📚✨ Luchana de Benito Pérez Galdós | Una Historia Épica del Siglo XIX 🇪🇸🔥

Sumérgete en *Luchana*, una de las más vibrantes y apasionadas novelas históricas de Benito Pérez Galdós, parte esencial de sus afamados *Episodios Nacionales*. 📖💥 A través de esta obra, el autor recrea con maestría la atmósfera tensa y heroica del sitio de Bilbao durante la Primera Guerra Carlista, llevándonos al corazón mismo de la lucha por el futuro de España. 🏰⚔️

En esta narración épica, conocerás a personajes inolvidables que encarnan el honor, la lealtad y la valentía, mientras la política, la religión y el conflicto bélico se entrelazan en una trama cargada de emoción, drama y reflexión histórica. Galdós nos ofrece un testimonio literario profundo sobre la identidad nacional y la pasión de un pueblo dividido pero resiliente. 🇪🇸❤️‍🔥

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**Navigate by Chapters or Titles:**
00:00:38 Chapter 1.
00:14:59 Chapter 2.
00:30:11 Chapter 3.
00:43:55 Chapter 4.
00:57:59 Chapter 5.
01:15:14 Chapter 6.
01:33:05 Chapter 7.
01:47:08 Chapter 8.
02:03:31 Chapter 9.
02:19:22 Chapter 10.
02:36:25 Chapter 11.
02:52:07 Chapter 12.
03:08:36 Chapter 13.
03:24:54 Chapter 14.
03:38:52 Chapter 15.
03:52:27 Chapter 16.
04:09:03 Chapter 17.
04:26:32 Chapter 18.
04:43:35 Chapter 19.
04:57:59 Chapter 20.
05:12:54 Chapter 21.
05:31:51 Chapter 22.
05:49:46 Chapter 23.
06:09:28 Chapter 24.
06:23:37 Chapter 25.
06:37:15 Chapter 26.
06:56:08 Chapter 27.
07:13:21 Chapter 28.
07:27:08 Chapter 29.
07:42:45 Chapter 30.
08:00:18 Chapter 31.
08:15:03 Chapter 32.
08:26:47 Chapter 33.
08:38:23 Chapter 34.
08:55:00 Chapter 35.
09:13:04 Chapter 36.
09:29:11 Chapter 37.
09:42:25 Chapter 38.
09:55:07 Chapter 39.
10:10:26 Chapter 40.

Welcome to Now for Stories. Today we present Luchana, a historical work by the great Spanish novelist Benito Pérez Galdós. This story is part of the National Episodes, a series that passionately and in detail relives the events that shaped 19th-century Spain. In Luchana, Galdós places us in the heat of the First Carlist War, in the midst of the siege of Bilbao, to show us the courage, loyalty, and human contradictions that arise in times of conflict. Prepare for a vibrant immersion in the history and soul of a nation in struggle. Chapter 1. “In my letter yesterday,” said the unknown lady, dated the 14th of… August—I told you that our good Hillo sent me a message at noon, recommending that I not go out for a walk in the town, not even in the gardens, because rumors were spreading that the soldiers and privates of the Fourth Guard, those of the Royal Provincial Guard, and the mounted grenadiers were in a state of agitation, and it was feared that we would have a day of revelry, if not mourning and bloody riots. Naturally, I did exactly the opposite of what our wise Mentor, with his notorious prudence, had advised me: I went out for a walk with two friends, a lady and a gentleman, the walk lasting longer than usual, and I am not exaggerating if I tell you that we walked nearly a quarter of a league along the Valsaín road; then we crossed the entire town, reaching beyond the Pajarón, and we returned home with a certain dismay, for we saw no seditious mobs, nor unbridled soldiers , nor anything out of the ordinary. The street drama , a historical genre in Spain, which we longed to see, not without some shock to our keen curiosity, remained in the wings, perhaps in rehearsal. Its authors, fearful of a whistle, didn’t dare order the curtain to be raised. “For my part, I assure you I wasn’t afraid; my companions were: only with the idea that the announced revolution wouldn’t be more than a comedy, they dared to witness it. And it had to be a comedy, in everyone’s presumption , since there was nothing to fear from the leaders, from the general commander of the Royal Siege, Count of San Román, his allegiance to the queen and Istúriz being known to everyone ; nor from the leaders, who were the best of each house. The classes and troops are not capable of writing a page of Spanish history on their own, and the day they did write it, alas! we would see, in addition to today’s bad grammar, detestable spelling. As we passed the theater, we laughed at the title of the announced play: _At Ten O’Clock at Night, or the Symptoms of a Conspiracy_. At the doors of the theater café, we saw civilians and sergeants in very lively groups, and from the stray words that grated our ears as we passed, we understood that they were discussing politics. Then Pepito Urbistondo, whom we met near the Command Post, told us that the ranks of the entire garrison were inconvenienced because the general had prohibited, under severe penalties, the singing of patriotic songs, and ordered that the bands and musicians play no marches except those of the order. You don’t know this Pepe Urbistondo : he arrived not a month ago from the Army of Aragon; he is brave and daring in war; at the Madrid soirees, the first and most daring dancer of gavottes and mazurkas; A good boy, except he stutters a bit, and he’s a bit tiresome with his displays of refinement, sometimes without much ado. Today you have him here as San Román’s assistant, and he’s the one who livens up with his wit the groups that form daily, morning and evening, at the Three Graces or at Andromeda… Well, I continue telling you that the news communicated by Pepito about the bad mood of the corporals and sergeants didn’t cause us great concern. But then we met the canon of the Collegiate Church, Don Blas de Torres, who warned us by telling us what had happened moments before, at the roll call. After the music, and when the troops were already forming up to return to the barracks, the drum major ordered the band to play the grenadier march. The drums obeyed; but not the fifes, which came out to Riego’s hymn, resulting in a hell of a mess, the result of the discordance between the music so different. The commander, flustered, ordered the band to fall silent, and the troops headed to the barracks to the sound of their own footsteps. We watched them pass by. It was a sad, gloomy scene. I don’t know why I was impressed by that march of the soldiers without any sound of music or military noise. I looked at the faces of many, and they were not, no, the usual faces of Spanish soldiers, always cheerful. When we entered my friends’ house, we met Urbistondo again, and he told us that, upon arriving at the barracks, the commander had ordered the entire band arrested; that the drum major, who was believed to have connived with the out-of-tune fifers, had been thrown into a cell. The officers were ordered to remain in the barracks all night, and the sergeants were forbidden to leave. When Pepito gave us these reports, it was almost nightfall; the strollers in the gardens were hurrying back to their homes; There was apprehension and suspicion in some of them ; a subtle breeze was blowing down from the mountains, making us miss our coats. I sent home for mine: the person who brought it to me also had a note urging me , or rather, doing me the honor of summoning me to the Palace… I was shivering; I had gotten a little cold on my way back from my walk: I think seeing those sad soldiers marching without drums or bugles contributed to this… I postponed my visit to the Palace until after lunch; but then a more pressing, verbal message came, and taking the arm of the worthy gentleman who had brought him, I went there. Who summoned me from the Palace, I cannot tell you, child, nor is there any reason to. I thought I would find alarm in the royal residence, but I was mistaken… we were mistaken about so many things! They knew everything that had happened at the Pajarón barracks and in the list; They had heard about the sergeants’ upset attitude at the theater café, where they usually meet; about the arrival of countrymen from Madrid, sinister birds that announce political storms; but they hadn’t lost their tranquility and confidence for that. I mustn’t hide from you that I had received valuable information from the City and Court about what certain people who influence public affairs think and say, both when they’re in the spotlight and when they’re down. Someone found out I had such information and wanted to hear it from my own lips. From what I knew, I communicated what I deemed prudent and opportune under the current circumstances, what I thought might be useful and instructive to the person questioning me; I kept the rest to myself. Don’t you think I did the right thing? I see you agree. I like it when you agree with me on everything. “Well, you see: I spent a very pleasant time with the girls when they were being put to bed. Queen Isabel speaks like a real woman; Luisa Fernanda surpasses her in formality. ” The little girl is serious, and at her young age, she seems to feel and understand that both she and her sister are historical figures, and that they are destined to play leading roles on the world stage. Isabel stands out for her intelligence: they tell of her truly prodigious sallies and retorts. She already knows all the courtiers and many generals by name; she distinguishes the corps and arms of the army by their uniforms, and the ranks and positions of the officers by their stripes and epaulettes. She knows the chronology of monarchs, from the Catholics onward, by heart , and on etiquette she usually gives extremely saucy opinions, which reveal her wit and disposition. She is very playful, too much so, some say , for a queen. But this is nonsense, because what else have children to do but confuse? Our angelic Isabel, whom the people and army acclaim as the hope of the country, would gladly go, if only they would let her, to play in the street with the poor little girls. God bless her. If that war has the outcome we desire and Don Carlos remains as good as the rooster of Morón, we will see Isabel on the throne, I mean, you will see her, for I do not intend to live that long. “I don’t know why I imagine that the playful and quick-witted Isabel will be a great queen, like the first of her name. The key is that they know how to surround her, in her first years of reign, with people good, of stern demeanor and rectitude, of knowledge in the affairs of state, because if not, what is the poor girl to do? Not even with the most sublime gifts that God places in the will and intelligence of His creatures could Isabelita function amidst the confusion of a country that is still searching for the best possible constitution, and that does not seem willing to let itself be governed calmly until it finds it; of a country that still uses enthusiasm as its main political resource, a very good thing for making revolutions when they are appropriate, but not for governing people… In short, I do not want you to call me tiresome, and I suspend here my harsh judgments about a country that will still take centuries to cure itself of its sentimental habits… So you see what awaits the poor girl, especially if they leave her alone and do not take care to put someone at her side to guide and advise her. May God grant that my misgivings prove unfounded, and that Isabel reigns without incident, making this poor little nation happy, powerful, and rich. I will not see her reign, and if it is prosperous and great, that is all I will miss. What becomes of the precious girl in history, to whom I have given so many kisses tonight, you will tell me when we meet in the other world. “Well, you know that as I was leaving the girls’ room, I received the news that four companies of the Provincial Royal Guard, quartered in the Pajarón, had rebelled. This was told to me by a lady whose wit goes hand in hand with age—both are grown up—and no doubt because her practical knowledge of the history of the century makes her familiar with riots, she did not accompany the news with displays of alarm. She was no longer young when the tumult of Aranjuez, in March of the year 8, which she witnessed and recounts in detail . So imagine, having watched from the sidelines that performance and all the ones that have followed, the poor lady will be cured of her fear! “Don’t be alarmed,” she told me. “It won’t be a problem: it will all come down to them pounding our ears with the _anthem_, or asking for the Statute to be repealed or some such nonsense. If I were queen, I wouldn’t hesitate to change the name of the first law of the State, since this neither gives nor takes away power… These poor liberals are creatures who spend their lives changing nicknames and signs, without noticing that the names change, and things are always the same. Now they’re playing at little constitutions… how naive!… I laugh… Anyway, we’ll see what this will turn out to be. I don’t want my friend Istúriz to make any profit.” “I replied that I couldn’t share in her peace, and feeling quite faint and a little frightened in my poor spirit, I begged her to send for a cup of broth. ‘I’ll order another for myself, and also two small glasses of sherry with their corresponding biscuits, because, my friend, I can’t accept this very new custom of eating lunch at three and dinner at eleven at night… these must be Neapolitan customs… And besides, since it might happen that on a night of revolution there won’t be the proper punctuality at the hour of supper, it’s best that we prepare for whatever fasting God may bring us between now and tomorrow. And if it pleases you, we’ll order some cold cuts or a sweet pear to be served to us …’ “At all this time, we noticed soldiers coming and going, we saw startled faces; but no unusual noise could be heard from the town. When my friend and I were in the small dining room , having a good time, the week’s steward, all trembling and frightened, told us that the iron gate leading to the town had been closed, bringing the keys to the Palace; but he feared that the rebels outside would force the gate with the help of the rebels inside. “Those inside!” my friend exclaimed. ” So, those from the Fourth Regiment did too…? It was only natural. They’d all had it well mixed up together.” The informant added that the head of the Provincials and some of the officers were trying to contain the movement with exhortations and good advice; but there was some doubt. that they would succeed. There was still hope that the Body Guards would remain faithful to discipline, and in that case, they would be shooting at each other. To this, the two ladies said no, no…, no way…, no shooting or killing each other, no, no… Let everyone come to an agreement, by God’s grace; that if it remained a change of government, with a hymn, proclamations, enthusiasm, and a graceful rattling of constitutions, we would be satisfied… Above all, whatever was to come, should come soon, so that we could have dinner, even if it was a little late, and sleep peacefully. “When we returned to the antechamber, we already heard an extraordinary noise outside, and in the Palace, confusion, perplexity, bewilderment, fear. ” Chapter 2. “‘This way, this way,’ they told us, pointing to the rooms whose… The balconies overlook the small square called the Cacharrería, and there we went, my friend and I, eager to see and enjoy the scenes that were being prepared, presuming, I don’t know why, that they would not be tumultuous, nor even bloody. A few shots rang out—oh, how frightening!—they noticed that they were being fired into the air, more in a celebratory tone than in hostility, and the murmur of voices that rose from the square didn’t really seem like the breath of revolution, but rather something of the “ah, ah!” with which theaters clumsily imitate the roar of furious crowds. The night wasn’t very clear. From the balconies, peering behind the glass, we could make out the swarm of dark shapes moving incessantly, the fleeting gleam of metallic objects: bayonets, rifle barrels, helmet plates, epaulettes. The attempt, no doubt, was made for an orderly formation, and such an attempt was not easy to achieve. In the cheers that began to be heard shortly after the rebels arrived at the square, the queen alternated with liberty, each shout uttered with equal ardor, from which we deduced that our lives, like those of the queens, were in no danger. A revolution that acclaims those who embody authority never comes with bad wine. “Perhaps now,” my friend observed, “those unfortunates with whom they have stirred up all this fuss will come out to ask for a pay raise, which seems very fair to me, because you already know that they are now given only nine centavos, of which eight are for food. Let us recognize that the Spanish soldier is virtue itself, for _for a centavo_ he dedicates his existence to the country every day, _for a centavo_ he submits to the rigors of discipline, _for a centavo_ he guards and defends us to the point of letting himself be killed. I don’t believe that in any country there is cheaper self-denial. But you will see how these unfortunates come asking for something that doesn’t matter to them, something that will not remedy their poverty. You will see how they come out demanding more freedom…, freedom that will not make them freer, nor less poor. Perhaps there will be someone among them who believes that the Constitution of ’12 will give them a centavo and a half.” “Another lady who joined us, the wife of a general who made his brilliant career treading on palace carpets—I won’t tell you her name. She’s ugly, poor thing; so unattractive that everyone thinks she has talent… and the world is wrong—assured us that the scandal we were witnessing was the work of Freemasonry; that the soldiers of the Guard didn’t understand constitutions, nor did they know whether freedom was eaten with a spoon or a fork, and that they were rebelling because the lodges had distributed money to them. Four days earlier, twelve thousand duros had arrived from Madrid… My friend interrupted her to tell her that she didn’t believe in these trips in the bags. I shared the same opinion. But she insisted, asserting the thousands as if she had counted them. She knew this from a chambermaid’s maid, who had a boyfriend who was a corporal in the Provincials. The previous Sunday they had gone out for a walk, and he invited her to have a snack at the Boca del Asno, and showed her columnar rooms, those with two globes and a sign that says _beyond_… My friend said to this, dressing her sarcasm in exquisite ways, that with such signs the venality of the seditious sergeants could not be doubted, and I I was forced to express the same opinion, adding that in no case is it advisable for lodges to have money. The three of us were astonished that, with the king and the greatness possessing the greatest wealth of the nation, all the revolutions are contrary to the monarchy and the aristocracy. There must necessarily be a great quantity of hidden currency, divided into many small amounts among the enormous mass of ordinary, obscure, and even shirtless people teeming in cities and villages. Our attention was suddenly drawn away from these womanly philosophies by the increase in noise in the plaza and at the entrance to the Palace, the deafening sonority of Riego’s hymn, sung by a thousand voices, and the movement we noticed toward the main staircase. Soon we saw the leaders of the rebel companies ascending. San Román and the Duke of Alagón came out to greet them. I will never forget the brief, piquant dialogue between the palace generals and the leaders who played such a disgraced role in that comedy. “But you…!” “My General, we…,” and they said no more. They wrote a little bit of history with these urgent words, accompanied by an expressive shrug of the shoulders. One of them was finally able to explain himself more clearly: “We didn’t rebel… the sergeants of all the corps are the ones who are rebelling… What could we have done? We had to follow them to avoid bloodshed .” And Alagón repeated: “But you….” “My General ,” the commander of the Provincials ventured to say, “we believe that by allowing ourselves to be carried by this irresistible current, we will be rendering a service to the queen… Without us, God knows where the movement would go…” »Saint Roman, pale, kicking his feet, a living picture of bewilderment and perplexity, believing it was his duty to go out of his way to say the simplest things, unleashed all his anger in these words: “Well, now you are going to show the queen…, that, that…, to explain to her the causes of the scandal…, and that…, that…, that you have allowed yourselves to be carried away, you have allowed yourselves to be brought in, to avoid greater evils…, and that…, the bloodshed.” »More serene, Alagón, like a backroom man and with more shells than a turtle, invited them into the presence of Her Majesty, in order to inform her of what had happened and to reiterate their firm loyalty and adherence. They all went inside, and those outside continued to shout themselves hoarse with the anthem, as if they had learned it on a Friday. The conference of the chiefs with the Governor was short-lived. Seeing them leave, accompanied by a count and a duke, we couldn’t help but notice that if the situation of the officers was ridiculous, allowing themselves to be influenced by the indiscipline of their lower ranks, the generals were even more ridiculously discredited, their role reduced to introducing the embassies that the rebels sent to the queen. “Let a commission come up, a commission from the classes…” said San Román, “we’ll see what they ask for… Let six come up.” Alagón was of the opinion that this number was excessive. It was enough, according to him, for one of the Provincials and another from the Guard to come up… three at the most: a third from the Cavalry Grenadiers… At this point, they summoned my friend on behalf of the queen. I was summoned shortly after, and she entered with two other ladies into the small dining room, where Her Majesty was preparing to dine before receiving the commission of mutineers. The illustrious lady could not hide her confusion , her fear in the face of this problem that the people were presenting to her , and which she had to resolve quickly and with fortitude, without the help of ministers or dignitaries. I believe that since the terrible nights of September 1932, in that same palace, when she found herself alone beside the dying king, and facing the intrigue of the apostolics, Doña María Cristina has not found herself in such a difficult situation as that of August of this year. She wanted to eat, and she left it to talk and ask hurried questions; wanting to say something important, she interrupted her thoughts to eat hastily, without realizing what she was eating. She tried some soup, nibbled at a roast, she would pick up the spoon when she should have picked up the fork… And in her exquisite kindness and courtly manner, she had a pleasant word for everyone, mistaking people and names: that goes without saying. I noticed her slightly flushed face; every moment she would pass her hand over her forehead… and what a beautiful forehead that was!