abstract proposition,—it can never have
any practical value except for foreigners. I
cannot conceive of a Spaniard being anything but a
Catholic.” And so powerful was this impression
in the minds of the deputies that the article only
accords freedom of worship to foreigners in Spain,
and adds, hypothetically, that if any Spaniards should
profess any other religion than the Catholic, they
are entitled to the same liberty as foreigners.
The Inquisition has been dead half a century, but
you can see how its ghost still haunts the official
mind of Spain. It is touching to see how the
broken links of the chain of superstition still hang
about even those who imagine they are defying it.
As in their Christian burials, following unwittingly
the example of the hated Moors, they bear the corpse
with uncovered face to the grave, and follow it with
the funeral torch of the Romans, so the formula of
the Church clings even to the mummery of the atheists.
Not long ago in Madrid a man and woman who belonged
to some fantastic order which rejected religion and
law had a child born to them in the course of things,
and determined that it should begin life free from
the taint of superstition. It should not be christened,
it should be named, in the Name of Reason. But
they could not break loose from the idea of baptism.
They poured a bottle of water on the shivering nape
of the poor little neophyte, and its frail life went
out in its first wheezing week.
But in spite of all this a spirit of religious inquiry
is growing up in Spain, and the Church sees it and
cannot prevent it. It watches the liberal newspapers
and the Protestant prayer-meetings much as the old
giant in Bunyan’s dream glared at the passing
pilgrims, mumbling and muttering toothless curses.
It looks as if the dead sleep of uniformity of thought
were to be broken at last, and Spain were to enter
the healthful and vivifying atmosphere of controversy.
Symptoms of a similar change may be seen in the world
of politics. The Republican party is only a year
or two old, but what a vigorous and noisy infant it
is! With all its faults and errors, it seems to
have the promise of a sturdy and wholesome future.
It refuses to be bound by the memories of the past,
but keeps its eyes fixed on the brighter possibilities
to come. Its journals, undeterred by the sword
of Guzman or the honor of all the Caballeros,—the
men on horseback,—are advocating such sensible
measures as justice to the Antilles, and the sale
of outlying property, which costs more than it produces.
Emilio Castelar, casting behind him all the restraints
of tradition, announces as his idea of liberty “the
right of all citizens to obey nothing but the law.”
There is no sounder doctrine than this preached in
Manchester or Boston. If the Spanish people can
be brought to see that God is greater than the Church,
and that the law is above the king, the day of final
deliverance is at hand.
TAUROMACHY
Copyrights
Castilian Days from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
