Halma 🧩✨ de Benito Pérez Galdós – ¡Un relato fascinante de intriga y emoción! 📖

¡Bienvenidos a Ahora de Cuentos! 📚 En este video, les presentamos ‘Halma’ de Benito Pérez Galdós, una obra literaria llena de misterios y emociones intensas. Acompáñenos en este viaje a través de las páginas de una historia única que explora las complejidades humanas, la intriga y la fascinación por lo desconocido. 😮💫

🔍 **Sobre el libro**:
– **Título**: Halma
– **Autor**: Benito Pérez Galdós
– **Género**: Drama, Intriga, Psicología
– **Sinopsis**: La trama de ‘Halma’ se desarrolla en un contexto de intensas relaciones personales y dramáticas decisiones, con un enfoque en la lucha interna del personaje principal y las emociones humanas en su máxima expresión. La narración cautiva al lector y ofrece giros sorprendentes que mantienen el suspenso en cada página.

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-Halma 🧩✨ de Benito Pérez Galdós – ¡Un relato fascinante de intriga y emoción! 📖[https://youtu.be/JO5JhJhtMX4]
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00:00:30 Capítulo 1.
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00:53:07 Capítulo 6.
01:02:24 Capítulo 7.
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05:03:31 Capítulo 26.
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06:00:01 Capítulo 30.
06:14:21 Capítulo 31.
06:25:53 Capítulo 32.
06:41:06 Capítulo 33.
06:52:56 Capítulo 34.
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07:43:00 Capítulo 38.
07:52:15 Capítulo 39.
08:02:50 Capítulo 40.

Halma is a fascinating work by Benito Pérez Galdós that immerses us in the emotional and psychological dilemmas of its characters. Through the protagonist, Halma, Galdós addresses themes such as passivity, freedom, and the internal struggles that human beings face when caught between their desires and social expectations. In this story, the author invites us to reflect on the human condition and the decisions that define our destiny. Chapter 1. I give my readers the best proof of my esteem by sacrificing my self-respect as a learned researcher of genealogies… come on, I will spare their lives by omitting here the very long and tedious study of lineages, by which I have been able to verify that Doña Catalina de Artal, Xavierre, Iraeta and Merchán de Caracciolo, Countess of Halma Lautenberg, belongs to the most ostentatious nobility of Aragon and Castile, and that among her ancestors appear the Borgias, the Toledos, the Pignatellis, the Gurreas, and other illustrious names. Exploring the genealogical forest, rather than a tree, in which such ancient and illustrious lineages are intertwined and mingled, one discovers that, through the marriage of Doña Urianda de Galcerán to an Italian prince in 1319, the Artales are linked with the Gonzagas and the Caracciolos. On the other hand, if the Xavierres of Aragon appear grafted onto the Guzmans of Castile, the Iraetas branch runs the sap of the Loyolas, and the Moncadas of Catalonia that of the Borromeos of Milan. From which it follows that the noble lady not only counts among her male ancestors distinguished for their military exploits, but also glorious saints, venerated on the altars of all Christendom. As I have given the good reader my word not to bore him, I am saving for a better occasion the 1,500 vouchers I gathered, eating the dust of the archives, to demonstrate Doña Catalina’s kinship with the antipope Don Pedro de Luna, Benedict XIII. Searching and searching, I also found its distant connection with legitimate Popes, since there is a branch of the Artal and Ferrench that linked with the Italian families of Aldobrandini and Odescalchi, it is clear as day that the Pontiffs Clement VIII and Innocent XI are distant relatives of the Countess . Of monarchs, it is not necessary to speak, since the tree appears full, like a lush fruit, of royal surnames, and there you see the Albrit and Foix of Navarre, the Cerdas and Trastamaras from here, and a thousand other names that transcend royalty from a hundred leagues away, such as Rohan, Bouillon, Lancaster, Montmorency, etc… Faithful to my commitment, I sheathe my erudition, and undertake the biographical sketch, designating Doña Catalina María del Refugio Aloysa Tecla Consolación Leovigilda, etc… of Artal and Javierre as the third daughter of the Marquises of Feramor. Orphaned by both father and mother at the age of seven, she was left in the care of her firstborn son, currently the Marquis of Feramor, and her sister, Doña María del Carmen Ignacia, Duchess of Monterones. In 1890, she married a young attaché to the German embassy, ​​the Count of Halma Lautenberg, a marriage that had to take place against all odds, as her brothers and the entire family tenaciously opposed the marriage by any means suggested by their pride and stubbornness. They wanted to marry her to a member of the Muñoz Moreno Isla family, a noble merchant, but well-educated with patacones. Catalina, who from a very young age showed an incredible aversion to the base metal, fell in love with the German diplomat, who combined his seductive figure with a beautiful disdain for the materialities of existence. Great shady dealings and unrest arose in the family due to the tyrannical firmness of the older brothers and the heroic resistance, even to the point of martyrdom, of the enamored maiden. Married at last, not without judicial intervention, the husband was assigned to Bulgaria, from here to Constantinople, and there Doña Catalina followed him, breaking all relations with her brothers. Calamities, privations, endless misfortunes awaited her in the East, and when the family here learned of them, through references from foreign and Spanish diplomats, they saw in all this nothing more than the hand of God harshly punishing Catalina de Artal for the amorous madness that led her to join an upstart, from an unknown family, a brainless man, extremely disordered in his ideas, unbridled by nerves, and a bored inhabitant of the imaginative regions. To top his misfortune, Charles Frederick was poor, with his title stripped, and with no income other than his salary, also stripped, since the family of Halma Lautenberg, descended, according to what I have reliable information, from the Landgrave of Thuringia and Hesse, Hermann II, had fallen as far down the drain as any family around here, one of those who, after a thousand twists and turns, fall to the depths of the social abyss never to rise again. The unfortunate Lady Catherine suffered a thousand setbacks, reverses of fortune, shortages, and even actual famine in those distant lands, with no other consolation than the love of her husband, which never failed her, nor did she have any complaints about him, since God, having deprived her of so many possessions, granted her conjugal peace in abundance. Tenderly loved and loving, the intimate happiness of their marriage compensated for so much external misfortune. Charles Frederick was good, sweet, though half-mad according to some, and completely insane according to others. The negative opinion about his cerebral government must have reached the Berlin Chancellery, because he was dismissed from his position. The young couple found themselves at the mercy of Divine Will, which undoubtedly wanted to subject the Spanish lady’s strong soul to the harshest test. Two months after his dismissal, and while awaiting resources to come to the West, they were living their marriage in obscurity and resignation in a humble little house in Pera, the husband was stricken with consumption, with such serious characteristics that it was not difficult to predict a funereal outcome in the near future. Catherine de Artal’s soul then revealed its exquisite temperament. Taking heart from this new blow, she ventured to ask for help from her brothers in Madrid. Although they had initially been somewhat coaxing, they finally gave in, looking more to family decorum than to Christian charity. With the meager aid they sent her, the heroine was able to transport her poor patient to the island of Corfu, famed for its mild climate. There they lived, if that was what living was, on a basis of miraculous economy. Making up for material resources with affection, and comforts with prodigies of intelligence, he resigned, she courageous and sublime as a nurse, loving as a wife, diligent in the management of the humble household, until finally God called the unfortunate Count of Halma to Himself in the early hours of September 8, the feast of the Nativity of Our Lady. Chapter 2. May those possessed of mystical inspiration and skilled in recounting the lives and deaths of glorious martyrs recount the sufferings of Catherine of Artal in those sad days and in those that followed the death of her beloved husband be well advised . I do not know how to do so, and leaving this task to expert pens, who will surely write the edifying history, I do no more than point out the capital facts, as antecedents or foundations for what I propose to relate. What can I say of the lady’s profound sorrow upon seeing the one who was her whole life, her first love, her last joy, the only earthly good of her soul, expire in her arms? The opinion of the world, which rarely fails to err in its hasty and vain judgments, had distorted the moral character of the Count, painting him in the circles of Madrid with colors of malice. But the historian of conscience, well informed on his subject, must erase all falsehood with which gossips and envious people blacken a noble character. This is what I do now, asserting that Charles Frederick of Halma was a saint, and that the most convoluted and pessimistic investigation will find no blemish in his conduct after his marriage. I resolutely debunk the reputation that loose tongues gave him in Madrid, and reconstruct his true personality as an upright, loyal, and sincere man, adding to these qualities those he acquired while living with his worthy wife. No small part in the German’s dubious reputation before marriage had been played by the fickleness of his ideas, the lightness of his judgments, his distractions, which came to form a veritable centon. Anecdotal, his dark indifferences alternating with bursts of mad enthusiasm for any reason, whether artistic or amorous, his nagging prolixity in disputes, and countless manias, some of which did not abandon him until his death. He racked his brains thinking about the habitability of all the stars in the sky, small and large, and anyone who wanted to upset him had only to question the infinite diffusion of human families throughout the vastness of the planet. From absolute contempt for all positive religion, he had passed, shortly before his marriage, and under the influence of the angelic Catherine, to a fervent Christian ardor, more imaginative than pious, a thirst of the soul that craved, without ever being satisfied, not external devotions and liturgical practices, but intoxications of the imagination, looking more to seductive legend than to severe dogma. In the East, his wife managed to bring some order to Charles Frederick’s wild enthusiasms, until, stricken with a cruel illness, he found it as difficult to combat the burning fever as the delirious spiritualism. Both fires consumed him equally, and it seemed that both, joining their flames, had reduced him to impalpable ash. On the very night of his death, he told his wife, between two attacks of dyspnea, a dream he had had that afternoon, and as Catherine saw in this story a strange logic and a certain classical lucidity, she was extremely distressed, thinking that her poor patient was already glimpsing the horizons of the realm of eternal truth. So much sense, so much conscience in the composition of a fantastic little poem—for that well-recounted dream was nothing else —what could it mean but that the poet was dying? And so it was indeed. In the last minutes of her life, she launched herself, with unbridled imagination, into a projected journey through Asia Minor and Palestine, with the dual purpose of visiting the ruins of Troy first, and then the land of Galilee. Let’s connect the dots. Two names intertwined in her mind: Homer and Christ. And as she tried to explain that historical and poetic embrace, she groaned, gave a loud cry… “Ah!” and expired… One might think that the Count’s death was the last sorrow of the unfortunate Catherine of Artal, and that after that tribulation, heaven granted her days of rest, if not of good fortune. But that was not the case. Over the sadness of her widowhood, and the ever-present memory of the poor dead man, she found herself overwhelmed by calamities of another order. Until then, she had known the humiliations and unseemly shortages that hurt her dignity as an aristocrat. But shortly after becoming a widow, and still residing in Corfu because she had no means of relocating , she experienced poverty—true, horrifying poverty—and suffered humiliations that would have crushed souls of a lesser character than her own. Housed as if on charity at first in an English house, then in a Greek inn, Catherine of Artal found herself deprived of food for some days, forced to wash her meager clothes, mend her shoes, and perform services repugnant to her delicate frame. But she bore it all with patience, accepted everything for the love of Christ, longing to be purified by suffering. As a propitious opportunity presented itself to her to escape that situation, she chose to take advantage of it, more than to improve her life, to be among close people, on whom she could bestow the affection that her beautiful heart treasured. One day, a brother of Charles Frederick, a great lover of sea voyages, arrived unexpectedly on the Ionian island , who was wandering around the Archipelago on a yacht belonging to some merchants from Piraeus. He proposed to take her to Rhodes, where Count Ernst of Lautenberg, her uncle and that of Catherine’s deceased husband, was consul. He was a very kind and ordinary gentleman, whom the unfortunate lady had met in Constantinople. The widow allowed herself to be taken by Felix Maurice, as her brother-in-law called himself, attracted mainly by the hope of living in the company of Countess Ernst of Lautenberg, a very pleasant Hungarian lady who had shown the Spanish woman, in the few days of their acquaintance, a cordial adhesion. They left Corfu on the Greek vessel, incorrectly called a yacht, because due to its small size and low tonnage it was nothing more than a pretty sloop, suitable for regattas and short excursions. It was crewed by young seafaring dilettantes. Due to the poor steering and inexperience of the captain, they were unable to weather a furious storm that caught them between Zante and Cephalonia, and tossed by the wind and waves toward the Gulf of Patras, they landed in Misolonghi with serious damage. They spent days and days there, hoping for good weather, and once they were launched again, they always ended up where they didn’t want to go. Felix Maurice and the Athenian friend who captained the fragile vessel professed the theory that storms are less with wine, and the Turks insisted that it was a curse. In this way, and with such anxieties and vicissitudes, sailing at the mercy of Neptune, and without the skill to master him, they tumbled around the entire southern circuit of the Peloponnese. Like someone describing zigzags through the labyrinth of alleys in a winding city, they soon stumbled upon Candia, as well as upon Cerigo, the ancient Cytheres; they sailed haphazardly through the Cyclades, touching at Milos and Paros, then toured the Sporades, visiting Samos, Cos, and others until stopping at Rhodes after two long months of hellish navigation. As everything went against the wishes of the unhappy widow, it turned out that Count Ernst had gone to Germany on leave, and that his wife, the charming and very good Hungarian, had died three months earlier. The Countess of Halma resignedly accepted this new disappointment, and when she discussed with her brother-in-law the need to transport her to Corinth or Athens, from where she could communicate with her family in Madrid and prepare for her return to Spain, the young man replied in such a blunt and rude manner that the lady, no matter how hard she tried, could not place her humility above her pride in her reply. They were in a tavern near the dock. The lady refused the hospitality on board that the sloop’s captain offered her, and upon learning that there was a convent of the Third Order in Rhodes, she went there, turning her back forever on Count Felix Maurice and his foolish companions in maritime adventures. Thanks to the good Franciscans, the noble lady was decently housed, and negotiations for her return to the motherland began . It should be said, in passing, for the sake of completeness, that this Felix Maurice was the worst of the Halma Lautenberg family. He had belonged to the consular corps, serving in Alicante and Smyrna. Here he married a wealthy Greek woman and, abandoning his studies, dedicated himself to the sponge trade, with varying fortunes. When we found him on the sloop, he had managed to recover from his initial bankruptcy. His violent and fastidious nature, his unpleasant exterior, and, above all, his irresistible inclination toward alcoholic libations, made him little esteemed and respected by both friends and strangers. One afternoon, while Doña Catalina was chatting with the convent warden, she saw the yacht set sail and made the sign of the cross. She forgave the ship and its crew and thanked God for having emerged safely from her extremely dangerous adventure across the Greek seas. The charitable friars managed to arrange for the unfortunate Countess’s return to the West, and after booking her a ticket on the _Lloyd Austriaco_, they sent her to Malta, where other monks of the same rule would arrange for her to be rerouted to Marseilles, and from there to Barcelona. But since the _Lloyd Austriaco_ did not stop in Rhodes, the traveler had to make the crossing between that island and her stopover point, which was Smyrna, on a Turkish schooner carrying fruit and wheat. New setbacks awaited the poor Countess, as those devilish Turks had the grace to carry a formidable contraband, and the schooner was visited in the waters of Chios by a warship, and seized and detained with all its passengers and crew until the Pasha of Smyrna could decide how many times to beat the skipper. Meanwhile, Lady Catherine suffered a thousand privations and hardships, for there were no Franciscan friars there to look after her. Thankfully, she finally managed to find herself aboard the Austrian steamer, which, so that the fate of the unfortunate lady might be fulfilled in all its glory, was a true invalid. She was suspicious of everything, the sea and the sky, and the excesses of the rabble of various oriental races who continually enter and leave those vessels. But neither the sky, nor the sea, nor the passengers caused the lady any grief. It was the devilish steam engine that was responsible for sadly interrupting the voyage, breaking down during the delay off Candia. The ship was left like a buoy, with the propeller shaft in two pieces, and the rudder unable to be steered due to the broken guards. Finally, an English steamer took her tow and took her to Damietta. There they transferred, going on to Alexandria, where, for a change, they suffered another painful transfer with the loss of their luggage and complete soaking of their clothes. On course for Malta, with the diversion of a very strong Sirocco, pounding seas, and finally , at the entrance to La Valette, one of the propeller blades broke , delay, danger… In Malta, the errant lady was attacked by intermittent fevers. Two weeks in hospital, risk of death, consternation, abandonment. Finally, in that sad case, the saying “God squeezes, but does not drown” coming true, Catherine of Halma set foot in Marseilles in a deplorable state of nutrition, clothing, and footwear. Five days later, the Marquises of Feramor saw a woman who looked more like a ghost enter their house, her face gaunt, as if eaten away by the earth, her eyes bright and feverish, her clothes worn by time, wind, and sea, her shoes broken… a pitiful figure indeed. And when the Marquis, seized with terror, looked at her grimly and said: “Who are you?” Catherine had to answer: “But really, you don’t know me? I’m your sister.” Chapter 3. The Countess of Halma did not budge in the initial explanations and conversations with her siblings, the Marquis of Feramor and the Duchess of Monterones. That is to say, she did not declare her regret for her marriage, nor did she renounce it because of the countless hardships and misfortunes that arose from her union with the German. The memory of her husband prevailed in her above all else, and she did not allow her siblings to undermine her with accusations or cruel jokes. She had come to them for their protection, giving them the remainder of her legitimate share, if anything remained, after settling accounts with the head of the family. But she did not humble herself, nor did she, in asking for it and taking it, should they give it to her, abdicate her dignity, morally cowering before her siblings, and agreeing completely with them in the matter of her marriage. No, not a thousand times. If they didn’t give her any help, even in the form of alms, she wouldn’t be short of a convent of nuns to enter. Nor would she be averse to joining any of the very modern Orders dedicated to caring for the elderly or assisting the sick, for among so many Congregations, there were some that admitted widows without a dowry. To this, her brother gravely replied that she shouldn’t rush things, and that for the moment she should think only of recovering from so many setbacks and distresses. For nearly a month, Doña Catalina remained in her brother’s house without seeing anyone or receiving visitors, allowing herself to be seen only by her family and the maid who served her. Of the clothes offered to her, she accepted only two very simple black dresses, vowing that she would not wear colored clothing, silk, or finery of any kind for the rest of her life . Modesty and cleanliness would be her only adornments, and truly nothing better suited her very white face and her spare, melancholy figure. As everything must be said, it is fitting to declare here that Doña Catalina was not beautiful, at least not according to the worldly standard of beauty. But the passage of so many misfortunes had left a placid shadow on her face, and in her eyes an expression of beatitude that was the delight of all who looked at her. Her hair was Blonde tending toward reddish, a slightly thick nose, a protruding lower lip, a matte, clean complexion, a sweet, serene gaze, a grave overall expression, a tall stature, a rigid body, and a ceremonious demeanor. Some who managed to see her in those days claimed to find a certain resemblance to Doña Juana the Mad, just as legend and the brush have transmitted the image of this lady to us. It is capricious to say what one says of other spiritual similarities, except that the Countess of Halma spoke German with the same perfection and ease as Spanish. The Marquis was not very fond of the monastic isolation in which his sister lived, nor did he like her intentions to completely renounce social life. He could still, according to him, aspire to a second marriage, which would compensate her for the calamities of the first; But for this, it was essential to abandon the stiffness of a hieratic image, the contrite inflections, not dress like a lieutenant’s widow, and frequent the company of friends of the house. The Marchioness shared the same opinion, and both of them lectured her on this matter; but the firmness with which Catalina defended her convictions, manias, or whatever they were, made them understand that they would achieve nothing for the moment, and that they should trust time and the slow evolutions of human will to solve that family problem. Although he is a well-known person in Madrid, I want to say something now about the character of the Marquis of Feramor, whose English correctness is an example for so many, and who, if his intelligence, more solid than brilliant, inspires admiration in many, in few or no one, to put it bluntly, he inspires sympathy. The fact is that exotic characters, formed in the Anglo-Saxon mold, do not bind well or blend with our indigenous paste, kneaded with different flours and milks. Don Francisco de Paula, Rodrigo José de Calasanz, Carlos Alberto María de la Regla, Facundo de Artal y Javierre, demonstrated from a tender age a flair for seriousness, contradicting childhood habits to the point that his classmates called him “the old man.” He collected stamps, kept a piggy bank, and cleaned his own clothes. He picked up needles and pins, and even used corks, from the floor. It is said that he bartered dozens of buttons for a single Nicaraguan stamp, and sold duplicates at outrageous prices. While a boarder at the Piarists, they took a liking to him and gave him excellent grades on all his exams, because the boy knew, and where his intelligence, which was not lacking, was insufficient, his self-respect, which was excessive, was sufficient . Delighted with the boy, and wanting to make him a true hero, useful to the State, and a valiant safeguard of the country’s moral and material interests, his father sent him to England for education. The Marquis was an Anglomaniac by hobby or secondhand , for he never crossed the English Channel, and only from vague knowledge acquired at social gatherings did he know that the best machines and the best statesmen come from Albion. Paquito went there, highly recommended, and was placed in one of the most famous colleges in Cambridge, where he only stayed for two years, because his father, not being in the best financial situation, had to find a less expensive education for the boy. At a modest school in Peterborough run by Catholics, the firstborn completed his education, becoming a true Englishman in his ideas and manners, in his thought and social exterior. Peterborough did not have the refined classical studies of Oxford, nor the scientific studies of Cambridge; The boys were raised in an enlightened bourgeois environment, knowing many useful things, and some elegant ones, cultivating in moderation horse racing, boat racing, and with enough practice of lawn tennis to pass in any town on the continent for perfect Albion creatures. The heir of Feramor spoke English with complete perfection, and knew quite well the literature of the country that had been his intellectual mother, preferring political and historical studies to literary ones, and in the former he was more of a friend of Macaulay than of Carlyle, in the latter more devoted to Milton than to Shakespeare. He always leaned towards the Latin strain. Upon leaving school, his father obtained a position for him at the embassy, ​​so that he could spend a few more years there, thoroughly immersing himself in the British sap. During that period, his political interests awakened and grew, until they became a true passion; he studied Parliament and its prerogatives in depth , its ancient practices consolidated by time, and he never missed a speech given on any important matter by those masters of oratory, as different from ours as the fruit is from the flower, or the straight and solid trunk of vicious arbutus. Don Francisco de Paula was already approaching thirty years of age when, upon the death of his father, he inherited the marquisate; He came to Spain, and ten months later he married Doña María de Consolación Ossorio de Moscoso y Sherman, of Malagan nobility, a crossbreed of English and Spanish descent, a young woman of great virtue, less beautiful than rich, and with an education that, being so correct and shaped by foreign customs, was not inferior to that of her husband. Shortly after, the Marquis’s elder sister married the Duke of Monterones. Catalina, who was the youngest, did not become Countess of Halma until six years later. Well, sir, with good footing and better hand, the seventeenth Marquis of Feramor entered the social and aristocratic life of the people to which he had brought English enlightenment and the parliamentary orthodoxy of John Bull’s country. Extremely fortunate in his marriage, as Consuelo and he were cut from the same cloth, he was no less fortunate in politics. From the moment he entered the Senate representing a province in the Levant, he began to distinguish himself as a serious person through and through, who came to refresh our aging parliamentarianism with the blood and breath of the parliamentary country par excellence. His oratory was dry, concise, dull, and without effect. He dealt with economic matters with an accuracy and knowledge that left the benches empty. But what did this matter? You go to Parliament to convince, not to seek applause; Parliament is a more serious business than a cockfighting ring. The truth was that in that solitude of the red benches, Feramor had sincere and even enthusiastic admirers, two, three, and even five macho senators, who listened to him with a certain rapture, and then came out praising him: “That’s how matters are handled.” Here, here, in this mirror everyone must look: this is what’s good, what’s English _from Aunt Javiera_, the legitimate, patented _London_ brand. Chapter 4. Outside the Senate, the Marquis also had his small group of admirers, who continually cited him as a model worthy of imitation. About him and about very few other notables, the catchphrase was said: “Ah, if all our nobility were like this, this country would be in a different light!” The affected argument of attributing our political misfortunes to the lack of an English-style patrician class, with parliamentary habits and real political power, became an unbearable refrain. It is very worth noting that Feramor refuted the vulgar belief that every high-class Englishman must be a horseman, and delirious about any of the _sports_ used in Albion. To his glory, he had imported nothing from the serious country but seriousness, leaving aside the horse racing nonsense there. Although he understood something, even somethings, about the turf, he only dealt with it with courteous coldness, always marking the intellectual distance between a handicap and a political speech, even a ministerial one. And if he was a hunter, and a good one at that, he did not show a systematic and absorbing preference for this hobby. Thus, tastes as well as obligations existed in him in their own natural value, and intelligence was always the master and mistress of all. In the concert of his faculties, the one that God had given him to govern the others, the faculty of administration, dominated, and until the case arose He kept the accounts for the nation, and he managed his own with a skill and a thoroughness that were a new subject of applause for his admirers. “An aristocrat who administers! Oh, if only there were many Feramors in our greatness, the nation wouldn’t be in such a doldrums!” The Marquis’s fortune wasn’t great, because his father had implemented doctrines that clashed with administrative regularity. But the wealth brought to the couple by the Marchioness considerably strengthened the household, where perfect order reigned, spending only half of the income. They lived, therefore, with decorum and modesty, gladly subject to a system of foresight between two pillars: the one in front setting the limit beyond which luxury should not exceed, to avoid waste, the one behind marking the line of economy, to avoid squalor. To make matters worse , the Marchioness, who seemed made in the image and likeness of her husband, and who, through living together, prodigiously assimilated his ideas, emerged as much an administrator and manager as he was, and helped him maintain that fortunate equilibrium. Both excelled in the management of the household, with perfect economic intonation, if I may say so. The worldly opinions regarding this way of life varied, for while some criticized them for not having a stable of great importance for horse racing, as befitted the Marquis’s English tastes, others praised him without restraint for his excellent library, mainly devoted—oh!—to moral and political sciences. His table was inferior to the library, and superior to the stable. There were only five guests one day a week. Having expressed these opinions, it is worth noting the gossip, even if it somewhat tarnishes the noble image of the Feramors. Gossip, evidently evil, said that the Marquis placed his surplus income on loan with enormous returns, bailing out his fellow grandees who were involved in gambling, sports , or other vices. In this, the gossip was wrong, as is almost always the case, for the Marquis’s loans were not of an extremely usurious nature. He did, indeed, reinforce himself with good mortgages, and when the collateral was weak and repayment problematic, his economic principles advised him to prudently increase the interest. The fact is that if, strictly speaking, he should not be called a usurer, there would be no greater injustice than to apply the epithet “generous.” Not even flattery, which can do everything, could call him so. The most benevolent friends failed to detect in him a trace of selflessness, or an example of selfless favor. He was all precision in his thinking, mathematical precision in his actions, like a social life machine in which the movements of the emotional crank were suppressed. He never failed in his duties, he could not be caught neglecting his commitments; but neither did he escape the sentimentality of doing good for good’s sake. Always on guard, and guarding himself with secure keys that only he could wield, he never allowed spontaneity to open his iron interior, nor even a profane hand to penetrate it. See here why he was not well-liked, and those who admired him as the ultimate English model of personal courtship disliked him. They all found him un-Spanish, lacking the virtues and defects of the complex peninsular race. They would have liked him less morally regulated, less exact, and a little lost. Physically, he was handsome, but expressionless, with features that couldn’t be faulted, topped by a negative crown, that is, by a premature baldness, shiny and clean, which he considered the most graceful cover for British seriousness. His manner outside the home was delicate and refined, within an elegant warmth, and in domestic intimacy, dry and authoritarian, without any dissonance, but also without a hint of sweetness, like a tutor or steward, rather than a father and husband. Of the Marchioness, who was nothing more than the _feminism_ of her husband’s character, little needs to be said. Assimilation had They had become so perfect that they thought and spoke the same, using familiar expressions. Both expressed themselves in English with remarkable ease. And the assimilation didn’t stop there, for what happened to that young couple was what happens to some older couples, reduced by long cohabitation to a single person with two distinct figures. The Marquis and the Marchioness resembled each other physically; what do I say they resembled? They were identical, despite her being considered unattractive and him rather handsome; their gaze, their breathing, the muscular movements of their faces, the grave air of their forehead, the imperceptible tremor of their nostrils, the way they wore their glasses (for both were nearsighted), their mouth, their smile, which was more polite than kind. A joker, a friend of the house, said that if one of them died, the survivor would be a widower of himself. They lived in the Feramor family home, in one of the irregular squares near San Justo, overlooking Segovia Street and the Viaduct to the west. The house was old, but with the repairs and layouts made by the Marquis, it had not looked bad. The lower floor, enlarged and considerably improved, was divided into two rented rooms, one for lithography, the other for the offices of a Sacramental. The second floor, initially divided into three rented rooms, was later annexed to the house to conveniently house the older children, the governess, and some of the servants. Doña Catalina chose her room on that floor, refusing to allow it to be luxuriously furnished, but rather as a convent cell, something the Marquises, sworn enemies of all exaggeration, opposed. The exaggeration drove them mad, and so they arranged the room modestly, but avoiding the affectation of monastic poverty. A month after her return to Madrid, the sad widow began to emerge from the painful stupor in which she had arrived. She was already taking a liking to family life , breaking the melancholic solemnity of her silence, and amused herself for a while in the innocent company of her nephews, feeding them , helping the governess, or entertaining them with stories and games that weren’t noisy. She never went down to the main dining room at the official mealtime. She either served it in her room, or with the smaller family, in the dining room upstairs. Her life was very simple and of a conventual regularity: she rose at daybreak, heard mass at the Sacrament or at San Justo, returned around eight, prayed or read while doing crochet, and spent the rest of the day reviewing the children’s lessons, returning from time to time to the same task of reading, crocheting, and praying. Her sister-in-law frequently came up to chat and entertain her; her brother rarely ascended his seriousness to the second floor, and when he had something of interest to communicate to her, he called her to his office. One morning, after preparing the speech she was to deliver that afternoon in the Senate, extracting a thousand pieces of information from magazines and newspapers dealing with economic nonsense, she spoke at length with her sister about what will be seen below . Chapter 5. “And I ask you, dear sister: are you going to be like this all your life? Isn’t that mourning enough?” Aren’t you still fed up with the darkness, the silence, the nun’s prayers, and that quietism that will eventually ruin your health and even your life?… Don’t you answer? Good. Knowing your stubbornness, that silence tells me we still have melancholy and solitude ahead of us for a while. Ah! Catherine, why aren’t you like me? Why don’t you have a bit of practical sense and give up those exaggerations? Come, let’s put the question on clear ground. Do you intend to absolutely consecrate your life to devotions, to religion, in a word? “Yes,” replied the woman from Halma with laconic firmness. “Good. Now we have an affirmation, that’s something, even if it’s nonsense. Religious life: ordinary. And have you thought it through? Aren’t you afraid that discouragement will come, that you’ll change your mind when it’s too late? for the remedy? –No. –Common. Such a resounding denial is already something. Go ahead… Then, your determination is irrevocable; then, you feel strong enough to face that life, which I am the first to praise and extol… that life, ah! of which we find such beautiful examples in times past, but which in the present… ah!… In short: you intend to enter one of the existing Orders, and end your life in a cloister. Perfectly; but here I come in, here comes your elder brother, the current head of the family, who has the good fortune to see things with great clarity, and to pose all questions on a positive level. I ask you: is it your desire to belong to one of the cloistered and reclusive Orders, or to these modern, French-style, which pursue essentially practical and social ends? I ask you , dear sister, not because I intend to oppose your decision in either case, but to clearly establish the terms of the matter and to clarify your future relations with the family from a social and economic point of view. It is appropriate to address the issue of the dowry, that is, your religious affiliation from the perspective of material interests … Because if we do not establish a clear definition… if we do not clearly demarcate… Doña Catalina interrupted her brother with nervous impatience, just as he was emphasizing his arguments with his two index fingers on the edge of the very elegant table in his office. “Do not tire yourself out by treating this matter as if it were a Senate discussion. This is extremely simple; so much so that I alone can resolve it without advice or help from anyone. Save your wisdom for more important matters. I have my ideas…” Here he promptly interrupted her, seizing the sentence to comment on it with a certain acrimony: “That is what I fear, my dear sister; And when I hear you say, “I have my ideas,” I begin to tremble, because the facts prove to me that your ideas are not perfectly consistent with reality. “The fact is that I have them, dear brother,” said the Countess of Halma humbly, “and you have yours. It’s easy for them to disagree . We think and experience life in very different ways. Leave me to my own path, and you follow yours. Perhaps we will meet, perhaps not. Who knows? It is true that I want to lead a religious life. I can’t tell you yet whether I will enter the ancient Orders or the modern ones. I am a little slow in my resolutions, and my ideas have to mature a long time before I decide to put them into practice. Perhaps I will surprise you with some little project that goes a little beyond the ordinary . I don’t know. Everyone has their aspirations. I have them in my sphere, as you do in yours.” “Yes, yes,” said the Marquis, finding an easy reason for humorous argument. “My lady sister aims high. The strength of her humility suggests to her ideas that resemble pride as much as one drop resembles another. She does not find the time- honored Orders worthy of her religious zeal , and she aspires to eclipse the glory of the Teresas and Clares by founding a new monastic Rule for her private recreation… And I ask: will my dear sister’s intellectual faculties correspond to the most noble aspirations of her generous soul? I allow myself to doubt it… Do not deny that you have thought about it, Catherine, and that you dream of the fame of a foundress. I have known it in what you keep silent, conversing with me, more than in what you say. I have known it in certain reticences that surprised you when we occasionally discussed the use you intended to give to the remains of your legitimate inheritance.” And now, my sister, I return to the question of interest, assailed by a doubt. I ask: is my lady sister, in the very particular state of mind that is an infallible product of mysticism, in a position to accurately estimate the amount of her legitimate share, after the supplements from the East, which there is no need to recall now? Allow me to doubt it. “I believe I can estimate it,” said Halma firmly, “although, according to you, I lack a sense of material things.” “My opinion is not capricious, for I base it on sad experience. Because you have not known how to master your imagination in time, it distorts the facts, magnifies everything that belongs to the advantageous concept, and belittles what… ” “Oh, no!” the widow replied briskly. “Do you think my imagination belittles what is bad in me?… Quite the opposite. I always see everything that is harmful to me considerably expanded… ” “You surely believe that the part of your legitimate portion that is in my power ,” said Don Francisco de Paula with a certain commiseration, “rise[s] to a fabulous sum. Aside from the fact that the legitimate portion was in itself considerably less than we could have believed during the lifetime of our dear father, may God rest his soul, it must be taken into account that your foolish marriage has done more to diminish it than to increase it. ” “We will leave this matter for a more opportune time to discuss it,” said Doña Catalina, rising. “As you wish.” But don’t be impatient to climb into your nest, and listen to the observation I want to make regarding your plans for monastic life. Sit a moment longer, and it will be good for you to heed now, more than you have done on other occasions, the sound admonitions of your brother, who, lacking any other wisdom, has the wisdom to present matters in their serious aspect. I do not blame you for launching yourself ardently into the religious and holy life. That too, although with imaginative appearances, can be practical, essentially practical. If your conscience, if your heart impels you along that path, follow it; your character and acquired habits will perhaps, or perhaps not, allow you to take another. My full approval. Whatever pertains to the order of piety and to the supreme spiritual interests will always keep me in a favorable disposition. But confine yourself to a purely passive role, for you were not born for initiative or activity, in its broadest sense . I greatly fear your ambitions as a founder, and I see the limited interests that constitute your legitimate inheritance in danger. With them, a decent dowry could be established for you, and if I may say so, a splendid one. But if instead of limiting yourself to being a humble sheep, as your weak character and, allow me to say, your limited scope demand, you want to become a shepherdess, you don’t even have the money to begin with. Ah! We live in a century in which economic laws cannot be denied, dear sister; and whoever does not take economic laws into account will fail in every endeavor they undertake, even those of a spiritual nature. Just as you cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs, nothing can be undertaken without capital. Today, Orders or Congregations are not founded with the pure effort of faith and edifying example. The founder must possess a fortune to consecrate to the service of God, or find rich and pious protectors. You won’t find them for that purpose if you think to seek support from your family. My close relatives— I can name them one by one—are in no position to devote their meager income to such a troublesome undertaking as the salvation of their own and others’ souls. So, if you persist in pursuing an overly ambitious plan, you will accomplish nothing, and you will waste what little you have in vain attempts. Our age allows for mystical raptures, but with reason always at the forefront; it allows for charity to a heroic degree, but with capital at its back, capital for everything, even for smoothing the paths to Heaven for humanity. You possess neither that cerebral capital called reason, nor that supreme reason for collective acts, called capital. Attempt something out of the ordinary, and you will see how it turns out to be a folly. Sow your poor initiative, and you will reap a harvest of sad disappointments. “Have you concluded? How well the Senator explains himself!” Catalina said gracefully. What if I told you that you haven’t convinced me? You would scold me a little more. What if, by scolding me more, I allowed myself the audacity of ignoring you? But if you don’t know my ideas or my plans, why do you criticize them? It’s a real shame that you’re so… Parliamentarian, because you spin everything into a serious business discussion, and a political debate springs from every finger. I don’t argue, nor criticize, nor do I _parley_ anything. What I intend to do, I’ll do if I can, and if not, I won’t. Are you already protecting yourself, believing that I’m going to ask you for something that isn’t mine? Breathe easy, practical man, apostle of economic dogma, and of the sacrosanct doctrines of capital and income, and such and whatnot. Deny me that there is a capital more effective than that formed with money and reason. –Let’s see… what? –Faith… Don’t laugh… –If I’m not laughing. Well, it would be good if I laughed at faith… no, dear and respected sister… I must put an end to these discussions for today . I know I won’t convince you. I say: “Stubbornness, your name is Catherine of Halma…” I hope someone else will be more fortunate than me. –Who? “Don Manuel… Our good friend will triumph over your manias.” At that point, the Marchioness, who had just arrived from mass, entered the study and, catching the last words on the fly, joined in the debate, repeating, like an echo of her husband: “Don Manuel, Don Manuel will convince you.” Chapter 6. And as if Consuelo’s words had been a memory, a tall, old clergyman appeared in the doorway, without his footsteps being heard beforehand, smiling and in a gentle little voice, saying: “Don Manuel, yes, here is Don Manuel, ready to convince even the most unreasonable thing… Oh, my lady, Doña Catalina!… By Manuel Flórez’s faith, I had not expected such a pleasant encounter, and I had thought, before lunch, to take a little walk up above. ” “Today is a solemn day,” said the Marquis with his usual courtesy; Today we have Señor Don Manuel for lunch, and my sister, who knows how much a friend of such quality deserves, breaks her seclusion, goes down to the dining room, and accompanies us to the table. “I don’t deserve so much…” Oh! Doña Catalina tried to protest without offending the venerable priest; but her voice was drowned out by affectionate admonitions, and soon after the four of them went into the dining room. On the way, the amiable Flórez said to the Countess of Halma: “It doesn’t hurt, my good and saintly friend, to loosen the rope a little from time to time.” While I must say that the Marquis and his wife’s manners were exquisite, it is said that during the course of lunch, the only thing discussed was pleasant things, in which everyone could have their say without any embarrassment. Catalina was melancholic and amiable, Don Manuel festive, the Marquis reserved, and Consuelo polite and obsequious with everyone. Nothing happened, then, that deserves special mention. They discussed politics, which Feramor always discussed with the highest standards, avoiding personalities, a few words about literature and academia, and a bit also about the trial of Father Nazarín, who in those days monopolized public attention and drove all the journalists and reporters crazy. Opinions on this strange personality were divided; some considered him a saint, others a madman, in whose brain the insane corpuscles that float, so to speak, in the intellectual atmosphere of our time had gathered with extraordinary density . When questioned about such a strange case, the very good Don Manuel said that he still did not have enough information to form an opinion on the point, and that he would reserve his opinion for when he had studied, through repeated visits and conferences, the madman, saint, or whatever he was. Halma did not say a word, nor did she even show interest in a matter that, being something that was in the newspapers, must have seemed of vain and fleeting interest to her. After lunch, Don Manuel and Doña Catalina went up to the latter’s room and spent a long time chatting with the children and the governess, who was English, of a mature age, with the face of a stuffed bird, a good person, who knew her job and did it very well, transmitting to the children her very fine manners and her topics of easy science for the use of well-to-do families. There were four children of the Marquises, and all of them were named with the familiar diminutives, in the English style. Alejandrito, the eldest Sandy, stood out for his correctness as a little gentleman, and was a faithful reflection of his father, due to his restraint, thriftiness, and precociousness in practical matters. Next came Catalinita Kitty, goddaughter of her aunt of the same name, a very cute creature, very spiritual, and a bit mischievous. Paquito Frank was a bit dull, but he showed a solid intelligence for mechanics and… public works. His favorite game was imitating the railroad, pretending to be the locomotive. Next came Teresita, three years old, whom they called Thressie, plump, greedy, and not at all spiritual, for the moment. She loved splashing in water, washing rags, and other ordinary occupations. She was the one who gave the Miss the most to do, whom they called Dolly, which is the same as Dorotea. They all went for a walk, very well dressed, shepherded by the Englishwoman, and, now that the Countess and Don Manuel were alone, they shut themselves away—I mean, they were alone for a very long time, almost the entire afternoon— chatting about serious matters of religion and charity. It is impossible to continue this truthful account without affirming that Don Manuel Flórez was a very likeable priest: his singular attire gave him prestige and consideration in the upper classes as well as popularity in the lower ones. He was constantly moving among various lines of people, rubbing shoulders with aristocrats or mingling with the humble poor, and high and low he knew how to use the most appropriate language to make himself understood. In him, more than his profound virtues, his superficial ones were to be admired. While he lacked austerity and rectitude in his religious principles, what shone most in him was the meticulous purity of his person, his sweetness, his benevolence, and his affectionate, persuasive, and, in some cases, tasteful rhetorical language . Malice might have occasionally tried to tarnish him, throwing splashes of street mud at him; but he always emerged clean and pure from those attacks due to his perseverance in scorning them and giving them no value. He never had ecclesiastical ambition. He could have been a bishop if only he had allowed himself to be loved by the many people of great political influence who were close to him. But he always believed that, better than in the government of a diocese, he would fulfill his priestly mission by using in service to God the quality that God had given him, to a higher degree, the gift of people. A prodigious, unprecedented quality, whose effects were revealed in a multitude of cases! It wasn’t just his words, whether graceful, eloquent, familiar, or serious, depending on the case; it was his figure, his eyes, his gestures, his flexible and elusive soul that penetrated the soul of a friend, a penitent, a brother in God, and even a sinful enemy. One might think that such a quality would serve him well in the pulpit. But no, sir. In his youth, he had tried his hand at sacred oratory with dubious success. A mediocre preacher, he soon realized that that path would lead nowhere. His apostolate was centered on conversation, and social interaction was the immense field where he had to win his great battles. Flórez lived independently, off the income from two good estates he inherited from his parents in Piedrahita. He didn’t have to worry about the _rogue pot_, nor did he have to turn his eyes, like other unfortunates, to the episcopal palace, the parishes, or the Ministry of Grace and Justice. God had given him his daily bread for life, putting him in a position to exercise his ministry with the effectiveness that comes from… perfect nourishment . His independence was not a bad thing, even for the preservation of his simple orthodoxy, of his perfect conformity with the spirit and letter of everything the Holy Church teaches and practices. He dressed neatly and even with a certain elegance within the severity of ecclesiastical attire, without any hint of affectation, for cleanliness and composure were as natural to him as correct speech and good actions. He was elegant, for the same reason that birds sing and fish swim. Every being has its own epidermis. own, a combined product of internal nutrition and the atmospheric environment. Clothing is like a second skin, in whose composition and patina the inside plays as much of a role as the outside. What Don Manuel and Doña Catalina discussed that afternoon must have been extremely important, because the meeting was long. The good priest finally took his leave, saying as he picked up his tile: “Let’s agree on that… eh?” “I won’t say anything, nor will I do anything. ” “Common, my good and saintly friend. If they say anything to you, ignore it. If some unpleasantness arises, blame me. All you have to say is: ‘Don Manuel’s things.’ ” “Perfectly. If I get what I want, I’ll owe it all to you, and the glory will be yours. ” “No, not that: the glory belongs to you, we agreed on that, that the glory belongs to you. I am nothing more than the executor or the assistant of a great, a sublime idea. Goodbye, goodbye.” Chapter 7. He went slowly down the stairs, his eyes fixed on the steps, while he turned over in his mind the great, the sublime idea, and in the doorway he found the Marquises returning from their carriage ride. “Still here, Don Manuel?” “Would you like to stay for lunch? ” “Thank you so much. You know I don’t eat at this hour. My little chocolate, already in bed like an angel. Consuelo, good afternoon. ” “And when will we have the pleasure of seeing you here again?” the Marquis asked him. “That pleasure will be yours tomorrow. ” “The displeasure will be yours. ” “Perhaps… But anyway, tomorrow we’ll talk. Boring, boring.” He took his cloak and left, leaving his good friend somewhat brooding over that announcement of a conference, which must be, his heart told him, some extravagance of his sister the Countess. He prepared himself, then, prejudging all the orders of reasoning with which Don Manuel might attack him, and waited for him calmly. It was not yet ten o’clock when the priest entered the house, and both of them in the study, seated on either side of the table, talked for a long time. The Marquis, if allowed, was an eagle with amplifications; but Flórez knew how to be laconic and forceful when the case demanded it. The authoritarian confidence, as a superior over inferior, with which he treated him, having been his teacher before Feramor’s departure for England, made it much easier for Don Manuel to use formulas of conciseness. “Yes, I already imagined it,” said the Marquis, hearing Don Manuel’s brief account of his visit. “Since you told me last night… You came down from your room, where you were in conclave with her all afternoon… I understood immediately. My lady sister wishes me to hand over her her legitimate inheritance. ” “Exactly.” “And for that, all this mystery, and such long conferences between you and her? Why don’t you tell me? Do I refuse to hand over yours? Do I not perhaps have my accounts perfectly clear, and my conscience very clear, and all matters so in order that I could easily answer any objections made to me? Look here, look here…” And saying this, he took out a file with a label: “Account of the amounts paid to my lady sister Catherine…” “Yes, yes,” said the clergyman, continuing to read the label from memory. “Paid in Madrid when she married… and later in Sophia, Constantinople, Corfu…” Give it to me. And he took the papers, and without deigning to glance over them, with firm and calm resolution he began to tear them up, not being able to do it with the whole file at once, because it was too thick. “What are you doing, Don Manuel?” “—exclaimed the Marquis, throwing himself across the table, but not daring to take the papers out of the other’s hands, which he was slowly tearing up, throwing the pieces into a nearby basket. “You see… I’m doing what you would do if you were as God and I want you to be, which you will surely do if you reflect on it… Leave me, let me undo all this rottenness… ” “But… ” “There’s no buts that’s worth it. If you must end by approving it, and help me tear up the remaining ones! My son, I have a better idea of ​​you than it seems, and although you insist on hiding your good heart With those appearances of selfishness that society imposes on you, you will not succeed. Now, now you are understanding that you must give your sister her entire legitimate share, and that this infamous subtraction you had prepared is not worthy of a Christian gentleman… as you should be… as you are, I say it and I repeat it, as you are. “Don Manuel! ” “Don Manuel loves you very much, and when he sees you disfigured by selfishness, which contaminates everything, he remakes you to his liking… I want you to be the type of Christian gentleman I wanted to form in you when they took you to the land of the metallic English. Don’t put on that sad face, or open those big eyes, Paco, my friend and beloved disciple . The advances you made to your sister are pitiful… pitiful to you, who are rich; and if you withhold those amounts when giving her her legitimate share, you lower your dignity, and you put yourself on the level of low-born people .” Prove that you are noble, not only in name but in deeds, and forgive your poor sister the alms you gave her, for if not giving alms is an ugly thing, to demand what was given is a most ugly, plebeian, vile thing. “Allow me, my dear Flórez,” said the Marquis, turning pale, with no desire to yield, but also with no spirit to oppose the trait of his friend and teacher. “Allow me to tell you that this is not the way to deal with matters of interest. Let us discuss… ” “That is what you want, to discuss, because in that you always have the advantage. Well, I abhor discussions; I am very little parliamentarian. And why should we discuss? Your famous accounts have already disappeared into a thousand little pieces. The responsibility for this crime of high treason… economic, rests with me. But my conscience is clear, and here where you see me, upon tearing up your papers, I felt a very lively joy within me .” You’re good, you yourself don’t know how good you are! Come, I’ll act like a parliamentarian. Discussion: I propose the debate. I’ll be brief, very brief. Listen to me. You were rich, your sister poor. You had made a good marriage, from every point of view; your sister had made a detestable one. You were happy, she was unhappy. What less could you do than help her in her misery, when you couldn’t yet give her her legitimate share because the will hadn’t been finalized? You helped her, you were a good brother, a good knight, and now, when she asks you for your father’s inheritance, you gallantly step forward and say to her: “Dear sister, take what belongs to you, and forget the troubles I caused you, as I forget the help I gave you.” This is what a nobleman does, this is what a knight does, this is what the firstborn of an illustrious house that today finds itself in possession of great riches does. –You won’t let me speak… But, my dear Don Manuel…! –If I am _in the right frame of mind_, as you say over there. His lordship will speak later, for I still have much to say… I continue. Well, I imagine I have your father before me, or better yet, that the man you have before you is not me, but that very good, though disorderly, Pepe Artal, my noble friend. Why did I decide to tear up all this paperwork for you? Because I was sure he would have torn it up . It wasn’t me, it was him, who tore it up. I am bringing back before you the image, rather than the memory, of your father, so that you may imitate him in this case, although in others I would be very careful not to present him to you as a model. Ah!… My Paco, your father was a madman… I mean, not as mad as he was, he was a madman, the disarray, the lack of foresight. A head of rags, a heart of gold. What a heart Pepe Artal has! He was the Spanish gentleman, ready for all imaginable atrocities; but also generous, truly noble and magnanimous. The poor fellow didn’t know English economists, not even the inside. He had heard great praise for the politicians there: Lord Palmerston, Pitt, what have you; but he didn’t know them any more than I knew the priests of Confucius. He believed that everything good must carry a label that says _London_, and he insisted that you should enter the social and political world with that label. You went there, you came back a great Englishman. You’re worth a lot, I don’t deny it. You’ll be able to fix the Spanish Treasury… I’m sending you work… just like you’ve fixed yours. You have great qualities, some very rare here, and which we need a great deal; but you lack others, perhaps the most basic… But I, who love you so, so much, take you, as one takes a doll or any soft figurine, and I twist you, and I give you a big turn, until I straighten out what seems crooked to me, and make you to my liking… So that’s the end of the discourse. We’ll agree on this: that you will give your sister her legitimate share without withholding the sums with which you met her needs in times of extreme poverty… Is that it? Well, now, I, who am a great liar when the time comes, I’ll go up to see Catalina, and I’ll tell her a very big lie, a very big lie… “What! ” “That you, on your own initiative, as if coming from within you, do you understand? You have had that trait.” I haven’t told you anything, that you tore up the papers, or rather, that you’d already torn them up; well, I understand. “And that’s what you’ll say to my sister? ” “That’s right, just as you hear it.” “Well, she won’t believe it,” said Feramor, smiling for the first time after the shock he had just endured. “So much the worse for her and for you… But she will. It’s enough that I tell her. ” “With many acts of truth like this… ” “But what I’m going to tell you isn’t a lie! If you, in the end, regret not having had that spontaneity, because your heart has turned to the side of gallant and noble splendor! And to now joyfully accept what you didn’t do before is the same as if you had done it, and you come to believe that you yourself broke the accounts, and… Well, confess to me that you have penetrated your role as a gentleman and a good brother, and that you are happy to have shown it with a most gallant action. ” Confess it, say yes, and with that declaration I’ll be more at ease, and my conscience won’t bother me about the lie I’m going to stick on the Countess… –Hm… Chapter 8. –Look here, my dear Don Manolo, –said the Marquis, sitting down after walking around the room two or three times. –Without any effort, and with only a slight indication from you or from her, you would have seen in me what you call a trait, if I knew that by giving my sister her legitimate share, I was putting that small capital to useful use… Let me continue, it’s my turn to speak now. You’d have to tell her everything! I continue speaking . Cure my sister of her foundress’s manias… –But come here, you fool, is faith a disease? –I’ll speak now: the speaker is not to be interrupted. “Remove from my sister’s head those ideas and plans that God has not given her the necessary foresight to carry out, and not only will I gladly hand over what belongs to her, without any loss, but I will also add something to it, provided that she becomes a human being, stops aspiring to canonization, and returns to the world, looking out for her own interests and those of her family. I will gladly give all possible splendor to the position she could create for herself, either by marrying the widower Muñoz Moreno Isla, or with… ” “Paco, for God’s sake, don’t go on about it!… Yes, I’m interrupting you, I won’t let you speak, I won’t allow you to ramble like that. But you fool, if her great spirit is calling her toward things quite different from what you call a position!… What a position!” If she wants the highest of all, the one that will always be inaccessible to all those Casa Muñoz and other ennobled traffickers who wallow in vulgarity, among sweepings of silver and gold! Catalina is fit to sell the joy of her soul, which consists in always being in God and with God, for the money of those publicans! Your sister would be amused with those people, because in exchange for owning a few shares in the Bank, she would have to endure the Casa Muñoz man at her side night and day and hear him say _acid_, _carnage_, and other barbarisms! And to top it all off, have as her sister-in-law Josefita Muñoz, the _queen of inks_, I don’t know what she calls her. who, and to hear her, and to put up with her, and to be near her, a terrible thing, because it is public and notorious that her breath smells bad!… I have not gone near her… tate… They have told me so. Well, another thing: the mother of those had her shop on the Calle de la Sal. Merciful God, the yards of twill that good lady measured me for cassocks! And today her sons are Marquises, and as a sign of refinement they put their hand to their mouth when they have a belch, and they go to Paris like suitcases to introduce into Spain the fashion… of _eggs on a plate_! And that is the position you want for your sister! “You can’t be with you, my good Don Manolo, when you take things lightly,” replied the Marquis festively. ” Mock it all you like; “But I repeat and maintain that there is no other way to create a ruling class in this deranged society than to cross the parchment aristocracy with the vellum aristocracy, owners of the money that belonged to the Church and its affiliated houses. I assure you … ” “Don’t assure me anything… Your sister doesn’t want to be a ruling class in the social sense. She can be one in a much more elevated sense. Her misfortunes have made her abhor all that gilded misery of the world. No earthly love can replace in her soul the affection she had for her husband. There you see her, with all that air of insignificance, she is a Christian heroine. She was a good wife, a martyr to her duties; The memory of the poor dead man is her consolation, and the living flame of faith that burns in her soul translates into the ambition to dedicate her life to the good of her fellow men, to alleviate as much as possible the immense evils that surround us, and which you rich, practical people, parliamentarians, view with indifference, if not mock, wanting to apply to their remedy the famous economic laws, which are akin to the Italian’s recipe for flea control. “But I don’t object to my sister being pious… I agree that she shouldn’t marry, that she should devote herself to prayer in the solitude of a cloister. I am a believer, you well know. ” “Hm… Believer! All practical gentlemen, politicians, and parliamentarians are so out of convenience, decorum, and outward appearance. They go to processions with a candle, and when they kneel before the Blessed Sacrament and see the Host raised, they are thinking that the exchange rates are also going up, or down.” Don Manuel said this nervously, impatiently, getting up and stumbling around the room. Suddenly Sandy came in to ask her father for the stamps he had received those days, and the good priest, after caressing him, said: “Run to the second, my dear, and let your Aunt Catalina come down immediately , for your father and I have to speak to her.” The boy came up like a whirlwind, and in the time that elapsed until the Countess appeared, the Marquis had to paraphrase his last statements to prevent Flórez from misinterpreting them . He was a practical man, and, humbling himself before the fait accompli, he wanted to be on everyone’s good side. “I meant to say, Señor Don Manuel, that my sister has not, until now, demonstrated an aptitude for something so grand, for an undertaking that requires not only piety, but intelligence, knowledge of the world and business . That’s what I maintained and maintain. But does the fact that she hasn’t demonstrated aptitude mean that she can’t acquire it when least expected?” Faith works miracles, who doubts it? Faith can do a lot. “According to you, miracles are worked by holy economy. ” “Also. And intelligence, and method, and…” His sister’s entrance cut him off. Before greeting her, Don Manuel extended his arms to her from a distance, saying with as much seriousness as joy: “Come here, Countess of Halma, and thank your brother, this noble son of your father, this glory of the Artales and Javierres…” The Marquis, as soon as I indicated your plans to him, opened, so to speak, his heart and his entire soul, flooded with Christian faith and Catholic enthusiasm. And nothing… that you dispose of your legitimate portion, without any loss, for there are no accounts, nor ever were, nor can there be any between two brothers who love each other so much… if that’s not enough, he’s ready… –Little by little, Don Manuel… I… –Yes, yes, it means that he won’t abandon us in case of… In short, he has behaved like who he is, like a Castilian nobleman, a knight of the faith of Christ. I expected it, since I know the race, and I have wept with satisfaction seeing how his ideas responded to mine, how his noble heart was flooded with joy at the sublime projects of his blessed sister. Long live the Artales and Javierres, whose coat of arms has no equal in nobility, whose history is full of magnanimous acts, of heroic virtues! Long live the family that counts more saints than princes in its genealogical tree, and princes by the hundreds, and let us all congratulate ourselves, and I first, for the honor of being the friend of such illustrious persons! “Good, very good,” said Doña Catalina between two smiles, demonstrating in the coldness with which she pronounced those words that she did not accept the cleric’s words as an article of faith. “I never oppose,” Feramor said, swallowing saliva to drown out the tumultuous procession that was going on inside him, “I don’t oppose anything that is reasonable. When the spiritual is presented in practical conditions, I am the first… you know… My general ideas, my political ideas, agree with everything that promotes and protects religious interests. Faith is a force, the greatest of forces, and with its help, other forces, whether social or economic, can perform wonders. Every enterprise of moral improvement has me at its side, because I see no better path to human perfection than firm beliefs, mercy, forgiveness of offenses, protection of the strong by the weak, almsgiving, peace of conscience. ” “What beautiful ideas!” “Blessed be the riches you amass, for with them you will do good to your helpless fellow men! If all rich people were like you , there would be no misery, would there? Nor would the social problem be so terrifying.” At this point, the Marquis had to force himself greatly to keep from picking up a chair and dropping it on the head of the cunning and delinquent priest. But his social propriety, like a conscience stronger than his true conscience, overcame his anger, and never for a moment did the smile, which seemed sculpted, of good manners disappear from his lips … Ah, good manners! It was second nature, the visible one, the one that faced the world, while the other, the constitutive one, rarely emerged from the cloister in which well- studied urban forms had confined it. To dispense with that second nature for all public, and even domestic, events was as impossible as going out into the street naked in broad daylight. The refinements of education, while in some cases correcting the native roughnesses of the human being, in others tend to produce artificial men, who, due to the consequences of their actions, are mistaken for the real ones. Drawing on the inexhaustible resources of his good education, that somewhat creative and formative force that makes men, or at least living statues, the Marquis held the paper the ecclesiastic friend of the house had imposed on him and ended the conversation by graciously saying to his sister: “Dispose of… that whenever you wish. I am at your service. And, as Don Manuel has so aptly told you, between us, between brother and sister, let there be no talk of accounts or advances… No, don’t thank me. It is my duty to forgive you an insignificant debt. Fortune has favored me more than you; what do I say about fortune? God, who gives and takes away riches.” If he gave them to me, it’s so you can consecrate yourself… consecrate yourself… He didn’t finish the sentence, because good manners, used in such high doses, must have been exhausted… To disguise the sudden extinction of that strength, the Marquis had no choice but to fake a cough. And Don Manuel, taking out a small cardboard box, said to him with a sincere conscience: –Take, Mr. Parliamentarian, one of those little pills I use. PART TWO Chapter 9. Now let us see the artifices that in the conduct of the Marquis of Feramor determined his second nature, his urbanity and correctness, for the impulse he acquired carried him to considerable distances from his true inner nature, petrified in selfishness. That night and the following ones, chatting in his social gathering with the serious people of both sexes who attended, he indicated with discreet boastfulness his intention to assist in the religious undertakings of his sister the Countess. It is true that all this was just lip service. It must be stated that he was encouraged to express such and similar ideas by the atmosphere that reigned in his social gathering, and that it was nothing more than an extension of the total atmosphere. Because in those days, which are not far behind us, one of those gusts of wind had come over society that temporarily agitate and shake it, a gust that was then religious, as at other times it has been impious. The phenomenon repeats itself with certain periodicity. Different winds blow upon the public conscience: sometimes as a fashion for democratic exaltations; sometimes the fashion for the opposite ideal. In literature, too, these furious gales come and go, which would wreak great havoc if they did not pass quickly. Sometimes a hurricane-force realism blows that drenches everything; sometimes a classic wind-force that dries everything out. Religion is not immune to this atmospheric elasticity, which is in a certain way healthy, whatever one may say. High pressures of indifference come; others of piety follow. In the days to which I refer, the religious gust was coming with force, and in the salons of Feramor it swirled furiously. People spoke preferentially of Rome and the Holy Father; Everyone could think of catchy phrases to ridicule unbelievers or to praise the beauties of Christian symbolism and the auxiliary arts of worship; others pointed to decadence, symptoms of moral ruin in Protestant countries. The former maintained the frequency of conversions to Catholicism, and the latter fondly recalled the lives of saints and founders, finding them more beautiful than those of Plutarch’s heroes. Group trips were planned to admire cathedrals and ferret out ruined monasteries, and aesthetic aficionados recognized more talent in orthodox writers than in impious or indifferent ones. Some who had never been saints taught a pietistic ear beneath worldliness, and those who were grew up and threatened to take over the world. From outside, through the press, which has always been extraordinarily sensitive to these atmospheric changes, came the gust, pushing harder every day, because the newspapers, accused of being freethinkers and actually freethinking, came out with their columns filled with a sanctimoniousness that would have made the progressives of thirty years ago turn pale with rage . The ladies, naturally, fanned the gust more and more with the air of their fans and the breath of their impassioned phraseology, until it billowed like a whirlwind. They were unaware that when those winds subsided, others would arrive with new ideas and new passions. Well, into an atmosphere dense with religious demands, the Marquis of Feramor poured out his artificial ideas, so called to differentiate them from the true ideas, locked deep inside, far from the dry histrionics of good manners. He made an effort to appear happy to assist his sister, Doña Catalina, in the formidable Christian undertakings she would soon undertake. Oh, as a representative of the ruling classes, he was obliged to contribute to everything that favored the _great spiritual interests_ of society! It was not all about promoting public works and defending commercial association as an article of faith. It was necessary to look to the beyond, teach the proletarian classes the forgotten path to Heaven, and prepare for the return of great ideals. In this way he nourished his vanity, publicly preaching what he secretly detested, and determined to profit from what was being hatched so against his will on the second floor of his house between the stubborn Countess of Halma and the accommodating Don Manuel Flórez. Those who attended his social gatherings felt obliged to praise him more highly than they constantly paid him for his English sense and his disdain for exaggeration. With the exception of the Count of Monte Cármenes, an incorrigible tightrope walker who always walked a very comfortable middle path, equidistant from mysticism and impiety, Feramor’s friends were happy to see him on that path. Naturally, men of intellectual and financial capacity like himself were obliged to invigorate public power by reinvigorating the religious spring. The Marquis of Cicero could not contain his enthusiasm; Jacinto Villalonga, who by obtaining the senate seat for life had established himself as a champion of high principles, regretted not being rich enough to assist the Countess of Halma in her spiritual undertakings, which were the same as a great battle waged against the revolutions; the Trujillos, Alberts, and Arnáiz, members of the freshly crowned nobility, believed that titles should be placed at the forefront of the regeneration movement; the Count of Casa Bohío, Tellería by birth, married to a wealthy Cuban, declared his agreement and enthusiastic approval… in the name of Europe and America. General Morla merely repeated and confirmed his lifelong ideas. Severiano Rodríguez was a bit vague, but without resolutely launching himself into opposition, because his civility forbade it . But the one who with the greatest vehemence and most emphatic gestures defended spiritual interests was a certain José Antonio de Urrea, the Marquis’s cousin, a parasite in the house from time to time, a fickle, frivolous man of dubious reputation. Younger than Feramor, he bore some resemblance to him physically, but little in moral terms, for he was the most unhinged head of the family and the greatest calamity that weighed upon it. The Marquis harbored an antipathy toward him that at times amounted to mortal hatred, and had done everything possible to send him to Cuba, to the Philippines, to the ends of the earth, and escape his furious attacks for financial aid. The flattery of the unfortunate relative drove him mad, for after them always came the inevitable blow. Truly, José Antonio de Urrea was more wretched than wicked. Orphaned at an early age and without property, he had no one to send him to study in England or anywhere else. Wealthy relatives wanted to give him a career; he started three or four in succession: Infantry, Forestry, Military Administration, Telegraph, and never even made it halfway through any of them. At twenty-two, it was necessary to find him a position. Feramor counted hundreds of trips to the Ministry to request a reinstatement or a transfer. The fact is that he was kicked out of every office because he either didn’t show up or arrived late, and all he did was smoke, draw caricatures, and mess around with his colleagues. Abandoned by his relatives, he devoted himself to unknown businesses. For a time, he was seen well-dressed, spending money on cars and theaters, with no one knowing where those masses came from. After a long period of eclipse, my José Antonio appeared in a sorry state, sick, broken, starving; but with ideas for a great business, which he studied and which would surely be his salvation. Feramor and his wife, the Duchess of Monterones and her husband, pitied him, and making him promise to mend their ways, allowed themselves to be exploited. The rogue used a thousand amusing tricks to win hearts, especially those of the ladies; with the help he collected, he would restore their clothes or make new ones, and there you had him again , dressed to the nines, day and night, with a napkin pinned to his waist, and livening up gatherings with his easy wit. His inconstancy was no less than his shamelessness: sometimes he would disappear from the houses of Feramor and Monterones, and parasitize in others, where he was undoubtedly paid with a plate for his amenities, which were not always of the highest quality. Good taste. The fact is that at the table and in family gatherings, he repaid the treatment with suffocating flattery, and in other people’s homes, he avenged the humiliation he had received by speaking ill of his family, ridiculing his cousin’s Anglicanism, the vanities of the Marchioness, and Ignacia Monterones. This was usually followed by another long plunge into unknown obscurity, only to reemerge repentantly, begging for mercy. As soon as his cousin saw him with the censer in his hand, he would begin to tremble, because flattery was always a precursor to a stunning blow with the sword, which he wielded like no one else. And so, when he saw him so enthusiastic about religious ideals, the Marquis said to himself: “This one is coming armed tonight. Let’s get ready.” Indeed, taking advantage of a propitious opportunity, José Antonio attacked him in a corner of the billiard room, and there, with malice aforethought, premeditation, and cruelty, brought the cutting edge down upon his head. The Marquis was so stunned by the tremendous blow that he was unable to respond. The terrible saber-slinger appeared very animated with the hope of a sure business, for which he had gathered the necessary capital, and all he lacked was a sum, a pittance, which his cousin, his dear cousin, his opulent cousin and patron would provide him with the following day… if possible in the morning, all the better. Chapter 10. “Are you crazy? Let me give you a thousand pesetas!” said the victim, placing his hand on his chest and removing him as if he were carrying a weight. “What a story! You’re in business…? And what is it, may I ask? ” “A publishing business, but a sure one, Paco; so sure that I’ll earn a few thousand duros with it in a short time. “Spill it out of that mouth. The same old story. And with a thousand pesetas you set up a publishing house? ” “Didn’t you hear me? I have more; but I lack that beak. ” “What you lack is shame,” responded the Marquis, who, faced with this family calamity, found himself deprived even of his good manners. “Leave me alone, or I’ll throw you out of my house. ” “Well, that’s no reason for you to get angry. You deny me the help that I, a poor industrialist, have come to ask of you. And then you tell me: ‘Work, work, be a man, settle down.’ Well, sir, settle down, I settle down by working; but alas! the cunning law of economics intervenes… Where is the capital? I look for it; I find some of it; I go to my wealthy cousin to complete it for me, and my wealthy cousin throws me out of his house, condemns me to misery, ties my hands… Fine, Paco, fine… I will always love you, and I will always respect you… –By faith, these are times to put money into publishing enterprises…, precisely when we have agreed to dedicate it to spiritual ones! –You can take care of everything. You have the duty to promote what is God’s and what is Caesar’s. –Yes, yes, with the profit I have these days. Do you know that I have to give to my sister…? –I know. You give her what she deserves. –But… –Agreed; your sister is crazy. –Speak with more respect. –Dead crazy. Sublime madness, if you like. If I were you, I wouldn’t give her a penny. The sublime ceases to be so as soon as you put money on it. Give me what I ask of you, for I am quite sane and quite pedestrian, with my methodical work, and my habits of a forward-thinking and orderly man. Indeed, let it be said because it is true, poor Urrea had been living for half a year a life completely contrary to that which had given him such a sad reputation. He had managed to give practical form to his skill in photography, and associating himself with a very active industrialist, he made an excursion through the Andalusian provinces, and brought back a collection of monumental clichés, which earned him some money. This encouraged him. He founded a newspaper, studying zincography and heliogravure; but the weakness of the literary part made the publication fail. With new elements, he attempted the creation of another illustrated weekly, hoping to obtain considerable profits, and he collected money for the essential materials and for the initial expenses. The printer demanded, in addition of the paper, a deposit to cover the composition and printing of the first two issues. Talking about these matters, diving into a technical explanation of the business to see if he could soften his cousin, he sharpened his weapon further, finally setting the sum he needed at two thousand pesetas. “Two thousand! ” “Yes, and you’re going to give them to me. You’re better than you think. ” “No; I consider myself unbeatable. Because I am, I won’t give you the two thousand pesetas: it would be the same as throwing them out on the street… Listen: something occurs to me. Ask my sister, who has money now, or will soon have it, and according to what Don Manuel says, she dedicates it to the relief of human misery. Of course, you, with your brand-new publishing industry, are included in that miserable humanity, which Catalina intends to redeem. ” “Well, look, it’s not a bad idea… Ah! Your sister is a saint, a Christian heroine.” I admire her, and whenever I see her, I feel like kneeling before her and pray… My word of honor… Yes, what a famous idea! –Make her understand that the protection of nascent industries and enterprising and dependable men like yourself must be counted among the works of mercy, and that charity begins in the family… do you understand? Who knows, man, who knows if…! –Don’t take it as a joke, it could very well… It will be attempted, man, it will be attempted. Catalina is truly an angel, and her misfortunes give her an extraordinary insight into the misfortunes of others. Looking at the matter closely, she must begin her charitable campaign with me, who venerate her, who idolize her; with me, the most unfortunate in the family, surely more than her, more, more. And I believe that, in good conscience, I can well ask her for three thousand pesetas. –Yes… come on in, son, come on in. –But, oh! “Urrea exclaimed, suddenly discouraged, putting his hand to his skull, I hadn’t remembered… Oh, it can’t be, my dear Paco, it can’t be! You and I are so foolish! Of course, if my cousin had let herself be led by her magnanimous heart, it wouldn’t have been a good idea. But since the one who governs by her own will is that conger eel Don Manuel… Imagine. ” “I won’t allow you to speak like that about our most worthy friend. ” “Forgive me… I don’t offend him. Woe is me! When I say that most of the evils that afflict humanity are of ecclesiastical origin!… Ah! Well, if I were to take my cousin free, I mean, in the free exercise of his mercy, believe me, no one would be able to take my four thousand pesetas away from me. My word…” “I see that if they don’t give them to you soon, you’ll end up asking for a million. ” “An idea has occurred to me… Perhaps we could… Let’s see. Can I count on you?” “With me? Why?” “To support me, in case that most reverend barnacle should, as seems natural, speak out against my claim. ” “I… How? ” ” Telling the Countess of Halma that I am no longer what I was, that I have mended my ways, that I work, that with my small industry I feed a multitude of destitute families, in short, that I staunchly defend the great Christian ideals, and that it would be a very meritorious work of charity to help me with five thousand… ” “Shut up, man, shut up! I can’t support you. They’ll think I’ve gone mad. In any case, show me that your resolutions to amend are genuine, and your plans for work are serious and decisive.” The Marquis said this, passing into the next room, as if by escaping he wanted to get rid of such an annoying fly; But the poor relation followed him, clinging to his coattails, displaying the stubborn will of those characters who do not give up until they achieve what they set out to do. Minutes later, Feramor sat down on a couch to talk politics with Manolo Infante. The parasite had to join in with a sticky officiousness; the conversation imperceptibly turned to journalistic territory , and Urrea immediately dropped in with this indirect comment: “If I manage to get my Saturdays out on the streets, you’ll see. New stuff, current affairs presented with art and chic, phenomenal price, I mean, dirt cheap; the literary part is first-rate, the heliography _same as canvas_, in short, a business that only needs a tiny bit of support to enrich someone. The first issue, which is already prepared, I dedicate to the famous apostle of our times, the great Nazarín, about whom I present wonderful news, the complete biography, portraits of him and his disciples… “But this Nazarín, what is he?” the Marquis asked Manolo Infante. ” The press is already driving us crazy with the blessed Nazarist gang, and the trial, and the interviews… Have you seen him? ” “I don’t need to see him,” Infante replied, “to think, like your cousin, that he’s the most ingenious scoundrel God has ever brought into the world.” “Little by little,” Urrea said with the aplomb he usually displayed to refute himself. “I don’t think such a thing.” –A little while ago you were telling Severiano and me that you had seen him, and chatted with him and his companions, and that you considered him… those are your words… to be a very vulgar impostor. –Is that what I said? Come on, I’ll reveal the whole intricacies of my diplomacy. To disorient you and Severiano, I told you the current and vulgar opinion, reserving the novelty, the surprise, for my audience. I present Nazarín as it emerges from the survey I’ve made of his character, visiting him in the hospital day after day. –And you think he’s a saint. Well, that’s nothing new, because there have been those who have already maintained that. –But they don’t present the evidence I will present. He’s an extraordinary man, an innovator, who preaches with actions, not with words, who apostolizes with will, not with intelligence, and who will leave—don’t laugh at what I say—a deep furrow in our century. “But you told us half an hour ago that he’s not even crazy, but an adventurer who plays the fool to live on in the country! ” “It wasn’t convenient for me half an hour ago to tell you my true opinion. In diplomacy and industry, deception is permissible. Before, it wasn’t convenient for me to spread the truth; now it is. ” “I understand this guy better than anyone,” Feramor said, laughing. ” He has his plans, he pursues his business, and suddenly, a change in the atmosphere makes him change course to get where he wants to go more quickly. My cousin is very astute, and now he wants to get on the good side of those who dedicate their money to eternal ideals, to evangelical charity campaigns . Is this yes or no? And by the way, Manolo, do you know of anyone who would like to take part in a publishing venture, with religious tendencies, _nota bene_, with religious tendencies, by making a small sacrifice of six thousand pesetas? ” “Little by little…” José Antonio said briskly. Profit sharing can only be achieved by contributing seven thousand pesetas to the business. Feramor and Infante burst out laughing, and the latter, without hesitation or abandoning the field of his formidable sport, continued thus: “Laugh, laugh… We’ll see who laughs last.” And returning to my hero, I’ll show you some proofs from the different photographs I was able to take of him at the hospital… I also have those of his colleagues. You’ll see.” Reaching into his pocket, he showed various photographic proofs of his own making, which were examined with intense curiosity by the various people who instantly formed a group. “So this is the famous Nazarín?… Let’s see, let’s see…” “Tell me if a more intelligent face is possible in humanity. ” “It looks like a Moor. ” “What it looks like is a biblical figure. ” “And this woman…?” “Look, look at that head, and tell me if imposture can ever reach that ideal beauty. ” “Nice profile. But there’s a retouching here.” –More than Dante’s Beatrice, she looks like a young Dante. –Say she’s a pythoness, with inspiration painted in her eyes. –Or a Saint Clare. –Not that; she’s not a medieval figure, she’s biblical. –From the Old Testament. Don’t confuse… –And this one? What kind of monkey is this? –That’s Ándara… the monstrous one, because on her face there’s a wink of Hell and another of Heaven. –Ándara!… Jesus, what a devilish physiognomy! –Everything is strange, sublimely enigmatic and mysterious in that family, or shall we say tribe… But look, look closely at Nazarín’s face. Is he Job, is he Muhammad, is he Saint Francis, is he Abelard, is he Peter the Hermit, is he Isaiah, is he Shem himself, son of Noah? An immense enigma! Good old Urrea unfolded these warm compliments like a traveling salesman showing samples of the articles he offers to the trade, while the photographs passed from hand to hand. The ladies especially snatched them up and focused their attention on them with an intense, insatiable, feverish curiosity. Chapter 11. –But, my friend Urrea, –said the Marquis of Cicero with childlike sincerity, –this must be published. –It will be published. –And the text… good stuff? “Ah!… “But the expense is so considerable,” said Feramor, “that the company that has taken charge of the Nazarist propaganda is requesting a subsidy of eight thousand pesetas. ” “Oh!… You haven’t exaggerated, dear cousin,” said Urrea. “And I also assure you, on my word of honor, that to do it properly, at the level of the matter, nine thousand wouldn’t be bad. ” “Kid, you’d better get to the round figure once and for all: two thousand duros. ” “They’ve given that much, and much more, for a thousand trivial things, Maecenas I know. My word. What’s being sought now is limited within the terms of an almost implausible modesty: ten thousand pesetas. What less? ” “It doesn’t seem like much to me. Let the Government give it to you. ” “Or ask the Sacramentals,” said Manolo Infante, “who have the contract for the conduction to immortal life.” “Better to the funeral companies, because Nazarism propagates death.” “Well, if I were you, Urrea,” suggested a lady who knew how to tease with a gentle hand, “I would request a subsidy from the guild of image and float makers for Holy Week.” The ingenious adventurer wasn’t daunted by the humorous cackle with which his friends of the house greeted his projects; rather, he was excited, sensing bold initiatives in his mind and an astonishing fecundity of resources to work on that business. The idea suggested by Feramor was a most fortunate one. Ah, if only he could maneuver on open ground, that is, in the kind heart of his cousin! But that intruding and tacky Don Manuel Flórez, the sieve through which all of Catalina de Halma’s thoughts and actions passed, disconcerted him, instilling in him the tormenting doubt of success. To discuss such a difficult problem at his leisure, he needed to be alone, sharpen his wits to an incredible degree, and prepare himself, in short, with the entire array of tricks and subtleties that, in his long experience in that fencing, had given him so many victories. Disdaining the mockery he was subjected to at Feramor’s house, he left in haste without saying goodbye to anyone. Contrary to his custom, he went home and locked himself in his small bedroom to meditate on his plan of attack, trying to anticipate the enemy’s positions in order to choose the right amount of ground from which to attack. As he got into bed, with his feet cold and his head hot, he said to himself: “There’s no need to shy away: timidity will be my downfall. By limiting my honorable request to two thousand duros, they might think it’s for vices. To show you that this is serious business, a matter involving the _great interests_ of the human spirit, I need to move up to three thousand.” He fell asleep at dawn, and if at first he dreamed that Don Manuel Flórez, upon hearing his demand, fired a Hontoria cannon at point-blank range, his dream later became optimistic and pleasant, because he saw himself tenderly embraced by the aforementioned Flórez, while Catalina took a Gothic chest from the cabinet, and from it many bundles of bank notes, of which she gave one part to Nazarín and another to him. And since Nazarín was all self-denial and contempt for earthly goods, he gave her his part without even looking at it. The modest movement of the beggar apostle when taking the money prevailed in Urrea’s mind even after having passed from that dream to a very different one. He dreamed that with part of that cash he bought an iron mine, which in a short time would yield fabulous returns; with the profits from the mine he would buy two blocks of houses, and a lot of government paper, and by negotiating on the down-low, he would become the owner of the entire railway network of Spain… here I am not sinning… and of France and England… And all this while, Nazarín was pushing the ream of bills away with apostolic repugnance. At dawn, while such unheard-of things were happening in the mind of a sleeping man, Don Manuel Flórez, who lived on the same street, opposite the dreamer Urrea, left his home. He went briskly to say his mass, then spent a couple of hours in this and that church, and around ten o’clock he dropped by Feramor’s house. Entering unannounced into the Marquis’s office, where he was working with his administrator and agent, he said: “Dear Paco, we would like this finalized soon, if possible, today. ” “Well, shouldn’t it be possible? Today, my dear Don Manolo. The redeemer is in a great hurry to begin her duties. ” “Human misery, my son, is in a hurry, human hunger, human thirst and nakedness. ” “Well, it’s not up to me. ” The administrator intervened, assuring him that the notary had already been notified to prepare the documentation, and that if he finished that day, the next day the delivery of the Countess’s legitimate share would be made, partly in properties or securities, partly in cash. “Perfectly,” said the good priest, caressing one hand with the other. “And since you are in a state of kindness today… ” “But won’t you sit down, Don Manuel? ” “No; I’m leaving right away.” I say that since I find you in the mood for concessions, I dare to present you with a little whim of your sister’s, a small thing; you see… “Finish quickly, for I’m already beginning to feel chills. ” “Why, my dear child? ” “Because it could be that to redeem poor humanity, her legitimate share would not be enough, and in the name of the Triune God she might ask me for mine as well… and it could happen that you would insist that I give it to her. ” “Come on, don’t joke. What she’s asking is that you award her the tower of Zaportela, in Aragon. She spent part of her childhood in that dilapidated mansion with your aunt, Doña Rudesinda. She has memories…” “Well, that lizard nest is of no use to you, and she has the whim to restore it, and…” “The thing is, I have given the house in Zaportela and two adjacent properties in usufruct to the Urreas family, the uncles of this lost José Antonio, insatiable beggars like him, who practice begging out of terror. If I throw them out of there, they’re capable of burning down all my houses in Aragon. ” “Well, instead of Zaportela, you’ll give her the castle of Pedralba in this province, near San Agustín; you know… a large old mansion, with a tower, and I don’t know what ruins of a Cistercian monastery… So there’s no need to hesitate, my son, and thank me for opening wide horizons to your generosity. You’re an angel, and the perfect type of the Christian gentleman. ” “Enough, enough. You don’t need to use flattery to rob me. That’ll be arranged.” Tell your disciple not to cry for the castle. Pedralba will be hers. “You’ll tell her, because I won’t be up until afternoon,” said Flórez, looking at his watch. “I’m in a hurry. At eleven I have to see Señor Vicario; and at twelve they’re expecting me at Gracia y Justicia to go to the Nunciature… Well, sir, well. ” “What else? ” “Nothing more. Does that seem like little?” “I thought you were going to ask me for the carriage for all those trips. ” “I wasn’t going to ask you for it; but I’ll take it if you give it to me. Madrid is covered in mud. Well, sir, well. ” A little later, the good Don Manolo came out, joyful and lively, and at the entrance, bam! José Antonio de Urrea entered. The young man remained as if he were seeing visions, and he couldn’t even manage to greet the respectable almsgiver. from the house. “Pepillo, what happy eyes! Come here, my son, give me a hug! ” the clergyman said effusively. “What’s the matter? You’ve gone pale. Are you sick? You’re trembling. ” “No, sir… Emotion… I’d just been thinking about you, ” Urrea replied, kissing his hand. “Do you think that seeing, after so long, this venerable friend, this guardian angel of the whole family, isn’t something impressive? ” “Shut up, shut up, you wheedler. ” “Give me another kiss of those hands to kiss. ” “Enough, enough. I know, I know you’re very well-behaved. I know you’re working, that you’ve settled down. It was about time, my son. ” “Who told you?” Urrea asked him with some alarm, fearing the irony of his cousin Feramor. “They told me… What does it matter to you?” Your cousins, those from Hinestrosa, have told me so. “I’m a different man. And how good it is to be good, Don Manuel! What beauty is a clear conscience, honest poverty, and normal, orderly, and perfectly correct conduct! What relief is purity of intentions, restraint of desires, adaptation of our pleasures to the measure of reality! What great consolation is living in harmony with everyone, and feeling loved, respected!… ” “Yes, my son, yes.” “It’s true that my life is eventful, for I cannot dispense with certain habits of decency, and lacking any fortune, daily bread , my dearest Don Manuel, represents Herculean efforts for me. ” “God will bless your work. Forward along that path. Persist in your ideas; have perseverance, courage, confidence in yourself. ” “I will. Don’t worry. ” “Are you going to see Consuelo? ” “No, I’m going to visit Halma.” With this familiar brevity, Halma, the parasite commonly referred to his cousin. “Good, good. Keeping company with the unfortunate, sweetening their sadness with words of comfort! The poor thing will be very grateful. Do me the favor of telling her I can’t come until the afternoon… ah! and that, as she knows what that is, will be finalized tomorrow. Go, go, my son. And may the Lord keep you in that good disposition. Goodbye…” She kissed his hand again, and after accompanying him into the carriage, the great Urrea got in, more than joyful, drunk with enthusiasm and happiness, because things were looking better for him than he could have imagined in the frenzy of his optimism. His first stroke of luck: finding Don Manuel Flórez on that incredibly benevolent footing, already aware of his new hard-working habits. The second blow: knowing that the aforementioned man wouldn’t reach the weak fortress until afternoon , threatened by a terrible siege. It was true that the enemy could arrive at the last minute with formidable help, ideas, and authority to refresh him; but it could also happen that he arrived late, and that, having been wrung from the besieger with a promise, the distinguished lady would have no choice but to keep it. The man grew morally and even physically as he climbed the stairs, straight to the second room. He felt impetuous, extremely audacious, invincible, and above all, large, enormous. He thought his head was touching the top of the stairs, and that the doors weren’t wide enough to let him in. Divine Providence was undoubtedly on his side. How right he had been that morning to pray to the Eternal Father, to the Virgin, and to the blessed Saint Anthony, imploring their efficacious help! What the devil! Wasn’t he poor, sad, miserable? What did he do other than beg for alms and provide good souls with the exercise of the most beautiful of virtues, charity? “Away with timidity, away with pettiness that might jeopardize success, ” he said to himself as he passed through the door, proud and arrogant, like a champion who longs to magnify dangers so that the glory of overcoming them may be greater. “There go the brave men. I ask you… psst… twenty thousand pesetas.” Chapter 12. Whenever Don Manuel, after a long absence of half a day or a whole day, entered the room of his noble friend the Countess of Halma, He found her submerged in a profound and gloomy melancholy, like a swimmer diving into a cistern. With the book City of God by Saint Augustine or some other mystical work open on her lap, her cheek resting on her right hand, her right elbow supported by her left hand, and her right knee on her right knee, which was raised because her foot was on a stool, she looked like a pensive Dante, turning over in his mind the dark circles of Hell or the luminous ones of Paradise. Seeing her in such a state of sadness, drowned, silent, and gloomy, Don Manuel tried to cheer her spirits with his pleasant conversation, and sometimes he succeeded, sometimes not. For that afternoon, what would the amiable Flórez have been surprised to find his illustrious friend in a state of pleasant restlessness? He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw her standing there, running from one side of the room to the other, as if she were arranging and arranging the books and objects of devotion she had on various shelves. And the strangest thing was that her face shone with animation, with life. Her eyes, always dull, shone with the glow of fever; her cheeks, always gaunt, had taken on a rosy hue, as if she had just returned from a walk in the countryside, sated with sun and air . “What’s the matter with you, my noble and saintly friend?” the priest asked her. “What’s the matter? ” “Nothing, nothing’s the matter with me. I’m happy. Is this something? ” “Yes… I’m very glad to see you so joyful. It’s not good to let your spirit sink into sadness. Virtue is by nature joyful, and a pure conscience rejoices in itself… ” “Sit down if you like, and let me stand. I feel an inexplicable urge to walk, to move.” Suddenly, the stillness has begun to bother me. “I have recommended a prudent exercise to you. Virtue does not exactly require sedentary prostration, which can even become a vice and be called laziness. ” “And now you will ask me the motive or reason for this contentment you observe in me. ” “Indeed, my lady, I am asking you. ” “And I answer that I do not know; that I cannot explain what is happening in my soul this afternoon. We will see if I can figure it out. And now, I am going to ask the question. Tell me: who is Nazarín? ” Good Flórez remained suspended for a moment, and looked at the Countess’s face like someone trying to decipher an obscure riddle. “Well, Nazarín…” he murmured. “What man is that? Do you know him? ” “Yes, madam. ” “Have you known him for a while?” “He is a priest from La Mancha, middle-aged.” Two or three years ago, I don’t quite remember the date, I had the opportunity to meet him in the sacristy of San Cayetano. He seemed to me to be an excellent man, of extremely pure morals, humble, of uncommon intelligence, and sparing with words… Afterwards, I ran into him occasionally on the street; we talked. The poor fellow seemed upset; he revealed a profound poverty, without complaining about it. I believed that his short-tempered nature and his extreme delicacy had kept him in such a state, and I advised him to shake it off, trying to acquire a little more people skills. Afterwards, I saw him involved in a scandalous trial, and his name dragged through the streets. Frankly, I felt very bad that a priest would end up in such a situation, whether due to weakness of character or out of true malice. I learned that he was in the hospital, recovering from a very severe case of typhus, and, what do you think?… I went to see him. That’s how I am: I like to find out for myself. I saw him, we talked at length, and… –Do you think, like almost everyone else, that he’s a poor madman? –That’s the general opinion. –But yours, yours is the one I want to know. –Mine is of no importance. Expert physicians have examined him, professors of mental and nervous diseases. –But you have enough understanding not to need the judgments of others to form your own. Tell me what you think, in conscience, of that man. Is he a scoundrel? –I think not. –Firmly not? “I maintain with complete conviction that he is not a villain. ” “Then he is a madman. ” “I dare not say as much. ” “Then he is a man of lofty views, a man who… ” “Nor do I affirm that. ” “Then you have not been able to form a definite opinion. ” “No, madam, I have not been able to. And, believe me, this Nazarín has been the object of great confusion for me. ” “Why had you not spoken to me about this, Don Manuel?” “Because I did not think such a matter deserved the Countess’s attention. ” “Do you know that there is a book about Nazarín around, in which it is recounted how he went on his pilgrimages, how he found followers, how he performed acts of true heroism and sublime charity? ” “I have read that book, which its author gave me, with a very expressive dedication. But I do not trust what is recounted there, because it is a work of imagination rather than history.” Today’s writers seek to delight with fantasy rather than instruct with truth. “Can I read that book? ” “Surely. But without forgetting that it’s a novel. ” “Then I prefer something else. ” “What? ” “To see Nazarín himself. A living subject will shed more light than any story , even supposing it weren’t fantastical, and written solely for the entertainment of the unemployed. ” “To see Nazarín? Where? ” “Anywhere. In the hospital… here. ” “That seems more serious to me. Still, I’m not saying no. ” “Say yes, and we’ll be done sooner. Now, a separate point: let’s talk about something else. ” “So, on to something else,” repeated Flórez, somewhat thoughtful at the sudden leap from sadness to joy in the illustrious lady’s mood. ” You know that tomorrow the legitimate heir will be handed over. We’re out of that. ” “Thank God!” “I also have much to thank my brother for ,” said Catherine, sitting down somewhat wearily, as if her agitated nerves were going into sedation. “If I am to tell you the truth, I view the arrival of that money in my poor hands with absolute indifference. ” “A person who looks to heaven,” said the priest, squinting his eyes to better see his friend’s face, “gets better accustomed than others to despising earthly goods. ” “And as for the use we should give to that little bit of capital, we’ll talk slowly. ” “If I remember correctly, we’ve already talked enough. We agreed that you would found, in the middle of the countryside and far from the hustle and bustle, a charitable institution, with its own income… ” “And that before that, you would set aside a sum to distribute among the needy. ” “Yes; but that is difficult, because we wouldn’t even have enough to begin with. Charity must be done methodically, based on the judgment of the Church and supporting its plans. It’s not worth giving alms willy- nilly.” It remains to be seen to whom it is given, and how it is given. “Do you know, my good Don Manuel, that I don’t quite understand that? ” “I explained it to you at length yesterday. ” “Well, I’ve forgotten. But there’s no need to repeat it. I’ll understand when I’m calmer.” Suddenly, the good clergyman struck his forehead, as if trying to kill a biting mosquito, and exclaimed: “Ah, now I realize, now, now!” “What?” “Nothing, but while we were talking, I was racking my brains wondering who had been here today on a visit. And now it has suddenly come back to me. ” “My cousin Pepe Antonio de Urrea.” “I met him in the doorway: he was coming in, I was going out. I’ve been told he’s a well-educated man. ” “It seems so… poor fellow! He moved me by telling me of his difficulties in earning a living with hard work. ” “And he has probably asked you for money for his ventures.” –Yes… –And he’s spoken to you about Nazarín. –Exactly. –But I can’t find the connection between Nazarín and the financial difficulties of the Urreas descendant. –I’ve promised to study your request and resolve it with you. “He must have asked you for at least two or three thousand reales. ” “A little more: five thousand duros. ” “Hail Mary most pure!… Blessed Saint Anthony! ” “Believe me, I laughed, and from the moment you spoke to me about this, I began to feel joyful. A man’s troubles for something as worthless as money make me happy. It’s like rejecting everything I suffered for that damned money, in the terrible days when I needed it so much. And now that I can’t use it for anything in my own interest , since I’ve lost the good of my life, now that I have the remains of the one who was my only love in the ground, and I see his soul in heaven, I am gladdened by the groaning of those who ask for money in desperate need, and seeing that I have it, I am happier.” I feel, believe it or not, a sort of secret desire for revenge… yes, I want to take revenge on my fate, which subjected me to so many privations and made me suffer so much… And when a wretch approaches me asking for something I couldn’t have when I needed it, and which I possess now that I don’t need it… “You take revenge… by denying it to him. ” “No, sir, by giving it to him… It’s a revenge in which I confuse my fate with money itself, a vile and despicable matter, the distribution of which ought not to be subject to any rule of order or government. My brother’s economic laws seem to me one of the most infamous inventions of human selfishness. ” “So you, madam, believe that in order to despise money and punish it for its vileness, it should be given to the first loony who asks for it without us knowing how it will be used? ” “I believe that the final use of money is always the same, to whomever it is given. Wherever it falls, it will satisfy needs.” The spendthrift, the dissipated, the vicious themselves, make it pass into other hands, who take advantage of it for what it should be taken advantage of. Throw a handful of bills into the street, or give it to the first stray who passes by, the first thief who asks for it, and that money, as all water flows to rivers, and rivers to the sea, will go to fulfill its purpose in the immense sea of ​​human misery. Near or far, here or there, with that money you throw into the street someone will clothe themselves, someone will satisfy their hunger and thirst. The final result of every donation of cash is always the same. “My lady,” said Don Manuel, a little stunned. “Let’s not be paradoxical… let’s not be sophistic. If you will allow me to contradict you, let me clearly demonstrate your error in this matter…” The man couldn’t express himself well. He was extremely suffocated, he felt hot, and he fanned himself with his tile. Chapter 13. “Whatever you say,” the Countess continued, “I believe that almsgiving consists essentially in giving what one has to someone who doesn’t have it, whoever they may be, and using it however they want. Imagine the most abominable uses that can be put to money, gambling, drinking, debauchery. It will always turn out that, running, running, and after satisfying illegitimate needs, one goes on to satisfy legitimate ones. Give to the poor, only to the poor! Since we never know who the truly poor are, everything we give ends up with them one way or another. What matters is the outpouring of soul, the piety, in parting with a sum we have and that another asks of us. ” “And you feel that outpouring of soul when you give your cousin the help he requests? ” “Yes, sir.” I feel sorry for him, because behind his plea I see a world of overwhelming needs, of horrible torments, in which soul and body groan alike. I see the lack of food, the narrowness of housing, the persecution of creditors, the anguished life, full of humiliations and hidden shame, the terrible disparity between the means of existence and the resounding name he carries in the world. I believe my cousin’s resolutions to amend his ways are true; but let’s assume they aren’t; let’s admit that he deceives us, that he’s a lost soul, a scamp full of vices, among which stands out that of soliciting right and left. And what will you do to get him out of the hell of that life? Preach to him? Nothing will be achieved unless you put him in a position to change his ways, and no matter how much you rack your brains, you will find no other way of redemption than to give him what he doesn’t have, because his bad life is nothing more than the fatal, inevitable result of poverty. “According to that, my lady,” said the priest with some severity, ” you plan to give José Antonio the five thousand duros he asks for? ” “Yes, sir, I have resolved to give them to him, and I have promised to do so. My word is golden. But… ” “But what? ” “Oh! The best is yet to come. So that you can see that I am neither paradoxical nor sophistic, I give them to him and I don’t give them to him. ” “Are you lending them to him? ” “Nor. I give them to you in a manner that you must surely approve. I allocate the amount to you, leaving it in my coffers, at the disposal of your administrators. ” “Which are… ” “You and I.” We will arrange a decent house for him, ensure his subsistence for a time to be determined, and, in addition, we will pay his debts, break those infamous chains that condemn him to a horrible hell, free him from the shame of being ripped off, from the humiliation of being without everything. We will complete our work by giving him the means to work in the enterprise he claims to be undertaking, a speculation that should be studied carefully to see if it is indeed such that it can form an honest man. Come, what do you say about this way of practicing charity? Do you think there is another way to guide a man full of defects, unhinged, hardened in a thousand pernicious habits back to the right path? “I answer, my lady, that in principle I applaud your thought. As for the practice… I don’t know… Tell me: Does José Antonio accept the aid in the form and conditions you have just indicated? ” The poor man began to cry. I knew full well that her tears flowed from her heart. “You are Providence itself,” she told me, “and you fulfill the dream of my life; you save me, you redeem me, you make another man of me, and through you, Halma, I can truly say that I am born again.” And saying this, she kissed my hands. “And I kiss yours now too,” said Don Manuel, doing so with true tenderness. “You are a saint… in your own way, I mean that every day you reveal a new form of sanctity. I must tell you, in conscience, that in these things, originality is often a little dangerous, but so far we are doing well, and may the Lord continue to inspire you with these blessed initiatives. ” “I am pleased that you approve of my plan,” said Catalina, excited by the applause, “and that you take pity on that unfortunate cousin of mine, who , as I clearly see, has more flawed head than heart.” It’s true that he’s a man of unfairness, which doesn’t end when he starts spinning lies, and in order to obtain his daily bread, he commits a thousand base acts. For that very reason, because he’s sick at heart, the medicine of tutelary and educational charity is perfectly indicated for him. Am I not right? “Yes, my lady,” Flórez replied, narrowing his eyelids and nodding his head. “Charity must be exercised on all kinds of sick people and all kinds of wretches, and this Urreíta is a truly poor man… _three -tiered_, a wretch whose anguish breaks hearts. He told me this, making me laugh and cry at the same time: “My dear cousin, the last of the beggars is a millionaire compared to me. He collects loaves of bread and potato peelings; but he eats it in peace, and his spirit lives on with the serenity and joy of the bird that sings at dawn greeting the day… Even the blind people who walk around playing the flute or the violin are less miserable than I. I envy the newspaper vendors, the porters, and the well diggers of the town. They all eat their slop without swallowing their shame at the same time , which is as bitter as gall. My poor soul! I can’t help but consider you, Señor Don Manuel, as a crafty child who needs to be educated. We will do him all the good we can, without sparing the whippings. Because yes, a lot of charity, but a lot of rigor. “That’s it, that’s it; and if we achieve his amendment, we will have accomplished a meritorious and great work,” sighed the priest, who, although at first he felt a bit of resentment at his disciple’s beautiful initiative, was soon to appropriate her ideas, with the aim of invigorating them and thus recovering his mastery. “And no one can deny it,” continued Halma, “that Pepe’s heart is good, and that there is within it, even if it is hidden from view, abundant material for obtaining true virtue. As a child, he was an angel. We are the same age, and together we lived for some time in Zaportela: his mother, my Aunt Rudesinda, loved me madly, and since I was weak and sickly, she took me with her to the countryside to recover. Pepe Antonio and I spent long periods of time like savages, running through meadows and fields, declaring war on the poor crickets, and eating not only the ripe fruit but the green ones as well. Well, look: I was much more mischievous than Pepe Antonio; I used to have malicious intentions, innocent, yes, but malicious intentions, and he didn’t; he seemed like a saint in the making, and it’s not that he was a hypocrite, no; he was goodness itself, purity, and self-sacrifice. One day, right in front of me, he took off his shirt to give it to a poor boy. He gave everything; he wasn’t greedy, or avaricious, or envious, like all boys. He took my faults as his own, and he let himself be punished so I wouldn’t be punished. Then, he took a path so different from mine that we didn’t see each other for a very long time. When we met again, he was already a man, living a dizzy and disorderly life in Madrid. Orphanhood and shameful poverty corrupted that good soul, which seemed created for goodness. “What a head I have, Countess!” said Don Manuel, who with a gesture denied his weak memory. “Hadn’t I forgotten to give you the good news? These childhood memories of Zaportela remind me that the Marquis has agreed with me to award you, not that estate, but a better one, the castle of Pedralba, in this province. I told you so much that…” “Oh, what a blessing! But is it true? Pedralba, no less!” “You are right, my brother is goodness itself, and I don’t know how to thank him for so many favors. As a child, I also lived in Pedralba: you cannot imagine the affection I have for the old, eroded stones of the castle, which is only of that name.” “And the ownership of that property undoubtedly facilitates the foundation projects… Isn’t that so, Countess?” Doña Catalina didn’t reply, and her silent meditation once again filled the good priest’s spirit with suspicion. The preceding question had been formulated by Flórez in order to explore his noble friend’s thoughts, which grew more concentrated every day, suddenly shedding some splendid clarity, which, while dazzling the good teacher, also caused him great confusion. After a long silence, the Countess resumed the dialogue, saying: “Let’s agree on that.” “That… yes… that Pedralba can serve as a base…” “I wasn’t thinking of Pedralba. What I’m saying is that you don’t object to my seeing this man they call Nazarín. ” “Ah!… yes… indeed… Well, yes, there’s no problem… ” “You don’t dare to affirm whether he’s mad or a saint? ” “At least, until now…” “Well, I want to know, it’s good for me to know for sure.” “I hope to arrive at certainty by merely meeting you a little; by analyzing your ideas and subjecting your actions to a thorough examination. ” “And even if your opinion is enough for my conviction, would it be improper, would it be impertinent for me to see and speak to you myself, if for no other reason than to satisfy a curiosity that worries me? ” “I do not think it improper for you to assess your mental state for yourself, ” replied the clergyman, measuring his words carefully. “But first it is necessary that I examine you, that we speak slowly. Then we will decide. ” “What place and occasion can you satisfy your curiosity?” “Perfectly… But soon, Don Manuel. ” “I’ll visit you at the hospital tomorrow. Come on, it’s very late, and you’re going to eat, and I’ll go home. It’s nighttime. Goodbye, my friend, now to rest. Rest not only your body but your mind, which is hard at work devising great things. Goodbye… Until tomorrow. ” Chapter 14. Don Manuel retired, tightly wrapped in his long shawl, because it was bitterly cold, and thoughtful and a little dissatisfied with himself, he said to himself along the way: “This Doña Catalina is the devil… how terrible! I mean, she’s an angel, an extraordinary being. I have no doubt about it now. She has much more talent than I, she knows more than I do, and she discovers things that no one sees, and if at first they seem absurd, when closely examined, they turn out to have all the beauty and grandeur of God. Every day she comes up with something new. And what ideas, my God!” “What have you in store for me tomorrow?” He said this, feeling a little of the humiliation of a teacher who finds himself a student. But since he was such a good person, and never allowed base envy to enter his soul, and moreover held the Countess in a cordial esteem, instead of being foolishly angry at the gradual erosion of his authority, he appropriated the student’s ideas and, making them his own, presented them anew in a methodical and systematic manner, by which he believed he would appear in her eyes, and even in his own, to be the true inspirer, being in truth the inspired one. A flexible man , created for social adaptations, and to apply and defend holy doctrine according to the environment and occasions in which he had to act; Savvy enough to recognize the good wherever it came from, and practical enough to know how to take advantage of it, he acted as the characteristics of his constitution and build always do, not confronting any force that he deemed useful , but allowing himself to be carried by that force, with such study and cunning in his attitude that it seemed as if he were directing and guiding it. The good clergyman went into her house thinking about Urrea’s correction, and since the lady trusted in his help to achieve it, he resolved to get ahead of her in developing that idea, to make it his own, adding details that would surely make it more effective. But what disconcerted him was not knowing what new inventions the Countess would summon from her inspired wit, for perhaps they would come out where he least expected. His initiatives almost never came to fruition; hers came with such force that they immediately won over the master, and there was no choice but to follow them, composing and retouching them later to maintain the external preeminence of the governing power. In short, if at first Halma seemed like a modern constitutional queen, who reigned but did not govern, little by little she was taking her feet off her saddlebags and becoming an absolute sovereign. But she was so good, so discreet, and pious that she skillfully managed to leave her minister the satisfactions and even the belief in the governmental initiative. “Well, Sir, well,” said Don Manuel, settling into his dinner, as frugal as it was well-seasoned. “And this thing of wanting to meet with the unfortunate Nazarín, what’s the point? What motive does he have, what ideas motivate him, what plans does he entertain? I don’t understand. But we’ll see how he ends up, and God willing, it will be through a register that’s easy to understand, and easier to manage. ” At the same time that the highly respectable Flórez was dining, but not that day, but two or three later, José Antonio de Urrea was eating with his cousin Feramor at the house of the Duke and Duchess of Monterones. It’s easy to understand what they were talking about when they found themselves alone in the living room, shortly before lunch. “I don’t believe it, even if you swear it,” the Marquis told him, unable to contain his laughter. “You’re dreaming, Pepe, or are you trying to make fun of me? And you say you set out to fix your request for the fabulous sum of…?” “Five thousand duros. And I still think I fell short.” I entered the mystical cell determined to set up the business _on the basis_ of the four A thousand… Of course, the jokes were either heavy or not at all… And in the course of the conference, seeing Halma’s good disposition, I launched into the five thousand. Complete success. Ah! I can now say that your sister is a saint; but just as it sounds, a saint!… the complete opposite of you, who are the Supreme Pontiff of selfishness. What kindness, what sweetness, what penetration, what subtle talent for understanding the circumstances in which I live! I maintain that she has more talent than you, and that she is much more practical, sublimely practical. The noble indulgence with which she went about pointing out my miseries, my indecorous actions, touched my soul, Paco, because at the same time that she was gently scolding me for my behavior, she excused it, attributing it, more than to moral perversion, to the inexorable despotism of necessity, of habit… Oh, what a woman, what a great and beautiful soul! She believes she made me cry… my word, yes. I even imagined I was a child, being scolded for the mischief of breaking a valuable toy, with the promise of buying me another one. Anyway, heaven has finally opened for me, after knocking on its door in vain for so long. I’m saved, Paco; your sister saves me… I believe in Providence, in God… I’m happy, I’ll be a different man, thanks to her, to that angel with more talent than all the Artales and Feramor of this century and of all past centuries, amen. “Well, I congratulate you,” the Marquis said sarcastically. “Do you see how right I was when I told you…” I had a feeling in my heart that my sister would spend her money on the regeneration of the lost members of the family. A laudable work, indeed. ” “If you’re making fun of it, so much the worse for you. ” “I’m not making fun of it.” Now, what matters is that your honesty be equal to Catherine’s virtue, otherwise it will prove to be a saintliness not only useless, but worthy of the asylum rather than the altars. ” “Fear nothing. In the first place, they don’t give me the money, which really doesn’t matter to me. Better, better that way. They don’t give it to me; they dedicate it to the great and beautiful work of remedying the sorrows of the first wretch in the world, and of relieving the most anguished and lacerating misery illuminated by the sun and the moon.” After the meal, the man excited by the abundant food and copious drink, chatted again with his cousin while they smoked, and he became moved as he recounted Halma’s kindnesses. He also heaped praise on Don Manuel Flórez, calling him the father of the poor, the apostle of the Gentiles, the beacon of charity, and finally, as chatter goes, amidst the enthusiasm of the lost man, yearning for redemption, the cynicism of the adventurous arbitrator emerged. “I also have another little project. Let’s see what you think. Your sister adored her husband, that poor German sea bream, who came here so we could starve him to death. The memory of Charles Frederick is her only worldly passion, and her spirit feeds on the idea of ​​the dead, like a plant that lives off what its roots extract. Speaking with me, she let it be said that her greatest pleasure would be to transport to Spain the body, which must be incorrupt, of her beloved husband, so that she could be buried with him, naturally, when God takes her… Well then; I’ve had the idea of ​​proposing to her the transport of the deceased… Come on, I’ll contract her to transport the precious ashes for five thousand duros, with all expenses, shipping, rail transport, customs… being on my account because mummies also pay duties. What do you think? –It’s a contract like any other. Draw up your specifications , study the matter… –You can earn a couple of thousand duros… I promise. I’ll go to Corfu, perform the exhumation, and promise to bring it back decorously, with a group of Franciscan friars, who will come singing requiems throughout the voyage. And I’ll take charge of securing the coffin, packing it properly, and delivering it to the point in Spain she designates. I should receive two thousand duros immediately before leaving for Corfu, and three thousand upon delivery of the holy relic. “My poor sister!” exclaimed the Marquis, suddenly seeing his cousin’s extravagances under his serious and dangerous guise. “This is what comes of wanting to govern herself, unaware of her incapacity. You’ll see, you’ll see… José Antonio, I warn you that if you continue inspiring my unfortunate sister with these ideas, which I don’t know if they’re nonsense or madness, I’ll have to intervene as head of the family. ” He left him hanging, mumbling on his cigar. “I despise you ,” Urrea murmured as he watched him leave, “selfish fool, eternal Englishman of helpless humanity, usurer… Shylock disguised as an aristocrat…” It wasn’t long before the news of the lost man’s redemption with the money and piety of Catalina de Halma began to circulate in the Monterones gathering , and the merciless comments made about it hurt not only the noble lady but also her respected spiritual master. “Because I understand everything,” the Duchess said. “I understand my poor sister’s weaknesses, whose head became pitifully unhinged before she was married; I understand Pepe Antonio’s audacity; what I don’t understand is why Don Manuel would authorize such absurdities. ” Consuelo Feramor, who didn’t get along with her sister-in-law and mercilessly criticized her reticence, labeling it prudishness and pride, went so far as to say to her husband: “It’s your fault… and the angelic Don Manuel has some of it. Why, if what they told me today at Cerdañola’s house were true! No, it can’t be… I’m telling it as a joke. Well, Catalina has begged Flórez to bring Nazarín to her… That would be too much, wouldn’t it? But what do I know… I believe it, I’m inclined to believe it. A furious understanding that goes wild—what nonsense, what extravagances won’t it lead to?” “Let her have her way,” said the woman from San Salomó, less intransigent than her friends, no doubt because she wasn’t family, “and let’s praise Catherine of Halma if she gives us what we’re going to ask for. And let’s not postpone our swindle, my ladies. It could happen that we arrive too late and find the vein exhausted. Let’s meet tomorrow, let’s plant ourselves there three o’clock, our terrible golden scimitars raised high … and bang!” Consuelo Feramor, María Ignacia Monterones, and the Marchioness of San Salomó were, in a manner of speaking, presidents, vice presidents, or secretaries of these or other noble charitable committees that raise funds, either through alms or through the lure of theatrical performances, raffles, and kermessas, to aid the poor of this or that district, build chapels, or attend to the immeasurable pile of victims that the unbridled elements or our public misfortunes continually accumulate upon unfortunate Spain. Needless to say, the three of them fell upon the lonely and sad widow with the fury of piety they usually displayed in such cases. Catherine received them with attentive hospitality and the finest displays of friendship; but with the same serene civility she employed in courtesies, she denied them the help they requested. Straight up, to the point: each person should understand each other’s business in the practice of charity. They left bewildered, confused, and furious, and in the height of her rage, Consuelo said to her husband: “If she weren’t who she is, and we who we are, I would believe that your sister’s natural residence was a holy asylum. ” Chapter 15. Feramor calmed them, showing them how impertinent their anger was, for everyone is free to do good, if they do so, in the way that best suits them. With his clear talent, his easy speech, half serious, half joking, he managed to put things in perspective, demonstrating that if Catherine, because of her exaggerated individualism and the wild independence she was discovering, could deserve censure, she did not deserve execration, much less to be condemned to perpetual confinement in a madhouse. But if Feramor managed to calm the spirits, creating a situation of relative tolerance, very much to the taste and the English genre, not so Don Manuel Flórez, who, when the three ladies fell upon him furiously, demanding explanations of the incredible behavior of The Countess didn’t know what to answer, or how to get out of it: such was her confusion and bewilderment. In the following days, they drove him crazy with questions, comments, and mortifying inquiries. “But tell me, Don Manuel, was the correction of José Antonio your idea? ” “Hers… not mine… Whoever doesn’t understand that it’s a most beautiful idea, can’t count on me for anything. ” “Most beautiful, and above all, practical. ” “We’ll have to see that. The catcall Don Manuel will receive if the correction fails will be heard in Beijing. ” “And let’s know something else: was it also your idea to bring Nazarín? ” “Yes, madam, he’s mine,” the good priest said bravely, swallowing hard , determined to always corroborate Doña Catalina’s ideas so as not to lose his authority. ” If you don’t understand the delicacy, the noble purpose behind it, so much the worse for you. ” “Well, look, we don’t understand, and I declare it, even though you think we’re… uneducated. We’re very barbaric, my dearest Don Manuel. ” “But is it true that they’ll bring that poor madman home?… or criminal… who knows?” Consuelo said, scandalized. “Oh! I vote for him to come,” declared the one from San Salomó, and the Duchess made the same demonstrations. “I’m dying to see the famous beggar and apostle Nazarín. ” “Yes, let them bring him. And let them give advance notice so we can invite all our friends. ” “And we’ll also see Beatriz, the mystic from Móstoles, whom a newspaper said was a kind of Heloise without Abelardo. ” “Abelardo is Nazarín… And let Ándara come too. We want to see the whole tribe. Yes, Don Manuel, let everyone come.” “Since this isn’t to satisfy an insane curiosity, you won’t see them.” “Well, we’re opposed to them coming into the house. ” “No, no. What we’ll do is acknowledge and proclaim Catalina’s delicate thoughts, if they bring them and allow us to see and speak with them… But let it be known: Ándara must come too. That kind of lewd mischief and heroic temerity interests me extraordinarily. ” “We’ll talk to them, they’ll explain their doctrine to us. ” “We’ll give them a snack. ” “That’s enough,” said Flórez, becoming uncomfortable. “They won’t come. The Nazarist women—no one thought of bringing them. He, the unfortunate, melancholic, wandering priest, won’t come either, simply because he doesn’t want to come. ” “Ah! Our joy is short-lived. ” “Then Catalina will go to see them at the hospital. It seems very inappropriate to me. ” “It seems tremendously foolish. ” “Let’s think less, and think more, ladies.” Whatever this priest decides in matters for which he should not be lacking in competence, at least by virtue of his age, if not by virtue of his knowledge, should not be discussed, much less ridiculed, by my good friends, some of whom, I say, were baptized by the woman from Monterones. So I’ll say no more for today. With this admonition, in which the three ladies noticed a marked accent of severity and bitterness, something very rare in Don Manuel, who was a sweetheart in social dealings, especially with ladies, they restrained themselves, giving their criticism a purely friendly tone. Several days passed, during which Flórez had no opportunity to issue any discipline; but when the plan of correction for poor Urrea was put into practice, the gossip intensified. Good Christ! When word got around that José Antonio was getting a house, that Doña Catalina was looking after his clothes, and that Don Manuel was wandering all over Madrid, following the whims of the usurers who were flaying Feramor’s cousin alive, such a formidable uproar arose that good old Flórez had to take a stand. He tolerated everything, except his authority being challenged. He didn’t mind more or less discreet comments about his actions ; but he couldn’t go unpunished if his actions were maliciously distorted . He went, and what did he do? He summoned the three ladies who were the leaders of the riot and gave them a serious sermon , leaving them, if not convinced, then silent, and with little desire to do anything. from interfering in other people’s lives. The good almsgiver retired to his home, tired of the struggles to which the Countess’s brilliant initiative had forced him, breaking the easy placidity of his religious government. As he went to bed after his prayers, or interspersing prayer with secular meditation, he said to himself: “How much better it would be for this good lady to follow the paths already made and cleared, instead of trying to open new ones, clearing the wild path! How much more convenient it would be for everyone if she abided by the established order and threw herself into the arms of those who already had perfectly organized the charitable services, the Ladies’ Associations, the arch-confraternities, the brotherhoods, my collections for schools, my…! How much better it would be to embrace the established order, Lord, than…!” Despite everything, Don Manuel slept like a saint. Not so José Antonio, who spent the nights in the house across the street from Olivar, exalted in his happiness. The wave of good fortune, when it comes with force, is like the wave of misfortune, robbing him of sleep and even his appetite. It was such a great novelty for him to see his food problem definitively resolved, to no longer spend morning and night wondering which branch to land on to eat, that the very astonishment of his happiness kept him on tenterhooks, apprehensive of his destiny. It seemed so improbable to him to be the master of his own house, that is, to be on secure terms with his landlord, to see the beginnings of a settlement in the necessities of life; to have modest china in his dining room, but china nonetheless, instead of the two or three broken plates that were his only furnishings; to find the wardrobes stocked with linens that Catalina herself, with a solicitous maternal hand, had placed there! All this was like a dream, like a fantastic passage from One Thousand and One Nights. He feared waking up and seeing so many possessions disappear in the blink of an eye, returning him to the grim reality of his former life. And to top it all off, he could seriously devote himself to an easy job, very much to his liking, zincography, since they were already going to provide him with premises and equipment suitable for it. What happiness, what glory, what divine lottery! With what language, with what voices would he bless his heavenly Providence, the holy and loving Halma? His new life kept the parasite away from the places he ordinarily frequented, without failing to visit his relatives’ houses some evenings . And, upon learning there of the mocking comments being made about his cousin’s most noble act, the man lost his temper, exchanged harsh words with the Duke of Monterones and two or three other individuals, whose wives or sisters had allowed themselves to ridicule the Countess, and surely, if he were someone else and they held him in higher regard, some incident would have resulted from their intemperate expressions. Feramor calmed him, for his principles of good manners repugnanted that violent, and to a certain extent Spanish, manner of dealing with such a delicate matter. The less said about it, the better. But Urrea regarded silence as cowardly complicity with the gossipmongers, and wanted, on the contrary, to speak until the deaf heard him, to loudly proclaim not only Catalina’s immaculate virtue, but also her talent, and the superiority of her ideas, which that elegant and corrupt crowd could never understand. Feramor said to him gravely: “Form, my dear José Antonio, is of the utmost importance in social life, and it is impossible to ignore its positive value without exposing oneself to very grave evils. Everything can be done by doing it well; nothing is feasible with bad manners. ” Urrea withdrew, cursing his cousin, whom he called “the Bristol cardboard man,” and very early the next morning he went to see the Countess, toward whom an invincible attraction drew him body and soul. His heartfelt gratitude was transformed into chivalrous loyalty, into brotherly or filial affection, as it should be called to express his purity, into the desire to be useful to her, and to render her some service proportionate to the immensity of the good he had received from the illustrious lady. But whenever he approached her, He felt overwhelmed with sadness, because his conscience accused him of wrongs he had previously inflicted on the generous widow, and that day he made a firm resolution to relieve his soul of that weight by confessing to his benefactress the sins he had committed against her. He found her hemming, with the help of her maid Prudencia, the sheets and dining room linens that were missing to complete the trousseau of the redeemed widow. Prudencia withdrew, and cousin and cousin exchanged the following: Chapter 16. “Halma, I will not spend today without having an explanation with you. My conscience asks for it, demands it. Thanks to you, I not only have a house and a bed to sleep in, and dishes to eat from, but also a conscience. It weighs me down: every time I come here, I say to myself: “This time, I’ll confess it to her.” And I always lack the courage. But today, dear cousin, today, I either sing or burst. ” “But what is this, José Antonio, have you done something inappropriate?” “No, no: don’t fear that I’ll break what we agreed on. My correction is as certain as the fact that you and I are now living together. These are old sins, which aren’t very serious in themselves—I mean, they are serious because they’re against you. Any fault committed against you is extremely serious. I want to confess them today… You see… ” “But, son, it’s better that you tell a confessor. As far as I’m concerned, your sins are forgiven. All that’s left is for God to forgive you. ” “I don’t have to seek any forgiveness other than yours. ” “That… it’s almost irreverent. ” “You are my confessor, my altar; you are my saint, my Most Holy Virgin, my… ” “Shut up, and don’t say any more nonsense. You sound like a child. ” “I am. You have brought me back to my childhood, to innocence, to that blessed age when we both ran around the backwoods of Zaportela.” I am and want to be a child, and as a child, to you, who are like my mother, I confess my horrible sins. Listen. First of all… when your brother suggested the idea of ​​asking you for help, I had no other objective than to give you what we call a rip-off, nor any other intention than to use your money to pay off some pressing debts, perhaps to try my luck at gambling to win a larger sum. Well, when your brother pointed it out to me, I said you were crazy. You see the insolence! “And that’s all it is?” Catalina said, laughing, and tearing a large piece of canvas so that her laughter and the shrieking of the fabric mingled. “Well, with many abominations like that, no one can take your little corner in Hell away from you. ” “What’s more, it’s much more,” Urrea added, sighing loudly. “I also said you were stupid. ” “Bah, bah!” “Call you a fool, you who are intelligence itself…! He’s the fool, your brother, with the ironed stiffness of his English soul, he, incapable of anything great, not a trace of sensitivity… ” “Eh… sir; you’re sinning in the confessional itself. On the one hand, you’re sincere, and on the other, you’re burdening yourself with new guilt, making rash judgments. ” “Well, I won’t say anything about your brother. You know I also spoke ill of the very good Don Manuel, and I called him a conger eel, and… ” “Ha, ha… I’m sure he’ll forgive you if he knows. ” “And then, one night when I had dinner at Monterones’s house, your brother and I talked. Whenever I’m with him, I feel bad instincts, I can’t resist the urge to ruin his neat English manners, like the smooth, ironed plush of top hats. I like to brush it against the grain, to express concepts that upset and hurt him.” “Well, with that intention, and without any intention of offending you, I said that I intended to contract with you, for five thousand duros, the transport to Spain of your dear husband’s ashes, and I added a thousand nonsense… I warn you, in my defense, that I had drunk more than I should have… The worst of it was that I did not speak of poor Charles Frederick with the respect his memory deserves . My word, I did not. ” “That is a little more serious,” said Halma sternly, her eyes fixed on her sewing; “but I forgive you for that too, since you declare that you did not know what you were talking about, and that you had no intention of offending me.” What else? “Nothing else for now. Does that seem like enough? I’m very reassured after having confessed it to you. And now for something else. Do you know that your sister and your sister-in-law, and the whole host of friends , criticize you bitterly for not having responded to their requests as they expected, and that they also ridicule you and Don Manuel for what you’re doing for me? ” “So what? I don’t worry about that. I forgive them for whatever they say about me, whether it’s impertinence without malice, or true malice. ” “They don’t stop at the line of more or less discreet jokes, but rather cross it, going so far as to offend you with slanderous remarks. The one from San Salomó says you’re a hypocrite, and that the visits you’ve made to me these mornings to tidy my room are not in the realm of domestic charity. ” “All that is to me,” said the widow with august serenity, “the same as the sound of the wind between the tiles of the house… God knows my interior, and before Him I expose my conscience as it truly is. The judgments of men do not exist for me. ” “Oh, I do not have that virtue! Of course, how can I have that which is so difficult, if I cannot have other very easy ones! What I feel is a fury of revenge upon hearing such infamies. I would be happy if I could wring the neck of the scoundrel who thinks and says such things. ” “Oh, for God’s sake, Pepe, do not continue down that path, if you do not wish to hurt me, and lose my esteem altogether!” “Last night I had two or three fights in the houses of Monterones and Cerdañola for defending you, because for me there is no greater glory than to put your name and your actions above everything else in the world. I would fight with anyone who did not confess you as the greatest and purest virtue known to Madrid and all of Spain; and would make anyone who questioned your holiness, your honesty, your sovereign understanding bite the dust. “Jesus, be quiet, for God’s sake, and stop talking nonsense, cousin! Are you crazy? ” “And if it suits you to prove it, tell me who has offended your dignity, your honor, or even your self-respect, so that I can crush them to the ground like a reptile, Catherine, to turn them to dust…” He said this standing up, acting with the warmth and emphasis of a heroic character. His cousin, after snapping a thread with her teeth, looking at him frightened, calmed him with a frank and pleasant smile. “I said you were a child, and now you seem more like one than ever. No one has offended my dignity or my honor; but even if someone were to offend me, I would not consent to you acting as a champion for me in that criminal and unchristian way. I am astonished at your lack of Christianity. But where do you come from, you wretch?” In what world of arrogance and errors have you lived? My cousin, if you want me to protect you and look after you until you become a decent person, don’t bring me chivalrous bravado. Kill! Do you think I can esteem someone who hurts his fellow man with a saying, an opinion, or even an offensive act? No, José Antonio, that’s no good to you with me. Smother those feelings of cruelty, revenge, and contempt for divine laws . If not, I won’t love you, I won’t be able to love you, you’ll never be the good boy with whom I want to make a… better man. Gratitude and filial affection overflowed in Urrea’s soul, and recognizing that Halma spoke according to her Christian sentiments, he replied by expressing his unconditional submission to whatever the lady thought and resolved. He took his leave, for he had to see and choose some equipment for his industry that very day, and asking his protector if he should return in the afternoon, she told him that she not only permitted him to do so, but begged him to return after lunch. Shortly after Urrea left, Don Manuel Flórez entered and, after informing the sovereign of the steps taken to collect the poor cousin’s small beads and promissory notes, told her that he had seen Nazarín, but that he could not yet form a definitive opinion of this unparalleled man. Certainly, the Marquis, with whom he had spoken about the matter itself and Flórez told this to the Countess in the most delicate manner, did not He thought it appropriate that the unfortunate priest from La Mancha be taken home, because, since he was, in those days, the subject of inquiries from the press, if they found out that he had been taken to Feramor’s house, they would raise a commotion that he did not like. Out of respect for his house, out of consideration for the vagrant apostle himself, whom he also knew how to respect, it was not appropriate, it was not correct, it was not opportune… well… “My brother is right,” said Halma, anticipating her chancellor’s advice . “It is not advisable, while the public uproar has not calmed down . Desisted, then, for now… ” “No, I have already desisted,” replied Don Manuel, wishing to make his initiative known. And without saying anything more useful, he withdrew. After dark, when the widow had just finished eating, José Antonio entered, and, moved by nervous impatience, did not wait long to say to her: “I’m in a rage, dear cousin. Do you know that downstairs they make a thousand catalogs, and they indulge in ridiculously malicious suggestions…? Tell me why… They say that last night you went out with your maid around nine o’clock, and that you didn’t return until very late. They’re crazy. It’s a big story that you can’t come and go as you please. And since at that hour there are no novenas, no sermon, no Forty Hours, no custom of strolling, and you don’t frequent the theaters, here you have three high-born ladies racking their brains to find out where, other than church, promenade, or theater, a virtuous lady can go between nine and ten at night . ” “Let them say what they want. That’s what the poor things amuse themselves with.” In the midst of their frivolity and the commotion surrounding them, they’re so bored!… Well, yes, we went out last night. Do you know what time we returned? It was already eleven o’clock. And turning to her maid, who was putting away her sewing, she said: “Prudence, don’t put it away. Tonight you’ll stay here sewing. My cousin will accompany me. ” “Are you going out tonight too?” the man from Urrea said, stupefied. “Yes, and I’ll take you on a ride, in case I have any unpleasant encounters. Why do you make that face? Prudence, my coat, my mantilla.” In a moment she was ready to leave. Grabbing a bundle of clothes, tightly wrapped in a handkerchief pinned to a table, she handed it to her cousin, and without taking his arm, they went downstairs and went out into the street. Except for the doorman, no one saw them leave. “Although it’s not very far,” said Catalina, driving toward Puerta Cerrada, “since the apartments are awful, we’ll take a cab, if you like. ” So they did, and the Countess gave the directions: 3 San Blas. “Do you know who I saw when we were passing in front of San Justo?” Urrea told her, as soon as the money started rolling. “Well, Perico Morla. He was definitely going to your house.” He stopped to look at us. He’ll tell Consuelo the story. “Let him tell all the stories he wants.” “And he’s probably lurking all the way to Puerta Cerrada and saw us get into the cab. You’ll see how quickly he’ll break the news, which will be the news of the evening. ” “Good. Does it matter to you? ” “Does it matter to me? Absolutely nothing. I promise…” “Well, it doesn’t matter to me either… ” “What worried me most when I saw Morla, leaving a very bad taste in my mouth, is that… Do you want me to tell you?” “Yes, man, tell me.” “Well, I owe him twelve duros. I’d already forgotten… ” “Ah! Well, remind me tomorrow so I can send them to him, that is, so you can send them to him.” They soon reached the end of their journey, which was a fairly average-looking house, with a narrow doorway and a dirty, rickety, and noisy staircase. From the landings, a courtyard of corridors could be seen, and in these, above and below, a multitude of half-open doors, through which came the sound of voices, brightness and the stench of oil, the smell of poor dinners. Catalina and her companion went up to the third floor, and as they approached the door, Urrea let out an exclamation, saying: “Ah! Now I know where we’re going, cousin. From the moment I entered the entrance, He seemed to recognize the house. But he couldn’t place it; what confusion! He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. I know, I know. It’s like I was here last week with the journalists. Beatriz, Nazarín’s disciple, lives here. “It’s true. She’s calling.” PART THREE Chapter 17. If Don Manuel Flórez began his visits to the mystical vagabond, Don Nazario Zaharín, to please his lady and sovereign, the Countess of Halma Lautenberg, he soon had to repeat them for his own account and satisfaction, because, truth be told, the mysterious Arab apostle from La Mancha enchanted him, and the more he saw him, the more he wanted to see him and enjoy his beautiful simplicity, the serenity of his spirit, expressed in easy and concise words. And each time the good social priest came out more confused, because the person of the well-traveled cleric was growing in his eyes, and in the end he saw him in such proportions that he couldn’t formulate a definitive judgment. “I don’t know if he’s a saint, but no one can beat him in purity of conscience. I would certainly declare him worthy of canonization if his conduct in launching himself into adventures on the roads didn’t present me with a blemish, his rebellion against his superior… From all of which I gather that in this blessed man the two natures, the saint and the madman, exist mingled and amalgamated , without it being easy to separate one from the other, nor to draw a dividing line between the two . This man is a singular man, and in my many years I have never seen a case like him, not even one that remotely resembles him. I have known exemplary priests, laymen of great virtue; without going any further, I myself, who can well, here for myself, without modesty, offer myself as an example of impeccable clerics… But neither those I have known, nor I myself, go beyond certain limits… Why is that, Almighty God? Could it be because he maneuvers freely, and we live tied by a thousand ties that compress our ideas and our actions, not letting them go beyond the established dimensions? I don’t know, I don’t know… And with this _I don’t know_, _I don’t know_, Flórez expressed the disturbance and doubts in his spirit. In those days, the journalistic tumult increased, because the trial in which Don Nazario and Ándara were involved was close to being sentenced , and the interrogations, which they call _interviews_, abounded; the reporters did not leave any of the celebrities of the noisy cause alone, and while they stimulated the public’s curiosity with spicy reports, they went out of their way to give it abundant fodder day after day, digging up incidents in the private lives of the heroes of that drama or comedy. Flórez was rushing up the stairs leading to the upper floors of the Hospital when he heard cheerful voices behind him, and two young men, taking them two at a time, caught up with him before reaching the third. “Señor Don Manuel, even if you don’t want to… How’s that courage? ” “Not as good as you are…” replied the priest, stopping, more to catch his breath than to respond to their greeting. And after looking at them fixedly and recognizing them, he added sternly: “So the journalists are here again?… But, man, haven’t you already made that poor gentleman dizzy enough! Frankly, it seems to me like the delirium of publicity. ” “What do you want, Don Manuel? The beast is asking for more meat, more news, and there’s no other remedy than to give it to them,” said the first of the two, lively and friendly. “We’ve already exhausted our vein,” indicated the second. But since it’s necessary to serve the public daily, yesterday I gave him a detailed account of what Nazarín eats, and an interesting piece of news about the difficult births his mother had. “But, my children,” said Flórez with more kindness than anger, “your information is going to drive us all crazy. You’ve said a thousand inappropriate things, others that matter to no one. I don’t know how these poor prisoners endure your barrage of questions, and don’t tell you off a hundred times a day. ” “We serve the public.” “But wouldn’t it be better for you to serve them by directing them, than by letting yourselves be carried away by their capricious and unhealthy novelty?” “Ah, Don Manuel! It’s not us, poor reporters, who light the bonfire. We’re ordered to bring whatever fuel we can find; very dry logs if there are any; if not, green firewood, so it will burn, and even straw, if we can’t find anything else. ” “Well, sir, well.” “Well, yesterday, my dear Don Manuel,” said the lively man, showing a newspaper, “you got me out of a big fix. Not knowing what to write, I got involved with you. Look, look what I’m telling you: ‘You are visited daily by the venerable priest Don Manuel Flórez, who is engaged with the accused in heated controversies over very subtle points of theology and high morals…” “Jesus! What a lie! But we haven’t spoken at all about theology, nor…! And besides, I’ve already told you that you shouldn’t mention me at all. I come here to fulfill my Christian duty of comforting the sad and giving good advice to those who need it.” “You’re a saint, Don Manuel. What a little bombshell I’m giving you down below ! Look… ” “I don’t need your little bombshells at all, and I would be very grateful if you didn’t mention my name in this informative parade. ” “Let me read it to you. I say: ‘That venerable and exemplary priest, who is the first to go wherever there is misery to be relieved, and great bitterness to be assuaged with the ineffable consolation of Christian piety ; that highly respectable man, whose modesty goes hand in hand with his virtue, whose activity in the service of great religious ideals…” ” Enough, enough… I don’t want to hear any more.” They reached the upper corridor that runs around the immense courtyard, and the lively man came forward, saying: “I’m afraid the apostle has a lot of people today, and that we won’t be able to speak to him. ” “But this is a scandal,” said Don Manuel. Here comes, in search of the satisfaction of their curiosity, an audience no less numerous than that which goes to the theaters and horse races. Poor Nazarín would be driven mad if he weren’t already, and since he’s a man who doesn’t know how to refuse anyone, nor how to be impolite and haughty—for there are cases in which impoliteness and a little arrogance are never out of place—it turns out that those of us who have come to console him and to align his ideas are unable to achieve this goal. The priest and the second journalist leaned against a window to have a cigarette, while the first entered Nazarín’s cell. Flórez took out his silver tongs, for he didn’t smoke without this device, and the other, lighting them, spoke to him thus: “Tell me, Mr. Flórez, what do you think of the outcome of the trial? Do you think the court will see a criminal in this man? ” “Son, I don’t know. I understand little about criminal jurisprudence.” “Well, yesterday in Congress,” the other continued gravely, ” Don Antonio Cánovas del Castillo told me himself…” Exactly his words: “Condemning Nazarín would be the greatest of iniquities.” “I believe the same.” “But opinions are divided, although the majority of opinion favors the apostle’s innocence. I’m telling you the truth. He’s half won me over. At most, I go to the editorial office barefoot, leave the guesthouse, and spend the night in a doorway… Nothing, that man seduces me, attracts me. ” “His humility taken to the extreme, his absolute acceptance of misfortune,” the priest affirmed thoughtfully, looking at the ground and removing the ash from his cigar with his little finger, “are, it must be recognized, a colossal force for proselytizing. All those who suffer will feel the formidable attraction.” “Well, there aren’t as many people as I thought,” said the other newspaper boy, hurrying back. “There’s an actor… I forget his name… who wants to study the type of Christ for the performances of the Passion and Death, at some theater. We also have the painters Sorolla and Moreno Carbonero there, who want to do a study headshot, and José Antonio de Urrea, who wants to photograph him again. ” “Well, poor Don Nazario has something to do,” said Flórez. sulking, “We’ll go in a little while and try to clear the cell. And you gentlemen, will you be leaving soon? ” “Oh, yes! We have to see Ándara. Are you coming, Señor Don Manuel? We’ll take you by carriage. ” “Thank you. ” “Well, Ándara is delightful: uglier than a thunderous night; but with a talent for repartee, and a liveliness, and an energy of character, that leave one astonished. ” “And a faith in Nazarín that is worth anything. If they put her on a grill to make her renounce her master, she’ll die toast, spitting blood at her executioners and proclaiming Nazarín, as she says, the _preferred_ of all the saints on earth and in heaven, caraifa!” Two others arrived from the office, and courteously greeting the good clergyman, they all formed a circle around a large window in the gallery. “This looks like the antechamber of a minister,” said one of those who had just arrived, named Zárate, a well-read man, according to general opinion, that is to say, he read a lot. “Or of a sovereign of the old regime. We’re here waiting for the group inside to come out. ” “But we need a chamberlain to put these audiences in order. ” “Well, today,” said Zárate, pushing back his hat, “I’m not leaving without questioning you about the concomitances I see between the Nazarist ideal… ” “So what? ” “And Russian mysticism. ” “My goodness! ” “I see a close kinship, a direct affiliation between those and these spiritualist flourishes, which are nothing more than another manifestation of human pride.” Chapter 18. “Well, yesterday,” declared the lively man, “I questioned him about this Russianness. He seemed surprised and told me that his actions are the expression of his ideas, and that these come to him from God; who knows Russian literature only by hearsay, and that humanity being one, human feelings are not demarcated within geographical sections by lines called borders. He later asserted that for him the ideas of nationality and race are secondary, as is that broadening of the feeling of home we call patriotism. Our Don Nazario considers all of that capricious and conventional. He only looks at the fundamentals, by which he finds it quite natural that in East and West there are souls who feel the same, and pens that write similar things. “If that’s what I say,” indicated the one who had entered with Zárate, ” that’s a very long-winded guy, a very long-winded one… There’s no one who can dissuade me from the opinion I formed of him the first day. We’re here courting the patriarch of the slumps, and popularizing the Messiah of freeloading… Oh!” Let’s agree that he plays his part with perfect histrionics, and that he has managed to elevate the character of the adventurous, vagabond pretender to the sublime. I maintain that this guy is the most perfect embodiment of Spanishness in all its phases… without denying that what is very Spanish can also be very Russian… let’s be clear. “But come here, gentlemen,” said Don Manuel, attracting the benevolent and courteous attention of the entire troop with his gestures and words . “Forgive me if I butt into your arguments. Let each one think what he will of this unfortunate Nazarín. But the devil has the idea of ​​going to trace the affiliation of this man’s ideas back to none other than Russia. You have said he is a mystic. Well then: why bring from so far away what is native to home, what we have here in the soil, in the air, and in speech?” So, gentlemen, should self-denial, love of poverty, contempt for material goods, patience, sacrifice, the desire to be nothing—natural fruits of this land, as history and literature demonstrate, which you should know—be brought from foreign countries? A mystical import, when we have enough to supply the five corners of the world! Don’t be frivolous, and learn to know where you live, and to learn about your ancestry. It’s as if we Castilians were going to look for chickpeas on the banks of the Don, and the Andalusians were asking the Chinese for olives. Remember that you are in the land of mysticism, that we breathe it, that we eat it, that we carry it in the last globule of our blood, and that we are mystics through and through, and as such we conduct ourselves without realizing it. Do not go so far as to inquire into the filiation of our Nazarin, for it is quite clear to you among us, in the homeland of holiness and chivalry, two things that are so similar and perhaps come to be one and the same, for here the politician is mystical— don’t laugh—who throws himself into the unknown, dreaming of the perfection of the laws; the soldier is mystical, who yearns for nothing more than to fight, and fights without eating; the priest is mystical, who sacrifices everything to his spiritual ministry; the schoolteacher is mystical who, starving , teaches children to read; The farmer, the sailor, the craftsman, and even you are mystical and chivalrous , for you wander through the realm of ideas, worshipping a Dulcinea that does not exist, or seeking a beyond that you cannot find, because you have fallen into the strange aberration of being mystical without being religious. I have said. The good boys celebrated the speech of the venerable Don Manuel, and when someone, with all due respect, was preparing to answer him, new visitors arrived, two aristocratic ladies and two gentlemen, who longed to meet Nazarín, and three or four other people, literary or political figures, who had already seen him and wished to sound him out again , because they were having a long and tangled discussion among themselves about whether he was a very tall rascal or a simpleton with a crazy head. “What? Can’t we see him?” said one of the ladies, startled. “We’ll have to wait for those inside to come out… painting, madam, photography, and the arts of design. ” “So what?” one of the literary professionals who had just entered asked the journalists. “Do you know if he’s read the little book by your name that’s out there? ” “He has,” replied one of those who arrived with Flórez, “and he says that the author, driven by his desire to fictionalize the events, exalts him too much, excessively praising common actions that don’t belong in the order of heroism, nor even in that of extraordinary virtue. ” “He assured me that he doesn’t recognize himself in Villamanta’s humanitarian hero , that he considers himself a very ordinary man, and not a poetic or novelistic character. ” “And he also says that in his fight with the bandits in the Móstoles prison, it wasn’t as difficult for him to overcome his anger as it is said in the book; that he overcame it instantly and with moderate effort.” “Well, for me,” the aristocratic gentleman declared, “the book is a web of lies. The whole scene of Nazarín with the lord of La Coreja, I believe, is the writer’s invention, because Don Pedro de Belmonte is my cousin, I know him well, and I know that under no circumstances could he have seated the ragged beggar at his table. This one doesn’t hold water. That my cousin would take a stake, grind his bones, and plant him in the middle of the road, after unleashing the dogs on him, is very natural, very believable. It’s in character; that’s his genius; nothing else can be expected from his reckless madness. But to flatter him, to start talking to him about the Pope and the divine Word, I don’t believe that, that’s not true, it’s misrepresenting my cousin Belmonte. Imagine, I went to La Coreja last week , and shortly after entering his house I had to run away in search of the pair of Civil Guards!” At this point, they saw Urrea emerge from the cell, followed by the painters and the comedian. “Well, here we have the chamberlain, who has come to announce that His Excellency is expecting us. ” But the chamberlain had very different orders. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I have the regret to inform you that our friend Nazarín begs you, through me, to leave him alone. He feels fatigued, and if I’m not mistaken, he has a high fever. I have taken his pulse. He needs rest, stillness, silence.” The effect of these words was disastrous. The two ladies were inconsolable. “But won’t we be able to see him, even for a moment? ” “He has begged me to spare him from the vertigo of visitors for today.” “And you’re right to close the door,” declared Flórez. “I don’t know how you can put up with such impertinence. Come on, gentlemen, we’re unnecessary here.” “Little by little,” said Urrea. “The order has an exception. He learned that Don Manuel is here, and he has expressed a desire to see you. Come in; but alone. ” “Oh! We… we could come in too, talk to him for a while, ” indicated one of the ladies. “Oh! No… he certainly wants to confess. Let’s go. ” “How tiresome! We’ll come back another day! I want to see him. Tell me , reporters: what is Nazarín like? Is it true that his face has such an expression that it disconcerts all who look at him? And how is he dressed? What is he saying? Is he laughing or crying? Does he speak to those who visit him, bless them, or does he just look at them?” The good boys answered these questions, exciting the curiosity of the noble ladies instead of calming it. Inconsolable for their disappointment, and unable to fill their eyes, thirsty for this great novelty, with the visage of the wandering apostle, they fixed them on the door. Ah! Behind that door was… They would return the next morning. Don Manuel entered, and everyone else filed down the stairs . Someone suggested to the aristocrats that they take them to see Ándara. But after spontaneously agreeing with this idea, one of the two reflected and said: “Impossible! Are you crazy? We’ll enter the Galera!” Then the idea of ​​visiting Beatriz was suggested, and this didn’t seem so bad to the two ladies. Yes, yes, they would be able to see the mystical vagabond and dreamer. The group split up in the street, some heading for the nearby San Blas street, and others for the more distant Quiñones street. Ándara went out to the parlor, and the first thing the boys asked him was if he had read the book titled Nazarín. “They read it to me,” replied the prisoner, “because I’m bothered by black stuff. Oh, what lies he tells! If I were you, I’d write down that the scribe of that book is a liar, and I’d shame him into going somewhere else with his parents. So, doesn’t it say I set fire to the house? ” “You said it at first too; but now, in the absence of your master Nazarín, who won’t allow you to lie, you’ve arranged with your defense attorney, who ‘s a clever man, this little escape from the fire by chance. The incident remains at least doubtful, and the sentence will be relatively short.” “It was by chance, there you go… Caraifa with the newspaper boys! At first I didn’t know what he was saying. I spilled the damned oil… I was left in the dark… I lit a joint, and I saw it all burning there… You don’t believe it? It’s like that… And who can prove it wrong? Who can prove it was deliberate? If any of you wrote that scurrilous book, let me see you scurrilous, you bastard! ” “Do you know you’re becoming very foul-mouthed again?” “Since she’s not with the apostle, she’s back to her old tricks. ” “Ándara, we’re your friends, and we love you very much. But if you use any ugly things, we’ll tell Don Nazario, and you’ll see, you’ll see. ” “No, don’t tell him. It’s the old custom, it comes out… But a bad word, said without thinking, doesn’t make a sin. It’s just that I go crazy when people talk to me about that damned tome.” “Look at what that scruffy author says, I look like a dressed-up stick! I am ugly, I say, what is pretty, I am not now, as I was before, although it is a bad comparison… but not so ugly that people fear me. He must be a freak, and in his writings he wants to make a disgrace of me. Not so much, is it ? ” “You’re right, not so much, Andarilla. Another thing: Do you really want to see your teacher? ” “Oh, don’t tell me! To see him! What I would give to see him, to hear his voice!… Believe me, gentlemen of the press, and you can put it on paper, if you can find it. To see him I would give the health I have now, and the health I will have in many years. I would be content to be in this jail or in a prison all my life, if I knew I would see him every day, even if it were only for a quarter of an hour. ” “That is love, Ándara.” “This is to love, and to believe in him, for God has sent no one like him into the world… I say it and I stand by it, even if they nail me to a cross to make me sing otherwise. Let them flay me alive for me to say I don’t love him, and even if I help them to tear off my skin, I will say that he is my father, and my lord, and my everything. ” “Well done, brave Ándara!” “Beatriz told us that she sees him in spirit, and whenever she wants, she makes him revive in her imagination… ” “She’s a real sleepyhead. I, more stupid than my sister Beatriz, bless her! I don’t see him when I want to, but when he wants to be seen. ” “Hello, hello! Explain that to us. ” “Don’t be material, and understand without further explanation.” At night, when I lie on my mattress, in the midst of darkness like that of Cain’s soul, if I’ve been good during the day, if I haven’t had any bad thoughts, I open my eyes, and in the blackest of darkness, I see a light, and in it my passing Nazarín… he does nothing but pass by and look at me without saying anything… But from the eyes he gives me, I understand what he wants to say to me. Sometimes he scolds me a few times, other times he tells me he’s pleased with me. “Well, if you see him tonight, that’s not a bad wig he’s throwing at you. ” “Why?” “Because of that big-ass lie about the house burning down by chance. ” “Hey, it’s not a lie!… What the book says is a lie, about my trying to zajumar the room… Come on, that’s enough talk! Go to the newspaper, you’ll have to write something there. ” “First we have to ask you something else, caraifa!” –I won’t answer any more. –Is that so? Beatriz comes to see you? –Twice a week. Yesterday she brought me a dress, which a noble lady gave her for me. –Hello, hello!… News. Didn’t she tell you that lady’s name? And they all took out paper and pencil. –Yes; but I don’t remember. It was a very pretty name… like… Lord, what was it like? –Think back, Andarilla. Could it be the Countess of Halma? –That very one… I was right to say that it was a good thing… well… from the most holy soul . –Well, Andara… we’ll leave you now, caraifa. –Goodbye… goodbye. Chapter 19. It was an unfortunate moment for Don Manuel Flórez to enter into spiritual exploration conferences with the wandering apostle, for he always left his cell half-deranged, sometimes believing he saw in Nazarín the greatest perfection a Christian soul could attain, sometimes seeing and judging him as a dislocated being, completely outside the social environment in which he lived. “It can’t be, Lord, it can’t be,” the good old man said to himself, slapping his skull, now retired to his home and resting from the hustle and bustle of the day. “Each time brings its own form and style of holiness. Let us not be dislocated, Lord, let us not stray from our planetary grouping, if we do not want to be a wandering rocket, lost in space. ” What I say: madness is nothing more than that, or rather , it is precisely that, the escape on a tangent… and this man, with all his virtue, which must be recognized, has gained great strength, and he escapes, he shoots out of the orbit… What a pity, Lord, what a pity! Because… I say it truly… it would be difficult to find a spirit of greater rectitude, of greater purity… But he has taken the doctrine in its most rigorous sense, in the narrowest sense, where it hurts, and… I don’t know, I don’t know… He believes that I am the one who is wrong, and I that he is the one who is wrong. He says that he proceeds according to reason, and with full awareness of conforming to the law of Christ, and I say… No, Lord, I am not saying anything, I don’t know, I have lost my mind; this man has upset me, he has filled my head with confusion. No, I will never see him again . Unreason is contagious… One madman makes a thousand. No more, no more. And despite this, he returned, for there was always some point left to clarify, or a hidden core to recognize in the pilgrim’s thoughts. He returned, now with a new conference, a new disturbance and bewilderment for the good social clergyman. It may be thought that what is being told is an exaggeration, but it is the pure truth. Don Manuel came to lose His appetite, something of an extraordinary novelty in him, he slept poorly, and his countenance deteriorated. His friends believed that he had suddenly suffered a decline in health as he approached seventy, and there were those who attributed the loss of that sublime poise that was his characteristic to a moral cause. Perhaps his goodness suffered from having encountered a superior goodness, or what seemed to him such, and since he lived in the routine of dealing only with inferiors, in the realm of conscience, the sudden encounter with a being before whom some of the energies of his soul had to bow down, perhaps put him in a bad mood, although without approaching, even remotely, the sadness of envy, for he was incapable of this hateful feeling. Could it perhaps be that the social interactions, the considerations, and even flattery he received, had formed in his soul the concretion of self-love from which even the most self-possessed characters cannot escape, and that the knowledge and treatment of Nazarín somewhat lowered his concept of his own moral worth? Independently of the humiliation and self-contempt imposed by the Christian ideal, every human being retains a power of appreciation or psychic evaluation, by which, without realizing it, they estimate and value themselves. Without a doubt, Flórez began to understand that he had valued himself at something more than his true worth. Since he was upright and noble, he ended up conforming, saying to himself: “Well, Lord, well. I thought I was among the best, and now it turns out that someone gives me fifteen and a half. So let me recognize my insignificance, or my manifest inferiority, and praise perfection wherever it may be found.” The good gentleman could think of nothing else, and the fixation of such an idea was undermining his health. Sometimes he spent his nights in skillful distinctions and parallels, yearning to exalt his own conceit without excessively lowering that of others: “He is good, I am too. Let’s not say saints, because where is holiness in our times? I am social, he is individual; my sphere is the world of the rich, his that of the poor. In both spheres, God is served, indeed! He fortifies his soul in solitude, I in bustle; anvil for anvil, I cannot say which is the best. It is true that if we look at pure doctrine and its application to our actions, he appears to have the advantage, I at a disadvantage; but look at the practical results of both forms of exercising the ministry, and then, how can we doubt that supremacy is on our side?” And finally, Lord, he goes beyond certainty, he runs from the possible to the impossible, in him virtue allows itself to make its escapes into the realm of extravagance, and… Raising his arms and looking at the ceiling of his bedroom, where he paced to while away his insomnia, he added: “Lord, Lord, putting the doctrine into practice in all its rigor and purity cannot be, cannot be. To do so would require the destruction of everything that exists. So what, my Jesus, does Your Holy Church not live in civilization? Where will we end up if…? No, no, there’s no need to think about it… I say it can’t be… Lord, is it true it can’t be?” As days and days passed without Catalina questioning him about the examination or psychological study of the vagrant apostle, Don Manuel believed he could take the initiative in the matter, that it was better to give his opinion before the lady herself, and by other means, came to form one. He feared everything about his acute talent, honed by a persistent will. “So what?” Halma asked him, showing less curiosity than Flórez had expected. “I begin by declaring,” said Don Manuel with sincere solemnity, his hand placed on his heart, “that I know of no more beautiful soul than that of the unfortunate priest, whom the law has persecuted for vagrancy and for having given shelter and protection to a criminal woman. If I still have doubts about the state of his intellect, I cannot doubt his conscience, his pure and upright Christian intention. I mean, my lady, that I find an irreducible disagreement between the conscience and the intellect of that singular man, and that if I could find a way to reconcile one with the other, I would have to declare Nazarín the most perfect being that could have been formed within the human mold. “According to that, you still see in him the two natures, the saint and the madman, and you neither know how to separate them nor fuse them, because madness and sanctity cannot be the same thing. ” “Exactly.” “It could well be deduced from all this that, in our extremely imperfect understanding of the things of the soul, we do not know what madness is, we do not know what sanctity is. ” “I don’t know, I don’t know!” exclaimed the almsgiver, extraordinarily disturbed, putting his hands to his head. “Calm down, Don Manuel. Could it be that you, in your long life, have never found yourself faced with a similar problem? Answer me now: does the good Nazarín practice the doctrine of Christ as the most holy Gospels teach us? ” “Yes, ma’am.” –And despite this, the good man’s behavior seems disconcerting to us… because our ideas dictate it. If we believed otherwise, we would have to imitate him, renounce everything, and embrace a state of absolute poverty. –Yes, ma’am. –And that cannot be. There is something within ourselves, and in the atmosphere we breathe and in the world around us, that tells us it cannot be. –Yes… it may be… but it cannot be… To be, not to be… Here, ma’am, is the great doubt. –I continue asking. Is Nazarín humble? –Extremely humble. It is astonishing to see his tranquility in the face of the probable results of the trial. If they sentence him to prison, he accepts it joyfully, just as if they made him climb onto the scaffold. If they lock him up in a mental asylum, he will enter the asylum and live without protest. He does not complain about the law, nor about the judges, nor about his accusers, nor about public opinion, which judges him with such diverse criteria. –And if he were to be released, would he submit to his ecclesiastical superior, sacrificing his independence to the rigor of discipline? –Yes. Well, this is what is admirable. He says that if he is freely absolved, he will submit and that… –What else?… I’ll continue, since you, my lord Don Manuel, are not as free to speak today as usual. The good Nazarín also says that when he is free, he will persist in fulfilling the vow of poverty he has made to the Lord. –A thing absolutely impossible, since begging, outside of the Orders that practice it as part of their institute, is contrary to ecclesiastical decorum . –And he says more… –But how do you know…? “He also says that the greatest desire of his soul is to be given back his licenses so he can celebrate… and that he will go to live in the prison where the _Sacrilege_ is destined, if the prison laws allow it, or if not, in the same town, in order to see him daily. He is committed to leading that criminal’s soul to heaven , and he will. He has the same intentions regarding Ándara, and his greatest joy would be if the confinements to which both criminals were destined were located in the same city. If not, he would share his time between the vicinity of Ándara and the proximity of the _Sacrilege_, taking Beatriz with him, without any fear of being censured and mocked for the company of a woman. ” “Such are his ideas, yes, ma’am… It is as true as the fact that you are something of a diviner,” said Don Manuel, without hiding his astonishment. ” But you… have you perhaps seen him, heard him? ”
“No; but I see Beatriz, of whom I am a friend, and a soul mate. I didn’t want to tell her until a propitious opportunity arose. ” “Ah!… It seems good to me… Beatriz, the disciple… ” “Well then, Señor Don Manuel, my dearest, these ideas and intentions of Don Nazario somewhat bastardize that purity of soul of which you spoke to me a little while ago. Does not extreme humility go hand in hand with pride? ” “Perhaps, perhaps. ” “Which is why I, more determined than you, no doubt because I am more ignorant, see the madness of this saintly man quite clearly… Is he a madman?” “saint, or a mad saint?” “Madness… holiness…” Flórez murmured, looking at the ground, his head supported by both hands, his elbows resting on his knees, with all the signs of profound disturbance on his face and in his voice. Chapter 20. They were unable to stop, as they had hoped, to seek an explanation for this contradiction, because Urrea arrived with fresh news that revived interest in the Nazarist affair. According to the young reformer, the journalists already knew about the Court’s ruling, which would be published without delay. The Court found no guilt in Don Nazario Zaharín: his vagrancy, his neglect of his priestly duties, and his insinuation of beggars and criminals were merely a result of the cleric’s pitiful mental state. Since none of his actions indicated any instigation to commit a crime, but rather, on the contrary, his ravings tended toward a noble and Christian end, he was freely absolved. Based on the report of the physicians who had repeatedly examined him, it was concluded that the wandering apostle’s actions were unconscious, as he was suffering from religious melancholy, a form of epileptic neurosis. He was handed over to the ecclesiastical authorities to ensure his recovery and safekeeping in a religious asylum, or wherever they deemed appropriate. Don Manuel and Catalina remained profoundly silent upon hearing this very interesting part of the sentence. “Beatriz is freely acquitted,” Urrea continued, “because nothing can be concluded against her, and the sentence she deserved for vagrancy is deemed to have been served after the two weeks she served in correctional prison. Ándara came off worse, although not as badly as initially believed. From her initial statements, and those of Nazarín, she was found to be the perpetrator of the fire at number 3 Amazonas Street. But her lawyer, a very bright man, had handled the case with rare skill, demonstrating that Nazarín’s testimony had no testimonial value, as he was in the midst of a pietistic delirium, prey to a monomania for sacrifice and death. According to her defense, Ándara, in her initial statements, had been under the hypnotic influence of the false apostle. After the trial was extended, and the fact that the fire was not intentional, the Court admitted the evidence, sentencing her to fourteen months of imprisonment for injuries to Tiñosa . The Sacrilegious case had nothing to do with the vagrancy and Nazarist outrages. He hadn’t been sentenced yet, and no matter how successful his sentence was, no one could take away his fourteen or fifteen years in prison, because his audacious acts in stealing silver and sacred vessels from the churches were numerous and atrocious. “You see,” Catalina finally said to her friend and almsgiver, “how the Court, adopting the opinion of the doctors, assumes that the holy man’s mind is not in order. ” “And without a head, there is no conscience,” the priest indicated with a certain joy, as if he glimpsed a solution to his doubts. “However,” the Countess added, “we mustn’t accept that criterion as definitive. The Courts are wrong, the doctors are wrong. Let’s not affirm anything, and continue, My Lord Don Manuel, with our doubts.” “Let us continue, yes, with our doubts,” repeated the priest, for whom it was already a relief not to think on his own. “And my doubts,” added Halma, “are going to be the starting point for resolving the question, because if we didn’t doubt, we wouldn’t propose, as we propose now, to arrive at the truth. ” “Yes, madam,” said Flórez, speaking like a machine. “The Court’s ruling, which I was awaiting, opens the way for me to put into effect a thought that has been running through my mind for days. ” “A thought! Let’s see…” murmured Don Manuel, perplexed, admiring in advance and fearing at the same time the initiatives of his illustrious friend. “I, I say, we, will finally know if our poor pilgrim is a saint or insane. I hope that we will be able to recognize in him one of the two states, to the exclusion of the other. And in the event that they exist ” We will uproot the madness and throw it into the fire, like weeds growing among the wheat,” said Don Manuel, “keeping the sanctity pure and intact. ” “And if they existed together and mixed, on the same plant,” added Halma, “we would respect this incomprehensible phenomenon, and we would be left sad and disconsolate, but with a clear conscience.” Flórez looked at the ground, and Urrea did not take his eyes off his cousin, whose words he spelled out on her lips at the same time as he heard them. After a moderate pause, and wishing to anticipate the lady’s thoughts, the priest said: “Well, to arrive at that knowledge and that separation, my lady, we would have to… I mean, we would see about… ” “No, if no matter how much you reason, you cannot guess what I’ve thought, what we will do, if God helps me, and I believe he will, since the sentence we have just received fits, as if made to measure, to favor my thoughts, a great work, Don Manuel, a charitable enterprise that must deserve your approval. You see,” he added after another pause, moving his low chair closer to the almsgiver’s chair. “Well, sir, now the civil law tells the ecclesiastical law: I, supported by the opinion of science, have had to declare and I declare that this man is insane.” Since his madness is harmless, nothing more than a pietistic monomania, which does not require very strict custody or surveillance, I refuse to shelter him in my asylums, where I keep the furious, the lunatics, a thousand cases of the innumerable kinds of mental disorder. There you have that man; take it upon yourself, Church, to take charge of his care, and, if you can, to restore his understanding to equilibrium. He is peaceful, he is good, he is sweet- natured in his madness. It will not be difficult for you to re-establish in him the man of exemplary conduct, the submissive and obedient priest… “And we take him,” said Flórez, “and we send him to a Capuchin convent, or to one of the religious hostels that exist for these cases, and we keep him there for a year, two, three, at the end of which, he will be the same as when he entered.” “It means they won’t look after him, they won’t observe him, looking out for his existence and his reason with the paternal interest that is due to a soul like yours, good, pious, a soul of God… ” “I’m not saying that…” “But none of this will happen,” the Countess stated, rising nervously and taking Urrea’s cane to reinforce the determined expression with which she emphasized the word. “So what will be done, madam? ” “To you, my lord Don Manuel, will fall the worldly glory of this ordeal, if, as I believe, God crowns it with a happy success. ” “And what should I do, my lady?” the clergyman asked, a little annoyed, for he didn’t like the idea of ​​doing things he knew nothing about, nor of his authority being reduced to executing orders from above, like a common secretary. “A very simple thing, and one that seems easy to me.” Tomorrow itself… there’s not a single day to be lost… tomorrow itself, Don Manuel Flórez y del Campo, the exemplary priest, the great diplomat of charity, will take his hat and go see the Bishop. His Grace, naturally, will receive him with open arms, and you say to him: “Bishop, a lady of our aristocracy…” ” Ah! Yes… A lady of our aristocracy… ” “If you guess, if you know, if I need say no more! So then: haven’t you thought the same as me? Haven’t you been turning this solution over in your mind for days? Weren’t you waiting to hear the verdict before proposing it to me? ” “Yes, yes… I thought… Indeed… The idea is a good one,” said the almsgiver, wanting to catch his noble friend’s idea on the fly. Of course I had thought… Well, “Most illustrious sir, a lady of our aristocracy, a person of great virtues and Christian zeal, who wishes to dedicate her life to the holy exercise of charity, has imagined that… ”
Don Manuel stopped abruptly, hesitant, fixed his eyes on Halma, then on Urrea, to look again with scrutinizing fixity at the illustrious lady, and at that moment, as if receiving inspiration from Heaven, or some invisible genius whispering in his ear, he saw the Countess’s thought with complete clarity. And instantly recalling words and phrases from previous conversations, and seeing in them a perfect fit with what he had just heard, he no longer needed the sharp priest to regain his complete mental composure, and to feel himself master, and almost master of the situation. He cleared his throat to clear his voice, took Urrea’s cane from Halma’s hands, and began to mark these or similar expressions on the carpet with it: “The Countess has had a great and beautiful thought, like her own. Some time ago she conceived the project of dedicating her house in Pedralba to a charitable purpose, establishing herself there, at the head of a small society for the helpless and needy, for the poor, the sick, and the elderly without resources. Well, sir, well.” Well now, the Countess addresses herself, through me, to the Bishop, and says: ” I will take that poor, persecuted cleric, acquitted and accused of madness, to Pedralba. There I will care for him, there I will surround him with peace and modest comfort. I will give his spirit the solitude of the countryside, rest to his well-trodden body, and since he is good and simple, and his heart remains pure, I guarantee that in a short time I will be able to return him to the Church, freed from the mists that have clouded his mind. Give me the vagabond, and I will return the priest to you; give me the sick man, and I will return the saint to you.” “And can that be?” the widow asked briskly, without admiring how well the sagacious Flórez guessed her intentions. “I mean: will the Bishop consent? ” “Ah! We shall see. His name must have great force for him, madam.” “And even more so your intervention. ” “In cases like Nazarín’s, the Prelate will adopt one of two procedures: either give the sick man a perpetual voucher for the Asylum for Ecclesiastics, or place him under the protection of a respectable family of recognized virtue and piety. The latter was recently done with a poor clergyman who suffered from bouts of insanity. ” “Well, the respectable family to whom the custody and care of this saintly man will be entrusted will be me. ” “Without a doubt. And much better if the Asylum or Retreat is established legally and canonically, placing it, naturally, under the tutelage of the head of the diocese. ” “Anyway,” Halma said joyfully, “Nazarín is ours. And the Bishop, I can already see, will greatly praise this plan knowing it was your idea. ” “Not my idea,” Flórez replied without looking at the lady. If anything, in part… We both thought the same. But I couldn’t get the first word out on the matter, and I had to wait for the person who should say it. “We agreed that tomorrow…” “Tomorrow, yes, madam. ” “Don’t let anyone get ahead of us… ” “Ah! That’s exactly it… Don’t worry. ” Don Manuel retired to his house, and that night he was seized with a gloomy anguish, the cause of which the good priest could not explain. “This profound sadness, which seems to overwhelm my whole being,” he said to himself, unable to sleep, “doesn’t come from a purely moral cause. There’s some serious problem with the machinery here. Either my liver is going to collapse, or my head is rebelling, or my heart is getting tired and is resigning.” Chapter 21. Everything was done as Catalina de Artal wished, without the good Flórez’s efforts encountering any major difficulty or obstacle. Those who saw him on that occasion, both in the ecclesiastical offices and in the noble houses he regularly visited, noticed a great physical decline, which seemed worse for the loss of his joviality. In addition, a certain uncertainty in his ideas was clearly noticeable, and a dispersion of them when he wanted to express them, as if the saint had gone to heaven, as the common saying goes. He was no longer the same man; in a few days his body lost the straightness that made him so handsome, his face had become earthy, his hands trembled, and when he tried to smile, his usual affable expression seemed funereal. “Either Don Manuel is very ill,” his friends said, “or some deep sorrow is silently undermining him. One morning, the Marquis of Feramor sent for him as he was coming down from the Countess’s chamber, and shutting himself in his study with him, he put on a face of great solemnity to say to him: “It seems incredible that our dear Flórez, belying his grave character, has lent himself to favoring my sister’s incredible extravagances! First, the foolishness of trying to redeem José Antonio, making himself ridiculous, and giving rise to an overflow of gossip and nonsense.” This wasn’t enough, and between my sister and her almsgiver they invented this grotesque farce of taking the entire Nasrid gang to Pedralba… because I suppose the female disciples will also go, for greater edification… The chorus of mockery has already begun, which doesn’t affect me, no sir, because everyone knows that I allow my sister to launch herself into these mad adventures at her own risk, only to find in ruin and in the mockery of the people the punishment for her pride. The attitude and language of the Marquis were pontifical, according to the English parliamentary and economic rite. “What pains me most,” he added, “is that our good friend, instead of putting a stop to these, which I qualify benignly, calling them extravagances, has given them warmth and support with his authority.” Hearing this, a wave of blood rushed from the heart to the brain of the priest, and anger, which was, by nature and custom, a feeling almost unknown to him, suddenly ignited in his heart. As he tried to express it, the words tumbled in his mouth, his face reddened, his eyes blazed. With an awkward tongue, he only managed to say: “What do you know? You’re a fool!” And he went out, as if fleeing from himself, dragging his cloak, the tile thrown back, muttering incoherent phrases down the stairs. He staggered down the street, holding himself up by an immeasurable effort of will, and when he reached his house, his effort suddenly exhausted, he fell flat on his face in the doorway. Between the doorman and two neighbors who were coming down, they lifted him from the floor, and like a dead body, carried him to the second room where he lived. His housekeeper and his niece, two very simple women, both well into their years, who loved him dearly, burst into thunderous tears upon seeing him fall into such a miserable state, and the niece exclaimed: “Virgin of Valvanera! I told you so. My uncle had been ill since last week. They put him to bed, and it took him about half an hour to regain consciousness; but he could not speak. The good man wanted to say something, and his lifeless tongue would not obey him. The doctor came, basic remedies were administered , and late at night, after a few hours of rest, he was able to express himself with relative clarity: “Don’t be foolish,” he said to the housekeeper and his niece, who were looking at him in distress on either side of the bed, “don’t give in to this mania for being frightened… This is nothing more than a phantasm. I picked it up when I left Feramor’s house. I feel better now, and with the help of a Merciful God and the Blessed Virgin, tomorrow I’ll be able to go out into the street. And if they determine that I’m no longer needed in this wicked world, what are we all to do but be content? I can go wherever my Heavenly Father destines me, according to my merits or my faults, and you, that I go and leave you in peace?” The doctor ordered that she be kept quiet and that she be allowed to rest all night, prescribing various internal and external medications. The next morning, his improvement was quite evident, and from very early on, a crowd of people came to the house. One of the first was Urrea; soon after, Consuelo Feramor and the woman from Monterones arrived, along with many other ladies and gentlemen of various ranks. They all showered the sick man with affectionate consolation, wishing him health as their own. They entered the bedroom in groups and then gathered in the living room. They were lamenting the sudden accident of the pleasant priest. Consuelo took José Antonio aside to say to him: “I suspect that you and Catalina bear no small responsibility for this outburst of our friend’s. Ah! His illness stems from the moral aspect… What… are you playing dumb? Don’t you understand your share of the blame and that of my little sister-in-law, that crazy woman who wouldn’t be walking around if she didn’t have the name she does? Do you now realize that you have discredited this saintly man, that you have made him look ridiculous in the eyes of the clergy, of all his friends and acquaintances?” Urrea considered giving her a forceful reply; but he preferred to remain silent so as not to cause a stir in someone else’s house. Shortly after, Catalina de Halma entered, dressed in black, with a very severe, humble bearing, and her sister and sister-in-law greeted her with compassionate coldness. She paid no attention to them, nor did she care that they expressed this or that sentiment to her. When everyone was leaving, the Countess expressed to the housekeeper and her niece her desire to assist them day and night in that painful task of nursing. Recognizing the good lady’s sincerity, the priest’s family accepted such a noble offer, congratulating themselves that it would soon be unnecessary, because Don Manuel would get better, with God’s help. Catalina came to see him, and he, rejoicing in her presence, became slightly excited, displaying vague symptoms of tongue-tie and vagueness of thought: “My lady,” he said to her, “your almsgiver is very ill. It was just a whim, nothing more than a whim… I dreamed of the Pedralba Retreat where we would be so well… oh, so well! This whim… it’s a very bad whim… Social life… this vertigo, this bustle, this continual lying… bad whim, madam… Destruction of bodies, harm to souls!