On hearing this sudden news Don Rosendo turned pale.
"But, man, the next number of 'The Light.'"
"Don Rosendo, you will have to excuse me. You are a gentleman—a gentleman knows how to appreciate the feelings of another gentleman. One's country before everything. Guzman the Good flung his poniard to the enemy to kill his own son. You know that well enough, eh? What do you think of that? Riego died on a scaffold. Well! What do you think of that? If I were in the workhouse, with not a shirt to stand up in, there would be no need for any one to tell me anything. Do you think you will keep me all tied like a dog to the wheel? But all sentiment dies out in a man—the man lives, the man works, the man occasionally shows his true self—and because he drinks a quartern, or two, or three, is he to forget his country? Eh? What do you think of that?"
Don Rosendo called Don Rudesindo to his assistance, and they succeeded in dissuading the printer from his course by the force of their strong reasons, the most potent of these being a fresh bottle of Rueda wine. After this was imbibed, the patriotic feelings of Folgueras calmed down. Then he took another bottle, drank it, was ill, and slept.
Thoughts of glory, vague desires for undying fame, filled the mind of the illustrious founder of "The Light of Sarrio" by the time he retired to rest. After extinguishing the light, they recurred over and over again until they took some definite form. Don Rosendo was moved at the thought of the possibility of his memory being perpetuated by a tablet put up in the Consistorial buildings. This ambitious thought made him tremble with joy and delight between the sheets. Being a modest, sensible, magnanimous man, he tried to expel the idea, but it returned to his mind with additional clearness. He saw the white marble, he saw the gold letters, he clearly deciphered the graven lines:
"Tribute of gratitude from the town of Sarrio to her enlightened son, Don Rosendo Belinchon, indefatigable champion of her moral and material progress."
His mind, filled with these brilliant forecasts, could not easily succumb to Morpheus; nevertheless, he finally slept with a smile on his lips. A progressive angel, ready for these emergencies, beat his wings over his brow through the night watches and gave him pleasant dreams.
The next morning found him in the cheerful frame of mind befitting a man who has seen his efforts crowned with enviable success. He performed his toilet to the humming of scraps of song, he took chocolate with his family, gave a glance at the national and foreign newspapers, and without cutting his usual bundle of toothpicks, he went out to ascertain what effect the first number of "The Light" had produced upon the town. He was received at Graell's shop with effusion, he was congratulated on his article, which he modestly tried to disclaim, and the talk about the paper was long and eager.
What most excited the enthusiasm of the frequenters of the café was to think that Nieva had not yet arrived, nor would it arrive for some time, at a similar state of advancement. And Don Rosendo, not a little elated with these eulogies, promised to take active measures in favor of all that was asked of him. One requested that the deep ruts of the Calle de Atras should be mentioned; another that a lamp should be put outside his house; another that some pills should be recommended; another, that serenades should not disturb the hours of sleep, etc., etc. Don Rosendo assented to all, knitted his brows and extended his open hand in a valedictory fashion. The journal would settle it all. Woe to him who ran counter to the reforms of the press! He had often held forth on toothpicks to the assembly of respected matrons of the town generally gathered in Doña Raffaelo's shop, but "The Light" was the subject of his discourse to-day. The fiction portion seemed to have met with the most favor from the fair sex; Don Rosendo told them the next number would be much more interesting, and then he withdrew.
A party of sailors by the port were loud in their congratulations, and they hinted that the harbor was very dirty and required dragging.
"It shall be done—it shall be done," said Don Rosendo, and he went off full of a solemn sense of his omnipotence, and, seeing the large curling waves in the distance, he even asked himself if it would not be a good thing to ask them, by means of the press, to moderate their uncalled-for excitement. At the approach of the dinner hour he directed his steps homeward, meditating on the grave responsibility he would incur before God and man if he did not use his great power for the prosperity and improvement of his native town. On arriving at the Rua Nueva, he met Gabino Maza. The choleric ex-officer greeted him very politely, asked after his family, and made the kindest inquiries after the health of each member; then he talked for some time on the possibility of the cold northeast wind soon changing into a warm, southwesterly one, asked when the next ships would start for America; he then complained of the dust on the roads, which made walking unpleasant, spoke of the price of codfish, and the news of the Newfoundland cod fisheries, but Rosendo naturally expected him to mention the paper. Nothing of the sort. Maza did not make the slightest allusion to it. This began to upset our friend and made his position painful. The conversation passed from one subject to another without bearing at all upon the press. At last Don Rosendo, showing his gleaming teeth, said somewhat abruptly:
"Have you not received 'The Light?' One of the first copies was sent to you."
"Dear me! I think it did come to the house yesterday, but I have not opened it yet," returned Maza with affected indifference. "Don Rosendo, will you come and dine with me? Good-by, till then."
Don Rosendo stood for an instant rooted to the ground, feeling as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. The blood rushed violently to his face, and he almost staggered home. The unexpectedness of the blow made him feel it much more keenly. When the shock had passed off, he fell into a violent passion against that—he could not resist calling him anything less than a malicious and despicable creature. He arrived home in a deplorable state of agitation, and although he took his seat at the table and made violent efforts to calm himself, his digestion was so thoroughly upset that he recoiled from all food. He was gloomy and silent during the meal; a sarcastic smile occasionally wreathed his lips, and he murmured: "The villain!"
Finally his wife, who was upset on her own account, ventured to say:
"What is the matter, Rosendo?"
"Nothing, Paulina; but envy causes a lot of wickedness in the world," was the short, bitter reply.
Having given utterance to this profound remark, he remained in a state of comparative repose, leaning back in an armchair to collect his thoughts; and after the expiration of half an hour he once more sallied forth in the direction of the Club. On entering the café Gabino's voice fell upon his ears, shouting as usual upstairs. From the staircase he thought he heard him talking of the periodical and calling it "a solemn farce." His heart jumped, and he entered the room agitated and upset. At the sight of him Maza, who was gesticulating in the centre of a group of men, put on his hat with a sudden gesture, and took a seat upon the sofa.
Don Lorenzo and Don Feliciano Gomez greeted the newcomer with a certain embarrassment, and with some shamefacedness, all of which confirmed Don Rosendo in his suspicion. He hid his feelings as much as possible, and striving to assume a cheerful demeanor he began talking of the current news. Conversation then took its natural course, and confidence was restored. But the engineer Delaunay, as artful as he was malignant, turned the conversation upon the newspaper, and in the lisping tone that he affected, said, with an ironical smile, to the founder:
"What little contributions are you preparing for the next number, Don Rosendo?"
"You will see when it comes out," returned the chief editor, who knew there was a joke underlying the question.
"Here, in Don Feliciano," continued the engineer with the same smile, "you have a stanch defender."
"If he defends me it is because somebody has attacked me," returned Rosendo with increased asperity.
Nobody said a word. Silence reigned for some time, until it was broken by Belinchon making a casual remark to Don Jaime, and the conversation was resumed. But the blow had only been momentarily averted; thunder was in the air and soon became audible.
