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[Illustration: Frontispiece: THE CITY OF SANTANDER, SPAIN
THE "SARRIO" OF THE FOURTH ESTATE]
_The Fourth Estate Vol. 1_
PALACIO VALDES
The Fourth
Estate
_VOLUME I_
TRANSLATED FROM
THE SPANISH
[Illustration: colophon]
A FRONTISPIECE AND A
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
P. F. COLLIER & SON
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY
BRENTANO'S
_The Fourth Estate_
THE FOURTH ESTATE
VOLUME ONE
CONTENTS
PAGE
LIFE OF VALDES 5
CHAPTER I
THE CURTAIN RISES 9
CHAPTER II
THE PERFORMANCE CONTINUES 20
CHAPTER III
SAFE ARRIVAL OF THE "BELLA PAULA" 34
CHAPTER IV
THE BETROTHAL 48
CHAPTER V
PLANNING THE HOME 61
CHAPTER VI
THE CHIEF RESIDENTS OF SARRIO AT THEIR CLUB 80
CHAPTER VII
BURGLARS 115
CHAPTER VIII
CECILIA'S TROUSSEAU 134
CHAPTER IX
A CHANGE OF HEART 156
CHAPTER X
TWO TRAITORS 173
CHAPTER XI
MEETING IN SUPPORT OF THE FOURTH ESTATE 191
CHAPTER XII
THE STORY OF A TEAR 218
CHAPTER XIII
"THE LIGHT OF SARRIO" 249
CHAPTER XIV
VIOLENT RECRIMINATIONS 274
CHAPTER XV
GONZALO MARRIES 288
CHAPTER XVI
MARTIAL DOINGS 304
LIFE OF VALDES
The early writings of this distinguished native of Asturias partake of a
peculiar interest, strongly appealing to one's human sympathies. On his
thirtieth birthday Senor Valdes married a young lady scarcely more than
half his age. She was very frail, and after eighteen months of tenderly
devoted love on both sides, the husband was left alone with an infant
son. The charming and pathetic little tale "The Idyl of an Invalid"
describes the earlier portion of the author's brief wedded life, and in
fact was written during that happy period. The year after his wife's
death he published "Riverita," in which novel his late partner was made
to appear as a child, and in the sequel to "Riverita," "Maximina,"
published still a year later, we find her depicted as ripening to
womanhood. Thus, out of Valdes's early novels three bear this melancholy
yet attractive personal quality.
His beginning in the field of fiction, Armando Palacio Valdes made in
1881, with "Young Mr. Octavio," following it up, in 1883, with "Martha
and Mary." Then, between "The Idyl of an Invalid" and "Riverita" came
"Jose." The novel here offered, a specimen of his work combining pathos
with humor, was printed the year after "Maximina," that is to say, in
1888.
When "The Fourth Estate" was brought out Valdes was thirty-five. He was
born on the 4th of October, 1853, in a little village called Entralgo,
where his family owned a summer villa. The greater part of the year they
spent at Aviles, at which place young Armando first went to school. He
continued his studies at Oviedo, and then went to Madrid, with the
object of graduating as a lawyer.
His real bent, that of authorship, however, soon declared itself, so
that while yet occupied with his legal studies he contributed articles
on philosophical and theological subjects to the Spanish "Revista
Europea"--of which periodical he eventually joined the staff and became
the editor. In this capacity he earned a national reputation as a censor
of literature, his articles and sketches pertaining to literary
criticism being collected in several volumes. But after 1881 he devoted
little time to commenting on other people's books, preferring to bend
his main energies to creative endeavor.
Seven of his novels have been mentioned above, and among those
subsequently produced seven more complete the list of his novels best
known to the Spanish public. These are "Sister Saint Sulpice," "Foam,"
"Faith," "The Grandee," "The Origin of Thought," "The Dandies of Cadiz,"
and "The Joy of Captain Ribot."
