If the year 1931 held for me the sorrow of my mother's death, I think of it also as a year of birth. It was in the spring of that year that the Spanish Repulbic was born.
A few days after the establishment of the new governmnet, I conducted my orchestra at a ceremony celebrating the proclamation of the Republic. The concert took place in the great palace of Montjuich in Barcelona, and seven thousand people were present. We performed Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. At the end of the concert, the President of the newly formed Catalan government, Francesc Macia, declared the Republic had come into being on the wings of the Hymn to Brotherhook-that noble chorale with which the Ninth concludes.
I was then fifty-three years old. I had conducted Beethoven's Ninth many times. But that spring night the glorious words of the Finale had a symbolic significance for me that they had never had before.-
O friends, friends, no more of those sad tones!
Instead, let us all raise our voices
In a joyful song!...
Praise to Joy, daughter of Elysium,
Born of God!
Goddess, merging love and laughter,
To thy shrine we come!
By this magic is united
What the harsh past held apart.
All mankind are sworn brothers
Where the gentle wings abide!
For me, at that moment, there was a true joining of man and music. For me that moment symbolized what the people of my country had dreamed of throughout long years of struggle and suffering-the coming into being of a government dedicated to the highest aspirations of man, to freedom and happiness and universal fraternity. That moment was a triumph for the people of all Spain-for the people of all nations. Alas, who then foresaw that this triumph would end in terrible tragedy?
The first years of the Spanish Repulblic-the years up until the outbreak of the Civil War-were among the most meaningful years of my life. I am not a politician. I have never belonged to any political party. I see much that is ugly in politics. But an artist with a conscience cannot separate himself form certain political issues. Chief among those issues are justice and freedom. And it was the Republican government that brought justice and freedom to Spain.
From childhood I was taught by my parents to venerate the ideals of the Republic, and since youth I had known that my place was with the people. What man who loves humanity can feel ootherwise? The great majority of the people of Spain wnated a true democracy-this was shown at the elections when the people voted overwhelmingly for the Republican government. For too long they had endured hunger and illiteracy; they had chafed for generations under the arrogance and corruption of the army, the aristocracy, and other such institutions. They wanted justice and a decent way of life. Like most artists and intellectuals in Spain, I was with them in these aspirations. Then, too, as a Catalan, I felt a special gratitude to the Republic for granting Catalonia the autonomy that my compatriots and I had longed for over the years. Yes, for me the birth of the Spanish Republic represented a culmination of my dearest dreams.
At the time of its founding, there were those who said the Republic was a Communist regime. This of course was nonsense. It was a myth cultivated, and perhaps even believed, by that minority who opposed the Republic's popular reforms-by the sort of people who are always opposed to democracy. It was propaganda spread by the fascists-by Franco and by Hitler and Mussolini, who later used it as an excuse for intervening in Spain. Some well-meaning persons, I know, were fooled by this propaganda-people can sometimes be made to believe very foolish things. Actually, most of the reforms the Republic brfought to Spain had existed for decades in other European countries. You might say the Republic represented a New Deal for Spain, corresponding perhaps in some ways to Roosevelt's New Deal in the United States. For grandees obsessed with the idea of keeping their feudal privileges and power, all of this no doubt seemed revolutionary in the extreme. But the fact was that when the Spanish Republic government and the Generalitat of Catalonia were formed, there was not a single Communist in either government.
The government leaders during the days of the Republic were no ordinary politicians. They were in fact extraordinary personalities, men of the best quality and highest culture-scholars, scientists, university professors, poets-men of social conscience and lofty ideals. I do not believe that there had ever been before any government made up of such a group of savants and humanists. I think of men like Manuel Azana, and Dr. Juan Negrin, two of the prime ministers of the Republic. A gentle and brilliant man of letters, Azana was a fine essayist, a novelist, and Spain's foremost translator of Voltaire and other foreign authors; Dr. Negrin was a world-renowned physiologist, a professor at the University of Madrid-his erudition was legendary. I think of Fernando de los Rios, the Minister of Education, a philosopher and linguist; the journalist and author Alvarez del los Rios, who became Foreign Minister; and the noted Catalan historian, Nicolau d'Olwer, who was another Cabinet member. These eminent men-and other government leaders like them-were so dedicated that during periods of special repression and martial law under the monarchy, some of them had served prison terms-and even faced death sentences!-rather than abandon their ideals.