… or she would look around, focusing, more on the people themselves, on the gaps they left when they moved. What was she looking for? Without a doubt, what she did not have and could not have: a man, a king. The Queen dressed in white with sovereign simplicity. Ordinarily, Her Majesty ate very well. That night, somewhat stormy for the Crown, the lack of appetite, the nervous anxiety of the first crew member of the ship of state, revealed that she was not insensitive to the discomfort of seasickness. It’s true that the little boat’s bumps were horrendous: the tiller had become as paltry as the one they placed in Christ’s holy hand. The lady was so upset that she asked us, very surprised, why we weren’t having dinner, without noticing that we weren’t having dinner because we weren’t being served. They were only serving her. She soon realized her inadvertence, which caused her to sweeten the bitterness of the situation with a bit of forced laughter. The queen said something—I didn’t quite understand it—to the effect that later, children and adults would have dinner formally, if the revolution allowed us to survive until midnight . And from here, those present took the opportunity to joke a bit, while each one followed the tumultuous procession inside. Even in that case, María Cristina’s ideal smile wasn’t eclipsed; a smile that was like an ever-bright star amidst such sadness. The lovely dimples on her face, the fold of that mouth are unparalleled, nor do I believe there exists in human faces a hook so well baited for catching hearts. All Spaniards who have seen this queen are overcome by her attractive beauty. She is, I believe, the only one of all crowned heads that possesses the secret of a graceful style, rather than a grave one, for the expression of majesty. When the duke announced that the rebels had already chosen their commission, and that it was awaiting the sovereign’s permission to present itself, a discussion arose as to which department of the Palace would receive such a singular embassy. Not to humiliate the sergeants, but to get as far away as possible from the rooms where the fearful military din and the unbearable strains of the anthem could be heard, the queen arranged to receive the commission in one of the archive rooms, which are in the northern part, the most abandoned, sad, and secluded part of the house. I’ll give you an idea of ​​the room where the imposing confrontation between the people and the king took place, which, they say, will change the face of the country… The national face may change; the soul will change little. The archive is a very long room, about twelve yards long, half as wide, surrounded by labeled wooden cabinets, which I suppose are full of papers from the Patrimony, which I suspect will be useless. The ceiling has fallen in places, exposing the armor and tiles; the floor is covered with the most ordinary mats. The furniture consists of a walnut table and a marble table, pushed to one side like a piece of junk that was in the way elsewhere, and they’ve put it there, where it’s also in the way. This room being chosen to hold discussions between the crown and the revolution, they brought in a seat for the queen, two large candelabras with candles, and I believe that’s all . Halberdiers were posted along the entire route from the stairs to the archive; two Corps Guards were posted at the door , and a large number of them in the adjacent room. Once everything was ready, the armed rabble was told they could enter. The rebels’ deputation consisted of two sergeants. We thought the soldier who entered with them was representing the rank and file; later we learned that, moved by curiosity, which must have been as great as his innocence, he had slipped in, joining the sergeants without anyone saying anything to him. That’s how things were going. That night. On the stairs, they were received by the Duke of Alagón and General San Román, who, after ordering them to lay down their arms, gave them the corresponding exhortation to prudence, not as inflexible authorities, but as comrades, since all hierarchy had been erased, although the symbols of this hierarchy remained adorning their faces, with no more value than the buttons and buttonholes on their clothes. They told them to be careful what they said before the august person of the queen; to bend the knee before her and kiss her hand respectfully, and that if Her Majesty, always kind, recommended that they retire to their quarters, they should do so quietly and without any fuss. To this, one of the sergeants said quite firmly: “My General, if we are unable to explain to the lady the reasons for this revolution and what Spain demands, then we are excused from entering.” To this blow of logic, the garrison commander had nothing to reply. The Duke added: “Yes, yes, come in… His Majesty wants to see you and for you to tell him the reasons for having taken this step, without anyone ordering you to… You will enter; but be careful, be careful…! Do not give us a night of shame, nor put us in the position of….” The rest was not heard… Preceded by the generals, accompanied, or rather escorted, by the chiefs of the Provincials and the Guard, the two sergeants and the intruding soldier advanced from room to room. We did not learn the name of this one; they themselves told us the names of the sergeants upon leaving: one is called Alejandro Gómez and is twenty-two years old; the other is Juan Lucas , and is two years older. You can see how quickly and with how little effort these two gentlemen have entered history: Alejandro Gómez, Juan Lucas! What does this mean, I ask you. How does one enter history? And you will answer me that in History, as in every place where there are doors, cat flaps, or windows, one enters… by entering. Chapter 3. When they arrived at what in that case was the ambassadors’ room, the three emissaries of the revolution were so bewildered and fearful that they would have been glad, I believe, to be ordered to return to the plaza. The luxury of the Palace, surprising and unknown to them; the grave people of high social standing they saw as they passed; the idea of ​​soon finding themselves before the majesty represented in the beautiful queen, all gentility, elegance, superiority wherever they looked overwhelmed them, made them tremble like miserable prisoners . I assure you that the soldier had the face of a fool; but that he was not, his audacity clearly proved it. And not one of the courtiers who received them or the chiefs who accompanied them thought to say: “But you, soldier, what do you have to do here? Who called you, who gave you the authority to arrive on commission at no less than the foot of the throne?” This will show you how bewildered both the great and the middle ranks were that night. The wave that rose so suddenly deprived them of all sense. Of the sergeants, Gómez was undoubtedly the most alert: an arrogant young man, with a bright complexion, and lively eyes. Lucas seemed less clever. He looked at the floor: his political role weighed on him like a pang of remorse. Finally, they entered the archives in silence. And upon seeing the queen, surrounded by so many people of rank and high servants, they were as if dazzled, the poor fellows so inhibited that their commanders had to take them by the arm to make them advance along the length of the room. Behind the royal chair were Mr. Barrio Ayuso, Minister of Grace and Justice, the Marquis of Cerralbo, the Mayor of La Granja, Mr. Ayzaga, and several ladies. San Román and Alagón stood to the right and left of Her Majesty. The three representatives of the revolution knelt and kissed the hand of the Governor, who from that moment seemed to regain her serenity. Opening the way for explanations, the queen electrified them first with her smile, and then with these affectionate words: “My children, what is wrong with you? What do you want? What is wrong with you?” Their response was delayed . A moderate moment, which seemed to everyone very long. The sergeants looked at each other, as if to say, “You speak,” but neither of them broke off. The queen had to repeat her question, and finally, the commander of the Provincials commanded Gómez with an imperious gesture to answer. In a very low, stammering voice, correcting himself with each syllable, the sergeant said something very strange, which seemed incongruous with the question. Interpreting the young soldier’s clipped expressions , as one interprets a blurred inscription, or as one reads a personal letter, the fragments of which are incomplete, the resulting meaning was more or less as follows: “Madam, what we ask of Your Majesty is that you grant the nation _that_…, _that_ for which we have fought in the North for three years, _that_ for which most of our comrades have perished.” »The queen immediately interpreted the soldier’s uncertain demonstrations in the sense most in keeping with her ideas. In his rudeness, he sought to be delicate by avoiding words unwelcome to kings, and the poor fellow lacked sufficient command of language to employ hypocritical euphemisms. Well then, the queen took advantage of the soldier’s confusion to maintain that this was nothing more and nothing less than the legitimate rights of her daughter, the Queen of Spain, Isabella II. »We then saw on the sergeant’s face the rapid illumination that comes from finding the appropriate concept for the ideas one wishes to express. “Yes, madam,” he said, “we have fought for the legitimate rights of our queen; but we also believed we were fighting for Liberty.” Seeing that evasion was of no use, the governor went to the extreme of her kindness to say: “Yes, my children: for Liberty, for Liberty.” Gómez, emboldened by his first success, dared to respond: “There is much talk of Liberty, but I don’t see that we have it.” The queen then expressed an idea that has been most used and misused by the _statutoryists_: Liberty means that the laws have the force; that the constituted authorities are respected and obeyed. Upon hearing this, the sergeant suddenly woke up, and in a determined tone, now master of his word and his subject, he launched into this tirade that would have been easy to set to the music of the famous hymn: “So, madam, it will not be Liberty to oppose the will of all the provinces so that the Constitution is _established_; it will not be Liberty to disarm the National Militia in all the places where it is pronounced; nor the persecution of liberals, as is happening today in Madrid; nor will it be Liberty to have commissioners go to the North to propose arrangements and deals with the rebels to end the war.” The conference was taking on an unpleasant tone, almost spurring on into a dispute, and the queen, somewhat nervous, exacerbated it by asserting that what Gómez had said had nothing to do with the blessed Liberty, and that for her part, she was unaware of the persecutions of liberals and the pronouncements of the National Militia. Everyone could already tell that the sergeant didn’t mince his words. San Román was in full bloom, and Alagón in full bloom: his pallor was intense, his silence absolute. Gómez didn’t miss a beat: he counted off on his fingers the capitals mentioned, particularly Zaragoza, and, finally , he allowed himself to be told that if Her Majesty didn’t know what was happening in the kingdom, it was because the truth was being hidden from her. “Friend, this was the big one!” A murmur resounded throughout the room. The queen stopped smiling; the illustrious gathering considered the conference irreverent and absurd, which only fear could condone. And who was the handsome man who suspended it? Who ordered the sergeants to retreat with their companies to the barracks? There was no choice but to bite the bullet. The rebels had the strength: everything they saw before them was nothing but ostentatious weakness. Growing stronger with each moment, the twenty-two-year-old sergeant respectfully declared, on behalf of his comrades, and considering himself the interpreter of thousands and even millions of Spaniards, that to restore tranquility to Spain and avoid the bloodshed, it was essential that Her Majesty order the publication of the Constitutional Code of ’12, as the reason for the insurrection was none other. Swallowing a little saliva, the Governor wanted to test the effects of her gracious smile to reduce and annihilate her opponent, who, if he represented nothing in and of himself, acquired gigantic proportions due to the human mass behind him. “But do you know the Constitution of ’12? Have you read it?” she asked him; and he replied impassively that he had learned to read from it. A movement of surprise and hilarity arose among all those present, and the queen ordered the book of the Constitution to be brought. There was no need to leave the room, as it was already prepared there. Mr. Barrio Ayuso, Minister of Grace and Justice, was one of those who believed that this serious situation could be handled with tricks, and between him and the queen they had hatched one: the opportunity to put it into practice was not long in coming. Maria Cristina opened the venerable book and read Article 192, which stipulates that there must be three or five regents. “According to that,” Her Majesty exclaimed, “it is you who want to bring Don Carlos to the throne!” _To the astonishment and indignation of the rebels_. Yes, you, because by this Constitution I cannot be the regent of the kingdom nor the guardian of my daughters, and that because of you, who have given me so much proof of your allegiance. ” The effect of this argument was disastrous for the innocent revolutionaries, and the triumphant expressions on the faces of the courtiers upon hearing their lady speak only further disconcerted them. The sergeant looked at each other for the second time, as if to say: “Now we really are brilliant,” and Mr. Barrio Ayuso, bursting with pride at the success of his astonishing trick, reinforced the sovereign’s words with other swollen and obscure words of constituent jurisprudence, with which he believed he could take the confusion and bewilderment of the rebels to their ultimate extreme. Mayor Ayzaga, who had demonstrated his bias throughout the conference, supporting everything one side said with expressive mimicry and pouting in mockery and contempt whenever Gómez spoke, grew proud of the queen’s triumph and sought to completely destroy the unfortunate commission by interrogating the poor soldier who played a mute role in it , for his voice had not yet been heard… “And you, let’s see,” he asked, amid the laughter of those present, “what reasons do you have for wanting the Constitution of ’12?” When the soldier, stupefied and a pillar of iron, didn’t reply, the other repeated the charge. “I ask you, look carefully, why do you like the Constitution?” The soldier looked up at the ceiling, like children who haven’t learned their lesson, and finally replied with no small amount of difficulty: “I want it, we want it… because it’s better.” “The historical scene was already turning into a farce: the soldier’s innocence had put an end to all seriousness, and the mayor took advantage of this to squeeze him and further confuse his comrades in arms. “But, man, explain yourself better: tell Her Majesty on what basis you believe that the Constitution you now defend is better than any other.” They pressed him so hard that the poor boy burst into his arguments. “Well, I don’t know… What I do know is that in the year 20, in my town, which is La Coruña, at your service, salt was free _Laughter_, and tobacco was free.” »And with these candid remarks, the primates gathered there rejoiced even more, not remembering that a few steps from the royal chamber, where they heard such silliness, an armed crowd was gathering, restless and disinterested, demanding the Constitution of ’12. None of the seditious men knew how to justify their desire with reasons more substantial than that expressed by the soldier: “that it was better. ” “Explain this to me, you who know so much. How is popular sentiment , almost always irresistible, formed? Who teaches the multitudes to ardently desire something, without knowing how to say why they want it? How is it that popular unreason, when it is persistent and deep, is always right? Explain this to me, you who know about these things…” But no: don’t explain anything to me now, because I wouldn’t have the brains to absorb your wisdom, just as I don’t have the eyes, nor the hands, to continue writing. Sleep is overcoming me. I can’t take it anymore. You’ll allow me to finish this letter here, and you won’t scold me for interrupting it at the most interesting point. Tomorrow I’ll continue, silly; or rather , I’ll start another, for I want this one to be sent by mail from the Royal Site at dawn. But I won’t finish it without telling you that in this letter I confirm and ratify everything I’ve expressed to you in other letters regarding my tolerance and desire for compromise. Not only do I no longer veto your amorous frenzy, but to avoid greater evils, I urge you to pursue your Aura. Yes, child, yes: do you want it? So be it. You’d burst if you didn’t find her and make her yours. Take her, I’ll allow you. I want you to clear up that mystery of your destiny. If I’m to tell you the truth, I’m already becoming interested in that poor young woman, so harassed by relatives and guardians, oppressed and exploited by mercenary people. It’s very sad not to have parents, isn’t it? Look, for this reason alone, because your fiancée is an orphan, I’ve begun to grow fond of her. And my feelings toward your Aura have only recently changed. I owe this change to the lady I told you about… don’t you remember? The one who has seen you and hasn’t seen you; the one who knows you and doesn’t know you; the one who… Come on, child, I’m very sleepy. See you tomorrow. Chapter 4. “What were we talking about?” said the invisible lady in her letter of August 15. “Ah! Now I remember. ” The three individuals who represented the revolution remained like stunned pigeons . Gómez, however , recovered and produced an argument that revealed greater acuity than the queen and courtiers had expected. Quickly assimilating the intrigues of the minister present, he proposed that the Constitution be published with the clause that it remain in force in its entirety, except for the article referring to the regency. To this they replied that it was not possible to issue the decree without the ministry meeting to endorse it. Faced with such an insurmountable obstacle, the only solution was for the rebels to go quietly to the barracks, with the utmost order, satisfied with the promise made by the lady to present at the next meeting of the Cortes a draft Constitution, which would be very good, even better than the one from Cádiz. The three soldiers, having agreed on this, doubted that their companions would be appeased by such an expedient, and they did not want to return to the square, fearing an unwelcome reception. A lengthy and tedious discussion ensued between the minister, the mayor, Alagón, and San Román on the one hand, and Sergeant Gómez on the other, for Lucas did nothing but nod in agreement with everything the other said, and the soldier had wisely renounced the use of speech… Finally, the gentlemen primates, masters of sublime pastry-making, which was their only skill, devised to tame the beast with a royal order in which the Governor expressed to General San Román her willingness to adopt a new Constitution with the