Maza was consumed with the desire to tell Don Rosendo that the paper was a humbug, and the latter was not less anxious to tell Maza that he was a malignant fellow. Thus both took advantage of the first opportunity of communicating these polite remarks. The dispute lasted more than two hours. Maza tried to restrain himself because of Don Rosendo's superior position, and besides, he owed him fifteen thousand reales. The founder of "The Light" also considered it prudent not to give full expression to his thoughts. Nevertheless, for better or for worse, all came out for the edification of the notabilities who ranged themselves on one side or the other of the contending parties. It must be confessed that the minority was on Maza's side. The West Indians, neutral, as usual in these disputes, occasionally appeared, cue in hand, at the door of the billiard-room to listen to the arguments of the disputants and gain some light on the subject. For those discussions were very improving, as they taught them many terms and phrases unknown to them; and thus they were less shut out from even a superficial interest in the many problems of life. It was unfortunate that their devotion to billiards prevented their always listening.
CHAPTER XIV
VIOLENT RECRIMINATIONS
THE state of agitation and anger in which Don Rosendo left the Club can not be exaggerated. His noble, magnanimous soul was wounded to the quick by the ingratitude and baseness of his false friends. It must be horrible to live and die in obscurity and to have Heaven-born gifts wasted in boredom and inaction when one is meant to shine in the higher spheres of human society. But it is still more painful to see the deprecation of one's noble mental efforts and magnanimous endeavors for the triumph of goodness and truth. Such was the case with Socrates, Solon, Giordano Bruno, and also with our hero. The first sting of malignity caused him the acute pain which great benefactors of the human race can not but feel, and his spirit failed him. It was only for a minute, however, a mere passing weakness which bore witness to his sensitive disposition.
Nevertheless, that night he could eat no supper, and it was a long time before he could manage to sleep. To how many depressing thoughts had this incident given rise. While the common herd of the townsfolk of Sarrio, destitute of genius, perspicacity, and intellect, slept soundly, the philanthropic man lay tossing on his couch as if it were a bed of thorns, robbed of the enjoyment of refreshing sleep.
He rose the next morning somewhat pale and hollow-eyed, but firm in his determination to continue his work of regeneration. The sleepless night, instead of weakening his intention and making him relax in his efforts, had only strengthened him in his course, and roused him to fresh efforts. Fire consumes and turns straw to ashes, but it purifies gold.
Therefore he proceeded enthusiastically in the organization of his plan for the second number, which was to appear the following Thursday, and as usual success brought many offers of assistance. Many were the contributions sent for the second number, but the majority was below the mark, and want of space obliged him to reject several that were good. This gave rise to a great deal of grumbling and bad feeling—second difficulty in the course of his patriotic enterprise. But on the publication of the fifth number there was a much more serious trouble, which caused a great sensation in the town and gave rise to a perfect storm.
It happened that Alvaro Peña, being quite convinced, as we know, that all the miseries and drawbacks suffered by the human race are exclusively due to the clerical influence, thought he would use the press as a field of an active campaign against it. This he opened by sending as skirmishers several paragraphs, asking about the funds of a certain sisterhood of the Rosary which were not forthcoming, speaking in disrespectful terms of the Daughters of Mary, and making irreverent remarks on the special prayers and confessions, and also ridiculing the scapularies worn by the young religious sisters in the town.
But the shots were particularly aimed at Don Benigno the curate, the director of the female consciences of Sarrio and the instigator of all those revolts against sin. The rector was an old apathetic man who passed his life in a little house near the town, and willingly left to his curate the care of the souls of his flock. And Don Benigno fulfilled his duty as an active, vigilant, and most zealous pastor, keeping watch over the flock by day and night, so that no wolf should take off any sheep, and giving most careful personal attention to those he purposed offering to the Heavenly Bridegroom. Nothing could exceed the ardor with which he procured brides for the Most High. As soon as a young girl knelt at his feet for confession he thought that he was in a position to insinuate that the world was corrupt, its pleasures were transitory and often damnatory, earthly love was corrupt, affection as a daughter and sister was despicable, the time of working out salvation was very short, therefore the best thing to be done was to leave this earthly world (Don Benigno was very fond of this adjective), surrender all to Christ, and repair to that delightful retreat spoken of by San Juan de la Cruz, and there remain oblivious of all cares. He knew just such a happy retreat, a real little piece of Heaven, where one could enjoy in anticipation the delights reserved by God for his faithful servants.
This retreat was a Carmelite convent, just founded in the outskirts of the town, and the curate was its great patron and supporter. Certainly this had caused a slight coolness between him and Don Segis, the chaplain of the Augustinians, but the latter did not dare to show his resentment because it would not have served his purpose to quarrel with his coadjutor. These insinuations to the young girls were sometimes effectual, sometimes not. Don Benigno rarely made them in the ears of an elderly person. We do not know if he thought that Heaven would rather receive a bride of fifteen than one of thirty, or whether he thought the older people were more obstinate and suspicious than the young girls.
Anyhow, that spiritual sport induced interesting episodes. On one occasion the priest was the victim of an assault made by a youth who had been robbed of his bride-elect by the convent. On another occasion, after having obtained a dowry for a young girl, and having provided her with clothes, the bride of Heaven escaped in the night with a tailor's assistant. Don Benigno used to take the brides himself to the abode of the bridegroom. When there were difficulties to overcome on the part of the family, he bore himself with the skill and energy of a consummate lady-killer, and he organized and carried out the conquest with an astuteness that many mundane suitors would have envied. It was this matter to which Alvaro Peña referred when in a certain paragraph he mentioned a certain priest devoted to "pigeon-sport." And as we know Don Benigno's proclivity in this direction, the shaft went home with diabolical effect. The readers also understood the allusion, and laughed not a little at the mischievous joke.
Seeing himself made fun of like this, the priest, being, like all artists, of susceptible and choleric temperament, grew terrible angry.
"Have you read Don Rosendo's paper?" he asked Don Segis that evening at Morana's.
It must be mentioned that since the first irreverent paragraph Don Benigno never spoke of "The Light of Sarrio" by any other term.
"Yes, I read it this morning, at Graell's."
"And what do you think of that insult?"
"What insult?" asked the chaplain calmly.
"Why, man, have you not read the infamous remarks made about me?"
Don Segis raised his glass to his eyes, attentively examined the golden liquid, put it to his lips, and slowly drank it. After coughing a little, and drying his mouth with a silk handkerchief, he said gravely:
"Tush! There is not a kind spirit about it, as we all say; but it is best to take such things calmly, it is no good exciting one's self."
This was a fresh blow to the curate, who had hoped to find his indignation shared by Don Segis, and he was dumb with suppressed rage. It was thus that the chaplain of the Augustine convent was able to pay Don Benigno out for his uncalled-for partiality to the rising convent. The curate then addressed himself to Señor Anselmo and to Don Juan, "the Old Salt," who both expressed disgust at the paragraph, without, however, showing much interest in the subject, for we know that that would not have been in keeping with the quiet character of the patriarchal gathering.
