Agustín de Foxá Plaque

Agustín de Foxá, a man of contradictions, a writer, journalist, and diplomat, lived and died right here, commemorated by this plaque. The Agustín de Foxá Plaque marks the spot of his Madrid home, where he drew his first and last breaths. Born into aristocracy in 1906, he embraced his privilege with a cynical flair, famously quipping, “I’m a count, I’m fat, I smoke cigars, how could I not be right-wing?”. This plaque, placed here in 1964 by the Sociedad General de Autores de España, serves as a reminder of his complex legacy. The inscription reads, “To the memory of the writer Agustín de Foxá who lived and died in this house.” He began his literary career contributing to journals like La Gaceta Literaria. His early poetry, like “La niña del caracol” published in 1933, blended modernism with avant-garde elements. His connection to José Antonio Primo de Rivera placed him within the Falangist literary circle. He even contributed to the composition of the “Cara al sol” anthem. However, Foxá’s aristocratic worldview clashed with his Falangist ideals. He found himself increasingly drawn to the comforts and freedoms of democratic societies, while serving as a diplomat for the Franco regime. This paradox is encapsulated in his own words, “I have the ideal position. Ambassador of a dictatorship in a democracy. I enjoy both systems.” His most famous novel, “Madrid, de Corte a checa,” published in 1938, offers a glimpse into his worldview. It depicts the fall of the monarchy, the rise of the Second Republic, and the first year of the Spanish Civil War from a distinctly pro-Franco perspective. The Agustín de Foxá Plaque, a testament to a man of contradictions, invites us to delve deeper into the life and works of this fascinating figure. His wit, his cynicism, his love for the finer things in life, all intertwined with a complex political landscape, leave a lasting mark on Spanish literary history. He died in 1959, his life cut short by cirrhosis. His final poem, “Melancolía del desaparecer,” reflects on mortality with poignant irony.