Franco’s constitutional formula for unifying the nationalists was as brilliant in what it included as in what it left unresolved. The basis of his approach was to have a monarchy without a king. Alfonso was not acceptable to the majority of nationalists and he had little popular appeal: yet the arrangement satisfied the traditionalists without provoking the Falange or republicans like Queipo de Llano or Mola. It also avoided the kind of frustration Mussolini felt over King Vittorio Emanuele, which had resulted in serious tensions between royalists and fascists in the Italian armed services.
On 15 August, the Feast of the Assumption, a great ceremony was organized in Seville. The purpose was to pay homage to the old monarchist flag and adopt it as the banner of the ‘new reconquista’. The ceremony was also a part of Franco’s plan to assert his ascendency over potential rivals for the nationalist leadership. Queipo said that he would not attend, remarking that ‘if Franco wants to see me, he knows where I am’.5 Franco arrived with a large retinue, including General Millán Astray, the founder of the Foreign Legion. He was received by all the local dignitaries, headed by Cardinal Ilundaín, but not Queipo. They proceeded to the town hall on the Plaza de San Fernando. Queipo, who had decided to turn up at the last moment, made a long rambling speech which caused consternation among Franco’s entourage. The republican tricolour was lowered, then the monarchist flag of red-gold-red hoisted to the strains of the Royal March. Franco made a much briefer speech, in which he hailed ‘our flag, the authentic one, the one to which we have all sworn loyalty, and for which our forefathers died, a hundred times covered with glory’.6 He then embraced the flag, followed by Cardinal Ilundaín.
Seville had rapidly become the personal fief of Queipo and Franco was galled by his cavalier behaviour. Queipo’s portrait was everywhere. His face dominated the town and was reproduced even on vases, ashtrays and mirrors. Households where ‘reds’ had been killed were the first to be forced to display his photograph in their windows. Against this barrage of publicity Franco’s staff desperately sought to obtain exposure for their chief. Eventually they managed to arrange for his photograph to be projected on cinema screens to the tune of the Royal March. The audience gave the fascist salute during the five minutes that this lasted. Later on, public establishments in the nationalist zone were obliged to display his portrait. And whenever the Royal March was played on the radio all those who did not want their loyalty to be suspect rose to their feet and gave the fascist salute.
The publicity of other nationalist groups was just as strident. Posters appeared everywhere. The Carlist message proclaimed, ‘If you are a good Spaniard, and you love your country and her glorious traditions, enlist with the requetés.’ The Falange’s slogan was briefer and more threatening: ‘The Falange calls you. Now or never.’ More than 2,000 new Falange members were said to have enlisted in a 24-hour period in Seville alone. Queipo de Llano was both cynical and accurate when he referred to the blue shirt as a ‘life-jacket’. Many a left-winger or neutral who wanted to avoid the máquina de matar, the killing machine, rushed to enlist and often tried to prove himself more fascist than the fascists, a counterpart to the phenomenon in republican territory.
José Antonio’s pre-war fears were confirmed, when this influx of opportunists swamped the surviving camisas viejas, the ‘old shirts’. Nearly half of the pre-war veterans had died in the rising. Meanwhile, José Antonio was in Alicante jail guarded by militiamen, Onésimo Redondo had been killed and Ledesma Ramos was also in enemy hands. The Falange was thus in an uncomfortable position. Its membership was greatly swollen just at the time that its leaders were out of action.7 As a result the Falange operated in an unpredictable fashion. Some militia units went to the front, but the majority stayed in the rear areas to provide an improvised bureaucracy and an amateur political police. The Falangist patrols, supposedly checking suspicious characters, were blue-shirted and flamboyantly conspicuous as they forced passers-by to give the fascist salute and shout ‘Arriba España!’. Girl Falangists went into cafés to ask men why they were not in uniform. They then presented them with sets of doll’s clothing in a contemptuous manner while a backup squad of male comrades watched from the door. One German visitor reported to the Wilhelmstrasse: ‘One has the impression that the members of the Falangist militia themselves have no real aims and ideas; rather, they seem to be young people for whom mainly it is good sport to play with firearms and to round up communists and socialists.’8
José Antonio had been transferred to Alicante jail by the republican authorities early in July, just before the rising. He had been allowed such a lax prison regime that Count de Mayalde managed to pass him two pistols in the meeting room. Dramatic plans to rescue José Antonio never came to fruition, first on the day of the rising and then again the next day. A group of Falangists were discovered by assault guards and three of the rescue team were killed in the shoot-out.9 Further plans to release him were discussed in October on board the battleship Deutschland, but these were opposed both by Admiral Carls, the German squadron commander, and the German foreign ministry. Another failed project involved the German torpedo boat Iltis.10 One more attempt is said to have been thwarted by General Franco, who did not want such a charismatic rival at large.11
The proceedings to bring José Antonio and his brother Miguel to trial began on 3 October in front of the Popular Tribunal of Alicante. They were charged with conspiracy against the Republic and military rebellion. When the trial itself started on 16 November, José Antonio was allowed to defend himself, his brother and his sister-in-law, Margarita Larios. His legal training helped him put up an impressive performance. Knowing he was doomed, he did not stoop to ask for clemency. He was, however, successful in having his brother’s and sister-in-law’s sentences reduced, remarking that ‘life is not a firework to be let off at the end of a party’.
