THE SOLDIERS
The inhabitants of Orbajosa heard in the twilight vagueness of their
morning slumbers the same sonorous clarionet, and they opened their
eyes, saying:
“The soldiers!”
Some murmured to themselves between sleeping and waking:
“At last they have sent us that rabble.”
Others got out of bed hastily, growling:
“Let us go take a look at those confounded soldiers.”
Some soliloquized in this way:
“It will be necessary to hurry up matters. They say drafts and
contributions; we will say blows and more blows.”
In another house were heard these words uttered joyfully:
“Perhaps my son is coming! Perhaps my brother is coming!”
Everywhere people were springing out of bed, dressing hastily, opening
the windows to see the regiment that caused all this excitement entering
the city in the early dawn. The city was gloom, silence, age; the army
gayety, boisterousness, youth. As the army entered the city it seemed as
if the mummy received by some magic art the gift of life and sprang
with noisy gayety from its damp sarcophagus to dance around it. What
movement, what shouting, what laughter, what merriment! There is nothing
so interesting as a regiment. It is our country in its youthful and
vigorous aspect. All the ineptitude, the turbulence, the superstition
at times, and at times the impiety of the country as represented in the
individual, disappears under the iron rule of discipline, which of so
many insignificant figures makes an imposing whole. The soldier, or so
to say, the corpuscle, separating at the command “Break ranks!” from
the mass in which he has led a regular and at times a sublime life,
occasionally preserves some of the qualities peculiar to the army. But
this is not the general rule. The separation is most often accompanied
by a sudden deterioration, with the result that if an army is the glory
and honor of a nation, an assemblage of soldiers may be an insupportable
calamity; and the towns that shed tears of joy and enthusiasm when they
see a victorious battalion enter their precincts, groan with terror and
tremble with apprehension when they see the same soldiers separate and
off duty.
This last was what happened in Orbajosa, for in those days there were
no glorious deeds to celebrate, nor was there any motive for weaving
wreaths or tracing triumphal inscriptions, or even for making mention
of the exploits of our brave soldiers, for which reason all was fear
and suspicion in the episcopal city, which, although poor, did not lack
treasures in chickens, fruits, money, and maidenhood, all of which
ran great risk from the moment when the before-mentioned sons of Mars
entered it. In addition to this, the native town of Polentinos, as a
city remote from the movement and stir brought with them by traffic, the
newspapers, railroads, and other agents which it is unnecessary now to
specify, did not wish to be disturbed in its tranquil existence.
Besides which, it manifested on every favorable occasion a strong
aversion to submitting to the central authority which, badly or well,
governs us; and calling to mind its former privileges and ruminating
upon them anew, as the camel chews the cud of the grass which it
ate yesterday, it would occasionally display a certain rebellious
independence, and vicious tendencies much to be deplored, which at times
gave no little anxiety to the governor of the province.
It must also be taken into account that Orbajosa had rebellious
antecedents, or rather ancestry. Doubtless it still retained some
of those energetic fibres which, in remote ages, according to the
enthusiastic opinion of Don Cayetano, impelled it to unexampled epic
deeds; and, even in its decadence, occasionally felt an eager desire to
do great things, although they might be only barbarities and follies.
As it had given to the world so many illustrious sons, it desired,
no doubt, that its actual scions, the Caballucos, Merengues, and
Pelosmalos, should renew the glorious _Gesta_ of their predecessors.
Whenever there was disaffection in Spain, Orbajosa gave proof that it
was not in vain that it existed on the face of the earth, although it
is true that it was never the theatre of a real war. The spirit of the
town, its situation, its history, all reduced it to the secondary part
of raising guerillas. It bestowed upon the country this national product
in 1827, at the time of the Apostolics, during the Seven Years’ War, in
1848, and at other epochs of less resonance in the national history. The
guerillas and their chiefs were always popular, a fatal circumstance due
to the War of Independence, one of those good things which have been
the origin of an infinite number of detestable things. _Corruptio optimi
pessima_. And with the popularity of the guerillas and their chiefs
coincided, in ever-increasing proportion, the unpopularity of every one
who entered Orbajosa in the character of a delegate or instrument of
the central power. The soldiers were held in such disrepute there that,
whenever the old people told of any crime, any robbery, assassination,
or the like atrocity, they added: “This happened when the soldiers were
here.”
