The Fourth Estate Volume I Part 33

That night the band, conducted by Senor Anselmo, with his great s.h.i.+ning key, serenaded the staff. The front of the publis.h.i.+ng office was illuminated with Venetian lamps, and, as usual, the pretty light-hearted artisans of Sarrio took the opportunity of dancing country dances and mazurkas on the hard stones of the street. The worthy individuals who gave voice to their admiration and enthusiasm for the staff of "The Light" in the language of music were inspired thereto by De Rueda's wine and cigars. Joy reigned in every heart, and overflowed in embraces as hearty as they were spontaneous. Don Rosendo embraced Navarro, Alvaro Pena, Don Rudesindo, Don Rufo, Sinforoso, and Don Pedro Miranda, the printer Folgueras. The musicians embraced each other, and they all embraced their conductor, Senor Anselmo. Outside the printing office, Pablito, also in commemoration of the auspicious day, embraced the fair Nieves under the shadow of a doorway, and several other lads, following his example, openly distributed their commemorative kisses among the happy girls.

The only thing that disturbed the general happiness was the peculiar sadness that came over Folgueras after he had imbibed several litres of wine. The recollection of Lancia, his natal town, suddenly occurred to him and threw him into a state of depression difficult to describe. Just when cheerfulness and gaiety had reached their height he called Don Rosendo aside, and with tears a.s.sured him that life away from his adored town was an unsupportable burden to him; better to die than lose sight of the humble dwelling which saw his birth and the streets trodden by his baby feet. The same week, please G.o.d, he hoped to leave Sarrio and return to Lancia with his belongings.

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 s.h.i.+rt 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 a.s.sistance, 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 ill.u.s.trious founder of "The Light of Sarrio" by the time he retired to rest. After extinguis.h.i.+ng 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 grat.i.tude 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 succ.u.mb 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 sc.r.a.ps 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 cafe 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 a.s.sented to all, knitted his brows and extended his open hand in a valedictory fas.h.i.+on. 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 a.s.sembly of respected matrons of the town generally gathered in Dona 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 s.e.x; 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 G.o.d 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 s.h.i.+ps 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed off, he fell into a violent pa.s.sion 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 cafe 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 embarra.s.sment, and with some shamefacedness, all of which confirmed Don Rosendo in his suspicion. He hid his feelings as much as possible, and striving to a.s.sume 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.

n.o.body 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 n.o.ble, magnanimous soul was wounded to the quick by the ingrat.i.tude 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 s.h.i.+ne in the higher spheres of human society. But it is still more painful to see the deprecation of one's n.o.ble 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 pa.s.sing 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, dest.i.tute 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 refres.h.i.+ng 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 a.s.sistance. Many were the contributions sent for the second number, but the majority was below the mark, and want of s.p.a.ce 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 Pena, 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 pa.s.sed 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 d.a.m.natory, 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 antic.i.p.ation the delights reserved by G.o.d 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 a.s.sault 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 a.s.sistant. 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 Pena 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 gla.s.s 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: