We have the measure of what they can do, and they are at least as well known out of Spain as they deserve. A more enigmatic personality is Vicente Blasco Ibáñez. It is the charm of most modern Spanish novelists that they are intensely local. Pérez Galdós is an exception; but Valera is at his best in Andalusia, Pereda in Cantabria, Palacio Valdés in Asturias, and the Condesa Pardo Bazán in Galicia. Blasco Ibáñez is a Valencian; he knows the orchard of Spain as Mr. Hardy knows Dorsetshire, and he is most himself in the Valencian surroundings of _Flor de Mayo_, _La Barraca_, and _Cañas y barro_. But his allegiance is divided between literature and politics. Not content with propagating his ideas in the columns of his newspaper, _El Pueblo_, he propagates them under cover of fiction. He is the novelist of the social revolution, and the revolution is needed everywhere. The scene of _La Catedral_ is laid in Toledo, the scene of _El Intruso_ in Bilbao, and in _La Horda_ we have the proletariate of Madrid in squalid truthfulness. Each of these is a _roman à thèse_, or, if you prefer it, an incitement to rebellion. Blasco Ibáñez is the apostle of combat, he knows the strength of the established system, and his revolutionary heroes die defeated by the organised forces of social and ecclesiastical conservatism. But he is fundamentally optimistic, convinced that the final victory of the revolution is assured if the struggle be maintained. We may not sympathise with his views, and may doubt whether they will prevail; but the gospel of constancy in labour needs preaching in Spain, and Blasco Ibáñez preaches it with impressive (and sometimes rather incorrect) eloquence. His latest story, _La Maja desnuda_, is more in the French manner, but it is no mere imitation; it is original in treatment, a record of gradual disillusion, a painful, cruel, true account of the intense wretchedness of a pair who once were lovers. Blasco Ibáñez has given us three or four admirable novels, and he is still young enough to reconsider his theories, and to grow in strength and sanity. He is not alone. In _Paradox_, _Rey_, and in _Los últimos románticos_ Pío Baroja introduces a fresh and reckless note of social satire, while novelty of thought and style characterise Martínez Ruiz in _Las confesiones de un pequeño filósofo_ and Valle-Inclán in _Flor de Santidad_ and _Sonata de otoño_. These are the immediate hopes of the future. But prophecy is a vain thing: the future lies on the knees of the gods. FOOTNOTES: [1] ‘Nierva’ in Eugenio de Ochoa, _Rimas inéditas_ (Paris, 1851), p. 305.