THE POLICE
The visitor to Spain is frequently struck with the number of persons
whom he meets on all sides clad in various uniforms and armed, some with
cutlasses alone, others with revolvers in addition. If he asks who they
are, he is told that they are the police, and then he is perplexed to
find such a large number of distinct bodies, all apparently performing
much the same duties. A few words of explanation as to the various
police-forces of the country and their different functions may not be
out of place.
In the first place, every town has its body of municipal police, under
the orders of the Alcalde. Their chief duty is to regulate the traffic,
to maintain order in the streets, and to report to the Town Council any
infraction of the municipal by-laws, and to another body of police
anything or any person whom they may regard as suspicious or a possible
danger to the public security. They do not themselves, as a rule,
arrest malefactors, though no doubt they are empowered to do so on
emergency.
These policemen are well-intentioned, but on the whole ineffective, not
from any fault of their own so much as from the conditions of their
appointment and tenure of place. In Spain anything can be done by
influence, and it is practically impossible to enforce the by-laws
against a person in high place who chooses to break them. Not long ago I
was at an exhibition, which a very great number of people had gone to
see on that particular day. The municipal police were doing their best
to make the crowd “pass along,” but at one point there was a block,
caused by one or two well-dressed men who refused to move. I asked the
policeman why he did not make them, and he replied that one of them was
So-and-so (a person of local importance) and that if he said anything to
him he would find himself dismissed the next day![20] In a certain town
not long ago a body of police inspectors was established, whose duty it
was to supervise the municipal police and report derelictions of duty,
and as far as I could learn they were doing useful work. After about
three months they all disappeared. On inquiry I was told that the
reason of their suppression was that one of them had reported the
carriage of some duke or marquis for obstructing the traffic, and that
the indignant nobleman had insisted on and obtained the abolition of the
force.
The municipal police go off duty about 8 p.m., and are replaced by the
_serenos_ or night-watchmen, who patrol the streets all night carrying a
pike and a lantern, and in some towns still cry the hours. Hence their
name, from their not unmusical cry, “_Las doce han dado y sereno_”
(“twelve o’clock”--or whatever the hour is--“and a fine night.”)
Alongside of the municipal police is what is known as the _Vigilancia_.
It is they who have to deal with criminals of all sorts within their own
districts, arrest pickpockets and other offenders, investigate thefts,
murders, &c., and catch the guilty. To them the hotels report the
arrival and departure of guests, and it is their business to find any
persons who are wanted on extradition warrants. In short, they perform
most of the ordinary police duties except those assigned to the
municipal police.
There is also a body of rural police, whose duty it is to patrol the
country districts; they are few in number and not particularly
effective. It is not often that one runs across any of them, even in
their own districts.
The most important and by far the finest body of men in Spain is the
Civil Guard, popularly known as the _Benemerita_ (well-deserving). This
force is one which, both in physique and morale, would do credit to any
country in the world. They are under very strict discipline, and are
prevented as far as possible from associating with any one outside of
their own body--for instance, with the ordinary police-forces. Even the
officers are under stricter regulations than those of the regular Army.
I was told of one case where a junior officer, after due warning, was
broke for gambling. The force is officered from the regular Army, and so
highly is the service esteemed that an officer who obtains a commission
in the Civil Guard _ipso facto_ loses a step. Very great care is
exercised both in their selection and in recruiting the rank and file.
They are something in the nature of a military police, and may be
generally compared to the Irish Constabulary; they do not perform
ordinary police duties, but in case of anything serious, such as a riot,
they would act, and they are expected to hunt down and catch malefactors
who are escaping from justice--which, indeed, they usually succeed in
doing. They practically have power of life and death, as if, in the
execution of their duty, they think it necessary to shoot, no questions
are asked. They always go about in couples, a young man accompanying an
older one, sometimes on foot, generally on horseback. They are the
terror of evildoers, and some years ago entirely stamped out the
brigandage which was then rife in the South of Spain, by the simple
expedient of shooting down the brigands wherever they caught them. But I
have never heard it suggested that they abuse their powers, and every
one, foreigners as well as Spaniards, speaks well of them. Moreover--and
this is rare in Spain--they are said, I believe with truth, to be
incorruptible, and everybody has the utmost confidence in them.
I have already referred to this force being called on to protect the
nervous nuns and the ostensibly non-militant clergy during the
anticlericalist demonstrations in November, 1909. It may be interesting
to show how they regarded the political situation at that time,
premising that as they are in daily contact with the people, no body in
the kingdom has its finger more closely pressed on the public pulse.
“You seem to have had your work for nothing,” I remarked to a couple of
my friends at their barracks on the evening after one of the
demonstrations. “I never saw a more orderly crowd.”
