The Fourth Estate Volume I Part 25

As time went on the hum of conversation grew deafening. The patronizers of the gallery expressed their impatience by stamps, cries, and shouts, while exchanging with each other, over the heads of the occupants of the stalls, jokes and remarks which were coa.r.s.e in the extreme. It was a good thing that there were no ladies present.

At last four gentlemen appeared on the stage--Don Rosendo Belinchon, Alvaro Pena, Don Feliciano Gomez, and Don Rudesindo Cepeda, proprietor of the finest cider distillery. The four men took off their hats as they a.s.sembled on the stage. Silence suddenly reigned. Some of the audience--the minority--also took off their hats; the majority, more veiled in darkness, and more inclined to discourtesy, so prevalent in the gallery, remained covered. Don Rosendo and his friends smiled shamefacedly at the audience, and, to overcome the oppressive feeling of nervousness and embarra.s.sment, they began talking to the occupants of the front row of stalls who were within sight. Alvaro Pena, more courageous by dint of his military experience, advanced to the front of the stage, and, giving an exaggeratedly familiar tone to his remarks, and aimlessly smiling like a ballet girl, said:

"Senores, my coadjutors are as anxious as myself for all persons of note in the audience to come up here, so that they may a.s.sist us with their support, eh? and with their knowledge, eh?--in short, that they may second us in the enterprise about to be inaugurated." The harbor-master p.r.o.nounced his r's very much like j's.

The modesty conveyed by this suggestion was received with a murmur of applause from the a.s.sembly.

"Is not Don Pedro Miranda here?" asked Pena, now at his ease, and resuming the despotic military air peculiar to him.

"Here he is--here!" cried several voices.

Don Pedro, however, remonstrated with those who pushed him toward the stage.

"But, senores, why? What is the object? There are other people."

But there was no help for it. He was gradually pushed to the stage, and as there were no steps by which to climb, Pena and Don Feliciano Gomez pulled him up by the hands on to the boards.

"Now, Don Rufo, come up."

Don Rufo, the chief doctor of the town, after protesting a little, was also pulled up in the same way. And by the same simple means five or six more gentlemen arrived upon the stage. Each ascent was greeted with loud applause and a murmur of delight from the friendly gathering. The officer then seeing Gabino Maza seated in a chair by the wall, cried out cheerfully:

"Gabino, I did not see you! Come, man; come along."

"I am very well here," cried the huffy ex-officer of the navy, dryly.

"Shall I come down for you?"

Maza returned in a loud voice:

"There is no need."

"Come, Don Gabino, go up. Don't be idle. Men like you ought to be there.

There is only you now to go up!"

And at the same time they tried to push him on. But all entreaties were in vain. Maza was as determined to remain in the box as the others were that he should leave it. Then Alvaro Pena came down after him, but after a long altercation he was obliged to retire defeated.

The stage was now almost full. More chairs were brought from the actors'

dressing-rooms, the most aristocratic residents of Sarrio took their seats, and then ensued a consultation to decide who was to be the chairman of the meeting.

In this there seemed to be some difficulty in coming to an agreement, and the public gave signs of impatience. The majority was of opinion that the honor of sitting behind the pine-wood table was due to Don Rosendo, but he declined it with a modesty much redounding to his credit. At last, however, he took the chair, as he saw the public was getting tired; the applause was tremendous. Fresh and wearisome discussion ensued as to who was to open the meeting. Alvaro Pena, a man of impulse and action, finally took a few steps toward the curtain; and said in a loud voice:

"Gentlemen."

"s.h.!.+ s.h.!.+ Silence!" cried several voices, and silence reigned.

"Gentlemen, the object of this meeting is no other, eh? than for us to unite in the support of the material and moral interests of Sarrio. Some days ago our most worthy president informed me that they were deteriorating, eh? and that it was necessary to support them at all costs. Gentlemen, there are many questions at issue in Sarrio at this critical time--the question of the covered market, the question of the cemetery, the question of the road to Rodillero, the question of the slaughter-house, and many others; and I said to my worthy friend, the only means of solving these problems was to call a meeting at which all the Sarrienses could freely give their opinions."

"What?" cried a sharp voice from the gallery.

Pena darted an angry look in the direction of the sound, and as he was known to be a violent man, and had great, fierce mustachios, the fellow trembled in his skin, and did not venture to make a second e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

"My good friend, whose large heart and love of progress is known to all, said to me some time ago that he was of the same opinion, and that, moreover, he had a plan that he was anxious to lay before this ill.u.s.trious a.s.sembly. Therefore we have called our friends of Sarrio to a public meeting, and here we are--because we have come."

This collapse produced an excellent effect on the audience, who laughed and clapped their hands good-naturedly.

"Gentlemen," continued the captain, encouraged by the sound of merriment, "I believe that what this place requires is to be roused from its state of lethargy to the life of reason and progress, eh?--to rise to the height of the progress of the century, to take stock of itself and its powers. Hitherto Sarrio has been a town under the sway of theocracy; plenty of nones, sermons, and rosaries, and no thought of the advance of its interests and the knowledge of anything useful. We must get out of this state, eh?--we must shake off the theocratic yoke. A place governed by priests is always a backward and a squalid place."

(Laughter and applause, mingled with hisses.)

The officer spoke better at the conclusion of his speech, and even acquired a certain aplomb during his denunciation of priestcraft.

"May I be allowed to say a word?" cried a clear voice from a box.

"Who is it? Who is it?" asked the audience and the dignitaries of the stage of one another.

