THE BARON'S JUSTICE
In a large room in the dreary house of the los Oscos, furnished with
four old pieces of furniture, and carpeted with two inches of dust, two
of our acquaintances in this story were seated at an oak table. One was
the baron, the master of the house, the other, his friend Fray Diego.
They had an empty jar of gin before them, another half full, and some
drinking-cups.
Neither table-cloth, table-cover, nor tray were there. The table was
only covered with many-shaped stains of gin and wine, which, in happy
conjunction with the dust, had been left during the course of years and
months. The room is dull because the Calle del Pozo is dull, and the
dirty window-panes have not been cleaned for years, and the evening is
closing in.
By the little light that penetrated, it could be seen that the faces of
both men were excessively red, so red that it seemed wonderful that
blood did not burst from their bloodshot eyes. The baron had arrived at
the apotheosis of fiery and fearful ugliness. The crimson scar across
his cheek stood out so sharp and black with corrugations, that it was
fearful to see it. His fierce, waxed moustache was more white than
black. He was dressed in black sheep skin, and he had a red flat cap on
his head, of which the great tassel fell sometimes over his ears and
sometimes over his nose, according to the movement of the ogre-like
body. They were silent for some time. Fray Diego occasionally raised
his hand to the bottle of gin, filled his friend's glass, then his own,
which he gravely drank at one draught. The baron was not so quick; he
took his glass, raised it to the level of his eyes, and made a series of
faces at it, which were sometimes horrible to witness. Then he touched
it with the edge of his lips, made faces again, touched it again, and
finally, after many attempts and vacillations, decided to swallow it. It
was in this grave, quiet way that the two old soldiers spent nearly
every evening of the year. The town knew it, and it was a subject of
bets with the jocose inhabitants which of the two would die first from
apoplexy. Fray Diego had served in the ranks of the Pretender. Then he
became a friar and went to the Philippines, and finally he left the
monastic rule, and lived in Lancia as an independent priest. They had
not known each other during the war, but when they came to Lancia they
became united with indissoluble ties of friendship by their ideas being
the same, by the recollection of the glorious battles in which they had
taken part--and by the gin.
"Long live the Pope, the head of all the kings of the earth!" exclaimed
Fray Diego after a long silence, in which they both appeared to be
asleep. At the same time he gave a great thump to the table which made
all the glasses and bottles ring.
The baron took hardly any notice. He went on winking at the glass he had
before him, and after swallowing the contents very leisurely, and
licking his lips three or four times, he said:
"Gently, gently, Fray Diego! You don't know what the Popes are."
"Long live the Pope, the head of all the kings of the earth!" repeated
the cleric, giving a still louder thump upon the table.
"Take care, Fray Diego! The Popes have always been very ambitious."
"Senor baron!" exclaimed the priest in a voice so emphatic as to be
comic; "you have a soul as ugly as your face!"
The baron was unmoved at the insult, and after a time he said, with
perfect tranquillity:
"Don't be a fool. What has my face to do with the matter? I am catholic,
apostolic, Roman; but if to-morrow the king our senor" (here he raised
his hand to his cap) "were to send me with a detachment to Rome, I would
go like the Constable of Bourbon, sack it, and take the Pope."
"And I say that if his Holiness sent me to put a bayonet through the
stomach of that constable, you may be sure I would put two."
"No."
"How no?" roared the chaplain, getting in a rage.
"Because the constable died three centuries ago."
"I am glad of it, for he has then been burning three centuries in hell."
"All this is very well, _Pater_, but the king is always to the fore, and
others have only to be silent and obey."
"The Pope is never silent, senor baron."
"Then he must be gagged."
"I should like to see it done! Presumption! presumption! a hundred times
presumption! Who would dare to do it if Fray Diego de Areces were near?"
cried the cleric convulsed with rage, and jumping up, whilst his eyes
blazed with fury.
"Sit down, _Pater_, and calm yourself, and take another glass, for Fray
Diego de Areces is only a common vessel."
The chaplain instantly calmed down, delicately poured out the liquor
into the two glasses, and swallowed his own share with pleasure, after
which his head fell on his breast, his eyelids dropped, and he was
asleep. The baron, radiant with delight, looked at him sharply with
cunning eyes, then, profiling by his companion's temporary
obliviousness, he took another glass, saying, "The nones."
It was a peculiar feature of those delightful sessions that the gin
changed the character of both. The irascible, impetuous temper of the
baron was softened in a remarkable way whilst the beneficial effects of
alcohol lasted. He was cheerful, communicative, conciliatory, nobody's
remarks upset him, nothing seemed worth getting angry about. Fray Diego,
on the contrary, who, in his normal condition, was always a jovial,
jocose priest, turned into a very devil for disputing and nagging, and
he betrayed a combative disposition that nobody would have suspected
under his round, placid face and pious calling.