The government leader for whom I had perhaps the greatest respect and admiration was the first Catalan President, Francesc Macia. He was a true patriot, a man of great courage and dignity, who was imbued with the history and noble traditions of Catalonia. He had quit a military career-he had been a lieutenant colonel in the Spanish army-in order to devote his life to the cause of Catalan independence. Some said he was quixotic, but he never gave up. He was hounded and persecuted by the police, imprisoned for his political activities, and forced to live for years in exile. The Catalan people adored him, and in towns and villages throughout Catalonia he was called el avi-"the grandfather"-he was more than a father to the people, he was their grandfather! I had never voted in any election in Spain before 1931; I did not care for the sort of candidates who ran for office under the monarchy. But when I heard Macia speak, I said to myself, This is the man for me; and the first political vote I cast in my life was for him. He was a handsome man with large mustaches, and though he was seventy or so when we first met, he still carried himself like a soldier. I had occasion to see him often while he was President-we had wonderful conversations. And how courteous he was to me! He would never pass through a doorway before me. When he died in the winter of 1933, the whole nation grieved.
One of my dearest friends in the Catalan government was the poet Ventura Gassol. For some years he had been an intimate colleague of Macia-though he was young enough to be Macia's son. He became Minister of Culture in the Generalitat. Gassol was a small, highly sensitive and passionately patriotic man, who always wore a long bow tie. His company was a pure delight. By profession he was a teacher, and he had a wonderful way with children. He had great musical understanding. His taste in music was perfect-it was instinctive with him.
One incident tells much about Gassol. Between Vendrell and Barcelona there is a stretch of road which rises steeply over quite a distance. Whenever I traveled along it, I used to think of the time when there had been no cars or trucks to carry vegetables, fruits and other supplies to Barcelona, and all of this transportation had been done with carts drawn by horses and mules. I would picture in my mind those poor beasts struggling up that grade, with their drivers shouting at them and beating them, and I would think of their weariness and pain and with what effort they had performed their task. At the top there was a sort of cafe where the drivers had stopped for something to eat and to water their horses. One day I described that scene to Gassol. "What would you think," I said, "of erecting a monument there to those animals who brought such riches to the city of Barcelona and who suffered so much to do it?" Gassol-being the poet he was and visualizing the whole thing-exclaimed, "What a thought! What a wonderful idea! We will do it." There was no hesitation in him at all. He decided, just like that, and immediately gave orders for plans to be drawn up for the monument. Unfortunately it was never built. The Civil War put an end to that project, as to so many plans and hopes....
Under the leadership of men like Macia, Gassol, Azana and the others, a veritable culture renaissance took place in Spain. it was inspiring to see-yes, and more inspiring to be part of it! When I was offered political posts, I said no, that it was against my principles to hold any political office. But I then was asked to become president of the Junta de Musica-the Council of Music, a division of the Cultural Council of Catalonia. I readily agreed. We used to meet once a week for three hours at the Generalitat, and almost always Gassol attended our meetings. The purpose of our work was to plan and organize all manner of cultural endeavors in Catalonia.
