Rigidity Of Language: Spain's Royal Academy

1713 was the year when modern Spain came into existence. While it can be fatuous to ignore previous history and assign special status to a given year or a given event as a starting-point, there is some justification for elevating 1713 to such a status and for suggesting that everything since can be attributed to what happened in that year - the signing of the Treaty of Utrecht which brought an end to the War of the Spanish Succession.

It is true to say that the war did continue. The following year was when Barcelona finally fell and removed the last resistance to King Philip V and the Bourbon dynasty that remains to this day, but 1713 marked an historical line in the sand, to one side of which was the impulse towards creating a centralised and unified Spain, suppressing and indeed abolishing the Crown of Aragon and establishing Castellano as the sole language of government and the rules and laws of Castile as the rules and laws of this one Spain.

The language thing is rarely far from the surface in today's Spain, and 1713 was significant for a specific development that truly established Castellano. This was the founding of the Real Academia Española, the Royal Spanish Academy, the arbiter and regulator of matters pertaining to the use of Spanish.

The academy came into being in August of that year, the brainchild of the Marquis of Vilena. It might have been thought that Philip, naturally drawn to anything with a centralising, unifying and Castilian style, would have been sufficiently impressed to have given the academy his immediate blessing. He did bless it, fourteen months later, but there had been initial opposition to the academy in Castilian circles that stemmed from an impression of the founders as being less than wholly supportive of the Church.

Though there was now an academy, modelled after those in Italy and France, something was lacking. There was no dictionary, and so Vilena embarked on the process of producing the first and definitive guide to the Spanish language.

It was to be many years before it appeared. It did, after all, amount to over 4,000 pages once it was finally produced, so it wasn't a task that could have been undertaken rapidly. These 4,000 pages with 42,000 words were spread over six volumes, the "Dictionary of Authorities" being completed in 1739 and a more user-friendly, slimmer, one-volume tome - the concise dictionary - being published in 1780.

The academy, despite having a clear role in defining Castilian-Spanish culture, has traditionally tried to place itself above politics, but politics have intervened, and it isn't difficult to guess when these interventions might have taken place: under that good old Absolutist, Ferdinand VII, and under both dictators, Primo de Rivera and Franco, the latter demanding the expulsion of members considered to be less than fascistic politically correct.

The twenty-third edition of the dictionary is due to be published and it, as with previous editions, will doubtless generate controversy. Criticism of the dictionary has focused on its conservative nature and on its, well, Spanishness to the exclusion of international Spanish usage. But the academy is a conservative body, one that strives to maintain the purity of the Spanish language, a principle it espoused in 1713. It offers a different take on language to that which rules English or rather, which doesn't rule English; there is no equivalent organisation that regulates English.

If Spanish has its academy and its dictionary, what of the language that the events of 1713 conspired to undermine? Since then Catalan has gone through periods of proscription, renaissance, more proscription and the second renaissance following Franco's death. But the problem with Catalan, and so therefore unlike Castellano, is that there is no one Catalan.

The Institute for Catalan Studies' philology section was founded in 1911. Its first president was the Mallorcan, Antoni Maria Alcover. The institute worked on a dictionary and in 1932 the General Dictionary of the Catalan Language was published. It was presented as a standard for all the Catalan-speaking regions, including Valencia, but Valencia has its own academy of language, albeit that it wasn't created until 1998. In the Balearics, the university arbitrates and has established variants which are taken as standard in the islands but which differ to the standard laid down by the institute.

There again, this does perhaps reflect an inherent flexibility in language, which is really as it should be and how it is with English, but isn't with Castellano, the rigidity and conservatism of rules for which can, one feels, be taken as a metaphor for Spain as a nation. 


Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.

Alphabet Soup: Surnames and spelling

Revolution. Reform. Not quite. A bit of a change more like. Change which, to the British, will seem distinctly peculiar.