support of the Cortes. They drafted it right there, and the sergeants, credulous and respectful, thought nothing of it. So Gómez expressed it, adding his doubt that such an emollient would satisfy the rebels. They would soon find out, for with His Majesty’s permission they were going down to inform their companions of the result of the _junta_, which had taken three hours. It was already after one when they left for the _Cacharrería_, where the people and troops were waiting impatiently, already hoarse from singing the anthem. At that moment, as I heard, they were surrounded by sergeants and officers who anxiously asked them if they had already brought the little decree signed by _El Ama_. The news that they had nothing more than a royal dilatory order drove them mad. San Román ordered a warning, and once silence was obtained, he prepared to read the _wet paper_, first using the resource of the cheers as a bandage. Long live the queen! Long live the garrison of La Granja! Long live the victors of Beggar! The replies were heated, and the general thought he had the situation under control. He began to read, and no sooner had he reached the middle of the document than he heard a murmur, and then a shout of “Out! Out!” In short, the man had no choice but to put his note away; and as shots rang out in the air, he turned around and went back into the Palace. “Whatever was happening outside soon echoed in the remote rooms where María Cristina waited, already despairing that the conflict would be easily resolved with deceitful expedients and clerical evasions. Without an army or government to support her dignity and prerogatives, she had no choice but to give up, and answering with a disdainful gesture to the court officials who were still seeking terms of accommodation, she ordered the commission of rebels to be summoned again . No doubt she thought that the primates who had put her in such a predicament with their neglect and misgovernance deserved the slap the people gave them with the white and gentle hand of their beautiful queen. Onward, then, with the people, who were, in short, the donkey of the burdens, the support of everything there, the defender of dynastic rights , the only warrior who waged war, the only politician who led, with rudeness and folly, yes, but with strength. “Long live force, whatever it may be!” the gracious lady must have said to herself , for the people and the throne would not quarrel over a Constitution of more or less. “Here you have it all explained well.” The sergeants came up, close to two in the morning, and when they stated that the garrison was not satisfied with the royal order, they considered issuing the decree. The mayor, Señor Ayzaga, who was beside himself with his bad mood and spite, was charged by the queen with drafting it. I witnessed none of this: my friend told me about it in the antechamber, where we had taken refuge, exhausted from fatigue and hunger, all of us who no longer had the breath to witness the tedious historical scene. We considered the page interesting; but we were already bored and wanted to turn the page. There, Don Fernando Muñoz gave us a little talk, and he seemed indignant, first at the Guard, then at the government, for not having foreseen such a scandalous event. He had already complained that the garrison of the Royal Site was insufficient, and pointed out to the minister that it was spoiled by the lodges. To this we allow ourselves the opportunity to counter with an observation that seems irrefutable to me. If more troops had been sent to the Royal Site, the revolution would perhaps have taken place with greater scandal and a more violent transgression of discipline. After all, things hadn’t been so bad: “Oh, my lord Don Fernando,” my friend told him, demonstrating her profound knowledge of Spain and the Spanish people, “thank God you only had the Royal Guard here. With other corps, more affected by the revolutionary curse, we don’t know what would have happened. What was supposed to happen happens with the least possible damage. And if not, just look at Madrid, completely given over to anarchy. Barricades, riots, deaths, abuses. Well, here, where the drama seems to be unfolding, everything is reduced to a revolution di camera, nothing more, nothing less. With a little scene from a comic opera, we have transformed politics, we have had a little fun with the silly antics of the intruding soldier, and we have seen that the monarchy has not lost the respect of the army. Woe to us the day that respect is lost!” Your namesake didn’t agree with these arguments, and added that the revolution di camera couldn’t take shape, as if it had come about by surprise, upsetting the lady’s spirit; that the rebels at the Royal Siege would achieve nothing if the government in Madrid stood its ground. Orders had already been given for Quesada to resist the onslaught of the mobs at all costs, whether they were militiamen or turbulent plebs, and Quesada was a man not to be trifled with. The patriots already knew him: from him they expected the triumph of legality and good principles of government. If the people wanted a new Constitution, they should express it through the proper channels, through their natural representatives. Both my friend and I thought it appropriate to express our conformity with these routines, since we all live by routines, each in his own sphere, and kings more than anyone. It was already three o’clock when Doña María Cristina signed the decree ordering the promulgation of the _divine Code_, and retired to her rooms, bidding us goodnight with a friendly smile. The time came for us to celebrate the happy end of the conflict by eating something, and so we did. My friend offered me a room, as it was unwise for those of us who lived outside the Palace to go out so late. By four o’clock all was silent, and the troops had withdrawn to their quarters. We were told the next day that when San Román returned with the decree, the rebels broke out in cheers and death cries, the latter directed mainly against the clique, without mentioning anyone. Some doubted that the Governor’s signature was authentic; but they were reassured on this point by a certain Higinio García, a clerk from San Román, who attested that there was no deception in Her Majesty’s signature and initials. Higinio joined the rebels. It turned out he was also a sergeant, and from that moment on he has continued to function as one of the many mutiny leaders. I’m told he went with twenty soldiers and an officer to Segovia to make the pronouncement there. All these formalities are tedious, aren’t they? The meetings, the proclamation, the acts of enthusiasm with a poorly painted canvas plaque; the continuous and dizzying refrain of the anthem, perhaps with some new verse and refrain, due to the inspiration of some patriotic versifier; the embraces in the middle of the street; The congratulations of the deluded who believe we are entering an era of happiness: all this is boring, and if we could hide in the farthest corner of Spain, so as not to see or hear it, how well we would be! “As a consequence of that bad night at the Palace, seeing how history is written, or rather, how it is made, was a headache that yesterday and today has kept me at home without being able to take my usual walk. From my balcony I saw the swearing-in ceremony in the plaza the day before yesterday, with the entire garrison in attendance in full regalia, and many countrymen , both people and troops, lavishing displays of jubilation . I believe that politics is not conducted with feelings, but with virtues, and since we lack these, we make little progress. The swearing-in ceremony was very showy, with a profusion of red and yellow damask adorning the stage set up in front of the Town Hall. In this, we’re ahead of Madrid, where nothing but indecent displays of festivities are seen to celebrate great events. The anthem was played , for a change, and cheers thundered through the hall when the tombstone was unveiled, the painting of which was applied with all five senses by a certain Monje, the theater’s in charge of lighting and drapery . He took great pains with the artistic work, adding veining that imitates marble with great skill; in the lower line , there’s a very embarrassed yellow lion, one paw on the Spanish flag, the other on a laurel branch, its fierce gaze fixed on the book of the Constitution, as if it were reading it and thoroughly understanding what it says to tell the lioness. In the middle, the letters “Long live Isabel II and the Constitution!” How enthusiastically the cheers were shouted, and how ardently they were answered by the crowd! Even the children, the wet nurses, and the serving maids shouted. What will they think of all this? There remains the tombstone, which is already beginning to weep, and the marbles that the artist depicted on it can be seen swelling and depressing in the wind. Soon the autumn rains will turn it into a soup, and the lion will turn into a spaniel, and the book of the Constitution will be completely useless. During the winter, faded shreds will hang, and perhaps the poor birds will find shelter under the personal canvas, and there they will make their industrious nests, so that it cannot be said that all that apparatus It is entirely useless. Your friend Hillo went to Madrid yesterday, by my agreement, to arrange something that concerns you. I won’t tell you what it is, nor is there any need to say it for now. Your Mentor will write to you from there, as he desires nothing more than to be of service to you and make your life pleasant. He would gladly go with you; but I won’t let him for now. Your last letter informs me that your wound is well, and that it never inspired any concern; you say that the angels themselves are attending you… I need more details. Tell Don Pedro what he and I don’t know, for you will not lack time to write, unless so much pampering and this sybaritism in which you live has dulled your will. We agreed that you will bring your Aura. All that remains is for them to give her to you. Since you are so uncommunicative, I don’t know if you would be pleased if someone spoke to Señor Mendizábal about this matter. Explain yourself, man; Speak: ask with that mouth. Are you also angry because I’m now changing roles, turning from tyrant into servant? If now you’re the petty tyrant! “They’re already starting to say that Córdova won’t return to the North. Whoever his successor is, be he called Oráa, Rodil, or Espartero, you’ll have an effective recommendation so that they’ll give you all the help you need in your romantic ventures. Don’t be surprised by this: we live in the country of recommendations and personal favors. Friendship is the supreme reason for existence here, in both great and small things, individual and collective… And this discovery, is it worthless? Is it true, yes or no? What do you have to say?” Chapter 5. As he read, Calpena informed the visitors at Castro’s house of the substance of these letters, that is, of that part that was or was to be historical. Half a dozen of the town’s elite would gather there at night and chat about politics, most of them leaning toward the average or colorless temperaments. The general lament was that Spain had everything good that God created, except for rulers who knew their duty, resulting in us always being in the same boat with each other . Some of the regulars were in favor of absolute rule, but in the old, patriarchal form, not with the ferocity displayed by the followers of Don Carlos, and only two, even fewer, almost one and a half, were resolutely liberal, also with moderation and temperance, rejecting the constant bragging of the National Militia and the excesses of the lodges. Needless to say, all those attending the placid gathering owned real estate, and would even acquire much more when they had overcome the scruple of buying up the convent properties. Fernando was bored in this half -hearted social gathering, so sadly opacified in its ideas, and if Demetria and Gracia weren’t there, he would find the company of those well-informed gentlemen intolerable. More pleasant than the social gathering had become for him to pray the rosary with the girls, Doña María Tirgo, Don José , and the servants. While praying, his mind wandered through ideal spheres, where he saw mystical or profane, sometimes philosophical, radiances and beautiful images, all more beautiful than the gray and lackluster opinions of the notables of Laguardia. After the Virgin of August, the date of the town’s festival and fair, which that year, due to the war, was of very little splendor, Calpena was able to go out into the street, limping a little. Don José María almost always accompanied him and showed him the town’s notable sights, giving him frequent breaks, sometimes in Montenegro’s pharmacy, sometimes in Sacristan’s shop, and finally in the church, where he showed him everything there was: altars, paintings, tombs, vestments, and sacred vessels. He employed such meticulous care in the description and history of each object that it took five long afternoons for Don Fernando to learn everything. Neither in Toledo Cathedral nor in St. Peter’s in Rome would a conscientious guide take longer to show off ancient riches. And yet the works of art in the parish of Laguardia were nothing new. On the last afternoon, when Calpena He was not ignorant of any chronological or artistic detail, and knew the saints of all the altars as if they were people of his own acquaintance. Don José took him into the sacristy and, presenting him with white wine and biscuits, prepared to communicate matters of the greatest importance. “Here alone, Señor Don Fernando,” he said, both of them seated in very old leather armchairs, “I wish to bring to your attention a delicate matter concerning the house of Castro, and I am not only moved by the desire, I am almost to say the obligation, to inform you of such a matter, but also by my purpose… I am like that… my purpose of consulting you about it. ” “What is it about, Señor Don José María?” said Calpena, beginning to be frightened by the mysterious tone the clergyman was assuming. “What is it? ” “Nothing special is happening, my lord,” replied Navarridas, moving his armchair closer. “The case is very simple, although new in this young generation of the Castro family.” We’re trying to marry Demetria off.
“Ah!… I didn’t believe it, I didn’t know it… I didn’t suspect it,” the young man stammered, looking at a very old canvas hanging on the opposite wall, on which, amidst the darkness of the centuries-old oil painting, the face of a saint of indeterminate sex could be distinguished. “It’s quite natural… yes, sir… to marry Demetria off. ” “You see. My sister and I have been putting our five senses, which are ten senses, into it for the past month now … The girl is already twenty-one. She is, as you know, a wealthy heir, the richest in this area. It’s advisable, then, to find her a husband; for although she doesn’t need male help to manage her estate, it’s not good for the possessor of these estates to remain single. For her happiness , for her well-being, so to speak, as well as for the luster of her name and her house, it’s advisable for the girl to have a husband. Don’t you think the same? “Exactly the same,” replied the young man, who looked at the saint again; and at that point, either because more light entered, or because his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, she seemed to him a woman, that is to say, both holy and beautiful. “I’m glad you agree with me. For a month now, Maria and I have been engaged in this business, and I believe we are approaching a most fortunate outcome, since the delicate point of choosing a husband is almost resolved. ” “And who is… may I ask… who is the fortunate mortal who is thought worthy of possessing such a jewel? ” “You are right: the girl is a jewel of great price, and whoever wins her must be worth a lot… That was the difficulty: choosing a man who, if not equal to Demetria in qualities, would come close; in other words, who would be among the most select of the young men of the day. Yes, sir: we have found that rare bird. ” “May I know who he is? Do I know him?” “Wait a minute.” As I know the keen interest with which you view everything that concerns my nieces; as I cannot forget that you were the valiant spirit who redeemed them from that devilish captivity at Oñate; as I know all this… —Finish, for God’s sake. —As I know all this, and I know the gratitude the girls have for you and how much they value your chivalry, your nobility, your… in short, you ought to know it before anyone else. But the matter is confidential; it remains between the two of you… Well, I was saying… now… I’m getting to it; I was saying that after much thought, my sister and I, and after reviewing the lineages and circumstances of all the illustrious houses within a twenty-league radius… my sister… just so you know… is very knowledgeable about lineages and family histories… she said that we finally settled on the noble house of Idiáquez. Do you know it? —No, sir… that name sounds familiar… but no… I don’t know it. —The Idiáquez are a branch of the ancient house of Lazcano, which is linked by successive annexations with the Palafox and the Gurreas of Aragon, of the lineage of the Catholic King; with the Borgias and Pignatellis, with the… —But strictly speaking, Señor Don José María, who is the groom? —The groom, my lord, is and cannot be other than Don Rodrigo de Urdaneta Idiáquez, Count of Saviñán and Villarroya de la Sierra, who has his manor house in the renowned town of Cintruénigo; son of Don Fadrique, or Don Federico, it makes no difference, of Urdaneta, now deceased, and of Doña Juana Teresa de Idiáquez, and so on, for if I were to name all the surnames, I wouldn’t finish in half a week. “Good; it seems very good to me,” said Calpena, looking again at the painting, which no longer seemed like a saint to him, but a saint, and quite ugly. Looking more closely, he saw that at his feet he had a crown, as if he despised it, and in his hand a skull, which before had seemed like a cheese with eyes. “As you understand,” Don José María added gravely, “taking into account all the details of the individual, we have not focused primarily on his lineage, which is extremely high, nor on his brilliant wealth, but on his virtues, which are so many, according to fame, that no tongue can praise him as he deserves. His age is twenty-six , his presence most gallant, his face handsome, the mirror of a noble soul, his actions stately, his language measured and very gallant… in short, he seems to have come into the world purposely to pair himself with this peerless girl, whose merits you are aware of. For several days now, María and I, through a very discreet correspondence, have been discussing this marriage, which we hope God will bless, granting him numerous offspring. ” “According to that,” said Fernando, without hiding his astonishment, “you don’t know the candidate?” “We know him, and we don’t know him.” In the year ’21 or ’22, on the occasion of Don Beltrán de Urdaneta’s exile… Haven’t you heard of Don Beltrán de Urdaneta? —Why would I ever hear of that gentleman? —Well, he’s as well-known as a roadkill in these parts. He said that on account of his exile due to political intrigue, the family lived here for about eight months. Rodriguito was a precious little boy then: ten or eleven years old at the most. Demetria was six, if I recall correctly. The two families became close: the boy and girl never left each other’s sides all day long, fraternizing in their childhood games. I remember that one Christmas I made a Nativity scene for them in the same room where you live. It’s hard to imagine how much I enjoyed them. From then on, it struck me that those two such gracious and angelic beings would, in time, be united in a holy union. Don Beltrán, Rodrigo’s grandfather, and Don Fadrique, his father, used to go out with Alonso on endless hunting trips. It’s true that we haven’t seen them since then ; but my sister, who struck up a cordial friendship with Doña Juana Teresa de Idiáquez, has continued to maintain a drawn-out correspondence with her. My brother-in-law, Anselmo de Tirgo, rented, for I don’t know how many years, the Urdanetas’ property called “Mojón de los Tres Reyes,” and he was one of those who helped run the house, which had fallen into disrepair due to Don Beltrán’s imprudence and excessive generosity . “And Demetria, hasn’t she seen Don Rodrigo since they played together and you made their nativity scenes? ” “They haven’t seen each other again, no sir. ” “And has she heard that you want to marry her off? ” “We told her, naturally; and since she’s so discreet and sensible, she replied that she was very grateful for our interest in her.” that, indeed, she has heard of the virtues and merits of Señor Don Rodrigo, and that she will agree to be his wife if, after treating him at this age of discernment, she finds him worthy of granting her, with his hand, his heart. ” “Very well answered, Señor Don José. In every way he reveals your superior understanding. ” “The reliable reports we have of the illustrious young man, taken from various sources, agree that he is a paragon of great and noble qualities; a perfect gentleman, who takes care to preserve intact the dignity of his elders; of such impeccable moral conduct that no one could reproach him for even those minor transgressions that are so excusable in youth; serious in his manner, measured in his speech, plain with the humble, dignified among the powerful, his equals, formal in his dealings, a slave to his word, a lord in all his actions; enemy of games and pastimes that lead only to sin; ignorant of all vices, lover of all virtues… —Just say at once that he is a saint and you’ll finish sooner. —Well, we’ve been told traits of him that almost elevate his virtue to the category of sainthood, yes, sir. In order to restore the Idiáquez estate, which, as I said before, was damaged by the extravagance of Don Beltrán and Don Fadrique, our Rodrigo dedicated himself body and soul to the practice of order and administrative regularity , imposing upon himself at the age of twenty-one a ruthless economy, which not only meant depriving himself of all the joys of youth, but also imposed on him a narrowness of life more appropriate to fathers of the wilderness than to gentlemen of this century. Look, it’s virtue! —Or necessity…, depending on how things were. —Virtue, I say, because it wasn’t that bad, my lord. It ‘s true that his mother, Doña Juana Teresa, helped him in this. She is truly a saint. She was the one who taught him prodigious economy, thanks to which they have managed to keep their interests, keeping almost all of the real estate. Another mark of virtue is that Don Rodrigo has never been heard to utter a bad word, for even when scolding a servant who fails to fulfill his duty, he uses courteous manners. His thoughts are always pure; his life of exemplary purity. Acts of religiosity and Christianity are counted by the thousands, especially notable for the pious rigor with which he fasts throughout Lent, without showing off , and for his devotion to the Virgin… In the management of his estate, he keeps accounts of income and expenses with meticulous care, so that not a single maravedi escapes him, and in the house, with such a system, everything runs wonderfully… So you can see by what paths of God those who treasure the same qualities come together. What will come of this, Señor Don Fernando, but perfection itself, and therefore supreme happiness? —Well, if you’ll allow me an observation, Señor Don José María, and promise to consider it sincere and loyal, here it is. If Don Rodrigo is as you paint him; if there is complete fidelity in that portrait, I dare declare, because I think so, that Demetria will not like her fiancé when she meets him. —For God’s sake, Señor Don Fernando!