Since boyhood I had cherished the arts, and through the Count de Morphy I had come to understand the true meaning of education-now I saw art and education made available to all the people, not just to the well-to-do but to the poor people in the cities and peasants in the villages alike. The idea I had fought to achieve through my own orchestra and through the Workingmen's Concert Association-the idea of bringing music to the common people-was now put into practice in all phases of culture from one end of the country to the other. The rate of school construction was ten times as rapid as it had been under the monarchy. During the first years of the Republic, almost ten thousand new schools were built! And many of them in the rural areas, where illiteracy was widespread. In the schools of Catalonia it had been forbidden under the monarchy to teach the Catalan language; only Castilian was taught. What is more shameful than denying a child the right to learn his native tongue and destroying his pride in the culture of his own people? All of that was changed under the Republic. Children were now taught Catalan in the schools. They learned Castilian too but first Catalan. They were also taught the history of their land, with its great scholars and heroes, and the richness of their cultural heritage. The Catalan flag now flew in Catalonia, alongside the flag of the Republic.
One phase of the Republic's vast program of education was especially exciting to me. It was supervised by the Institucion Libre de Ensenanza-Free Institution of Education. This organization had been originally founded in the late 1800's by a group of college professors-led by the great art critic, Manuel Cossio-who had been expelled from their teaching posts for refusing to take an oath of loyalty to "Crown, Church and Dynasty. "The organization's hope was to bring learning to the backward, isolated villages of Spain. Under the Republic, college professors and students began carrying out this program on a major scale, taking classics of the theater into the most remote regions, and helping the villagers build schools and libraries, with books that they themselves supplied.
In those remarkablel days artists and teachers-all those who brought culture to the people-were treated with special consideration by the government authorities. I myself was shown the utmost solicitude. During my lifetime I have been awarded honors by different governments, and they have shown much thoughtfulness to me-in fact, I have often felt I did not deserve the recognition I received. But never, at any time, have I been treated with such tenderness and love, with such embracing concern, as by the Catalan Generalitat and the Spanish Republican government. There was nothing they would not do for me and my music; they did not overlook the smallest detail in facilitating my work. This was true not only of government officials but also of municipal authorities, trade unions, university faculties. I was showered with honors-to the point where I was embarrassed and said, "Please don't do these things. There has been too much." On some cities, streets were named after me-like the beautiful, leafy Avingunda Pau Casals in Barcelona; there were public celebrations and civic tributes to me in many towns. I was declared an adopted son of the city of Barcelona and made an honorary citizen of Madrid. I remember especially the concert I gave on that occasion in Madrid. The ovation afterwards was overwhelming; it seemed the audience would never leave-they applauded and applauded. Then, gradually, they left in small groups-and the last to remain applauding, sitting in his box until the very end, was the prime minister, Mauuel Azana!
I recount these honors not because of vanity but because of what they indicate of the Republic's attitude toward culture. I was profoundly moved by them at the time because I knew they were a minifestation of the people's love-and for me this is the highest honor of all.
Under the monarchy I had been treated with great affection by the royal family. But I cannot say this warmth of feeling was always reflected in the conduct of government officials. On my concert tours in those days, for example, no representative of the Spanish monarchy-ambassador or consul-ever met me at the station when I arrived in some foreign city for a performance. But when I went abroad during the days of the Republic, if I visited a city with a Spanish embassy or consulate, I would invariably find the ambassador or consul waiting for me at the station, and he would put a car at my disposal and do everything possible to be of help to me during my stay. I do not mean I was treated like some visiting dignitary. Just the contrary. I was made to feel like a member of the family.
Actually, I was so busy with affairs in Catalonia that I was less inclined than in the past to travel abroad, but there was one trip I was especially glad to make. That was to Scotland in the autumn of 1934. It was on that trip that I met Albert Schweitzer for the first time. We had been invited to receive honorary doctorates at the University of Edinburgh. My old friend, Sir Donald Francis Tovey, was then professor of music at the university; he had also invited me to conduct the Reid Symphony Orchestra in Edinburgh in the first performance of a cello concerto he had composed and dedicated to me-he himself had founded and was conductor of that splendid orchestra. Besides being probably the greatest musicologist of our time-I have never known anyone with his knowledge of music-Tovey was a wonderful composer. He was also a superlative pianist, in some ways the best I have ever heard. The fact is I regard Tovey as one of the greatest musicians of all time.