In a letter sent a few years ago to an English literary friend Senor
Valdes wrote as follows:
"Since my wife died my life has been tranquil and melancholy, dedicated
to work and to my son. During the summers I live in Asturias, and during
the winters in Madrid. I like the company of men of the world better
than that of literary folks, because the former teach me more. I am
given up to the study of metaphysics. I have a passion for physical
exercises, for gymnastics, for fencing, and I try to live in an evenly
balanced temper, nothing being so repugnant to me as affectation and
emphasis. I find a good deal of pleasure in going to bull-fights
(although I do not take my son to the Plaza dressed up like a miniature
bull-slayer, as an American writer declares I do), and I cultivate the
theatre, because to see life from the stage point of view helps me in
the composition of my stories."
THE FOURTH ESTATE
CHAPTER I
THE CURTAIN RISES
Sarrio, the well-known town on the Cantabrian coast, boasted some years
ago of a theatre neither bright, light, nor commodious, but quite good
enough to afford entertainment to the pacific, industrious residents
during the long winter evenings.
It was built, as such places usually are, in the form of a horseshoe,
and it consisted of two floors besides the ground floor. On the first
were the boxes--goodness knows why they were so called, for they were
nothing but a few benches stuffed with goat's hair and upholstered with
scarlet flannel, placed behind a balustrade. To take one of these
places, a push had to be given to the back, which raised the seat with a
spring, and once the person was in it readjusted itself, and he was as
comfortable as a human being can be on an instrument of torture. On the
second floor all the rabble vociferated, scuffled, and pushed,
irrespective of social distinctions between the well-to-do seaman, the
poor mussel-picker from the rocks and pier, and Amalia, the respected
dealer, and the sellers in the streets. This part of the house was
called the gallery. The stage-boxes were of the same wretched style as
the others, and the upholstering seemed to be the same, as far as one
could see. Beyond them came the "front rows," reserved, according to the
old-fashioned way, for certain handicraftsmen, who, from their calling,
their position as employers, or for any reason, were averse to going up
into the gallery and mixing with the common herd. From the roof hung a
prismatic cut-glass chandelier, lighted with fish oil, which was
subsequently replaced by petroleum; but that reform I never saw. Under
the staircase leading to the boxes there was an alcove, enclosed by a
curtain, which went by the name of "Don Mateo's box." Of this Don Mateo
more anon.
Then you must know that in this provincial theatre the same dramas and
comedies were played as in the capital, and the same operas given as at
La Scala in Milan. Incredible as it seems, it is perfectly true. There
the narrator of this story heard for the first time the famous lines:
"When you hearken to a story of shipwreck,
All on earth, e'en to love, is forgotten."
They certainly struck him as splendid, and the theatre a marvel of
luxury and good taste. Everything in the world depends on imagination.
Would that mine were as fresh and vivid as it was in those days, so as
to be able to give you a few hours' pleasant amusement!
There it was I saw "Don Juan Tenorio," with its flour-whitened corpses,
its commander gliding away on a door pulled with cords, its infernal
regions made of lighted spirits of wine; and its apotheosis of paper,
stuffing, and packing-cases made such an impression on me that I never
slept that night. In the auditorium the same things went on more or less
as in the grandest houses of the capital. However, more attention was
given to the performance here than in Court theatres, because we had not
arrived at that high state of culture in which behavior is in direct
contradiction to the place--swearing and chattering in playhouses,
laughing and giggling in church, and silence and sedateness at the
promenade, after the delightful fashion in Madrid. Even now I do not
know if they have attained to this state of culture in Sarrio.
But it must not be thought that there were not some enlightened spirits
who were sufficiently advanced to give a sample of correct manners at
the theatre. Pablito de Belinchon was one of these. With three or four
kindred spirits he had a season ticket for one of the stage-boxes, and
from thence they spoke across to other gentlemen, older men, who
subscribed to the opposite stage-box. They cracked jokes, they turned
the soprano or bass into ridicule, and they threw sweets and pellets of
paper. The people in the gallery, not yet conversant with this advanced
stage of refinement, loudly insisted on silence. The families of
importance arriving, as usual, after the curtain had risen, came in with
as much fuss as if they were passing into the dress-circle of the Royal
Theatre, and, be it said, with much more noise, for it is impossible to
imagine the horrible sounds with which the backs of the boxes were
pushed back, and the seats dropped, as if on purpose to attract
attention.
