MADRID IN PEACE TIME

Manawatu Times, Volume 62, Issue 16, 20 January 1937, Page 16 (Supplement)

MADRID IN PEACE TIME

transformed in Five Years

With Madrid in their grip, General Franco 'a forces now hold the heart of Spain. One of the first acts of vandalism of the Civil War was the dynamiting by Government militiamen of a massive religious monument, on the Hill of the Angels, that marked the precise geographical centre of the country. It was not a great work of art, but neither was ita destruction a necessary measure of defence.

Madrid, the most arbitrarily placed of European capitals, is more than just tho capital of the country; its position in almost the exact centre of the Penin aula is more than a caprice. Although it lacks the history and tradition of other cities that have served at various times as capitals of Spain, in a land of difficult and tardy communications Madrid has a practical advantage over hei older rivals and and over distant Barce lona.

The little town that had been the Majerit of the Moors was chosen by I’hillip 11. to be the heart of his Empire, fche Mecca and the home of Spaniards, ftrho have a firm and inherent faith in •ymbol. Madrid is the symbol of the Castilian hegemony, the vital core ot d united Spain. Inevitably, the Spanish W&tionalists have longed for its capture W-oar, as their spokesmen at Burgos Frould cay, its release.

Those who know Madrid will pray ghat from a nightmare of murder she Inay awake and, before very long, recover her usual serene and friendly •mile of confidence. Madrid is not a |>eautiful city; a dozen Spanish towns ere finer; but nono is so typical ol Spain, or so pleasant a place in which to live. Denied by Nature almost every •uitable condition for a metropolis, set 2,310 feet above sea-level in a ' ' dusty, treeless waste” on the once sandy, now concrete banks of the insignificant ManZ&nares, Madrid usually makes an unfavourable first impression on the Stranger.

Little is left* of the "Old Madrid” which he expects to see; the handsome facades of two churches in the wide main street, the Calle Alcala, bordered by trees, may please his eye as he sits at one of the innumerable cafes on those broad pavements, but for the historic Plaza Mayor, Goya's delightful San Antonio, the baroque Hospicio gate and San Isidro he must diligently search outside the crowded compass oi the town's main thoroughfares. Even the restaurants appear to be deliberately hidden from the passer-by.

The famous Puerta del Sol, truly a Circus in everything but shape, is as unprepossessing as Piccadilly; perhaps that will explain its claim on the affections of the madrilenos, who are blessed, in common with the inhabitants of all great capitals, with a caustic, cheerful, salutary wit, akin to Cockney Iromour.

The many admirable buildings in the style of Charles 111., pallid in the strong sunshine, are easily overlooked beside their towering exotic neighbours, the existence of which in a Spanish city on a wide and empty plateau seems a sign of merest vanity. Yet to the royal architect who reformed a capital which was the dirtiest in Europe at the time and “like a child, objected to being scrubbed,” as he remarked, we owe an essential part of the city's odd and wistful charm.

It is true, however, that the noisy central streets, the clustering tramcars, yellow as bananas, the fantastic archiectural stalagmites of a city that, in five short years, sprang full-grown into modern life produce on first acquaintance a bewilderment that only later, with familiarity, gives place to something not unlike devotion.

Mr Hemingway has best described this fondness of the true Hispanophile for Madrid, “capital of all the Spains” it has that essence, he says, which,

4 ' when it is the essence, can be in a plain glass bottle” with no need for fancy labels; “nor in Madrid do you need any national costumes: no matter what sort of building they put up, though the building itself may look like Buenos Aires, when you see it against that sky you know it is Madrid.” In the cities men have built up all that is left of the variety of Nature are the changing light and the colouring of the leaves.

Every country possesses its own indefinable quality of light; the crisp, luminous, empty air of Madrid is unique, because the sky of Castile is infinitely high, farther than any sky above our reach. Kemote and clear on those cold days when that little wind blows from the Guadarramas which

“cannot put out a candle but will extinguish a human life,” it is a tender and exquisite sky in spring, and in autumn filled with the deep nostalgia of Castile.

As we write tnere is happiness at least in the reflection that, whatever damage and misery may have been visited on Madrid, the ineffable serenity of that sky will remain unchanging, above a changed and, let us hope, less turbulent Spain.

Not long ago, custom tailors, unknown to their customers, used to sew a piece of white thread in a concealed place in each new suit as an indication that the buyer had not yet paid for it. Thus they warned one another when to be chary with credit. When the bill was paid, however, they borrowed the suit for a moment on some slight pretext, and removed the telltale thread.—ln Freling Foster’s column in “Collier’s”.