But on the following Thursday, Alvaro Peña left Don Benigno, and attacked the chaplain of the nuns, making him the subject of a description in verse, and giving a graceful reference to the mingling of the glasses of gin with the quarterns of white wine. It was then Don Segis's turn to be furious, and Don Benigno's to be calm. But it was evident that this calmness was only put on, merely assumed to pay Don Segis off for his want of sympathy, for, as a matter of fact, he was still bleeding from his wound. Therefore it was not long before a reconciliation took place, and they both agreed, with unusual ardor, to skin every one who wrote in Don Rosendo's paper, beginning with the founder himself, and ending with the owner of the printing press. They were quite aware that Alvaro Peña was the author of the insults, but as every one had always known that he was a soulless vampire, capable of sucking the blood of all the clerics of Sarrio, to avoid harping on the same string they soon turned from him and laid all the blame on Sinforoso.
They considered themselves justified in this course, because the young fellow had been a seminarist, and consequently a traitor. Then he came from the same stock, for his father was a Carlist, and his grandfather before him. Moreover, Don Rosendo Belinchon, Don Rudesindo, and Alvaro Peña and Don Rufo, all men of certain position in the town, might have some license and do as they liked—"but that puppy! that ragamuffin!"
Excited by the murmur of applause, Don Benigno drank a few more quarterns than usual, and the chaplain would not let himself be outdone.
When the men left the shop in the classic chain, Don Segis noticed that his swelled leg dragged less than usual, and he remarked it to Don Benigno, who congratulated him on the fact. Then when, a few steps later, they reached the walls of the Augustine convent, Don Segis said in a loud voice, that as he felt no desire to go to bed that night he would go on with him. But the curate whispered in his ear that he would like to speak to him in private, so both remained in front of the convent.
"Friend Don Segis, what do you think of going and pulling Perinolo's son's nose for him?"
"Gently! gently! gently!"
"If we could only give him a hiding, without any scandal, of course."
"Gently! gently!"
"At eleven, or half-past, they leave the café. We can wait for him about there, and then administer a little corporal punishment."
"Gently! gently! gently!"
"Are you a man, or are you not, Don Segis?"
This question, innocent as it was, produced great perturbation in the mind of the chaplain, to judge by the series of faces and agitated gestures which he made before he could find his voice.
"Who? I? I would never have believed that a friend and coadjutor could say such a thing to me!"
Then he turned aside in great emotion, and raised his handkerchief to his eyes, which shed some tears.
"Well, men should comport themselves as men. Come along, and let us chastise this rascal."
"Come along!" replied the chaplain in a firm tone, as he turned in the direction of his house.
"Not that way, Don Segis."
"Which way you like."
The two clerics took each other by the arm, and proceeded on their way, not without certain vacillations, in the direction of the Café Marina. It must be observed that they both adopted a lay costume in the evening; they wore black frock coats, with full skirts and tight sleeves, thick boots, and enormous felt hats.
It was a good quarter of an hour before they finally reached the café. Once there, dazzled by the lights, like silly butterflies, they almost collapsed and withdrew.
"It will be better to wait for him near his own house. There are several people about here still," said Don Benigno.
Don Segis, being in a submissive state of mind, followed his friend's suggestion.
In the Calle de Caborana, at the corner of that of Azucar, which leads to the Rua Nueva, they both took up their positions, a stroke of strategy, as the enemy had to pass that way, for his house was situated in the Calle de Caborana. Then the two clerics displayed the persistence of the Navarrese in the defile of Roncesvalles, for during the half hour's waiting, they bore with indomitable heroism exposure to a fine rain, without fear of rheumatism or without any other mundane consideration causing them to budge an inch from their post of occupation. Finally, relieved in his mind and satisfied with having maintained a heated discussion in the café, the chief editor of "The Light" directed his steps to his house, when he unexpectedly came upon the enraged curate, who said in a shrill voice:
"Listen here, boy; if you will now repeat the insults which you have written in Don Rosendo's paper, I shall be very glad to hear them."
Surprise, the sarcastic and threatening tone of the priest, and the sight of the portly form of Don Segis standing motionless as a reserve force a few steps off, filled Sinforoso with such terror that for some time he was speechless; and it was only when the cleric advanced a step toward him that he managed to say:
"Calm yourself, Don Benigno. I did not use your name."
"Hallo!" exclaimed the priest with a fierce smile, "I see you don't crow so loud now. What is the matter with the cock that does not crow? What is wrong with the cock that does not crow, boy?"
Don Benigno took a step forward, and Sinforoso took a step backward.
Don Segis, the reserve force, also advanced a step to preserve the strategical distance.
"Calm yourself, Don Benigno!" cried Sinforoso in terror.
"I am very calm, young fellow! I only want to hear that about the doves again which pleased me so much."
"I did not write it!" exclaimed Perinolo's son in dismay.
"You did not write it, boy? Then take this for when you do write it." And he leveled a blow at the editor's cheek.
"Calm yourself, Don Benigno!" exclaimed the wretched fellow as he fell backward with his hands outstretched.
"Don't I tell you I am very calm? You braggart. Here's another little dove!" And he administered another blow.
"For God's sake, Don Benigno, calm yourself!"
"There goes another little dove!" another blow followed.
Let us say now, before going any further, that of all the blows given in Sarrio during the two years subsequent to the appearance of "The Light" (and goodness knows they were innumerable), the cheeks of this distinguished youth were the butt of at least one-half of them.
Being powerless to calm his infuriated assailant by his entreaties, and suspecting the doves would prove to be numerous, the chief editor cried out with all his strength:
"Help! help! They are killing me!" Then he turned round to take refuge in flight, but the iron fingers of the priest caught him by the arm, and at the same moment Don Segis, thinking that the time had come for him to join in the fray, leveled a heavy blow on his shoulders with his stout stick.
"Help!" cried the wretched fellow again. It happened that at that moment Alvaro Peña, the intrepid naval officer, who was proceeding from Graell's shop, where he generally spent his evenings, to his dwelling in the Calle del Azucar, rushed to the spot, saying:
"What is the matter, Sinforoso? What is the matter?"
"Help, Don Alvaro; they are killing me!"
"Hold on, Sinforoso, help is coming!" he cried as he rapidly approached.
The priests, hearing the voice of that hated and terrible enemy of the Church, were much alarmed, but emboldened by the fight, they faced him in battle line with their sticks raised in the air. Peña was filled with mingled rage and pleasure as he advanced to the attack.
"Windbags!" he cried, as he wielded his stick, and Don Benigno's enormous hat flew twenty paces off.
Don Segis advanced with the purpose of aiming his stick at the head of the officer, but before he could do so a blow caught him at the back of the head, leaving him badly hurt.
"It might have been expected. Caramba! only nocturnal birds are capable of treacherously lying in wait for a defenseless man, making a street brawl and disturbing the neighbors' rest. We must have done with these bloodsuckers who sap the life of the town and try to keep it in a state of barbarism. Call these the ministers of God! The apostles of charity! The eternal disturbers of social peace!"
Even in this critical moment the officer could not drop the anticlerical rhetoric and pompous style that he always adopted. Every phrase was accompanied with a blow. The priests being powerless to withstand his furious attack, tried to take to their heels. The curate soon got out of reach of the stick, but poor Don Segis, with the extraordinary weight of his left leg, was left behind, and had to endure the blows from Peña's weapon for some time. Alvaro's voice could be heard in the distance, crying out in mocking rebuke:
"Hypocrites! Whited sepulchres! Is this conformity with the spirit of the Gospel, you brawlers? You preach peace and love to mankind, and you are the first to disgrace the sacred doctrine! When shall we shake off your yoke and emancipate ourselves from the slavery in which you have kept us for so long!"