And now that these important observations have been made, it will be
well to add that the battalions sent there during the days in which the
events of our story took place did not go to parade through the streets,
but for another purpose which will be clearly and minutely set forth
later on. As a detail of no little interest, it may be noted that the
events here related took place at a period neither very remote nor very
recent. It may also be said that Orbajosa (called by the Romans Urbs
Augusta, although some learned moderns, enquiring into the etymology of
the termination _ajosa_[*] are of the opinion that it comes by it from
being the richest garlic-growing country in the world) is neither very
near Madrid nor very far from it; nor can we say whether its glorious
foundations are laid toward the north or toward the south, toward the
east or toward the west; but that it may be supposed to be in any part
of Spain where the pungent odor of its garlic is to be perceived.
[*] Rich in garlic.
The billets of residence being distributed by the authorities, each
soldier went to seek his borrowed home. They were received by
their hosts with a very ill grace and assigned the most atrociously
uninhabitable parts of the houses. The girls of the city were not indeed
among those who were most dissatisfied, but a strict watch was kept over
them, and it was considered not decent to show pleasure at the visit of
such rabble. The few soldiers who were natives of the district only were
treated like kings. The others were regarded as invaders.
At eight in the morning a lieutenant-colonel of cavalry entered the
house of Doña Perfecta Polentinos with his billet. He was received by
the servants, by order of its mistress, who, being at the time in a
deplorable state of mind, did not wish to go down stairs to meet the
soldier, and by them he was shown to the only room in the house which,
it seemed, was disposable, the room occupied by Pepe Rey.
“Let them settle themselves as best they can,” said Doña Perfecta, with
an expression of gall and vinegar. “And if they have not room enough,
let them go into the street.”
Was it her intention to annoy in this way her detested nephew, or was
there really no other unoccupied room in the house? This we do not know,
nor do the chronicles from which this true history is taken say a word
on this important point. What we know positively is that, far from
displeasing the two guests to be thus boxed up together, it gave them
great pleasure, as they happened to be old friends. They were greatly
surprised and delighted when they met, and they were never tired of
asking each other questions and uttering exclamations, dwelling on the
strange chance that had brought them together in such a place and on
such an occasion.
“Pinzon--you here! Why, what is this? I had no suspicion that you were
in this neighborhood.”
“I heard that you were in this part of the country, Pepe; but I had no
idea, either, that I should meet you in this horrible, this barbarous
Orbajosa.”
“But what a fortunate chance! For this chance is most
fortunate--providential. Pinzon, between us both we are going to do a
great thing in this wretched town.”
“And we shall have time enough to consult about it,” answered the other,
seating himself on the bed in which the engineer was lying, “for it
appears that we are both to occupy this room. What the devil sort of a
house is this?”
“Why, man, it is my aunt’s. Speak with more respect about it. Have you
not met my aunt? But I am going to get up.”
“I am very glad of it, for then I can lie down and rest; and badly I
need it. What a road, friend Pepe, what a road, and what a town!”
“Tell me, have you come to set fire to Orbajosa?”
“Fire!”
“I ask you because, in that case, I might help you.”
“What a town! But what a town!” exclaimed the soldier, removing his
shako, and laying aside sword and shoulder-belt, travelling case and
cloak. “This is the second time they have sent us here. I swear to you
that the third time I will ask my discharge.”
“Don’t talk ill of these good people! But you have come in the nick of
time. It seems as if Providence has sent you to my aid, Pinzon. I have a
terrible project on hand, an adventure,--a plot, if you wish to call
it so, my friend,--and it would have been difficult for me to carry
it through without you. A moment ago I was in despair, wondering how I
should manage, and saying to myself anxiously, ‘If I only had a friend
here, a good friend!’”
“A project, a plot, an adventure! One of two things, Señor
Mathematician: it is either the discovery of aerial navigation, or else
some love affair.”
“It is serious, very serious. Go to bed, sleep a while, and afterward we
will talk about it.”
“I will go to bed, but I will not sleep. You may say all you wish to
me. All that I ask is that you will say as little as possible about
Orbajosa.”
“It is precisely about Orbajosa that I wish to speak to you. But have
you also an antipathy to this cradle of illustrious men?”
“These garlic-venders--we call them the garlic-venders--may be as
illustrious as you choose, but to me they are as irritating as the
product of the country. This is a town ruled by people who teach
distrust, superstition, and hatred of the whole human race. When we have
leisure I will relate to you an occurrence--an adventure, half-comic,
half-tragic--that happened to me here last year. When I tell it to you,
you will laugh and I shall be fuming. But, in fine, what is past is
past.”
“In what is happening to me there is nothing comic.”
“But I have various reasons for hating this wretched place. You must
know that my father was assassinated here in ‘48 by a party of barbarous
guerillas. He was a brigadier, and he had left the service. The
Government sent for him, and he was passing through Villahorrenda on his
way to Madrid, when he was captured by half a dozen ruffians. Here there
are several dynasties of guerilla chiefs--the Aceros, the Caballucos,
the Pelosmalos--a periodical eruption, as some one has said who knew
very well what he was talking about.”