… —That is my opinion, Señor de Navarridas. Appreciate it as you wish. I may be wrong; it may turn out that Don Rodrigo is not entirely identical to the portrait you paint by reference, since she has not met him today nor has she seen him since he was a child. And I also say that if, by retouching the painting, you take away some of those eminent virtues, perhaps he will be more pleasing to the girl. —What are you saying…? More pleasing to the girl, the less virtuous he is…? —Personal attractiveness doesn’t depend exclusively on virtues, my lord. Of course, virtues mean something; but they alone don’t make a man agreeable, conducive to love. I don’t know if I ‘m explaining myself correctly. You are a saint. If this grave matter is to be decided between saints, I will have to recuse myself, because I am not one. Subject to human weaknesses, I believe I can judge matters of love, of sympathy, better than you. And forgive me for this frankness, my good friend. —Yes, I forgive you… You confuse me. I hold Mr. Calpena in high esteem and place him among the first gentlemen in the world, knowledgeable about society and the human heart… From what you have told me, placing your trust in me, I know you have reason to lecture the most distinguished regarding the affections between men and women. You may be right… But since nothing should be done without the bride and groom’s agreement, and my niece, according to her taste and opinion, is the one who must decide it definitively, let us wait. The hearing will be soon, for Don Rodrigo will be here with his mother and his grandfather, Don Beltrán, and then we will know if… —You will tell me all this, because I must leave soon. matters are pressing, and I will not be in Laguardia when the hearings are held, precursors to what seems like a royal marriage. ” “Yes, it does!… Ha, ha!” said Navarridas joyfully. “Here we have a new example of the marriage of Isabella of Castile with Ferdinand of Aragon. We will see two powerful houses united, Castro Idiáquez or Idiáquez Castro…” “It’s all a piece of cake.” Chapter 6. At this point, Doña María Tirgo entered, having spent the entire afternoon with other friends of hers in the Virgin’s dressing room, stripping her of the full regalia they had put on her for the feast and dressing her in the cloak and tunic that the Lady would wear until Advent. No sooner had the lady entered than her brother informed her of what he had just revealed to his friend of the house; And when he added new laudatory observations about the illustrious kinship of the Idiáquez and Urdaneta families, Doña María had to correct him, showing as much sufficiency as quick memory: “For God’s sake, José María, you’re a complete blunderer. Don Rodrigo’s connection to the Iraetas is not through the Idiáquez, but through the Asos de Sobremonte, who come from a close niece of Saint Ignatius of Loyola himself. The Garros, who are also related to the Tirgos, are the ones who link the Idiáquez branch with the Javierres and the Aragón, through the marriage of Doña Justa de Garro Idiáquez to Don Alonso de Gurrea, from whom came Mariquita and Luisita, one of whom married Don Calixto de Borja, great-grandson of a brother of the Servant of God, Saint Francis. You always confuse this family with the Palafox, who are of a different stock.” Doña Juana Teresa is Palafox through her mother, not Gurrea, a first cousin of the Marquises of Lazán. You already know that Pepito, from Robustiana Palafox, married a lady of the Gonzagas of Italy, a second cousin of the glorious Saint Louis; and Rosita… do you remember Rosita, from Alcanadre, who had that famous dispute with the Tirgos? Well, Rosita was the widow of a Pignatelli; she later married Jacinto Palafox, nephew of her first husband’s stepfather, and in her third marriage to Gurrea y Azlor, related to the House of Aragon… “I don’t know how my sister,” said Don José María festively, “has the brains to unravel that tangled web of connections and kinships… But let’s leave this for another occasion, and let’s go home, the girls will be waiting for us.” They left the church, joined at the door by the two ladies who had dressed the Virgin with Doña María, and headed through the streets and squares toward the palace of Castro Amézaga. Navarridas marched ahead with the women from Álava, as the ladies, cousins, or third-degree nieces of the famous naval general of that name were called, and Calpena followed with Doña María. “You shouldn’t assume the girls are involved in this marriage business. We’ve told Demetria that no one knows a word about our plan. You’d probably think it’s a good idea. Since my brother’s memory is a bit off, he’ll have forgotten to tell you that Don Rodrigo is a Knight of the Order of Santiago. But we didn’t choose him for that, nor for the two counties, but for his virtues. Ah!… According to what Demetria told me, you’re leaving us soon. May God grant that when I return here I’ll find you married.” Calpena thought he understood, from Doña María’s tone, that she did not wish the guest to remain in the house much longer, and he hastened to oblige her, saying that, due to the urgency of his duties, he planned to leave within two or three days. “Yes, yes, it would not be prudent or delicate to detain you. What I am saying: even if you do not show it, it is clear that you are bored in this town, where there is no society for a person like you, so high, accustomed to the pomp of the Court and the intercourse of other classes of people. ” Fernando replied that the company of the Castro and Navarridas families was extremely pleasant to him, and asserted that he had never known better society. “Come on,” said Doña María, boasting of her wit, “don’t act so small. It will do you no good to hide your condition from us!” Very high! I’m in on the secret, because what the nieces know, I know… Señor Don Fernando doesn’t deceive us with his modesty. —You confuse me, madam, assuming I am what I am not. —When you were leaving Salvatierra wounded, in the galley, and my two nieces were coming behind you in another wagon, you will well remember…, two very nice little officers, Serrano and Alaminos, joined you, escorting you. My prodigious memory allows me to remember their names. Well, Alaminos and Serrano, chatting with the girls, told them that, according to public opinion, you are of very high origins. You will know the reasons you have for not revealing those origins. I am only saying that such things cannot be hidden, especially from people with a keen nose, like your servant. Blood, birth, and education are always obvious, my lord, and you are the best example of what I am saying, for in your conduct, in your smallest word, in your gaze, in the most insignificant gesture, it is clear that you come from very high places… No, no, I am not asking for revelations… Everyone knows what they should keep quiet… Fernando did not want to enter into long discussions with the lady, and he thought it more discreet to leave her in that error, which perhaps would not be the case. If he knew nothing, the most prudent thing to do was to remain silent whenever such a subject touched him. In the large courtyard of the house, they found Demetria and Gracia with several other ladies, enjoying the fresh air: Gracia and other younger women were playing four-corners. The heir apparent, seated in the circle of serious people who had just finished drinking hot chocolate, did not take her eyes off the door, expecting to see her uncles enter at any moment with Don Fernando. There was some talk about field work, at the initiative of the ladies of Álava, very wealthy landowners; Demetria said she had already finished threshing the barley, and that the harvest was average in quantity, but the grain was superior. While these and other conversations were going on, night fell; the friends retired. Shortly after Don Fernando went up to his room, Demetria and Doña María Tirgo entered, and the former began to scold him because he had become so quarrelsome and paid no attention to Don Segundo’s warnings. “But that’s enough!” said the woman from Tirgo. “Don’t scold him, daughter, the poor fellow has had plenty of patience. Imagine enduring three months and days in this poor place, among rustic people… Yes, daughter, let’s be fair; don’t beat around the bush: we are rustic, and Señor Don Fernando is accustomed to a more refined society than ours. ” “Not if I don’t say anything. I understand you must go… And by the way: here are your clothes now, Don Fernando. You’re going to leave here looking like a country gentleman.” And they’ll laugh at you a lot when they see you so elegant! They’ll think this cut is in the London fashion, and they’ll ask: “What scissors are those, man, that cut you such admirable garments?” Fernando laughed, looking at the clothes, and she continued her charming banter: “There, you’re doing quite well now. They’ll take you for a student from the Tarazona seminary returning from vacation. ” “Well, the clothes, laugh all you want, seem very well cut. Tomorrow I’ll put them on for you to see, and perhaps you’ll change your mind. ” “Yes, yes, exactly the same as the ones you left in Madrid. It’s a pity the tailors here didn’t also make you a tailcoat, so you can show them off at palace receptions when you return to court… Oh, what a brain! I almost forgot the main thing. An infantry captain from Madrid came this afternoon looking for you . ” “What’s his name? Do you have letters?” “He didn’t tell me his name. He’s bringing you another twenty ounces, and a letter. He wouldn’t leave the pataconas. He told me he’d come back; the letter is here. ” “But in all the time you’ve been at home, this is the third time they’ve sent you twenty ounces!” exclaimed Doña María Tirgo. “Oh! As soon as I get some air in those worlds, my money’s goodbye. Well, son, well: don’t deprive yourself of any of the pleasures that give rise to true greatness; squander and triumph, for apparently there’s an inexhaustible mine over there.” “Yes, madam, inexhaustible,” Calpena affirmed, continuing the joke, which for the ladies he wasn’t. “I’m very rich, I’m very old, I’m the darling of fate… ” “No, don’t take it as a joke,” Demetria said. “Very old, yes, and we’re poor country bumpkins; but at the same time it’s so delicate that it doesn’t let us know the difference between you and us: a difference based on class, education, enlightenment… ” “If someone else told me that, believe me, I wouldn’t forgive you. But you’re authorized to do anything, even to call me fatuous; it would be a great fatuity for me to believe in such inequality. ” “Well, I’ll keep quiet, sir… Anyway, let’s not waste your time; you’ll want to read your friend’s letter. ” “I’ll read it later. ” “No, now, while we’re leaving. And if you’re not going to come pray the rosary, say so so I won’t have to wait for you. ” “Well , I won’t go!” And I don’t like praying the rosary with the family! “But don’t let what happened the other night happen again,” Demetria indicated, half-stern and half-jovial, a delicate fusion of such different nuances in the light in her eyes. “What happened the other night? ” “Well, nothing, by the grace of God. He said he was going to the rosary, and we were there waiting for him for a quarter of an hour, with the first Our Father in our mouths. ” “Well, let’s go right now. Later I’ll read the letter. ” “No, no,” said Doña María, taking her niece by the arm and leading her away. “Leave him alone, leave him alone… Don’t bother him. ” “I’ll go right away.” Don Fernando quickly glanced over Hillo’s letter, taking in the most substantial details, intending to read it all after the rosary and dinner. So he did. When he went to bed, he learned everything the good priest had told him, which he relates in extract below: “Here I am, since the 14th when I came on certain commissions and errands from the Governor. I am not referring to our sovereign, daughter of Parthenope, but to the uncrowned queen who governs you and me , and you can thank God that it is so. These commissions have not yet been carried out because everything is so upset in this town, whom we rhetoricians call Ursaria, and who should be called today Little Babylon. What a racket, my God, what a frightful confusion, I won’t say of languages, since everyone speaks the same thing, but of ideas and wills! In the morning , militiamen and soldiers are shooting at each other; in the afternoon, they come out singing the hymn. The ministers, with their lord Istúriz at their head, don’t know what to do. Méndez Vigo, Minister of War, came to La Granja, where I left the revolution well underway, with the intention of suppressing the movement. He didn’t bring troops: he brought money, which is, they say, the summa ratio of these ups and downs of constitutions; but he could achieve nothing. Now they tell me that His Excellency returned today accompanied by the victorious sergeants; the army representative entered Madrid , taking Sergeant Gómez, one of the heroes of the day, in his own carriage ; the general’s passage through San Vicente and Caballerizas, to Ministerios, where they dismounted, was an edifying spectacle . If this isn’t a madhouse, I don’t know what is, my dear Fernando. The National Militia, defeated and disarmed everywhere, holds the position it won at Los Basilios, driving from there the peseteros who defended the convent. The government, as soon as it believes itself defeated and is ready to succumb to the masterful _deception_ of the sergeants, it _bends, digs, humiliates_, trying to reestablish with a good _blow_ the principle of authority. But this, where is it? Who is the handsome one who has it? If it is confirmed that Méndez Vigo and Mr. Gómez, sergeant of Provinciales, have brought from the Royal Site several decrees signed by the queen dismissing I don’t know which ministers and appointing others, where has the principle of authority gone? Do Gómez, Lucas and García have it, do the lodges have it, or does nobody have it? I am inclined to believe the latter… And let’s move on to something else, because I understand that more than the If you have any news of this immense Carnival in which we live, you will be interested to know that since Captain Don Teobaldo García has nothing to do with the illustrious sergeant of the same name, I am sending you another twenty ounces, on behalf of someone who has this and much more to provide for your needs. We trust that you will respond to the tolerance from above, from your inferior position, with conduct in accordance with reason and good principles. You do not know what you would miss if you did not do so. The meaning of your last letter, although brief, substantial, gives me hope that we will see you formal and measured. You feel the weariness of irregular acts; you long for peace of conscience, repose of mind. Very well: you are now on the right path… A compromise has been reached with Aura, despite the not very exemplary origins of your lady. But we must not delve too deeply into the fundamentals of things and people, because doing so would make life impossible. The fact is that we live in the midst of a revolution. Society is in the midst of a revolutionary process , and the same can be said of families and individuals. The people are winning the game: today they advance one step, tomorrow another, and the old citadels collapse. The nation compromises with the sergeants, accepting from them the Constitution. Let us pray to God that the corporals do not then emerge and bring us another. In your sphere, you have made the revolution, and from above comes the sovereign voice telling you: “Patience; let us accept the fait accompli.” Gather, then, your Aura; but do not think that you will be allowed anything other than a religious and legal marriage. We are revolutionaries; but not so bald, my friend. “And the sooner you decide on this crucial point, the better, dear Fernandito. If, as you say, your wound is already healed, abandon the delights of that Capua and go to your business.” With the ounces, you will receive the safe conduct, and in a separate package, this letter, and the two you will present to Don Juan Bautista Erro, the Mendizábal of absolutism, and to General Maroto; both will facilitate your efforts in the Carlist country. You will see that they are quite significant. Iglesias told me today that everything is achieved here with good friends. But I see that the poor gain little by calling three-quarters of Spaniards friends; from which I gather that the abuse of property is always a very great evil. Nicomedes assures me, unwavering in his restlessness and desire for new positions, that this sergeant revolution is a model of its kind, having achieved an effective and profitable change by the shortest and most peaceful means, without shedding innocent blood. He believes that foreign nations will copy this simple and familiar recipe for pronouncements, which renders the high hierarchies of the military and politics useless. We shall see there. “I conclude with some news I acquired this afternoon by happy chance, for such was my encounter with Mr. Maturana when I was returning from collecting the ounces. You will know, beloved Telemachus, that Don Ildefonso Negretti has fallen into disgrace at the absolutist Court, having been discovered to be having correspondence with Mendizábal, to whom he wrote things that must not have pleased those phantoms. His correspondence was intercepted by the Carlist Postal Commission, and the culprit was imprisoned, and he would have had a very bad time without the protection afforded him by the Infante Don Sebastián. Maturana could not tell me where he is today. You will soon find out. “Senor Don Teobaldo comes to tell me he won’t be leaving until tomorrow, and I will take advantage of the delay to saddle you with a couple more sheets tonight , with references to the turn these political carnival jokes are taking , and with something that might interest you. — _Okay_.” Chapter 7. “What a sight you’ve missed!” continued the good clergyman. “Not one day, but two, Señor Don Teobaldo has been delayed in his departure, which allows me to inform you that the queen made her entrance into Madrid early today . What an ovation! What warm cheers, what delirium! What a riot of flowers, all to the beat of the national anthem! I witnessed it in Caballerizas, and I assure you I was moved by the genuine popular joy. All those women, who were screaming like mad, what idea do they have of the Constitution of the year 12? And if they