Any one would have thought to hear him that he was making a speech in some democratic club instead of administering corporal punishment.
Thus ended that encounter.
The next morning the harbor-master received a visit from the rector of Sarrio, who came to implore him not to make mention of the unfortunate incident in the newspaper, and offering all kinds of apologies to both him and Sinforoso on behalf of the curate and Don Segis.
Peña declined to accede to this request, for it was an admirable opportunity to open an attack upon the enemies of liberty and progress; and, in fact, the next number of "The Light" contained a circumstantial account, written in a humorous style, of all that had taken place, which greatly exercised the minds of the clergy and the timorous people in the town.
CHAPTER XV
GONZALO MARRIES
THE weighty and serious matters on Don Rosendo's mind prevented his giving the painful incident that had disturbed the even tenor of his house the especial attention that he would have accorded it at any other time. Nevertheless he was much upset when he learned of Gonzalo's treachery and his younger daughter's misconduct, and he held long conversations with his wife on the subject—irrefutable proof that great men may be full of exalted, grand ideas, and yet not blind to the things of this world, as is usually supposed. His first impulse was to send off Gonzalo and shut his daughter up in a convent, but the entreaties of Doña Paula and his own clear-minded conclusions led him to change his purpose.
At the expiration of some days of indecision (the burden of the other cares caused their number to be few) he granted the ill-conducted young people permission to marry; but not without first having an interview with Cecilia, and hearing from her lips that she willingly forgave her sister, and wished the marriage to take place as soon as possible.
The consent being given, Gonzalo presented himself one afternoon at Belinchon's house. It was a fortnight since he had been there, and his heart sank at the prospect in spite of his wishes having been so fully and promptly realized. He dreaded the first interview, and not without reason. Doña Paula received him with marked coldness, and even the servants' manners were tinged with a hostility which hurt him.
Then the idea of seeing Cecilia made him tremble. But when Venturita came into the room all his fear and all his depression vanished. Her sprightly chatter, the bright sparkle of her eyes, and her graceful, mocking coquetry quickly raised his spirits and transported him into the seventh heaven. The enchanting enthraldom of her voice and manners had lulled him into an indifference to all else by the time Cecilia entered the room.
The sight of his victim exercised a strange and sudden effect upon him; he automatically rose from his seat, and his face changed color.
"How do you do, Gonzalo?"
This was said by Cecilia, as if she had seen him the preceding day and nothing particular had happened, only she was a shade paler than usual. But the young man was so overwhelmed with confusion that he could not reply to this simple question without stuttering. The clear and tranquil glance of Cecilia affected him like an electric current, and he turned to Doña Paula, whose face was overshadowed with a severe and melancholy expression, while Venturita looked out of the window with assumed indifference. At last he resumed his seat, trembling violently, and Cecilia, who had come to ask her mother for the keys of the cupboards, gave him a quiet smile of farewell as she left the room.
The preparations for the marriage began. Doña Paula had the delicacy, rare in a low-born woman, not to allow a single article of wearing apparel made for Cecilia to serve for her sister.
So a fresh trousseau was quickly put in hand. To the great surprise of the needlewomen, Cecilia joined in the work. Some attributed this concession to kindness, others to want of feeling. It is true that, although a little thin, her face expressed the same quiet cheerfulness as ever, and her fingers worked at her sister's initials with the same dexterity as when she embroidered her own. But the cutting of the scissors and the sewing of the needles seemed to say horrible things, ah! very horrible things, instead of those pretty ones which used to make her tremble with joy.
They remained buried in her heart, however, and the keenest observer would have read nothing in those large, liquid, beautiful eyes but the usual quiet smile.
"Didn't I tell you so, girl?" whispered Teresa in Valentina's ear as she looked at our young friend.
"Yes, Señorita Cecilia is incapable of loving anybody."
Gonzalo avoided the workroom, and when perchance he appeared he was so abashed and confused that the embroideresses winked at each other and smiled. Seeing him so embarrassed, and Cecilia so calm and indifferent, you would have thought that the parts played by both in the sad love affair had been reversed.
In the meantime tongues wagged on the subject in the shops, in the houses, in the streets, and at the Promenade—there was no end to it. The event caused a great sensation in the town. While preparations for Cecilia's marriage had been going on, it had been the general opinion that Gonzalo showed a deplorable want of taste, that he was throwing himself away on the poor girl, who was represented as little less than a monster of ugliness; and they all wondered why he had not chosen her sister, who was so lovely and so graceful. Directly they learned of the change their opinions suddenly veered round.
"What a scandal! What a disgraceful proceeding! What parents to consent to such infamy! Where was the shame of some people? Poor girl, so beautiful, so slender, with such lovely eyes! Well, I consider her prettier than her sister."
"So do I."
We must not miss the opportunity of saying that this eternal discontent of people with regard to the actions of their fellow-creatures, much as it upsets us, does not argue intentional unkindness, malignity, or envy, as we are apt to think when we are the object of their remarks; it is nothing but an evident tribute to the imperfection of our planetary existence and the love of the ideal that every one bears within himself without ever seeing it realized. After having thus shown ourselves both philosophical and optimistic, we will proceed with our story.
The day of the marriage arrived. It was solemnized early in the morning at Belinchon's house, in the presence of a few relations and friends; and after taking chocolate the bride and bridegroom left for Tejada.
This was an estate about four miles from the town, where Don Rosendo's genius, aided by money, had had full scope to produce great effects. When he bought the place it consisted of several fields and a wood, where cows pastured, and the notes of thrushes, linnets, and blackbirds filled the air. Don Rosendo began by doing away with this indigenous colony, and substituting a foreign one for it. The breed of cattle of the country was proscribed and replaced by one from Switzerland. The same ruthlessness was shown in robbing the trees of their native songsters, and hanging them with cages full of rare, exotic birds that croaked dolefully all the year round at sunset. The energetic reformatory spirit of Don Rosendo did not stop at the animal kingdom, for it was brought with equal relentlessness to bear upon the vegetable one, and the character of the place was thus completely transformed. By degrees the great shady chestnut trees, with their gnarled trunks; the gigantic oaks, which had renewed their scalloped foliage more than three hundred times; the walnut trees, that looked like enormous thistles; the luxuriant orchard trees, bowed to the ground with the weight of the luscious fruit, and many other trees pertaining to a good landed property in the country, all gradually succumbed to the saw and the ax.
Washingtonians, araucarias, excelsas, and many other trees of foreign extraction, chiefly of the coniferæ family, were planted in their stead, which made the place look something like a cemetery in the eyes of the vulgar.
However, when any such remark was made to Don Rosendo he merely replied that coniferæ had the advantage of foliage during the winter, and the vulgar would return that that very fact made it look like a cemetery in the winter, and in the summer too. But Don Rosendo did not deign to reply to such a silly remark, and in this he was right.