I had looked forward eagerly to meeting Schweitzer. Not only was I familiar with his writings on Bach, but I had of course an intense admiration for him as a man.On that occasion in Edinburgh there were a number of public and private concerts, and Schweitzer became very excited over my playing of Bach. He urged me to stay on-he wanted to hear more Bach-but I couldn't stay, because of other engagements. I had to catch a train after my last performance, and I had gotten my things together and was hurrying down a corridor when I heard the sound of running footsteps behind me. I looked around. It was Schweitzer. He was all out of breath. He looked at me with that wonderful expression of his which mirrored the great compassion of the man. "If you must leave," he said, "then let us at least say goodbye with intimacy." he was speaking in French. "Let us embrace one another before we separate." we embraced and parted.
From that day on, we remained in close touch. Great distances separated us-Schweitzer was of course in Lambarene most of the time-and we were able to meet only two other times. But we frequently wrote to one another, and in the years following the Second World War we joined forces in our efforts to halt atomic bomb tests and warn people of the dire menace of nuclear war.
What a giant of a human being he was! He was truly the conscience of the world. Even in our bitter times it is enough to think of him to have hope for humanity.
The leaders of the Spanish Republic knew there were matters on which I differed with them-I never hesitated to express these differences. They knew that though I was a republican, I remained devoted to members of the Spanish royal family. But they respected my sentiments. On one occasion, a few years after the establishment of the Republic, there was an evening of tribute to me at the City Hall of Madrid. A great crowd attended. Among those present were top government officials. It was a wonderful, festive affair, and-as is always the case on such occasions-there were many speeches. The mayor of Barcelona delivered the main address. At the end of the celebration I was asked to tomar la palabra-to "take up the word." I do not like to make speeches, but I was so touched by the things that had been said that I wanted to convey what was in my heart. I spoke of my childhood in Vendrell and of the early days of my musical career. I told about my student days in Madrid, and about my neighbors in the garret where my mother and I lived-the shoemaker, the cigar makers, and the porter who worked at the palace. Then I spoke of the time I spent at the palace and of my deep continuing affection for Alfonso. "For whatever I am, for whatever I have accomplished as a musician," I said, "I owe more than I can ever put into words to that wonderful woman, Queen Maria Cristina. She was like a second mother to me and I shall always think of her with love." My words were halted by applause. The whole audience rose to its feet. Yes, the government officials-men who had devoted their lives to fighting against the monarchy and for the Republic-they too arose and applauded. And why? Because these were people of magnanimous hearts and they accepted me for what I was. When they applauded, I wept. I wept because of their love and understanding, and because I was proud to be one with them....
The Spanish Republic came into being at the time of the greatest economic crisis the world had ever witnessed-and the early years of the Republic were those of the Great Depression. Unemployment, hunger and despair were widespread in the world. Disaster hovered over many lands. In Germany the people turned in desperation to Nazism, and the dark cloud of fascism began to spread across Europe. But in Spain the popluar mood was one of elation and hope. I do not mean that the Republic was a panacea and that the government did not make mistakes-it made many. What government does not? And some of the intellectuals who held office in the Republic were perhaps more idealistic than practical-personally, I have always attached more value to princeple than to practicality. But whatever problems there were, the march was forward. And the people of Spain knew it.
There were elements, however, who had a different feeling. They were the same reactionary elements who had opposed the Republic from the beginning-they fiercely resented the democratic reforms and the diminishment of their privileges. They conspired against the Republic and sought to exploit its every weakness. For a time, in 1934, these elements regained some political power. They used it ruthlessly. On the advice of Generals Manuel Goded and Francisco Franco, the army brought in Moorish troops and Foreign Legionnaires to use against striking miners in the Asturias and massacred many of them. When the Spanish people voted again for the Republic in new elections, the intrigues of the reactionaries and fascists intensified. There were acts of provocation, violence, killings-plots and intrigues. Sometimes one felt the country was a seething volcano.
