera was welcomed home to Spain with as much enthusiasm, if not as much ceremony, as was Admiral Dewey to America!
The few insignificant changes in the map, resulting from that war, the Spaniard tells you seriously, came from foul play on the part of “los Yankees.” That the stubborn ignorance and meagre resources of his own countrymen had anything to do with it he would scout with utter scorn. And this, not from a real and intense spirit of patriotism, but because he is forever looking back over his shoulder at the glories of the past; until they are actually in his mind the facts of the present.
There is little intelligent patriotism throughout Spain, the local partisan spirit of old feudalism taking its place. Thus Castilians look down on Andalucians; Andalucians show a bland pity for Aragonese; Catalonians hate and are hated by every other tribe in the country; while the Basques coolly continue to this day to declare that they are not Spaniards, but a race unto themselves.
The extraordinary oath with which they accept each king, on his accession, is luminous: “We who are as good as you, and who are more powerful than you, elect you king, that you may protect our rights and liberties.” It scarcely expresses a loyalty with which to cement provinces into a united kingdom! But it must be remembered that the monarchs of the past have made a scare-crow of loyalty, with their draining wars for personal aggrandizement, and the terrible persecutions of their religious bigotry. The people themselves are far from being to blame for their lack of patriotism, or the mediæval superstition which with them takes the place of intelligent faith.
Catholics of other countries are revolted by what they see in their churches in Spain. The shrine of one famous Virgin is hung with wax models of arms and legs, purchased by devotees praying relief from suffering in these members. Childless women have added to the collection small wax dolls; also braids of their own hair, sacrificed to hang in the gruesome row beside the altar. Looking at these things, hearing the fantastic stories told (and firmly believed) about them, one can with difficulty realize that one is in a Christian country of the twentieth century.
On the other hand, there is a respect shown religion, and the mysteries of life and death, which is impressive in this callous age of materialism. Spanish women invariably cross themselves when passing a church—whether on foot or in a tram or carriage; and every man, grandee or peasant, uncovers while a funeral procession goes by. I have noticed this especially on days of the big bull-fights, when the trams are packed to the doors; not a man, whatever his excitement over the approaching corrida, or his momentary interest in his neighbour, omits the instinctive gesture of respect when a hearse passes.
Which, alas, it does very often in Madrid; pathetically often, bearing the small casket of a child. It is said that a Spaniard, once grown to maturity, lives forever; but the mothers consider themselves fortunate if they save only half of their many children to manhood or womanhood. This is so literally true that one woman who had had sixteen said to me quite triumphantly, “and eight are alive! And my sister, who had fourteen, now has seven.”
One has not to search far for the cause of this terrible mortality. In the first place, it is a case of inbreeding; no new blood having come into the country since the Jews and Moors left it. In the second, the simplest laws of personal or public hygiene are unheard-of. Even among the lower middle class, for a mother to nurse her child is a disgrace not to be endured; and the peasant women to whom this duty is entrusted are appallingly ignorant, and often of filthy personal habits. From its birth, a baby is given everything it cries for—or is supposed to cry for; including cheese, pieces of meat with rice, oranges, fried potatoes, and sweetmeats of every description.
This applies not only to the poorer classes but to people of supposed education and enlightenment. When the child is two or three years old, it comes to the table with the family; though the hours of Spanish meals are injudicious even for grown persons. The early cup of chocolate is had generally about ten or eleven; luncheon is at half after one, dinner between half after eight and nine. When this is over, the parents take the children to walk in the streets, or to the stifling air and lurid entertainment of the cinema. They all go to bed about midnight, or later; and the parents cannot understand why, under such a régime, the children should have the nerves and waxen whiteness of little old men and women. Until I went to Spain, I had always considered the French child the most ill-treated in the world; but I now look upon his upbringing as positively model, compared with the ignorance and hygienic outrage visited upon the poor little español.
Yet no people love their children more passionately, or sacrifice for them more heroically, than do the Spaniards. It is simply that in the laws of health, as in everything, their conception is that of by-gone centuries. In railway carriages, trams, restaurants and cafés they sit through the hottest months of summer with every door and window tight shut. More than once on the train, I have been obliged to stand in the corridor all day, because my five carriage-companions insisted on sealing themselves for ten hours or more within an airless compartment eight feet square. Even in their own carriages on the Castellana, the Madrileños drive up and down in the months of July and August with the windows entirely closed.