As everything that is worth much costs much, the foreigners of both kingdoms absorbed a good deal of Belinchon's income. The birds of the country had fed themselves and dressed their feathers without any extraneous assistance, but those from abroad, shut up in cages and enormous aviaries made for the purpose, required several attendants to feed them and to keep their places clean. Then homesickness caused great blanks among them which could only be filled by sending expensive orders to Paris and London. The same thing happened with the vegetable kingdom, only of every plant that succeeded by dint of great care and cultivation thirty or forty died, and the constant attention of the gardeners could not prevent this mortality.
The house was also neither Spanish nor European in style. It was built in Chinese style, with little pagodas rising upon every side. I do not know what connection these little towers had with Babel, the scene of the confusion of tongues, but I must tell you that in the neighborhood the fantastic building went by the name of "Don Rosendo's Babel."
It was magnificently furnished, and wanting in none of the comforts and refinements afforded by modern civilization to the rich. It had a splendid room, decorated in Persian style, a bathroom, a large dining-room, fairly well frescoed, and several beautiful little airy apartments, where the light penetrated through colored windows.
So Gonzalo and Venturita repaired to this nest two hours after their union had been solemnized. On their way thither they had talked without embarrassment on different subjects. The young man had imprinted several kisses on the cheeks of the girl, as when they were betrothed; but on arriving at the "Babel," and finding themselves alone in the Persian chamber, he was overwhelmed with confusion and awkwardness.
He tried to find subjects of conversation, but he failed in the attempt.
Venturita scarcely answered him, but she looked at him with an expression of mingled passion and coquetry.
"Look here, stop—stop talking that nonsense. Leave off and give me a kiss," she added laughing, and patting his mouth with her primrose hand. Then Gonzalo colored deeply, and kissed her passionately.
His passion of these first days bordered on madness. Venturita, with her singular beauty, the languid, voluptuous expression of her eyes, and her invincible tendency to recline, was a perfect odalisque. But unlike one in being merely a beautiful animal, she was full of a mischievous spirit that bubbled forth at every moment in rather equivocal jokes and meaning puns, so that Gonzalo was always roaring with merriment, in ignorance of the danger of that mood between husband and wife. The life they led was very sedentary, for Ventura did not like going out; the sun gave her headache and the cold hurt her throat. She spent much time in the adornment of her person, and changed her dresses as often as if she were in Madrid, so that the greater part of the day was spent in her dressing-room. This did not displease Gonzalo; for, on the contrary, when he saw her appear looking lovely and graceful, exhaling a penetrating perfume like a tropical flower, he was transported with delight, and a tremor of passion shook his whole being as he thought that that exquisite work of nature was his—entirely his.
Nevertheless, everything was not quite like what he had imagined it would be. Sometimes the young bride, half in earnest, half in joke, shut herself up in her room and there spent three or four hours without permitting him to enter, in spite of his affectionate entreaties through the keyhole.
"I rob you of the sight of me for some time," she would say afterward, laughing, "to increase your wish to be with me."
And, in fact, these coquetries augmented the young man's passion to such an extent that it became quite a madness. When the beauty felt inclined, they walked in the grounds, but they did not go far. On arriving at one of the few shady, cool retreats which had escaped the reforming hand of Don Rosendo, the girl liked to sit down—but neither upon the grass nor the rustic seats, so Gonzalo had to run and fetch an armchair for her from the house.
"Now sit here at my feet."
The young man then prostrated himself at her side and passionately kissed the hands that his beautiful wife gave him.
"Samson and Delilah!" she laughingly exclaimed, putting her snowdrop hands through the ruddy curly beard of her husband.
"You are right," he replied with a sigh. "A Samson without hair."
"You no hair!—and this—what is this?" she returned, ruffling his locks and making them stand up like a broom.
"I am speaking of my strength."
"You have not strength, eh? Let's see—show me your arms."
Laughing, he took off his jacket, and turning up the sleeves of his shirt he brought to view his enormous gladiatorial arms, on which the powerful muscles stood up like a network of cords.
"What strength!" exclaimed the girl, taking hold of one arm with both hands, which were unable to compass it. Then, seized with sudden enthusiasm and admiration, she added:
"How strong, how handsome you are, Gonzalo! Let me bite your arm?"
And bending down she tried to insert her pretty little teeth into the flesh, but the youth had such iron muscles that her teeth only passed over the skin without breaking it.
Then she grew vexed, and tried again to succeed in piercing the flesh at all costs. Finally he relaxed his muscles, and said:
"I will let you bite me, but only on condition that you draw blood."
"No, not so," she replied, while her pleased smile expressed the wish to do it.
"Yes, you must draw blood; if not I won't let you do it."
Then the girl proceeded to bite her husband's arm.
"Harder!" he cried.
And she bit harder.
"Harder!" he repeated.
And she bit harder still, while a mischievous smile sparkled in her eyes.
"Enough," she said, rising from her seat; "don't you see I have drawn blood? How cruel, just as if I were a dog!"
And bending down again, she sucked with delight the blood that welled up in the arm. Both smiled with repressed passion, and then they looked at the little red circle made by the girl's teeth.
"Do you see?" she repeated, half ashamed. "Well, it was one of your strange fancies!"
"Thanks! I should like this mark to remain here forever. But no, unfortunately it will soon go."
"I can renew it every day," she mischievously returned.
"I should be very pleased."
"You want to make your wife into a little dog; well, you had better say so plainly."
And suddenly embracing him, and kissing him passionately on the eyes, cheeks, mouth, and beard, she repeated incessantly:
"Say so plainly! say so plainly, you bear! This mouth is mine, and I kiss it. This beard is mine, and I kiss it, too. This neck is mine, and I kiss it. These arms are mine, mine, and I kiss them too!"
"Take me altogether; my life is yours," he said, intoxicated with happiness.
"I love you; I love you, Gonzalo, for your good looks and your strength. Look, let me put my hand on yours—what a difference! It looks like an ant."
"A white ant," he returned, taking the little hand between his own great strong ones.
"I love you; I love you, Gonzalo. Take me in your arms. Could you walk with me like that?"
"Oh! you are nothing."
And lifting her like a feather, and putting her on his arm like a child, he began jumping about the garden.
"Not so fast! Carry me gently. Let us go for a walk."
So he carried her all over the park without feeling any fatigue. And from that day that kind of walk pleased the girl so much that whenever they went out she clung to her husband's neck for him to carry her.
The servants smiled and shook their heads at the sight. But a still better way of amusing her was very soon discovered. There was a swing near the house, out of order, but more from time than use. It was repaired, and as soon as it was ready it afforded many hours of occupation to Gonzalo.
"If you could only know how I enjoy it! Push a little more."
Whereupon the youth's vigorous push made the swing fly, and the girl's eyes closed and her nostrils dilated with a feeling of intense delight, and Gonzalo liked seeing her so well amused.
