Already frustrated, and now just outraged by this latest action, Barcelona’s Socialist, anarchist, and labor leaders announced a general strike in solidarity with the reservists. The city was already such a tinderbox of anger against the government that the strike quickly grew into an all-out revolt. In what became known as Barcelona’s Semana Trágica (Tragic Week), Republicans, communists, and anarchists joined in taking over the city, with crowds overturning trams and burning convents. Barcelonese soldiers refused orders to shoot at their fellow citizens; troops from all over Spain were summoned to crush the uprising. Over a hundred civilians were reportedly killed, and more than seventeen hundred were indicted in military courts for “armed rebellion.” Five were executed for “moral irresponsibility.”
In 1917, revolutionary labor strikes in Spain followed the overthrow of the czar in Russia. Again, the army saved the throne. The king managed to cling to power, but corruption and ineptitude grew, as did the military’s influence, weakening the monarchy. In 1929, the worldwide economic depression made the situation even more tenuous in the already desperate country, especially for landless rural workers. When the municipal elections of April 1931 turned decidedly anti-monarchical, the king realized the army had given up on him. He quickly left the country, heading for Rome. The Spanish Republic—with a government of, by, and for the people—was proclaimed in the streets of Madrid. “¡Viva la República!”
Formerly exiled and imprisoned Republican leaders came together in Madrid and named a new cabinet, including Socialists as ministers of justice and labor. A Catalan state and republic were created in Barcelona. In the following weeks, the cabinet decreed dozens of progressive acts, such as giving small farmers protection against mortgage foreclosures. In its first ten months, the Republic built seven thousand schools. The new government proclaimed full religious liberty. Although the majority of world governments recognized the Republic, the Vatican and the conservative Catholic administration in Chile did not, although they did retain a diplomatic presence there. In electing a new constitutional assembly, with suffrage extended to all those older than twenty-three, including women, a leftist coalition won a resounding majority of delegates. In honor of the French Revolution, the new assembly convened on Bastille Day, July 14, 1931. A fresh constitution ratified five months later declared Spain a “republic of workers of all categories.”
The idealistic, progressive spirit of the new Republic sparked an exuberant golden age within the circle of writers and intellectuals Neruda soon joined.
* * *
In May 1934, shortly after he arrived in Barcelona, Neruda visited Madrid, the heart of the social and cultural scene to which he was so drawn. Lorca and other poets met him at the train station. He came out of his car, tall, with his jacket pockets stuffed with newspapers, a perfect first impression on his new friends. They immediately went to a tavern, where they talked, read poetry, and drank vino tinto.
Carlos Morla Lynch, who met Neruda in person for the first time that day after an extended correspondence, would describe him as follows: “He’s pale, a pallor like Cinderella’s, with long, narrow eyes, like black crystal almonds, that laugh at every moment, but without happiness, passive. He has very black hair as well, badly combed, gray hands. What captivates me about him is his voice, his slow voice, monotonous, nostalgic, as if it were tired, but suggestive and full of enchantment.”
The next day, at a party in Neruda’s honor, Lorca danced wrapped in a carpet, and Neruda read from Residence, his first public recital in Spain. Among those present were Rafael Alberti and Luis Cernuda, two of the most well-respected and influential members of the Generation of ’27 and its social community, of which Neruda would soon become a central part.
Then, in the center of the room, Lorca followed. Lorca had “a truly extraordinary physical personality,” as Neruda would one day put it, and he read with power, his eyes delivering the emotional mystery of the lines as his dark and rustic accent took command of the room. By this point Lorca was, according to his peer Pedro Salinas, an “institution” in Madrid. He was “more than a person, he was a climate.” Luis Buñuel proclaimed, “Of all the human beings I’ve known, Federico was the finest. I don’t mean his plays or poetry; I mean him personally. He was his own masterpiece . . . He was like a flame.” The lines Lorca read that night were these:
When I die,
bury me with my guitar
beneath the sand.
When I die
among the orange trees
and spearmint.
When I die
bury me, if you wish,
in a weathervane.
When I die!
Neruda encountered, as he described it, “a brilliant fraternity of talents, in full knowledge of my work. And I, who had for so many years been tormented by people not understanding me, by the insults and the malicious indifference—drama of every authentic poet in our countries—I felt very happy.”
When Neruda assumed his post in Spain, Chile’s consul general, Tulio Maquieira, directed him: “You are a poet. Thus, dedicate yourself to being a poet. You don’t have to come to this consulate. Tell me no more than where I can mail you your check each month.”
This freedom easily allowed Neruda to transfer to the embassy in Madrid. Neruda and Maruca moved there on June 1, 1934. Lorca met them at the station, this time bearing flowers.