José Antonio was executed swiftly by the local authorities on 20 November, in case the cabinet of ministers, which was due to meet that morning, reduced the sentence to life imprisonment. The Falange had a great martyr as a result, but was left without any leader of stature–a situation which could hardly have displeased Franco. He suppressed all news of the execution for two years when the Republic was doomed. Franco, who was far too pragmatic to be jealous of a dead rival, did not mind allowing the cult of José Antonio to develop later.
Behind the military edifice of nationalist Spain, attention had to be given to economic matters. One of the main priorities for the rebel generals was to obtain hard currency from exports to pay for the war. In Andalucia Queipo de Llano proved himself to be a surprisingly competent commercial administrator, albeit one with a pistol in his hand. Smuggling, fraud and the export of capital became capital offences. The foreign exchange earners, such as sherry, olives and citrus fruit, were given the highest priority and he organized trade agreements with the Salazar regime in Lisbon. Exporters had to hand over all their receipts in pounds or dollars to the military authorities within three days.12 However, the granting of import licences, monopolies and commercial rights led to the corruption and profiteering which was to permeate nationalist Spain. Contributions to the movement were a good investment for those who were quick. At the same time charities mushroomed, occupying the time of clergy, beatas, war widows and other civilians with an ambitious eye to the future.
Meanwhile, the loudspeakers in the streets played music such as the violent Legion marching song ‘El Novio de la Muerte (the fiancé of death)’. And at the radio station every evening a bugler stood in front of the microphone to herald the daily bulletin from the Generalissimo’s headquarters. It was against this militaristic atmosphere that a remarkable act of moral courage was to take place, an incident highlighted by the emphasis on physical bravery in that war. On 12 October, the anniversary of Columbus’s discovery of America, a Festival of the Spanish Race was organized at the University of Salamanca. The audience consisted of prominent supporters of the nationalist movement, including a large detachment of the local Falang
e. Among the dignitaries on the stage sat Franco’s wife, the Bishop of Salamanca who had issued the pastoral letter, General Millán Astray, the founder of the Foreign Legion, and Miguel de Unamuno, the Basque philosopher who was the rector of the university. Unamuno had been exasperated by the Republic, so in the beginning he had supported the nationalist rising. But he could not ignore the slaughter in this city where the infamous Major Doval from the Asturian repression was in charge, nor the murder of his friends Casto Prieto, the mayor of Salamanca, Salvador Vila, the professor of Arabic and Hebrew at the University of Granada, and of García Lorca.
Soon after the ceremony began, Professor Francisco Maldonado launched a violent attack against Catalan and Basque nationalism, which he described as ‘the cancer of the nation’, which must be cured with the scalpel of fascism. At the back of the hall, somebody yelled the Legion battlecry of ‘¡Viva la muerte!’ (Long live death!). General Millán Astray, who looked the very spectre of war with only one arm and one eye, stood up to shout the same cry.13 Falangists chanted their ‘¡Vivas!’, arms raised in the fascist salute towards the portrait of General Franco hanging above where his wife sat.
The noise died as Unamuno stood up slowly. His quiet voice was an impressive contrast. ‘All of you await my words. You know me and are aware that I am unable to remain silent. At times to be silent is to lie. For silence can be interpreted as acquiescence. I want to comment on the speech, to give it that name, of Professor Maldonado. Let us waive the personal affront implied in the sudden outburst of vituperation against the Basques and Catalans. I was myself, of course, born in Bilbao. The bishop, whether he likes it or not, is a Catalan from Barcelona. Just now I heard a necrophilous and senseless cry: “Long live Death!” And I, who have spent my life shaping paradoxes, must tell you as an expert authority that this outlandish paradox is repellent to me. General Millán Astray is a cripple. Let it be said without any undertone. He is a war invalid. So was Cervantes.14
‘Unfortunately there are all too many cripples in Spain now. And soon there will be even more of them if God does not come to our aid. It pains me to think that General Millán Astray should dictate the pattern of mass psychology. A cripple who lacks the greatness of Cervantes is wont to seek ominous relief in causing mutilation around him. General Millán Astray would like to create Spain anew, a negative creation in his own image and likeness; for that reason he wishes to see Spain crippled as he unwittingly made clear.’
The general was unable to contain his almost inarticulate fury any longer. He could only scream ‘Muera la inteligencia! Viva la Muerte! (Death to the intelligentsia! Long live Death!)’. The Falangists took up his cry and army officers took out their pistols. Apparently, the general’s bodyguard even levelled his submachine-gun at Unamuno’s head, but this did not deter Unamuno from crying defiance.
‘This is the temple of the intellect and I am its high priest. It is you who profane its sacred precincts. You will win, because you have more than enough brute force. But you will not convince. For to persuade you would need what you lack: reason and right in your struggle. I consider it futile to exhort you to think of Spain.’