… God wants to take me now.” He has seen that I am useless… that I have reached old age without having accomplished anything great, beautiful, or salutary for souls in the world. My conscience speaks to me and tells me: “There is nothing in you and around you but vanity of vanities…” You are great, Countess, I am small, so small that I look at myself and see myself no bigger than a grain of sand. One wind brings me, another takes me away… Ah, the solitude of Pedralba…! But no, I am not worthy… The Marquis looks down on me from the height of his foolishness, and humiliates me with all that I deserve. What have I been? A phantom… There is no need to deny me. What did I do for the salvation of souls? Nothing… And you, who are a saint, deign to come and console me in my tribulation…! Such goodness, such greatness! Because no one knows my insignificance better than you… God tells me: “You are nothing… you are the Christian masses , what is and is not… You are well dressed, and you wear pretty shoes with silver buckles… So what? You are attentive in your speech, obsequious to everyone; respectful of me; but without love. The fire of divine love in you is a painted fire, with flames of slate like those in the paintings of Ánimas. You carry and bring alms as the Post Office carries and brings letters… but your heart… ah! I who see everything, have seen it, have felt it beat, more for the elegance of your silver buckles than for human misery …” Then comes an air… Death must be beautiful for those who die in the Lord. I too want to die in Him, I want, I want!… Deeply alarmed, the Countess withdrew from the bedroom, thinking that the improvement of the blessed Don Manuel had been deceptive. And firm in her resolve to perform the most humble tasks in the house while her bosom friend was ill, she arranged with the housekeeper and niece the tasks to which she should devote herself, resolving between the three of them that, since the lady’s presence excited the sick man, no doubt due to the affection he felt for her, it was not advisable for him to enter the bedroom except in cases of absolute necessity. Freed from her mantilla, she worked in the kitchen as soon as she appeared in the living room to receive visits from lay people and clergy. She ate with the women of the house, and did not want their bed prepared for her, because with Dozing off while sitting in a chair was enough for her. Her beloved husband’s illness had been a complete education for her in those toils and troubles, and the lack of sleep, the lack of food, the constant vigilance didn’t affect her in the slightest. Don Manuel spent the afternoon very well, and at night he called his maids to keep him company and offer words, for habit, second nature, demanded social intercourse, conversation, and pleasantries. Catalina hid behind the door to listen to him, fearful that he might go off on a tangent again. Constantina and Asunción, as the housekeeper and niece called themselves, told him that he could now consider himself recovered from that fit, and that half a week of rest would suffice before he could return to his usual duties. To which the clergyman responded calmly: “You may be right; But whether you like it or not, I’m assuming the worst, and if you really push me, I’ll say the best, that is, death, the end of this miserable life and the beginning of the eternal one. As they said that, since he was a saint, he had nothing to fear, he softened his voice to answer them: “I’m not a saint, nor do you know what you’re up against, you poor, routine, simple, and vulgar souls. I’m at your level… no, I say badly, at a lower level. Because you have suffered: you, Constantina, with the bad life your husband gave you; you, Asunción, with your illnesses and painful ailments. You have had the opportunity to forgive wrongs, I have not. You have suffered shortages when you were not at my side; I have always lived in my sweet and comfortable modesty, lacking nothing, well-liked by everyone, a pampered child and favorite of society.” You have fought, I have not, because I found everything done for me. Do not call me a saint, because you make fun of holiness by applying it to someone of such little worth. The two women began to cry and invited him to change the conversation, since this was not the most appropriate for a sick man . “No, no,” said Flórez, becoming enraged. “This is precisely what I want to talk about. I am a poor mediocrity; but abdicating my ridiculous pretensions at this moment, and trampling my pride underfoot before you, and before the whole world, I throw myself upon the mercy of my Heavenly Father, so that he may make of my insignificance whatever he will. My soul is not blackened by infamous sins, nor is it polished by heroic virtues. I am what common language calls a good man. I am… nice… ha ha! nice.” There will be no trace of me left in the world, and society would have been the same as it is today if Manuel Flórez y del Campo hadn’t existed. How do you call a man a saint who gets angry, even if not too much, when someone bothers him? You, Constantina, haven’t I ever scolded you because the soup was cold, or the chocolate too hot, or the rice sticky, or the coffee not strong enough? You see: what kind of sanctity is that, or what…! And you, Asunción, you’ve had some serious scoldings… because my shoe buckles weren’t quite polished! You see: as if whether the buckles shone or not mattered at all!… If you really think about what I’m telling you, I’ll confess that in my sphere, a sphere that seems very vast and is very small, I’ve done all the good I could, and that I’ve never knowingly done any evil to anyone. But from that to me being anything less than a saint, as you believe, poor fools, there is a long way to go… The saints are others, the saint is another… And I laugh at what the common people say that there are no saints these days… There are some, there are some, believe it because I tell you so… But don’t take me for such, you great fools, and if not, answer me: what extraordinary merits do you see in me?… What misfortunes and labors have tempered my soul, what injuries have I had to suffer and forgive, what great campaigns for the good of humanity and for the Catholic faith have been mine? Was I persecuted by justice, and treated like evildoers? Have they perhaps insulted me, mocked me, filled me with Vileness? Is it tribulation to go from house to house, feted and applauded, here holding a napkin, there chatting about a thousand ecclesiastical and worldly vanities, squeezing myself in and out of alms, relief, and collections, which are to true charity what comedies are to real life? Ah! If you weep to see me lowered from that category in which your innocence sought to place me, weep, yes, weep with me, let us weep together, so that the Lord may have mercy on you and me, and make us three equals in His holy grace. He said no more, because his mistress and niece, wiping their noses and overcoming their bitter sorrow, exhorted him to remain silent and not think things that would be disagreeable to the Divine Jesus and the Virgin . Humility was good; but not so good, Lord. Chapter 22. The peerless Catalina also wept, hearing the cries of her good friend’s conscience, and the three of them immediately agreed that the more the most virtuous Don Manuel humbled himself by prostrating himself before the God of Justice, the more he would exalt him, giving him the reward he deserved for his virtues. At eleven o’clock at night, the tablecloths having been cleared from the frugal supper, and the Countess in the dining room, absorbed in reading her devotions before a lamp with a figurine shade, José Antonio entered. Unable to spend a whole day without seeing and speaking to her, such was her ardent attachment, which seemed more like that of a dog than a person, she seized upon the obligation to inquire about the sick man’s condition in order to enter the house and bring him closer to his benefactor. “Our Don Manuel is in a bad way,” Halma told her, closing her book and marking the page with her finger. “We must pray to God with all our souls to preserve this life so precious, so necessary.” You must pray, pray without respite, Pepe, and you too… But you certainly don’t know; you’ve forgotten… If I wanted to teach you, would you learn? “You will get from me whatever you want, and I consider nothing impossible if you command me,” the young man replied joyfully. “I am your creation, I am a new man, which you formed between your fingers, and then you gave me new life and soul… ” “In parentheses, tell me one thing: do they criticize us a lot out there? ” “Horribly. But your great soul has taught me what seemed to me, more than difficult, impossible: to despise these infamies, and not punish them immediately. ” “God is our judge, and he accuses us or absolves us, through our conscience. Pay attention to what I tell you, and confirm it in your thoughts. You are a child, and as such I instruct you. ” “And I learn everything. You will have no complaint against me.” But I would like, my good Halma, for you to command me to do difficult things, very difficult things, to test my blind obedience. “For example, to throw yourself into a burning oven, or to jump out of a window. ” “It’s not that, although I would do that too if you commanded me. I mean difficult things, the kind that test a man’s will. As long as you don’t command me to do that, and I obey you, I don’t consider myself worthy of what you’re doing for me. You are extraordinary, incredible, improbable. My pride is pricked, and I also want to break away a little from the ordinary. ” “Don’t worry, everything will come. Like improbable, you, who since we began to cure your soul with a medicine that everyone mocked , have contradicted yourself. So far it seems I’m succeeding, and that my extravagance carried and still carries within it something of divine efficacy. But there’s still a long way to go, José Antonio, and if you tire yourself out at the worst of the road, you’ll leave me in a bad way.” “I will not tire. I will go with you to the ends of the earth, whether you pull me by a fine silk thread or by a very strong noose. Pull without fear, for I will do nothing to free myself. ” “I warn you that even if you break free, even if by pulling the rope you wound and hurt me, I will not regret what I did. ” “Because you are… I will not say a saint, nor an angel, vague expressions that poets and preachers have discredited…, but a woman superior to all those who walk the world, the best, the only, the feminine.” to a sublime degree. “Eh… enough. There’s another trick I have to take away from you: flattery.” To the motives of gratitude that subjugated the corrected parasite, making him a submissive slave of the Countess of Halma, another had recently been added, which was undoubtedly the strongest link in his chain. The profound miseries and debasements of Urrea’s life could not be hidden from the reformer’s insight , moral ulcers that , due to their indecorous nature, could not be revealed. But the astute doctor knew them, by induction, and believing, in conscience, that for a complete cure it was necessary to attack that secret disorder, before it corrupted the part of the being that was gradually healing, she incited the patient, in good faith with medical ethics, to the most radical confession or sincerity. He resisted, believing that anything concerning such a matter could not even be mentioned in the presence of the holy and pure lady, just as it is not lawful to utter indecent words in church, nor to smoke, nor to cover oneself. But she, courageous and serene, like Saint Elizabeth of Thuringia laying her hands on the heads of those with ringworm, opened the way for the explanation he desired, breaking the secret in this way: “You don’t have to be a soothsayer, dear Pepe, to know that in your life of shameful, anguished, and vile poverty, there must be, besides the toads we’ve already pulled from the mud, snakes we need to extract to heal you completely. It’s useless for you to deny it to me. Ah, fool, just as one sees the worms that feed on putrefaction, I see around you swarms of women, whom I will only call unfortunate, because there is no greater misfortune than to lose one’s modesty! ” “That’s true. ” How can I deny you anything, if you know everything? “You have to cleanse yourself of that rottenness, Pepe, otherwise, you’re liable to be corrupted again on one of your finest days. ” “Yes, yes. ” “But soon, soon. I guess this isn’t easy, and that breaking away from all that shameful past involves material obstacles. Confess it to me, tell me everything, be as frank with me as you would be with a comrade of your sex. Human life offers so many anomalies that even to escape ruin, you need money, and that vice itself cannot be escaped without showing yourself chivalrous and generous toward it. ” “It’s true. You are human and divine science,” Urrea replied with vivid emotion. “More clearly: to sever your vile ties with those unfortunate people, you need money. When you count your hardships and the commitments that embittered your life, you have hidden this one out of delicacy, out of respect for me. Isn’t that true? ” “Yes.” “Perhaps you find yourself obligated and bound by favors received. ” “Yes. ” “Perhaps you have contracted debts… in common. Don’t worry. We will speak of this as little as possible, to spare you the shame that the case entails. Promise me to cut off absolutely and forever, with the purpose of not repeating these infamous relations, and I will give you the money you need for your complete liberation. That’s how things are said clearly, and done with courage. ” “Oh, Halma!” exclaimed the astonished scoundrel, kneeling before his cousin, and trying to kiss her hands. “If I don’t tell you that I consider you a supernatural creature, I’m not expressing all that I feel. ” “Get up. Today you will see to that. Tell me everything: hide nothing. Tomorrow you will liquidate your debts of ignominy.” If you should have any doubts or qualms about some difficult tie to cut, even with gold scissors, come and tell me, and I will give you encouragement, reasons… and we will see to fixing it. Encouraged by such a powerful stimulus, Urrea cut off indecorous relationships, some of which hindered him horribly, filling his soul with boredom; others that, if they affected his heart at all, did not have roots so deep that they could not be pulled out with moderate effort. And how free, how broad, how unburdened he felt afterward! With what pleasure he saw the pretty, smiling faces disappear into the mist that precedes the darkness of oblivion! Just one of the tugs he had to give caused him pain. But Remembering his cousin, he endured it bravely, and would have even endured it heroically had it been of the deep and lacerating kind. But it amounted to a tiny bit of sorrow or grief, and two days were enough for the mundane figure that motivated that psychic state to fade away with the others in a haze of indifference. When this was over, the Countess of Halma assumed entirely divine proportions before his placated spirit . What Urrea felt could only be compared to the indescribable joy of a shipwrecked sailor who steps onto land after an agonizing struggle with the waves. That light, beacon, or star of the sea saved him, and before it he made the offering of his future life. Not content with inquiring about Don Manuel Flórez’s condition at night , José Antonio also went there in the mornings. Usually between nine and ten, Catalina had returned from mass and was sweeping and cleaning the parlor and study, while the housekeeper and niece attended to the sick man. The Countess covered her waist with a Constantina apron and handled the broom with rare skill. Who would have thought, seeing those aristocratic hands, slender, white as lilies, beautifully shaped, with long, plump, and pointed fingers, true hands of Saint Isabel de Murillo, which, even when heads were plagued by poverty, did not lose their virginal purity and neatness! Urrea didn’t dare ask her permission to kiss her hands, so as not to profane them with his sinful lips. He didn’t deserve such a great honor. Truly, those fingers that held the broom were worthy of taking the consecrated host. “And Don Manuel, how are you? ” “Not well. It’s been a restless night. He couldn’t sleep; his head was suffering greatly.” He hasn’t gone astray; rather, he speaks like the saint he is. Today the Holy Sacrament is being administered to him. He prepares to receive it with unction and joy. Do you know how I know our good Don Manuel is dying? In that his soul is all candor. He thinks and speaks like a child. Such simplicity shows that his soul has been stripped of all earthly things. How beautiful it is to die like this! Learn, my cousin, learn, and so that you may die like a just man, live in justice and truth. “I’ll live wherever you send me,” said the parasite, stepping aside so as not to hinder his sweeping. “Wherever you put me, there I will be. And now, let me ask you something. They say at your house that you’re going to live in Pedralba. ” “That’s what I had decided; but the absence of this incomparable friend disturbs my plans, and I still don’t know what I’ll do. ” “And I’m staying here!” Urrea observed with regret. “I’m here alone. It’s true that we’re not far away, and I can go see you often.” But I don’t know if you’ll consent to it. I must remain in Madrid to avoid unpleasantness, so that envy and malice don’t prey on you. That reason is no reason. You know that I’m not affected by the sayings of frivolous and vain people. The very slander that terrifies others can come to me and attack and destroy me. From its attacks, I will emerge stronger than I am. It is the civilized form of martyrdom, now that we don’t have Diocletians persecuting Christianity, nor furious sectarians cutting off the heads of believers… But if slander is no reason for you to stay here, he added, putting down the broom and putting the furniture back in its place after scrubbing the wood with a cloth, a task his protégé gladly helped him with, you will continue in Madrid alone, by virtue of your work. Don’t forget the second part of our agreement. You must become a useful man who lives honestly, without depending on anyone. “Yes, yes. I will carry out your beautiful idea. You are like a mother to me, and I must venerate you, because you give me life. ” “And I must believe that this son of mine is now grown, strong enough not to need a walker, and wise enough to govern himself. ” “So it shall be, if you wish. And now what do you command me? Shall I leave? ” “Yes, we have much to do. Then we must prepare the house and decorate it to receive the Divine Visitor, whom we will have here today. Go and come back this afternoon at the time of Viaticum. I don’t want you to miss it.” “I will not miss,” said Urrea, and kissing the hem of the coarse apron that encircled the noble lady’s body, he sadly withdrew… Halma to leave, to stay! What an enormous expenditure of will this separation of son and mother, of the still very tender disciple and the saintly and strong teacher, would require! Chapter 23. The Marquis of Feramor was not absent that day, and only exchanged dry words with his sister. In his refined English language, parliamentary and economic, he said that men fear death as children fear entering a dark room. Bacon had written this, and he repeated it, adding that the sorrows caused by the loss of loved ones have the limits set by Nature for all things. The world, the community, survive the greatest personal and public misfortunes. We must not give ourselves over to grief, nor see it as a friend, but rather an unwelcome visitor, to whom all entertainment must be denied so that it may bid farewell as quickly as possible. The religious ceremony was beautiful and pathetic, attended by a large crowd, both ecclesiastical and secular, among the most distinguished that Madrid contains in both spheres . The sick man received the Eucharistic bread with Christian unction and meekness, showing ineffable gratitude to the God who penetrated his humble dwelling, and he remained so serene and self-possessed throughout the ceremony that he seemed recovered from his grave illness. Afterward, he spoke enthusiastically to his friends of the joy he felt and the hopes that Holy Communion awakened in his soul. At night, after a moment of peaceful sleep, he called his housekeeper and niece and said to them: “I know the Countess is at home, and I truly don’t know why she is hiding. Her presence is a great comfort to me. Let her come in, for at three I have something to tell you. ” Catherine kissed the priest’s hand and sat down beside the bedside, while the others remained standing: “I truly tell you, I am at peace.” I prostrated myself before my God, and weeping bitterly, I offered Him the confession of my entire past life, which, due to my carelessness, my selfishness, my insubstantiality, has not been very meritorious, so to speak. What I possess is for you, Constantina and Asunción: you already know this. Attend to your needs, reducing them to the measure of holy modesty, and use the rest in the service of God; help as many needy people as you can, without considering whether they deserve it or not. Every needy person deserves to cease to be so. And to you, Countess of Halma, I say nothing, because to someone who is greater than me and worth more than me, and surpasses me in knowledge of spiritual and temporal matters, what can this poor dying man say to you? I have concluded with all vanity, and I only beg you to commend your good friend to God. He who enlightened me is not present; If I were, I would say to him: Fellow shepherd, I would like to exchange mine for your sturdy staff, which is nothing more than a reed adorned with ivory and gold. You shepherd, I do not; you _do_, I _pretend_… He continued murmuring in a low voice expressions that the three women did not understand. They kept urging him to remain silent and quiet. A little later the four of them were praying, Halma carrying the rosary. Before finishing, the sick man seemed to grow lethargic. Asunción remained on guard, and Constantina and the Countess left on tiptoe. They had the porter’s little girl on duty at the reception, to open the door as soon as she heard footsteps of visitors, an indispensable precaution since the bell had been removed. Shortly after leaving the bedroom, the housekeeper said to the Countess: “A woman has come in who wants to speak to the lady. She must be a poor woman… one of those who harass and annoy with their requests.” If I were your ladyship, I’d give her half a loaf of bread and put her out on the street, because if we get too carried away with the alms, this will be Uncle Alegría’s inn , and they’ll drive us mad. She’s holding a little girl by the hand, and she smells like a trick, I mean, a rip-off that goes straight to the bone. Let the Countess be on her guard, because in this matter of giving or not giving wisely lies the key, as our poor little Don Manuel says, of the True charity. Catherine now knew who the visitor was, and without saying anything, she went into the living room, where a woman wearing a shawl and headscarf and a little girl about six years old, wrapped in a small blanket, were standing waiting . “Beatriz,” Halma said very affectionately, giving them both her hands, which the woman and child kissed lovingly, “I was getting impatient because you didn’t come to see me. Did Prudencia tell you to come here? ” “Yes, ma’am; but I didn’t want to come, so as not to be bothersome,” Beatriz replied, sitting on the edge of a chair. “Finally, tonight I made up my mind, and I’ve brought this one to show me the streets, which I don’t know well. Rosa knows all these neighborhoods like the back of her hand, because she helped her parents deliver milk when they had the goat farm… ah!” A terrible business, which my cousin got into with the neighbors on the ground floor , on the right, to help Ladislao, who couldn’t make enough money from piano tuning to feed his family. Poor Ladislao has endured terrible hardships, chasing chickpeas, and always dreaming of the opera he had half-composed in his head. He tried everything: he played the trombone in a theater, and handed out leaflets on the streets. The goat herding pawned them off more than they were worth. I have seen the misery of that house, abject misery, like there is so much of it in Madrid, without anyone seeing it or helping it, because it’s not possible, Lord, it’s not possible … The lady knows it well , having seen it with her own eyes, because with the lady, God entered that house… And I can tell you that those unfortunate people have appreciated her kind words even more than the help she has given them to eat and keep warm. The lady is… not only charity, but also hope. “And poor Ladislaus, is he happy? ” “So happy that he can’t close his eyes from sheer joy. He says his _desideratum_ would be the position of choirmaster; but if the lady doesn’t have a chapel in her condition, he’ll just as easily serve as a coachman as he is to fetch firewood from the mountains, if that’s convenient… ” “Let him not think about that, and wait,” said the Countess, impatient to discuss another matter. “Well, Beatriz, so what…” “Nothing, it’s settled. I came here so that the Countess will soon learn that two priests, who appear to be from the ecclesiastical tribunal, came to see him at the hospital today. They told him that Her Grace proposed two ways of assisting and curing him, supposing he is ill. Either to give him a perpetual voucher for the Asylum for Priests , or to be housed in a very respectable and very Christian home.” They gave him a choice, and, of course, he chose the latter. I learned it from him himself: this afternoon I went there and found Señor de Urrea in his cell, who advised him to leave that confinement, since he is now free. But the blessed Don Nazario does not wish to enjoy his freedom until the person who takes him under his protection gives him permission and tells him when, how, and to what place he is to go with his poor bones. “Well, consider what you must do, Beatriz, and pay attention to what I order you. Tomorrow a cart with three mules will arrive that I have sent for from Pedralba. At dawn the next day, you will have it in your street, and the carter, who is an old man named Cecilio, a bit talkative and a man of proverbs, but a good man, will come up to your house to warn you. Put Ladislao and Aquilina with her three children, and Nazarín, and yourself in addition.” You’ll fit perfectly, and if you’re cramped, the men can walk for a while… Anyway, arrange yourselves as best you can. Don’t take any furniture or bedding. Distribute all that among the poorer neighbors. You can take some clothes… Oh! I almost forgot Ladislaus’s piano. Tell him I wish he would give it to the blind man, also a tuner, who lives in the little room next door. He can put that jumble of music papers he has on his dresser in the cart. You’ll spend the whole day on the journey, because the mules will be going at a walking pace, so that those who tire of the cramped cart can get a little exercise , and the… infantry_, to rest from the walk. Cecilio will take you to my house, and there he will give you lodging until, in a few days, when I give notice, Cecilio and the three mules return for me. “In a wagon, the lady!” exclaimed Beatriz, putting her hands to her head. “Since you’re going, I’ll go. What does it matter? It’s even more comfortable, and more cheerful. Don’t see this as a merit, much less an affectation of poverty: I don’t like to play the roles. Besides, I’m establishing in my small kingdom all the equality possible. I don’t dare yet say, before practice teaches me, what degree of equality we will reach. ” “Kingdom, the lady has said,” affirmed the Nasrid woman with joy, “and even if she doesn’t call it that, she will always be our queen and lady. ” “Nor do I yet know what degree of authority I will have over you. Perhaps I won’t be able to have it, or I will abdicate it from the first moment.” But let’s not think yet about what will happen, and let’s concern ourselves only with what’s present. With the money I gave you, and which you will keep in your possession… “Yes, madam, less what, at the lady’s request, I spent on Aquilina’s little dress and Ladislaus’s boots. ” “Well, you still have enough to buy shoes and espadrilles for the three children, and for whatever you spend on the journey, which will be very little. I don’t need to tell you to be economical, because I know you know how to do it. Since Cecilio’s daughter will see to it that you’re fed until I arrive, keep your purse tightly closed, Beatriz, and don’t spend a penny of what you have left in it when you get there; don’t forget that we are poor, truly poor… Don’t think our kingdom is a little Jauja. ” “If it were, the lady wouldn’t consider us vassals… ” “Have you understood correctly?” “Yes, madam,” said Beatriz, rising. “Don’t worry, everything will be done, step by step, just as the lady wishes.” They said goodbye by kissing her hand; the Countess kissed them on the cheek, and as she saw them off at the door, when they had already gone down a few steps, she called them over to give them a warning. “Listen, Beatriz. My good Cecilio suffers from a cursed thirst that can only be quenched with wine. The poor fellow is so wasted now that it would be cruel to deprive him of satisfying his vice. During the journey, you will allow him to have a drink at one of the inns you pass, not at all… Note carefully: three or four glasses of pardillo along the way will be enough for him; but nothing more, nothing more… Well, goodbye, and have a good journey.” Chapter 24. A little later, a clergyman arrived, a close friend of Flórez, Don Modesto Díaz, who enjoys the reputation of an excellent preacher, one of the first in Madrid. Three or four times a day he went to find out about the condition of the sick man, whom he loved dearly, since they had known each other since childhood, and in Madrid they lived for many years in very cordial relations, although each one acted in a different sphere within the ecclesiastical sphere, since if Flórez was relatively rich, and did not have to think to provide decently for existence, Díaz, a tireless worker, worked all his life, _propter panem_. As a young man , he had to earn a living for his mother , and in later life, he raised and educated countless orphaned nephews, who must have suffered from the utmost hunger, judging by the efforts the poor priest made to support them. He gave lessons in Latin and morals in schools and private homes, in rhetoric and poetry at an institute, and translated religious works from French for a Catholic publisher. With this, along with the celebrations and his sermons, which eventually earned him a living, the man managed to get ahead with his entire family, and he had something left over to help a poor person. The different atmosphere in which Díaz and Flórez lived, and the different paths each took, did not prevent them from bonding over a friendship as old as it was affectionate. They were neighbors: they walked together many afternoons, perfectly in agreement in ideas and tastes; no dispute or disagreement ever arose between them over dogmatic or temporal matters. Both were good and esteemed by everyone; both pious and well-adjusted in their consciences. They even looked a little like each other physically; only that Díaz didn’t dress as well as the other, nor was he as neat, or, if you will, as elegant. With expressions of sincere sorrow, Don Modesto expressed his friend’s seriousness, expressing confusion at this sudden illness, which had come on like a shotgun blast. “But three weeks ago Manuel was selling lives! One afternoon when we went for a walk toward Moncloa, we counted up the years we had under our belts, and calculating how long we could live if the Lord preserved our health, we were so fresh we were almost eighty. Suddenly, Manuel collapsed… But why? The last few afternoons we walked, I noticed he was very withdrawn, which was strange, since he was such a sociable man, you could always see his soul fluttering happily outside its cage… Anyway, God wants it this way. May his holy will be done.” With a deep sigh, the Countess merely commented on these remarks, and the good priest, after wiping away a tear, changed his tone to say: “In parentheses, Countess, I know you’re going to your estate in Pedralba, near San Agustín, and it’s good for you to know that the priest of this town is my nephew Remigio, to whom I will write to ask him to place himself at your orders and serve you as soon as you wish to ordain him. A good young man, madam, who knows his duty, and also has a gift for people that more than four would love! I raised him; he’s my creation, and he owes his double career to me, for in addition to a degree in theology and canon law, he also has a degree in law. He gave me some trouble when I was a student, because at the university they almost twisted me. He was more interested in philosophy than in theology, and his easy understanding, his flexible talent, endeared him more than necessary to the study of the latest philosophical and social subjects.” It’s good to know everything and understand the full extent of human ideas; but I said, “Stop, son.” He insisted on bending me, and I insisted I had to make him as straight as a spindle. Naturally, I won: the boy was docile, respectful, and loved me madly. He sang Mass ten years ago, on Candlemas Day, and here he is, a model priest, obscured, it’s true, in a small town, but with hopes of moving on to a parish at the Court, or to a canonry. Halma replied with the urbane expressions the case required, and the conversation, of its own accord, turned to Don Manuel and the difficulty of getting him ahead if God didn’t perform a miracle. “For me,” said Díaz with profound sadness, “it’s an irreparable loss , for I have no friend who can compare with him in affability , affection, and helpfulness. Whenever I needed a letter of recommendation, he came to give it to me.” His good relations with important people were a blessing from God for those of us in the lower sphere. How all greatness loved him! And there you have a man who could have been a bishop. But what he said with all the modesty of God: “I’m no good, I’m no good: it’s too much work for me.” Every wolf on his path, and Manuel’s was to foster piety in the upper classes, and lead them in his charitable campaigns… He was a man of such extraordinary people-kind that his manner captivated both the rich and the poor, and with his kindness, he taught good doctrine to all… God knows how lonely and sad I feel without Manuel in this vale of tears!… For our friendship is barely dated! He is from Piedrahita, I from Muñopepe, in the same district. We grew up together, went to school together, and received the sacred investiture together. He was almost rich, I was poor; he lived off his income, I off my hard work. Whenever I needed any help—because there are cruel months, my lady, especially in the summer, when Madrid is depopulated—I would go to him… oh! and I would always find him. What an excellent friend! He would lend me small sums, without any interest… Hail Mary, I wouldn’t even mention it to him! He would have paid me. Just among friends! Winter would come, and I would pay him religiously. Christmas, I share in the infinite gifts he receives. The Lord rewards him for such goodness, for his lands in Piedrahita always yield good harvests… So, living with decorum and without pomp, like a good priest, he has a surplus, with which he was able to finance an excellent school in Piedrahita. Yes, ma’am, a marble tablet tells posterity the name of the founder. Well, with these splendours, he still has plenty left over, and not a year goes by that he doesn’t buy some land bordering his estate. A generous owner and a good Christian, he doesn’t pressure his tenants, nor does he skimp on wages in times of hardship. In short, men like this are few and far between. The Lord wants him for himself; let us abide by his supreme will, and recognize that all earthly greatness is ashes, dust, nothing. Doña Catalina expressed her satisfaction with all this, and they continued conversing about the vanity of human greatness, when the sick man cried out in a loud voice, saying: “Has Modesto come?… Let him come in here. Modesto, Modesto!” Señor Díaz came forward, and the two friends embraced with ardent affection. The healthy man could not contain his tears; the sick man, weakened and with his brain insecure, constantly losing and regaining consciousness and speech, did nothing but pat him on the shoulder, and his wandering eyes, one moment recognizing Don Modesto, another staring at him with surprise and astonishment. “My good friend,” she said in a lucid moment, “I felt you, and I wanted you to come in so I could give you the great news. I already feel a great relief in my soul. My conscience has grown wings, and look at me as I ascend to the heavens. Don’t you know? Oh, Modesto, what joy!” I’ve just decided that my vineyard in Barranco de Abajo, the best I have, will be yours. It’s time you rested, man. What a lion for work…! Now, with your vineyard, which can give you your thousand jugs, let them throw you nephews. These fools have enough with the rest of Piedrahita, and I need nothing now, because I want to be poor for the rest of my life… Don’t go, Modesto, come with me, because they give me more anguish… and it seems to me that I’ve died, and that they’ve buried me alive, and… No, no… don’t bury me alive… I am poor… very poor, I don’t want mausoleums, nor for them to place over me one of those enormous stones with gold letters… No, I don’t want gold letters, nor silver buckles. And as for my great cross of Isabella the Catholic, I tell you not to put it on me, when you shroud me… on the day of my death. I want no other cross than that of my Redeemer… whom I resemble nothing, absolutely nothing… He was all love of the human race, I all love of myself. Isn’t it true, Modesto, that I resemble nothing… absolutely nothing? They tried to calm him down; but not even with the help of Señor Díaz could they keep him down in bed, for two or three times he tried to throw himself out, developing a nervous strength incredible in his exhaustion. “Leave me alone,” he said, “don’t be annoying. I’m fleeing from what I was… I don’t want to see myself, I don’t want to hear myself. There was a man who, in the twentieth century, was called Manuel Flórez. Do you know what I would call him? “The drawing-room saint.” I am not him; I want to be like my God, all love, all self-denial, all charity… I don’t understand interests. He used to make calculations, I undo them; He lived in a thousand vanities, I run after the truth, I’m already touching it, and you, vile snails, won’t let me… The doctor, who appeared in the midst of this crisis, prescribed remedies that had no other purpose than to make the agony less painful. The paralysis of the lower part of the body was absolute. The hemorrhage had begun in the spinal cord, leaving the brain free. Don Modesto Díaz resolved to stay there all night. After twelve o’clock, the dying man, motionless, rigid, his face discomposed, his voice deep and weak, his eyes half-closed, called his friend and said: “Modesto, do me the favor of reading me that chapter of the _Soliloquies of our Father Saint Augustine… Confession of the True Faith_. ” “I don’t need to read it to you, dear Manuel,” said Don Modesto, with his hands in the hands of the dying man, “because I know it by heart: ‘Thank you'” I make you, my light, because you gave me light and I knew you. Know yourselves, Creator of Heaven, and of all things visible and invisible, true God , almighty, immortal, endless, eternal, inaccessible, incomprehensible, immutable, immense, infinite, beginning of all visible and invisible creatures, through whom all things are made, and all the elements persevere in their being, whose Majesty, just as it never had a beginning, so it will never have an end… And he continued reciting from memory for a long time, until Flórez, who was listening as if in ecstasy, repeating some words, interrupted him , saying: “Further on, further on, Modesto, where it says… Ah! I remember it: “Late I knew you, true light, late I knew you, because I had before the eyes of my vanity a great, dark and gloomy cloud , which did not let me see the sun of justice and the light of truth. “As a child of darkness…” The rest was incomprehensible. It was only an unintelligible murmur, a clinging and unsticking of lips, as if tasting something. Doña Catalina and Don Modesto were praying, and the housekeeper and niece would have done the same if their copious weeping would have allowed it. Many friends arrived, and at dawn, the sick man retaining his consciousness, although troubled, was given Extreme Unction. Afterward, he uttered incoherent thoughts, without recognizing anyone; but when it was already clear day, as if the sunlight was stimulating the last spark of thought that was being extinguished, he looked at and recognized the Countess, and slowly stretching out his arm until he touched the sleeve of her dress with his trembling hand, he said to her in a subdued voice: “Do not forget me in your prayers, my good and holy friend. God will have mercy on me, the most useless soldier of militant Christianity.” I did nothing of great benefit: entering, going out, greeting, vain advice… chatter, etiquette, good living, smiles… pale kindness… Suffering? nothing… Sacrifice? none… Labor? few. Ah, my lady and sister, of all the great and great things you will accomplish in the mystical life you are undertaking, ask the Lord to apply some part of me to you, for the good faith with which I served your ideas, pretending to inspire them! I have inspired nothing, nothing great… All very small, all vulgar… I was not good, I was not a saint: I was… pleasant… alas! pleasant. Let my simplicity help me now, my Redeemer, this pain of not having known how to imitate you, of not having been like you, simple, loving, meek, of not having known how to cultivate with my own good the good of others, the good of others! The only thing that should rejoice a great soul; the pain of not having died for all vanity, and lived only to be kindled by your love, and to communicate this fire to my fellow men. This flare of eloquence was the last, and preceded the calm and slow extinction of life, without suffering. Various clauses fluctuated on his lips, like bubbles: an invocation to the Virgin, and the idea, the tenacious idea that did not want to let go of him until the very threshold of eternity, which perhaps would follow him beyond, becoming eternal as well: “I am nothing, I have done nothing… Useless life, the drawing-room saint, the sympathetic cleric… Oh, what pain, the sympathetic, the farce!” Nothing great… No love, no sacrifice, no annulment… Buckles, smallness, selfishness… He taught me that one… that one, yes… Getting very close to her face, the good Díaz could perceive these expressions… Life faded away so gently that the sorrowful bystanders could not determine the precise moment when the virtuous Don Manuel Flórez gave his soul to the Lord; but that tiny portion of time, point of escape towards the mysterious eternity, was hidden within the fifteen minutes that preceded nine in the morning. PART FOUR Chapter 25. José Antonio de Urrea could not bear his helplessness, who, from the moment of the disappearance of the Countess of Halma, snatched from his presence in a wagon, and not by fire, lived submerged in a sea of ​​sadness, with no other entertainment than to measure with languid eyes the extent of the courtly solitude that surrounded him. Madrid, with all its The bustle and the thousand charms of social life had become for him a steppe, in whose aridity no flower, good or evil, could be picked for solace. He spent the day lying on a sofa, brooding over his bitter boredom with reading, work, and meditation itself. At night, he would rush out of the house, seeking relief from his melancholy in a restless wandering through the streets and squares. He never again set foot, day or night, in the homes of his relatives, toward whom he felt a detachment bordering on horror. His close friends of yesteryear, companions in disorder, had become so unpleasant to him that he fled from them as if they were cholera. Of friendships of the other sex, needless to say: they were more than unpleasant, they were odious to him. Nevertheless, one night his boredom grew so profound, and his desire to find something to relax his soul so keen, that he allowed himself to be tempted by the demon of his memories. For a moment, he might have believed that rekindling past friendships would console him; but he only reached the threshold of vice, and he recoiled with a start. The temptations only stirred his imagination, but without being able to overcome the strength of his will. Another extremely singular aspect of his state of mind was that everyone he knew had transformed his social judgment as well as his affections. Cousin Feramor was nothing more than a figurehead, a secondary intelligence, petrified in the formulas of positivism and varnished with English courtesy; Consuelo and María Ignacia were two shams, in whom one could find the most vulgar gossip, as soon as one scratched the thin aristocratic crust that covered them; women without faith, without moral warmth, ignorant of all that was grave and serious, instructed only in frivolities that would lead them to disorder, to vice itself, if they were not bound by social fear and the positions of their respective husbands; the Marchioness of San Salomó, a total coquettish woman , wanting to play major roles with a moderate fortune, posing as a superior woman because she slung phrases in French novels, and had in her circle half a dozen gentlemen, both politicians and writers, who possessed a certain grace to speak ill of their neighbors; Zárate, a tiresome scholar who collected names of foreign authors and titles of scientific works, like children collect stamps or boxes of matches; Jacinto Villalonga, a corrupt politician, one of those who poisons everything they touch and turns the Administration into a picnic for whites and blacks; Severiano Rodríguez, another of those, poorly clothed in hypocritical dignity; General Morla, a Diogenes whose barrel was the casino; the Marquis of Casa Muñoz, a goose worthy of living in the ponds of the Retiro Park; and in this way, all those who had once moved him to envy or esteem were degraded in his eyes, to the point that he, José Antonio de Urrea, looked upon with contempt and pity, now considered himself superior to them all. For him, all of humanity was condensed into a single person, the celestial Catalina de Halma, the epitome of all that is good in our nature, completely excluding all that is bad. With her absence, which the same lady imposed as the final stage of the educational process, the moral and religious figure of his teacher took on colossal proportions in the disciple’s soul , and the veneration he felt for her bordered on delirium. His insomnia was both martyrdom and consolation, because in the solitude of the night, his excited brain knew how to deceive reality, hearing Halma’s own voice and seeing the very figure of the noble lady among vague lights. “I’m going to end up completely crazy,” he said to himself one morning, and with that, he made the reckless decision that was to put an end to his solitude. He didn’t stop to think about it any longer, so as not to regret it, and in the brief space of a few hours he sold his zincography and photoengraving equipment, moved out of the house, packed a small baggage, and after settling several outstanding accounts, he went out to take reports from Aranda’s car. “I can’t go on, I can’t go on,” he said, running from street to street. I disobey; but you’ll forgive me, if you wish. And if not, I’ll face your wrath. Anything but this emptiness in which I die.” Aranda’s carriage had already left when he arrived at the office, and not wanting to wait twenty-four more hours to leave Madrid, which had become his Purgatory, he booked a ticket for a carriage that was leaving for Torrelaguna at dawn. Impatient to leave, the night seemed very long. An hour before departure, he was already at the office, afraid that the carriage would get away from him. What he did was delay the departure for half an hour, but finally, thank God, the man found himself at the front, next to the foreman, and the houses of Madrid were left behind, oh joy! and behind were the Lozoya warehouses, and the booths of the Tax Excise guards in Cuatro Caminos and Tetuán; And then it was all countryside, the steppe north of Madrid, in places enameled with a smiling green, the glory of the first days of April, and bordered by the grandiose panorama of the mountains. His heart swelled, the pure, sunny air filled his lungs with life. Since his childhood, he hadn’t felt so happy, nor enjoyed such a happy and splendid morning. He felt like a child, singing a duet with the foreman, and the only thing that occasionally obscured the sun of his happiness was the fear that Halma would be angry at his disobedience. And truly, the Fates, or, to put it Christianly, Divine Providence, did not favor him on that journey, no doubt as punishment for his indiscipline, because before reaching Alcobendas, one of the cavalry—as the stories say, the Gallarda—made known its unwavering resolve to stop pulling the carriage, no doubt due to clashes and clashes with the foreman. And not even the furious arguments he used in the form of beatings could convince her of the harm her obstinacy was causing the travelers. For this and other reasons, the stop in Alcobendas, which was supposed to be brief, lasted a good hour, and it later turned out that the nag that replaced it—the Gallarda—was limping terribly. Urrea expected to reach San Agustín by noon, and at two o’clock there was still a long way to go. But the worst was that about a rifle shot beyond Fuente el Fresno, one of the wheels made a tremendous crash, so that it would sooner be smashed to splinters than make another turn . And look here, all the travelers standing, not knowing whether to stay there or return to the town they had just passed through. Urrea did not hesitate for a moment, and, ordering his suitcase to the foreman to deliver it to San Agustín, he set off resolutely for this town. At a good pace, he would arrive by nightfall, and he would not be so unfortunate as not to find a cavalry there to take him to Pedralba. He walked steadily and without feeling tired, and when he considered he had traveled more than a league, he asked a man who was going in the same direction on a donkey: “My good friend, am I very far from San Agustín? ” “About half an hour. ” “Will I find a cavalry there to take me to Pedralba? ” “To Pedralba, sir… to the madhouse? ” “To the madhouse! ” “Nothing, it’s just a figure of speech. That’s what we’ve been calling it, since that lady has been there who brought I don’t know how many lunatics to be cured. ” “Doña Catalina, Countess of Halma, whom the whole country will respect and venerate as a saint. ” “I tell you, sir, that if things improve, that’s how it is. Do you know what the talk is about in town? ” “What, man, what?” –That Lady Catalina is a queen, yes sir, a queen or empress of the foreigners from far away, and that there was a revolution whereby she was thrown from the throne, and the Holy Father sent her here as a penance. That’s what they say: I don’t know. –Nonsense. But anyway, will I be able to ride to Pedralba? –How can I tell you for sure, I can’t, sir. He’ll arrive and see. For cavalry, the priest. –Don Remigio Díaz, isn’t that it? I know him by name, and by the fame of his merit. And could the parish priest provide me with… ?
