More on the Navaja and Spanish Knife Culture

Here are a few more gleanings on Spanish knife culture from 19th-century travel writers.

Théophile Gautier wrote the following in Travels in Spain (1901):

At Santa Cruz we were asked to purchase all sorts of pocket knives -- navajas. Santa Cruz and Albacete are famous for fancy cutlery. The navajas, made in the most characteristic Arabic and barbaric taste, have open-worked handles through which show red, green, or blue spangles. Coarse inlaid work, but designed with dash, adorns the blade, which is fish- shaped and always very sharp. Most of them have mottoes, such as Soy de uno solo (I am one man's), or Cuando esta vivora pica, no hay remedio en la botica (When this adder stings, there is no antidote in the pharmacy). Sometimes the blade is rayed with three parallel lines inlaid in red, which gives it a most formidable appearance. The size of the navaja varies from three inches to three feet in length. Some majos (peasants of the better class) carry some which, when opened, are as long as a sabre. A spring or a ring to which a turn is given secures the blade in a straight line. The navaja is the favourite weapon of the Spaniards, especially of the country people. They use it with incredible dexterity, wrapping their cloak around their arm by way of buckler. The science of the navaja has its professors like fencing, and navaja-teachers are as numerous in Andalusia as fencing-masters in Paris. Each navaja expert has his secret lunges and his own particular strokes. It is said that adepts can tell by looking at a wound to what artist it is due, just as we can tell a painter by the touch of his brush.

I'm intrigued by the claim that "adepts can tell by looking at a wound to what artist it is due," implying that every knife-wielder inflicts enough wounds on different victims that a recognizable pattern is established. That reminds me of the scene in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly in which Clint Eastwood recognizes his opponent from the sound of distant gunfire, observing, "Every gun makes its own tune."

From Henry George O'Shea's O'Shea's Guide to Spain and Portugal (1889), there is this:

La navaja, or cuchillo, often as long as a common sword, settles at once all differences of opinion, blood being thought to wipe off any petty rancour. It is used very frequently, and has become an art in which the barateros are proficient. A baratero ( from barato, cheap) lives by his knife. He frequents gambling circles, and receives some coins from the cowed-down players whom he has threatened to disturb if they should not grant his boon. This is called cobrar el barato, "to get change." In some cases, one of the challenged parties gets up and refuses to pay; upon which the champion fights. Death often ensues, as the stomach is aimed at. Those curious to learn more particulars may consult 'Manual del Baratero,' with prints. The best specimens of knives can be had at Madrid and Seville; they are principally manufactured at Albacete; they have bright colours on the blade, with mottoes; a muelle or catch; the price varies from 6r. to 30r.

From Samuel Parsons Scott's Through Spain: a Narrative of Travel and Adventure in the Peninsula (1886):

The baratero is a character not peculiar to Malaga, but who attains his highest development in that city. The word means, in plain language, a blackmailer of gamblers. This ruffian rarely plays himself, but never fails to be on hand when a game is in progress. After the winner has gathered in the stakes, he pays over a certain proportion—usually five per cent—of the profits to the baratero. If any hesitation is manifested to submit to this extortion, a fight is inevitable, and, as the baratero is always an adept in the use of the knife, he is morally certain to get the better of his opponent, who loses at the same time his money and his life. No amount is too trifling for the consideration of this ravenous bird of prey, who pockets a few cuartos with the haughty insolence with which he demands a doubloon. The quarters of the city frequented by gamblers are divided into districts by the barateros, each of whom, inspired by that traditional sentiment of honor common to criminals, is careful not to encroach upon the province of any of his brethren; the danger of such interference, moreover, being aptly expressed by the saying, "Nadie se meta a Baratero sin contar antes con los Eserilanos." ("Settle with the magistrates before picking a quarrel with a baratero.")

The skill displayed by the Spanish desperado in handling his knife is wonderful. This weapon, to which all are so partial, is a wicked-looking affair, from one to two feet long, and called a navaja from its resemblance to a razor. The blade is of the finest Toledo steel, and bears the motto common to the side-arms forged upon the famous Tagus: "No me saques sin razon; No me envainen sin honor." ("Do not draw me without cause; Do not sheathe me without honor.")

