~~~~~
This year on our visit to Madrid we found things very changed. it was appalling that so much could alter in a year. The Lefts were now in power!
The Rights, as usual, had done nothing with their opportunity. Gil-Robles had gone down a failure. A good man who had tried to temporize, to sit on both stools at once; inevitably he had fallen between the two, both parties now looked upon him with suspicion. So the Lefts were again in power, more Left than ever. Largo Caballero and Prieto had loomed like huge crouching monsters of destruction on the horizon. Azalia, who after all did stand for order, was now paradoxically the one hope of the Rights. A short year before he had been looked upon with antagonism and hatred! Ca! He was a Left Republican!
Francisco Largo Caballero (October 15, 1869 - March 23, 1946)
The streets were no longer filled with bright, stream-lined limousines; small Fords and second-hand cars had taken their place. Anxiety, fear and class hatred hung like a pestilence in the air. The proletariat glowered and waited. Confidence had gone. money had beat a hasty retreat to its underground refuge. The side-walks were no longer crowded; there were now no women in the smart Paris clothes. Everyone this year was economizing - whether one needed to or not.
No one was very interested in the cinemas or bars. It was no longer smart to go to the Bakanik, to dine at the Bar Club. If one dined out, it was at some small bistro or restaurant tipique, where one had the very excellent but modest plat du jour, at an even more modest sum. If one went out in the evenings it was to the "boite," a very chummy, democratic affair where no one dressed. The music was supplied by an American boy on the piano. The one subject of conversation, even here, was politics.
Being country cousins from Mallorca, we still enjoyed the cinemas. "The Tale of Two Cities" was playing at the capital and had crated some indignant interest. It was so unwise to show such a picture at such a time! Such obvious revolutionary propaganda! Those awful Spanish titles, just written to incite the people to more fury!
After the ciné one evening before going home, we thought of stopping at the Aquarium for a drink. When we arrived we found the civil Guard at the door. No, we could not go in; a bomb! Anything serious? No, nothing much. It appeared in Madrid there were two waiters' unions' The two unions did not agree. the waiters employed here were all from one union, the others had thrown the bomb in protest! No one paid much attention, these occurrences were common. The bar would doubtless reopen in a day or two.
Another evening we wandered to another place. This was also shut. Two men had just had a gun battle; they had disagreed on politics. We passed in front of the Club Militar. The day before women had thrown corn through the open windows. "Corn,' they said, "for old hens!" The Militar did nothing but cackle when the time had come for actions.
There were no social activities this year. Many of our friends were in the more amusing Paris or Biarritz; so with the family we usually dined quietly at home. During dinner, conversation was often interrupted by the now familiar sound of distant booms. Boom! Boom! Sometimes not so distant but quite frighteningly near. The house would vibrate. Quiet settled over the dining room table as the bombs were counted Three! Four! Five! When they ceased we would speculate as to where the booms had been thrown. The evening before the striking workers had blown up the sewer pipes. Any buildings in the process of construction were certain to be bombed. One really never knew what would happen next who or who net would disappear. On all sides the Falanges were being arrested and thrown into prison. The butler, who had friends everywhere it seemed, would have the news for our morning coffee. Nothing was ever to be found in the papers; everything of interest was strictly censored.
Politics, our one topic of vital interest, would be resumed. Had we heard? The son of the doorman had been arrested! He, of course, was a Falangista. So were all the young members of the family although they refrained from discussing it before their parents. This last news made them feel their honor had suffered a serious affront; how belittling that one of their servants should be the first in the household to go to prison for their cause! Most of the older members, through personal loyalty to Gil-Robles, still persisted outwardly in belonging to his Action Popular though their hopes and interest were obviously with young Primo de Rivera, the leader of the Falanges.
After dinner in the drawing room the conversation would be resumed. The women discussed with horror the burning of the Churches and the hideous atrocities inflicted on the nuns. What would become of the poor children cared for by Grandmama's charity? - the government was going to close the home. Would they be turned to the streets? Many of them had been brought into the world by the nuns, had been cared for by them while their mothers worked; many had known no other mothers. These same nuns who nursed the poor without reward, who cared for their children, were the ones who had just been attacked, beaten; one had had her face and teeth crushed in by the book of an infuriated communist mother. And the government allowed such things, apparently encouraged them. To what, they asked was this going to lead? the men in groups conversed n lower tones.
Such a state of affairs could not go on. Why must one wait? They were impatient to get going. (was it possible these were the same bored, indifferent men of the year before! Were they at last awakening to vital realities?) Were they to wait until they were all murdered in their beds, they asked? That very day stones had been thrown into one of the windows in the second floor. The windows in the womens' apartments of the floor below had to be kept closed to shut out the brutal threats of the U.H.P (Unios Hermanos Proletarios - United Proletarian Brothers!) Who paraded with linked arms in red shirts singing the international and shouting 'Viva Russia!'
This waiting was insupportable, people must think they were cowards. Looking at their parents and the women, they lowered their voices still more. Yes, they all had their guns - well-hidden. They only asked to be allowed to use them. But orders were orders, they must wait; it would be folly to start the first rashly before they were ready. Hundreds were joining their party daily, many even of the Lefts, disgusted and disillusioned by the atrocities. this government, by its persecutions of the Falange party, by unconstitutionally declaring it illegal, had proven unwittingly their greatest aid; their patron of propaganda. There is nothing a Spaniard loves like a martyred cause.
The men strangely disappeared at all hours of the day and night. There were mysterious whisperings and meetings. The youngsters were difficult to repress and keep in order. The organization of the party, to everyone's surprise, was going ahead with efficient strides. It was whispered the long-awaited moment was scheduled for September. They would be ready! There was an even more exhilarating whisper; the Militar were joining them! Calvo Sotelo, on whose shoulders rested their greatest hopes and expectations was to lead the new movement of joined forces. ¡Viva España! ¡Arriba España! The enthusiasm was contagious!
~~~~~
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Beginning signs of class hatred: Natacha has begun to describe the homecoming of reality to the 'Rights' of Madrid. She does not mention Alvaro's family specifically, but it is more than obvious to me that they are being referenced with each and every sentence of this portion of the essay. Natacha does not include herself in this group ... YET ... but she will. She is still under the illusion that she is somehow different and that the 'others' are much more disillusioned than she could ever be, but that will change.
She describes the men as being especially frustrated that they cannot use their weapons to go out and fight for their beliefs. I find the resentment of the imprisonment of the doorman's son to be extremely telling as to how petty and disconnected these people were at the time. They were actually 'peacocking' because they were not imprisoned rather than the boy, when in reality not a one of them could have survived imprisonment for long.
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Francisco Largo Caballero: This politician and trade unionist served as the Prime Minister of the Second Spanish Republic. He was one of the historic leaders of the Socialist Workers' Party (PSOE) and of the Workers' General Union ... as Natacha describes him, one of the 'Lefts.' He first came onto the political scene with moderate leftist beliefs, but that changed as the years went by and he saw the rich taking advantage of the poor landowners. He made it a goal to help the working men of Spain and his beliefs turned to the more radical left.
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tiptique: After figuring out that this was actually a French word Natacha had used when referring to a type of restaurant, I then translated it to Spanish (tipico) which then translates to 'typical' in English. So, I suppose she is just saying that they didn't have much choice of restaurants to eat out in (and I guess they didn't like to cook much?) so their choices were limited to 'typical restaurants.' Although it does sound like they ate at home much more during this time. Probably safer ...
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