have no idea, they’ll already have a feeling; it’s something. This vague feeling is the energy that moves the entire social and political machine; but, alas! We will be in trouble if it doesn’t soon translate into ideas, into peaceful actions, for a country cannot live solely fueled by enthusiasm and cantatas. Today all of Madrid is “hung up, ” as we express the adornment of balconies with variegated canvases, flags, or quilts where there is nothing else; and tonight we will have what they call illumination, which is a great waste of candle stubs and lamps in public and private buildings. Her Majesty seemed very pleased: the girls, very cute, waved with their gloved hands, and the people were equally pleased. I saw many embracing each other in the middle of the street. Then they told me they were waiting for the bread to go down, and that all the jobs would be given to those who profess patriotism. Well, the best is yet to come, my boy. Two hours after the Queen’s entrance, the rebels of La Granja made theirs, the embodiment of the principle of Liberty, now triumphant, and here it was necessary to repeat the ovations with even more ardor and frankness, because respect for kings always somewhat restrains one from showing joy. One of the choirmasters, Higinio García, came riding behind General Rodil, his uniform so handsome that it was a pleasure to see him. I heard that the horse is borrowed, and that he has established himself as an equestrian figure, or a knight of the civil order, without anyone ordering him to. The truth is that his good looks, his striking uniform, and the fact that he was present at the general’s side as an important figure in the militia earned him more admiration from the people, and he received the greatest applause and the warmest cheers , with a lesser share going to Alejandro Gómez, who was marching in his post in the company of Provincials. I heard it said in the circles that the author of the whole mess was Gómez, and that the regenerated country owed him more service than Higinio; but that the latter knew how to put himself in a more visible position and appropriate the praise and favors the other deserved. It was assured, as if it had been a done deal, that both of them were going to be named commanders of the reserve, without giving them promotion within the corps to which they belonged, because this did not seem very proper to everyone. You see that the poor are not lacking in modesty, and they are content with very little, for if they were rewarded in proportion to what they have done, both of them should already be generals by now. Either there is logic or there is no logic, my friend. You won’t deny that, if things are handled rigorously, if by the criterion of applying the Ordinance they deserve the death penalty, by the criterion of accomplished facts they deserve the pardon of generalship. This is as clear as day. On the journey through the interior of Madrid, as they ended up at the Pósito barracks, the cheers and applause reached delirium, and as soon as Gómez, García, and Lucas were off duty, flocks of the wealthiest patriots descended upon them and invited them to eat at a restaurant and smoke good cigars from the tobacco shop. In the meantime, I don’t want to tell you the quinine that Istúriz, Galiano, Saavedra, and those clinging to that ministry must have swallowed by now , who came into the world with the intrigue that put our most worthy Don Juan Álvarez in trouble . And those gentlemen weren’t a little hoarse, nor did they show off their supreme intelligence! I’d like to know what your friend Señor Rapella, who was the instigator of Istúriz’s government , thinks of all this , since he carried and brought the messages to El Pardo. Olózaga tells it very well. It seems that he discovered the trick at the Iron Gate, and to avoid scandalizing or giving the queen a bad time, they covered it up… But the truth was soon revealed, and if an operetta-like intrigue overthrew Mendizábal to enthrone his friend Istúriz, This one in turn falls ignominiously due to a tangle of _interlude with a little tune_. The history of Spain, which until recently wore out the tragic buskin, seems to me to be taking a liking to the comfort of selvedge shoes, or the casualness of the espadrille. “Don’t you know? We already have a new ministry. Don José María Calatrava presides over it, according to what Nicomedes just told me, who entered like a whirlwind and left again like a flash. He told me the names of the other ministers, but they have slipped my memory. I seem to remember that Gil de la Cuadra is going to be in the Interior, and General Rodil in War. What I am quite sure of is that we have Don Antonio Seoane as Captain General of Madrid, replacing Quesada, whom the patriots have taken to loathing and calling _liberticidal_ and what not. Then the personnel changes will begin. Nicomedes is counting on being made political leader. Espronceda will occupy a high position, and your old boss Oliván will earn the promotion he deserves in these revolutionary changes, when they come meekly. I’ll tell you, moreover, that the brute Ibraim has given proof these days of the elasticity of his vulture stomach, for he’s been the napkin-holder at all the feasts with which the dislocated youth of Tepa or Tres Cruces regale the liberating sergeants . And to further distinguish himself, after he’s had his fill, he lets out some puffy, vulgar toasts, which are the laughter of his listeners. Serrano, the consumptive, repeats them, and imitates the Andalusian voice and tone so well that it’s laughable. I don’t believe, as is evident in Serrano’s Ibraim rhapsodies, that the chaplain compared Gómez to Julius Caesar; Yes, I do believe the image that the Constitution has arrived on a triumphal chariot, as Gómez and García were pulling, and that the Constitution will be the horn of plenty in Spain. As for me, I can tell you that I only regret being a priest, because my religious state prevents me from hitting that goose a couple of times, for having told me last April the biggest lie ever to come from human lips since the beginning of the world… Well, yesterday afternoon he assured me that Don José Landero y Corchado is offering him a canonry, and I’ve gotten it into my head that they’re going to give it to him. Spain is crazy. Her mania consists in making the absurd seem plausible. “And mine, dear Fernando, for I’m also somewhat crazy, is that you regularize your life, and don’t give us any more embarrassments. If I have to tell you the truth, I am less indulgent than the unknown lady, and I believe in conscience that transactions and tolerances should be limited to the authorization of your loves, as long as you give them the matrimonial turn that decorum demands. If I were the tyrant, I would set a deadline for you to recover your fiancée and join her in a holy union, thus closing the cycle of your chivalrous adventures and forcing you to return here, where you would find a home and the means to live peacefully and comfortably. “I cannot hide from you that my greatest desire is for the unknown lady to send me to your side. I have proposed it to her, and with great delicacy she has replied in the negative. I’ll reproduce his own words for you, which are firmly etched in my memory: “I want to test whether or not I truly attract him; whether my authority, expressed sweetly, is a language intelligible to his heart. Since this test would not be effective without freedom, I grant it and wait. I want him to come to goodness, to peace, to my affection, spontaneously and effusively; not attracted by masters or pushed by truncheons. The system of surveillance, espionage, and foresight gave me a disastrous result: it was the defeat of absolute rule. I must now test the opposite system: freedom. I will triumph if I obtain from his free will what I failed to achieve by deploying, in the usual despotic way, all the luxury of authoritarian and police measures. No, no… Let us follow, as the other said, the constitutional path. I legislate, not govern… I mark out for Fernando the paths I believe will lead to his happiness, and I wait, arms crossed.” What do you think? When he told me this, I couldn’t help but to shout “Long live liberty!” with all my soul, and I even think I sang a little of the anthem. “Well then, my dearest Fernando: Pedro Hillo, your best friend, allows himself to tell you, by way of advice, not to abuse your liberty. Approach your business by the right path; present yourself to Mr. Negretti, and ask him for the girl; take her, and come running here by the shortest route and by the fastest means of transportation. Believe me… Your old friend doesn’t deceive you. You know, straight to the point, and _focusing on rectitude_. Don’t make _curtain passes_, or _changed_, but exclusively _natural_. “Well, what will you give me if I tell you something? Well, even if you don’t give me anything , I’ll tell you, to illuminate with bright light the path you intend to follow.” If you present yourself to Mr. Negretti and ask for the girl as a loyal gentleman, the girl is yours… There, you know it. When Hillo tells you so, there must be a reason, silly one… So go quickly in search of your outcome, and don’t be sorry if you find it dull and without incident; dramas are very nice in the theater or the bullring; but in life… God forbid. Resuming the letter-writing that evening, Don Pedro said: “Today I had the honor of speaking with a very worthy person, once respected and admired by you; then… Ah! You understand me, rascal; you know the person I’m referring to is Don Juan Álvarez Mendizábal. I saw him today for the third time since I’ve been in Madrid. Do you think he brought me to his house on political matters? Not at all, my boy: we talked about private matters, without prejudice to throwing a few pebbles at the government.” I don’t think there’s a man more amiable and helpful than this Don Juan de Dios. I’m happy with him. Believe it or not, he remembers you, and thinks you’re very bright and friendly. How are you? And then you’ll say…! “_Ultimatum_: You will take care to keep me informed of the places where you live, the roads you travel, _et reliqua_. This is indispensable. If despotism lives in the darkness, that is, in the blindness of public opinion, liberty requires light, lots of light. No more mysteries; the regime demands that the pots be uncovered so we know what’s cooking. Twice a week you will write to me, giving an account of your steps, and specifying the places where I should send my letters. Child of my heart, I hope you return soon. With his heart on a thread, your old Mentor awaits you. — _Pedro Hillo._ “_Epilogue_.— The rumor is spreading that General Quesada has been assassinated. That happened in Hortaleza, where the valiant defeated general sought rest rather than hiding. Once his whereabouts were discovered by the spiteful mobs, they harassed him until they found him, murdering him in a vile manner. And we thought the stage-show revolution was coming ! Nicomedes tells me that this stupid, useless, inexcusable crime, perpetrated in cold blood after the easy victory of the people, is the work of a gang of Jamancios, some of whom were at the Saladero when the unknown lady locked us up there for our sins. They frequented the Tepa meetings on nights of uproar. You must know them. Today, the revolutionaries lament that four shameless scoundrels have distorted the beautiful legend of this popular movement, which began with the tenacity, to a certain extent sympathetic, of the urbanites and concluded with the audacious, to a certain extent chivalrous, coup of the sergeants of the Royal Guard. But I see that if there is no function without a tarasca, there can be no mutiny without kicks. Distrust the revolution that puts on gloves, because with its hands crippled, it caresses you with its paws. Come on, no more. Goodbye.” Chapter 8. This and the previous letters so disturbed the spirit of the lord of Calpena that he could not sleep peacefully, assailed by contradictory thoughts. He was quite disturbed by the news of Negretti’s disfavor at the court of Charles, and since Negretti had not replied to three letters that Ferdinand had written to him during his long enchantment in Laguardia, it was logical to assume that he was no longer in the service of the Pretender. Where would he go to fulfill his promise? to the enterprise in which not only his love, but also his honor and dignity, were at stake? This problem, then, presented itself to him as obscure and difficult. On the other hand, he was encouraged by certain vague expressions of the mystery, and the somewhat less nebulous reluctance of the good Hillo: undoubtedly, he had been influenced by Mendizábal to obtain Negretti’s consent, a trivial outcome of the moralizing comedy of manners. Hillo’s visits to Don Juan Álvarez could have had no other purpose. All paths were open to the enamored young man, and the doors of his fortune were opened to him with golden keys; they wanted to transform his emotional and chivalric drama into a children’s story, one of those in which a beneficent fairy appears who in a jiffy arranges everything graciously. An easy and comfortable ending! But so much happiness was soured by stinging doubts. Where was Negretti? If Mendizábal knew his residence, why didn’t Hillo have the foresight to find out such important information to communicate to his Telemachus? And if Don Juan Álvarez didn’t know, his noble mediation could have been of no use. Analyzing these difficulties, he thought of Rapella, who, as a scheming and meddling charlatan, would have been the most useful guide through such a labyrinth. But he didn’t know the whereabouts of the Sicilian, to whom he had written twice without receiving a reply. He had probably carried out his political mission and returned to Madrid, Naples, or the fifth hell. In the midst of this confusion, the good Calpena felt agitated by a feeling of unknown quality, which slowly and slowly crept into his heart, into those regions that until then had remained empty. What could be more than the pure and profound affection of the unknown lady calling him, attracting him, as if she were being pulled, pulled, by a mysterious thread, which grew stronger the more tightly it was stretched? And what a sure instinct the invisible woman had in applying the treatment of liberty to her protégé! If she had failed to make herself loved by the system of police tyranny , the new regime established a happy harmony between the people and the authorities, in a certain way by divine right. Fernando already loved her; he thought of her in his sleepless nights; he tried to give her a physiognomy and a visible being in his imagination, and at times he ardently longed to approach her, angrily cursing the prolongation of the mystery. Why didn’t she reveal herself to him once and for all? Why did he ignore what Hillo undoubtedly already knew? Was there some powerful reason for perpetuating the game of masks? Would the divinity be angry if he resolutely approached and with a loving hand tore away the veil? No: it was most prudent to let the lady cover and uncover, as she wished and conveniently desired, for only she could appreciate the opportunity for an act of such nature. What undoubtedly persisted in Calpena’s mind, carefully considering the problem from all its facets and different aspects, was the resolution to obey his governor as soon as she ordered; obedience that must have been the clearest sign of gratitude for her having compromised in the great business of love. For the crown loyally accepted the democratic principle, the submissive people celebrated a firm and honorable alliance with the throne. Happy concord, which is the dream of nations! In Spain it is not a dream, it is a nightmare, and upon awakening from it one’s bones ache. Don Fernando finally, well into September, set a day that would be the fatal end of his enchantment, for by now his life in Laguardia was not rest, but leisure. Demetria still insisted that his lame leg was not quite cured, and urged him to wait until the time of the grape harvest; but he, delicately estimating these insinuations as dictated by courtesy, did not give in and made all arrangements for his departure. As nothing should be hidden, it should be known that he rewarded the servants of the house with such unusual generosity that for a long time the fame of the generosity of the gentleman Don Fernando, whom they considered one of the greatest potentates in the world. He also gave Don José María de Navarridas a good sum to distribute among the town’s poor, and he had the happy idea of ​​visiting every house he knew, not forgetting the humblest, which further cemented in the neighborhood the opinion of the nobility and true grandeur of Castro’s guest. And he was glad that he had arranged his departure so promptly, because, as the priest told him one afternoon, taking him aside mysteriously, the Idiáquez and Urdanetas, son and mother, would soon be arriving in Laguardia, coming for a visit with a showy retinue of servants. Don Rodrigo’s paternal grandfather, Don Beltrán de Urdaneta, would also be coming; But this gentleman, already very old, though still temperate and composed, would only rest for a couple of days in Laguardia, and then continue on to the Mena Valley, where his daughter Valvanera lived, married to one of the wealthy Maltranas, and mother of numerous offspring. Calpena had no desire to meet that family, despite the aura of virtue that the noble Navarridas surrounded her with, and was happy to go in the opposite direction, so as not to run into them on the way. The Idiáquezes were coming from the east, like the Three Wise Men, and he was going west toward Miranda de Ebro. The day of their departure, already well into September, was a very sad one for everyone. The traveler, having decided to leave at nightfall, everyone revealed their grief at mealtime, with a lack of appetite unusual in that house. The girls had given Don Fernando a beautiful horse, with the best trappings that the country’s industry could offer; a kindness which he appreciated, as might be expected, under the circumstances, promising to reciprocate with a superior one as soon as he arrived in Madrid. And when he expressed a desire to take into his service, to take with him, the servant of the Castro household named Sabas, one of those who accompanied the girls on the trip to Oñate, Demetria joyfully agreed, and the man, now mature, of proven loyalty and diligence, did not hesitate to accept the proposal, for there was no greater pleasure for him than to employ himself in the care and service of such a noble knight. It was about four o’clock when Don Fernando left the illustrious residence of Castro. A crowd of people went to see him off. The girls, with Doña María Tirgo, Don José Navarridas, and the gentleman of Crispijana, went down from the town to the road, and upon reaching it, Don Fernando dismounted so that they all could continue on foot for a good stretch, for the afternoon was cool and inviting for a stroll. They spoke, as is customary in these cases, of the next return. “Yes, yes: if we are so foolish as to believe he’s coming back here! He’s eager to lose sight of us,” said Demetria. And Navarridas: “No, woman, don’t say such a thing. So he won’t return? He’s promised me, and the promises of gentlemen of this caliber are like a deed before a notary… ” “Yes, yes, trust deeds or promises. ” And Gracia: “He’s also given me his word to return, and if he doesn’t return, it’s not his fault, but his fiancée’s, who will tie him to the leg of a chair. ” And Doña María Tirgo: “Leave him alone, you fool, he’ll know what to do. Whether he comes or not , when he’s in those courts and in those grandeurs, he’ll remember these poor villagers, who have done their best to make his life pleasant.” Calpena felt a lump in her throat; He wanted to end the farewell, which was becoming extremely pathetic, and he no longer knew what to say, or in what tones or attitudes to express the intense emotion that overwhelmed him. The tall Don José María spoke, saying: “Well, we’ll never get any further.” And the traveler hurried the final scene. He allowed himself to be embraced by the priest; he pressed the hands of the girls and Doña María effusively, and adding a few opportune words, he mounted his horse and rode away at a pace, looking back. Gracia and Don José María were weeping. Demetria, somewhat pale, maintained her beautiful serenity, biting her lips. She watched him walk away with grave sadness. Doña María waved her handkerchief. Master and squire spurred their horses, and when they reached the bend in the road where they would lose sight of the noble family, they stopped to bid them a final farewell. The two girls and the lady waved their handkerchiefs in the air; Navarridas repeated these demonstrations with his umbrella in one hand and his hat in the other… And they were no more to be seen. After an hour and a half of travel, Don Fernando, who was dejected and melancholy, felt a sudden desire to turn back. So sudden was it, and at the same time so vivid, that he mechanically stopped his horse and asked Sabas: “Where are we? How far have we gone? ” “What, sir, have