Thus twenty days went by. During that time they received two visits from Pablito and Piscis; once they came in the tilbury, and once on horseback. The chief object on this last occasion was to ride a mare that Pablo had received in exchange for an older one. And strange to say, in spite of being so much in love, our young friend received the visits of the two equestrians with inexpressible delight, entered deeply into their interests, and when they had gone he had a feeling of void in his life, for his blood and his muscles were suffering from the extremely sedentary life he was leading. One day he proposed to his wife to go shooting, for he was an excellent shot and an indefatigable sportsman. Venturita made no objection as long as she could go with him, and so it was arranged. Therefore, one morning they went in search of a covey of partridges, the existence of which Gonzalo had been aware of since the day of his arrival at Tejada. But before they had gone half a mile from the house Venturita was quite done up, she could not take another step. Her husband, therefore, was obliged to carry her back in his arms, and forego his favorite pastime.
Doña Paula, who had regarded the marriage with great aversion, did not make any allusion to visiting the bride and bridegroom until many days had elapsed. She then suggested to Pablito to accompany her, because she feared it would pain Cecilia to do so; but the girl quietly expressed her intention of also going to Tejada. So one afternoon the mother and daughter started off to the place in an open carriage; but on coming in sight of the well-known little stone towers, Cecilia turned pale—she felt a pain at her heart and she could hardly see; so when Doña Paula saw her daughter's indisposition she gave orders to the coachman to turn back.
"Poor girl!" she said, kissing her. "You see you can not do it."
"I shall be able—I shall be able to," she returned, covering her eyes with her hand.
On the following day Doña Paula paid the visit, accompanied by Pablo, and she cordially invited the bride and bridegroom to leave the retired spot and to come to them in town, so this they did the following week.
Cecilia came down to the street door to receive the couple; she embraced and kissed her sister warmly, she gave her hand to Gonzalo, and kept it from trembling by a supreme effort of will; and the young man embraced her with a fraternal affection, thinking himself forgiven.
The bride and bridegroom were put in possession of the rooms that Doña Paula had destined for her eldest daughter, and, to all appearances, life resumed its peaceful course. Nevertheless, Gonzalo was sorry to see that they were not environed with that warm and genial atmosphere which adds so much to the comfort of the domestic hearth. Everybody was kind and attentive, from Don Rosendo down to the lowest servant; but no affection was shown them. Ventura did not notice it, or if she noticed it she did not much mind.
CHAPTER XVI
MARTIAL DOINGS
AFTER that grand victory over the clergy, "The Light of Sarrio" resumed its successful and prosperous course. The boisterous, vehement harbor-master was able to continue his civilizing crusade without fear of any more ambuscades. Sinforoso did not give up his post; however, he never went home without being accompanied by Maza or some other friend, both being well armed.
But Gabino Maza, who was always captious, knew how to make a malicious use of the rupture with the Church by appealing to the consciences of several of the townsfolk. Not that he was a strict Catholic, or cared a rap whether the whole priestcraft were rooted up like parsley, or not, for his ideas had always been somewhat heterodox, and the clergy had long considered him beyond the pale, yet he was the one now to be shocked.
"After all," he said, "we have been brought up to respect religion, which is the only curb upon a town, and people can not be allowed to ride rough-shod over the sacred beliefs of our wives," etc.
These perfidious insinuations caused several people to give up their subscriptions to the paper.
The editor and the proprietor, who divined the source of the blow, were greatly indignant; but Gabino Maza, seconded by the no less irrepressible Delaunay, did not relax in his contentious campaign. If any of the staff of "The Light" were present nothing was said, but directly they left tongues wagged freely and furiously. Sometimes seriously and sometimes jokingly they discussed all who were concerned with the paper, more especially, as was only logical, its highest representative—the eminent Don Rosendo. They said (oh! disgraceful conduct!) that it was only the desire of seeing himself in print which had inspired him with the philanthropic movement of lighting the torch of progress in Sarrio; that Don Rufo, the doctor, was an impostor; Sinforoso, a poor thing—a broken reed to lean upon; Alvaro Peña (here the voices were lowered and furtive looks cast round), a blusterer without a spice of justice in him; Don Feliciano Gomez, a poor devil who had better look after his own not very flourishing affairs; Don Rudesindo, a great brawler who was only trying to let his storehouse and advertise his cider; and as to the originator and promoter of the enterprise, Don Rosendo, they said that he had always been a stupid fool, who had thought himself an author when in fact he understood nothing but the rise and fall of the price of codfish.
Only the imperious duty of acting as faithful and impartial chroniclers obliges us to record such remarks; for of a truth it is much against the grain—the pen itself even seeming to revolt in one's hand against writing down such abominable things.
The backbiters abstained from speaking against Don Pedro Miranda because they had already asked him to withdraw from the periodical, which he seemed inclined to do after the skirmish with the clergy; for Don Pedro was an old Christian, and a great friend of the Augustinian chaplain. The malignant remarks were successful in setting some of the influential ladies of the town against the paper, among whom was Doña Brigida; so the foolish and degraded Marin went over to their side at the Club.
The dissentient side was also increased by the drunken mayor, for a feeling of fellowship with the frequenters of the café, and the vexation caused him by the constant excitement of the press, made him quickly retire from the great reform movement. That which finally set him against "The Light" and its staff was a paragraph in which the mayor and the corporation were severely censured for the license they allowed the town police and the little they did to render Sarrio a pleasant seaside resort for distinguished scrofulous patients in the summer.
Although they outwardly behaved as friends, a veiled, silent enmity reigned among the chief frequenters of the Club, and this increased day by day, thanks to the mischief-makers, who never cease on such occasions to air the differences and dislikes. Thenceforth they avoided quarrels and disputes because the angry cries and insulting terms which meant nothing in former days were now, thanks to the cordial dislike which existed among them all, fraught with much danger.
Therefore greater silence and more courtesy reigned in the resort, but it was accompanied with less frankly and cordiality. That strange state of feeling could not last long. Among people meeting every day and not being very cordial with each other, a quarrel is soon inevitable. It happened thus.
There arrived at the saloon, no one knew how, a copy of a certain Catalonian illustrated paper, where, among other pictures, was one representing the banks of an American river, upon which a dozen crocodiles were disporting themselves. Maza had the paper in his hand when Rufo came up behind him and said in a jocular tone:
"A lot of crocodiles, eh?"
"They are not crocodiles," returned Maza in a dry, disdainful tone, without raising his head.
"And why are they not?" asked the doctor, wounded by the tone.
"Because they are not."
"That is no reason."
"If you don't know, study; I am not here to teach you for nothing."
"Tut! The sage of Greece. Stand off, gentlemen!"
"I am not a sage, but I say these animals are not crocodiles, for there are no crocodiles in the river Maranon."
"What are they, then?"
"Alligators."
"Call them what you like! Alligators and crocodiles are the same."
"Another atrocity! Where did you learn that?"
"Why, man, it is a well-known fact that the alligator and crocodile only differ in name. Here is Don Lorenzo, who has traveled, and can tell us whether it is not so."
"The alligator is rather smaller," observed Don Lorenzo, with a conciliatory smile.
"The size is of little consequence. The question is whether it has the same form or not."
Don Lorenzo nodded in sign of assent. Maza jumped up in a fury:
"But, gentlemen! But, gentlemen! Are we among cultivated people or among country clowns? Where do you find that crocodiles are the same as alligators? The crocodile is an animal of the Old World, and the alligator of the New."
"Excuse me, friend Maza, but I have seen crocodiles in the Philippines," returned Don Rudesindo.
