Foxá and the Insects

"Now we bury the weapons of Spain under the cornfields. But

one day we will take them to the open air, up the mountain."

Madrid, de Corte a Checa (1938)

Agustín de Foxá y Torroba, Count of Foxá, Marquis of Armendáriz is a tragically forgotten figure of the tumultuous and convulsive years of the first quarter of the 20th century in Spain. Halfway between cynic and romantic, possessor of a girth as large as his wit, poet, novelist, politician. I will dedicate this short article to his comically large figure, with the hopes non-Spanish speakers and Spaniards alike enjoy it. I won't enter any biographical data such as circumstances of birth and death, since it doesn't matter to you or to the portrait of Foxá I will elaborate. Just know he was a young man of 30 years of age when the Spanish Civil War broke out.

The Count of Foxá's profile was not too different from the one of someone like his fellow poet Jose María Pemán. Wealthy aristocratic family, formal education in a Catholic school, ties to the then dethroned monarchy, and an interest in poetry. Foxá's physical appearance well-known to us from a handful of photographs and many descriptions (most of them jokes at his expense, which he found hilarious): short, stout, proudly sporting a double chin as well as a colossal inflated stomach and meaty arms. He was reportedly kind in treatment, although he enjoyed cruel jokes. It is said he once commented humorously "I'm obese, rich, and an aristocrat; and yet people still ask why am I a rightist!". This dry, acidic style of quips would be a defining characteristic of his attitude towards the changing politics of the Spanish Republic and the Second World War. It's also rumored one of these jokes deserved him a special hatred from Count Ciano, Mussolini's son-in-law and Minister of Foreign Affairs for fascist Italy. Foxá jokingly commented on Cianno's rumored cuckoldry through a joke comparing him to a bullfighter, to which the cuckold answered by screaming at him and threatening him with permanent expulsion from Italy. Curzio Malaparte described him as "cruel and baleful, like every Spaniard". Yet, despite his cynicism, Foxá found common ground with Spain's foremost Romantic and idealist: José Antonio Primo de Rivera. Foxá was too much of a Monarchist and thus not a convinced Falangist himself, but by virtue of association, he might very well be considered one of the co-founders of the movement. We know for a fact he enjoyed participating in the debates and discussions of José Antonio's closest circle, reportedly even helping write the well-known Cara al Sol anthem. In his 1938 book Madrid, de Corte a Checa (Madrid, from Court to Checa) he beautifully describes these midnight poetry sessions under the dim light of some candles, hidden in the basement of some café.

Madrid, de Corte a Checa deserves some discussion on its own. The novel is divided into three parts. First, a short introduction to the story through the last days of Alfonso XIII on the throne and the proclamation of the 2nd Spanish Republic. Second, stories about the Republic and the Falange. Thirdly, these stories developed in the context of the Civil War. Although there is a large cast of many characters from both the Left and the Right, the story focuses on José Felix Carrillo, a blue-blooded youth caught in the midst of his avant-garde circle turning to Communism and Pedro Otaño, his childhood friend, becoming a fanatic Falangist. Although José Felix draws heavily from Foxá's own life experiences, Foxá writes himself to appear around José Antonio's circle as a side character mentioned only twice. The novel has an exceptional value as a document of dozens upon dozens of minor and major characters, their grievances, emotions, and connections between themselves as portrayed by a man who met every single name mentioned personally. It is also incredibly useful to us, as it inadvertently reveals to us Agustin de Foxá's own character, dissected for all of us to see. One of the first things we might note is his glaring, proud, obstinate elitism. Foxá absolutely despises the masses and the common man and forever portrays them cruel and stupid, while Communists simply bathe in this filth and the avant-garde demeans art to their pseudo-proletarian sensibilities and debauchery. The only favorable and even emotional descriptions of the general population happen only with the poorest of the poor, like the brutal mistreatment gypsies received from Republican authorities for their religious zeal. One particularity jarring and borderline comedic scene entails a handful of Anarchist volunteers who upon seeing the delicate demeanor of a young noblewoman, suddenly become infatuated by her beauty, and "returning to their servant roots", behave like ones and leave her completely alone after asking for pardon for barging in her home. Another thing will also catch the reader's eye: Foxá, the quintessential mean-spirited cynic, bows and kneels to the Falange's Quixotic romanticism! The elitist praises the syndicalists! The arch-conservative joins the revolutionaries! In every chapter where his melancholic figure appears, José Antonio Primo de Rivera is almost messianic. His rallies are spiritual experiences. His every word a poem. Much to consider. Was he just accomodating to Franco's quasi-divinization of the Absent? Was it genuine love for his dead friend? The last remnants of the cruel man's utopianism? Nobody but him knows for sure.