–If you have it, he has it: a nag, and to top it off, a donkey sister of “Um… And if the gentleman is tired and wants to ride a bit…” Without waiting for a reply, the kind peasant dismounted, offering his donkey to the knight. Urrea did not hesitate to accept it, more out of fatigue than to avoid snubbing such a gallant attention. Bringing his mount up to pace with its owner, José Antonio continued to ask for information about the inhabitants of Pedralba. “And this one you think is a queen would come in a magnificent carriage, escorted by footmen and servants. ” “No, sir… How ridiculous! She came in a wagon. It seems she has vowed to live a poor life until they return the kingdom they took from her.” First came the wagon with furniture, trunks of fine clothes, and things for the noble ladies to wash. They brought a mirror measuring more than a yard, and many other requisites from royal palaces. Then the wagon returned, bringing the lady, dressed in black, like the Virgin of Solitude. “And those lunatics you’re housing with you arrived earlier, I believe. ” “Yes, sir. Cecilio brought them, and they’re running around. They say one is a busybody priest, and another the first musician in the chapel of one of the stray palaces in England. One of the women is said to be a medical madman, and that she cures all flatulences with a mere look, and the other seems to be the best hand at salting pigs that the lady had in her kingdom. ” “Well,” said Urrea, stopping and dismounting the donkey. “I’ve rested now. Thank you very much, and get back on your horse. If I’m not mistaken, we’re almost there, and those houses you can see over there are the first in the town. ” “Yes, indeed. We’re here,” said the peasant, looking toward a group of people who were approaching from between some trees, on the right hand side of the main road . “Sir, sir… there’s Don Remigio, our curate’s comb… I say comb because he knows more than Merlin.” Look at him: he’s coming this way, and he’s looking at you a lot. Urrea saw a young, lively priest coming toward him, standing out from the group, with his sash slung over his shoulders, a black velvet cap, and a knobby cane. The Madrid native uncovered his hat to greet him, and the priest asked him with extraordinary liveliness if he was Don José Antonio de Urrea. “Your servant, Curé. ” “Halt! Give yourself up,” said the priest in a tone that combined humor and good manners. “Nothing, nothing, you’re coming with me to the preparations, Señor de Urrea, where I have prepared a modest bed for you to rest in, a frugal supper, and a mare to take you to Pedralba. ” “Curée, what kindness! But allow me to be amazed at this seemingly supernatural foresight.” I haven’t announced my trip… But what you don’t announce, because you’ve come here like a runaway schoolboy, others guess. I don’t understand. The Countess told me yesterday: “I’ve left a loony cousin of mine in Madrid, with strict orders not to move from there, so that he doesn’t neglect the obligations I’ve imposed on him. But I know him , and he’ll tire of it and want to come see me, under the pretext of receiving new orders. It won’t be today or tomorrow. When he lands in San Agustín, Señor Don Remigio, do me the favor of looking after him, giving him hospitality if he arrives at night, and providing him with a modest cavalry so he can come to Pedralba.” I’m enchanted, Señor Priest, said Urrea, deliriously joyful. This seems like a dream, a fairy tale… and you, the protecting genie, and I… I don’t know what I look like, the happiest of men… and at this moment, the most grateful of travelers. Chapter 26. They headed towards the rectory, escorted by those who had come with Don Remigio for a walk, and he made a point of conversation along the way, dedicating a heartfelt tribute to the memory of the saintly Don Manuel Flórez, and expressing his sorrow for how sad and lonely Uncle Modesto had been left with such a misfortune. At the door, their companions said a warm goodbye, and Don Remigio and his impromptu friend entered. “Valeriana, Valeriana!” shouted the priest from the doorway, and having A stout woman, as advanced in years as she was in flesh, appeared and said to him: “This is the gentleman we were expecting, or thought we saw arriving from Madrid today, tomorrow, or the day after. We’ll have an early dinner, Valeriana, for the gentleman, whatever you say, has a very poor appetite. Isn’t that true?” Urrea thanked him courteously, adding somewhat timidly that he wished to arrive in Pedralba soon… “Take it easy… and convince yourself that you’re being held captive ,” the clergyman told him with that hospitable humor often employed by wealthy villagers. “Did you think I was going to release you so soon? Señor de Urrea is feeling rather uneasy. Look: it’s already nighttime, and we have no moon; the road from here to Pedralba is very bad for traveling on foot, and it can’t be on horseback, because today the mayor’s boy took my horse to Torrelaguna, and he hasn’t returned yet.” So resign yourself, and tomorrow in the cool of the day you will set out, accompanied by this priest, who also has to visit the Countess. What recourse did the impatient traveler have but to conform to the will of God, represented on that occasion by the kind and lively Don Remigio? They entered a spacious, rustic, clerical room with white walls, the ancient beams of the ceiling uncovered, clean, smelling of church and hayloft, with various decorative religious objects covered in rose-colored tulle to protect them from flies. The housekeeper’s girl brought a lamp, for it was almost night, and Don Remigio had his guest sit on the long Vitoria sofa with a red calico mattress, while he himself occupied a green armchair, covered on the arms and back with crocheted stars. Standing face to face, Urrea was able to observe the physiognomy of the good little priest. He was a man of about thirty-five years of age, very thin, of medium height, with his head and hands always in motion, for he spoke with them no more than with his voice. His face featured a small, pointed, red nose, on the bridge of which the frames of his glasses sat awkwardly , leaving more space than was appropriate between them and his eyes . Sometimes he lowered his head to look over the glasses, sometimes he raised it to look through them. The smallness of his nose forced him to touch his glasses three or four times a minute, not because they would fall off, but because between his hand, nose, and glasses there was this instinctive sign of intelligence. His whole face was slightly flushed, his ears even more so, and his gaze revealed sharpness, insight, and a kind and tolerant nature. Urrea found in Don Remigio a remarkable resemblance, save for his age, to the expressive, unforgettable features of Don Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch. And in the course of the conversation, becoming more familiar, he ventured to tell him so. Don Remigio burst into laughter and replied: “Others have made the same observation. I undoubtedly resemble the illustrious poet, the great scholar and academic, honor and honor of Spanish literature . It is a sad honor for me, because the similarity of faces further reveals the intellectual dissimilarity between men of such outstanding merit and this very modest personality. ” “Oh! Don’t be shy, my friend,” Urrea said, meeting that slightly affected modesty. “We already know, we already know what you are worth…” “For God’s sake, Señor de Urrea!… And even if a man were worth something, more for his studies than for his natural gifts, what good is it to him in this corner of the world, in this exile?” With the alacrity of a bird jumping from one stick to another in the confines of its cage, Don Remigio jumped from one topic to another in the conversation. “But don’t you know, Señor de Urrea?” he said, rising from the armchair to sit on the sofa. “Don’t you know who I’ve had as my guest for the past two days? What a surprise I’m going to give you! Can’t you guess? ” “No, sir. ” “Why, Father Nazarín himself.” Urrea jumped from his seat, and so did Don Remigio, who, upon rising, silenced his guest, saying in a low voice: “Let’s see him and observe him without him knowing. Come with me.” I led him down a winding corridor, at the end of which was a small, sturdy paneled door. The light from the kitchen, which in one of the alcoves on the left announced itself with pungent odors, allowed them to easily navigate that part of the house, which, due to its irregularity, was a model of villanian architecture. Before reaching the door, which Urrea found mysterious from the outset, Don Remigio whispered some explanations in his guest’s ear. “In this room, which my predecessor used for breeding pigeons, I have installed my very modest library. Here I have my man.” Through this peephole in the table—look carefully, like the flight of a duro—you can see him… The faint ray of light coming through the peephole guided José Antonio, who, straining his eyes, saw a room whose dimensions he couldn’t fully appreciate, and in the center of it, next to a table, sitting opposite the door , a man… The light from a two-burner oil lamp, one of those now archaeological, illuminated his face, which the observer didn’t immediately recognize. It was a clergyman, dressed exactly like Don Remigio, with a velvet cap and cassock. He was leafing through a thick book, and after focusing his attention and his index finger on a page, he was writing rapidly on sheets of paper placed on top of the same book. “But it’s not…” the stranger murmured, turning his face away from the peephole. The priest told him to look carefully, and indeed, after a long look, José Antonio recognized and replaced the clergyman from the library as Father Nazarín himself. Taking him by the arm, Don Remigio led his guest back to the parlor so they could speak freely, and before reaching it he said: “Of course, it took you a while to recognize him, because you imagined him as you had known him in Madrid, with a beard and the garb of a secular beggar. That’s how Doña Catalina brought him here. Frankly, I was extremely curious to see this man, because I know the book about his unprecedented Christian adventures that’s out there. I’ve also read a thousand pieces of information about the trial in the newspapers, and so, as soon as I heard that he had arrived, I went to Pedralba with my friend Láinez, the town doctor.” Imagine our astonishment, Señor de Urrea, when we spoke to him and noticed in him clear discernment, astonishing serenity, and an evangelical meekness, the likes of which I believe there is no other example! Of course, despite these signs, madness exists. There’s something in water when it’s blessed, and there’s a reason the doctors and the Court have declared him irresponsible for the extravagances recorded in the case. But despite everything, Señor de Urrea, this man has come to interest me; I’ve grown fond of him in the few days we’ve been in contact, and… what do I know, I don’t consider him a lost cause, far from it. The angelic piety of the Countess and our modest cooperation will triumph over the malice that has invisibly infiltrated this good gentleman’s mind, and we will return him safe and sound to the Church Militant, in which, whether I’m mistaken, or he may be an element, yes sir, an element of the utmost value. –But this transformation… –That’s what I’m getting at. With a thousand tricks, during my first visits to Pedralba, I tried to awaken his pride, and I couldn’t succeed, no sir. We all thought he’d complain about those who, in one way or another, have brought him ill fortune these past few months. Nothing of the sort. He hasn’t uttered the slightest recrimination against the curia, the press, or anyone else, nor does he consider what has been done to him cruel or unjust . This is very strange, isn’t it? Láinez told me: “It’s very strange that we don’t observe in him even the slightest glimmer of persecutory delirium, which is one of the primary symptoms…” If delirium is loving without any restraint, and praising and extolling as favors the insults he has received, therein lies the beginning of cerebral disorganization. I tell you, this case has us astonished. –Really… –Well, you see. Just to be more specific, I say to him: “Father Nazarín, it will be a great hardship for you not to be able to go out on the roads barefoot and in rags now.” Answer: “For me, Señor Don Remigio, any state imposed on me by someone who should and can do so is not a hardship. I begged for alms when I believed I should live like the most wretched and needy. God, in my heart, commanded me to do so, and no human law prohibited it. But at the same time as poverty, or perhaps before, God commanded me to obey. I wandered free. Human law blocked my path and ordered me to follow it. I obeyed. I submitted without question to everything they wanted to do to me. I answered truthfully to everything they asked me. I was in agreement with the sentence that would be pronounced against me, whatever it might be. They determined that I am sick.” They gave me the choice, for my rest, between an asylum and the patriarchal, country dwelling of the Countess of Halma, and I preferred this. Here I am, today as yesterday, disposed to the utmost obedience. Doña Catalina, and you, Father, by delegation of ecclesiastical law, which now replaces civil law in my punishment, amendment, or cure, for there will be everything in it, are the masters of my actions and my life. I am not free, nor do I want to be, if those who know more than me decide that I should not be given freedom. ” —It’s strange, yes…——Well, you see. I say: “Friend Nazarín, if the Countess consents, will you decide to come with me for a few days to my modest house in San Agustín?” Answer: “I don’t decide anything. I go wherever they take me.” —Like the parrot in the story. —Exactly. With the lady’s permission, I brought you here, and on the way it occurred to me to test you in theology. A marvel, Señor de Urrea. You express yourself with simplicity, without doctoral or literary emphasis, and the man is so strong that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch you in any logical fallacy or heretical slip. In your opinions, there isn’t the slightest hint of insanity, Señor de Urrea, from which I deduce, and in this my friend Láinez agrees with me, that madness, if it exists, does not lie in that part of the cerebral spaces that serves as a vehicle for ideas, but in that other part through which all this torrent of actions, of conduct, passes, Señor de Urrea. Is that clear? “Yes. But personal transformation… ” “That’s what I’m getting at.” The housekeeper announced that dinner was ready. “Let’s go.” Well, when he arrived here, I said to him: “If it’s true that I command and you obey, friend Nazarín, go shave right now and dress in my clothes.” Well, quite agreeable. I shaved him myself. It was a laugh… And my modest clothes and shoes, Señor de Urrea, fit you like they were made to measure. As I put them on him, I said to him: “How you must miss the subjection of these civilized clothes, your body already accustomed to its wild, and biblical, character, according to the journalists!” What a biblical thing to call it…! What do you think he answered me? “Priest,” the housekeeper said, “the dinner is getting cold.” He would answer that the habit does not make the monk. “Let’s go right away…” And that he has never paid attention to the differences between these and other garments. He said more… Señor de Urrea, let us go to my modest dining room… Exact words: “The dress you call wild, Señor Don Remigio, I did not consider indecorous in my nomadic life among very poor people. But this does not mean that I systematically prefer it to all other styles and ways of covering the body, because that would be affectation, and affectation, thank God, has no place in me. ”
–He told us the same thing one day at the Hospital, when the journalists and many other people who went to see him, allowed ourselves to question him… Exact words: “Look at me as much as you want, my lords; but no matter how much you look, you will never see affectation.” Chapter 27. Nazarín, having been advised for dinner, took his seat to the left of the good Don Remigio, after greeting Urrea with the usual formulas Courteous, without extremes of civility, without joy or sorrow at seeing him. It seemed that his presence didn’t cause him the slightest surprise, either because nothing surprised him, or because he had anticipated the visit of his protégé to his protectress. The priest blessed the supper, and the three of them began with the garlic soups, which were strongly seasoned, rich, spicy, and thick. Nazarín spoke only to answer questions , and Don Remigio put all the possible affability into his easy speech. The soups preceded two substantial dishes, one poultry , the other mutton, all well laden with fragrant spices, succulent, well-made. The wine tasted horribly of fish. The smell of burnt straw, diffused throughout the house, seemed consubstantial with that of the food, and Urrea didn’t dislike smelling and chewing it. It wasn’t just the house; The town and the entire country gave off that scent, which the stranger believed he already carried within him. “So that our friend Don Nazario would not be idle,” Don Remigio said, among other things, “I suggested that he make me an extract from the most wise book by the master Fray Hernando de Zárate, _Discursos de la paciencia Cristiana_. The work consists of eight books, each of which contains at least a dozen discourses, all on the same subject. You must read them from cover to cover, noting the particular meaning and explanations of each one on separate sheets of paper. You have been so diligent about him, Señor de Urrea, that in three days he has read some forty discourses, and you already have him at _Book Four_, which deals with… ” “‘On the reasons we have to be patient and console ourselves in our hardships,'” Nazarín said, without giving importance to his task. “It’s an easy task. We’ll soon finish.” “And it seems to me,” Urrea noted ironically, “that it must be extremely entertaining. ” “There’s nothing else to do but practice, by reading and writing,” the man from La Mancha indicated, “the same virtue to which Maestro Zárate dedicates his great work. ” “But you don’t eat anything, friend Nazarín,” Don Remigio suddenly observed. “Always the same. Well, Láinez says you need to eat… hard, and focus on meat, mainly. ” “Priest,” Don Nazario replied timidly, “I eat as much as I can; I don’t know how to go beyond what my nature requires to sustain me.” Since Urrea wanted to steer the conversation to the topic most to his liking, which was his cousin and everything related to her, he questioned the two priests, reveling in anticipation of the praise he hoped to hear from the illustrious lady. “I say, with full conscience,” affirmed the parish priest of San Agustín, ” that I do not believe there exists in the world a person of purer virtue, and of more elevated ideas. If on the one hand I see in her an image of the great Emperor Charles V of Germany and I of Spain, who after reigning over the people, having tasted to satiety all human greatness, shut himself away in a humble monastery to consecrate the rest of his life to God, on the other hand, I find the Countess of Halma greater than that sovereign, for if the goods she renounces are not of such value, the poverty and humility she accepts are more meritorious. The Countess is young, and she dedicates the best years of her life to charity and prayer .” “And I see another great difference, in favor of our Lady Catalina,” he added in a pedantic tone, “and that is that the Monarch, master of half the world, brought to the solitude of Yuste, according to the chronicles, innumerable servants, cooks, stewardesses, squires , and footmen, and a great supply of provisions, so that in his voluntary exile he would not lack anything that flatters the taste of a magnate in the court life. For this lady, who has come to Pedralba in a wagon, has brought nothing but the indispensable objects pertaining to the cleanliness and tidiness of a noble lady, who even in penitence desires to be clean, and her retinue is a court of beggars, and wretched or sick people, to whose care she intends to dedicate herself. A unique example, gentlemen, an unheard-of example, and one that is the greatest marvel of these times.” of positivism, of these times of selfishness, of these times of materialism! “Then,” said Urrea with heartfelt joy, “you agree with me that my cousin is a human exception, a being in whom the characteristics of divine inspiration are revealed. ” “Yes, sir, we agree. ” “And the good pilgrim priest, what does he say? ” “What shall I say?” Don Nazario answered modestly, not wanting to express anything that would be superior to what his generous companion had said. “What shall I say after the most eloquent panegyric the priest has just delivered? My word is clumsy. Allow me to say only: Blessed be God eternally, the great, holy Countess of Halma! ” “Amen,” said Don Remigio, narrowing his eyes and caressing his glass of wine. Urrea was close to tears. “And decisive,” added the priest, “is the Countess’s decision to spend the rest of her days in Pedralba. What a blessing for these forgotten and poor places! She told me the other day that she will carve her grave in Pedralba, and that of her companions who will not abandon her. Ah! I read in that great soul the love of God in the most ardent and pure degree, the love of Nature, the love of one’s neighbor, and I see in the lady’s life plan an admirable synthesis of these three loves. ” “My cousin has suffered greatly,” said Urrea, whose enthusiasm brought a lump to his throat, “she has endured horrific humiliations and bitterness. She lost her husband, who was her great love, the only consolation in her life. In Madrid, as in the East, life held for her nothing but thorns, sadness, and pain. Her family, her brothers, were unable to soothe the wounds of her soul.” They were pushing her toward asceticism, toward exile and solitude. My cousin began by viewing social life with suspicion, and ended by detesting it. The whole array of artifices that make up civilization is odious to her. The earth is empty to her: she wants heaven. “And she will have it,” said Don Remigio with as much certainty as if he felt himself the landlord and administrator of infinite spaces. “She will have heaven. For whom is heaven more than for those chosen beings, for those robust wills, for souls who know how to look only to the good? As far as I can understand, friend Urrea, the Countess has severed all ties with the world, that is, with the class to which she belongs. And what’s more: all worldly affection has died within her, so that she can fully occupy the space of love with the fervent adoration of divine things.” “That is undoubtedly so,” said Urrea, “and her association with the poor, whom she will treat as equals, elevating them a little and lowering herself a little, will result in a happy, peaceful, and joyful community. Does not good Nazarín think the same? ” “I think, Señor Don José Antonio, that being the last of those protected, or of those sheltered, the last of the children, if I may say so, of the Countess of Halma, constitutes the greatest glory to which a human being can aspire, especially if he is a sad one, a lonely one, a shipwrecked one of the storms of the world.” Urrea was so happy that when dinner was over he embraced them both . They all went to bed because they had to get up early. The chronicles say that the host could not sleep well, first, because the clean sheets, also impregnated with the smell of straw, were somewhat itchy; Second, because his ideas had become insubordinate that night, and his admiration for his cousin’s asceticism had lit flames in his brain. More than a woman, Halma was a goddess, a feminine angel, and in thinking this, his fervent admirer didn’t think angels lacked sex: she was the holy, glorious, and paradisiacal feminine. Among these imaginings, the austere figure of Nazarín, resembling a portrait by El Greco, and the lively face of Don Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, physically transmuted into Don Remigio Díaz de la Robla, parish priest of San Agustín, would occasionally appear. The priest himself called him at dawn, knocking on the door, and shouting from outside: “Get up, friend, we have to say mass and have breakfast before leaving.” The guest got up quickly, and by the time he reached the church, Don Remigio had already gone to the altar. Nazarín listened to the mass on his knees in the presbytery. Half an hour later, they were all in the rectory, having breakfast of hot chocolate, biscuits, and bread made with the freshest cottage cheese from the Sierra. Several friends came to see them off, among them the doctor Don Alberto Láinez and the mayor, Don Dámaso Moreno. “You, Señor de Urrea, who are undoubtedly a good rider,” suggested Don Remigio with extraordinary mobility in his hands, nose, eyes, and glasses, ” will ride on Láinez’s horse, a beast of abundant blood, although safe for those who know how to handle it.” I’m riding my nag, which has a gait like an angel’s, and friend Nazarín—well, we’re carrying him, yes sir, we’re carrying him— will be pressing on the back of my modest donkey… a mount worthy of an archbishop… So, gentlemen, mount up. Clear the door. Valeriana, we’ll be here for dinner. The caravan set off, bid farewell with cordial greetings by the crowd gathered in the plaza. Urrea and the priest went in front, followed by Nazarín on his dapple-grey, well-saddled and without stirrups. Both clerics were dressed astride, the same as in the town: cassocks, velvet caps, and a gaiter. The Madrid native steered his horse with great skill. Don Remigio constantly urged his nag to exercise the utmost caution and hoof control on the uneven and rough road they set out on, west of San Agustín. Don Nazario, confident in his donkey’s leisurely gait, paid more attention to admiring the Sierra landscape than to conversing with the other riders, to whom he seemed like a squire or a squire. Don Remigio spoke of so many different things that it’s impossible to remember them all. He made his companion observe the beauties of nature, the ruin of the hamlets, the neglected cultivation of the land; he told stories of ruins and old mansions; he lamented the lack of roads; he pointed out the site where an irrigation canal had been dug, which would never be opened. These and other comments about the journey culminated in complaints about his bad luck, having had to begin his career in such a destitute region and such a wretched town. “I’m content, you see… May the Lord grant me health so I can serve you; the rest doesn’t matter. You know, when I came to this parish of San Agustín, they told me it would be for three months, and it’s been three years now. They promised to move me to Buitrago, or Colmenar Viejo, and that’s all I’ve done now. It’s not that I’m ambitious; but, frankly, it’s a graduate in both fields; one loves study, and, truth be told, the dark and shabby life of these towns doesn’t encourage one’s dealings with books. My uncle, who is better than good bread, encourages me, assures me that he won’t neglect to recommend me, and that at the first opportunity I’ll move to a parish in Madrid— ah! your wish and mine. And don’t talk to me about other towns. My beloved Madrid, where I grew up, where I tasted the bread of study, and acquired my modest enlightenment! I don’t aspire to have the independence there of a Don Manuel Flórez; I know I have to work hard.” I do not want my limited intelligence to be a barren field, like these fallow fields you see here, Señor de Urrea; I must cultivate it and reap some fruit from it, to offer to God, who has given it to me… I would not complain if I did not see certain inequalities. Friends and companions of mine, whom I should not look upon, because I should not, well!, as superiors in religious or secular knowledge, occupy positions in cathedrals or in the parishes of Madrid… My uncle tells me: “Don’t worry, son, and trust in the favor of God and the Blessed Virgin, who will reward your patience and conformity with a well-deserved promotion…” Of course I conform, Señor de Urrea, and I even praise the Lord because He does not give me any greater evils. I have, thank God, a temper with great endurance for misfortunes, injustices , and disappointments. I say: I’ll get the good one, right? I’ll get the good one. Good. The stranger tried to refresh his hopes, assuring him that his interlocutor’s merits, both moral and intellectual, were obvious, and could not be unknown to those in Madrid who manage this whole ecclesiastical personnel racket. And in saying this, he pointed out the difference between the tastes and aspirations of the two, for while Don Remigio was attracted to the so-called centers of civilization, for him, José Antonio de Urrea, such centers had sat in the pit of his stomach, and his only desire was to lose sight of them. It is true that there was no parity between the circumstances of the two: Don Remigio was a pure and virtuous man, his intelligence full of freshness, and at thirty-five he had barely deflowered life, while Urrea, at the same age, considered himself old, and would even consider himself dead, if from the ashes of his soul he did not feel another new soul springing forth. With these and other conversations, the arid road continued , offering very few attractions for the traveler. The terrain was increasingly rugged, like the foothills of the Sierra, and displayed the severe vegetation of low oaks, heather, and thyme. Suddenly, Don Remigio pointed out a hamlet nestled against some hills covered in vegetation and said to his companion: “There you have Pedralba.” Urrea found the place charming and the landscape splendid, looking more at its interior than at the landscape itself. As they drew closer, they saw farmland next to the houses, of which there were three, dilapidated and large. They set their horses on spur, and when they were about half a kilometer away, Nazarín began to shout: “Look at them, look at them: there they are… they’ve seen us!” “Who, man? ” “The Countess and Beatriz.” “Where?… What eyesight this man has.” –Over there… over there… Do you see that field of poppies all red, all red? And beyond, don’t you see some elms? Well, they’re going that way… I mean, they’re coming, because they’re coming out to meet us. –We can’t see anything; but as you say so… –And now they’re waving their handkerchiefs at us… Look, look. Chapter 28. Now nearing the houses, they saw the two women advancing through a field of barley. Both of them were looking smilingly, almost mockingly, at the three gentlemen. When Urrea, dismounting before his cousin, begged her forgiveness, almost on his knees, for his disobedience, Doña Catalina was not very severe with him, no doubt so as not to embarrass him in front of the two priests and other people gathered there. –If there has been a fault, Countess, –said Don Remigio gallantly, –I will intercede for the guilty party and request your forgiveness. “The rogue knows what godfathers he deserves,” Halma replied, smiling. And after the riders had handed the horses to Cecilio, they all gathered around, heading for the castle, which was what the manor house was called in the region, although all that remained of the castle was the strength of its walls and a truncated tower, on the top of which, poorly covered with tiles, was a dovecote. Of the Artales coat of arms, barely any trace remained on the main balcony of the so-called castle. The stone was so frost-covered that only a dragon’s claw and a fragment of the legend, which read “Semper,” could be seen . The rough stonework of the corners and the voussoirs was better preserved , and the plastered brick of the walls was not in bad condition; but all the ironwork, balconies and railings, could not bear any more rust, so its owner had arranged for it to be replaced while a good master from Colmenar prepared to repair the entire structure, inside and out. In front of the house, within the walled enclosure that preceded the entrance, the pile of beaten lime and timbers for scaffolding and carpentry could already be seen. Next to the tower rose the bare walls that tradition designated as the ruins of a Cistercian monastery, and which, rather than a destroyed building, resembled a second half-finished house. Respecting the foundations and utilizing the remaining materials, the Countess planned to build her chapel and pantheon there with the greatest economy. Possible. A stone’s throw from the castle house were the stables, and further down, a third building, inhabited by those who had rented the property until the previous year. Recently, Pedralba was under the care of the administrator of the Feramor properties in Buitrago, Don Pascual Díez Amador, who gave possession of the castle, houses , and lands to Lady Catalina on the day of her arrival in the wagon, which was March 22, 1890. The Pedralba estate was very extensive; but only the land near the house was cultivated, a neglected, shallow, and primitive task that yielded little. The rest was woodland, well populated with holm oaks, junipers, and a few chestnut trees in the higher parts. The land closest to the plain was cut down several times, and one of the tenants had proposed to the Marquis years before that it be cleared. But the owner’s expenditure frightened the owner , and it remained in such a state: neither forest nor farmland, in places an uneven meadow, crisscrossed with vicious broom bushes. Two extremely rich springs supplied Pedralba with crystal-clear drinking water: one between the castle house and the stables; the second, a first-class spring, in a valley at the edge of the mountain. There were few shade trees. Those planted by the last tenant were lost through carelessness. There were only three fruit trees on such a vast estate: an immense mulberry tree behind the tower, which annually bore the sweetest blackberries, and two apricot orchards on the path that connected the two houses. The strawberry trees scattered in different places were not counted, due to their wild luxuriance and the insipidity of the fruit, in the realm of fruit trees. Such was Pedralba, a first-rate estate in the opinion of Don Pascual Díez Amador, provided twenty or thirty thousand duros were thrown at it. These were not Catalina’s plans, who only proposed to maintain the property as she found it, with the improvements that her residence demanded, and to procure there the retired and humble life she longed for, without giving in to the temptation of the agricultural business, nor thinking of increases in wealth that would have contradicted her ideas and purposes of a very modest existence. What remained of her legitimate share, she planned to keep as income, reserving two- thirds for the support of herself and house, and of the family of unfortunates she had gathered around her; the other third she dedicated to essential repairs, to the construction of the chapel and burials, to planting a garden, and, if there was still margin, to improving the estate. Let’s now enter the castle and see its finest room, the kitchen, on the ground floor at the rear of the building, on the north side. Everything in that room was magnificent: the hearth, cupboards, oven, a very solid concrete floor, a high ceiling, and a well -placed hood to allow the smoke to escape quickly. The other lower rooms were of little value; they were narrow, and their windows, which looked more like loopholes, gave them limited light. On the other hand, those on the upper floor had plenty of it. There were six or seven rooms in it, which, if properly arranged, could have accommodated many people. On this floor, on the east side, lived the Countess and Beatriz, in separate and adjacent apartments; on the west side, lived the Ladislao Aquilina couple with their children, and there were still some empty rooms between these and the other apartments . In the tower, below the dovecote, was Nazarín’s room , connected to the castle by a narrow passageway. The furniture was almost all from the last century, or from the time of Ferdinand VII, mixed with modern straw chairs, the most ordinary, brought from Colmenar Viejo. The chests of drawers and consoles, the mahogany chairs with lyre backs, the Greek-style canopy beds, the ebony-framed slats with pastoral motifs, offered a sepulchral, ​​pitiful appearance, like unearthed objects, from which the humus of the grave had been cleaned with soap and a scouring pad. Doña Catalina and Beatriz dressed exactly the same, with the clothes of The first, which had become common: a black merino skirt, heavy footwear, a black-and-white striped calico blouse, and a rhetorician’s apron. Upon adopting a life of poverty, the Countess did not feel she should renounce her habits of neatness; she said that external cleanliness, due to education and custom, affected the soul, and that bodily filth was as ugly a sin as that of the conscience. She did not hesitate, therefore, to apply these ideas to reality, maintaining in her room and person the same meticulous cleanliness of her best days at court. “Cleanliness,” she said, “is to the purity of the soul what blushing is to shame.” She understood asceticism in no other way. And since nothing has the power of a good example, Beatriz, who had come to reign in the Countess’s intimacy and affection, through a happy concordance of sentiments, quickly assimilated the tidiness of her friend and mistress, and imitated her without realizing it. There is much to be said about the admirable sympathy, or compatibility, that had managed to erase the differences of class and education between those two characters: the phenomenon began with an irresistible affection the first time they met, when Doña Catalina, through her maid Prudencia, went to help the piano tuner in his poor home. While the trial of Nazarín and his consorts lasted , Beatriz lived with her cousin Aquilina Rubio, wife of the wretched Don Ladislao, sharing the poverty, if not the well-being, that neither enjoyed. Halma brought bread, life, and health to the sad dwelling on San Blas Street, and, attracted by that spectacle of poverty and resignation, she added to her material relief the consolation of her visits. She spoke at length with Beatriz, admiring how much this humble woman knew about spiritual matters and our relationship with the invisible and eternal. She also admired her unaffected piety, the firmness of her ideas, and the simple eloquence with which she expressed them. In all these respects, the Countess felt inferior, and she now regarded her as a close friend. She learned many good things from her, while teaching her others of a social rather than a religious nature. With this change, they came to find themselves perfect for each other, and the two as one, a rare phenomenon in these times, which offer few examples of such a radical rapprochement between two people of opposite standing. But we have much to see of this in the times now beginning, because the so-called classes rapidly decompose, and humanity always exists, drawing from decomposition new and vigorous lives. It is now understood that from the intimacy between Beatriz and Halma arose the keen interest in Nazarín, and her purpose of taking him with her, to attempt his cure, and return him healthy and useful to the ecclesiastical power. A somewhat accidental discrepancy existed between the lady and the woman of the people: while the Countess, without being certain that Nazarín was insane, harbored her doubts on a point so difficult to clarify, the other maintained with sincere conscience and faith the complete regularity of her master’s cerebral functions. Settled in Pedralba, the harmony between them became perfect. Beatriz delicately observed the social distance, which the other, with the same or more subtle delicacy, tried to shorten. Both of them worked together from the first day, arranging and cleaning the dilapidated castle, or restoring the furniture. Beatriz no longer had any use reserving the hardest tasks for herself, because the other was invading her territory, and equality gradually triumphed, by the law of both hearts, which, without realizing it, were tending towards the same thing. Aquilina had not yet been elevated to the rank of community with her cousin Beatriz. She was an excellent woman, but lacked the intuition to understand the ideas of her benefactor. She tenaciously maintained her inferior position, content that her husband and children had something to eat. The first few days she was put in charge of the kitchen, a job very appropriate to her abilities, and the other two were able to devote themselves to neglected scrubbing old furniture, mending mattresses, and other cumbersome tasks. Then they alternated between different jobs, and while the Nazarite cooked, Halma and Aquilina washed clothes in the nearby spring. The day before Urrea arrived with Don Remigio and Nazarín, Aquilina acted as cook, and the Countess and Beatriz washed in the mountain spring, the two sharing the load equally on the way there and back. When Beatriz insisted on carrying it alone, claiming to be stronger than her companion, Catalina said to her: “You are mistaken if you think you have more muscular power than me. I seem weak, but I am not, Beatriz, and this life must strengthen me further. And above all, do not deprive me of this taste for equality. It has been my life’s dream since I lost my husband, and I felt equal to all the unfortunate people in the world.” Please don’t call me Countess, or use that stupidly vain word again in my presence. I threw the crown onto the cobblestones of Madrid when I left in the wagon… The street sweepers’ brooms won’t find it, because it was thrown in my mind, for I had no other form; but there it remains. Call me Catalina, as my brothers call me, or Halma, like my cousin. And I’m not telling you to use me informally, because that would seem affected, and you know the master forbids it. But everything will come in time. Chapter 29. The arrival of the three friends should not disrupt the progress of domestic affairs in the castle, because, as the Countess clearly stated, if they didn’t help, it wasn’t right for them to hinder. “Cousin, I suppose you’d like to see this large estate, the Pedralba estate , where my friends and I live a secluded and modest life, without pretensions to asceticism.” You too, Señor Don Remigio, need to learn about the land I’m dedicating to my work. Go for a little walk, guided by the very kind Nazarín, who already knows it inside and out, while we prepare your meal. Don’t expect us to break away from our meager diet. There aren’t, nor can there be, lavish feasts here, because even if I wanted to provide them, there wouldn’t be anything to do with. You’ll eat our most frugal daily meal, with the tiny bit of excess that hospitality demands. So, take a look, take a look at my island, and bring back the sauce that we can’t make for you—bon appétit. The three of them went for a walk, led by Don Nazario, who made them climb the mountain to see the robust chestnut trees that crowned it, to the ravine to sample the water from the rich spring, and after jumping and stretching over the hills and twists and turns, they returned home at twelve, the invariable time for dinner. In a room near the kitchen, they set the table, which was of patriarchal sturdiness, made of blackened chestnut and with twisted ironwork on its frame. There were two chairs of the same caste and age; the others varied between the Ferdinand VII style, made of mahogany, and the shape and material called Vitoria. But the greatest and most surprising variety was in the tableware and table linens, for alongside glasses of the finest crystal, one saw others of the most ordinary glass, fine napkins, coarse napkins, rich porcelain plates, and others of rough ceramic. “Forgive the diversity of the china,” Doña Catalina told them. “In my dining room, there still reigns a stupendous confusion of classes, as in revolutionary times. But this confusion does not cause me to forget the categories of the diners. For the two priests, the finest, which they themselves will choose; for you, José Antonio, and Don Ladislao, the common clay.” “Well, I propose,” said Don Remigio with a good sense of humor, “that we not establish humiliating differences, and that we share, as brothers, as children of God, the good and the bad. Forgive that mud, Lord of Urrea.” The strangest thing about that unusual meal was that the women did not sit at the table. All three of them, functioning with equal skill and joy, served the lords. Then they ate in the kitchen. This was a medieval custom, which Halma never altered out of consideration. some. They were given a very substantial soup made with various herbs , finely chopped potatoes, and bits of chorizo; then a well-seasoned mutton dish, plenty of wine, dessert of Sierra cottage cheese, milk with Torrelaguna biscuits, and then they were ready to live. Sober and nutritious, the meal was savored with delight by the strangers, who did not cease to praise Pedralba’s good service and the skill of the three cooks. Between the soup and the mutton, Don Pascual Díez Amador, the former administrator of the estate and a neighboring owner, unexpectedly arrived, as he owns the very extensive pastureland that borders Pedralba to the west. Two or three times a week, riding on his gray horse, he would visit the Countess to see if she could offer him anything. He was a man half country bumpkin, half gentleman, the former because of his rude speech, his collarless shirt , and his round hat; the latter because of his noble actions, his gravelly gait that made his spurs squeak. A red sash seemed to separate the country bumpkin from the gentleman, or rather, to join the two halves. He had so much affection for Doña Catalina that he arranged for two of his sworn guards to be on call day and night in the house below, so that the lady could rest in the certainty of absolute safety. Many days he would drop by on his nag at mealtime , other times at any time, when he was also eating. His round, episcopal, coarse, and unshaven face radiated a glow of patriarchal sovereignty, in accordance with his fate, no doubt because it was among the most provident and fortunate. “Hello, Remigio!… Señora Doña Catalina…, Don Nazario…, Don Ladislao, we’re all here…” The greetings lasted until after the plump country bumpkin had sat down without ceremony, preparing to eat whatever they gave him. Because, of course, there wasn’t a man with the best appetite in the entire judicial district, with the notable peculiarity that he didn’t know how to keep his drink to a minimum. “Do you know what we were talking about, my friend Don Pascual?” said the priest from San Agustín. “That this is a large estate, and it’s a shame not to work it. ” “Man, who are you telling! These Feramores people are unforgivable … What a struggle I had with the current Marquis and the other one, just to get them to throw twenty or thirty thousand durillos here! Yes, I’m saying it: it was sowing them today, to reap tomorrow, in five years or so, three or four million.” And that’s just with the cattle, because if we were to put it all to work… Jesus, pure gold! This is a land of which there is no better, not even where the footprints of the Blessed Virgin are. Don Pascual became uncomfortable when he touched on this point, finding himself obliged to smother his anger with copious libations. And as they continued talking about the same subject, he concluded by expressing a very bold idea. “If I were the Countess… I’d say what I feel, without offending, eh… well, if I were the lady, I’d leave off the chapels and pantheons, and all that nonsense about setting up a convent here like a kind of convent for observant and begging people, dedicating all my capital to… ” “Little by little,” Don Remigio replied briskly, “I’m not going through with it. The spiritual comes first. ” “You crooked fillies! And what good is the spiritual without the… without the other?” “If I were the Countess, I would persist undaunted in my grandiose plan… against the dictate of the clod-strippers. ” “And I, against the dictate of the rosary-stringers, say yes… no, I say no… yes. ” “If you don’t know what you’re talking about, my friend Don Pascual. ” “Well! Peace and harmony among Christian princes,” said Doña Catalina smiling. “Out of an excess of consideration for my guests, I allow myself the luxury of giving them a treat: coffee.” The gift being praised and celebrated by all, Amador and Don Remigio managed to find a compromise between their opposing opinions. As the coffee was served, Doña Catalina apologized for the poor and rustic nature of the food, adding that next time they would have good, homemade bread and less inequality in the dishes and tableware. While the women ate, the men went out into the courtyard, each carrying a chair, and there they chatted in two groups. Don Remigio and Amador chatted about the affairs of Colmenar Viejo, about how poorly regarded the titular priest at the head of the party was, and about the efforts the local bosses were making to remove him from there… Naturally, they would arrange for the priest from San Agustín to fill the vacancy. Elsewhere, Urrea, Don Ladislao, and Nazarín were talking, the former asking the latter if he continued to cultivate music in that retreat, to which the tuner replied that they shouldn’t speak to him about music or dance, since he was so content and joyful in his new life that he had come to loathe all his musical and goat-loving past. The
best opera wasn’t worth three cents to him anymore, and even though they assured him that he would compose one superior to all those known, he didn’t want to return to Madrid. Nazarín came to the defense of such a beautiful art and suggested that she continue to cultivate it there, as music was very compatible with country life. He added that he would be willing to advise the Countess to bring an organ so that Don Ladislao could compose country and religious toccatas and delight everyone with that art so pure and so deeply moving to the soul. With these and other conversations, the time of departure arrived, and Urrea was beside himself with anxiety, not having been able to speak alone with his cousin, nor had she been able to tell him to stay, as she had wished. The fear that she would answer with a resounding refusal to his intention of remaining in Pedralba startled him so much that he didn’t have the heart to express it. Infinite sadness fell upon his soul when Halma said to him in the tone of a teacher: “Now, José Antonio, you’re leaving where you came from, and without my permission, don’t return here, nor abandon the occupations to which you owe an honorable independence. ” With such authority did he pronounce these words that the repentant scoundrel had no breath left to contradict them and express his desire. He felt so inferior, such a child, before the one who governed his feelings and behavior, that he could neither ask her for less severity nor explain to her the extremely heavy and cruel sentence she was imposing upon him. It was true that Nazarín and the strangers were standing before them, and it was no good for the pampered schoolboy to act in front of them. There were only minutes left before their departure when the Countess said to the priest of San Agustín: “Señor Don Remigio, if you do not object, our friend Don Nazario will remain at the castle, because if the exercise of the mind is good for one’s health , physical exercise is no less so, and it is advisable that they alternate. Later, we will finish that great collection of the Discourses on Patience. ” “Whatever you decide, my lady, is law,” replied Don Remigio, already with his foot in the stirrup. If our good Nazarín prefers to stay, let him stay in good time… Let him say so. With a confused expression, and almost with tears in his eyes, the pilgrim replied: “I’m not deciding anything. ” “But what would you prefer? ” “Well, the truth is, since I greatly appreciate the priest’s hospitality, and offer to put myself at his disposal to finish those notes and anything else he might wish to send me, I would stay today, since the Countess so desires. ” “The thing is… you see, Don Remigio, since we have so much work to do at home, I need my good friends to help me. We have to be involved in everything, and everyone who lives here has to shoulder the burden of difficulties. Tomorrow I plan to test the bread oven and dismantle it if it doesn’t work out for us. So… ” “Let him stay, let him stay. You are the holy mother here, you command, and the children… to obey quietly. Señor de Urrea, won’t you mount?” Livid and trembling, Urrea couldn’t even manage to bid his cousin a graceful farewell. He was a machine, not a man. His sadness gripped his entire being like a paralysis, killing his will. He mounted his horse and left with the priest and Amador, unaware that there existed a town in the world called, by its apt name, San Agustín. Chapter 30. While Amador was in the company of the two travelers, it was a good thing. Don Remigio chatted with him from mount to mount, leaving the other to the free solitude of his thoughts. But the brave country bumpkin took his leave at the Molinos, the crossroads where the path leading to their houses in Alberca began, and now the priest and the Countess’s cousin were alone, the former unleashed upon the latter the full torrent of his loquacity. With difficulty, straining his wit, he managed to get a word out of him , and finally realizing that the reason for his sadness was none other than his imminent return to San Agustín, he tried to console him with these compassionate words: “Believe me, Señor de Urrea, in Pedralba, at this hour, you would be supremely bored. Do you know what they do there from nightfall until dinner?” Well, pray, pray, and pray like crazy, and you, a man of very problematic piety, a courtier after all, a very modern man, will flee from holy prayer like cats from cold water. If I understand my people… ah!… It’s true that in San Agustín too, as soon as we arrive, I’ll pray the rosary with Valeriana and some of the neighbors. But you can go with Láinez to the casino, and have dinner with him, and return to my modest house—to yours, I mean—at whatever time suits you. In Pedralba, with the last morsel of dinner in your mouths, everyone goes to bed like saints. What a lovely night you were going to spend there! No, sir, from Madrid, with your skull-like points and your skeptical materialist streak, you were not forged in these rustic and monastic customs. The countryside! Well, the countryside will hardly tire you! For you, to place him at night in the middle of this solitude would be the same as if I were to be dragged into a dance hall. What would I do? Run away huffing and puffing. _Suum cuique_, Señor de Urrea. So, don’t mind coming with me. At the casino, I understand there’s billiards, tresillo, and they talk politics… the same as in Madrid. The good priest was unable to console him, and the soul of the repentant scoundrel grew darker as they approached San Agustín. Once in town, he refused to go to the casino. From the living room, he heard the rosary being recited in the dining room; during dinner, he made desperate efforts to appear cheerful and retired to his bedroom, permeated with the smell of straw. His head ached. The night was interminable and stormy for him; He got up very early, accompanied his worthy friend and host to church, and while the latter was removing his priestly vestments in the sacristy, José Antonio put into practice the idea he had conceived amid painful hesitations at dawn, a resolution that, once penetrated his will, acquired the force of an instinctive act. Like a punished schoolboy running away from school, he took the little road to Pedralba on foot, and when he lost sight of the houses of San Agustín, he felt relieved of his mortal anxiety, and had the courage to face whatever might happen to him as a result of such a daring step. It was about nine o’clock when he sighted the castle, and before approaching it, he explored the surrounding lands, hesitating whether to enter by the direct road or by some shortcut. This was childish, and his hesitations, at the end of the journey, betrayed the fugitive schoolboy. Not seeing anyone in those parts, he walked a little further, and his prodigious eyesight allowed him to make out from far away, on a hillside, two figures, two people. Looking a little closer, he was able to recognize Nazarín and Don Ladislao, who were chopping wood, and he went off, skirting a good distance so that the people from the castle wouldn’t see him. Speaking with Nazarín before presenting himself to the Countess seemed a very opportune step, after which he saw, with easy optimism, a satisfactory solution. When he reached the two woodcutters, Nazarín, who had seen him coming from afar, showed no surprise. The priest was dressed in Cecilio’s clothes, wearing thick shoes, and his uncovered head reminded him more of the defendant from the Madrid hospital than of the priest from the San Agustín rectory. “Hello, Don Nazario…! Working, eh?… Here I am again.” time. Well, I’ve come… So chopping wood? “Yes, sir… I really like this outdoor exercise. The Countess is fine, thank God. It seems you came on foot. ” “A little walk. I’m not tired. ” “Well, we couldn’t fix the oven: the bricklayers have to come. The lady sent me for a walk, I mean, to take a walk, and here I am helping our friend Don Ladislao. ” “Fine, man, fine. Well, I wanted… to talk to you, dear Nazarín,” Urrea stammered, addressing the matter. “You’re a saint, say what you will, and you will help me obtain Halma’s forgiveness for having returned here without her permission. ” “The lady is very indulgent. ” “But my fault is more serious than it seems, because I came with the firm intention of staying here, and I’m not leaving Pedralba unless I’m taken out in pieces. Listen to me.” “Well, well!… Señor de Urrea,” said Nazarín , putting aside his axe to calmly listen to the confidences of the corrected parasite. “Well, you see… My cousin wants to keep me in Madrid. You already know. I was a lost soul; she, with her infinite goodness, teacher of virtue and destroyer of sin, transformed me; she made another man of me, made a child of me; she instilled in me the fear of evil, the love of good. I don’t know myself. I consider her a mother, and I obey her in whatever she commands me; but I cannot obey her in one thing… I repeat, I am a child… I cannot obey her in the tyrannical disposition of living in Madrid, because far from her I am assailed by temptations, or let’s call them memories, of my former evil life, and the correction that both she and I desire is not, cannot be, affirmed. ” “Well, well!” “Yesterday I came with the purpose of speaking to you about this matter and asking you to leave me here; But I didn’t have the courage to tell her. So many people in front of me…! Convince yourself that I’m a child, and that the old brashness of the rascal has become an invincible shyness… I promise you yes… Well, she told me to return to San Agustín, and I did; the horse carried me like a suitcase, and today, without realizing it, moved by an irresistible force, I came to Pedralba, they brought me my legs, which would sooner break into a thousand pieces than take me back to Madrid. And I ask you: Will my cousin be angry? Will she insist that I live far from her? Because you must know that I have committed a very serious fault, a fault in which my old habits seem to flourish again, my poorly corrected perversity. You see. –Let’s see, let’s see…? –Well, Halma arranged a small business for me in Madrid so that I could work, and acquire, as she says, an honorable independence. While Halma remained in Madrid, everything was fine: I worked, and I began to earn money… But she left, I mean, she came here, and goodbye man, goodbye resolutions to change, goodbye work and formality. I was overcome with a terrible blues; I didn’t live, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep a wink. One morning… I don’t know if it was a demon or an angel who tempted me. What do you think I did? Well, in a flash I sold all my gear, machines, utensils, paper; I made ends meet, liquidated, and came here. “With the intention of never returning to the Villa y Corte. ” Poor Mr. Urrea! I don’t know how the lady will take this outburst. I, without authority to judge, don’t see it as a bad thing. “Because you are a saint!” Urrea exclaimed ardently, rising from the ground to embrace him. “Because you are a saint, and the most beautiful and pure being on earth, after my cousin; And whoever says that Nazarín is crazy, hell! Whoever dares to say such an outrage in front of me…! –Hey… Señor de Urrea, calm down, because we’ll believe that you’re the crazy one…! –To conclude, Señor Nazarín of my soul, if you intercede for me, the first thing you should tell him, after telling him about my latest prank, the transfer of the treasures, is that I want you to admit me here as one of many. I want to be a poor, sheltered man, a wretched hospice-goer. What does it take to lead a religious life?… well… I will be as religious as the first. What is needed to work in these rough farm jobs? Well, José Antonio will be the most active and obedient worker she can imagine. Put me in last place; house me in the stable that isn’t thought comfortable enough for the horses; debase me all you want. What do you ask? Humility, patience, self-pity? Well, here, under your rule, feeling your maternal authority and divine protection, I will be humble, patient, and willful. What will it take to pray for long hours? I will pray whatever she and you teach me. Hard work not only doesn’t frighten me, but I desire it, and I think it will be as useful for my body as it is for my soul… And telling you all this, Señor Nazarín, as you can and know how to say it, I believe that… Ah! I forgot something very important… Saying this, he reached into his pocket and took out a small wallet. “Here’s what I got from the sale of all that material, and from the transfer of my business. Give it to her; don’t think I spent it recklessly in Madrid. ” “No, it’s better if you save it to give to her yourself. ” “Well, jokingly, jokingly, it’s a whopping nine thousand pesetas, with which we could do here some of what Don Pascual Amador was suggesting yesterday.” ” We could,” he said, with an air of naive officiousness that made Nazarín smile. “I don’t know,” he replied, sitting up from the floor. “Keep in mind that by settling here with us, her poor friends in God, her children, rather, she has severed all ties with the world beyond, to dedicate her life to the service of God and acts of sublime charity.” “Could the lady consider that you are neither sick, nor poor, nor needy, and that… ” “That they admit me as a madman,” said Urrea, interrupting him briskly. “Oh, no! As for madmen, they have me enough,” replied Don Nazario, with a humorous, almost perceptible inflection. “And as a poor man, who is more so than I? And as one in need of correction, of a moral atmosphere… For God’s sake, my dearest Nazarín, do not take away my hopes! ” “One enters here only with a heart well disposed to piety, friend Urrea, and if the lady left in the streets of Madrid, as she says, her crown and all the other signs of social pride, we must throw at the door of Pedralba our passions, our disordered desires , all that clutter that hinders the life of the spirit. Here, obedience to our mother, Doña Catalina, and unconditional obedience to her designs are absolutely necessary .” “No one will surpass me,” Urrea affirmed with emotion, “in venerating and adoring my cousin, seeing her as what God allows us to see of His presence on this miserable earth. Let her admit me, and no one, not even you, will surpass me in submission, nor in considering our teacher and mistress as a mother. If she wishes to subject me to a test of obedience, let her not speak to me, let her not look at me, let her give me her orders through you or anyone else, and I will live calmly and satisfied just feeling close to her, under her sweet despotism. Admiring her, I will learn the love of God; and her perfection, relative as it is human, will give me the feeling of absolute divine perfection. She will be my initiation into faith; through her I will be religious, I who have been an unbeliever and a dissipated person, and now I am nothing, I am nobody, a broken man, like a building whose stones are taken down to be reassembled and made new.” “Good, sir, good,” Nazarín indicated, deeply impressed by this declaration, and feeling a great sympathy for Urrea. “It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll go down and speak to the lady. And another thing: aren’t you eating? ” “What am I to eat? Until you speak to her, I’m not going down to the castle. When I return, Don Nazario, bring me a piece of bread. ” “Wait here. ” “And I’ll finish splitting those logs for you; that way I’ll learn to make the most of my time,” Urrea affirmed, taking off his jacket and Picking up the axe, he said , “As you wish. Goodbye. Ladislaus, it’s time: let’s go.” Chapter 31. With childish ardour, encouraged by the hopes that Nazarín’s mediation had inspired in him, the parasite set about the logs; but fifteen minutes into his debut as a woodcutter, he had to moderate his spirits, for he was suffocating and a copious sweat was breaking out on his forehead. Then he returned to the charge, restraining himself to the extent of his natural strength, and the more logs he split, the more vivid was the contentment that flooded his soul. Ah, if only he were allowed to immerse himself fully in that life! He would learn a thousand pleasant things, such as plowing, sowing, weeding, caring for birds and animals, becoming friends with the earth, a subject to the plant and rural kingdom. And the religious, ascetic life would not be difficult for him in such an environment, depriving himself of all pleasures and even speaking with people. He would have no friends but the animals, and, a slave to his land, he would keep his thoughts free and joyful, elevating them to God at all hours of the day. In the midst of these musings, he caught sight of Nazarín’s return, around one-thirty. When he saw him coming, with his usual calm gait, his gaze neither anticipating good news nor disappointment, his heart leaped from his chest. “The lady,” the beggar priest declared when he was within earshot , “says you should come down and eat. ” “But… ” “Nothing, you should come down and eat. She hasn’t told me anything else. ” “Are you still here chopping wood? ” “No, today is Thursday, and it’s time to explain the Doctrine to the children. Aquilina has given them the lesson. When the lady has the school organized, we’ll all take turns teaching. ” “I’d even do that, if she told me to: break children in, and drill into their heads the ABCs, ABCs, and ABCs. Who would have told me…! Anyway, I’m going.” Do you know I’m trembling? And what about you? Were you angry when you found out…? She seemed more compassionate than angry. That’s already a good sign. I’m going… And should I go right now? Right now, since they have your dinner ready. I have no appetite… And didn’t you really say I’m a hothead? Oh, what goodness, what holiness, my God! Not even reproach me! How can I not adore you the same as the God who is on the altars? Nothing, you’ll see how you forgive me, and admit me, and… My heart tells me yes. You act like Divinity, which, according to you, grants everything that is asked of it with faith and compunction. I have faith in it, dear Nazarín, and I shed tears of my soul just to feel myself under its divine protection. Let’s go there, for surely you, who are also holy, will have gallantly interceded for this unfortunate person. What’s said, what’s said: whoever dares to maintain that Nazarín is crazy will have to face José Antonio de Urrea. I won’t tolerate it… my word, no… “Be sensible, my friend. ” “Supreme piety is madness, passion for the good of others is madness, love for the helpless is madness! No, no… I maintain that he is not, and I will maintain it before the priest, the judge, the Bishop, the Pope, and the whole world. ” “Don’t get upset, and understand that in Pedralba, we don’t argue, nor are opinions held except by those who can and should. The rest of you, obey and keep quiet. How do you know if I’m crazy or sane? ” “Well, shouldn’t I know? ” “Come on, enough… Let’s go quickly, the lady is waiting for us.” They went downstairs, and when Urrea entered the house and the dining room, more dead than alive, the first thing his cousin said to him, placing the food on the table, was:
“But, son, you must be faint. Why didn’t you come down to eat with Nazarín and Don Ladislao? ” Urrea knelt at his feet, saying in a trembling voice that he would not eat until he received the pardon he humbly requested. “You’re a child,” Halma told him. “Eat, and then we’ll talk… But since you’re a big child, and with crafty ways, you have to slow down a little. Eat calmly, poor thing… Do you want iron? Well, iron. I didn’t count on you for this life, because I never believed you could endure it. The test will be carried out with all the rigor that your past demands and the bad habits you still hold on to. Eating and sighing, at times smiling, at times moved to tears, José Antonio told her that no matter how severe the trial, it would not be as great as his energy and determination to endure it, and that he was ready for anything to live under Halma’s holy authority. He was not daunted by the steep slopes, no matter how steep. A religious slope? Well, her. A slope of hard labor, like a prisoner’s? Well, her. When Don Pascual Amador arrived, other matters were discussed. The country bumpkin was going to take the lady some documents from the Colmenar mayor’s office for her to sign, and he took his leave after having a small glass of wine. “Don Pascual,” Halma told him, handing him the wallet his cousin had given her a short while before. “Please keep that for me. It’s… ” “Nine thousand six hundred and fifty,” Urrea noted. “I won’t need it,” added the Countess, “until I begin clearing the large meadow. Because I’ve made up my mind, Señor Don Pascual, I ‘ve made up my mind. We must extract from God’s soil everything we can. We’ll start the garden on Monday, breaking up the earth with the hands I have here. Look, look at this little worker who’s come through the doors… ” Amador was delighted with the lady’s new resolutions, which were in line with his ideas for the development of Pedralba, and he left to supervise the laborers he had at the Alberca. “To get my appetite,” Catalina said to the neophyte, ” you and Cecilio’s nephews are going to clear these ruins for me, until the ground is uncovered. ” “Right now.” “Take it easy. This afternoon you’re going to the lower room in the tower, where we’re temporarily keeping the school, and you’ll hear an explanation of Christian Doctrine… Since you’ve been chopping wood, tonight you’ll have terrible muscle aches.” You rest, and tomorrow, as I told you, in preparation for more arduous tasks. “Nothing is difficult for me here. ” “You will live in the other house, with Cecilio. Tonight you will make your bed in the hayloft, as God wills you to understand. Have you never slept on a pile of straw? I have, far away in Spain… and in those days of abandonment and misery, it seemed to me the height of discomfort and humiliation. Today I would be indifferent. ” “I will gladly settle down in the hayloft.” “Tonight, on the list of orders that Uncle Valentín is to bring from Colmenar , we will put: a brown cloth jacket for you, some thick shoes, the thickest available, a sash, a cap… You will see how elegant you look. Since there is no mirror in your home, you will be able to look at yourself in the pool of the fountain. And when the pair of oxen comes, you will learn how to yoke them, how to handle them.” Do you know what a plow is, and how much it weighs? Well, you’ll find out later. You’ll eat with us, for there should only be one table here for all the inhabitants of the island. The day will come when Cecilio and his people, and Uncle Valentin, will eat together. Tomorrow, if your sore muscles don’t bother you too much, after you’ve gotten the hang of the stones in the ruins, you’ll split some firewood again… I don’t want you to be idle for even a moment. The test must be serious, so that I can form a sure judgment of you, and deem you capable or incapable of sharing our life. Well , wait, because then there will be religious exercises, rising early at dawn, mortifications, caring for the sick… Ah! You still haven’t realized the seriousness of what you desire and ask for. You, a man of salons, a man without principles, an intelligence too sensitive to current events, to what is new and recent, have allowed yourself to be influenced by those gusts of ideas that come from abroad, the same as the fashions of dress, food, and driving. You were caught by the religious whirlwind that tends to blow from time to time, driven by the storms that furiously sweep the world, and now we have Urreíta raving about the spiritual, as he would rave about a new author, or the latest style of hats or suits. And you come here with a piety of an _amateur_, which is not what I want, nor do we need any. “It’s not that, it’s not that,” José Antonio replied persuasively. ” I want to believe, I long to be like you, keeping the distance between my monstrous imperfection and yours… ” “Enough: I don’t like flattering talk. ” “My aspiration is to start over, more clearly, to be reborn. I have died; I am resurrected, your son, and your slave. Entrust me with the lowest and most humiliating tasks, and in matters of religion, the most difficult. Did you say attending to the sick? Nazarín will teach me. ” “In that and in many other things, he can be a good teacher of yours and mine.” At this point, Nazarín passed in front of the dining room window, having already changed from his lumberjack’s clothes to those of a priest. He was going to the exercise of Doctrine, and already the rumors of children’s revelry announced that the small family was gathering in the room temporarily designated as a school. “There I go too,” said Urrea, watching him go by. “I want to be like the little ones. Truly, that man seems divine to me, and because of him, because of the influence he undoubtedly has on you, I have obtained your forgiveness. What did he say to you, what reasons did he give in my favor? ” “He did nothing more than tell me what you had done. ” “And you…?” “I asked him his opinion on the decision I should make with you. ” “And he… ?