The party now making its pompous entry into one of these boxes remains
standing until all wraps are removed, while the eyes of the audience are
instantly turned from the stage and fixed upon the newcomers until they
are seated. They are the Belinchons. The head of the family is a tall,
spare gentleman, with bent shoulders, bald head, small sharp eyes, a
large mouth, wreathed with a Mephistophelian smile, disclosing two long
even rows of teeth, the masterpiece of a certain dentist, recently
established in Sarrio; he has whiskers and mustache, and his age is
about sixty.
He is reported to be the richest merchant in the town, being one of the
chief importers of codfish on the Biscayan coast. For many years he had
the entire monopoly of the wholesale trade of this commodity, not only
in the town, but in the provinces, and had thus amassed a considerable
fortune.
His wife, Dona Paula--but why does her arrival excite so much talk in
the theatre? The good lady, hearing it, trembles, looks confused, and,
being unable to collect herself sufficiently to take off her cloak by
herself, she is relieved of it by her daughter, who says in her ear:
"Sit down, mama."
Dona Paula sits down, or, to speak more correctly, she drops into a
seat, and casts an anxious look at the audience, while her cheeks are
suffused with crimson. In vain she tries to collect and calm herself,
but the more she tries to keep the blood from rushing to her face the
more it mounts to that prominent position.
"Mama, how red you are!" said Venturita, her younger daughter, trying
not to laugh.
The mother looked at her with a pained expression.
"Hush, Ventura, hush," said Cecilia.
Dona Paula then murmured: "The child delights in upsetting me," and
nearly burst into tears.
At last the audience, wearied of tormenting her with their glances,
smiles, and whispers, turned their attention to the stage. Dona Paula's
distress gradually diminished, but the traces remained for the rest of
the evening.
The cause of the excitement was the velvet mantle, trimmed with fur,
that the good lady had donned. It was always like this whenever she
appeared for the first time in any fine article of apparel. And this for
no other reason than because Dona Paula was not a lady by birth.
She had belonged to the cigarette-maker class. Don Rosendo had made love
to her when she was quite a young girl, and then came the birth of
Pablito. However, Don Rosendo let five or six years elapse without
marrying, not wishing to hear of matrimony, but continuing to pay court
to her and assisting her with money, until finally, vanquished more by
the love of the boy than the mother, and more than all by the
admonitions of his friends, he decided to offer his hand to Paulina.
The town knew nothing of the marriage until it had taken place, secrecy
being considered the safest course. From thenceforth the life of the
cigarette-maker can be divided into different epochs. The first, which
lasted for a year, dated from the time of her marriage until the
"mantilla appeared." During this epoch she did not go out much, nor was
she often seen in public. On Sundays she attended early mass, and the
rest of the time she was shut up in the house. When she decided to don
the aforementioned mantilla and attend eleven o'clock mass she was the
cynosure of all eyes, in church as well as on her way through the
streets; and the event was talked about for eight days afterward.
The second epoch, which lasted three years, was from the "mantilla
episode" to that of "the gloves." The sight of such an adornment on the
large dark hands of the ex-cigarette-maker produced an indescribable
sensation in the feminine element of the neighborhood; in the streets,
in church, and on visits, the ladies met each other with the question:
"Have you seen?"
"Yes, yes; I have seen."
And then the tongues were loosed in cruel remarks.
Then came the third epoch, which lasted four years, and ended with the
silk dress, which gave almost as much cause of complaint as the gloves,
and produced universal indignation in Sarrio.
"Do you really mean to say so, Dona Dolores?"
"Who would have thought it?"
Dona Dolores lowered her eyes with a despairing gesture.
Finally the last epoch, the longest of all, for it lasted six years,
terminated (oh horror!) with "the hat." The shudder of disgust that went
through the town of Sarrio when Dona Paula appeared one holiday
afternoon at the Promenade with a little hat on her head beggars
description. It caused quite a sensation: the women of the place made
the sign of the cross, as they saw her pass, and remarks were uttered
in loud tones so as to reach the person concerned.
"Look, girl, do for goodness' sake, look at the Serena, and see what she
has got on her head."