He roused himself at the end of a few minutes, looked at the baron
fixedly for some moments with strange ferocity, and said stammeringly:
"Will the senor baron kindly explain to me what he means by a common
vessel?"
"Come, I've done with that. Are we to go on about that? What does it
signify to you what the one or the other means?"
"Because I choose to know; we must understand one another."
"We have understood each other. You have two pints of gin inside you and
I another two, or perhaps more," he added, with several winks.
"It is not so, senor baron, it is not so! We must understand each other
once for all, stupid!"
"Here there are no barons and no priests," exclaimed the noble in an
excess of good humour, jumping up from his seat. "Here we are only Uncle
Francisco--that is I, and Uncle Diego, that is you--are we not? Your
hand upon it."
Advancing with his hand extended he staggered, but kept his feet.
"Give me your hand, my brave fellow!"
The cleric was pacified, and they shook hands.
"Now an embrace for the legitimate King of Spain."
"Don't speak to me of embraces," cried the priest, again getting angry.
"I recollect Vergarra's embrace, fool!"
"Don't bother yourself, my friend, for we shall pay him out.
"Ay, ay, ay! mutila
Chaplen gorria."
And he began to sing the Carlist hymn in a hoarse voice, but soon
interrupting himself, he said:
"Well, Uncle Diego, sing! Give over tears now!"
His friend was in fact shedding great tears as he recalled the treachery
of Vergarra.
"Cheer up, soldier! A drink to the extermination of the negroes would
not come amiss."
Fray Diego admitted by a movement of his head that he would willingly be
a party to this consolatory toast, but he did not move from his seat.
They quaffed another glass, and the effect upon the emotional soul of
the baron was so marvellous, that immediately he began dancing an
English breakdown on the table, which did not stop Fray Diego's copious
flow of tears.
"Hum! I don't care for this foreign dance," he observed at last with a
final jump. "I prefer the _danza prima_.[K] Come here, Uncle Diego."
Whereupon he took the priest by force by both hands, dragged him from
his chair, and made some turns with him, intoning one of the long
monotonous songs of the country. Fray Diego felt rejuvenated as he was
reminded of the spring-time of his life in the country, when his uncle,
the Cure of Areces, thrashed him well for getting out of the window by
night to pay court to the girls of the neighbouring villages.
"Listen, Diego," said the baron stopping suddenly. "Don't you think
before we go on we had better drink a glass to the souls of our
betters?"
The priest willingly assented, but the glasses and the empty bottles
were rolling on the ground. The baron opened a cupboard and drew from
thence fresh elements of spiritual life. This funereal glass inspired
him with the happy idea of covering the chaplain's head with his own
flat cap and adorning his own with the other's shovel-hat which was
lying upon a chair. So clad they went on dancing, making a very
remarkable pair. But the baron slipped and fell.
"Help me up, Uncle Diego."
The priest took him by his outstretched hands and pulled him up. But the
weight of the noble was too much for him, and they both rolled on the
ground together.
"Rise, Uncle Diego!"
"Up, Uncle Francisco!"
They both rolled over with barbarous shouts of laughter. At last the
baron regained his footing. The cleric soon followed his example. But
his soul, which had been momentarily illumined by the recollections of
his youth, suddenly reverted to blood and extermination. He turned
fiercely on his friend:
"Let us understand once for all, fool! Why did you call me a common
vessel just now? eh? eh? Why?"
"I will explain to you presently, man," returned the baron calmly, "but
we will drink first a toast to all faithful Christians, whose visible
head is the Pope--I say, if you like."
The chaplain made no objection.
"Well, then, I called you a common vessel because a common vessel you
know is used for cooked potatoes."
So saying the baron fell into such a violent fit of merriment that he
very nearly choked. In the meanwhile the prominent eyes of his comrade
looked at him with such a menacing expression that they nearly dropped
from their sockets and fell upon him, as they visibly increased in size
like a locust's.
"And why cooked potatoes? I have as much courage as you, fool! as I
showed in the action of Orduna and Unza, and besides, I have six crosses
at home."
"You? you?" said the gentleman, unable to resist a smile. "You never
served excepting at the mess of the company."
The fury of the brother at hearing this was unbounded. He halloed, he
stamped, he thumped the table. Finally he rushed to the door, from the
threshold of which he began to apostrophise his friend with excited
gestures.
"You say this because you are in your own house! Come out and say it
here! Come out with me!"
The baron looked at him with smiling curiosity.
"Calm yourself, calm yourself, Uncle Diego."
"Come out and fight with me! with sword, pistol, or what you like."
"Very well, man, very well. We will come out and kill each other; but it
will only be to please you."