In the summer of 1936 the volcano erupted. I was in Barcelona at the time preparing to conduct a concert. By strange coincidence, it was scheduled to take place in the very hall at the palace of Montjuich where-a little more than five years before-I had conducted Beethoven's Ninth Symphony to celebrate the proclamation of the Republic. And again I was to conduct a performance of the Ninth-this time at a government ceremony entitled "Celebration for the Peace of the World." The final rehearsal took place at the Orfeo Catala on the evening of July 18. I shall never, never forget that day. In the morning word came over the radio from Madrid that there had been a military uprising in Morocco-an uprising staged by fascist generals who were reported to be planning a nationwide insurrectrion in Spain and the overthrow of the Republican government. All day tension had mounted in Barcelona and rumors ran wild. Some people said that revolts of army garrisons under fascist officers were already under way in a number of cities. Nobody knew what the situation really was. By nightfall the avenues and plazas were thronged with people-with soldiers, Civil Guards, factory workers in overalls, and corwds of agitated men and women. Everybody's radio was on. Over loudspeakers set up in the streets, messages were being broadcast by the government: "Do not turn your radios off! Stay calm! Traitors are spreading wild rumors to sow fear and panic! Keep tuned in! The Republic is in control of the situation!"
I made my way through the seething streets to the Orfeo Catala for the rehearsal. We had completed the first three movements and were about to begin the Finale-I had just called the chorus onto the stage to sing the chorale-when a man rushed into the hall. He handed me an envelope, saying breathlessly, "This is from Minister Gassol. An uprising is expected at any moment in the city." I read Gassol's message. It said our rehearsal should be discontinued immediately...all the musicians should go straight home...the concert scheduled for the following day was to be canceled.
The messenger told me that since the message had been written, an insurrection had started in Madrid and fascist troops were now marching on Barcelona.
I read the message aloud to the orchestra and the chorus. Then I said, "Dear friends, I do not know when we shall meet again. As a farewell to one another, shall we play the Finale?"
They shouted, "Yes, let us finish it!"
The orchestra played and the chorus sang as never before..."All mankind are sworn brothers where thy gentle wings abide!" I could not see the notes because of my tears.
At the end I told my dear friends, who were like a family to me, "The day will come when our country is once more at peace. On that day we shall play the Ninth Symphony again."
Then they put their instruments in their cases, and we all left the hall and went out into the street, where the people were setting up barricades.
The fascist uprising in Bacelona was crushed in one day. It was crushed not only by troops loyal to the Republic but also by the working people of the city. Most of these Catalan workers were unarmed. While gunfire swept the streets, they stood beside soldiers and picked up the weapons of those who fell. In some places, barehanded, they stormed and took fascist strongholds bristling with machine guns. Workers riding in trucks drove right into buildings, smashing in the doors. The plazas and streets were strewn with dead and wounded. But by nightfall the government forces were in complete control of the city; and the fascist commander, General Goded-he had landed that morning by hydroplane in the harbor to lead the revolt in Barcelona-had been captured with all of his staff. The Catalan president, Luis Companys, persuaded the general to speak over the radio. Goded told his followers that he had fallen prisoner and that further fighting was useless.
Next morning we learned by Radio Madrid that the uprising in Madrid and many other cities had also been defeated. In some regions, it was said, the fascists had temporarily seized power, and General Franco was reported to have landed in Spain with Foreign Legionnaires and Moorish troops from Morocco. But most people felt that the general insurrection had failed, and that within a short time the Republic would regain control throughout the country. We did not then know, of course, that Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy would soon start pouring guns, tanks and planes, and tens of thousands of troops, into Spain to aid Franco. Nor could we imagine that the Republic-the legal, democratically elected government of Spain-would be denied the right to receive arms by the Nonintervention Agreement....
All war is terrible but civil war is nost terrible of all. Then it is neighbor against neighbor, brother against brother, son against father. And that was the nature of the war that was to rack ny beloved country for the next two and a half years. They were a nightmare of unrelieved horror. The splendid achievements of the Republic were drowned in blood. The nation's finest young men perished-yes, and countless women and children. Hundreds of thousands were driven into exile. There are no scales in which to measure such human suffering.