Mention must be made that Dona Paula's mother, grandmother, and
great-grandmother had all gone by the name of Serena. It is needless to
add that even when the cigarette-maker attained to the dignity of
senora, she was never by any chance given her proper name.
When the ladies of Sarrio met each other in the street the following day
there were no words to express their horror; they could only raise their
eyes to heaven, make convulsive gesticulations, and utter, with a groan,
the word "Hat!"
So at that deed of daring, only comparable to those of heroes of
antiquity, like Hannibal, Caesar, and Genghis Khan, the town remained
crushed and dumfounded for some months. Nevertheless, whenever Dona
Paula appeared in public with the abhorred hat upon her head, or with
any other departure from her old attire, she was always greeted with a
murmur of disapproval. The fault of the matter lay in her never having
resented, in public or in private, or even in the sanctum of her own
feelings, this malignant treatment of her fellow-townsfolk. She
considered it natural and reasonable, and it never occurred to her that
it ought not to have been; her ideas of conventionality had never
prompted her to rebel against the tyranny of public opinion. She
believed in all good faith that in adopting the gloves, the mantilla, or
the hat, she had committed a breach of laws both human and divine, and
that the murmurs and mocking glances were the just retribution for the
infraction. Hence her terror and dismay every time she appeared at the
theatre or promenade overwhelmed her with confusion.
"Why, then," it will be said, "did Dona Paula dress herself thus?"
Those who ask such questions are not well versed in the mysteries of the
human heart; Dona Paula put on the mantilla, gloves, and hat with the
full knowledge of the retribution to come, just as a boy stuffs himself
from the sideboard, knowing that he will be punished for the act. Those
who have not been brought up in a little town can never know how
ardently the hat is desired by the artisan.
It was so with Dona Paula, old, faded, and withered as she was. As a
young girl, she had been pretty, but years, her secluded life, to which
she could never accustom herself, and, above all, her struggle against
public opinion in the adoption of appropriate attire, had prematurely
aged her; but she still had beautiful black eyes set in regular and
pleasing features.
The first act was nearly over. A fantastic melodrama, the name I do not
remember, was being performed, and the company had brought into play
all the scenic apparatus at its disposal. The audience was impressed,
and received every change of scene with enthusiastic applause.
Pablito, who had spent a month in Madrid the previous year, made light
of the performance and winked knowingly at his friend in the front row
of the stalls. Then, to show how boring he found it all, he ended by
turning his back on the stage, and leveling his opera-glass at the local
beauties. Every time that the Russian-leather lorgnette was turned on
one of the fair sex the girl trembled slightly, changed her position,
and raised her hand, which slightly shook, to adjust her hair, smiled
meaninglessly at her mama or sister, settled herself afresh, and fixed
her eyes on the stage with insistence and decision, but a quick shy
glance was soon raised to those round, bright glasses directed at her,
and she ended by blushing.
Then Pablito, having carried his point, turned his attention to another
beauty. He knew them all as well as if they were his sisters, he thee'd
and thou'd the majority of them, and to several he had even been
engaged; but he was as light and inconsistent in his love affairs as a
feather in the air; the girls had all had to undergo the painful process
of disillusion, and finally, wearied of courting his neighbors, he
proceeded to exercise his charms on some of the visitors to Sarrio,
only, of course, to throw them over, if they imprudently stayed more
than a month or two in the town.
There were weighty reasons for Pablito's power to thus make havoc at his
own sweet will in the hearts of all the girls of the place, as well as
of those from other parts.
He was a very aristocratic-looking young fellow of four or five and
twenty, of a handsome, manly countenance, and slight well-formed figure.
Then, he rode splendidly, and drove a tilbury or drag and four with an
ease only seen in Sarrio among coachmen. When wide trousers were worn,
Pablito's looked like skirts, and when tight ones were the fashion his
legs looked as slender as a stork's. When high collars were in vogue,
Pablito went about half-strangled with his tongue hanging out, and when
low ones came in, he had them cut down to his breastbone.
These and other striking characteristics made him irresistible. Perhaps
some people will not quite credit the universal admiration he excited,
but I am certain that the girls of the province who read this story will
testify to the truth of the fact.