Selected Writings (Dario, Ruben) (55 page)

All this is applicable to the Nicaraguan woman, especially the woman of the people, for in the more well-to-do families it is not unusual to find a
señorita
educated in European cities who has acquired foreign airs and mannerisms; for example, among those who have been at religious schools, the
Sacre Coeur
calm, or among the young ladies educated in the United States, American gestures, manners a bit too Amazonian for a graceful race. For myself, let me say that after so many years of absence, visiting so many nations, I found in my female compatriots an enchantment that on the one hand seemed to me to possess an exotic charm, while on the other revived in me impressions almost lost in the mists of my early years. Accustomed to the bustle of great cities, to the widespread and well-known elegance of women in the populous metropolises, I felt myself sweetly enthralled and as though
captivated
by the figures of mystery that in that voluptuous setting I would see in drawing rooms, visible from the street—drawing rooms in which, at night, they rock lazily, tropically, in rush-bottomed rocking chairs, or on warm mornings at the doors of their houses, as is the custom, where one admires the gentility of so much pale and large-eared beauty, not far from the garden that wafts such flowery perfumes on intoxicating breezes that one is seized as though with anguish. The development of the human plant is prodigious in that clime. There are splendid girls, like roses or fruit. In the town of Léon, in the marketplace, for example, I have seen girls of twelve, thirteen, fourteen years already ripe for maternity in the most precocious of adolescence. And I remembered Maurice Donnay’s amusing
boutade:
⁸⁴
“...
et tu n’ignores pas que dans les pays chauds, on est plus vite arrivé à l’age de puberté que sous nos froids climats d’Europe; les républiques sudaméricaines ayant pour devise: Puberté, Egalité, Fraternité!
”
⁸⁵
And indeed one can find that type of adolescent
à l’orientale
that is described so whimsically in
The Arabian Nights,
translated by Dr. Mardrus.

It is not in the balls or receptions, which are more or less the same in every civilized country, that the ladies of that land exhibit their special poise and grace, but rather in certain country outings, and especially in the celebrations held on the shores of a lake or at the seaside. There, they most elegantly sing and dance the airs and songs of the country, or perhaps it is gay fandangos and songs of Spain, which have remained since the times of the colony. All that is quite patriarchal—quite primitive, if you like; but for me it is an irreplaceable delight. . . .

“Modernity” has not yet reached the home, and large families abound, for there is extraordinary fecundity and the people have not heard, nor do they wish to hear, of Malthus. Despite the victory of radical principles in politics, women, as in almost all countries, continue to maintain their religiosity and their practices of devotion. . . . For example, the Iglesia de San Juan de Dios, in Léon, owes a great deal to the munificence of the wife of one of the most meritorious of Nicaragua’s public men; I am referring to doña Soledad de Sánchez. Likewise, in the Cathedral, in altars and paintings, the name of a beloved aunt of mine, now deceased—doña Rita Darío de Alvarado—is prominent. . . .

In Nicaragua, courage, sacrifice, and abnegation are qualities that are admired greatly in a woman, and there are many proofs of that assertion in the many wars that have shaken the country, from the war of independence down to our own time, and in the times of Spanish dominion examples of bravery and feminine decisiveness were much admired and exclaimed upon. “Among the Spanish women,” says Ellis, “in past times, despite the Moorish customs of withdrawal and enclosure, valor and warlike qualities were common,” and H. D. Lea, in his
History of the Inquisition in Spain,
says that women “fought and defended their side in the factional intrigues with more ferocity than the men.” When Nicaragua was attacked by pirates—about which Oexmelin writes such curious things in his strange
History of Piracy
—there was one case of womanly valor that Gámez reports in the following way: “But at the same time the pirates were threatening the Realejo, four hundred French and English buccaneers were disembarking in Escalante, a southern port twenty leagues from Granada, which they immediately set upon. The Grenadines, upon hearing of the imminent arrival of the enemy, hurried to fortify themselves with fourteen large artillery pieces and six petraries.
⁸⁶
On April 7, 1685, at two in the afternoon, the enemy appeared, and after a brief exchange of fire took possession of the city. The next day they demanded a ransom for the town, and as it was not given them, they burned the convent of San Francisco and eighteen of the principal houses, sacked the populace, and retreated with a loss of thirteen men, passing through Masaya and other towns until they reached Masachapa. With the memory of this alarming event still fresh in people’s memory, on August 21, 1685, the buccaneers, under the command of the pirate Dampier, disembarked on an estuary next to the Realejo and, making their way along a river that runs down to the beach at Jaguei, they entered Léon, intending to surprise the town. But they could not prevent the townspeople and the authorities from rushing to the defense, although hurriedly and without much order. When the enemy appeared, the governor’s mother-in-law, doña Paula del Real, banged the drum, and for that reason her name was given to the estuary by which the English entered.”