In the weeks following the suppression of the uprising in Barcelona, an appalling situation developed. Though the revolt had been crushed, the violence was by no means ended. Many people were outraged by the rebellion and maddened by the deaths of their fellow citizens. Now they sought vengeance and took the law into their own hands. There were elements-particularly among the anarchists, whose movement was very strong-which ran wild. They summarily executed not only known enemies of the Republic but people they suspected of fascist sympathies. They burned churches and opened prisons. Criminals and gangs of young ruffians roamed the cities and countryside pillaging and robbing. There was a breakdown of constituted authority. A period of chaos ensued.
I was horrified by these developments. I went to the Generalitat and urged the strongest measures to halt them. "What is happening is intolerable," I said. "These are dreadful crimes, dreadful injustices. Countless innocent people are suffering. In the countryside around Vendrell, for example, the anarchists and others are now seizing all cars. Sick people have no way of getting medical care. You must send soldiers and restore order."
I was told, "We are doing everything we can, but the situation is partly out of control."
"You are destroying the good name of the Republic," I said. "If you have lost control, you should resign from the government."
They said, "In that event, there would be no government in Catalonia...."
I went to the headquarters of the anarchists. What strange men they were! They listened to me respectfully, but I felt they did not understand what I was saying. They believed their actions were entirely justified. Many of them were philosophical anarchists. They were opposed to authority and had no respect for the law. "The people are the only law," they told me. In some ways, strangely enough, these men seemed to me like children.
One day two armed men burst into the room in which I was pracitcing the cello in my home at San Salvador. "We have come to arrest Senor Rennon!" they said. "We were told he is here." Senor Rennon was a Barcelona businessman who owned a nearby summer residence. I told the men he was not in my house. They left. Soon they returned. They had my neighbor with them. His wife stood there weeping. They told me, "We want to use your telephone to call Vendrell and have them send a cart." I knew what that meant-they probably intended to execute my neighbor. I said, "If anyone uses the phone, it will be me, not you. You are not taking this man anywhere." They glowered at me, and for a moment I did not know what they would do. Then they seemed to get a little uncomforable and they said they were acting on orders from the mayor of Vendrell. I telephoned the mayor. He knew from my tone how angry I was. He said, "Oh, those men must have made a mistake. I instructed them to go to another place." I told the men what the mayor had said. They would now go from my house, I said, and leave my neighbor with me. They were obviously furious. But they went....That incident illustrates how "justice" was often meted out in those days!
Such things were happening not only in Catalonia. There was a breakdown of authority in other parts of the country. Government spokesmen, trade union leaders and prominent persons broadcast appeals to the people uging them not to take the law in their own hands and to respect the authorities. But it was weeks before the government really regained control of the situation.
In every war, of course, outrages are committed on both sides-what, indeed, is a greater outrage than war itself? But one thing must be said about the Spanish Civil War. Those outrages which occurred in territory held by the Republican government were not the product of government policy-they were the acts of irresponsible and uncontrollable elements which took advantage of the chaotic situation. The govenment deplored these outrages and took measures to halt them.
But with the fascists it was entirely different. The fascist leaders did not seek to halt outrages but in fact encouraged vicious repressions and persecutions in territory under their control. With them, terror was an instrument of official policy. They palnned and practiced terror systematically not only through ghastly, organized mass executions in Burgos, Badajoz, Seville and other cities under their military juntas, but also through constant savage bombing of Barcelona, Madrid and other civilian centers in Republican territory. Those frightful bombings, in which thousands upon thousands of innocent men, women and children died, were often carried out by German and Italian planes. The raids-which Picasso symbolized in his famous painting Guernica-were the first of that sort in history; they were the forerunner of the bombings with which the world would become tragically familiar in the Second World War. They were an expression of the Nazi policy of Schrecklichkeit....