” “He told me that I should admit you. ” “Cousin of mine,” exclaimed Urrea excitedly, waving his arms above his head, ” anyone who tells me that man is crazy, I’ll kill them!… Oh, no!” He raised his hand to his mouth as if to stop himself from speaking, and then put it back in. “No, I won’t kill him, excuse me.” But him… Neither… What I will do is say and proclaim, against everyone’s opinion, that she is not insane, that she cannot be, that the greatest contradiction would be for her to be… And you believe the same, Halma, don’t deny it: you believe the same. –What do you know?… Silence, now the Doctrine. –I’m going. PART FIVE Chapter 32. For three, five, ten, I don’t know how many days, events ran gently and as if in rails in the castle of Pedralba, and its surrounding fields and mountains, noticeable in everything, things and people, the impulse given them with a firm hand by the organizer of that singular family. But there was still a long way to go before the total idea of ​​the noble lady would be fully realized, because the deficiencies of the premises could not be remedied soon, and in various details of organization obstacles arose at every moment that only the constancy and goodwill of all would overcome in the end. The tilling of the garden was a difficult task, due to the hardness of the soil and the difficulty of supplying it with water. Since it was neither easy nor economical to bring water from the source by means of a trip by rill, a well was dug, and digging it required only twenty-something feet to find abundant water. Two weeks after the work began, several terraces were planted with peas, beans, cabbage, and other commonly consumed vegetables. The garden was temporarily fenced with stone and thorns. The pair of oxen was not long in coming, and after three days of such toil, Urrea knew how to handle the patient animals as if he had been with them all his life. He soon grew fond of them and would not have traded their silent company for that of friends of the human species, like so many he had known in his early life. The hardest tasks did not dampen the spirits of the repentant scoundrel: the constant and methodical physical exercise, if it caused him fatigue at first, soon strengthened him. The idea of ​​being a new man took such root in his consciousness that he believed he had bred new blood, built new muscles, and even that all his old bones had been removed , only to be replaced with brand new ones. Of his appetite, let’s not even mention it: he couldn’t remember having it the same since childhood. Many days he ate in the mountains with the shepherd, or with Cecilio’s nephews, of whom more will be said later; and that frugal and tasty food, brought to him in a small pot by Aquilina, Beatriz, or the Countess herself, tasted better. than the most refined delicacies of courtly tables. For when they improvised dinner or lunch in the open air, cooking with scraps and rolling pins on a trivet, in the shepherd’s pan, some rustic crumbs or something similar, the man enjoyed himself beyond words, and thanked God for having brought him to the wild life. And then the tranquility of spirit, the peace of conscience, the certainty of tomorrow…! Nothing could compare with such blessings, new to him. Everything he knew of the world, of a radically different order, seemed like a heavy joke of fate. Because city life, during the years that are sometimes unjustifiably called flowery, from twenty to thirty, what had it been but endless torment, humiliation, anxiety, and all the evil that exists? Blessed savagery, blessed barbarism, which allowed him the most basic thing: to live! The Borregos, as Cecilio’s two nephews, day laborers on the farm, were the improvised savage’s first roommates, and soon became his friends, as well as masters in all that rustic business. God had not created them more barbaric; but neither were they simpler, nor had they more noble and sound hearts. At first, Urrea’s moral epidermis was a little bruised by rubbing against the hard crust of those unfortunates; but it soon developed a callus, and if he hardened upon contact, the others undoubtedly softened. At night, as they lay exhausted on the straw, in the brief moment before sleep, the three of them would chat, each explaining themselves according to their own understanding, and there you could see barbarism and culture, facile discourse and clumsy jargon, intelligence and superstition all mingled. The eldest Borrego, a beefy twenty-two-year-old, stood out for his brazen and somewhat insolent good looks; Not only did he consider himself capable of holding his own in a fair fight with the most accomplished, but when it came to the farming profession, he wouldn’t back down even with the most experienced. He knew everything; he boasted of knowing the secrets of the earth and the atmosphere. Any plant he planted in the ground would surely take root and grow like no other. He had invented countless rules of plant physiology, not a single of which, according to him, failed in practice. Regarding fertilization, the times of sowing and transplanting, and the mysterious influence of the phases of the moon on the life of plants, he brazenly contradicted the opinions of the old farmers, defending his own with arrogant stubbornness. Urrea was enchanted by this inflexible, tenacious character, based on a furious pride. And more than once he asked himself: “In another sphere, with another education, Bartolomé, what would I be?” The second Borrego was the opposite of his brother: humble, lazy, easily conformed to the will of others, short on words, somewhat melancholic, curious, and inquisitive. He enjoyed hearing stories about wars, adventures, and extraordinary events, and he went crazy over prints, all sorts of painted figures, even those from matchboxes, which seemed as beautiful to him as we do the paintings of Raphael and Velázquez. And Urrea would ask himself: “Isidrico in another sphere, educated like the most refined boys, what would he be?” With these reflections, José Antonio studied humanity, while obtaining useful lessons from observing nature. In his previous life, he had not noticed the multitude of phenomena that caused him wonder. Even the starry sky, on clear , cloudless nights , attracted his attention as something new and unknown. He had seen it, yes, countless times; But he had never seen it so well, nor had he so delighted in its beauty. With this, new ideas were replacing the old ones, which, like a dry leaf, fell and were carried away by the wind. And the whole new cerebral sprout came forth strong, announcing a vigorous foliation and flowering. He kept repeating it: it was like being born twice, the second time by a miracle of God, at the age of man, preserving the memory of the first incarnation. to be able to compare and better appreciate the advantages of the latter. Halma and her cousin rarely had the opportunity to speak to each other in those early days of rural life, because he worked far from home. At night, after the rosary, or if they had dinner together, the lady would exhort him in a few words to continue this orderly behavior. This and the ritual greetings, when they happened to meet in the countryside, were their only verbal contact. But in spirit, Urrea never separated her from himself: night and day he thought of her, or imagined her, transfiguring her at will. Nothing was more pleasing to him than to appreciate in the actions and expressions of his companions the great respect the lady inspired in them. And that respect had strengthened in him so much that when he saw her coming, he was as embarrassed as a shy child. And no matter how much he esteemed himself in his new state of consciousness, every day he felt the distance between them grow, because if he rose, she rose wildly. Not even fifteen days into his apprenticeship had passed when the novice received orders from Nazarín to move his residence. The good pilgrim cleric had spent three days in San Agustín, finishing the extraction of the divine Book of Patience, with an almost sublime use of his own, and upon his return to Pedralba, he cleaned, without help from anyone, the two rooms in the tower. There he spent an entire morning whitewashing the walls, washing the tiled floors, and removing as much grime as he could from the corners. “You’ll be better off here than there,” he said to Urrea that evening, giving him possession of his new home and showing him a clean, well -padded bed and the gleaming wooden furniture. “This, dear Urrea, I’m doing for you, since you’re accustomed to the first of all comforts, which is cleanliness. Here, the lady teaches us to be our own servants, and I’m setting you the example… ” “What an example!” You give it to me, contrary, making yourself my servant. “No, silly. What I do this week, you’ll do next week.” Nazarín addressed him informally from the very beginning, because it was a long-standing habit with him. Not very good at address, he only abandoned the familiar form when addressing people of great respect, like the Countess, Don Remigio, and others. “Well,” said the neophyte, “I see nothing but a bed here. Do you have yours in that sinkhole next door, next to the stone staircase? ” “What you call a sinkhole is a beautiful room. Come in and examine it. It has enough space for my bed, which is this little platform covered with a blanket… you see? What luxury, what finery!… and since I ‘m not going to be giving dances here, I don’t need any more space. You see? Lying on my board, I can touch the wall over here with my head, and I still have a third step to go before my feet can touch the one across the way.” “And if you could see how warm it is here ! The problem is that in the dark it competes with the mouth of a wolf; but since I’m not here during the day, and at night I can turn on the light if I want, I’m very comfortable. I’ve slept in worse bedrooms and beds for a long time. ” “I know. That’s why you’re the way you are, and they think you’re a man without sense. Anyway, if there must be penances and privations, give them to me, and you’ll see how quickly I’ll accept them. ” “Penances, privations! God will send them to you when you least expect it. For now, didn’t you say you liked the comfortable freedom of the barn? Well, go to hell. You’re never going back there. Here, in the tower, a prisoner! Putting up with my sermons, if I happen to saddle you with one, praying with me, yes sir, whatever I want. ” “That’s what we’re here for, Father Nazarín; But in this house of equality, we must alternate in comforts, I mean, in mortifications. One night I sleep in the bed and you on the platform, and the next night, we change. ” “We shall see about that. There is not as much equality as you think, nor should there be. For now, I am above you in age, knowledge, and government, and if I order you to sleep on a soft bed, you will be very sorry.” Upon returning from dinner at the castle, and before going to bed, they chatted again. little. “Pepe,” Nazarín told him, sitting down on his platform, “do you know something? After dinner, while you went out to smoke your cigar, the lady asked me to warn you… ” “What? ” “Nothing, don’t be scared… You think it’s something serious!… And if it is, son, I don’t know… Well, I should warn you that if tomorrow, or the day after, we go, Don Remigio and Señor de Amador say something unpleasant to you, something that hurts you, try not to get upset. You haven’t yet learned to stifle your anger, and you have to be very careful about that, José Antonio, because anger is a very ugly sin. You know that all of us who live here have to be patient, meek, and face offense, outrage itself, with a calm countenance. You have to learn this, Pepe, and test your patience in practice, in reality. If not, you’re not in the way in Pedralba.” “What is this that the priest and Amador are going to tell me? I swear to the son of Chápira!” shouted Urrea, shooting off. ” You start early,” said Nazarín, approaching the bed where the other had just lain down. “But, man, I’m admonishing you!” “Telling me!… Telling me!… But what? ” “Do I know, my dear son? ” “Oh! You know, Father Nazarín, and if not, you’ll guess, because you read people’s thoughts and penetrate their most hidden intentions. ” “I don’t know, I tell you… I’ll do my duty and keep quiet. The lady tells me to warn you that, whatever you hear, don’t get angry, don’t even show anger. She’s the one who commands it, Pepe. ” “Well, if she’s the one who commands it, she’d sooner see me dead than disobedient… But I don’t know, dear Nazarín, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” With what you ‘ve told me… I feel my old self stirring and kicking, as if it wanted… Oh! One isn’t reborn, is it? One doesn’t die to continue living in another form and being. A man cannot be… another man. “Undoubtedly… one cannot be another,” said the apostle, smiling benevolently. “Don’t tire your brain with subtleties. Let it rest in sleep. ” “I won’t be able to sleep. ” “We’ll pray. I’ll tell you stories. I’ll rock you like a child. ” “Even then I won’t sleep… My sadness, I don’t know what piercing restlessness keeps me awake. ” “I don’t want you to be sad, Pepe. Imitate me, for I always live in a temperate joy. ” “Oh, if only I could…! And not just sadness. It seems to me I have a fever. I’m going to fall ill.” “If you fall ill,” replied the priest from La Mancha, fixing him with a penetrating gaze, “I will take care of you… and I will save you from death. ” “Death…!” exclaimed Urrea dejectedly, closing his eyes. “Why defend yourself against it, when it is the best, the only solution? ” “Don’t worry about your own death. God will take care of that. Now, my son, go to sleep. ” “Go to sleep, yes… Is it your command? ” “I wish it…” They fell silent, and soon after Urrea was asleep, with Nazarín as his vigilant guardian, who, sitting beside the bed, was praying under his breath. Chapter 33. The next day, as the savage was in the orchard, he heard the trot of a horse. Believing that Don Remigio was approaching, he looked up with start. But no; it was Láinez, the doctor from San Agustín, who went twice a week to Pedralba to hold consultations for all the poor people in the surrounding area. The lady had appointed him to this service temporarily, while a permanent doctor was arranged for the house to visit and assist the sick throughout the area. Láinez’s days were known when, from dawn onward, countless people with Hippocratic faces, crippled and lame, some with their eyes covered, others with their hand in a sling, one carried in a cart, the other dragging himself as best he could, would appear from those alleys. The consultation lasted all morning, and in the afternoon the doctor, at the express request of the Countess, would visit the sick who lived closest. Urrea greeted the doctor courteously as he passed by, and was about to ask him: “Do you have something to tell me on Don Remigio’s orders?” But since Láinez did nothing but coldly answer the Greeting, the young man returned to his work, silent and sad: “Let’s have a little chat with the earth,” he said to himself, moving the shovel or the hoe with a strong arm. And it was true that earth and man were talking, he telling her his troubles, she telling him something of her impenetrable mysteries . But since the earth is so discreet that it reveals nothing of what neither the dead nor the living speak to it, I ignore what man and earth communicated to each other. In the afternoon, Láinez and Amador left together. Urrea watched them walk away, letting the cavalry walk at a pace. “They’re definitely talking about me,” he said to himself, watching them from afar. It was a hunch, a trait of divination that never fails, due to the mysterious connivance of the fluids that apparently surround us. “They’re talking about me,” José Antonio said again, “and they’re talking badly. This is as true as the sun shining on me.” And he went back to telling his troubles to the clay, using the shovel as his organ, and as he turned the spongy clods and watched them crack in the sun, he heard vague replies from them. Amador and Láinez, slowly moving away from Pedralba, spoke of the neophyte about things he couldn’t possibly know even if he asked the village. “Well, you’ll see,” said the rustic gentleman, “what happened. The Marquis of Feramor sent me and Alonso to tell him that if I was in Madrid, I shouldn’t fail to stop by and see him. I went on Monday, as you know, and Don Paquito told me how scandalized all the grandeur is that that scumbag Urreíta has sneaked in here. They think he’s come only to deceive them and get what little money he has, pretending to be a contrite priest and tricking them with crosses and farces of peasant life. ” I believe the same, friend Láinez, because this guy is as repentant as my nag; he’s a man of dirty history, and the first trickster in Madrid. Here, we, the good friends of my lady the Countess, those who esteem and know her _imminent_ virtues, must open her eyes, so that she can see the dragon that has entered her house… “That’s what it’s about, friend Amador,” said the doctor, a small man with a mean figure, with a neat gray mustache that seemed glued on, lifeless eyes, a wrinkled face, a deformed head, and little hair on the back of his head. “Don Remigio has received letters from his uncle Don Modesto Díaz, and from this it follows that this Urrea is a theatrical… ” “A what…? ” “A theatrical, which is the same as saying a comedian.” He feigns feelings, peculiar states of mind, he performs his comedies with perfect glibness and mimicry, and there you have him, giving the morning star a hard time… Yes, sir. I didn’t like that fellow the first time I laid eyes on him, and I’ve continued… not to like him. He’s a bit of a lynx, and he’s seen many monstrosities of both substance and spirit… Well, you see. Don Remigio and I talked about this… Naturally, Remigio is the most adept at… “To bring the cat to the waters. ” “And to draw the Countess’s attention to the soap opera she’s fostered in her bosom,” said Láinez, very pleased with his performance. “The day before yesterday, Remigio made his first moves; but the lady, according to what he says, heard him with displeasure, and had the generosity— it seems incredible!—to assure him that his cousin is a good man.” “Yes? Well, he won’t be spared a big blow, or something worse… because he’s not the kind to leave without something under his claws. ” “I think he’s come with a self-interested purpose,” said the doctor, staring at the other gentleman, “and if you press me, I’ll add, with a sinister purpose… ” “Well, not so much!” “We’ll see… In time.” Having arrived at the place of separation, they stopped to arrange the day and time in which they should meet with Don Remigio to agree on the form and manner of jointly enlightening the lady of Pedralba on such a delicate matter. Having agreed, each went his own way. And two days later, while Urrea was in the mountains, he saw three men coming on horseback along the San Agustín path. Despite the enormous distance at which they stopped, his prodigious eyesight He recognized them instantly, and his heart leaped tremendously. With insane fury, he brought down tremendous blows on the trunk of the tree he was splitting, and the log, in the groan it seemed to exhale upon receiving the blow of the axe, said to him: “They’re talking about you, and they’re talking ill. ”
Urrea looked at them, occasionally suspending his task to return to it with terrible muscular impetus, and said to the trunk: “If I were you, I’d like to catch all three of them.” He noticed that near the estate, the horsemen stopped , as if they had something important to discuss and arrange before entering Pedralba. Don Remigio, rising nervously in the stirrups, and as possessed of his business as if he were in the pulpit, addressed them with this tirade, which should more properly be called a harangue or a sermon: “Gentlemen and friends, the matter is serious, and it is our duty to hasten to find a solution, assisting with disinterested counsel the person who has brought so much good to this wretched land. Let us prevent the intentions of the holy Countess from being thwarted by a libertine. If I had known him when he first arrived at San Agustín, I would have blocked his path to Pedralba… Ah, I’m not to be trifled with! But I was in the greatest innocence regarding that young gentleman, and I entertained him in my modest house, and brought him here. You lived in the same candid innocence, my good friends, until finally, the three of us, according to reliable news, fell simultaneously from our respective donkeys.” Now then… “Let me speak for a moment, Father,” said Amador, recalling an idea that needed to be added to the proceedings. “Just one word: what has the Marquis, the family, and all the titles of Madrid indignant is that, having given Doña Catalina her legitimate share without any reduction or discount… Because you must know that part of said legitimate share had been consumed by the lady back in the lands of the East. Well then: the Marquis, to please Don Manuel Flórez, who was a soul of God, did not want to deduct the supplements, and gave his sister the entire inheritance, or rather forty thousand duros, believing that it would be used for works of the blessed religion… What happened? That a few days after giving him the estate, this scoundrel Urrea took from him an obolus of five thousand duros… What I am saying, the Countess is an angel, and as an angel she should not be on the loose.” “I think the angels… ” “We already knew about the five thousand duros,” said Don Remigio, eager to find his way back to the church. “What you don’t know is that shortly before the lady came to Pedralba, that adventurer proposed a contract to bring the ashes of the Count of Halma here, taking care of everything himself for another five thousand pesos. ” “It’s a terrible point,” Amador pointed out. “The Marquis says, and he’s right: ‘I give my interest to the cultivation of faith and the promotion of charity, but not so that some lost soul can laugh at God, my sister, and me. ‘” “Very well said,” continued the priest, grasping the word with the intention of never letting it go again. Well, I, by old dialectical habit, always go straight to the causes, and when I see an evil, I look for the source to attack it there, just as Láinez does with illnesses. In this case, noticing that the waters are running dirty, I go to the source, and… indeed, there I see… In short, gentlemen, everything bad we see in Pedralba comes from the vices of origin, from the defective foundation. The Countess’s idea is beautiful, but she has not known how to implement it. The first deficiency I notice here is that there is no leader. And this cannot be. For the institution to function, and for the Countess’s holy purpose to be realized, it is necessary that there be a director at the head of the establishment, and for him to have great authority, it is advisable that said director be a clergyman. I declare that I would have no problem taking on the position, despite the great work and responsibility it may entail. I would try to give practical and visible execution to the ideas, to the lofty sentiments. of the charity of the holy lady, and, modesty aside, I believe it would not be difficult for me to achieve it… I would draft constitutions, in which rights and duties were very clear. I would draw the line between the spiritual, prima facies, and the temporal, which is secondary… I would give the institute a name, establishing a distinctive, which could be a cross or several crosses, of this or that color, which I would wear sewn on my cloak… and if not me, whoever was in charge here would be the Rector, Mampastor, or Guardian… But if my purpose is to convince our friend of the need for a director, it is not right, as you understand, for me to put myself forward for this modest position. And it is not ambition, mind you, it is not ambition: in the last resort it would be a sacrifice, and a great one; but that’s where we are. So if the lady, by divine inspiration, accepts my reasons and appoints me, I will have no choice but to bow my head, with the approval of the Bishop, and as long as His Grace does not think it appropriate to use my uselessness for a parish in Madrid. The other two agreed monosyllably. Don Remigio’s face was blazing. Chapter 34. “Well, if the priest promises me not to get angry,” said Láinez after a pause, during which he made sure of his ideas, “I will allow myself to tell him that if I approve of the direction, because without direction, or so-called head, there is nothing, I do not agree that the director should be a priest. Let there be one ecclesiastic, or two, or twenty-five, for what pertains to spiritual government, very holy and very good.” But either I don’t know what I’m up to, or the Countess has wanted to found a hygienic institute, more properly speaking, a medical-surgical sanatorium, with a view to religion. –Well! –Let me continue: The relief of the indigent, the alleviation of human suffering, the assistance of the sick, the care of the insane, the practice, in short, of works of mercy, gives an inordinate importance to the medical-surgical-pharmaceutical element. I am very practical, I recognize the importance of the priestly element in an organization of this kind; moreover, I believe that such an element is indispensable; but the direction, gentlemen, I think, respecting the opinion of the priest, I think, I understand… that it should be entrusted to science. –Well, for God’s sake, don’t be…! –Allow me… –No, if it isn’t that. You mistake the terms… –Well, well! I concede… –Science! We’d be arrogant… –I concede… –Let’s distinguish, gentlemen… And for a while the three of them were taking the word out of each other’s mouths, and shooting at each other with fragments of expressions. –I concede, –said Láinez, finally managing to finish a sentence, –that piety and faith are the heart of this organization; but the head can only be science. –You crooked fillies! Someday it’s going to be my turn, –Amador shouted furiously, seeing that Don Remigio was breaking in again, and that there was no way to stop him. –Shall I speak, or not speak my opinion? Because if you keep telling each other everything, damn it! I’m not here for anything… Well, I’m entering into the matter as a third party in discord, and I say that the gentlemen _propinantes_ are sweeping the floor inward, each one looking out for his own house and office, this one for the Church, this one for the Faculty. Well, I say that neither the _juno_ nor the _jotro_, snails! and that the management must be administrative, as I said, administrative. Because here the first thing is to secure the pot for everyone, and the pot is not secured without working the land, and then knowing how the fruit is distributed among these and other mouths. Good that we have this _element_…, religion, good; that _element _…, medicine, good. But for these to be able to agree and live one intertwined with the other, the first _element_ is needed, which is work, order, counting and reasoning, the tilling of the land, and this cannot be done by the Church or the Faculty. Ah! if you do not extract its fruit from the earth, by dint of crushing In it, with what resources are they going to sustain the institution? Where are these masses going to come from? In Pedralba, the first thing is to get the estate in good condition, because… Today it yields four; it must and can yield forty, and when it yields those, let the poor come, and let the crippled, and the insane, and the ringworm, and the blind come, so that they can all be cured. The rest is beating around the bush, and starting things from the end. The management must be agricultural and administrative, and here there is no other pontiff of the field than _this priest_, myself, and to conclude, know that these are the wishes of the Marquis of Feramor, according to the letter I have here and which I can show you. The doctor and the priest were silent for a moment, as if overwhelmed by the weight of Amador’s last argument; But the ingenious Don Remigio was soon able to recover, and with new and subtle reasoning, he struck up the matter in this way: “But my dear Amador, the Marquis is not the one who should decide it ! I do not deny his respectability, nor his authority, nor his excellent wishes; but we must be clear about it, the Marquis does not touch the whistle, he cannot touch it in a matter that is the exclusive competence of his lady sister. ” “We have agreed, my friend Don Remigio,” said Amador, “that the Countess is an angel… ” “An angel from heaven… ” “I don’t know about those from heaven; but those on earth need a curator. Let us leave the most virtuous, the celestial Doña Catalina de Halma devoted alone to her pities and the softness of her heart, and in two years the estate will be seized. ” “You are mistaken, Amador. The lady knows how to look after her own interests.” “But the lady doesn’t till the land; she thinks tilling the sky is enough, and wheat and barley, snails! And chickpeas and potatoes, I don’t see them growing from the clouds above. ” “They also grow above, Señor de Amador, and our heavenly Father, who gives a hundredfold, showers his gifts on those who fervently adore him. ” “If I don’t sow, I’ll reap nothing, no matter how much I spend day and night stringing rosaries and stringing ponies. Don Remigio, all that stuff about ecclesiastical mysticism and the most holy Catholic faith is very good, but we need wheat to live. Gentlemen, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty . Let’s place ourselves _under the prism_ that the first of the sacred dogmas is food. ” “Well!” “Food, I said, snails! Tell me: where there is no sustenance, what is there?” “Let’s not exaggerate,” replied Láinez, who had remained silent for a long time . “Given the full importance of the administrative aspect, I believe that the management… let’s not stray from the subject, gentlemen, I believe that the management should not be agricultural or administrative. This is not a farm. ” “I say it is, a hospitable and monastic farm. ” “It isn’t that.” “And even if it were,” added the doctor, “the management should be in the hands of science, which encompasses everything, science, gentlemen, which… ” “Come on, don’t bother us with your tired science anymore! Because frankly, if in these matters you place religion under the control of a frivolous person like science, religion will have to back down and say: ‘It’s up to you.'” “No, sir, because science… ” “In short,” shrieked Don Remigio, somewhat embarrassed, “you will propose to the lady that she name you absolute leader of Pedralba, with power over the spiritual director and over every living thing. ” “Oh, I don’t come here to work pro domo mea! But if Doña Catalina de Halma deigns to take my opinion into consideration, and after establishing the scientific direction, does me the honor of appointing me to this position, I will not refuse, no sir, I will be very proud to perform it.” –But since the lady will not accept such nonsense, my dear Láinez… Don’t get angry, I don’t want to offend you… –Peace, gentlemen, peace, –said Amador, noticing Láinez’s little mustache trembling, and Don Remigio’s a dizzying movement of his eyes, glasses, nose, and hands, –and since we can’t come to an agreement, let’s not take the lady, instead of sound and prudent advice, a A hell of a mess. “Friend Amador is right,” Don Remigio declared, recovering his usual placidity. “The truth is, we’ve forgotten the specific issue, on which we agree, to get involved in a constituent matter, which we are not to resolve; at least until now, the illustrious lady has not consulted us on how to organize the Pedralbense Institute. Are we in agreement that we should advise her to eliminate, I do not say expel, eliminate the welcomed Don José Antonio de Urrea? ” “Yes,” the others replied. “Well, there’s nothing more to discuss. I’ll speak on behalf of the three of us. ” “Agreed. ” “And if, during the course of the conference, the other problem arises, the great problem, we will address it, we will discuss it, each one will give his opinion, and it will be up to the Countess to decide. It’s understandable that we don’t bring her a unanimous opinion on the serious point of organization.” You see: none of the three of us is ambitious, and yet we seem so. If each of us were to express our opinions to the founder of Pedralba in the manner we have done along the way, far from enlightening her, we would fill her with confusion and disturb the tranquility of her great spirit. Let us leave her alone, with the help of the Holy Spirit, without hearing our radical and somewhat self-interested propositions, to arrive at the truth. The difficulties that practice presents her must make her understand, even if the Divine Spirit tells her nothing, the need for leadership from a man, and the character that this leadership must have. Such sound and discreet reasons went down very well in the ears of the other two knights, and as they were already a short distance from the castle, they put an end to their conversation and approached with smiling faces, seeing that the Countess herself was coming out to greet them affectionately. Chapter 35. In the afternoon, Urrea and the eldest of the Sheepmen were turning the soil with the plow in one of the fields near the house. Nazarín and the younger Sheepmen watered the new plantings in the garden, by hand, with buckets, and a watering can, and then weeded the beds, which, with the abundant watering of the previous days, had formed a crust. Silent and attentive to his work, the clergyman spoke to his companion only when necessary. Ladislao had gone to the mountain spring to bring the clothes washed by Aquilina, and the boys, after teaching Halma their lesson, went to play with Cecilio’s grandchildren in the field next to the house below. The Countess was in the kitchen, apron around her waist, scrubbing the dishes, when Beatriz, who was bustling about upstairs, came down to announce the arrival of the three gentlemen on horseback. “Ah!” “I didn’t expect them so soon,” said the lady, preparing to receive them decorously. “They’ve come as if for a chapter or a council. Don’t you know why? You’ll find out later. ” “I imagine it’s so we can admit the three sick old women from Colmenar, who want to come to Pedralba. I think we’ll have a room, if I move into Aquilina’s room. ” “It’s not that: the three old women will arrive on Monday. We’ll accommodate them as best we can until the master fixes up our northern rooms. Our three friends are here on another matter, a very delicate one, of which Don Remigio spoke to me the day before yesterday. May God enlighten them so they understand how unjust it is…” “Anyway, I can’t tell you about it now; it’s a long story.” The lady went out to meet the travelers, and the four of them went up to the only room in the house, suitable for visits, and even for such solemn gatherings as the one being held that day in Pedralba, because it had chairs for up to six people, and a sofa from the beginning of the century with horsehair seats, which was far superior to something ecclesiastical and capitular. Shut up there, the Countess and her three friends discussed and talked as much as they pleased, without a sound being heard outside the room, nor was there a human ear around to pick it up. An hour and a half later, or rather More or less, they left, and left as they had come. No one knew what had been discussed there so secretly, nor did any of Pedralba’s guests, except for Urrea, feel a twinge of curiosity about that unusual meeting. At night, during the rosary and dinner, the former scoundrel noticed his cousin’s eyes were very bright. She had undoubtedly wept. After dinner, and as they were saying goodbye to each other to go to their bedrooms, the lady said to Urrea: “Your comfortable little room in the tower didn’t last long: you and the father will have to go to the house below, because we need to accommodate three old ladies here. The beds will be brought there for you. Be patient, Pepe. For that and for everything, I recommend patience, without which we would accomplish nothing here.” And he said nothing more, nor did he dare to express anything, for when he tried, a lump formed in his throat. The lady, after giving everyone their work orders for the following day, left. Beatriz was to be the concierge that night, closing doors and windows, extinguishing fires and lights, and ensuring that everyone entered their respective rooms half an hour after dinner. Finding the way to catch her alone, Urrea was able to exchange a few words with her as she barricaded the north door after locking the chicken coop. “Beatriz, for the world’s sake, tell me what those three scoundrels have come to discuss with my cousin. ” “Jesus, I don’t know! ” “Yes, you do. Tell me, for God’s sake. ” “You’ve forgotten one of the main rules the lady has imposed on us. Here, we’re not allowed to tell what’s happening, nor to carry out stories. Everyone should concentrate on doing their own work, without worrying about what others say or do. ” “That’s true… But since there’s no doubt some conspiracy against me is involved , I have to defend myself.” “I don’t know anything, José Antonio, don’t ask me. ” “Well, just tell me one thing. Has my cousin cried? ” “I can’t deny that, because it’s so clear from her eyes. ” “And do you know the reason? ” “Oh , the reason!… That she can’t do all the good she wants. Her soul has great wings; but the cage is short… And no more. Silence , I tell you, and withdraw.” The poor novice had no choice but to go into his room in the tower, where he found Nazarín kneeling before the image of the Crucified One. The little lantern that lit the room was on the floor: illuminated from bottom to top by the two living figures and the bizarre furniture, everything had a sepulchral appearance. In the profound dejection of his spirit, Urrea believed himself to be in a pantheon. Throwing himself down on the bed, as if to assume the posture of eternal sleep, and without waiting for the pilgrim apostle to finish his prayer, he said to him: “Father, did you notice my cousin’s eyes? ” “Yes, my son,” replied the clergyman, remaining on his knees, and only moving his head to look at him. “The Countess, our queen, our mother, alas! she has wept a great deal. ” “Did you hear of the council?” “I know that those three gentlemen arrived together, and remained here a long time. As it matters not to me, nor is it any of my business, I have no more to say. ” “I firmly believe that they have gathered to expel me from here, and that they are obeying the intrigues of my cousin Feramor. My heart tells me so, the earth tells me so when I till it, the logs when I strike them with the axe, the oxen tell me so when I put the yoke on them. There can be no mistake in this; Living in the midst of nature, surrounded by solitude, makes one a fortune teller. “If that were true,” said Nazarín, rising and going to him with an affectionate gesture, “if indeed, for these or other reasons, you were ordered to leave Pedralba… ” “I know what you will tell me… that I should leave, that is, that I should die. ” “We are here for obedience, for resignation, for not having a will of our own. You see me: follow my example. ” “But don’t you consider that throwing me away from here is putting myself in the arms of death?