“What did you expect?” they replied. “These are political matters in
which we take no part beyond going where we are ordered. It seems to be
the fashion to talk about the prevalence of anarchical ideas in our
country, so presumably it suits some persons that the public should
think our people are anarchists. But _we_ see no symptoms of it. No
doubt it is right for the authorities to take precautions if they
believe there are fellows of that sort about. It is not our place to
inquire why they believe in a condition of affairs which we know does
not exist. The Civil Governor naturally does not ask for our opinion on
matters connected with politics. If he did we could tell him that he
need not be nervous, for anarchy is a disease which does not progress in
our nation, at any rate in any part of the districts _we_ have to travel
over.”
Remarks of this tenour have been made to me by members of the force in
many times and in many places. A couple of Civil Guards accompany every
train, and detachments of them are stationed in every town and village,
in addition to mounted men charged with the care of the rural districts.
They are continually changed from place to place, to prevent any danger
of becoming too friendly with those they are intended to control, and
the result is that they have an exhaustive knowledge of the feeling of
the people. A Government genuinely desirous of gauging the popular point
of view at any crisis need only apply to the _Benemerita_ for
information. But so long as the Civil Governors who command the Civil
Guard are appointed for party purposes and changed with every change in
the Government, this means of contact between the Government and the
governed will be neglected in the interests of party.
It must not be supposed that the Civil Guard talk in public about the
duty with which they are entrusted. On the contrary, their non-committal
attitude is always honourably maintained before their fellow-countrymen.
But when I travel alone with them--for I frequently take a second-class
ticket merely for the sake of their company--they are not unwilling to
express an opinion on affairs in general, feeling secure that I, as an
Englishman, can be trusted not to turn anything they may say to their
disadvantage. Before Spaniards they are extremely reserved, but when the
compartment is empty save for myself and them conversation runs easily.
I was struck by this one day when a hot-headed individual shouted his
vehemently Radical views to a friend at the opposite end of the
carriage. The second-class carriages in many parts of the country are
only divided half-way up, so that it is not unusual to talk from one end
to the other on country lines where simple manners prevail. The Radical
knelt on his seat and his opponent stood up on his, and the passengers
sitting between them chimed in at intervals. The Constitution was
suspended at the time, and Señor Maura would certainly have had the
whole company clapped into prison had he heard what was said. But the
Civil Guards turned a deaf ear, affecting to be entirely absorbed in
their cigarettes. Later on I took an opportunity of asking what they
thought of the oratorical exhibition we had been favoured with.
“We think nothing at all, and that is just how much it is worth,” they
said. “We know that gentleman very well, and he would no more commit an
act of violence or an offence against the law than we would ourselves.
But all Spaniards love talking, and if he could not relieve himself by
that sort of gabble he might become a danger to the public peace. There
are a fair number of his kidney scattered about the country, though they
are chiefly to be found in the big northern cities. They revel in the
nonsense spouted at Republican meetings and love to read out violent
articles from the _Pais_ and the _Motin_, but they are quite satisfied
with talking. Very few indeed of them would fire a shot for what they
call their principles. That is why we never take any notice of what they
say before us in the trains or elsewhere. We know it means nothing and
is an excellent safety-valve. If Maura had done as we always do--let
them talk and take no notice--there would have been no riots in
Barcelona. But Spaniards have hot tempers, and if you make them angry,
trouble begins. What harm does their talk do to any one? You have only
to reflect that they are pretty nearly all fathers of families, who know
very well that any such revolution as they romance about would only make
it ten times harder for them to earn a living for their children, and
God knows it is hard enough already to live in our country. We have to
eat beans and bread, and often don’t get enough even of that. Do you
imagine that any working man wants civil war in the country to make his
food dearer still? _Ca!_ Let them talk! It amuses them and it makes no
difference to the Government. Whichever party is in power the poor have
the same difficulty in bringing up their families.”
The Civil Guards had to shut their ears to a good deal of conversation
which the Ultramontane Government would have found it desirable to
suppress, during the three months after the “Red Week” in Cataluña; for
the attitude of the people towards the priests and Religious Orders, not
only in the North of Spain, but all over the country, became daily more
aggressive, and I have frequently admired the tact and good temper with
which members of that force contrived to do their duty and yet avoid
fanning the embers of discontent into a blaze of passion.
It has been sometimes remarked to me that it is the Civil Guard who
really govern Spain, and that without them anarchy would shortly ensue.
So far as the maintenance of public order is concerned, there is a good
deal of truth in this remark. They go quietly about their business,
never interfering with any one unless there is need, but if there is,
their intervention is immediately and conclusively efficacious. They are
at once feared and respected, and it is only in extreme cases that
resistance to them is ever attempted.
POLITICS
[Illustration: DON SEGISMUNDO MORET.
Leader of the Liberal-Monarchists.
[To face page 227.]