I am no historian, no statesman. I am a musician. But one decisive question-one simple fact-about the Spanish Civil War was eminently clear to me at the time. The responsibility for the war rested with those who sought ot overthrow by force a legitmate government elected by popluar vote, and who-when they failed at first in that plot-summoned the aid of Hitler and Mussolini. That question, I think, is no longer debated very much. When the Axis launched the Second World War, they did much to clarify the meaning of the Spanish Civil War. But I must say I was not confused about its meaning. I believed then, as I do now, that it is the votes of the people-not the bullets of military conspirators-which should decide what government should exist. For me it was a matter of principle to support the Spanish Republic. How in conscience could I do otherwise?
The only weapons I have ever had are my cello and my conductor's baton. And during the Civil War I used them as best I could to support the cause in which I believed-the cause of freedom and democracy. I became honorary chairman of the Musicians' Committee to Aid Spanish Democracy-the Committee, which was formed in the United Sytates, included among its members such persons as Serge Koussevitzky, Albert Einstein, Virgil Thomson, Efrem Zimbalist, and Olin Downes. I traveled widely-in Europe, South America, Japan-giving benefit concerts to raise funds for food, clothing and medical supplies. I did not go abroad with an easy heart-I felt my place was at home with my countrymen in their dreadful ordeal. Gassol and others insisted I could be of greater help abroad. Sometimes I thought they were trying to protect me-I argued with them but they convinced me of the logic of what they said. I went from foreign city to foreign city with a choking pain inside me. I would read in the newspapers about the battles ravaging my land, the burning towns, the hungry children in cities under siege. While I was playing, I knew the bombs were falling. I could not sleep at night. Often when I spoke with people, I felt as if someone else were talking and I was not there. After concerts I would walk the streets, alone, in torment....
Periodically I returned to Spain, and each time I saw more frightful evidence of the havoc and agony of the war. Great areas of Barcelona were in ruin. Skeletons of Buildings on every side. The city overflowed with refugees. Food was desperately short. I gave concerts-in hospitals, theaters, institutions for homeless children. The situation among the children was worst of all-it was unbearable to see. Thousands were homeless and orphaned; thousands had been killed and wounded in the endless air raids. In Barcelona alone there were hundreds of mass bombings. On one occasion, for three days in a row without letup, the fascist planes bombed the city at regular intervals of three hours. And the people of Barcelona at that time had not a single plane with which to defend themselves! And no real air-raid shelters-nowhere to hide from the bombs!
Once, in the middle of a rehearsal I was conducting at the Liceu, bombs started falling nearby. The whole building shook, and the musicians scattered in the hall-as was not unnatural. I picked up a cello on the stage and began to play a Bach suite. The musicians returned to their places, and we continued the rehearsal....
The miracle was the spirit of the people. Not only the heroism of the soldiers who were fighting against immense odds but the heroism of ordinary men and women in every block of the city. With what courage and dignity they went about their work! It was an epic....The words no pasaran! were on everybody's lips. Everyone knew the motto"We would rather die on our feet than live on our knees." What a contrast between those words and the notorious toast of General Astray, the fascist founder of the Spanish Foreign Legion, "Long live death!"
Two episodes I personally experienced summed up the essential differences between the Franco forces and those of the government of the Republic.
The first episode concerns General Queipo de Llano, who was one of Franco's aides and a chief propagandist for the fascists-he was, one might say, their Dr. Goebbels. He was a revolting man, a degenerate. During the war he gave frequent broadcasts from Seville, where he was in command. His broadcasts, which were often directed toward the people in Republican territory, were full of vulgarity and crude, ugly stories-a barracks-room type of humor. Also, he would make threats about what the Moorish troops under Franco would do to women who supported the Republican government-that was the sort of man he was!