” “Why? God will watch over you.” “And where am I going, Father? ” “To the world, to another solitude like this, which you will easily find. Seek it out, for nothing is as abundant on earth as solitude. ” “No, no: outside of here, I am a finished man. Halma must assume that my expulsion from Pedralba is my death sentence. You tell her. ” “I can’t say that to the lady, or anything. As an exile like you, the rule forbids me from speaking to my superior when he doesn’t speak to me. I answer what they ask me, and nothing more. ” “Well, I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him to distrust those infamous people… ” “Don’t speak ill, don’t injure, don’t hate. ” “Ah! Nazarín is a saint: I would like to be one, but ancient evil, the one that exists down there in the sediments of the heart, won’t let me. ” “Because you want it. Fight your evil passions, ask God for help, and you will win. It is less difficult than it seems.” If someone wrongs you, forgive them; if they insult you, do not respond with more insults; if they wound you, resist them and remain silent; if they persecute you in one city, flee to another; if they expel you, leave, and wherever you are, tear from your heart the desire for revenge to place in it the love of your enemies. “And I will do all this, for it is very beautiful, yes, very beautiful,” said Urrea with a very slight ironic inflection; “but before adopting such a holy life, I want to bid farewell to the world with a satisfaction: I will cut off the head of Don Remigio, who is the soul of this unworthy plot. ” “My son, it seems you are mad,” said Nazarín, placing the palm of his hand on the burning forehead of the reformed scoundrel. “What absurdities are you coming up with? Killing! ” “Well, aren’t they killing me?” “Depriving you of being here is not killing you. ” “I will kill myself if they throw me out.” “Well, you’re a child; but I’m in your care, and I’ll see to it that you don’t get into any tricks. ” “I can’t, I won’t be able to live outside of here… When I get out, I’ll either throw myself with a stone around my neck into the first river I pass, or I’ll seek out a very black and deep abyss that will take my poor bones.” His chest swelled. A very strong oppression in his ribcage prevented him from expelling all the air his avid lungs had collected. He was choking; his voice failed him, and an anguished moan came from his throat. Finally, he burst into tears like a child. “Cry, cry all you want,” said the priest from La Mancha, sitting down beside him. “That’s good. The sorrows of childhood, with crying, are reduced to nothing. ” “Ah, blessed Nazarín,” Urrea exclaimed between sobs, shaking his hand, “I am very unhappy! Admit it, there is no misfortune like mine.” “Well, son, you have little to complain about. You were bad, very bad, you told me so yourself. The Countess wanted to correct you, and she succeeded to a point you could not go beyond. But then God comes to complete the work, takes you on His own, and sends you adversities and bitterness so that with them you can achieve your complete reform. Bless the hand that wounds you, resign yourself, annul yourself, and you will feel a great relief in your soul. ” “I won’t be able… I won’t be able…” replied José Antonio, affected by a great nervous restlessness. “You, as a saint, see all this as very easy… and naturally, because you are like that, they say you are crazy… You are not, I know you are not… but that is why they say it, because you are not human like me… Form me in your image and likeness, make me divine, and then… ah!” Then I too will forgive the insults, and bless the black hand of Don Remigio that wounds me, and the filthy mouth of Láinez that spits on me. And as if pricked, he jumped out of bed, shouting: “I can’t, I can’t be on that rack… I need to go out, breathe the air, see the stars… ” “Going out into the countryside is impossible: the rule doesn’t allow it, and besides, the door is closed. ” “Well, I want to go out, run… see the sky. ” “Opening the window you’ll see it. Come: there it is. How beautiful this night is!” They both gazed for a moment at the starry firmament, and before the silent immensity, indifferent to our misfortunes, Urrea felt himself grow her immense sorrow. Withdrawing from the window, he sighed, “Father Nazarín, if you would, speak to my cousin about this. ” “I cannot speak of this or of anything. What am I here? No one, a sad welcome. I have no authority, no voice, no opinion, and only if the lady asked me would I express my humble opinion. Described as insane, I have been placed in this holy house under the protection of the sublime charity of the Countess of Halma. Imagine if it is possible for her to ask advice from a man whose reason she believes to be disturbed, and if I dared to give it to him, imagine the attention she would pay to me. ” “Catalina, like me, does not believe that our dear Nazarín suffers from insanity. These are vulgarities that a superior spirit like yours cannot indulge in. You know that you possess divine truth, and that your voice is the voice of God… ” “Don’t talk nonsense, Pepe.” Be content with whatever the Lord decides for you. Don’t fight against his power… surrender yourself. Urrea threw himself into a chair, throwing his arms like a man exhausted from fighting. “Although you know everything and understand everything,” he said after a long pause, “I need to confide everything inside me to you. More than out of duty, I do it out of necessity, because my heart is too big for space in my chest, because I suffocate if I don’t tell someone about my sorrow, the cause of my sorrow, and the impossibility of remedying my sorrow. ” “Then let’s sit here, and tell me everything you want, because if you’re not sleepy, neither am I, and so we’ll spend the night. ” Urrea spoke so much that, by the time he finished, the stars were already growing pale, and the pure light of dawn was spreading across the sky. Chapter 36. At nine in the morning, Halma and Beatriz, in an upstairs room, were putting the finishing touches on the sheets and bedspreads for the old women who would soon join the Pedralba community. With time on their hands, work in hand, and no witness to hinder them, they spoke at length. “So you see,” the Countess said, “when I thought that in this solitude the passions we’ve left behind wouldn’t come to trouble us, it turns out that society seeps in from all sides; just when we thought we were alone with God and our conscience, the world also comes, worldly interests also come to say: ‘Here I am, here we are. If you go to the desert, we’ll follow you to the desert.'” “Well, those gentlemen are clever!” Beatriz replied. “What harm does poor José Antonio do to them?” “This uproar has been stirred up by my brother and other members of the family, who never see anything but the malicious and coarse side of human affairs. Souls have eyes: some are blind, some are nearsighted, some are blind… Frivolous and vain people gather in my brother’s house. I forgive them the thousand ridiculous things they have said about me; I thought I would never have to think about such malicious acts again, not even to forgive them. I pity my brothers for not knowing that evil does not always prevail in souls, and that a damaged conscience can be purified. They do not believe; they talk a lot about God, they admire his works in Nature, but they do not know how to admire or understand them in the human conscience. They are not bad, but neither are they good; they live on that average moral level to which all the vulgarity and insipidity of present-day society is due. Make such people understand that our poor José Antonio has changed for the better, that he is not that man, but another.” Such a prodigy cannot be imagined in those heads filled with politics, false piety, and a morality composed and pretty for the use of elegant families. Before recounting what Beatriz said, it is worth stating that, having been ordered time and again by the Countess to use the familiar form with her, she did everything possible to please her, but only half-heartedly succeeded. Obedience and respect in her language clashed, giving rise to extremely strange phenomena. When the two of them were in the kitchen or washing clothes, and a conversation arose about any domestic matter, the village woman would address the lady informally without much effort. But when They were on the upper floor of the house, and the conversation fell on any point other than the daily grind. He resisted the use of the familiar form; well, with all the will in the world, he couldn’t, sir, he couldn’t. “And because of those perverse things that those in Madrid think,” said Beatriz, “the lady will have to throw her cousin out of here! A great pity, because the poor fellow does well, and is so fond of this country life! ” “Throw him out! I’ve never thought of it. It would be cruel. I will defend him as long as I can, and I believe that they will tire of attacking him sooner than I will of defending him. But I suspect, my dear Beatriz, that this business of my cousin’s will cause me some trouble on my poor island, if those gentlemen insist on pointing him out as a danger to me and to Pedralba. I despise malicious and slanderous opinions; “But such may be the uproar that has arisen in Madrid against me for having admitted poor Pepe here, that there will be no choice but to take it into account. Events could occur that would destroy our humble kingdom, because the ecclesiastical authorities will withdraw their protection, leaving me alone; the civil authorities will also look upon me with disfavor, and farewell Pedralba, farewell our blessed solitude, farewell our serene days consecrated to God and the poor! ” “That cannot be,” said Beatriz, very convinced. “The Lord will not allow it. ” “The Lord will allow it to give me one more suffering, and to test me completely. The Lord, who afflicted me, when it pleased him, with so many misfortunes, now sends me the greatest and most painful, my honor called into question, Beatriz, and… ” “Your honor!” exclaimed Beatriz, rising haughtily, and for the first time she used the tu in a serious matter. No, I say that cannot be, and if the honor of the holiest woman in the world does not shine like the sun, I say that Hell has broken loose on earth. ‘ ‘Calm down, calm down. Hell is where it was, lying and frivolous people are doing today what they have always done, and my conscience, pierced through and through by the gaze of God, shines with joy before all the hells and all the evils that have been and will be. This I say. ‘ ‘And I,’ cried Beatrice, seized with a sudden exaltation, rising, ‘say that you are a saint, and that I adore you!’ She fell at her feet, like a dead body, and kissed them again and again. ‘Get up… leave me… I don’t like such extremes,’ said Halma. ‘ Listen to me calmly. ‘ ‘I cannot, I cannot… The idea of ​​my queen and lady being outraged drives me mad!’ “Be calm and patient. What does it matter to you or to me if I am insulted? Doesn’t God immediately redress us, giving us the joy of suffering, that happiness they don’t know? Let me continue, and finish explaining to you the reason for my distress. ” “I’m listening,” said Beatriz, sitting down, but without paying attention to her sewing. “Well, reducing José Antonio’s case to a pure matter of conscience, I fear nothing. I am innocent, he is too, and God knows it. I despise the judgments of human frivolity, and I continue on my way undaunted. But since we are not free, since we depend on one authority, on several authorities, if I keep my cousin in Pedralba, our poor religious island, this city, or rather, village of God that I have worked so hard to found, is in danger. Here you have the horrible conflict in which I find myself.” If God does not deign to enlighten me, I do not know how I shall resolve it… It is sad, very sad, that in order not to appear as a rebel against ecclesiastical authority , I must deliver the coup de grace to an innocent man, and remove him from this blessed life… It will never be just or charitable to expel him; but alas! I shall have to explain the situation to him and beg him to leave us. They both fell silent, the needles began to work again, and the pricks of the needles and the sighs of the two seamstresses seemed to continue the sad dialogue. Immersed in herself, the Countess continued her reasoning thus: “It is a sad thing that peace cannot be found even in the desert. I I longed to create a small society of my own, dedicated with me to the service of God; I longed to say this to the larger society: “I don’t love you, I abhor you, and I’m going to form, with four stones and a dozen people, my ideal village, with my laws and my customs, all independently of you…” But it can’t be. The total organism is so powerful that there’s no way to escape it. The Church, against which I will never have any action or thought, won’t let me move without its permission in this humble corner, where I enclose myself with my piety and the love of my fellow men. To remain in the company of my brothers, my children, I have to compromise with the routines of the outside, coming from there, from the enemy, from the world. I flee from it, and it hounds me, it follows me to my Thebaid, saying to me: “Not even in the depths of the earth will you be free from me. ” May God give me the light to free myself from you, larger society ! Give me the patience to suffer you, if you will not consent to my emancipation! An hour later, the lady in the kitchen continued her monologue, slowly recovering the admirable calm of her spirit. “Well, it’s laughable. I believed that my island, hidden among these crags, would live poor and obscure, neither envious nor envied. And now it turns out that human ambitions surround and harass it. Poor island, so alone, so remote, and now Sanchos are popping up from all sides wanting to be your governors! The Church asks me to lead this humble community; Science, not wishing to be outdone, also seeks to intrude, and finally, the Administration asks to direct and govern us. And what will I do in the face of such pressing intruders? The Lord will tell me what I must do; the Lord will not leave me defenseless and hesitant in the midst of this conflict.” Obedience, independence! Oh, between you two, may the Lord tell me how I shall manage! Before lunch, Beatriz, who during her entire stay in Madrid and during the days at Pedralba had not had even a slight attack of her spasmodic illness, believing herself completely cured by such a long rest, felt the urge to calm down that day, no doubt due to the violent emotions of her conversation with the lady. She tried to reassure her, assuring her that with God’s help everything would be fine. To distract her and calm her frayed nerves with healthy exercise, she sent her to take Urrea and Nazarín’s food to the mountain, where they were both working. Aquilina, who had been designated for this task, remained in Pedralba, and Beatriz, with her basket on her head, set off, eager to get some fresh air and wander through the countryside. In the afternoon, Don Remigio arrived for a stroll and was more amiable than ever to the Countess, patting her on the shoulder and telling her not to worry about what the three friends and neighbors had told her the day before; not to rush into the matter of José Antonio, nor to be upset at having to give him absolute permission, because he, Don Remigio, with all caution and skill, by inviting him to go hunting in Torrelaguna or fishing in the Jarama, would convince him of the need to tender his resignation from the Pedralban asylum… And thus everything was reconciled, sparing the lady the pain of dismissing him… And resolutely assuming a festive tone, he let himself focus on the other matter. Oh! The medical-pharmaceutical directorship proposed by Láinez was a most amusing folly… And what about the oratory and clerical directorship, the product of Don Pascual Amador’s wit ? He had already guessed that the Countess would be rolling on the floor laughing, inwardly, at such nonsense. Religious leadership, based on a perfect harmony of ideas and sentiments between the Rector and the Foundress, was self-evident, and with such an organization, it wasn’t difficult to lead Pedralba down glorious paths. Oyole Halma benevolently, without giving away anything on such a delicate matter, and then they spoke of the installation work, of what had not yet been done, and of what would soon be done to complete and round out the plan. Don Remigio found everything to be extremely accurate, admirable, Superior. And as the conversation turned to Nazarín, he remembered he had received a letter for him. “Here it is,” he said, placing it in the lady’s hands. “Although you and I are authorized to read it, I am handing it to you unopened. It bears the seal of Alcalá, and must be from the unfortunate Ándara and Tinoco the Sacrilegious, who are already serving their sentences in that prison. They are undoubtedly calling you, poor things! And if it were up to me, I would allow you to go and console them, giving strength and health to their unfortunate souls. But I fear I’ll get a nag from the Superior if I allow him to make that trip, even for only a few days. Think about it, though, and if the Countess takes the initiative and accepts the responsibility…” The lady refused to decide on the point, and since they were talking about Nazarín, both of them showered him with praise. “He’s so humble,” said Don Remigio, “and his behavior so exemplary, his obedience so absolute, that if it were up to me, I’d have no problem discharging him. In the time you’ve been here, have you noticed anything that confirms and corroborates the opinion that he’s insane? ” “Nothing, Señor Don Remigio. All his actions, his language, are perfectly sane. ” “Not even a slight trace of disorder, anything that indicates at least irregularity in his ideas…? ” “Absolutely nothing. ” “He’s peculiar. He lives like a saint; he doesn’t cause the slightest displeasure, he reason well when prompted to reason, he remains silent when he should remain silent, he always obeys, he works tirelessly, and yet… I don’t know, I don’t know… Láinez says his intelligence is gradually flattening. ” “I don’t believe so. ” “The Faculty will know what he’s saying. If this symptom grows, he’ll reach a state of imbecility… Láinez says so… Have you noticed signs of cerebral flattening?” –None. –Difficulty coordinating thoughts, slowness in expressing them?… –No, sir… –Do you speak to him often? –Very little. –Well, it’s a good idea to test that intelligence, presenting him with difficult subjects as a form of exercise. In this way, we’ll see if there’s any vigor or weakness in his faculties. I used this procedure not long ago with a cousin of mine, who began to suffer from mental disorders, and the result was disastrous. –Well, in this case, I imagine he’ll be flattering. Try it . –Yes, yes. Send him there tomorrow. –He’ll go; but… If you’ll allow me… –said the woman from Halma, suddenly struck by an idea. –What? –Before sending him there, I’ll conduct a little examination. –Common. And then it’s my turn, for I must be a harsh, implacable examiner. Look, I will propose to you, for you to develop, the most difficult points of the Summas and the… “Poor thing! Not so much…” “As it is only a test, we soon know if your intelligence is declining. ” “And even if it were to decline a little, due to age, due to disappointments, your reason can be preserved without any straying, and if so, the Superior should give you back your licenses. ” “We shall see. I’m not saying no… My lady, goodbye. ” “Don Remigio, thank you very much for everything. Don’t you want anything to eat? ” “Oh, thank you! Outside of my hours, you know I don’t… ” “Not even chocolate? ” “Oh! Old people’s sweets! Madam, we are from the modern batch, from the Faculty of Law… Goodbye, it’s late. Rest. ” “Until you wish, Father.” Chapter 37. They prayed, they dined. When the lady gave the order for the next day’s work, she said to the good Don Nazario: “Father, tomorrow you are not going to the mountain, or the meadow, or the orchard, nor do I want you moving stones or cutting logs. ” “Then what shall I do, madam? ” “Tomorrow rests your body, and you will work with your intelligence. ” “Do I have to go to San Agustín? ” “No, sir. Buena awaits you there with the Summas! ” “Then… ” “From nine to ten, at the time when I finish my morning chores, I will wait for you upstairs in the sewing room, which is for now.” Our chapter house. “All right.” God dawned, and Nazarín, having fulfilled his morning prayers, cleaned himself up and dressed himself very well, dressing in the priest’s robes that Don Remigio had given him. He said, judiciously distinguishing between things, that if in the midst of the town, and leading a wandering life, he cared nothing for personal appearance, when presenting himself at the apartment of such an important and saintly lady, having been expressly called by her, he ought to dress in the most decorous manner, without departing from his usual simplicity. At nine-thirty sharp, he was already at the meeting place. His disciple told him to wait, as the lady would soon be up, and a few minutes later Doña Catalina entered. To Beatriz’s great surprise, she ordered her to stay. The three of them sat down. A pause followed, followed by a slight cough. Halma broke the silence, saying, “Father Nazarín, I’m calling for your opinion on very serious things that are happening… no, that threaten our poor Pedralba. We’ve barely been born, and already it seems we’re threatened with death. I can’t find a solution to this conflict I find myself in; my intelligence is very limited; it needs help, lights from other minds clearer than mine. I need your advice. ” “It’s an immense honor for me, Countess,” replied the pilgrim in a grave voice, remaining as still as a statue. “I value your trust, and I will reciprocate by telling you what I consider correct, just, and good, in accordance with the holy law of God. In this case, as in all, nothing but the truth comes from my lips, the truth, just as I feel it. ” “Can you guess what I want to consult you about? ” “Yes, ma’am. It’s not divination. I’ve heard something. ” “A tremendous conflict. ” “It’s not for me.” Such certainty disconcerted the lady, and frankly, she must have also been a little uneasy about the fact that Nazarín, upon being consulted by her, did not break with an outburst of modesty, calling himself unworthy, and protesting, as is customary in such cases, of his incapacity, etc. “Isn’t this a tremendous conflict? ” “I say that I don’t consider it to be such.” “And for two days I have been asking in vain the Lord and the Blessed Virgin to enlighten me in resolving it. ” “And they have enlightened you,” said Don Nazario, with a confidence that further disconcerted the Countess. “And they have told you: ‘In your conscience, in your heart, you have the key to this thing you call a conflict, and it is not.’ It is resolved! It is as clear as light! Forgive me, madam, if I speak to you with a firmness that you might think arrogant and even disrespectful.” The thing is, when I believe I possess the truth in a matter, great or small, I cannot help but speak it, so that whoever needs it may hear it and be thoroughly informed. If you haven’t yet seen this truth, it’s best that I place it before your eyes. Here it is: Expel José Antonio! Never. Beg him to retire! Not even. It is cruelty, weakness, a sin of almost homicidal barbarism, which God will punish by bringing down His avenging hand upon Pedralba. “If I don’t want him to leave, no, no,” said Catalina, disconcerted by the energy she doubtless hadn’t expected from such a meek man. “Let him not leave, no,” repeated the Nasrid woman in a low voice, sitting in a low chair at the other end of the room, listening and remaining silent. “Well, then, he won’t leave,” continued Halma. “Truly, that would be unjust. The poor wretch is behaving well; he’s a different man.” But I still see my conflict, Señor Don Nazario, because by retaining José Antonio, I am going against the wishes of highly respectable people, whose anger could be fatal to Pedralba. The benevolence of these people, who are almost institutions to me, is necessary for us. I find it difficult that we can live with them at odds. “The lady can carry out her charitable undertaking with respect to our good Urrea without the people she considers institutions having to intervene in any way in Pedralba’s affairs . ” “But how can that be?” “There’s nothing simpler, and it’s very strange that you don’t see it. ” “What I find most strange,” Halma said, restless and nervous, “is the ease with which you deny the existence of the conflict, without adding reasons for me to see as easy and feasible what I now consider difficult, if not impossible. I hope you will shed more light on this to convince me that the advice you’re giving me isn’t an empty formula. Do you think I can fall out with Don Remigio? ” “No, madam: Don Remigio is our immediate spiritual leader, and we owe him respect and submission. I won’t say a word of offense against him; I respect him greatly; I am under his authority, which is paternal and sweet. I mean less to the others… but, in short, I respect them all, and when I said the conflict would be easily resolved, I didn’t mean that to do so, the lady would have to alienate such worthy people. On the contrary, she can remain on very cordial terms with them .” “Don Nazario,” said the Countess, no longer nervous but rather breathless, standing up, “I don’t understand you.” It seemed natural that, seeing the governor of Pedralba’s movement of impatience, Nazarín would become flustered and ask for forgiveness, thus ending the advice. He also stood up respectfully, and with great composure, and gently touching the Countess on the shoulder, he said: “Calm down. We haven’t finished.” Pause. Once they were both seated again, the coughs started again, and Nazarín continued in this manner: “I am sure, absolutely sure, that you will soon understand me. You say to yourself: ‘But this is the man who walked the roads, wandering, barefoot, living on alms, practicing the law of poverty given by Jesus Christ?'” And is this the same one who now comes up to me, speaks harshly to me , and says, “Sit down,” as one would say to a child in our school?… Well, I am the same, madam. I lived on alms, I live on alms. I am like the birds that sing freely, and caged ones too… The environment in which one lives… and sings… must mean something. Before, I sang for the poor, and I was like them, poor and humble; now I sing for the rich, and I must do so in different tones. But in this case, as in the other, having to speak a truth that I believe is useful to souls, austere forms are not out of place. I did the same then: let that one say it. It is true that you are a great person and of notable virtue; but since you are now in the position of making serious resolutions, I, your advisor at this moment, must clothe myself with authority, the same authority that I had to use with the poor, ignorant, sinful woman. “You treat me, then,” said the Countess, at the height of her confusion, “like a sinner… ” “I know you don’t; I know you are a most virtuous person; but you could cease to be so if, in time, you didn’t decide to change your mind on some very fundamental points. You need to radically modify your system of practicing charity, and your way of life. If you don’t do so, you could lose your peace, and with that peace… even your virtue itself. ” “I don’t understand you; I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me,” replied Halma, no longer worried, but distressed by the stupendous and unexpected concepts the wandering beggar allowed himself to express. “Perhaps you mean that I haven’t been able to give my plans for a Christian life the most acceptable form. ” “No, madam, you haven’t been able to. ” “Are you really saying that?” “As I say, for quite some time now, the lady has been living in a pitiful error… but for a long time. Don’t think that it pains me to speak to you the truth of what I feel.” On the contrary, madam, I take pleasure in expressing it, and I would express it even if I saw that you weren’t listening with pleasure. “I assure you that, truly… I don’t quite understand what you’re saying… According to that, the path I’m taking isn’t the best… ” “It’s a good path, and one can reach perfection along it. But you won’t get there, no, madam. ” “Why? ” “Because no… because your path is another… and that’s where the mistake lies.” And I arrive in time to tell her: “My Lady Countess, your path is not that one, but that one.” Chapter 38. Perplexed and stunned, Catherine heard these words, which, in her impressions of that moment, seemed horribly out of tune. She thought she heard a voice coming from very far away, and Nazarín was distorted in her imagination, inspiring fear. Presuming that he still had more out of tune and strange things to say, she regretted having asked his advice and wanted to finish the chapter as quickly as possible. Beatriz, restless, did not take her eyes off the lady, whose bewilderment she read in her expressive face, and, unable to doubt the intelligence and sincerity of the teacher, waited for him to explain his truths so that the illustrious foundress would unfurrow her frown. “The Countess’s path is not this one, but that one,” Nazarín repeated, “and now you’ll see how quickly I’ll make her understand. First of all: the idea of ​​giving Pedralba a public organization, similar to that of the religious and charitable institutes that exist today, is a complete nonsense. ” “Then what organization should I have given it…? ” “None. ” “None! So, according to you, the best system…? ” “It is the negation of all systems, in the specific case of Pedralba, and of yourself. ” “And how is this… negative organization to be understood? ” “In a very simple way, and one that is not disorganization, far from it. The same thing you are trying to do here in the service of God and of helpless humanity, you can do, and will do better, by establishing yourself in a form of absolute freedom, so that neither the Church, nor the State, nor the Feramor family, can intervene in your affairs, nor hold you accountable for your actions.” “Well, if you give me the key to that disorganized and free organization,” the Countess said ironically, “I will declare you the world’s foremost intelligence. ” “I am not the world’s foremost intelligence; but God wills that on this occasion I may manifest truths that overwhelm and captivate your great understanding, allowing you to achieve the goals you set for yourself. You have not understood the concept of freedom that I allowed myself to express to you. We know full well that all freedom brings with it slavery. Now you are a slave to society. By freeing yourself from it, you will change the form of your freedom and also that of your chains… ” “Mr. Nazarín,” Halma said, rising for the second time, “either you mock me, or… ” “Let me continue. Be patient. Do me the favor of sitting down and listening to what I still have to say to you. Then, you follow my advice, or reject it, as you see fit.” What were you thinking when you established in Pedralba an organization similar to the social organizations we see around here, rickety, worn-out, old machines that don’t work properly? What does it mean that your island is not your island, but a province of the entire island? From the moment the lady agrees with the civil and ecclesiastical authorities for the admission of these or those helpless people, she gives those authorities the right to intervene, supervise, and pretend to govern here as everywhere. The moment you move, the Church comes and says, “Stop!” And the intruding State comes and says, “Stop!” Both want to inspect. Tutelage will take away all initiative from you. How much simpler and more practical, my lady , is it not to establish anything, to dispense with all constitutions and regulations, and to constitute yourself as a family, nothing more than a family, as the lady and queen of your private house! Within the borders of your free house, you will be able to shelter the poor you wish, seat them at your table, and act as your spirit of charity and your love of good inspire you.
The Countess, at last, fell silent, and listened with profound attention. “And having said this truth,” Nazarín continued, “I am going to express another, for it is not a single one that will guide you along the right path: there are two, or perhaps three, and having said them, I will not stop at nothing, nor I don’t worry about whether you’re upset or not. Even if I knew I’d be dismissed from your island, where I’m very comfortable, I wouldn’t keep quiet about the truths that still remain to be told. Here we go. The Countess is young, and in her relatively short life, she has suffered more than others in a long one; in a short time, she endured, yes, great tribulations and hardships. She saw her youth fade early due to disagreements with her family; she saw the husband she adored die in distant lands; she later suffered setbacks, deviations, bitterness… Her soul, weary of earthly things, turned to God; she aspired to be His completely, she understood that she must consecrate the rest of her days to mortification, asceticism, charity… Perfectly. All this is very good, and I praise these aspirations, which demonstrate the greatness of her spirit. But I must tell you bluntly that I see a grave error in them, madam, because the sanctity you have been dreaming of since you lost your husband cannot be achieved by those means. The ardor of a mystical life is only in your imagination, and that is not enough, Countess, because you would be a dreamy or imaginative mystic, not a saint as you claim, and as we all want you to be. Halma wanted to say something, but she couldn’t: her tongue was tied. “The day will come, if the lady doesn’t take another course, when all that mysticism will become a nest of passions, which could be good, and could also be bad. Stop aspiring to sanctity by that path, and hasten to follow the one I am going to propose to you. Who advised you to renounce all worldly affections and to dedicate yourself to the ideal affection, the pure affection of divine things?” It was undoubtedly the most blessed Don Manuel Flórez, a very good man, but one who lived in routine, always following the beaten path. The social vertigo amidst which our amiable Don Manuel always lived, did not allow him to clearly see human complexions , nor the peculiar physiognomy of each soul, nor the characters, nor the temperaments. I have been fortunate enough to see it more clearly, although late, in time, no doubt because the Lord enlightened me to pull you out of the swamp you have found yourself in. No, the ascetic, solitary life dedicated to meditation and abstinence is not for you. Mrs. Pedralba needs activity, chores, work, movement, affections, human life, in short, and in it you can reach, if not perfection, because perfection is forbidden to us, then such a sum of merits and virtues that there is no one on earth who surpasses her, and you may be the recreation of the God who created you. Doña Catalina, breathless, breathed fire from her cheeks. “You will achieve nothing through pure spirituality; you will have everything through humanness. And we must not despise humanity, my lady, because we would despise the work of God, who, if he made our hearts, is also the author of our nerves and our blood. This is said to you by a man who knows neither flattery nor fear. I am nothing, and if I were ever not an organ of truth, my existence would be of little value. To the poor, I say, suffer and hope; to the rich , protect the poor; to the wicked, return to God through repentance; to the good, live holy lives, within divine and human laws. And to you, who are good, noble, and virtuous, I say, do not seek perfection in solitary spiritualism, because you will not find it; for your life needs the support of another life to keep you from faltering, to always walk on straight.” Catherine of Halma, upon hearing this about the _support_ of another life, felt her hair stand up. Nazarin stood up; she too, her eyes frightened, her face flushed. “What you want to tell me,” she murmured, contracting her fingers, as if she wanted to make them into sharp claws, “what you’re proposing is… that I get married! ” “Yes, madam, that’s exactly it: that you get married.” The Countess let out a guttural cry, and, putting her hand to her heart, as if to stifle an explosion, fell to the ground, attacked by wild beasts. convulsions. Chapter 39. Beatriz ran to her aid and picked her up in her arms. Nazarín looked at her impassively. In her faint, between unintelligible phrases, Doña Catalina clearly uttered the following: “He’s crazy, and he wants to drive me crazy.” Nazarín left the chapter house, where Beatriz, with the help of Aquilina, who quickly arrived, was trying to return the illustrious lady to her normal state. It was enough to unbutton her doublet and wet her temples with cold water for Halma to recover, and left alone again with the Nazarite, more than a quarter of an hour passed without either of them saying a word, either for or against the beggar apostle’s most singular advice. Catalina, possessed by an intense languor, was the first to break the grave silence with this question: “And when I lost consciousness, didn’t he say anything else?” “No, madam. Nothing more. ” “Didn’t he say the third truth… that I must marry José Antonio?” “I didn’t hear any such thing.” Halma remained as if dozing on the sofa, and when Beatriz thought she was asleep, the lady sat up, very nervous, and with great restlessness of tongue and hands, she hurriedly said: “Beatriz, that man is the saint, that man is the just one, the missionary of truth, the emissary of the Divine Word. His voice brings me the will of God, and before it I prostrate myself. This idea of ​​my getting married has been hovering in my soul, without daring to enter it, because I had it occupied by a thousand artifices of my vanity as an imaginative saint and a visionary mystic… He has told me the great truth, which has taken a long time to take possession of my spirit, dulled by the routine ideas that I have been stuffing and clogging into it for some time now. Where is your teacher? I want to see him.” I want you to speak to me again, and confirm what you told me before. The two of them went out. “There he is,” Beatriz indicated, after exploring the solitudes of Pedralba through a window. “He’s walking beneath the mulberry tree.” They ran over, and kneeling before him, Halma said: “Father, I have never heard such a great and clear truth. You have revealed myself to me . I was like the worm that encloses itself in the cocoon it is working on. You have brought me out of my own shell. A feeling existed in me that I was hardly aware of: so crouched was the poor man in a corner of my soul. The voice of the padrito made him jump, and the rogue has grown in an instant… Oh, what truths that sovereign intelligence has told me! Alone, in vain, I would ask mysticism for sap and warmth . Accompanied, I will have someone to defend me, someone to help me, we will be two in one to continue the holy work.” I’m not founding anything; I don’t want a legal community constituted with a thousand little formulas, which would be so many loopholes for the priest, the doctor, and the administrator to intervene and inspect my actions . My island is not, should not be, an institution, in the image and likeness of the State. Let my island be a home, a family. My husband and I command and dispose of it, with free will, in accordance with the law of God. “Look at him, look at him,” said Nazarín, pointing to a distant spot where a pair of oxen could be seen, and a farmhand behind them. “There is the man, with his big and beautiful heart, the being that you, with your charity, misunderstood by the blessed Flórez, and disowned by your brother, brought out of misery and abjection. I have sounded him out. I have seen his soul before me, clear and evident. He is a good man, and he will make an excellent lord of Pedralba.” “And we will bless you, Father, the saint, the just, the one who sees and discovers everything. ” “I am none of those things,” replied the priest from La Mancha, resisting Halma’s kissing of his hands and forcing her to stand up. “The lady on her knees before me! Of course! I am neither saint nor just, my lady, but a poor man who, by the grace of God, has been able to see what no one else had seen: that the lady of Pedralba loves her cousin, that she loves him with love, perhaps ever since he came to her, a lost soul, with the intention of asking him for alms. “It’s true, it’s true… And I thought of sending him away from me! What madness! I came to believe that the dryness of the soul was the first step to ascend to those sanctities I dreamed of… I was with my sanctity like a little girl with new shoes. And poor José Antonio burning with affection for me, which I interpreted as very deep gratitude! I already suspected it was something more; but such was my clumsiness that, upon seeing that feeling, I threw dirt over him, all the inert material I dug out of the mystical hole in which he wanted to bury me. “And now, Countess, now that the great truths have emerged, with the help of God’s light, from the darkness in which they were hidden, go home, devote yourself to your usual occupations, and leave it to me to inform Urrea of ​​this happiness, for if I do not communicate it to him with gradual skill, the sudden joy might produce in him a shock too strong and dangerous.” Halma was not long in obeying him, and there she went with Beatriz to their domestic chores, which that day seemed more pleasant than ever. And the man from La Mancha took step by step the path that led to the land that the noble Urrea was tilling. The brave farmhand, upon seeing him approach, gave him a gallant salute, repeatedly raising his aileron, and when he had him within range of a word, he did not dare to ask him, so afraid was he, what he so ardently desired to know. With the oxen stopped, Urrea remained like a statue. His feet in the mud, his left hand in the tiller, his right hand gripping the hoe, he was a beautiful representation of Agriculture, carved in terracotta. “My son,” Nazarín told him, “I don’t know if the news I bring you will be satisfactory for you. Don’t get too excited before your time. ” José Antonio paled. “My son, if you weren’t so stupid, you would understand that the news I bring you is average, bordering on good. ” The farmhand’s face reddened. “The Countess doesn’t want you to leave Pedralba. But… ” “But what? ” “But… the thing is, I couldn’t find a way to keep you. Finally, I’ve given him a little formula or recipe to resolve the conflict and avoid the probable intrusions of Don Remigio, Láinez, and Amador. The regime in Pedralba will be radically changed. Are you getting it? ” “I don’t understand anything.” “Because you’re very stupid. Nothing, son, I’ve convinced the Countess… shall I tell you? That she must complete the great work of your correction, shall I tell you?… by making you her husband. Don’t you believe it?” Urrea brandished the lance, and such a movement impressed upon it the convulsion of his joyful surprise that Nazarín could have believed it pierced him through and through. “Calm down, son, don’t do anything crazy. Things are going where they should. Thank God for having enlightened your cousin. She finally understands that the current of life must be carried along its natural course. Her determination resolves in a most natural way all the difficulties that have arisen in the government of this island. The lords of Pedralba don’t found anything; they live in their house and do all the good they can. You see how easy and simple it is! To figure this out, the intervention of the Holy Spirit is not needed .” And yet, the Countess of Halma’s great intelligence, dazzled by her own brilliance, failed to see this elementary truth. God has willed that I, a poor vagrant clergyman, should preach common sense to daring minds, to overly ambitious souls. José Antonio embraced Nazarín and could only express his joy in broken phrases: “I too, I too… saw clearly… I couldn’t say it… not to say it to myself… I feared nonsense… And it wasn’t, Christ, it wasn’t! The highest science seems madness; the truth of God… the unreason of men. ” “Now, my son, continue with your little work, as if nothing had happened. Keep plowing, plowing, this will entertain you, and at the same time that you open the land, give thanks to God for the favor he has just granted you. You do not deserve this great and beautiful gift.” “I don’t deserve it, no,” Urrea said with emotion. “I have suffered a lot in this world. But even if my torments had been a million times greater, this immense joy is not in proportion to them. ” “Work, son, work. And I ask you one more thing. Don’t go to the castle until nightfall… because I suppose they’ll bring your dinner here. ” “I think so.” “Don’t show impatience, don’t get upset, and when you see your cousin tonight, at dinner time, don’t make a fuss or show off. You… stay quiet until she speaks to you. And when she deigns to express her thoughts to you, you thank her in a calm and noble manner, promising to dedicate your life and your entire being to her, and making it clear that you don’t believe yourself worthy of the unprecedented happiness she has in store for you… Go, son, to your oxen, and until nightfall… With that furrow, write your gratitude in the earth.” She loves the earth, which sustains us all and teaches us so many things, including one very difficult thing to learn. Don’t you know what it is? To wait, son, to wait. The earth preserves the seasoning for things, and gives it to us… when it should. Chapter 40. What was discussed that night, after dinner, by the governor of the island and the future lord of Pedralba, is not recorded in the papers of the Nasrid archive, from which all the materials for composing this history have been scrupulously taken. Without a doubt, after reporting on the grave matrimonial resolution of the holy Countess, the chroniclers of Nasridism did not believe they should expand on further historical details of such a considerable event, or they considered the heartfelt words with which those two people solemnly confirmed their matrimonial intentions to be void of all religious and social interest. The only thing pertinent to the case is the news that José Antonio de Urrea prepared that same night to leave for Madrid the following morning. Another Nasrid document corroborates that he did, in fact, leave on horseback at daybreak, and that Halma came out to see him off and wish him a safe journey, adding a few warnings she had forgotten during their conversation the night before . It is an incontrovertible fact, to which eyewitnesses will attest, if necessary , that, once mounted on the nag, the presumed governor of the island, as he shook the Countess’s hand, uttered these words: “I have only one resentment: that our Don Remigio, who will surely touch heaven with his hands when he sees that the chancellorship of Pedralba is not granted to him, will annoy us with delays, and perhaps with serious obstacles.” I haven’t stopped pondering this tonight, and finally, dear cousin, what I’ve come up with is that we need to buy his will. “Buy him…! What…! What do you mean? ” “You’ll see. I’m not leaving Madrid without bringing back his appointment to one of the parishes there. It’s his dream, his ambition, and if I manage to fulfill it, the man is ours now and forever. I’ve thought that no one can help me in this endeavor better than Severiano Rodríguez, who is, as you know, a close friend of the Bishop. And, since Severiano and your brother Feramor had a formidable fight in the Senate, and are now at each other’s throats, I hope he will support me with interest, with the zeal of a sectarian. To do this, it’s enough to make him understand that the English parliamentarian and economist must take a dim view of what pleases and favors us .” Believe me , I will plow the land over there, as I have plowed this one, to win the favor of the little priest of San Agustín, who is the one who will bestow our blessings. Leave it to me, I’ll know how to arrange it… my word. I’m already laughing at the thought of the commotion that will arise when I break the news. It will be like throwing a bomb; from here you will hear the explosion, and you will laugh, while I laugh over there, until the happy day comes when we laugh together… Goodbye, goodbye, it’s late. On the first day of Urrea’s absence, the Countess, in a long and affectionate meeting she held with Nazarín, as recorded in documents of indubitable authenticity, pointed out to the apostle how just and humane would be to discharge him, declaring him in full possession of his intellectual faculties. If she had to decide, there was no doubt, for what clearer proof of Don Nazario’s perfect mental state could there be than his incomparable advice and opinion on the matter that Halma had submitted to his judgment days before? To which the pilgrim calmly responded that, being subject to the observation of the hierarchical superior, only he could decide whether or not he should be reinstated in his priestly duties. Certainly, a good report from the Countess, to whom the Church entrusted the custody of the supposedly insane person, would be of great weight and authority; but in the opinion of the interested party, this report would not be effective if it was not preceded by an explicit statement from his immediate superior, the priest of San Agustín. The apostle added that his greatest joy would be to have his licenses returned to him so he could celebrate the Holy Sacrifice, and if his freedom was granted, he would move without delay to Alcalá de Henares, where his dear parishioners, the _Sacrilege_ and Ándara, suffered the rigors of the law. For the rest, his patience was never exhausted, and he would wait peacefully, determined not to enjoy the longed-for freedom until the one who was supposed to grant it to him did so. The Countess also spoke with Don Remigio about this matter, obtaining from him nothing more than vague promises to study it, also submitting it to the medical opinion of Láinez. He also informed the priest and the doctor of his planned marriage, and no human tongue can describe the surprise and astonishment of those most worthy people, and of the neighboring owner of the Alberca. Don Remigio, throughout the entire trip from Pedralba to San Agustín, made crosses over his mouth, face, and breasts. José Antonio spent five days in Madrid, returning on the morning of the sixth, joyful and triumphant, for he had already completed all the paperwork required for the wedding. He would go on and on telling his cousin about the scandal the news of the wedding had caused in the family . At first, they dismissed it as a joke; finally, convinced it was true, a barrage of bloody jokes rained down on the lonely people of Pedralba. The least offensive was this one: “Catalina took Nazarín to be cured, and he’s made her crazier than she was.” Halma and Urrea did what they had announced before his departure: spend a good few moments laughing at all that commotion in Madrid, which surely wouldn’t cause them any anxiety or sleeplessness. The good Don Remigio happened to appear at that moment, and Urrea went straight to him, and giving him such a tight embrace that it seemed to suffocate him, said: “A thousand congratulations to the illustrious priest of San Agustín, for the justice that his superiors have shown him, granting him a position proportional to his enormous talents and eminent virtues.” Don Remigio did not understand, and the other, repeating the squeezing, had to explain it to him with complete clarity. “You know that I have brought your appointment… ” “For a parish in Madrid? ” “My most worthy friend and chaplain could not be appointed, because there is no vacancy these days ; but the Prelate, with whom a friend of mine spoke about you, praising your merits, assured him that you will go to Madrid very soon, and that in the meantime, so that such a virtuous and wise man would not be obscured in that village, he is appointing you Treasurer of Santa María de Alcalá.” “Santa María de Alcalá!” exclaimed Don Remigio as if in ecstasy; his new destination seemed so superb and tempting! And an embrace more suffocating than the previous ones sealed the everlasting friendship between the good parish priest of San Agustín and the islander of Pedralba. “And what can I do to show my gratitude, Señor de Urrea, what can this modest priest do… ” “That modest priest has no more need to do than preserve his precious friendship for us, which we value so highly. And before handing over the parish to the one who comes to replace him, give us your holy blessings. ” “Right now… I mean, tomorrow, the day after tomorrow. I am at the service of Señora Doña Catalina, whom I must no longer call Countess of Halma.” “It will be the day after tomorrow, Señor Don Remigio,” Halma indicated. “And I must deserve another thing from your benevolence: that I don’t forget the blessed Nazarín. ” “As I must go to Court to see my uncle, I will report favorably there. It’s obvious that he’s in his right mind! Intelligence as clear as the sun. Isn’t that true, madam? ” “I believe so.” “I have no problem discharging him, under my responsibility, certain that the Bishop will confirm my opinion, and if he wishes to come with me to Alcalá, I will take him, yes sir, and I will give him a modest room in my very modest house. ” “We are glad of this, and we are sorry,” affirmed Señora de Pedralba, “because the company of the good Don Nazario is most gratifying to us beyond all reason. ” “He will come to see us,” said Urrea. “And we will also have Señor Don Remigio here sometime.” This is no longer a religious or charitable institution, nor are there any ordinances or regulations here, nor any law other than that of a Christian family living on its own property. We govern ourselves, and we govern our precious island. ” “And so it should be… and so you have no headaches, no impertinence from intrusive neighbors, no manipulation from the direction of the Charity or the ecclesiastical authority. Kings of your own house, you do good with the utmost free will, accountable only to God… If it’s what I’ve always said, if it’s the simple, elemental truth!… Come on, the day after tomorrow in my parish, at the hour the gentlemen designate to me. ” The hour agreed upon, Don Remigio mounted his horse and spurred on his horse. The little animal must have shared in its master’s restless joy, because in a breath it carried him to the neighboring town. In a note from a very curious Nasrid document, which deserves to be treasured, it is said that on the very day of the wedding, the priest from La Mancha left San Agustín, riding on the donkey of the great Don Remigio. He bid a fond farewell to the lords of Pedralba, and to Beatriz, who wept like a Magdalene upon seeing him leave. Taking the road to the boat in Algete, he crossed the Jarama River, continuing tirelessly , at the measured pace of the donkey, to the noble city of Alcalá de Henares, where he thought her presence would be of great use . Halma’s story, although marked by the internal conflicts of its protagonist, leaves the reader with a profound reflection on life and the struggle for personal autonomy. Benito Pérez Galdós presents us with a story of great emotional weight that, without a doubt, makes us question the decisions we make on our own path. We hope you enjoyed this narrative and invite you to continue joining us for more classic stories.