El Batín y la Zapatilla: Anécdotas del ilustre y enigmático César González-Ruano

ART ESP  / ING

Miembros excelsos, ¡qué honor nos convoca hoy! No es otro que el recuerdo de nuestro inolvidable hermano, César González-Ruano. Un hombre que hizo del dandismo y la excentricidad su segunda naturaleza. La historia de nuestro gremio está llena de figuras pintorescas, pero ninguna tan singular como la de él.

Era un maestro de la palabra, capaz de convertir una crónica en un lienzo y una anécdota en una obra de arte. Se rumorea que podía vender un salvoconducto a un alma en pena y luego, por pura distracción, delatarla al mismísimo diablo. Era un alma libre, que se declaraba "un artista y nada más", ajeno a ideologías, dispuesto a cambiar de principios "por la influencia de la amistad o por interés".

Se cuenta que, después de un tiroteo en Madrid, le preguntaron si no se había preocupado por su vida. Él, con su seca y gallarda sosería, respondió que, antes de la muerte, le preocupaba más la improvisación, pues la consideraba una actitud romántica, y eso, decía, no le gustaba.

Su estilo era único, mezclando la poesía ultraísta de su juventud con la precisión y el cinismo de un periodista de élite. Decía que un artículo era como una morcilla: "dentro metes lo que quieras, pero tiene que estar bien atada por los dos extremos".

Así era nuestro César, un hombre que parecía vivir en un constante estado de "víspera", rumiando el pasado para embellecerlo. Un dandy con una inmensa capacidad para la amistad y una dudosa moralidad, que al mismo tiempo, nos legó algunos de los textos más brillantes de su tiempo.

A su salud, hermanos. Que su figura, llena de claroscuros, nos recuerde que la vida, como el arte, es un "partido de tenis con nuestros fantasmas".

Hermanos de la Cofradía, continuemos desgranando las excentricidades de D. César González-Ruano, un hombre cuya vida fue, en sí misma, una obra de arte y de contradicciones.

Nuestro querido hermano era un maestro en la construcción de su propia leyenda. Se presentaba como un aristócrata venido a menos y se hizo famoso por su desapego al dinero. Se cuenta que era un grafómano inagotable, capaz de escribir más de 30.000 artículos, y un coleccionista compulsivo de objetos que, más tarde, malvendía para cubrir sus deudas y mantener su estilo de vida bohemio.

La anécdota del atentado que mencioné es solo una de las muchas que ilustran su peculiar forma de ver la vida. Se narra que, tras un tiroteo en el que pudo morir, un periodista le preguntó por qué se había ido tan tranquilamente a almorzar. Ruano, con su frialdad característica, respondió: "Cualquiera se queda sin comer después de sufrir una vista y un atentado". 

Su desapego a la muerte, al menos en público, era tan grande como su apego a sus costumbres, un tema que abordó en su último artículo, publicado el mismo día de su muerte, en el que afirmaba que "morir no es sino perder la costumbre de seguir viviendo".

Sin embargo, detrás del dandy y el cínico se escondía un hombre complejo. Aunque se definía como "un artista y nada más", su vida estuvo llena de polémicas, como las sombras que lo persiguieron por su controvertido papel durante la Segunda Guerra Mundial, acusado de traficar con visados de judíos en el París ocupado. Este es, sin duda, el lado más oscuro de su leyenda, un contraste brutal con el hombre que llenaba las tertulias de los cafés con su verbo fácil y su aguda inteligencia.

Ruano también era un maestro del retrato. En sus crónicas, capturaba con una precisión quirúrgica la esencia de sus contemporáneos, como Pío Baroja, de quien escribió que "viste en casa poco menos que un mendigo". Con su pluma afilada, lograba que sus lectores "averiguaran lo que pensaba" el entrevistado, "obligándole a hacer confesiones que luego siente haber hecho", como él mismo confesó.

En fin, D. César González-Ruano fue un hombre que hacía de la inmoralidad una estética y del cinismo una forma de vida, un espejo de su tiempo y un miembro indispensable en la memoria de nuestra ilustre y arcana cofradía.

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Fellow brethren, what an honor brings us together today! It is none other than the memory of our unforgettable brother, César González-Ruano. A man who made dandism and eccentricity his second nature. The history of our guild is full of colorful characters, but none as singular as him.

He was a master of words, capable of turning a chronicle into a canvas and an anecdote into a work of art. It is rumored that he could sell a safe conduct pass to a tormented soul and then, out of sheer distraction, betray them to the devil himself. He was a free spirit, who declared himself "an artist and nothing more," detached from ideologies, and willing to change his principles "due to the influence of friendship or for self-interest."

It is said that after a shooting in Madrid, he was asked if he hadn't worried about his life. He, with his dry and gallant nonchalance, replied that before death, he was more concerned about improvisation, as he considered it a romantic attitude, and that, he said, he did not like.

His style was unique, blending the ultraist poetry of his youth with the precision and cynicism of an elite journalist. He used to say that an article was like a sausage: "you put whatever you want inside, but it has to be well tied at both ends."

That was our César, a man who seemed to live in a constant state of "eve," ruminating on the past to embellish it. A dandy with an immense capacity for friendship and a dubious morality, who at the same time, bequeathed us some of the most brilliant texts of his time.

To his health, brethren. May his figure, full of light and shadow, remind us that life, like art, is a "tennis match with our ghosts."

Brethren of the Brotherhood, let us continue to unravel the eccentricities of D. César González-Ruano, a man whose life was, in itself, a work of art and contradictions.

Our dear brother was a master at building his own legend. He presented himself as a down-on-his-luck aristocrat and became famous for his detachment from money. It is said that he was an inexhaustible graphomaniac, capable of writing more than 30,000 articles, and a compulsive collector of objects that he would later sell off for a pittance to cover his debts and maintain his bohemian lifestyle.

The anecdote of the attack I mentioned is just one of many that illustrate his peculiar way of looking at life. It is said that, after a shooting in which he could have died, a journalist asked him why he had so calmly gone to lunch. Ruano, with his characteristic coldness, replied: "Anyone would go without eating after suffering a close call and an attack."

His detachment from death, at least in public, was as great as his attachment to his habits, a topic he addressed in his last article, published on the very day of his death, in which he stated that "to die is nothing more than to lose the habit of continuing to live."

However, behind the dandy and the cynic was a complex man. Although he defined himself as "an artist and nothing more," his life was full of controversies, such as the shadows that haunted him for his controversial role during the Second World War, where he was accused of trafficking with visas for Jews in occupied Paris. This is, without a doubt, the darkest side of his legend, a brutal contrast to the man who filled café gatherings with his smooth words and sharp intelligence.

Ruano was also a master of the portrait. In his chronicles, he captured with surgical precision the essence of his contemporaries, such as Pío Baroja, about whom he wrote that he "dresses at home little less than a beggar." With his sharp pen, he managed to make his readers "find out what the interviewee was thinking," "forcing them to make confessions they later regret having made," as he himself confessed.

In short, D. César González-Ruano was a man who made immorality an aesthetic and cynicism a way of life, a mirror of his time and an indispensable member in the memory of our illustrious and arcane brotherhood.