He then went with uncertain steps to the cupboard, and with some
difficulty, for it was now completely dark, he put his hands into the
press, and feeling about, drew forth two large cavalry swords.
"Take one," he said, handing one to the chaplain.
Fray Diego drew it from its sheath and began to fence with it. Whilst
making these experiments Don Francisco regarded him with great
satisfaction.
"Well, let us go," said the priest returning the weapon to its sheath.
"Quick, march."
And taking his shovel-hat that was lying on the floor, and concealing
the sword under his robes, he passed out of the door. The baron caught
up his cap, put on a heavy overcoat and followed him.
"Stop!" he exclaimed, before he had gone four steps. "Don't you think
that we have left some liquor behind?"
Fray Diego gave an affirmative grunt. They re-entered the room, and
feeling on the floor they came against the jar of gin that was not
completely empty. This they poured into the glasses, and drank up all
there was. Their next act was to sally into the street. The rough-stoned
pavement was wet. A fine rain was falling, but it was so thick that it
penetrated clothing as much as a sharp shower. Night had completely
closed in; and as, according to the municipal customs, it wanted a good
half-hour before the celebrated oil-lamps were lighted, darkness
enveloped the rain-driven town. The two heroes, animated by a warlike
spirit, perambulated the Calle del Pozo with determination, the cleric
before, the noble behind, both muffled up to the eyes, each with the
instrument of murder under his arm. They entered the Calle de las
Hogueras, passed under the walls of the fortress and out by the road
that runs by the old wall of the town. As the water filtered through
their clothes, it refreshed their bodies, and partially equilibriated
their tempers. Fray Diego became visibly calmer, and the black clouds of
depression that oppressed him gradually dispersed, but the baron's
haughty, cruel spirit became meanwhile a prey to the morbid conditions
of the other. But both facing the prospect of death pursued their
intrepid course through the night and rain. They went for some distance
by the old wall until they came to the Sarrio road, which they took.
They had not proceeded five minutes along it when they heard a groan.
They stopped at once, and approaching the side-wall they caught sight of
a bundle, which, on coming nearer, they found to be a child.
"What are you doing here?" said the baron, seizing her by the arm.
"Pardon!" exclaimed Josefina, overwhelmed with terror. "For goodness'
sake don't beat me, senor! I have already been beaten so much."
The gentleman immediately loosened his hold, and changing his voice and
tone, said:
"No, my child, no; nobody shall beat you. How do you come to be here at
this hour?"
"My godmother has beaten me a good deal, and I ran away from home."
"Have you not a father?"
"No, senor."
"Do you live in Lancia?"
"Yes, senor."
"Who is your godmother?"
"A lady."
"What is her name?"
"Amalia."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Fray Diego, striking his forehead with his hand.
"It is the adopted child of Don Pedro Quinones."
"Is not Don Pedro the husband of your godmother?"
"Yes, senor."
"Come, get up, my child. You can't stay there. Come with us."
"Oh, no, for God's sake! Don't take me to my godmother."
"No, we won't go there. You are wet, little creature," he added,
touching her clothes. "Come, come."
The two heroes had meanwhile put their swords on the wall, and when they
went off to Lancia with the child between them, they left them there
regardless of the damp tarnishing and rusting the steel.
"And why did your godmother beat you?" asked Fray Diego as they walked
slowly to accommodate their steps to those of the child.
"Because I was playing with the sheep."
"The sheep! But do Don Pedro's sheep come and sleep in the house?"
"Yes, senor, they sleep in the cardboard box."
"Look here, child, what are you saying?" said the cleric stopping.
When the inquiry led to the understanding that the sheep were of clay,
Fray Diego resumed his walk, protecting the fragile form of the little
creature with his long cloak. But his hand happening to touch her face,
he noticed with surprise that the moisture on his fingers was warm. He
communicated this fact to the baron, and as they had now reached the
first houses of the town, they put the child in a doorway, lighted a
match and had a look at her. Her whole face was bathed in blood and cut
across with deep gashes, whilst her hands were covered with bruises. The
heroes looked at each other in horror, and the same wave of indignation
inflamed their cheeks. The baron then gave vent to a string of strong
imprecations. These, and his fearfully ugly face, made such an
impression on Josefina, that she fled crying to a corner. They managed
with some trouble to tranquillise her, and after drying her face with a
handkerchief, Fray Diego took her up in his arms (the baron had
attempted it in vain), covered her with his cloak, and set off for the
ancient house of the los Oscos.
Here they took her in hand. The baron, who had attained some knowledge
of surgery in the campaign, carefully washed her wounds, closed them
with plaister, and dressed the contusions with a very efficacious
ointment that he had by him. The touch of the rough hands of those
veterans seemed as soft as velvet as they came in contact with the
child's skin. A woman could not have tended her with more delicacy,
attention, and devotion.
