CONCLUSION
From Don Cayetano Polentinos to a friend in Madrid:
“ORBAJOSA, April 21.
“MY DEAR FRIEND:
“Send me without delay the edition of 1562 that you say you have picked
up at the executor’s sale of the books of Corchuelo. I will pay any
price for that copy. I have been long searching for it in vain, and I
shall esteem myself the most enviable of virtuosos in possessing it.
You ought to find in the colophon a helmet with a motto over the
word ‘Tractado,’ and the tail of the X of the date MDLXII ought to be
crooked. If your copy agrees with these signs send me a telegraphic
despatch at once, for I shall be very anxious until I receive it. But
now I remember that, on account of these vexatious and troublesome wars,
the telegraph is not working. I shall await your answer by return of
mail.
“I shall soon go to Madrid for the purpose of having my long delayed
work, the ‘Genealogies of Orbajosa,’ printed. I appreciate your
kindness, my dear friend, but I cannot accept your too flattering
expressions. My work does not indeed deserve the high encomiums you
bestow upon it; it is a work of patience and study, a rude but solid and
massive monument which I shall have erected to the past glories of my
beloved country. Plain and humble in its form, it is noble in the idea
that inspired it, which was solely to direct the eyes of this proud and
unbelieving generation to the marvellous deeds and the pure virtues of
our forefathers. Would that the studious youth of our country might take
the step to which with all my strength I incite them! Would that the
abominable studies and methods of reasoning introduced by philosophic
license and erroneous doctrines might be forever cast into oblivion!
Would that our learned men might occupy themselves exclusively in the
contemplation of those glorious ages, in order that, this generation
being penetrated with their essence and their beneficent sap, its insane
eagerness for change, and its ridiculous mania for appropriating
to itself foreign ideas which conflict with our beautiful national
constitution, might disappear. I fear greatly that among the crowd of
mad youth who pursue vain Utopias and heathenish novelties, my desires
are not destined to be fulfilled, and that the contemplation of the
illustrious virtues of the past will remain confined within the same
narrow circle as to-day. What is to be done, my friend? I am afraid that
very soon our poor Spain is doomed to be so disfigured that she will
not be able to recognize herself, even beholding herself in the bright
mirror of her stainless history.
“I do not wish to close this letter without informing you of a
disagreeable event--the unfortunate death of an estimable young man,
well known in Madrid, the civil engineer Don José de Rey, a nephew of my
sister-in-law. This melancholy event occurred last night in the garden
of our house, and I have not yet been able to form a correct judgment
regarding the causes that may have impelled the unfortunate Rey to
this horrible and criminal act. According to what Perfecta told me
this morning, on my return from Mundo Grande, Pepe Rey at about twelve
o’clock last night entered the garden of the house and shot himself
in the right temple, expiring instantly. Imagine the consternation and
alarm which such an event would produce in this peaceable and virtuous
mansion. Poor Perfecta was so greatly affected that we were for a
time alarmed about her; but she is better now, and this afternoon we
succeeded in inducing her to take a little broth. We employ every means
of consoling her, and as she is a good Christian, she knows how to
support with edifying resignation even so great a misfortune as this.
“Between you and me, my friend, I will say here that in young Rey’s
fatal attempt upon his life, I believe the moving causes to have been an
unfortunate attachment, perhaps remorse for his conduct, and the state
of hypochondriasm into which he had fallen. I esteemed him greatly; I
think he was not lacking in excellent qualities; but he was held in such
disrepute here that never once have I heard any one speak well of him.
According to what they say, he made a boast of the most extravagant
ideas and opinions; he mocked at religion, entered the church smoking
and with his hat on; he respected nothing, and for him there was
neither modesty, nor virtue, nor soul, nor ideal, nor faith--nothing but
theodolites, squares, rules, engines, pick-axes, and spades. What do you
thing of that? To be just, I must say that in his conversations with me
he always concealed these ideas, doubtless through fear of being utterly
routed by the fire of my arguments; but in public innumerable stories
are told of his heretical ideas and his stupendous excesses.
“I cannot continue, my dear friend, for at this moment I hear firing.
As I have no love for fighting, and as I am not a soldier, my pulse
trembles a little. In due time I will give you further particulars of
this war.
