“And what have you been doing all day? Tell me.”
“I think, my dear Alzugaray,” said Cæsar, “that I can say, like my
namesake Julius: ‘Veni, vidi, vice.’”
“The devil! The first day?”
“Yes.”
“Show me. What happened?”
“I left the house and entered the café downstairs. There was no one
there but a small boy, from whom I ordered a bottle of beer and asked if
there was a newspaper published here. He told me yes, the _Castro Mail_,
an independent weekly. I bade him fetch me a copy, even an old one, and
he brought me these two. I gave them a glance, and then, as if it didn’t
interest me much, I questioned the lad about Don Calixto.
“The first impression I obtained was that Don Calixto is the most
influential person in the town; the second, that besides him, either
with him or against him, there is a Señor Don Platón Peribáñez, almost
as influential as Don Calixto. Afterwards I read the two numbers of the
Castro periodical attentively, and from this reading I gathered that
there is a somewhat hazy question here about an Asylum, where it
seems some irregularities have been committed. There is a Republican
book-dealer, who is a member of the Council, and on whom the Workmen’s
Club depends, and he has asked for information as to the facts from the
Municipality, and the followers of Don Calixto and of Don Platón oppose
this suggestion as an attack on the good-birth, the honour, and the
reputation of such respectable personages.
“Having verified these pieces of news, which are of interest for me, I
packed off to church and heard the whole eleven o’clock mass.”
“Mighty good! You are quite a man.”
“Mass ended, I went over to the Baptistery arch and stood there
examining it, as if I felt the most terrible symptoms of enthusiasm for
carved stone. Afterwards I went into the big chapel, which serves also
as a pantheon for the Dukes of Castro Duro, whose tombs you find in
the side niches of the presbytery. These niches are decorated with an
efflorescence of Gothic, which is most gay and pretty, and among all
this stone filigree you see the recumbent statues of a number of knights
and one bishop, who to judge by his sword must have been a warrior too.
“Nobody remained in the church; the priest, a nice old man, fixed his
eyes on me and asked me what I thought of the arch. And having prepared
my lesson, I talked about the Romanesque of the XII and XIII Centuries
like a professor, and then he took me into the sacristy and showed me
two paintings on wood which I told him were XV Century.
“‘So they say,’ the priest agreed. ‘Do you think they are Italian or
German?’
“‘Italian certainly, North Italian.’ I might as well have said South
German, but I had to decide for something.
“‘And they must be worth...? he then asked me with eagerness.
“‘My dear man; according,’ I told him. ‘A dealer would offer you a
hundred or two hundred pesetas apiece. In London or New York, well
placed, they might be worth twenty or thirty thousand francs.’
“The ‘pater’ shot fire out of his eyes.
“‘And what would one have to do about it?’ he asked me.
“‘My dear man, I think one would have to take some good photographs and
send them to various trades-people and to the museums in the United
States.’
“‘Would it be necessary to write in English?’
“‘Yes, it would be the most practical thing.’ “‘I don’t think there is
anybody here that knows how....’
“‘I would do it, with great pleasure.’
“‘But are you going to be here for some time?’
“‘Yes, it is probable.’
“He asked me what I came to Castro Duro for, and I told him that I had
no other object than to visit Don Calixto García Guerrero.
“Astonishment on the priest’s face.
“‘You know him?’
“‘Yes, I met him in Rome.’
“‘Do you know where he lives?’
“‘No.’
“‘Then I will take you.’
“The priest and I went out into the street. He wanted to give me the
sidewalk, and I opposed that as if it were a crime. He told me he was
more accustomed than I to walking on the cobble-stones; and finally, he
on the sidewalk and I in the gutter, we arrived at Don Calixto’s house.”
* * * * *
“Was he at home?” asked Alzugaray.
“Yes,” said Cæsar. “By the way, on the road there we bowed to the
present Deputy to the Cortes, he who will be my opponent in the
approaching election, Señor García Padilla.”
“Dear man! What a coincidence! What sort is he?”
“He is tall, with a reddish aquiline nose, a greyish moustache, full of
cosmetic, a poor type.”
“He is a Liberal?”
“Yes, he is a Liberal, because Don Calixto is a Conservative. In his
heart, nothing.”
“Good. Go on.”
_DON CALIXTO AT HOME_
“As I was saying, Don Calixto was at home, in a large room on the ground
floor, which serves as his office. Don Calixto is a tall, supple man,
with the blackest of hair which is beginning to turn white on the
temples, and a white moustache. He is at the romantic age of illusions,
of hopes....” “How old is he?” asked Alzugaray.
“He isn’t more than fifty-four,” Cæsar replied, sarcastically. “Don
Calixto dresses in black, very fastidiously, and the effect is smart,
but smacks of the notary. No matter what pains he takes to appear
graceful and easy in manner, he doesn’t achieve the result; he has the
inbred humility of one who has taken orders in a shop, either as a lad
or as a man.
“Don Calixto received me with great amiability, but with a certain air
of reserve, as if to say: ‘In Rome I was a merry comrade to you, here I
am a personage.’ We chatted about a lot of things, and before he could
ask me what I wanted, I pulled out the letter and handed it to him. The
old man put on his glasses, read attentively, and said:
“‘Very good, very good; we will discuss it later.’
“The priest of course thought that he was in the way, and he left.
“When we were alone, Don Calixto said:
“‘All right, Cæsar, I am happy to see you. I see that you remember our
conversation in Rome. You must have lunch with me and my family.’
“‘With great pleasure.’
“‘I’ll go and tell them to put on another place.’
“Don Calixto went out and left me alone. For a while I studied the
boss’s office. On the wall, diplomas, appointments, in looking-glass
frames; a genealogical tree, probably drawn day before yesterday; in a
book-case, legal books...
“Don Calixto came back; he asked me if I was tired, and I told him no,
and when we had crossed the whole width of the house, which is huge, he
showed me the garden. My boy, what a wonderful spot! It hangs over the
river and it is a marvel. The highest part, which is the part they keep
up, isn’t worth much; it is in lamentable style; just imagine, there is
a fountain which is a tin negro that spurts out water from all parts.
“However, the old part of the garden, the lower part, is lovely. There
is a big tower standing guard over the river, now converted into a
belvedere, with pomegranates, rose-bushes, and climbing plants all
around it, and above all, there is an oleander that is a marvel...; it
looks like a fire-work castle or a shower of flowers.”
* * * * *
“Leave that point,” said Alzugaray. “You are talking like a poor
disciple of Ruskin’s.”
“You are right. But when you see those gardens, you will be
enthusiastic, too.”
“Get ahead.”
* * * * *