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 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
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 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 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 Senor 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 Pena 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 Pena 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
Pena 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 cafe. 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 Cafe 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 cafe.
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 cafe, 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 Pena, 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. Pena 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 Pena'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.
Pena 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.