“Yours affectionately, etc., etc.”
“APRIL 22.
“MY EVER-REMEMBERED FRIEND:
“To-day we have had a bloody skirmish on the outskirts of Orbajosa. The
large body of men raised in Villahorrenda were attacked by the troops
with great fury. There was great loss in killed and wounded on both
sides. After the combat the brave guerillas dispersed, but they are
greatly encouraged, and it is possible that you may hear of wonderful
things. Cristobal Caballuco, the son of the famous Caballuco whom you
will remember in the last war, though suffering from a wound in the arm,
how or when received is not known, commanded them. The present leader
has eminent qualifications for the command; and he is, besides, an
honest and simple-hearted man. As we must finally come to a friendly
arrangement, I presume that Caballuco will be made a general in the
Spanish army, whereby both sides will gain greatly.
“I deplore this war, which is beginning to assume alarming proportions;
but I recognize that our valiant peasants are not responsible for it,
since they have been provoked to the inhuman conflict by the audacity of
the Government, by the demoralization of its sacrilegious delegates; by
the systematic fury with which the representatives of the state attack
what is most venerated by the people--their religious faith and the
national spirit which fortunately still exists in those places that are
not yet contaminated by the desolating pestilence. When it is attempted
to take away the soul of a people to give it a different one; when it is
sought to denationalize a people, so to say, perverting its sentiments,
its customs, its ideas--it is natural that this people should defend
itself, like the man who is attacked by highwaymen on a solitary road.
Let the spirit and the pure and salutiferous substance of my work on the
‘Genealogies’--excuse the apparent vanity--once reach the sphere of the
Government and there will no longer be wars.
“To-day we have had here a very disagreeable question. The clergy, my
friend, have refused to allow Rey to be buried in consecrated ground.
I interfered in the matter, entreating the bishop to remove this heavy
anathema, but without success. Finally, we buried the body of the young
man in a grave made in the field of Mundo Grande, where my patient
explorations have discovered the archaeological treasures of which you
know. I spent some very sad hours, and the painful impression which
I received has not yet altogether passed away. Don Juan Tafetan and
ourselves were the only persons who accompanied the funeral cortege. A
little later, strange to say, the girls whom they call here the Troyas
went to the field, and prayed for a long time beside the rustic tomb
of the mathematician. Although this seemed a ridiculous piece of
officiousness it touched me.
“With respect to the death of Rey, the rumor circulates throughout the
town that he was assassinated, but by whom is not known. It is asserted
that he declared this to be the case, for he lived for about an hour and
a half. According to what they say, he refused to reveal the name of
his murderer. I repeat this version, without either contradicting or
supporting it. Perfecta does not wish this matter to be spoken of, and
she becomes greatly distressed whenever I allude to it.
“Poor woman! no sooner had one misfortune occurred than she met with
another, which has grieved us all deeply. My friend, the fatal malady
that has been for so many generations connatural in our family has now
claimed another victim. Poor Rosario, who, thanks to our cares, was
improving gradually in her health, has entirely lost her reason. Her
incoherent words, her frenzy, her deadly pallor, bring my mother and my
sister forcibly to my mind. This is the most serious case that I have
witnessed in our family, for the question here is not one of mania but
of real insanity. It is sad, terribly sad that out of so many I should
be the only one to escape, preserving a sound mind with all my faculties
unimpaired and entirely free from any sign of that fatal malady.
“I have not been able to give your remembrances to Don Inocencio, for
the poor man has suddenly fallen ill and refuses to see even his most
intimate friends. But I am sure that he would return your remembrances,
and I do not doubt that he could lay his hand instantly on the
translation of the collection of Latin epigrams which you recommend to
him. I hear firing again. They say that we shall have a skirmish this
afternoon. The troops have just been called out.”
“BARCELONA, June 1.
“I have just arrived here after leaving my niece in San Baudilio de
Llobregat. The director of the establishment has assured me that the
case is incurable. She will, however, have the greatest care in that
cheerful and magnificent sanitarium. My dear friend, if I also should
ever succumb, let me be taken to San Baudilio. I hope to find the proofs
of my ‘Genealogies’ awaiting me on my return. I intend to add six pages
more, for it would be a great mistake not to publish my reasons for
maintaining that Mateo Diez Coronel, author of the ‘Metrico Encomio,’
is descended, on the mother’s side, from the Guevaras, and not from the
Burguillos, as the author of the ‘Floresta Amena’ erroneously maintains.