One night I heard Queipo de Llano speak about me. He said, "That Pablo Casals! I will tell you what I will do to him if I catch him. I will put an end to his agitation. I will cut off his arms-both of them-at the elbow!" And when he said this, his aides-a clique of them often sat around him as he broadcast-all of them burst into laughter. The fact that this story relates to me is incidental. It demonstrates the mentality of the fascists, their attitude toward culture-and especially their inhumanity. It was the same attitude as that of the Nazis, of Hermann Goring who said, "When I hear the word 'culture,' I reach for my revolver!"
The second episode, which concerns the Republican government, happened during a most crucial period of the war-in the autumn of 1938, when the situation was growing increasingly desperate for the Loyalists. One day Gassol asked me if I would perform at a special concert for the Children's Aid Society, which would be broadcast. I said yes, of course, I would. But I did not know at first what the government was planning. They announced on the radio and in the newspapers that I was to play and also that during the two hours of the concert all work was to stop in the territory of the Republic! The workers in the factories would put down their tools, the activities would stop in government offices-everything would halt, so that all the people might listen to the music! For me that concert had a profound significance. It demonstrated how men and women, fighting for their very lives, at a moment of gravest cirsis, found time to express their love of art and beauty. It was an affirmation of the indomitable spirit of man.
The concert took place at the Liceu on the afternoon of October 17. The hall was filled to overflowing, and the audience included many soldiers-many of them wounded, and many on stretchers. The entire government Cabinet, including President Azana and Prime Minister Negrin, and high army officiers were present. I played two concertos-one by Haydn and the other by Dvorak. During the intermission I delivered over the radio a message addressed to the democratic nations of the world. I gave it in English and in French. I said: "Do not commit the crime of letting the Spanish Republic be murdered. If you allow Hitler to win in Spain, you will be the next victims of his madness. The war will spread to all Europe, to the whole world. Come to the aid of our people!"
Alas, that message went unheeded. The Chamberlain Government was still in office in England-they had just concluded that Munich Pact with Hitler and did not wish to offend him. The great majority of the British and French people desired to aid the Spanish Republic, but the Nonintervention Agreement continued to deny us arms. Thoudands of American young men formed an Abraham Lincoln Brigade and came to join the International Brigade and fight for democracy in Spain; but the Republic could buy no military supplies from the United States-despite President Roosevelt's sympathy-because of the embargo on arms to Spain. Years later I read that Roosevelt told his Cabinet at the end of the war that the embargo was a grave mistake....The only countries from which the Republic could buy arms were Mexico and Russia, and these supplies were inadequate to meet the huge amount of aid in men and materiel that Hitler and Mussolini continued to send Franco. And so the war moved inevitably toward its tragic denouement....
I am sometimes asked what I think would have happened if the Western democracies had come to the aid of the Spanish Republic and whether this might have prevented the Second World War. One cannot of course rewrite history, but it is clear that Hitler might have been stopped before the frightful catastrophe of that war. We know he should have been stopped when he was taking over one country after another in Europe. Certainly Spain proved to be the last chance. And one thing history will surely record. It was the Spanish people who first took up arms in defense of democracy against Hitler and fascism. The sacrifices and heroism of the Spanish people set an example for the world. Lovers of freedom must never forget those men and women who fought that lonely terrible fight in Spain. Not a day passes without my thinking of them. Those dear nobel friends, living and dead-they are with me always....
Toward the end of the Civil War one of the most extraordinary events of my life occurred. The fall of Barcelona was expected at almost any moment. Franco's troops were massing for an all-out attack, and the city was under constant bombardment by Italian plans. Evacuation had already begun in some areas. Such were the circumstances under which I received a message from officials of the University of Barcelona notifying me that before they disbanded they wanted to confer on me an honorary doctorate as their final official act! I was hurriedly escorted to the university. The faculty members-many who had wives and children to be evacuated-had gathered to attend the ceremony of my receiving the diploma. There had been no time to have the document printed-it was lettered by hand. Could any man find words to acknowledge such an honor?
It was a few days later that I bade goodbye to my brothers and their families in San Salvador and departed from my homeland for France. That was more than thirty years ago. Since then I have lived in exile.