The Beggar Lady

When I went to Madrid last year, I left the tour group to go to the Reina Sofia Museum. The focus of this museum is contemporary art. While I was interested in such art in general, my specific objective was to see Picasso's Guernica. I don't remember whether it was before or after seeing Guernica that I had the most intense response to a piece of art that I've ever experienced.

I remember walking into a room and seeing two motionless figures, a naked male and female. The female conveyed the impression of unimaginable terror and unmitigated despair. The man stood taking the abuse, powerless to do anything but silently stand there. I had the impression that they were surrounded by their tormentors and that they would be savagely punished if they showed any emotion. They were at the mercy of a merciless mob, vulnerable in their nakedness and ashamed because of it. The mob mocked them. As an onlooker, I was a member of the mob. I was culpable in their anguish. The intense guilt that I felt because of this forced me to look away. I reminded myself that the figures were lifeless museum pieces and turned to contemplate them again. I had the sense that the man and woman had known that the jeering mob would have eternal life through an endless series of voyeurs such as myself. I turned away again, then returned to studying the two figures. This happened a number of times.

A couple of weeks later, I was in Barcelona. Along with hordes of other tourists, I found my way to Gaudi's Sagrada Familia. As my line approached the entrance, I saw an old beggar woman dressed in black. Her hair and neck were concealed, but her face was visible. She brought her hand to her mouth in imitation of eating and spoke in a language that I didn’t understand. But I did understand her plea and I ignored it. When I passed her, our eyes met and I sensed her disapproval. I felt judged as a selfish rich person who heartlessly denied the old woman the few pennies that it would take to buy herself some food. Her look of disapproval angered me and strengthened my resolve to give her no money. My attitude puzzled me. It was as if the old woman didn’t seem real to me. I wondered if she was a prop, a Disneyland type addition to the experience of visiting the unfinished cathedral. Or was she a participant in a research project devised by a sociology student. Let's see how people respond to a beggar when they come as visitors to a cathedral. These musings seem foolish, yet even now I’m not convinced that this was a real woman in real distress.

A little side note here: My daughter was due to arrive in Barcelona about a week after I left. I gave her some money to give to the beggar lady at the Sagrada Familia. As it turned out, the woman wasn't there. Was she really a prop or a part of a social experiment after all? Did she die of hunger? Was she beaten by the person sending her out in the streets to beg? I don’t know.