"It is Perinolo's son."

"Who?"

"Perinolo's son. Perinolo's son."

These words were repeated in a low tone all over the theatre.

Perinolo's son was a pale youth with large, prominent eyes. Nothing else was visible in the semi-darkness of the place, which was fortunate for him, for a good light would have revealed the crumpled front of his s.h.i.+rt and the disheveled locks of his hair, and the holes in his boots and his threadbare trousers would have been seen through the bal.u.s.trade of the box. But all the people of Sarrio knew him from meeting him constantly in the street or at the cafes. I must say that, in spite of his appearance, he was a lad of gentle mien and disposition.

His father, Senor Maria el Perinolo, the boot-maker in the town, was quite an inst.i.tution. He was one of the few old artisans who in the middle of the century still retained the jacket and large hat of former times. He was a Carlist fanatic, a member of all the religious confraternities; he told his beads in the afternoon as the bell from the Church of St. Andrew rang for prayer; accompanied by several womenfolk, he joined in the processions of Holy Week with its disciplinary garb and a crown of thorns, and he had under his care the Chapel of the Nazarene, in the Calle de Atras. This poor saint, who had never given anybody cause to speak against him (supreme testimony of honesty among the lower cla.s.ses), brought up his own son, Sinforoso, and two others in the holy fear of G.o.d, and the strap, scourgings, penances on his knees, days on bread and water, ear-pullings, and blows, const.i.tuted the tender memories of Sinforoso's childhood.

As he grew from boyhood and youth he showed signs of having profited by his father's teaching. Perinolo made up his mind that the lad's vocation was not in the direction of boot-making, but of becoming a pillar of the Romish Church. Means, were, however, wanting to send him to the seminary at Lancia, so Don Melchor de las Cuevas, Don Rudesindo, and the parish priest spontaneously came to his a.s.sistance, and allowed the lad three pesetas a day until he could intone the ma.s.s. But at the end of the second year of theology these gentlemen received from the seminarist an elegantly expressed letter in which he stated that he did not feel called by G.o.d to an ecclesiastical career, and that rather than be a bad priest he would learn his father's business, or go to America; and it ended by entreating in fervent terms that he might be allowed to exchange theology for the law, for which he had a predilection, so as to modify the disappointment of his father. His benefactors acceded to the request, and Sinforoso finally became a pillar of the state instead of the church, as Perinolo had wished.

While pursuing his studies with marks of commendation from the beginning to the close, he contributed several articles to the daily papers, by which achievement he considered himself ent.i.tled to let his hair grow and wear eye-gla.s.ses. So that the licentiate returned to Sarrio with an aureole of glory befitting one who had won his spurs and still waged war in the press of the day. He attached himself to the most advanced Liberal party, which alienated him from his people. His father was greatly enraged with him, and it was only through his mother's intercession that he let him remain in the house. He never spoke to him or gave him a centime for his expenses, but merely let him sleep under his roof and partake of their scanty fare. At the end of a few months the youth's boots became shabby, and his clothes looked wretched; but the man of letters carried it off by the reserve and gravity of his physiognomy and the self-importance of his deportment. He spent the morning reading in bed, and the afternoon and evening in loud discussions at the cafe of what he read in the morning. The townfolk did not like him, but they respected his talents and dignity.

"Who asked permission to speak?" queried Don Rosendo.

"Suarez--Sinforoso Suarez," said the youth, bending over the rail.

"Then you have it, Senor Suarez."

The young man coughed, ran the fingers of both hands through his hair, leaving it rougher and more tumbled than ever, put on his gla.s.ses that he wore hanging by a string, and said:

"Gentlemen."

The quiet, impressive tone with which he said this word, the long pause that followed it, during which he fixed his gla.s.ses on his nose and looked at the audience in a superior way, inspired silence and attention.

"After the brilliant speech which has just been given us by Senor Pena, my respected friend, the ill.u.s.trious harbor-master of this port [the captain, who had never spoken to Suarez more than three times in his life, bowed graciously], the a.s.sembly is quite convinced of the generous and patriotic feelings which prompted the promoters of this meeting.

There is nothing so beautiful, nothing so grand, nothing so sublime as to see a town met together to discuss the dearest, highest interests of life.

"Ah, gentlemen, when listening just now to Senor Pena I imagined myself in the Agora of Athens, a free citizen, with other citizens, free as myself, discussing the destiny of my country; I imagined I heard the ardent, eloquent words of one of those great orators who adorned the h.e.l.lenic State. Why, the eloquence of my dear friend, Senor Pena, was like the overwhelming pa.s.sion that characterized Demosthenes, the prince of orators, and like the fluency and elegance that distinguished the discourses of Pericles. [Pause, with his hand to his gla.s.ses.] He was bright and animated, like Cleon; deliberate and temperate, like Aristides; his intonation was quiet and precise, like that of Esquines, and his voice was pleasant to the ear, like that of Isocrates.

"Ah, gentlemen, I, like the eloquent orator who has preceded me on the subject, desire that the place which gave me birth may awake to the life of progress, to the life of liberty and justice. Sarrio! What sweet recollections, what ineffable happiness does this single word awaken in my soul! Here were pa.s.sed the days of my childhood. Here my mind began to form. Here love made my heart palpitate for the first time. Elsewhere my mind has been enriched by the knowledge of science, and the grand ideas engendered by the study of law; here my soul has been nourished by the sweet and holy feelings of the hearth. Elsewhere my intelligence has been sharpened by polemics and the light of ideas; here my affections have been fostered by tender family love.