"Well, and what if you have?"
"Because you say crocodiles don't belong to the Old World—"
"No more they do! Are not the Philippines in the New World? Gentlemen, gentlemen, open your umbrellas, for fooleries are raining down now."
"What? Do you mean to say that the Philippines are not in the other hemisphere?" asked Don Rudesindo, his face distorted with rage.
"Never mind; never mind; go on."
"The chief difference between the crocodile and the alligator," intervened Don Lorenzo in a tone of authority, "is that the crocodile has three rows of teeth, and the alligator only two."
"It is not so, sir; it is not so! Crocodiles have the same rows of teeth as alligators."
Don Lorenzo received this remark with indignation, and Don Rudesindo came to his support; Maza, seconded by Delaunay, was not less furious in his attack. Several members of the Club soon joined in the dispute, which got warmer every minute. The voices were deafening. If they had had three rows of teeth like the crocodiles, or even two, I do not doubt that they would have devoured each other, seeing the rage and passion with which they showed the one set with which nature had endowed them. Maza was so aggressive and so insolent that at last Don Rudesindo, no longer master of himself, gave him a blow on the head with his umbrella. The subsequent conflict of sticks and umbrellas made a noise so terrible that it would have struck terror into the bravest heart. Several who had no recollection of having given any opinion on the teeth of the reptiles in question received their share of umbrella blows the same as those who had discoursed upon the subject. The master and several other people came upstairs, the West Indians left off playing billiards, Don Melchor de las Cuevas, a person of influence in war as well as in peace, mediated between the combatants, and the disturbance was finally quelled, but it was some months before their tempers cooled down.
The result was, that from that day Gabino Maza, Delaunay, Don Roque, Marin, and three or four other members left the Club. Don Pedro Miranda only appeared between long intervals of absence, which made the remaining members and the staff of "The Light" see that they could not count upon him, and that it would not be long before he joined the other side, as indeed it came to pass. The dissenting party used to meet in the Café de Londres in the Calle de Caborana, but not many months later the news ran through the town that they had taken a storehouse in the Calle de San Florencio in which to hold their meetings; and so it was. They had the floor boarded and carpeted, the walls and ceilings painted, and after furnishing it with several chairs and armchairs, they began going there as regularly as they had formerly gone to the Club. As the roof was low, and there was a ledge in the wall on which Marin used to take his afternoon nap, the place soon went by the name of the "Cabin" in the town, and the name clung to it. The staff of "The Light" treated the deserters with scorn as long as they had no roof under which to assemble, but now the matter assumed importance, and the first symptom of fear was evinced in an article, or a screed in blank verse, describing the new meeting-place, and bringing each of the members into notice under the names of different animals: Maza, a fish; Delaunay, a crowing cock; Marin, an ass; Don Roque, a pig, etc.
This exasperated the "Cabin" party in an inexpressible way. Don Rosendo became more and more pushing and active in his press campaign, and he essayed to introduce into "The Light" all the forms and customs that he noticed in the national and foreign press, more especially the French. He commissioned a clerk in Madrid to send him, every Wednesday, a telegram of twenty words, and moreover to write him political and literary letters. He translated all the foreign notices that appeared in periodicals, even those of fashion, courts of justice, and theatres; but where he distinguished himself was in the market column. It is not easy to describe the cleverness with which he treated the subject of cereals, oils, spirituous liquors, rice, etc. To show the intelligence and brilliance he brought to bear on such a prosaic matter we must quote one of his paragraphs in which he wrote:
"Sugars, alive to these variations, remain low, and will not attain any permanent rise until coffees, cocoas, and all foreign produce restrain their violent oscillations." It was, in fact, the soul of the paper.
Nevertheless, he had not done enough to realize his ideal. Belinchon had always followed with the greatest interest the personal polemics of the Parisian press, which generally ended in a duel. And these proceedings afforded him such exquisite pleasure that no banquet could be more congenial and delightful to his taste. When several days passed without this excitement Don Rosendo languished. The descriptions of the assaults of arms among the celebrated fencers of the capital were of equal interest to him, and although he found fencing expressions—Engagement de sixte, Battement en quarte, Contreriposet, Feinte, etc.—were somewhat confusing, he translated them in his own way, and pretended to be quite conversant with them. He said there was no surer sign of the state of the culture of a country than in its devotion to arms. The practise aroused and inspired the idea of human honor and dignity, and their abandonment brought dishonor and degradation. He knew better than their own relations the biography of all the great duelists and fencers in Paris, and he could give a detailed and minute description of all the duels that had taken place, with their accompanying wounds.
When an assault of arms was announced between two masters like Jacob and Grisier, our friend was greatly excited; he eagerly opened the "Figaro" every day, and mentally backed the one or the other.
One day in bed—his best ideas seemed always to come to him there—it occurred to him that to be a journalist without a knowledge of the use of arms was like being a dancer without the power of playing the castanets. One day, when least expected, a blow might fell him to the ground if he were ignorant of the art of parrying it. It was true that nobody in Sarrio was versed in the science of fencing, but then nobody was under a strong obligation to attain it. There might be some dispute between him and a journalist of Lancia or Madrid, and then he would have to let himself be assassinated! These thoughts led him to adopt the resolution of learning to use the foil at all costs. How? Why, by sending for a master to come to Sarrio, as he could not leave the place. Without communicating the idea to anybody, he wrote to a friend in Paris to look out in the fencing clubs for a teacher, even if second rate, who would be willing to expatriate himself. At the end of some time, such a one was found who, for the sum of two thousand francs a year, with the liberty of giving other lessons, would settle in the Biscayan town.
The news went forth that a professor of fencing, Monsieur Lemaire, had arrived in the schooner "Julia" for the sole purpose of teaching Don Rosendo the noble art of self-defense.
And, in fact, our friend was soon seen in the company of a slight, red-haired young man of foreign appearance. The people were horror-struck, for in a little town where blows with fists and sticks are given and taken the coldbloodedness, formality, and gravity of duels inspire horror and terror. They first thought that Don Rosendo wished to kill somebody, and it was only after some time that they understood the reason of the step. Don Rosendo entered into the matter with the ardor and gravity that it deserved. He devoted an hour every morning, and two more in the afternoon, to perfecting himself in lunging, which was all that the professor allowed him to do for the first two months. The most noteworthy result of this exercise was that at the end of some days he did not know whether his legs were his own, or whether they really belonged to another rational biped like himself. So sharp and strong were the pains to which he became subject that even in his dreams he thought he was still lunging, and jumped up with cries of pain. Then Monsieur Lemaire was so cruel that he was never satisfied with the efforts made by the good gentleman. "Try again, again, again!" and Don Rosendo had to stretch and strain himself to such a degree that he felt as if he were being sawed asunder. When the noble exercise was over Señor Belinchon, being nearly bowed to the ground with pain, was obliged to hold by the furniture to get from one room to another; and the noble founder of "The Light of Sarrio" walked henceforth to the end of his days as if he were bandy legged. But these tortures, similar to those endured by martyrs in Japan, he bore, if not with pleasure, with heroic endurance, as he remembered at what enormous sacrifices the improvement of one's self and one's country is attained.