you forgotten something? Do we have to turn back? ” “No, it’s just that… Indeed, I forgot something; but I don’t need to. Let’s go on. ” “It’s so nice at Castro’s house, sir, that whenever one leaves, one thinks one is leaving something behind. And what is it that one is leaving behind?” The affection, sir, the affection of such a fine house. Don Fernando remained silent, and with equal economy of words continued for a very long distance, until, already at night, approaching Labastida, master and squire began the following conversation: “Well, Sabas: now that the bitterness of parting is passing… goodbyes, alas! are always very painful, and even more so when one separates from people so good, so pure, so… well, now that we are advancing on our journey, and the thoughts that motivate my journey once again take possession of this mind of mine, I will tell you that I have been moved to take you into my service, in addition to your fine qualities, by other reasons… You do not understand me. You’ll remember that last night, you and I talking about the Carlist court , where you suffered captivity and a thousand hardships, you said, among other things, sometimes terrible, sometimes jovial, something that has been for me the only light I can distinguish in the darkness that surrounds me. “What did I say, sir, that can be a light to your grace? I no longer remember.” “That on Thursday two men arrived from Vizcaya, both of whom had served until last month in the Carlist armory; that one is your friend, and that he went to a small town near Miranda, where he is from. Here is the reason why I must run to Miranda. I need to speak with that man tonight, if possible. Take me there; that is why, and only for that, you are coming with me.” —That’s right, sir: the one who came from there, run away, chased away, starving , and with no desire to return, is Bonifacio Gay, my cousin and godfather, and now he’s with his family in Leciñana del Camino, a league and a half from Miranda. —Well, off we go. —If the gentleman is in a hurry, six hours of rest in Labastida will be enough for the cattle. If we leave at dawn, we’ll arrive in Miranda between eight and nine. We’ll have a bite to eat, and at lunchtime we’ll arrive in Leciñana. —Perfectly… Are you absolutely sure your cousin worked in the workshop? —Where they make bales, yes, sir. He’s a blacksmith and smelter, and understands all sorts of devices, for example: waterwheels, clocks, mills, and chocolate pots. He’d been working for the faction for ten months, and seeing that there were none from here, and that for not paying him they accused him of being a Freemason, he slipped away and with a thousand difficulties managed to reach Salvatierra, from where he took the road to his town, passing through Laguardia on Thursday, as I told your grace. “I wish I had wings to fly to that place,” said Fernando, spurring his spurs, “because when curiosity takes hold of me , I don’t know what patience is, and I’d like to turn hours into minutes. ” The riders’ conversation jumped from topic to topic: war, peace, harvests, and they arrived at the starting point of their journey. “What are they doing now at Castro’s house? They’re probably having dinner. They’re probably asking each other: ‘Where are Don Fernando and Sabas now? Have they reached Labastida?'” Life is nothing more than this, sir, said the squire, and it and death are the same: some who go and others who stay…, some who come and others who are here, because they came before, and who one day will also touch them. to be… _gone_. We all, sir, were _gone_, and we will be _gone_. Nothing worthy of mention happened to them in Labastida; nothing either in Miranda, where they arrived the following day. They saw many idle troops; there were no operations; the Army of the North was waiting for its generals to have a plan. All the interest of the war was then absorbed by the daring expeditions of Gómez and Don Basilio. The former strolled through Castile and Extremadura as if it were his home, and the latter returned to the Provinces after having ravaged La Rioja, Soria, and run through the heart of Castile as far as very close to La Granja. Without stopping in Miranda any longer than necessary to feed and rest their cavalry, Calpena and Sabas continued their march, until they stopped at Leciñana del Camino, a miserable place surrounded by aridity, not far from the Ebro and at the foot of the Turiso mountain range. With such good fortune and such speed, they arrived there that there was no need for further investigation to find Señor Gay, for they found him in the first houses of the town, at the door of a blacksmith’s shop, while he and other men were busy shoeing some mules. “Bonifacio,” his friend told him without further ceremony, “we’ve come looking for you, because this noble gentleman wants to talk with you.” Somewhat suspicious and sullen at first, then frank and communicative, Gay, who was a muscular man of about fifty , his head whitened by premature graying, his hands blackened by forging, gave the last blows of the hammer to the animal’s hoof, and ordering a jug of wine, entered with his friend and the gentleman into the only living room of the forge. Taking gulps of must, he answered Calpena’s questions with these or similar expressions. Chapter 9. —I do know Señor Negretti!… If I was the worker that Don Ildefonso loved the most, I loved Don Ildefonso as much as my father, even though we are both the same age, a year or so less! And I say that no one will be found who better understands all the mechanics of the world, just as there is no one with such conscience for work, for there is no need to object to anything that comes from his hands or from the hands that obey his idea … That is what the gentleman says: such a man is not suitable for the service of those people and of that very ecclesiastical government. They had their eyes on him, as on all the rest of us who were not from Guipúzcoa, and since due to the influence of the priesthood, which is always on guard there, there were so many informers and storytellers among us, they soon began to say whether Don Ildefonso was a Volteran Freemason, whether he didn’t confess, or so on… Until one day, back in July, when we were in Durango, the scoundrels of the Commission who are the recorders of letters, all of them very clerical, laymen of the convent, errand boys for nuns and vice versa, came out with the tale that Don Ildefonso was corresponding with that minister from Madrid who has cleaned the holy manger for the friars… Exactly, Mr. Mendizábal. Result: the master was taken prisoner to Tolosa, for a crime they call “unharmed your majesty.” Infante Don Sebastián came to his defense , telling the king that he would close the workshop if they took away the most valuable man there and the one who did the best work. The result: they released him; but they wouldn’t let him live; wherever he went, two or three Iscariots followed him, and the man was so bored that he even lost his appetite. In those days, they appointed a new commander as director of the workshops. He was a very clerical beast of burden, who didn’t understand a word of our trade. He had been a seminarian, ordained as a minor; later, he served in Guergué’s guerrillas , and at court, he had sponsors from the friarly clique who made him captain with a single blow. And since the king is like that, who sees only through the eyes of four fat cats who are always grumbling at his side, he still thought that this Gorostia, in their language, “acebo,” was not doing well in his career, and I’ll make you a commander of engineers. Well one morning we were working like crazy to finish some pomegranates, when the said commander told the teacher that this was wrong: they exchanged words, and Don Ildefonso, who is a hot-tempered man, of great honor, and has hands of iron from being so close with him, gave him such a tremendous slap that he turned him upside down, foaming at the mouth. I don’t want to tell your grace what a mess ensued. Result: Don Ildefonso was imprisoned again, and then a court-martial, and papers… The man, angry, said he was leaving, and that it was his fault for having entered into the service of something as crazy as faction… “Well, there’s more, sir. Then they began to look for trouble with me and two other Castilians. Asking if we were bitter, Masons, or atheistic wasters. I paid no attention and continued with my work. But one day a boy from Éibar accused me of saying something or other about the Virgin… one of those things you say without thinking when a job doesn’t go well, or when a hot coal jumps in your face and burns you… well, those things you say: nothing at all. But, Lord, I, always a good Christian, how could I speak ill of the Virgin? And even if I did say something, it’s just a guess, but that doesn’t stop me from being a Roman apostolic, just like them. I’ve always been devoted to Our Lady. Here, hanging from my chest, I wear, look here, the medal of the Pilarica, which my mother gave me… Well, then the foreman came out, one from Lezo, they call him Choriya, one of those who eat saints, and threatening me with a hammer, said that I deserved to have my tongue pierced with a hot nail, for having spoken of _peinetas_ in reference to the Virgin; And I replied that the combs were for him, and three more. The result: I was punished, and a chaplain came to preach to me, and I also sent him wherever I saw fit. Because of this, and because one of them wasn’t getting paid, I decided to leave, and one night I ran away with two other lads, who are also from here. No more, no more faction. We were in for a rude awakening, for we thought we would earn a good wage there, since that was a pretender kingdom; but the calculation backfired, because there is nothing there but misery, ill treatment, and distrust of anyone who has suckled Castilian milk, like me, who came into the world in the land of Burgos, where Saint James’s horse stamped his feet . The result: we have returned here without a penny, barking with hunger, and now we find ourselves in our own land looked down upon for having served that watery fool, who would sooner go blind than see himself king of Spain. “That’s what I’m getting at, yes, sir… Yes, I understand that what you’re interested in knowing is everything I know about Señor Negretti’s family. That’s what I’m getting at: let’s drink a little more, for this is life-giving. One of the reasons I wanted to return to my own territory was so that I wouldn’t have to see the wine taxed, for there they gave it to you by the measure, and plenty of water, while here we drink the best without thinking that it ever runs out… Well, I’m getting to the family thing. I only saw Doña Prudencia and her niece once. Gosh, how beautiful she is; what a sight to behold! I heard that in Madrid a prince was madly in love with her, and that his parents, to prevent him from marrying, locked him up in a tower, where he took his own life.” that she was brought here to calm her prince’s illusions , and what else… Ah! Now I remember: that the girl, whom they call Doña Laura or something like that, is rich, since her father left her many fine diamonds and yellow topazes; but that her fiancé prince was more opulent, and in land alone he was to inherit half of Spain and a portion of the offshore islands . I don’t know, sir: things that servants say, and they’re all lies, I think… I saw the aunt and niece in Elorrio; then they went to Bermeo, and all I know now is that Don Ildefonso went there on Saturdays and returned on Mondays. As for his whereabouts today, I can only tell you that when he retired from service to the faction he went to Bilbao, where Prudencia’s family lives. I haven’t seen Señor Negretti again, nor “I’ve heard more about him than what this or that of my companions said, just talking for the sake of talking… ” “Remember, Mr. Gay,” said Fernando, delighted with what he knew, eager to know more, “and tell me everything you heard, without omitting anything, not even what your companions chatted about without any knowledge of the matter, out of presumption or conjecture. ” “I’ll go now…” First, I’ll tell your grace something I’d forgotten. Twice, Mr. Negretti asked me if I knew of any trustworthy boy he could send on his own initiative, with a letter of interest, to Laguardia, and I replied that I didn’t know any, which was the truth. I say this because, since the gentleman comes from Laguardia, and apparently has been there for three long months, I’m wondering if what the teacher asked me had something to do with your grace. ” “Undoubtedly, the message, letter, or errand was for me; but if Negretti finally sent it, it never reached Laguardia.” “I can’t assure your honor that Don Ildefonso ever sent his own; but I think so, because in Durango there was a one-eyed messenger who went through the villages with a baby Jesus, asking for food for the shrine of Iciar, and in those days we saw him dressed in Negretti’s old clothes, and he told us he was going around Álava with his holy man; after that we didn’t see him again. ” “That messenger never appeared there either. Go on, go on, you still remember a lot. ” “I’ll continue. Well, in Durango they said that Doña Prudencia was looking forward to protecting the girl from so many suitors who harassed her, because of her beauty… Gosh, what a mouthful, what a hook! A ship captain saw her and fell in love. Two more from Bermeo, and a Carlist colonel, asked for her as his wife; but she says she paid no attention to anyone, because she couldn’t get the deceased prince out of her thoughts . ” This is what we, Don Ildefonso’s friends, were talking about, and one of our gang named Bachi Guzur, Bautista the Liar, a very clever boy who is known for inventing things, said to us: “I think the prince hasn’t died, and that they’ve told her the lie about his death to make her lose her love, because it suits the family. And I’d wager that the most serene gallant is wandering around disguised, looking for her, just like in those made-up stories, which seem true to me; and I don’t think anything in books is a lie, or that lies are truths that are only seen the other way around.” Nothing, sir: we would entertain ourselves with this gossip after work, and one would say pears, another would say figs, and we would pass the time… Anyway, sir, I think I’ve told Your Grace everything I know. If anything else comes to mind, I’ll tell you this afternoon, assuming you don’t leave until tonight or tomorrow. “I’d like to leave right now… that’s who I am… Do you think I’ll find Señor Negretti in Bilbao? ” “Sure… And if he’s not there, the family will be there, for sure. You only have to ask in Bilbao for the Arratias’ house. Any boy on the street will tell you. It’s there by the Ribera. You can’t miss it. ” “And those Arratias are…? ” “Brothers of Doña Prudencia. They have ships that go out to sea. ” “Come on, they’re shipowners.” “And merchants, who bring from the North staves, cod, and barrels of a drink they call beer, more bitter than the devil; and they also equip small boats for the escabeche fishery… If Don Ildefonso and his wife and niece weren’t there, the Arratias would give you a clear account of where they live.” When Gay was asked about the shortest and safest route from Leciñana to the capital of Vizcaya, he stated that although the most direct route was to take the Orduña route, he did not recommend that route, as the entire area was plagued by rebels. “You already know,” he said to his friend. “You go straight along this bank of the Ebro, to Trespaderne, and from there you turn up, on this side. Do you know the Sierra del Gato? Well, you go along it. You pass through Cebolleros, Villacomparada, and Villamezán, and you are already in Mena land. From there.” To Valmaseda is like walking down a street. In short, you can get to Your Grace in four days, with rest. Don Fernando paid no attention to any danger, for, hearing no voice but that of his valiant heart, he longed to launch himself toward the fulfillment and completion of the undertaking, thwarted by such unfortunate accidents. His spirit was once again inflamed by a desire for marvelous deeds , for anything that broke the mold of the ordinary. “To Bilbao by Aura!” Such was his motto, and the hours were already dragging by, the minutes dragging on, the minutes that it took to make some enormous effort for the idea and purpose that such an emblem expressed. This happened on a Wednesday. On Thursday night, they entered Trespaderne, just as a detachment of Cristina forces were about to leave. They were soon informed that a group that had descended from the Puerto de los Tornos and another that had been through Peña Complacera were meeting at San Pelayo, a very important point in the Mena Valley, to explore those villages and take whatever they found. The mayor of Trespaderne urged all the travelers on such a route to stop for two or three days until the situation cleared up. Calpena insisted on continuing their journey the following day; but Sabas, supported very wisely by the mayor, a rough and sensible man, gave him such reasons that he had to resign himself, kicking and screaming, to a short wait, which he assured them would not last more than twenty-four hours. Reality, however, required further delay and a need to muster up patience. The inn or hostelry where they had settled was the worst of its kind, similar to the famous La Mancha inns . Calpena occupied the only room that offered relative comfort . Not knowing what to do during the long, boring and tiresome stay, he asked for an inkwell and pen, for ever since leaving Laguardia he had been gripped by a burning urge to write. To whom? To the three cardinal points of his affection: to the north, Negretti and Aura, his friends from Laguardia, to the east, and to the south, those from Madrid. The nautical rose of that heart had no west… As his fondness for the south had taken on an extraordinary vividness, along the way he mentally composed a multitude of letters addressed to the mysterious deity who protected him, making her his own in the present and in the future. Now in possession of the writing implements, he said to himself, preparing his paper: “First of all, to her…” But with all his diligence, he couldn’t get past the first line: “My unknown lady…” a formula he varied endlessly, without finding the most appropriate one. “Unknown lady, my very beloved protector…” And after finding the formula, what would he say to her? In these perplexities, staring at the paper, biting the bristles of his pen, Sabas was in control, and hurried up to say to him: “There’s that gentleman… Listen to the voices he’s making, and the noise his servants and horses are making. It’s old Urdaneta, Don Beltrán de Urdaneta, you know, sir, the grandfather of Don Rodrigo, whom they were waiting for in Laguardia with his entire family… You’ll see what a salty old man he is. He’s also going to Mena, where his daughter is, married to the Maltrana estate. ” Chapter 10. “To hell with you and Don Beltrán! You scared me. I thought it was someone else. I don’t even know that old man, nor have I ever seen him in my life!” “Well, now he’ll have to see him and deal with him, because he’s a very old regular at this inn, and has been staying there since the last century, whenever he comes and goes. Since this is the only decent room, he’s in the habit of occupying it: the innkeeper has told him to stay here with the gentleman, who is also a person of Spanish grandeur. ” “I don’t want to,” said Calpena, who was annoyed at making acquaintances on this occasion. “I’ll go to a hayloft, and let that Don Beltrán or Don Cuerno come and occupy his room.” And as he was getting up, determined to slip away before the new guest arrived, the rickety door opens and a friendly and noble old man enters , of good stature, somewhat overcome by the weight of age, with an affable face and very refined manners, revealing in all his high birth. and refined social intercourse. “Forgive me, sir, for invading your room. Age grants us some rather sad privileges. I don’t want to evict you—that’s for sure. I dare propose that, since our hotel only has one room, we share it together as good friends. You are not in my way, nor should I be in yours; and knowing now with whom I will be living for twenty-four hours a day, I only add that the company of such an important person is a great pleasure to me.” Fernando, reciprocating the insinuating old man’s courtesy, proposed to retire, leaving him the entire room for greater comfort and relief; to which Don Beltrán replied that he would not accept it under any circumstances. “I reply that, if we spend a little time together, my company will not be unpleasant to you, since I, seeing you today for the first time, already love yours.” To a surprised questioning movement from the young man, he replied with these words: “We have not met, and yet we do, Señor de Calpena, because you must know that I have come from Laguardia, where I left my daughter-in-law and my grandson, and in the twenty-four hours that I have been there, those good people have not ceased to speak to me of you. Father Navarridas and the girls from Castro esteem their guest