writers in Spain.  Such are the many faces, moods, and movements in which Unamuno appears before Spain and the world.  And yet, despite this multiplicity and this dispersion, the dominant impression which his personality leaves behind is that of a vigorous unity, an unswerving concentration both of mind and purpose.  Bagaria, the national caricaturist, a genius of rhythm and character which the war revealed, but who was too good not to be overshadowed by the facile art of Raemaekers (imagine Goya overshadowed by Reynolds!), once represented Unamuno as an owl.  A marvellous thrust at the heart of Unamuno’s character.  For all this vitality and ever-moving activity of mind is shot through by the absolute immobility of two owlish eyes piercing the darkness of spiritual night.  And this intense gaze into the mystery is the steel axis round which his spirit revolves and revolves in desperation; the unity under his multiplicity; the one fire under his passions and the inspiration of his whole work and life.

* * * * *

It was Unamuno himself who once said that the Basque is the alkaloid of the Spaniard.  The saying is true, so far as it goes.  But it would be more accurate to say “one of the two alkaloids.”  It is probable that if the Spanish character were analyzed—­always provided that the Mediterranean aspect of it be left aside as a thing apart—­two main principles would be recognized in it—­i.e., the Basque, richer in concentration, substance, strength; and the Andalusian, more given to observation, grace, form.  The two types are to this day socially opposed.  The Andalusian is a people which has lived down many civilizations, and in which even illiterate peasants possess a kind of innate education.  The Basques are a primitive people of mountaineers and fishermen, in which even scholars have a peasant-like roughness not unlike the roughness of Scotch tweeds—­or character.  It is the even balancing of these two elements—­the force of the Northerner with the grace of the Southerner—­which gives the Castilian his admirable poise and explains the graceful virility of men such as Fray Luis de Leon and the feminine strength of women such as Queen Isabel and Santa Teresa.  We are therefore led to expect in so forcible a representative of the Basque race as Unamuno the more substantial and earnest features of the Spanish spirit.

Our expectation is not disappointed.  And to begin with it appears in that very concentration of his mind and soul on the mystery of man’s destiny on earth.  Unamuno is in earnest, in dead earnest, as to this matter.  This earnestness is a distinct Spanish, nay, Basque feature in him.  There is something of the stern attitude of Loyola about his “tragic sense of life,” and on this subject—­under one form or another, his only subject—­he admits no joke, no flippancy, no subterfuge.  A true heir of those great Spanish saints and mystics whose lifework was devoted to the exploration of the kingdoms of faith, he is more human than they in that he has lost hold of the firm ground where they had stuck their anchor.  Yet, though loose in the modern world, he refuses to be drawn away from the main business of the Christian, the saving of his soul, which, in his interpretation, means the conquest of his immortality, his own immortality.