If doña Paula del Real bangs drums, señorita Rafaela Herrera fires cannons—not against a certain young English mariner named Nelson, who was later at Trafalgar, for Nelson was in Nicaragua on another occasion, but rather at other enemies, though still English. . . . Nineteen years later, the Spanish government issued a royal decree granting Rafaela Herrera a pension for life as reward for her heroic defense of the Castillo de la Concepción in 1762. In just that way the Nicaraguan women of today, the women of the people, go off to campaigns—as sutlers,
⁸⁷
canteen-operators, or companions to the soldiers; and more than one has been seen manfully fighting with her rifle, like the bravest of the men. And in her house, that same woman is good, hard-working, quiet, and excellent for love—what the Nicaraguans call a
mengala,
which is their word for a working woman, those who wear not the
chapeau
of the affluent classes but rather the ancient shawl (which, like those of India, they decorate most beautifully) draped over their shoulders, which are as bare as a lady’s in a ballgown. Among these
mengalas
there are delicious examples that one would swear were the flowers of Andalucía complicated by the ancestral dream and voluptuousness of the native peoples.

And three girls in the Léon market, cloth-vendors, will remain in my memory as though I had seen them in an Arabian Nights
souk
in the times of the great caliph Haroun al-Raschid, before the imposition of the veil.

THE POSTER IN SPAIN (EXCERPTS)

When I wrote up my first impressions of Spain, upon my arrival in Barcelona, I mentioned that one of the particularities of that city was the luminous joy of its streets, which were decked out, as though with flowers, in springlike
affiches.
⁸⁸
However much Buenos Aires may still be nursing from a bottle in this respect, at least Spain has graduated to short pants. Léon Deschamps declares that this is the case with art in general and more especially with the decorative arts. The French gentleman exaggerates. Had he laid his eyes on a study recently published in the
Revue Encyclopédique
by Mélida he would have been convinced of the contrary. If in this general
anomie
there is one thing that sustains the ancient spirit of the glorious nation, it is art. Expositions—although the most recent one left something to be desired—follow fast on one another; they are nourished by the Fine Arts Circle in Madrid and the municipal government in Barcelona. The little illustrated magazines do what they can to develop the public’s taste. Architecture quests after amplitude and grace in new styles. The decorative arts attain a notable height in Catalonia. Theater design . . . is making great and visible strides. The old art of Spain has a nucleus of passionate devotees in the Sociedad de Excursionistas, and in the Atheneum, the chairs of Archaeology and History of Art are well filled. The problem, so to speak, as I have said before, is that support and protection by the wealthy classes is nil, nor does the government bother, as in times of illustrious memory, to grant its favors in the cultivation of Spanish talents. In the last exposition there was much talk when a lady of the aristocracy bought a painting by Sorolla. . . .

But let’s talk about the poster, the
affiche
. . .

For many years now, colorful posters have been used in Spain to announce the famous
ferias
in Seville and Valencia, the feast of the Virgen del Pilar in Zaragoza, and bullfights on feast days.

These posters are not, of course, the genre of the commercial posters of today. They seek above all to attract the passerby’s attention with the
criarde
⁸⁹
reproduction of picturesque provincial
types
or
majas
with big eyes and crimson lips, and bulls, and bullfighters. In the background the city’s cathedral often appears.