Josefina soon forgot her fears. That ugly gentleman was not bad. She
ventured to ask for water. The baron replied that the best thing she
could have to strengthen her would be a glass of sherry. One was
brought, and whilst the child drank it, the two champions of the
legitimate king retired into a corner of the room to deliberate.
They decided that the thing to be done was to take the child to the
house of the Quinones. The baron undertook to take the little creature
back, and then he would tell her godmother what he thought of her; he
would tell her she was an infamous woman, a vile, perverse creature, and
if she dared ill-treat the poor helpless child again, he would go to her
house, slit her ears, and then tie her by the hair to the tail of his
horse, and so drag her through the town. Fray Diego did not agree to so
much cruelty, but the baron declared that nothing would induce him to
swerve from his sinister plan of making a terrible example of her.
It cost some trouble to make Josefina go with them. They only managed it
by promising she should not be beaten again, and that in truth her
godmother would be very kind to her for the future. That was all she
wanted! And they added that if she dared touch a hair of her head,
lightning of God! he would wring her neck like a chicken's! and would
give her a sound whipping with his horse's bridle. And the countenance
of that gentleman was so fearful as he uttered these threats that the
child never doubted for an instant that they would be fulfilled.
Whilst making their way to the house of the Quinones, the baron
continued to break out into insulting expressions and threats of murder
against the wife of the Grandee. Fray Diego made futile attempts to calm
him. But his murderous feelings had so got the upper hand, that the
ex-Brother, fearing a catastrophe, left him at the door of the palace.
The baron pulled the bell. As he was not acquainted with the feudal
custom of the house, he did not pull more than once, so, as he was
thought to be a plebeian, the door was not opened immediately. The
surprise of the servant was great when he saw that terrible senor, who
inspired such respect in the town, and he hastened to ask pardon for not
having admitted him more promptly. The baron asked for Don Pedro
Quinones.
He was requested to enter, and the servant preceded him up the large
stone staircase. On arriving at the first floor, he was asked to wait
whilst he was announced.
A few minutes afterwards Amalia appeared. She cast a sharp, angry glance
at the child, whom the baron held by the hand, and turning to the
gentleman she said in a cold, haughty tone:
"What do you want?"
"I came to bring this child that I found in the street--and at the same
time to have a few words with Don Pedro or with you."
With this last remark the baron's voice perceptibly changed.
"Do you not know me?" he added, seeing that the lady looked at him
fixedly without replying.
In little places everybody knows everybody, especially persons of
position, although they may not be intimate with them, but Amalia
replied in a barefaced manner:
"I have not that honour."
"I am the baron de los Oscos."
The lady bowed.
"Paula," she said, turning to a servant who had entered, "take this
child. And Pepe, light the lamps in the blue room."
"Senora," began the baron, "I found this child in the Sarrio road,
covered with blood and contusions. I asked her who had brought her to
that pass, and she told me that it was her godmother. I cannot believe
it."
"Then you can believe it, for it is true," said Amalia interrupting him.
The baron stopped speechless and confused. Then he continued:
"It is possible that you had some reason for punishing her, but I am
deeply sorry."
Here Amalia again interrupted him:
"And I am sorry that you are sorry."
"My object in coming here," said the baron, who was fast losing his
aplomb, "was to warn you, was to beg you--as I have been told you have
had the charity to take this foundling--to continue the good work by
protecting, sheltering and educating her, and when it is necessary to
punish her will you do so with kindness, for the poor little creature is
delicate and weak, and the blows might put an end to her life."
"Is this all you have to say to me?" asked the lady, coldly.
The dreadful face of the baron contorted suddenly on hearing this
question; his eyes flashed, the deep wound stood out on his face by
reason, no doubt, of his great internal emotion. Formidable sounds were
heard in his throat, low rumblings presaged a coming storm. But those
noises finally calmed down, the signs of disturbance ceased, and instead
of the crater giving forth, as it was feared, a stream of burning lava,
rocks, and ashes, it only weakly emitted the two words:
"Yes, senora."
"Very well, then. I take this opportunity of bidding you welcome to the
house in the name of Quinones and myself."
At the same time she pulled the bell rope and rose from her seat. The
baron also rose muttering words of thanks and proffers of service.
"Pepe, take the senor baron down."
He made a profound reverence, which Amalia returned in a lesser degree,
and the gentleman turned on his heels and left. As he descended the
staircase quite nonplussed, his face on fire, and his eyes aflame, it
was a great relief to think of the drawing and quartering, the loss of
eyes, the horse's tail and other fearful punishments of the Visigoth
epoch, to which the senora belonged by virtue of her barbarous behaviour
and her cruel, arrogant spirit.