“I write this letter principally for the purpose of giving you a
caution. I have heard several persons here speaking of Pepe Rey’s death,
and they describe it exactly as it occurred. The secret of the manner of
his death, which I learned some time after the event, I revealed to you
in confidence when we met in Madrid. It has appeared strange to me that
having told it to no one but yourself, it should be known here in all
its details--how he entered the garden; how he fired on Caballuco when
the latter attacked him with his dagger; how Ramos then fired on him
with so sure an aim that he fell to the ground mortally wounded. In
short, my dear friend, in case you should have inadvertently spoken of
this to any one, I will remind you that it is a family secret, and that
will be sufficient for a person as prudent and discreet as yourself.
“Joy! joy! I have just read in one of the papers here that Caballuco had
defeated Brigadier Batalla.”
“ORBAJOSA, December 12.
“I have a sad piece of news to give you. The Penitentiary has ceased to
exist for us; not precisely because he has passed to a better life, but
because the poor man has been, ever since last April, so grief-stricken,
so melancholy, so taciturn that you would not know him. There is no
longer in him even a trace of that Attic humor, that decorous and
classic joviality which made him so pleasing. He shuns every body; he
shuts himself up in his house and receives no one; he hardly eats any
thing, and he has broken off all intercourse with the world. If you were
to see him now you would not recognize him, for he is reduced to skin
and bone. The strangest part of the matter is that he has quarreled with
his niece and lives alone, entirely alone, in a miserable cottage in the
suburb of Baidejos. They say now that he will resign his chair in the
choir of the cathedral and go to Rome. Ah! Orbajosa will lose much in
losing her great Latinist. I imagine that many a year will pass before
we shall see such another. Our glorious Spain is falling into decay,
declining, dying.”
“ORBAJOSA, December 23.
“The young man who will present to you a letter of introduction from
me is the nephew of our dear Penitentiary, a lawyer with some literary
ability. Carefully educated by his uncle, he has very sensible ideas.
How regrettable it would be if he should become corrupted in that sink
of philosophy and incredulity! He is upright, industrious, and a good
Catholic, for which reasons I believe that in an office like yours he
will rise to distinction in his profession. Perhaps his ambition may
lead him (for he has ambition, too) into the political arena, and
I think he would not be a bad acquisition to the cause of order and
tradition, now that the majority of our young men have become perverted
and have joined the ranks of the turbulent and the vicious. He is
accompanied by his mother, a commonplace woman without any social
polish, but who has an excellent heart, and who is truly pious.
Maternal affection takes in her the somewhat extravagant form of worldly
ambition, and she declares that her son will one day be Minister. It is
quite possible that he may.
“Perfecta desires to be remembered to you. I don’t know precisely what
is the matter with her; but the fact is, she gives us great uneasiness.
She has lost her appetite to an alarming degree, and, unless I am
greatly mistaken in my opinion of her case, she shows the first symptoms
of jaundice. The house is very sad without Rosarito, who brightened it
with her smiles and her angelic goodness. A black cloud seems to rest
now over us all. Poor Perfecta speaks frequently of this cloud, which
is growing blacker and blacker, while she becomes every day more yellow.
The poor mother finds consolation for her grief in religion and in
devotional exercises, which each day she practises with a more exemplary
and edifying piety. She passes almost the whole of the day in church,
and she spends her large income in novenas and in splendid religious
ceremonies. Thanks to her, religious worship has recovered in Orbajosa
its former splendor. This is some consolation in the midst of the decay
and dissolution of our nationality.
“To-morrow I will send the proofs. I will add a few pages more, for I
have discovered another illustrious Orbajosan--Bernardo Amador de Sota,
who was footman to the Duke of Osuna, whom he served during the period
of the vice-royalty of Naples; and there is even good reason to believe
that he had no complicity whatever in the conspiracy against Venice.”
Our story is ended. This is all we have to say for the present
concerning persons who seem, but are not good.