At the end of two months the eternal tic-tac of the foils commenced: Dégagez; coup droit; dégagez; un, deux; dégagez, doublez. But the torture of the legs was not herewith relaxed. Don Rudesindo, Alvaro Peña, Sinforoso, Pablito, the printer Folgueras, and several others took lessons at the same time. In the hall the fencers were so overwhelmed by their belligerent feelings that solemn silence reigned. Nothing was heard but the sharp voice of Monsieur Lemaire incessantly repeating in an absent fashion: En garde vivement—Contre de quarte—Ripostez—Ah bien!—En garde vivement—Contre de sixte—Ripostez—Ah bien!—Parez seconde—Ripostu—Well done! Don Rosendo thought he was transported to Paris, and he saw a Grisier, Anatole de la Forge, and the Baron de Basancour in Don Rudesindo, Folgueras, and Sinforoso.
"The Light" no longer seemed to be "The Light," but "Le Gaulois" or "Le Journal des Débats."
At the end of five months he was well versed in the art of self-defense; he could parry direct blows, he could attack with a shortened arm, and he could spring forward to perfection. He then thought the time had come for a scandal to take place. It behooved the town to know that all the money expended on the fencing lessons had not been thrown away; besides, he wished to imbue the place with a taste for the refinements of the great capitals. But with whom in Sarrio could he pick a quarrel? However willingly he might quarrel with one of the members of the Cabin, he knew that the only one capable of fighting was Gabino Maza, and he held him somewhat in awe, especially since he had heard the professor say that one had to be very careful with violent men, even if they could not fence. After long and profound consideration he thought the best thing to do was to pick a quarrel with some journalist of Lancia through the discussion carried on by "The Light" with "The Future" about a particular branch road, and this plan he carried into execution. In the next number he showed himself so aggressive and so insolent to the paper of the capital that, surprised and indignant, it replied that certain remarks in "The Light" were only worthy of contempt.
Whereupon Don Rosendo commissioned his friends Alvaro Peña and Sinforoso Suarez to take his challenge to the editor of "The Future." So the two gentlemen went to Lancia, and returned the same day.
On seeing them come back Señor Belinchon ardently hoped that the affair might have been amicably settled without the necessity of fighting, although he had been the one to demand satisfaction, which is a fresh proof of his singularly exalted soul and the exquisite sensibility with which he was endowed. Unfortunately, however, the editor of "The Future" had remained firm, and the seconds had arranged a duel with swords which was to come off the following day at an estate in the Lancian suburbs.
On learning this our hero felt his legs tremble, not with fear—that nobody would dare imagine—but with emotion at finding himself about to be the object of public curiosity and attention. As they were walking toward home, Peña said to him with rough frankness:
"The Villar party wanted to have the sword points blunted, but I said: 'I know Don Rosendo very well, and he is a man who abhors childishness; you can not trifle with him. When one has to do with a quarrel like this it has to be treated seriously. I am certain that if we blunted the points there would be a row with him. Was not that what you would have said?"
"Exactly. Many thanks, Alvaro," returned Señor Belinchon, giving him a hand which Peña found rather cold, and he added in a weak voice:
"But if the points were a trifle filed I would not mind agreeing to that. The affair, after all, does not precisely exact death."
"I did not dare to agree to it. Not knowing your opinion, I feared to vex you."
"Not at all—not at all. I would not mind their being filed."
"Well, now it can't be. The conditions are arranged and unless they suggest it again the points will have to be sharp. That will suit you, as you know how to use the foil."
"And precisely for that reason I did not wish to take any unfair advantage of my adversary."
To this remark Peña gave a knowing wink.
"Don't be so scrupulous, Don Rosendo. If you can run him through first! like a little bird, don't hesitate to do so."
The officer accompanied these last words with an expressive pass in the air with the tips of his fingers, as if he were inserting them in a human body.
Don Rosendo made a gesture of repugnance, and after keeping silent for some time he said sullenly:
"What I fear is, that these cursed pains will not let me lunge properly."
"Tush! man, don't trouble about that. You won't feel any pain in your legs during the duel. Haven't you ever found that a toothache goes away directly you arrive at the dentist's door to have it drawn?"
This consolatory simile provoked a roar of laughter from the officer which lasted for some time, while Belinchon remained grave and depressed, as it behooves heroes to be on the eve of battle. The news of the approaching duel ran through the place like an electric shock. The excitement of the townsfolk was indescribable. It never entered anybody's head that a person advanced in years, with a married daughter, could cross swords with any one on the question of a branch road. Nevertheless Belinchon's party admired the firmness and bravery of their chief, who had a fearful nightmare that night. He dreamed that the sword of the editor of "The Future" cut him in two. The conqueror carried off one-half as a trophy, and only the other half returned to Sarrio. His cries awoke him, and filled Doña Paula with such alarm that she fetched the anti-spasm medicine. Belinchon, with the fortitude of heroic temperaments, said nothing to his consort, but he took a dose of the mixture.
On the following day he went off to Lancia in a carriage, accompanied by Peña, Sinforoso, and Don Rufo, with two swords. Upon leaving the town more than a hundred persons were waiting in the road to see them off. Don Rosendo felt quite overcome.
"Good luck! You'll send a telegram, eh? It shall not be said that Sarrio was beaten by Lancia."
Don Rosendo pressed the hands of his partizans with emotion. They all offered to accompany him, and vowed vengeance in case of his perishing in the duel. At last they reached the appointed spot, and there they met the enemy.
The seconds conferred with each other, and the swords were produced and put into the hands of the combatants, whose faces had assumed the color befitting such solemn occasions, which is that of bottle green varied with an orange hue. Once on the defensive, and the word of attack given, they both began brandishing the swords methodically, first on one side and then on the other, with a lugubrious, terror-striking sound. At the end of some time Villar ventured to raise his weapon with the intention of wounding his adversary's head. But lo! Don Rosendo gave such a prodigious leap backward that the seconds looked at each other in astonishment. Villar, also surprised, waited for his adversary to return to the attack. The melancholy tic-tac recommenced; Don Rosendo at the end of some time raised his sword, whereupon Villar instantly far exceeded his foe in the really supernatural bound he made backward.
The seconds looked at each other in increased surprise, for they thought he would leap out of the field.
The duel lasted in this way more than half an hour, during which Don Rosendo once cried:
"Stop!"
"What is it?" asked the seconds, approaching.
"It seems to me that the other gentleman has blunted the point of his sword."
Then Villar's sword was inspected, and it was seen that it was not so.
This act of generosity, more befitting the Middle Ages than our own times, raised him, when it became known, in the public estimation to the dignity of the legendary heroes—Roland, Bayard, and Bernardo del Carpio. The duel ended when Villar's sword quite unintentionally struck Belinchon's brow. It was a simple scratch, but the seconds considered it terminated the fight. Don Rufo stuck a large piece of English sticking-plaster on the wound. The wounded man nobly gave his hand to his adversary and despatched a telegram to Lancia to be sent to Sarrio. Then they all breakfasted cheerfully together; and during the meal the champions expansively confided to each other the blows they had intended to administer, and which for lack of opportunity they had been powerless to give.