highly. I know, we know everything… by what series of accidents you ended up there, the service you rendered to the girls, your brave, gallant conduct… And since at the same time I know that Don José María spoke to you of me, let us consider ourselves mutually introduced, and consider ourselves friends of long standing… I say, not long, because you are practically a child. ” He said this, taking a seat, after taking off his traveling coat. Without giving Fernando time to express his pleasure at such kindness, he said, noticing the paper and inkwell: “If you were writing, you can continue. Take the chair, and since there’s no other, I’ll walk around the common room while you write. ” “No, sir: just to kill my boredom, I thought I’d write… but now that I have such pleasant company, save the writing for tomorrow.” “Well, if you’re not writing, I suggest we go to the kitchen, where we have a good fire, and we’ll be just fine. Whenever I stop here, I spend hours by the hearth, in the company of these simple, honest people, and the cats and dogs. Even the animals know me by now. ” “I too like to while away the hours in village kitchens, looking into the flames of the hearth, listening to the boiling of the pots, and having a conversation with the villagers. Come, come, Señor Don Beltrán.” —Give me your arm, young man, for at my age I’m not keen on taking the measure of these rickety stairs. What memories this house holds for me! I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that I’ve stopped by it some sixty times. The first time, not so long ago… in the year 780, when I was going with my father on a hunt, invited by my relative the Constable, the father of Bernardino Frías, whom you will know; the second time, when we took my sister to profess among the Franciscan nuns of Medina de Pomar; the third… I don’t even remember. I stopped by here to take my daughter Valvanera to her wedding with Maltrana, and I’m also going to my daughter’s house now. The date of that wedding is one you won’t forget. At this inn, when we were going to Villarcayo, we received the news of the Battle of Bailén… Anyway, I also passed by on the 28th, fleeing from the apostolic bands, and I had passed by on the 23rd, to avoid an encounter with the troops from Angoulême. Osuna and I were going towards the border, the old duke, father of these boys, Pedro Alcántara and Mariano, and we had to take a long detour to take a boat that left Santoña, and took us to La Rochelle… Anyway, my life is very long, and it is not lacking in adventures. They took possession of the best bench in the kitchen, next to the chestnut table, and Don Beltrán happily announced that he had ordered a lamb to be roasted and ajilimójilis to be prepared. “This simplicity,” he said joyfully, “I love; these elementary meals and Primitives are my delight. Either this, or the refinements of Parisian cuisine . And as for society, either the highest, or that of these unfortunates, reinforced by the cats and dogs you already have here, seeking my flattery. Indeed: one of the two cats in the house had jumped up on your arm, and the other was scratching itself against your legs. Two magnificent greyhounds kept guard on either side of the chair. “As for me, Señor Don Fernando,” she continued, “don’t give me half measures. Either palaces resplendent with luxury, or this humble kitchen. And in matters of the fair sex, which has always been one of my most cherished hobbies, either high-class ladies, or these gallant country personae… Let them bring us white wine, for there is superior wine here. Girl, take this, and tell Ginés that if he doesn’t have white wine, he should send for it immediately to Sopelana’s house.” “There is, Señor Marquis,” said the girl, “and I’ll bring it to you right now. ” “Then hurry, for even if you don’t pay attention to me because I’m old… Do you know what Charles V said… not this Charles V, but the other one?… I’ll tell you later… For if you don’t pay attention to me, because I’m a poor, useless old man, you won’t do the same to this handsome gentleman. ” “By my faith, you carry your years well, Señor Don Beltrán,” said Calpena. “You retain your agility, your good humor, with all the trappings of a thoroughbred gentleman. ” “Oh! No, my friend: I’m quite finished now; I’m not even a shadow of what I was. It’s true that my head is still there, and I reason as in my best days; but my sight is failing. There are days when I can’t see three men on a donkey, and if I continue like this, I’ll soon go blind. This saddens me, because I’ve decided to live to ninety.” Regarding my age, you’ve probably heard a thousand legends. There are those who believe I’ve reached the age of one hundred, and that I’m demeaning myself… Nonsense: I gave up that innocent coquettishness at least ten years ago . “You don’t imagine,” said Calpena, wanting to flatter him, “that you’re over seventy… seventy-two at the most. ” “Oh, how flattering and what a bon enfant! No, son… add a little, and you’ll reach seventy-eight. Yes, sir: I came into the world in the noble city of Olite in 1758. Take a look at everything that comprises the space between that date and this roguish 36. Yes, sir, in 1758: I’m eleven years older than Napoleon and Wellington, who were born in ’69; Mozart was two years older than me, and Schiller a year younger. Goya, my friend, the famous painter, was twelve years older than me, and I’m nine years older than Don Manuel Godoy. Like Napoleon, other celebrities who have already died, Beethoven, Moratín, Talma, were much younger than I…
—What a prodigious memory! —Don’t say memory; say years. When one is on the decline, one amuse oneself by settling these sad accounts, by comparing old ages… Let us console, I my weary years, you yours yours green, with this little white wine… Ah, Señor de Calpena! You must have spent a most pleasant time in Castro’s house… Fernando enthusiastically praised the virtues of life in that stately and opulent mansion, and when he praised its inhabitants, Don Beltrán nodded, narrowing his eyes and savoring the wine. —Yes, yes… the girls are two angels, Demetria a prodigy, Navarridas a saint, so affectionate, so helpful… although sometimes the excess of their kindness can be a little annoying, can’t it? And as for Doña María Tirgo, who is another saint, another prodigy, another angel, I have no doubt that she must have confused you more than necessary, speaking to you of lineages, their knowledge and their mania. —The lady of her genealogical knowledge made me see something: through her I am well informed of the nobility of the Urdanetas and Idiáquez. From the connections with the first houses of Aragon and Navarre, it appears that you carry the blood of thousands and thousands of distinguished men, and of glorious saints. —Yes, yes: there is no lack of illustrious relatives on all four sides, —said Don Beltrán gravely, with a certain good-natured disdain for human greatness. —We also boast that many of our blood be on the altars… And I don’t believe that this vein of sanctity has been extinguished in my family. —I also learned from Doña María and her brother—continued Calpena—of the project to unite such an illustrious family with the equally noble and powerful Castro Amézaga family, marrying your grandson, Señor Don Rodrigo, to that mirror of maidens, Demetria, of whom just by naming her I believe I am paying the highest praise. —Oh, yes: the girl is a darling, and it’s a pleasure to see her playing at being an administrator. —Well, from what they’ve told me, to find someone who in virtues and merit could equal such a girl, they had to ask the house of Idiáquez for a husband. —Yes, yes… —he murmured to Beltrán indifferently, thoughtfully, letting his mind wander through distant spaces. —And only in her has a man worthy of such a woman been found. —Yes, yes… —You can’t imagine the praise the Navarridas brothers have paid me for your grandson , Don Rodrigo. —Yes, yes… No one can take away his reputation… He undoubtedly possesses qualities, great qualities… What doubt is there?… Judicious, serious, calm… a follower of all precepts… Calpena was greatly surprised by Don Beltrán’s coldness in the matter, for he had expected just the opposite: that the noble old man would be drooling in demonstration of his pride at being twice father of the prodigious Marquis of Sariñán. He also noticed in the good gentleman a certain annoyance or displeasure, a desire to talk about something else. His intelligent face had lengthened; he seemed older, due to the disappearance of the smile that rejuvenated him. Two deep sighs came from his chest. Calpena felt consumed by burning curiosity, and yearning to satisfy it, he said to himself: “There’s some secret here, perhaps family discord. What could it be? I must tease this old man to test his discretion.” Thinking this way, he kept watching Urdaneta, who at that moment was speaking paternally with a poor villager. Fernando had never seen such an expressive face, so mobile and lively, the mask of a consummate actor who interprets wit and cunning as well as senile benevolence. Don Beltrán’s face, finely aristocratic, had a slightly angular line due to old age. Calpena recalled images he had seen of Voltaire, Talleyrand, and the Abbé L’Épée. The hours passed placidly in the kitchen, Don Beltrán enjoying the delights of his popularity in those parts. Villagers kept coming in to greet him, and he, offering his hand to kiss, treated them all with the exquisite affability of a great lord who knows how to hold his own, showing himself kind and familiar with the humble. Fernando admired the grace and flexibility with which he adapted his language to that of those unfortunates, and he could observe that he was not all fine words, for whenever one of the visitors commiserated with his precarious situation, Don Beltrán would reach for his green silk culverin, and that was when the coin came out. He always carried a supply of coins for the children, which he distributed liberally. Despite the noble old man belonging to what we might call the “century of the snuffboxes, ” he had never used snuff. This contemporary of Napoleon, Haydn, and Louis XVIII, anticipating the following century, smoked, and from his supply of good cigars and paper cigars, rolled in a fragrant bladder, everyone, young and old, partook. To this style and gallantry, the supreme art of being an aristocrat among the common people, which so few possess, he owed his popularity throughout the country, from Zaragoza to the sources of the Ebro, and from the Pyrenees to Moncayo. Having shared a delicious lamb with ajilimójilis among nobles and peasants, Calpena tried to coax some revelation from Don Beltrán that would clarify the dark side he had thought he saw in the family of Idiáquez Urdaneta; but the shrewd old man dodged the issue, not giving away anything. When they went up to his room to retire, Don Beltrán, leaning on Calpena’s arm, said to him: —Oh, my dear! I remember just now that there is a very powerful reason why we shouldn’t both sleep in the same room. It hadn’t occurred to me before… Can’t you guess what it is?… Well, I snore thunderously… I play the horn and the violin, I imitate thunder and the rooster… I’m told I can’t hear myself… and with my snoring you won’t be able to sleep a wink all night. Fernando replied that he didn’t mind, although, in truth, he wasn’t at all amused by the music, program and all, which his friend had announced. —No, no,— he added,— I won’t allow you to sleep here. I’ll give you a good night!… Sabina, Gervasia, girls!… The innkeeper and the women of the house rushed to their calls, and Don Beltrán, who wasn’t asking but commanding here, said to them: —Girls, give this gentleman your room. You girls can sleep with Sabina for one night, and you, Ginés, can spend it in the stable.” Those poor people agreed to what the nobleman had arranged, and Urdaneta, while his page undressed him, the bed already prepared with a good coat, joked with Don Fernando: “The solution could not have been more opportune. Advantages for me: I will not be inhibited, and I will be able to deploy my entire orchestra, safe in the knowledge of not having an audience. Advantages for you: you will not hear my chords, first of all; secondly, since, in my opinion, one of the girls is a sleepwalker, the prettiest by the way, it is easy for her to sneak into your room in the middle of the night… Go on, have fun… My dear, until tomorrow.” Chapter 11. The last thing Don Fernando expected, upon entering the room that had been prepared for him, was that that very night and through unexpected channels he would learn some facts that would unravel the enigma of the Idiáquez family. “Sir,” Sabas told him when he came in to serve as his valet , “if you’re not too sleepy, I’ll tell you the gossip about Don Beltrán’s house that his spolique Tomé has been telling me. He talks like crazy and is eager to bring out the… affairs of his masters. ” “Tell me, for God’s sake, even if it’s so long you won’t finish until morning, and make sure you don’t forget any of this gossip about your friend, regardless of whether it’s true or false. ” “Then your grace will know that this salty old man and his grandson, Don Rodrigo, are ready to kill each other. Don Beltrán has spent his entire life wasting money on his own and on other people’s property; he’s done nothing but have fun and live well in Paris and other lands of vice. On the other hand, his grandson has turned out to be so all-inclusive and so tight-fisted, that there’s nothing more to ask for.” See, Your Grace, the roles reversed: the prodigal and spendthrift old man, like a boy of a spending age; the boy, attached to calculation and reason, like an old man who looks out for order and wealth. My teeth grew when I heard that Don Beltrán was and is the first rascal of the kingdom, and that he has spent his life in feasts, hunts, recreations, and the largesses of a prince, with that one having plenty of good girls, and traveling here and there. The luxury of his house and the trains he had were something to talk about, sir. It is true that there was no one more generous and more gallant; he amused himself; but he paid well. And not a single poor man came to his door who left disconsolate. Similar to Don Beltrán in his generosity, though less of a gentleman, was his son Don Federico, who was called Don Fatrique or Don Futraque; and between them they left the house of Urdaneta, so powerful before, in its bones… which was reduced to dust; and with its remains, and the not large but clean fortune of the Idiáquez family, Doña Juana Teresa, Marchioness of Sariñán, wife of _Don Futraque_ and mother of Don Rodrigo, has been able to amass a small fortune, which is what today son and mother want to free from the sinful hands of this old man… Ever since Don Federico’s death , the widow and the little marquis kept their grandfather on a tight leash. He grumbled; but what choice did he have but to bow his head? Every so often, there was a great row in the family, because Don Beltrán asked for eight for his needs and they only gave him three. If she kept him on a tight leash The more the lady, the more her grandson had to be tied down when he reached the age of government and took charge of managing the estate. Every day they gave Don Beltrán less and less, and the poor gentleman, spurred by his rancid vices, trilled and was consumed by his demons. He had become a child, the child of the house, the playful and mischievous young man who is given a few ill-counted pesetas on Sundays to amuse himself. In the end, seeing that they couldn’t make a career out of him, and that the more they gave him, the more he asked for, they prevented him from undertaking trips, took away his carriages and horses, and even taxed his tobacco… The old boy felt so desperate that he went and tried to throw himself down a great chasm beyond Cintruénigo; but… he left it for another day. And he also went one night to the Ebro to take a dip; only because the water was so cold, he didn’t dare. The rest of what Sabas recounted, repeating the annals transmitted by the chronicler of the house of Idiáquez, Tomé Torres, remained vividly in Calpena’s memory, and with that news he fell asleep, his thirst for curiosity quenched. When Don Beltrán found himself in extreme straits, because his suppliers gave him credit and he found no means of repaying, he borrowed money, since by the devil’s tricks his credit was high in those towns, and the house had no choice but to pay the debts contracted by the great child, to avoid disgrace and scandal, resulting from this in greater disturbances among the three, grandfather, daughter-in-law, and grandson. Lately, when the great affair of the marriage with the heir apparent of Castro, initiated by Doña María Tirgo, was discussed in the family , Don Beltrán did not intervene at all. Afterward, he showed himself somewhat inclined to oppose; But his grandson regarded it as a ruse to obtain money and stood his ground, leaving the old man to his own devices. His coming to Laguardia with his family was not to accompany them on the visits before their marriage, nor for the pleasure of visiting the girls and their uncles, with whom he had always been friends. The nobleman Urdaneta, when the people of Cintruénigo besieged him with hunger, would take to his heels like wolves in a snowy season. At the first attempt, he would go to Villarcayo to be bailed out of trouble by his daughter Valvanera, the wife of a wealthy man. There he would spend long periods exploiting his son-in-law, until he and his daughter grew tired and, with good manners, sent him back to Ciutruénigo. The three of them left the manor house with their servants and took the road to Laguardia. Don Beltrán had acquired some money, no one knows how, and he was traveling by his usual train: a well-harnessed mule, servants with suitcases, and everything else a great lord traveling for pleasure might need. The Marquises of Sariñán and the Lord of Urdaneta stopped in Laguardia for the purpose already known. While staying at the rectory, there was no shortage of quarrels between grandfather and grandson over the eternal issue of “ocavos” (fees); but everything remained within the family, without Navarridas being aware of it. Navarridas urged Don Beltrán to stay for at least a week; but the nobleman, using pressing business as an excuse and a burning desire to embrace his daughter and grandchildren from another quarter, left the leisure time of Laguardia after a day and a half of rest. Riding within easy reach of Calpena along the same roads, they met at the Trespaderne inn, where the aforementioned events occurred until the night they moved Fernando’s room to spare him the discomfort of snoring. The young man slept peacefully, his sleep undisturbed by the sleepwalking of the pretty girl, as Don Beltrán had announced, and in the morning, as Sabas was helping him dress, Tomé Torres came in to tell him on behalf of his master that he was waiting for him to have breakfast together. “And when,” Calpena said to his noble friend, sitting face to face in the kitchen, drinking hot chocolate, “when do you think the wedding will take place? ” “What wedding? ” “The one between your grandson and Demetria. I suppose the agreement of both will emerge from the hearings… ” “Or not… What do you know? It could happen that the deal determines a Repulsion, an antagonism of characters… Forgive me, dear Calpena; but I cannot be more explicit. The respect I owe the family prevents me from elaborating further on such a delicate matter… And if you won’t be offended, I would tell you that our friendship is too recent for me to be able to bring you into the case of my disagreements with Rodrigo. My grandson and I don’t get along. His character is radically opposed to mine… As for the wedding, I have no intention of intervening in it at all. Let’s work things out. “Are you perhaps afraid that Don Rodrigo won’t be happy?” “Perhaps… and since I’m worried, I’m not at all sure that Demetria will find happiness with my virtuous grandson. ” “Oh! That’s impossible.” “Either you’re naive, dear Fernando, or you’re being too clever and expecting me to tell you what you know better than I do. ” “Don Beltrán, I don’t know why you’re speaking to me in this way. ” “Do you want to be clear?” Well, here things are clear. I would be very wrong if it didn’t result in the complete failure of Doña María Tirgo’s plans. I’m an old dog; I know the world, and the hearts of marriageable girls hold no secrets for me. Failure could come either because Demetria doesn’t like my grandson, or because she’s in love with someone else. “Oh, I don’t think so…” ” Well, if you’re simple, I’m not, thank God, and now I firmly affirm it. Demetria can’t choose anymore. Her heart belongs to someone else. ” “Don Beltrán…” “Don Fernando! Note that you speak with seventy-eight years of experience, observation, and knowledge of human passions. A word, a gesture; the tone, the accent of a phrase is enough for me to understand what is going on in the mind of the person who utters it… I spent a day at Castro’s house. There they told me events, scenes, adventures, adventures… I heard them from Navarridas, who imbues