“I suppose that two infantry regiments and some cavalry have not come
here solely for the pleasure of visiting these delightful regions.”
“Certainly not! We have come to survey the country. There are many
deposits of arms here. The Government does not venture, as it desires,
to remove from office the greater number of the municipal councils
without first distributing a few companies of soldiers through these
towns. As there is so much disturbance in this part of the country,
as two of the neighboring provinces are already infested, and as this
municipal district of Orbajosa has, besides, so brilliant a record in
all the civil wars, there are fears that the bravos of the place may
take to the roads and rob all they can lay hands on.”
“A good precaution! But I am firmly convinced that not until these
people die and are born over again, not until the very stones have
changed their form, will there be peace in Orbajosa.”
“That is my opinion too,” said the officer, lighting a cigarette. “Don’t
you see that the guerilla chiefs are the pets of this place? Those who
desolated the district in 1848 and at other epochs, or, if not they,
their sons, are employed in the market inspector’s office, at the town
gates, in the town-hall, in the post-office; among them are constables,
sacristans, bailiffs. Some have become powerful party leaders and they
are the ones who manage the elections, have influence in Madrid, bestow
places--in short, this is terrible.”
“And tell me, is there no hope of the guerilla chiefs performing some
exploit in these days? If that should happen, you could destroy the
town, and I would help you.”
“If it depended upon me----They will play their usual pranks no doubt,”
said Pinzon, “for the insurrection in the two neighboring provinces is
spreading like wildfire. And between ourselves, friend Rey, I think
this is going to last for a long time. Some people smile and say that it
would be impossible that there should be another insurrection like the
last one. They don’t know the country; they don’t know Orbajosa and
its inhabitants. I believe that the war that is now beginning will have
serious consequences, and that we shall have another cruel and bloody
struggle, that will last Heaven knows how long. What is your opinion?”
“Well, in Madrid I laughed at any one who spoke of the possibility of a
civil war as long and as terrible as the Seven Years’ War; but since I
have been here----”
“One must come to the heart of this enchanting country, see the people
at home, and hear them talk, to know what the real state of affairs is.”
“Just so. Without knowing precisely on what I base my opinion, the fact
is that here I see things in a different light, and I now believe that
it is possible that there may be a long and bloody war.”
“Exactly so.”
“But at present my thoughts are occupied less by the public war than by
a private war in which I am engaged and which I declared a short time
ago.”
“You said this was your aunt’s house. What is her name?”
“Doña Perfecta Rey de Polentinos.”
“Ah! I know her by reputation. She is an excellent person, and the only
one of whom I have not heard the garlic-venders speak ill. When I was
here before I heard her goodness, her charity, her innumerable virtues,
everywhere extolled.”
“Yes, my aunt is very kind, very amiable,” said Rey.
Then he fell into a thoughtful silence.
“But now I remember!” exclaimed Pinzon suddenly. “How one thing fits in
with another! Yes, I heard in Madrid that you were going to be married
to a cousin of yours. All is clear now. Is it that beautiful and
heavenly Rosario?”
“Pinzon, we must have a long talk together.”
“I imagine that there are difficulties.”
“There is something more; there is violent opposition. I have need of a
determined friend--a friend who is prompt to act, fruitful in resource,
of great experience in emergencies, astute and courageous.”
“Why, this is even more serious than a challenge.”
“A great deal more serious. It would be easy to fight with another man.
With women, with unseen enemies who work in the dark, it is impossible.”
“Come, I am all ears.”
Lieutenant-colonel Pinzon lay stretched at full length upon the bed.
Pepe Rey drew a chair up to the bedside and, leaning his elbow on
the bed and his head on his hand, began his conference, consultation,
exposition of plan, or whatever else it might be called, and continued
talking for a long time. Pinzon listened to him with profound attention
and without interrupting him, except to ask an occasional question for
the purpose of obtaining further details or additional light upon some
obscure point. When Pepe Rey ended, Pinzon looked grave. He stretched
himself, yawning with the satisfaction of one who has not slept for
three nights, and then said:
“You plan is dangerous and difficult.”
“But not impossible.”
“Oh, no! for nothing is impossible. Reflect well about it.”
“I have reflected.”
“And you are resolved to carry it through? Consider that these things
are not now in fashion. They generally turn out badly and throw
discredit on those who undertake them.”
“I am resolved.”
“For my part, then, although the business is dangerous and serious--very
serious--I am ready to aid you in all things and for all things.”
“Can I rely upon you?”
“To the death.”