The Legend of Ramón del Valle-Inclán

At a literary tertulia held at the Café de la Montaña in 1899, Valle-Inclán got into a brawl that led to the amputation of his left arm. The conversation started simply enough, but quickly deteriorated to a violent confrontation: who was to blame for yesterday's fistfight between a Portuguese artist and a young Andalusian aristocrat in one of downtown Madrid's ritziest neighborhoods, the Castellana? Legend has it that Valle-Inclán chose to pontificate the value of honor to his audience, while Manuel Bueno -who knew more about the Castellana incident- contradicted Valle's bold assertions. Valle then insulted Bueno, who lifted his cane in the air, while Valle grabbed a glass bottle the neck and launched at Bueno. To defend himself against his aggressor, Bueno delivered Valle a sharp blow with his cane, lodging the hooks from Valle's shirt sleeve deep into the flesh. After two days of treating the wound, Valle's left arm showed signs of gangrene and required amputation. Apparently, during the surgery, Valle distracted himself with a Cuban cigar while blowing plumes of smoke towards the ceiling of the operating room.

Another anecdote from the author's mythology is the unfortunate gunshot wound Valle suffered to his foot, in 1901. During a storm-beaten trip on horseback through la Mancha, Valle had difficulty managing his horse, spooked by the combination of torrential rain and intervals of thunder. In an instant Valle made a quick jerk, so as not to fall off his saddle, which accidentally set off his pistol, shooting himself in the foot. The Baroja brothers, accompanying Valle on the journey, took him to the nearest train station and sent the wounded and screaming Valle back to Madrid for medical attention.

To lesson the pain of his chronic ulcers, Valle maintained a strict diet -not to mention, a curious therapy- for long periods of time: water, milk, eggs and red-wine enemas. He ate little, was an avid hash smoker, experimented with cocaine and opium, and would later write about these halucinatory experiences in his literary works. His explosive personality and sarcastic sense of humor made for gruff encounters with journalists, which along with his signature lisp, cultivated the eccentric myth of a man that the Spanish press both lauded and despised. Here are some excerpts from the 1920s Spanish newspapers that contribute to the legend of Ramón del Valle-Inclán.

In 1927, Valle-Inclán stood trial for provoking an 'incident' in the Foltalba Theatre on the opening night of Son of the Devil, a play written by Valle's nemesis, Joaquín Montaner. As secretary of the Organizing Committee for the Universal Exhibition in Barcelona, Montaner chose not to invite Valle-Inclán to present his work at the festival, passing him up for several lesser-known playwrights. According to news reports, at the end of Montaner's play Valle repeatedly shouted «¡Muy mal!», as the police chief who happened to be in the audience attempted to usher him out. Valle-Inclán refused and was arrested, exclaiming his now infamous words, «¡Arreste a los que aplauden!» Arrest those who are applauding! Here are some excerpts published from the court proceedings.

The magistrate addresses Valle-Inclán and commands:
"Will the defendant please rise!"
Valle-Inclán, softly stroking his beard with his only hand, responds without moving:
"I'm fine as I am."
Murmurs break out among the crowd and the magistrate, ringing a bell, exclaims:
"Defendant. Stand up! That's an order!"
The defense lawyer intervenes:
"The defendant suffers from acute rheumatism."
"No! No!" Mr. Valle-Inclán interrupts, "No! Lies, no! I'm not a deceitful sissy! I don't have rheumatism. It's just that I don't want to stand up..."

When order is regained, the questioning begins.
"Defendant, do you swear to tell the truth?"
Valle-Inclán, face to face with the magistrate, yells:
"I don't make promises! It's either I testify, or I'll do nothing at all!"
"The law requires the defendant to swear..."
"I don't care! I can't swear on anything. I'm Catholic, and as much Apostolic, Roman, antidyanstic..."
The magistrate of the proceedings rings the bell again.
"Order! Order! That declaration is impertinent..."
"I'm Catholic, by St. James! And it's very pertinent for me to say that, during the war I was director of the Castillian division..."
"Order! Order!"

The interrogation continues.
"What is your name?"
"And yours?"
The audience breaks out into laughter, while the magistrate firmly pounds the table with his bell.
"Defendant!"
"You have to understand," says the smiling defendant, "It's less absurd that I ask you your name, than it is for you to ask me mine." Valle-Inclán gestures to the crowd in attendance.
"All these gentlemen know perfectly well who I am, and yet in your case I'm pretty sure..."
"Order! Order!"

"What's your profession?"
"Coronel General of the Armies."
"That title doesn't exist in the Spanish military!"
"Coronel General of the Armies of Countries in the hot zone..."
"And which countries are those?"
"It's going to be really difficult for me to explain to you. If you had some sense of geography..."
"Order, defendant!"

(Excerpts taken from the newspaper The Herald of Madrid, 28 December 1927.)

*****

"Up there in Galicia, the dead are treated with plain familiarity. Sometimes we even joke with the dead. Funerary processions would go through the streets almost daily, in and out of houses. Almost all the townspeople witness it at one time or another, and most have had conversations with the deceased... In this environment, even as a young child, I was a friend to the dead. I used to sneak out of the house and go to wakes at church, and to graveyard masoleums where bones are stored, to clarify a question that worried me quite a bit at that age: if skulls had hair or not... My greatest desire at the time was to see a corpse."

"As a boy, did you ever have a crush?"
"Yes. I used to fall in love with the ladies who appeared in the illustrated figures of Elegant Fashion and Current Fashion, around the 1870s. They were all blondes and wore bustles in the rear. Studying them, I would dream of the vast salons with polished floors, illuminated by magnificent lamps, where they would dance and play parlor games... The girls I've known would seem good or bad to me, according to their degree of similarity with the blonde women in those drawings."

(Excerpts from The Herald of Madrid, 13 March 1926.)