“It is necessary to go to the bottom—to the bottom, Remedios. Don’t you understand yet?”
“No.”
“My nephew is not my nephew, woman; he is blasphemy, sacrilege, atheism, demagogy. Do you know what demagogy is?”
“Something relating to those people who burned Paris with petroleum; and those who pull down the churches and fire on the images. So far I understand very well.”
“Well, my nephew is all that! Ah! if he were alone in Orbajosa—but no, child. My nephew, through a series of fatalities, which are trials, the transitory evils that God permits for our chastisement, is equivalent to an army; is equivalent to the authority of the government; equivalent to the alcalde; equivalent to the judge. My nephew is not my nephew; he is the official nation, Remedios—that second nation composed of the scoundrels who govern in Madrid, and who have made themselves masters of its material strength; of that apparent nation—for the real nation is the one that is silent, that pays and suffers; of that fictitious nation that signs decrees and pronounces discourses and makes a farce of government, and a farce of authority, and a farce of every thing. That is what my nephew is to-day; you must accustom yourself to look under the surface of things. My nephew is the government, the brigadier, the new alcalde, the new judge—for they all protect him, because of the unanimity of their ideas; because they are chips of the same block, birds of a feather. Understand it well; we must defend ourselves against them all, for they are all one, and one is all; we must attack them all together; and not by beating a man as he turns a corner, but as our forefathers attacked the Moors—the Moors, Remedios. Understand this well, child; open your understanding and allow an idea that is not vulgar to enter it—rise above yourself; think lofty thoughts, Remedios!”
Don Inocencio’s niece was struck dumb by so much loftiness of soul. She opened her mouth to say something that should be in consonance with so sublime an idea, but she only breathed a sigh.
“Like the Moors,” repeated Dona Perfecta. “It is a question of Moors and Christians. And did you suppose that by giving a fright to my nephew all would be ended? How foolish you are! Don’t you see that his friends support him? Don’t you see that you are at the mercy of that rabble? Don’t you see that any little lieutenant can set fire to my house, if he takes it into his head to do so? But don’t you know this? Don’t you comprehend that it is necessary to go to the bottom of things? Don’t you comprehend how vast, how tremendous is the power of my enemy, who is not a man, but a sect? Don’t you comprehend that my nephew, as he confronts me to-day, is not a calamity, but a plague? Against this plague, dear Remedios, we shall have here a battalion sent by God that will annihilate the infernal militia from Madrid. I tell you that this is going to be great and glorious.”
“If it were at last so!”
“But do you doubt it? To-day we shall see terrible things here,” said Dona Perfecta, with great impatience. “To-day, to-day! What o’clock is it? Seven? So late, and nothing has happened!”
“Perhaps my uncle has heard something; he is here now, I hear him coming upstairs.”
“Thank God!” said Dona Perfecta, rising to receive the Penitentiary. “He will have good news for us.”
Don Inocencio entered hastily. His altered countenance showed that his soul, consecrated to religion and to the study of the classics, was not as tranquil as usual.
“Bad news!” he said, laying his hat on a chair and loosening the cords of his cloak.
Dona Perfecta turned pale.
“They are arresting people,” added Don Inocencio, lowering his voice, as if there was a soldier hidden under every chair. “They suspect, no doubt, that the people here would not put up with their high-handed measures, and they have gone from house to house, arresting all who have a reputation for bravery.”
Dona Perfecta threw herself into an easy chair and clutched its arms convulsively.
“It remains to be seen whether they have allowed themselves to be arrested,” observed Remedios.
“Many of them have—a great many of them,” said Don Inocencio, with an approving look, addressing Dona Perfecta, “have had time to escape, and have gone with arms and horses to Villahorrenda.”
“And Ramos?”
“They told me in the cathedral that he is the one they are looking for most eagerly. Oh, my God! to arrest innocent people in that way, who have done nothing yet. Well, I don’t know how good Spaniards can have patience under such treatment. Senora Dona Perfecta, when I was telling you about the arrests, I forgot to say that you ought to go home at once.”
“Yes, I will go at once. Have those bandits searched my house?”
“It is possible. Senora, we have fallen upon evil days,” said Don Inocencio, in solemn and feeling accents. “May God have pity upon us!”
“There are half a dozen well-armed men in my house,” responded the lady, greatly agitated. “What iniquity! Would they be capable of wanting to carry them off too?”
“Assuredly Senor Pinzon will not have neglected to denounce them. Senora, I repeat that we have fallen upon evil days. But God will protect the innocent.”
“I am going now. Don’t fail to stop in at the house.”
“Senora, as soon as the lesson is over—though I imagine that with the excitement that there is in the town, all the boys will play truant to-day–But in any case I will go to the house after class hours. I don’t wish you to go out alone, senora. Those vagabond soldiers are strutting about the streets with such insolent airs. Jacinto, Jacinto!”
“It is not necessary. I will go alone.”
“Let Jacinto go with you,” said the young man’s mother. “He must be up by this time.”
They heard the hurried footsteps of the little doctor, who was coming down the stairs in the greatest haste. He entered the room with flushed face and panting for breath.
“What is the matter?” asked his uncle.
“In the Troyas’ house,” said the young man, “in the house of those—those girls—”
“Finish at once!”
“Caballuco is there!”
“Up there? In the house of the Troyas?”
“Yes, senor. He spoke to me from the terrace, and he told me he was afraid they were coming there to arrest him.”
“Oh, what a fool! That idiot is going to allow himself to be arrested!” exclaimed Dona Perfecta, tapping the floor impatiently with her foot.
“He wants to come down and let us hide him in the house.”
“Here?”
The canon and his niece exchanged a glance.
“Let him come down!” said Dona Perfecta vehemently.
“Here?” repeated Don Inocencio, with a look of ill-humor.
“Here,” answered the lady. “I don’t know of any house where he would be more secure.”
“He can let himself down easily from the window of my room,” said Jacinto.
“Well, if it is necessary–”
“Maria Remedios,” said Dona Perfecta, “if they take that man, all is lost.”
“I am a fool and a simpleton,” answered the canon’s niece, laying her hand on her breast and stifling the sigh that was doubtless about to escape from it; “but they shall not take him.”
Dona Perfecta went out quickly, and shortly afterward the Centaur was making himself comfortable in the arm-chair in which Don Inocencio was accustomed to sit when he was writing his sermons.
We do not know how it reached the ears of Brigadier Batalla, but certain it is that this active soldier had had notice that the Orbajosans had changed their intentions; and on the morning of this day he had ordered the arrest of those whom in our rich insurrectional language we are accustomed to call marked. The great Caballuco escaped by a miracle, taking refuge in the house of the Troyas, but not thinking himself safe there he descended, as we have seen, to the holy and unsuspected mansion of the good canon.