_THE MOTHER_
Some days later Cæsar was in his office, when a thin old woman, dressed
in black, shot in, crossed the room, and fell on her knees before him.
Cæsar jumped up in disgust.
“What’s this? What’s going on here?” he asked.
Amparito entered the room and explained what was going on. The old woman
was “Driveller” Juan’s mother. People had told Juan’s mother that the
only obstacle to her son’s salvation from death was Cæsar, and she had
come to implore him not to let them condemn Juan to death.
“My poor son is a good boy,” moaned the old creature; “a woman made him
commit the crime.”
Cæsar listened, silent and gloomy, without speaking, and then left the
room. Amparito remained with the old woman, consoling her and trying to
quiet her.
That night Amparito returned to the task, and dragged the promise from
her husband that he would not act as private attorney at the trial.
Cæsar was ashamed and saddened; he didn’t care to go to see anybody; he
was committing treason against his cause.
“Pity will finish my work or finish me,” thought Cæsar, walking
about his room. “That poor old woman is worthy of compassion; that is
undeniable. She believes her son is a good boy, and he really is a low,
cowardly ruffian. I ought not to pay any attention to this plea, but
insist on their condemning that miserable wretch to death. But I haven’t
any more energy; I haven’t any more strength. I can feel that I am going
to yield; the mother’s grief moves me, and I do not consider that if
this bully goes free, he is going to turn the town upside down and ruin
all our work. I am lost.”
_FLIGHT_
Cæsar confided to his wife that he was daunted; his lack of courage was
a nightmare to him.
Amparito said that they ought to take a long trip. Laura had invited
them to come to Italy. It was the best thing they could do.
Cæsar accepted her solution, and, as a matter of fact, they went to
Madrid and from there to Italy.
The Workmen’s Club telegraphed to Cæsar when the time for the trial
came, and Amparito answered the telegram from Florence, saying that her
husband was ill.
Never had Cæsar felt so agitated as then. He bought the Spanish
newspapers, and expected to find in some one of them the words: “Señor
Moncada is a coward,” or “Señor Moncada is a sorry creature and a
traitor.”
When they knew that judgment had been pronounced and Juan condemned to
eight years in the penitentiary, they returned to Madrid.
Cæsar felt humiliated and ashamed; he did not dare show himself in
Castro. The congratulations that some people sent him on the restoration
of his health made his cheeks hot with shame in the solitude of his
office.
The editor of a newspaper in the Capital of the Province came to call on
Cæsar, who was so dispirited that he confided to his visitor that he
was ready to retire from politics. Two days later Cæsar saw a big
headline on the first page of the Conservative newspaper of the Capital,
which said: “Moncada is about to retire.”
Amparito applauded her husband’s decision, and Cæsar made melancholy
plans for the future, founded on the renunciation of all struggle.
A few days later Cæsar received a letter from Castro Duro which made
him quiver. It was signed by Dr. Ortigosa, by San Román, Camacho, the
apothecary, and the leading members of the Workmen’s Club. The letter
was in the doctor’s handwriting. It read thus:
“Dear Sir: We have read in the newspaper from the Capital the
announcement that you are thinking of retiring from politics. We believe
this announcement is not true. We cannot think that you, the champion of
liberty in Castro Duro, would abandon so noble a cause, and leave the
town exposed to the intrigues and the evil tricks of the Clericals.
There is no question in this of whether it would suit you better to
retire from politics, or not. That is of no importance. There is a
question of what would suit our country and Liberty better.
“If because of the seductions of an easy life, you should withdraw
from us and desert us, you would have committed the crime of
lèse-civilization; you would have slain in its flower the re-birth of
the spiritual and civic life of Castro.
“We do not believe you capable of such cowardice and such infamy, and
since we do not believe you capable of it, we beg you to come to
Castro Duro as soon as possible to direct the approaching municipal
elections.--Dr. Ortigosa, Antonio San Román, José Camacho.”
On reading this letter Cæsar felt as if he had been struck with a whip.
Those men were correct; he had no right to retire from the fight.
This conviction supported him.
“I have to go to Castro,” he said to Amparito.
“But didn’t you say that...?”
“Yes, but it is impossible.”
Amparito realized that her husband’s decision was final, and she said:
“All right; let us go to Castro.”