He paused and his arms fell to his sides. He finished in a quiet resigned tone: ‘I have done.’ It would seem that the presence of Franco’s wife saved him from being lynched on the spot, though when her husband was informed of what had happened he apparently wanted Unamuno to be shot. This course was not followed because of the philosopher’s international reputation and the reaction caused abroad by Lorca’s murder. But Unamuno died some ten weeks later, broken-hearted and cursed as a ‘red’ and a traitor by those he had thought were his friends.15
11
The Republican Zone
From the start, the rising of the generals had fragmented the country into a mass of localized civil wars. But this was not the main reason for the collapse of the republican state. The central government’s disastrous response to the crisis was one major factor: perhaps the inescapable paralysis of a centre-left government facing a right-wing revolt on one side and left-wing revolution on the other. Another was the disintegration of the mechanism of state, when so many of its functionaries, from the diplomatic corps to the police, to say nothing of the armed forces, supported the nationalists.
The CNT and the UGT, which had borne the brunt of the fighting, rapidly filled the vacuum, creating revolutionary organizations in republican territory. The only real exception was the Basque country. ‘There, the situation is not revolutionary,’ it was observed. ‘Private property is not questioned.’1 The membership of the two unions increased enormously, partly out of admiration for what they had done, but mostly for opportunistic reasons as they were now the power in the land. They soon had around two million members each, a striking total when the lost territories are taken into account. The POUM and above all the Communist Party were also to increase rapidly. The communists’ vast gains, increasing their strength to 250,000 members in eight months, came from the middle class attracted by the Party’s disciplined approach, from the ambitious and from right-wingers afraid of arrest, just as left-wingers joined the Falange to survive in the nationalist zone.2
In the early days of the rising Madrid had the air of a revolutionary city. Militiamen of the UGT and CNT could be seen in almost every street checking identities. Their usual dress consisted of dark blue monos (which were like boiler suits) and badges or coloured scarves to denote their political affiliation: black and red for the anarcho-syndicalists, red for the socialists and communists. The lack of opportunity, or the unwillingness, to shave on a regular basis made most of them look especially villainous to foreign observers. None went anywhere without a rifle. ‘Idle young men,’ wrote Azaña in his diary, ‘instead of fighting in the trenches, they show off their martial kit in the streets, rifle slung across the shoulder.’3
The government’s original refusal to issue arms had left a deep mark. Workers remembered that feeling of impotence when facing the military uprising, and this meant that a vast number of weapons was kept in rear areas during the early months. Also, nationalist ruses like those at Oviedo and San Sebastián meant that there was a reluctance to commit too many men to the front in case there were more unpleasant surprises behind the lines.
The socialist UGT was still the most powerful organization in Madrid, even though the CNT continued to gain rapidly at its expense. Girls wearing the red and blue of the Socialist Youth were everywhere collecting money for left-wing charities, encouraged by their new freedom to talk to whomever they wanted without being thought loose. Schoolchildren dressed as Young Pioneers (an attempt to imitate the Soviet original) might be seen walking along in crocodile chanting slogans in shrill voices like a monotonous multiplication table. Foreign journalists made much of the fact that middle-class jackets and collars and ties were hardly to be seen in the streets any more. However, this probably owed as much to the exceptionally hot weather and the new informality as to the persecution of those in bourgeois clothes.
Once most of the militia left for the various fronts, the revolutionary aspect of Madrid began to wane. There were still beggars on street corners and expensive shops and restaurants soon reopened. The war could almost have been overseas. Only the foreign journalists who crowded the cafés and hotel bars of the Gran Vía seemed to think that the capital was at the centre of events. Meanwhile, the economic situation was deteriorating hopelessly. Because of the shortage of coins and banknotes, the unions began to issue ‘coupons’, which were then taken over by municipal authorities obliged to find ways to help the civilian population survive when every day became more precarious.
The shock of civil war made Spanish workers both outward-looking in their hope for international support against fascism and inward-looking in the way they trusted only the local community. Every town and village had its revolutionary committee, which was supposed to represent the political balance in the community. It was responsible for organizing everything the government and local authorities
had done before. On the Pyrenean border, anarchist militiamen in their blue monos stood alongside smartly uniformed carabineros, checking passports. It was the committee of the border town, not an official of the central government, who decided whether a foreigner could enter the country.
The local committees organized all the basic services. They commandeered hotels, private houses and commercial premises for use as hospitals, schools, orphanages, militia billets and party headquarters. In Madrid the Palace Hotel, one of the largest in Europe, was used in the early days as a refuge for orphans and the Ritz as a military hospital. They established their own security forces to stop random and personally motivated killings disguised as anti-fascist operations. Justice became the responsibility of revolutionary tribunals, whose proceedings were an improvement on the sham trials of the early days. The accused were allowed to have legal assistance and to call witnesses, although standards varied widely and in some places justice remained a grotesque piece of play-acting. Once the initial fears of the first weeks had started to abate, the death penalty became much rarer.