Recently, posters have been seen announcing art exhibits, Carnival, and a few plays. These in small numbers, although the habit is becoming established.

The bullfighting posters, like those for provincial festivals and, one might hazard, most of this new crop, employ the ear-splitting cry of colors, the fierce call of color, with its deceiving tyranny—this terrible potency of color which, as Barbey d’Aurevilly says, makes one believe in the truth of lies.

Deschamps is rightly surprised by this accentuation of crude coloration and pronounced golds. The lack of originality is notorious, but really, not just in Spain—in the rest of Europe as well. There are four, or perhaps six—let us say
ten
—original
affichistes.
The rest combine several techniques or frankly imitate this or that manner. In “modern” art, in literature, as in everything, an air of kinship, a family resemblance, one might say, can been seen in the production of many nations in many climes. Primitivism, English pre-Raphaelism, has infected the entire world. The decorative art of William Morris and his circle has been reflected in the decorative art of the world for several years now. And with respect to the poster, Aubrey Beardsley lives on in a phalanx of artists in England, the United States, and other countries. Even the Yankee Bradley, who has his own personality, would not deny the influence of that ill-starred, mysterious master. Dudley Hardy has also spread his suggestion to many of his contemporaries. And in France, the name Cheret can clearly be attached to works designed and signed by others, who have calqued his figures, been seduced by the mad flames of his colors. In our attempts in Buenos Aires, can one not see Mucha? Therefore, it should hardly be surprising that here, the art of the poster is an art of reflection.

Some time ago, a very well-known industrial concern—the manufacturer of the world renowned anisette “Mono”
⁹⁰
—held a competition to advertise its liqueur. One noted for the first time that in Spain there were a number of quite remarkable poster artists, more than one had suspected. “Three hundred monkeys going through three hundred thousand monkeyshines” suddenly appeared. But the best of the monkeys, the first-prize monkey, was that by the Catalonian Casas, who presented two posters, with their respective monkeys accompanied by two zoologically perfect Spanish ladies. In one, the simian, perched upon a tripod, is pouring on the Spanish beauty, wrapped in a luxurious mantilla, a glass of anisette; in the other, the Spanish beauty—a dazzling model, upon my word!—is holding a glass in her right hand and with her left is clutching the monkey. Casas is one of the best artists in Spain today; with Rusiñol, he is the wise and sensible pillar of a well-understood
modernismo
in the capital of his Catalonia. There are those who point out manners “borrowed” from foreign models, and Deschamps notes that one of his most recent productions,
Pel y Plom,
owes something to Ibels and Lautrec. Admitted—the fact is, Casas and Rusiñol, and the “new” artists of the young Catalan school, and the authors of the region, are all aware of what is being done around the world in contemporary art, and they follow in foreign thought what ought to be followed:
the
methods,
as Juan Agustín García has so wisely said. . . . After that, one may develop one’s own conception in one’s own surroundings and in the appropriate medium. I find nothing else than this in the works of art and literature of the admirable Sitges artist Casas.

Rusiñol has done posters worthy of note. . . . In all Rusiñol’s posters, his spirit shines through, as it does in all his paintings, in everything of his, in fact—(and if they are all different from one another, as M. Deschamps disapprovingly notes), each subject should have its own interpretation. . . .

Riquer is an enthusiast. . . . He knows modern art wonderfully well. His illustrations, his drawings have been done with admirable originality. In his posters there is the same inquisitive, happy talent. He is a skillful symphonist of color, though the colors may “detonate” too loudly in his gracious combinations. His
Chrysanthemums
are delicious in their clear Saxon origins; Bradley himself has few posters superior to this one. His little figure for Grau and Company’s cookies and cakes is an undeniable delight upon the harmonious decoration of the wrapping. Utrillo has been compared with Steilen. There is no doubt that the image for
Ferros d’art
and the figure for the
Anuario Riera,
for example, appear to be by the hand of the Parisian, but what about the exquisite poster for the Cardo waters? Utrillo is strong, he is vigorous, but when he is brushed by a soft breeze, grace is with him.