Foxá had professional training in International Relations and worked as Ambassador for the King and the Republic alike throughout his career. After Franco's victory in the Spanish Civil War and the Caudillo's courtship with the Axis, Foxá was one of the lucky few foreign journalists who were allowed to attend to the siege of Leningrad from the German perspective. His Italian companion, Curzio Malaparte, has been previously mentioned. These two became close, and Malaparte mentions the Count several times in his book about the War, Kaputt. Foxá has a similar work, called Semana Santa en Leningrado. They were much alike in their quasi-fascist passion and cynic view of the world, save Foxá's devout Catholicism and Malapartes's atheism. Foxá sent many articles to Spain and many were censored, but he repeatedly mentions how Leningrad was nothing but a dark tomb under a grey sky, a coffin where hope didn't have a place. Foxá's Leningrad is a romantic tragedy seen from the eyes of the Old World, Malaparte's is the triumph of modern totalitarian paradigms. Here, he also briefly expands on his syncretic ideology, trying to find a Catholic origin in Marxism, some theology within Leninism, a connection between the feudalistic proletariat and the Aristo-Marxist Chimera. The project probably wasn't terribly successful. Foxá curiously showed some signs of bravery and humanity by personally negotiating the release of some orphaned Spanish children that the Soviets had kidnapped and planned to take them from Finland to Moscow. Malaparte reports Foxá enjoyed relentlessly mocking Franco and his regime as a farce. We also know from his own words he began to hate the accommodated Falange of the regime, calling the Falangist Youth "a group of kids dressed like cunts led by a cunt dressed like a kid". From Justice, Bread, and Fatherland to a new trinity: Coffee, Alcohol, and Cigars. A confusing man!

In his later life, Agustín de Foxá pioneered the science fiction genre in Spain. A fascinating man! From the avant-garde circles of Futurism, to pure Classicist (Neopopularist) poetry, to science fiction short stories. His style is not an Asimov's careful mathematical realism and wild chemo-physical elucidations, much closer to Bradbury's semi-fantastical tales with quasi-magical use of science. It's notable to see some environmental concerns in his works. One of the books which are worth mentioning and the one the title of the article comes from is Hans y los Insectos (Hans and the Insects). In the style of a police novel, Hans is a professional pest exterminator who uses technology to speak to bugs. To Foxá, man is becoming an ant, a simple insect absorbed by the greater colony, stripped off of his individuality in the name of human automation, in the name of Lysenko and Michurin of the false natural selection. Hans also proclaims himself as God of the Insects, which prompts him to ask "who does Man belong to?". Man is tyrannized by nations, who view History from the perspective of warring gods. A blink of an eye for a nation is a lifetime for a man. Another short story that illustrates this concept is Viaje a los Efímeros (Voyage to the Ephemerals). Here, a couple becomes stranded on an island where biological time flows four times faster. Men live only for four hours, and fields bloom and rot within instants. The couple merely observes this process, like unmovable gods. Speaking of quick deaths, Foxá didn't die of old age. After some years touring South America as ambassador, alcoholism took hold of him, cutting short his literary career with a bad cirrhosis. He died in Spain, surrounded by colleagues, his wife, and figures of the regime.

An avant-garde Classicist, an elitist revolutionary, a cynical idealist, a traditionalist sci-fi writer. A man of contradictions and fascination, whom I hope has also been fascinating to you. Adopt his cynicism, or not. It's up to you.