The "revolution" applies to Spanish surnames; the reform to some language use. That there are bodies which adjudicate on such matters, form laws or conventions to cover them might strike you as somewhat bizarre. Not so to the Spanish, however. Such as in the case of names.

The Spanish find the British concept of the "middle" name, i.e. the second, third or fourth Christian name, distinctly odd, notwithstanding the existence of a Juan Antonio here or a José Maria there. But these aren't examples of middle names, as they're first names, both of them. Use your British-given middle name in official documents and you will, in all likelihood, be called by it, as in Señor or Señora (Middle Name). If you are a woman and your middle name is Joan, in Mallorca you will be addressed as and pronounced as Senyora (as in the Catalan) Joanne. A man's name dressed up as a woman's. It does get dreadfully confusing.

Personally, I find it quite amusing. My middle name, Colin, crops up on all sorts of things. Medical card, for example. I am, where a receptionist, nurse or doctor is concerned, "Señor Colin". Not that I'm that bothered. Quite the opposite. It's just one letter away from Colon, which thus makes me - nearly - a descendant of Columbus. Possibly. They've not asked me for my DNA yet though in the attempt to establish that the old Italian came from Felanitx.

The revolution in surnames, coming on the back of greater acceptance of "new" Christian names, which has seen Kevins (for example) becoming more common, as well as Mohameds, will be one by which the paternal surname will not automatically be the first surname. First surname, you ask? Yes, first surname. There are always two, unless there are more. But the more is usually only because of some long, drawn-out, pompously aristocratic styling, especially if the surname isn't particularly distinguished.

The current norm, under birth registration laws, is for the father's surname to come first, the mother's second. Which means their first surnames, because they of course have two. Maybe. But you can swap them around, if you want, just to add to the confusion. And you can also choose to be known by your second surname, if you so wish. President Zapatero is an example. His first surname is in fact Rodríguez, but Zapatero is less common. He wishes to stand out from the Rodríguez crowd, even if he has acquired a further surname - Bean. Picasso was another who went maternal. He was paternally a Ruiz.

Under the new law, the alphabet rule will apply. Picasso would have been Picasso after all. But not if the parents decide otherwise. As ever, there will be an exception to the Raúl. Apparently this will all be more equal, says the ruling PSOE socialist party, not that everyone is in favour. Let the alphabet decide and those surnames towards the end of the alphabetic chain will slowly die out. No more Zapateros, for example.

Oh, and by the way, if you were thinking of becoming a Spanish citizen, you would have to find a second surname, assuming you didn't already have one. That's the rule, and it often leads to double-barrelled repetition. Imagine it. Potato Head is transferred to Real Madrid and decides to become Spanish. Two Wayne Rooneys. There are only two Wayne Rooneys. Wayne Rooney Rooney.

While the politicians have been looking to establish a new order in surnames, the Real Academia Española, which sets out rules for language, has been hard at work preparing its new official spelling publication. It will be out in time for Christmas. Get your orders in now! It's not, says the co-ordinator Gutiérrez Ordónez (first name Salvador, or is it Salvador Gutiérrez?), revolutionary or a reform. But it will make things simpler. Allegedly.

Among the changes are those to the alphabet. If you weren't aware, "ch" and "ll" are parts of the alphabet. Not any longer, according to the new "Ortografía". Moreover, "i griega", which is a considerable mouthful for "y", will become obsolete and hereafter be merely "ye". And there will be all sorts of other useful spellings for you to learn and digest. Planning a trip to Qatar, for example? Well, you can still plan the trip, but you will be going to Catar. Or maybe you want to go there four or five times. Hitherto, had you wished to do so, you would have written "or" as "o" with an accent - "ó". Why? To avoid confusion of course with the or "o" without an accent, which is how it is normally spelt, when you are creating emphasis between one number or another. But no more. The accent is to be dispensed with. Far less confusing. Just like the order of surnames of which there are only two - ó three ó four.


Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.