Washington Irving Hotel, Granada.—Modifies his previous remarks about the Spanish people. Describes a case of murder at Granada, and refers to the prevalence of violence in the province as a whole. It is expected that there will be a revolution soon. Gives a brief opinion of the Alhambra. Asks about Pollock’s work, and suggests he translate Spinoza.
(With an envelope.)
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Transcript
Washington Irving Hotel. Granada. Thursday Aug 3.
You are quite right, and one ought not to despair of the republic. These folk are kind and rather pleasant when one is en rapport with them and they have a deal of small talk. We found a jolly old couple one morning when we were coming back from a hot walk in the Vega of Almeria (vega = cultivated plain surrounding a town, which feeds it); we asked for some milk which they had not, but they gave us a rifresco of syrup and cold water, not at all bad, and the old woman showed Lucy all over her house while the man smoked a cigarette with me. Lucy’s passport is the baby’s portrait, with which she gains the hearts of all the women and most of the men. What made it more surprising was that they took us for Jews. Wilkinson, our consul at Malaga, who has been here with his wife and daughter (awfully nice people and cheered us up no end), says that the country people are better than those in the towns. But although we have been nearly a fortnight at Granada, only one murder has been even attempted, so far as I know, within 100 yards of the hotel. A had been making love to B’s wife, and so she was instructed to walk with him one evening under these lovely trees. She took occasion to borrow his swordstick and stuck him in the back with it while her husband fired at his head with a revolver. One ball grazed his temple, and another went in at his cheek and out of his mouth carrying away some teeth & lip. He came round to the spanish hotel opposite and was tied up on the doorstep; they dared not let him come in because the police are so troublesome about these affairs. The defence was that A was a republican and had been a Protestant; so you see B’s love of order was such that he did not think jealousy a sufficient justification. Wilkinson had just received a report of the last quarter of /75; in those three months there had been only a few more than 400 murder cases in the whole province of Granada. The hot weather seems to try them; a paragraph in the Malaga paper, headed Estadístics de Domingo 30, gives 15 cases of shooting and stabbing last Sunday in Malaga, but only 5 appear to have been fatal. This is not assassination, but is merely an accompaniment of their somewhat boisterous conviviality; they get drunk together and then draw their knives and go in for a hacking match. It is not even quarrelling in all cases; in Granada the other day three men shut themselves up and fought till they were all dead. They may, to be sure, have disliked each other mutually all round, but I am inclined to think it was a party of pleasure rather than of business. They do not attack strangers in this way (i.e. with knives and revolvers) unless, of course, there is a reason for it; but when anything offends their delicate sense of propriety one cannot expect them not to shew it a little. Thus they threw stones in Seville & Cordova at a lady who is now staying here, because she went into the street by herself, and they do not approve of that. I am afraid my Norfolk jacket hurts their feelings in some way, but they have been very forbearing, and have only stoned me once, and then did not hit me. Another time a shopkeeper set his dog at me, but although this was rather alarming with temp. 92° in the shade, it must have been meant as a joke, for Spanish dogs only bite cripples of their own species—except, indeed, the great mastiffs that are kept to bait bulls that won’t fight. Of course one is not so insular as to think there is only one way of giving a hearty welcome to the stranger; and the “’eave ’arf a brick at ’im” method is improved by variety. What generally happens is this; the grown people stop suddenly at the sight of you, and wheel round, staring with open mouths until you are out of sight; while the children, less weighted with the cares of this world, form a merry party and follow at your heels. When you go into a shop to buy anything, they crowd round the door so that it is rather difficult to get out. The beggars come inside and pull you by the arm while you are talking to the shopman. I have invented a mode of dealing with the crowd of children; it is to sit on a chair in the shop door and tickle their noses with the end of my cane. I fear that universal sense of personal dignity which is so characteristic of this country is in some way injured by my familiarity; the more so as it cannot be resented, for the other end of my cane is leaded, and I do not try it on in a macadamized street. Anyhow they go a little way off. In Malaga the people seemed more accustomed to the sight of strangers, and contented themselves with shouting abusive epithets. {1} It seems our dear Castelar will have another chance soon; everybody says that there will be a revolution before long, as the Queen will be at Santander before you get this, so that Alfonso may be shot before we are out of the country. If so, the Barcelona papers will be amusing. No doubt the whores of Seville are making ready to give a right royal welcome to the veteran head of their profession; the question is, will she get so far? If Castelar returns to power, I hope among other little reforms that he will prevent the post-office officials from stealing letters for the sake of the stamps on them; it is a great interruption to correspondence and must be a laborious way of earning money. One of them was caught in Malaga because a packet of letters which he had thrown into the sea was accidentally fished up; but he was shielded from punishment by the authorities.
We are very happy here, with a Swiss cook and an Italian land-lord; there are some English, Germans, and Italians staying over the way, and in a few minutes we can be among the memorials of a better time. I am too tired now to talk about the Alhambra, but it seems to me to want that touch of barbarism which hangs about all Gothic buildings. One thinks in a Cathedral that since somebody has chosen to make it, it is no doubt a very fine thing in its way; but that being a sane man one would not build anything like it for any reasonable purpose. But the Alhambra gives one the feeling that one would wish to build something very like it, mutatis mutandis, and the more like it the more reasonable the purpose was. Moreover I think it must be beautiful, if anything ever was; but then I have no taste.
Will Marcus Aurelius be out in September? {2} I wish you had been going to lecture for Domville on Spinoza. Why not make a new CCenary {3} English translation, and let me put in a short dissertation on modes and on modern ontology? I think MacM. would like it much, and philosophy is popular just now. Best love & kisses to Georgie & Alice. I am very glad you are going to Devonshire; my small sisters have become thorough connoisseuses of babies.
Thy
Willi
[Direction on envelope:] F. Pollock Esqr | 12 Bryanston Street | W. | London. | [In the top left-hand corner:] [Inglate]rra {4}
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The envelope was postmarked at Alhambra, Hotel Washington Irving, Granada; at Granada on 3 Aug. 1876; at Estafeta de Cambio, Madrid, on 7 Aug.; and at London, W., on 9 Aug.
{1} ‘But although we have been … epithets.’ This passage has been marked off in pencil.
{2} An article by Pollock entitled ‘Marcus Aurelius and the Stoic Philosophy’ was published in Mind in January 1879, but the connection between that article and the work mentioned here is unclear.
{3} i.e. bicentenary. Spinoza died in 1677.
{4} Parts of the envelope have been torn off, including part of this word and the stamp.
