Over various cities in Spain appeared airplanes—not an unusual event, that. Some of the machines, however, had painted on their lower wings the word "Liberty"; others were labeled, with big letters, "Republic of Spain." These planes had been sent from "somewhere in France" by Vicente Blasco Ibanez, author, auto-advertiser, professed enemy of the King of Spain. They had come to Spain to drop their cargoes of Ibanez manifestos, the original of which was published a few weeks ago in Paris (TIME, Oct. 20, Dec. 1).
As far as could be ascertained, the pamphlets were seized before they were distributed. From the Directorate went forth a protest to France against Ibanez's activities in that land. Preparations were taken to prevent repetition.
At Madrid, two days later, a cinema proprietor was imprudent enough to show a film based on one of Ibanez's novels. As the title flashed onto the screen, the audience hissed and booed, shouted long and hoarsely Viva el Rey; then, they insisted upon the national anthem being played; and, as the martial chords were let loose from the orchestra, the people sang almost passionately the Marcha Real:
Viva, viva, magnanimo el Rey Alfonso!
Alfonso trece, el Rey Alfonso trece!
Ciña a sits sienes oliva y laurel
La mono fervida del pueblo fiel.
After that spontaneous outburst the management was left with no alternative but to substitute another film.
The demonstration was decidedly a protest against the campaign which Author Ibanez has been waging, against the King on foreign soil. But it was something more. It was tacitly a popular manifestation, evinced by a small and, persumably, representative section of the people, in favor of the Monarchy as an institution; for, in Spain, the real master is the Monarchy, quite irrespective of the King's personality. In Egypt, King Fuad is the monarch; and Great Britain is the master. In Russia, the proletariat is sovereign; but the Moscow oligarchy is the keeper of the sovereignty. In Italy, Vitorio Emanuele is King; and Benito Mussolini is master. So Spain, too, has her monarchs and masters. King Alfonso is the real master; Primo Rivera is an accident which was the result of a revolt (TIME, Sept. 24, 1923). He was not strong enough to fight the Monarchy, even had he wished to. For the moment, he had obtained the master hand. Alfonso was forced to recognize him or start a civil war. Of the two alternatives, the King chose the former. He took a leaf of the book of the King of Italy and recognized the new regime as an opportunity to end the Moroccan campaign and to purge the country's politics of corruption without the hindrance of parliamentary incompetence. That the experiment has not been entirely successful it is safe to say. The hostility toward the Directorate is unmistakable; and its lease of power is certainly expiring. But that the King's prestige has in any way suffered is an illusion which has been created by revolutionary propagandists on foreign soil. It is significant enough that Alfonso has told Primo that the Dictatorship must go and that Primo is preparing all too slowly for his exit. The monarch says "Go!" The master goes; he is not strong enough to fight the Monarchy. Who is the real master? Evidently, Alfonso.