Defence with the navaja has been reduced to a science, which has its regular school of instruction. The teachers give lessons with wooden knives, and the most noted among them have their private strokes, which are kept secret for cases of emergency. The arts of the most accomplished swordsman are worthless, when opposed to those of an expert with the navaja. With his cloak or jacket wrapped about his left arm, his formidable weapon glittering in his right hand, and his lithe body poised for a spring, he is an interesting study for the spectator, as well as for his antagonist. The thumb is pressed tightly along the back of the blade, that every advantage may be taken of the flexibility of the wrist, in a struggle where the space of an inch is often a matter of life and death. The postures and guards are changed with bewildering rapidity, and, should the right hand be disabled, the cloak and knife are shifted in the twinkling of an eye, and the duel proceeds, until one or both the combatants are killed.

Hand-to-hand encounters are most esteemed by professors of the navaja, but there is a class of them who make a specialty of lodging the weapon from a distance in the vitals of an enemy. They become perfect by throwing it at a peseta fastened to a piece of cork, the coin becoming the prize of the winner. When one grows skilful enough to hit the mark twice in three times, at ten paces, he is ruled out of the contest, and is recognized as a diestro. The blades of these knives are contrived with devilish ingenuity so as to inflict painful and incurable wounds, and are grooved, like Indian arrows, to permit the blood to run freely. All the thrusts and parries used by experts have their technical names—the navaja itself being termed an abanico (" fan")— which are as unintelligible to the non-professional as those belonging to the comprehensive jargon of the bull-fighter.

The Navaja: Knife Culture in 19th-Century Spain

For a change of pace, a few observations on the knife culture in 19th-century Spain, from Edmondo De Amicis' Spain and the Spaniards (1880):

In passing through a solitary little street, I saw in the show-window of a hardware establishment a collection of such immensely long, broad knives that I was instantly seized by the desire to purchase one. I entered; twenty or more were spread out for my inspection, and I had them opened one by one. Every time a blade was opened I gave a step backward. [Me: Wouldn't he soon have stepped out of the shop?] 

I do not believe one can imagine a more horrible or barbarous-looking weapon than this, which has a copper, brass, or horn handle, is slightly curved, and cut in open work which shows little streaks of various-colored isinglass, opens with a noise like that of a rattle, and out comes a blade as broad as your hand, and two palms in length, in the shape of a fish, as sharp as a dagger, and ornamented with chasings colored red (so that they look like stains of congealed blood), and menacing and ferocious inscriptions. On one is written in Spanish: "Do not open me without cause, or close me without honor"; on another: "Where I touch all is finished"; on a third: "When this snake bites no physician is of any avail; " and other pleasant mottoes of the same nature.

The proper name of these knives is navaja, which also means razor, and the navaja is the weapon with which the common people fight their duels. Now, it has rather fallen into disuse, but once it was in great demand. There were masters in this art, each one of whom had his secret thrust, and the people fought duels in accordance with all the rules of the cavaliers. I purchased the most enormous navaja in the shop, and we continued our route.

 Look at the size of this thing! It's so impractical--so why do I want one?

On reaching Castillejo I was obliged to wait until midnight for the train for Andalusia . . . when I got into a railway carriage filled with women, boys, civil guards, cushions, and wraps; and away we went at a speed unusual on Spanish railways. . . . I fell asleep after a few moments. I think I had already dreamed of the Mosque of Cordova and the Alcazar of Seville, when I was awakened by a hoarse cry: "Daggers!"

"Daggers? In heaven's name! For whom?"

Before I saw who had shouted, a long sharp blade gleamed before my eyes, and the unknown person asked: "Do you like it?"

One must really confess that there are more agreeable ways of being waked. I looked at my travelling companions with an expression of stupor which made them all burst out into a hearty laugh. Then I was told that at every railway station there were these venders of knives and daggers, who offered travellers their wares just as newspapers and refreshments are offered with us. Reassured as to my life, I bought (for five lire) my scarecrow, which was a beautiful dagger suitable for the tyrant of a tragedy, with its chased handle, an inscription on the blade, and an embroidered velvet sheath; and I put it in my pocket, thinking that it would be quite useful to me in Italy in settling any questions with my publishers.

The vender must have had fifty of them in a great red sash which was fastened around his waist. Other travellers bought them too; the civil guards complimented one of my neighbors on his capital selection; the boys cried: "Give me one too!" - and their mammas replied: "We will buy a longer one some other time."

"O blessed Spain!" I exclaimed, as I thought, with disgust, of our barbarous laws which prohibit the innocent amusement of a little sharp steel.