them with his candor.” I’ve heard them from the girls, who poured their souls into them. I needed no more. I left Laguardia with the impression that Demetria doesn’t belong to herself spiritually. The poor girl, perhaps without realizing it, has given her thoughts and her entire soul to a man who isn’t my grandson… Come on, I’ll say no more: you’re a real rascal if you insist on letting me regale you with my old- fashioned tales. You’re also a real idiot. At your age, I knew as much as I know now, or a little less… And that’s the end of it. Let’s talk about something else. —Let’s talk about whatever you want. They immediately discussed continuing their journey. Calpena showed great impatience. Don Beltrán was in no hurry. His opinion was that they should wait three more days, to be more certain. When Don Fernando expressed his intention to continue alone, he said plaintively: —I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart, because you inspire great sympathy in me. And I was going to suggest you spend a few days in Villarcayo! You’ll see what a pleasant family the Maltrana family is. I have two beautiful granddaughters. “I can’t, Señor Don Beltrán, I can’t stop myself. Believe me, I’m sorry. ” “Yes, yes, I remember: Navarridas told me that you have your fiancée in Bermeo, or I don’t know where… that it’s a long-standing commitment, a deep affection, an indissoluble bond. What is it? Some kind of passion that romanticism has brought us. Tell me everything. I’m sorry that my age, and more than my age, this cursed blindness, prevents me from accompanying you… from assisting you as a friend, from seeing and admiring your beloved, who I imagine will be very beautiful. ” “Everything you imagine, Señor Don Beltrán, will pale before the reality of that astonishing beauty.” —Look, I’ve seen a lot… Truly sovereign beauties have passed before these eyes, which now insist on obscuring my sight , heavenly beauties… sublime. —Nevertheless, if you were to see this, you would declare that you had seen nothing before. —Well, that’s saying something… You’re piquing my curiosity in a terrible way. And as he said this, Don Beltrán’s face grew younger: his eyes, already half-blind, were dazzled, and his lips watered. —Which I will value highly, receiving in it the best proof of your friendship, is that we not separate until Villarcayo. ” “If you do not delay too long on the way, it will be a great satisfaction for me. ” “Thank you… And I will compensate you for your slavery by relating to you the reasons for my disagreements with Rodrigo de Urdaneta; I will be more explicit in my assessments regarding the probable failure of the visits to Laguardia; I will venture some advice so that whoever should take advantage of that failure may take advantage of it… you understand me… In short, are you willing to go together? ” “Yes, sir; but I will not agree to remain in Villarcayo for more than a few hours. ” “Well… we shall see about that… Today we will spend the day here quietly, chatting about our affairs. But, by Sanes, do not be so silent, nor reserve your affections, your plans, your passions from me with such extreme discretion. Youth has now become more taciturn and somber than old age.” Let’s return to classical times, friend Calpena, and lay out all the mysteries of the soul on a table between two glasses of good wine. Calpena suggested a walk; but since the weather forecast predicted rain, they stayed, after a short outing, by the hearth, in the hospitable kitchen, accompanied by cats and dogs, watching Sabina and Gervasia move pots and pans and stir the creaking wood. “My friend,” said Don Beltrán, refreshing memories of his stormy youth, “my experience believes it will do your youth a great service, teaching you by my example to curb your imagination, to not abandon what is certain in pursuit of what is doubtful. Don’t you understand? Well, listen to a little of my personal history, which is related to the history of the world.” In the year 795, I went to Paris in pursuit of a surprising beauty, one of those that seem made by God to upset humanity, to take away the little bit of sense we have left after the revolutions and slaughters we wage for ideas, for bread, or for power… —Excuse me, Don Beltrán. You said 95. Navarridas had told me that you were in Paris as secretary of the embassy in 89, and that you witnessed part of the French Revolution. —That’s true. I’ll take it from above. I married in 87 an illustrious lady, niece of the Duke of Granada de Ega; I was widowed in 88, a month after the birth of my only son, Federico. Wishing to ward off my sorrows, I asked Aranda to assign me to an embassy, ​​and, in fact, I was appointed second secretary of the one in Paris. I witnessed all the events of the revolution, from the Estates General until June of ’91, when the fugitive king and his family were arrested at Varennes and taken prisoner to Paris. The embassy withdrew, and almost all the personnel returned to Spain, and I remained in Spain and in my estates until ’95… Since it is not my object to tell you about that terrible fire, the Revolution, I will get to my story, and I keep repeating that in ’95 I went to Paris in pursuit of a superhuman beauty, whom I met in Zaragoza at the home of my cousins ​​the Counts of Bureta. Chapter 12. —Go ahead. Mad with love you went to Paris… —In the middle of the Directory, my son. How different from that Paris of ’88, so aristocratic, so invigorating and elegant, in the midst of the scares already caused by the incipient revolution!… But, alas! My dear, I have forgotten a detail, and I must go back a little. —Let’s go back… You left Zaragoza… —Disdaining a second marriage arranged for me by my good father… —And was she beautiful, Don Beltrán? —Pleasant, slender, a very rich eldest daughter, from a noble family, well -educated, industrious. In short, a jewel, my dear, incomparable for a life of leisure, of prosaic opulence, with the prospect of a long succession, and plenty of farming, country recreation, and hunting… But I wasn’t into prose. My father wanted to hold me back. I ran away to Paris, as I say, and here comes the moral… —So soon? According to that, the ideal beauty you were pursuing… —She was a ghost, and ghosts have the grace of not letting themselves be caught. After three months of searching all of Paris for her, for the life and the very special circumstances of that woman were surrounded by mysteries, I found her, yes… In a word: the one who to me was more of a goddess than a woman, the one who in Spain swore eternal love to me, had married a police chief, a protégé of Barras. “Damn! Well, you wouldn’t be playing with the Parisian police, Don Beltrán, if you persisted in pursuing the fantastic beauty. ” “I persisted: I’m from Navarre. Cultivating my old acquaintances, and flitting from salon to salon, I became one of the favorites at Madame de Beauharnais’s. Incidentally… No, I won’t forget the night I saw a young soldier enter for the first time, long-haired and pale, of less than average height. ” “I can see him, I can… ” “He was a promising young man.” Soon after, the lady of the house, who was a great coquette, so you know, a very salty and fearsome, atrocious coquette, drove the Corsican boy mad. Barras was no small influence in bringing about their marriage… So I continue my tale. I told my sad story to Josephine, and Josephine told it to Napoleon. Shortly after he left to command the army in Italy, General Bonaparte took it upon herself to protect me, taking a keen interest in my amorous cause. The fantastic beauty was not long in appearing in Josephine’s salons. —And there… —Yes; but the spectacle of Parisian debauchery had already robbed me of all illusion. The prodigious beauty vanished into thin air… I don’t know how to express it. The society of the Directory completely transformed my tastes. Do you want me to tell you everything? For Josephine pleased me extraordinarily, and in the end she drove me mad. —And did you dare, Don Beltrán? —Did I dare? I must say that she was a skittish girl. Believe it or not: Napoleon was extremely jealous, and he had some, I won’t say many, reasons for being so sly… And I won’t tell you any more, because you’re a child, and bad examples don’t suit youthful, exalted imaginations . Enough, then, enough… —No problem. I respect your scruples. But I must tell you that the lesson you wanted to teach me doesn’t apply to my case: there’s no parity. —You’ll see that… Look, son, when destiny places us at the foot of a shady tree, laden with fruit, and tells us to “sit down and eat,” it’s madness to disobey it and rush off in search of those other fantastic, sterile trees that have legs instead of roots… and run… I disobeyed my destiny, and because of that disobedience, I have had no peace in my long life. Believe it or not: where there are no roots, there is no peace. “Okay, let’s fold the page.” ” Let’s fold it. Just a moment, Don Beltrán… And you never saw Napoleon again? ” “I saw him enter Paris victorious after Austerlitz. Years later, during the Spanish Civil War, I returned there with my cousin Pepe Villahermosa, with Lorenzo Pignatelli and others. My cousin Diego Frías was the ambassador at the time, and he made the foolish decision to become Frenchified. Don José I sent him there to represent Napoleonic Spain… a sad role! My cousin made a great effort to introduce me to the “boy from Corsica” at the height of his greatness. And I had known him as a plum, that is, as the boyfriend of the widow Beauharnais! I heroically resisted greeting the executioner of my country. ” “And Josephine? ” “Empress, I never saw her. After the divorce, which, by the way, served her right, I went one day to Malmaison to pay my respects.” But he didn’t deign to receive me. He was very sly. He died three months after my visit. I went to his funeral. Don Beltrán told his friend other anecdotes from his stormy, gallant life , always taking care in his tales to highlight anything that might offer some useful lesson to the young Calpena, and avoiding examples of depravity or cynicism. They almost always ended the stories with wise advice, ordering him to apply certain teachings to his government , and in others to put all his study into not taking him as a teacher, in doing the exact opposite of what the biographer He had made himself of himself. Thus did Señor de Urdaneta demonstrate the affection he was developing for his traveling companion through constant contact. The latter, while remaining half-hearted in some extremely interesting passages from the life of the libertine nobleman, was grateful for the honest motive behind the frequent historical omissions. “No, son, no,” Don Beltrán said to him on the second day, now allowing himself to address him informally. “I’ve done some crazy things, and I don’t want you to do them either. You’re an excellent young man, very sharp and understanding. You deserve a peaceful and orderly life, however dark it may be, and not a life of anxieties and stumbles like mine. I’ve tasted endless pleasures; but I’ve had to swallow great bitterness, and here I am at the end of my life, at odds with my descendants… This is very sad, Fernandito, and I don’t wish it for you.” And as they were on their way, having finally left the Trespaderne inn after two and a half days of standing and chatting as Don Beltrán’s peaceful mule passed by, he repeated the parable of the tree: “I’ll never tire of telling you, son. He who on his journey finds a tree with pleasant shade, laden with fruit, is a complete fool not to plant himself there… If you disregard it and keep walking, you risk encountering nothing but fantastic landscapes, the effect of what they call mirage. You run, you run… and what do you see? Well, a magnificent plantation of thistles. In Villacomparada they made another stop, which had to be longer, because the passage through Medina de Pomar was extremely dangerous. Calpena complained about these attempts, and despite the affection he was beginning to develop for the old man, he intended to leave him and go alone, facing the dangers of faction with his servant. But Urdaneta, with the power of his reasoning, sometimes serious, sometimes humorous, but always suggestive and captivating, calmed his temper, keeping him close. His rapidly growing confidence gradually removed his scruples about revealing his inner workings, and finally, one night, finding himself in the kitchen of Villacomparada, he burst out saying: “This grandson of mine is not named after the Urdanetas, where there were never any scroungers. His mother, who is a noblewoman thanks to the Idiáquez family, comes, on his maternal side, from the Rodríguez Almonte family of Tarazona, who made a great fortune through usury and left a reputation for the misery in which they lived. From these comes my grandson, in whom you will see something of what is commonly called virtue; qualities that are good in principle, but which cease to be so when practiced excessively and in isolation. You will know that from a very young age, my grandson showed an extraordinary capacity for arrangement: at twenty he was a prodigy; At twenty-four, a calamity. If they let him, he would put heaven and earth in order, and would put account and reason into even the gifts of nature. Imagine that he is twenty-six years old, and he is already bald… Yes, my son: his hair is falling out from so much pondering , calculating, and lining up long batteries of reales and maravedis. His baldness also comes from sordidness, from the dryness of his understanding, where only numbers have entered. His head is beautiful; his face is very correct, with a glacial expression. Imagination does not exist in him. He is a machine for calculating: he doesn’t twist, he doesn’t imagine, he doesn’t dream, he doesn’t fear, he doesn’t desire… Tell me: do you in conscience believe that having no vices is equivalent to having all the virtues? Oh! No, certainly not. But don’t ask my opinion about a character I don’t know, because the painting you made of me, although very good, is a painting, and between a portrait and its original there is always an abyss. —It’s true. I wouldn’t want to say anything bad about my grandson… Oh, no!… I would like to say a lot of good things… And I will say it, yes; I will tell you, even if it makes me a little embarrassed. Rodrigo manages his estate like a mathematician. Rodrigo is religious, devoted to the Virgin; he does his duty to the Church; never has a blasphemy, not a bad word, passed his lips. He has never had any female affairs… It’s chastity itself. Rodrigo has never taken anything that isn’t his: not a single penny of another’s property weighs on his conscience. Rodrigo never tells a lie or Let them kill him; he doesn’t stay up late, nor does he waste time in vain idle chats. Rodrigo doesn’t smoke; Rodrigo doesn’t drink; Rodrigo doesn’t scandalize… With this painting, my dear, you’ll think my grandson is a saint. —Oh! Never. I see negative qualities… Every human being has their downside. —And the downside is very ugly… If you insist that I deface my house by showing it to you, I will… Rodrigo doesn’t know compassion; for him, charity is very similar to administrative duties, and it boils down to scraping together pennies all week, to methodically distribute them on Saturday to the poor who knock at the door of the house. Do you want me to praise myself a little? I don’t like to praise myself; but I’ll do it to make the point. If I had right now the rents I’ve forgiven my landlords when they were pressed by poor harvests or some other misfortune, poor things! I’d be the first rich man in Spain today. “And your grandson, haven’t you ever forgiven? ” “Forgive!… Him! First the firmament collapses. Anyway, my dear, allow me to say no more. It’s not seemly for me to publicly shame the defects of family members. I’ve been a spendthrift, a prodigal, I admit it; but I’m the head of an illustrious house; I’m a poor old man, a glorious fallen tree, and I deserve, if not to be loved, at least to be respected. Juana Teresa hates me because I’ve always known how to be noble, and she doesn’t, because those below me, the humble, call me Don Beltrán “the Great” and her “Doña Urraca.” She is so short-sighted that she has taught my grandson only three things: to pray like a horse, to count money, and to hate his grandfather… We have been at war for two years: the lavish past and the squalid present are incompatible. Between mother and son, the two vying in cruelty and sordidness, they have reduced me to a humiliating poverty… and the worst of it is that they are testing my dignity, forcing me to ask them for what I need. Hence the questions, the inevitable clash between my urgencies and their refusals…, between my character as a nobleman in decline and theirs, an enriched commoner… I cannot help but be a great lord… Noble I was born, noble I shall die… To see a need and not help it? Impossible. To withhold rewards from those who serve me? Impossible. I am like that; I boast of being so, and I believe that my piety is the counterweight to my faults. I will present myself before God and say to Him: “Lord, I have been such and such… but Your Divine Majesty , look at these good things I have here under my belt…” Being reasonable, Fernandito, I understand that I should be taxed, that I should be subject to a certain standard, now that I am old; but not that much, no. I won’t accept that my grandson treats me with that administrative dryness that poisons my blood, nor that he should upset the law of nature in such a monstrous way, treating me like a spoiled child and setting himself up as an authoritarian old man. This is absurd, this is repugnant, this cries out to heaven. I am a scurrilous child… he is a nagging old man! Have you seen…? Both he and Doña Urraca get under my skin and scold me with a certain gentleness even more tiresome than their unpleasantness, with a certain sneer and drooping eyes typical of prudes… One day my grandson is scandalized because, unable to deny my naturally obsequious nature, I say a few good-natured jokes to the pretty girls who are going to the house. Another day Doña Urraca gets on my nerves because I was late for mass, because I slipped out at the end of the procession, or because I say that our chaplain is a blessed cork tree… And then they both attack me together, because I complain about the lack of variety in our meals, or because I don’t have all the linen required by my habit of changing daily; because I talk about Paris, or because I maintain that the most beautiful thing God has created is woman; Because I laugh at those who mortify themselves and discipline themselves, and I maintain that God has not put us in the world to destroy our flesh, but to give ourselves the best possible life and be happy; because I give my clothes away in half use. to the vet, to the schoolteacher, or because I look at myself for a while in the mirror; because I don’t want to put away the portraits of some beautiful ladies who were my friends, or for a thousand other innocent reasons, proper to my age, my noble habits, my generous nature… Isn’t it true, dear Fernandito, that I am very unhappy in my old age, and that I deserve another family? Oh… my fortitude fails me!… I feel myself fading horribly; I believe that losing my sight is a physical form of the loss of dignity… That I die soon is what best suits me. Isn’t it true that I must die, so as not to be humiliated, so as not to suffer…? The poor old man finished his complaints, possessed by vivid emotion, which manifested itself in clipped sighs, in the wetness of his nose and tender eyes, which became so much that he had to go to her with his handkerchief. Chapter 13. “Come, Don Beltrán, don’t worry,” the young man told him with sincere and deep pity. “You would be very unhappy if that were your only family. But luckily for you, you have your daughter Valvanera… ” “Yes, yes… that’s true…” Don Beltrán murmured, blowing his nose loudly. “But there too, alas! There are no shortage of thorns… It’s not as bad as in Cintruénigo. You think Cintruénigo is an early purgatory for me, where I’m paying for all my moral outrages, dear Fernando… But leave them alone, they too will purge their cruelties with me… Yes, they ’ll pay me back, they’ll pay me back, and soon. God is just, God is an avenger, God gives each one what he deserves. I delight in my vengeance, in divine punishment… You must see it; I wouldn’t want to die without seeing it… ” “And what are we to see? ” “Don’t you realize that?” Well, the terrible punishments Castro’s heir apparent is preparing for her … The girl has understanding, she knows how to judge things coldly. It’s impossible for her, after meeting him for a while, to fail to see the dryness of that soul, that villainous selfishness, that repugnant sordidness; and seeing this, it’s impossible for her to love him, especially when her will is drawn to another man, truly worthy of her. Demetria is not one of those who delude themselves: she will not allow herself to be caught, no, in the candid nets of Doña María Tirgo, nor in the cunning traps of my _Doña Urraca_… So that… imagine my joy if we triumph… and triumph we will… Ah, that little rascal has entered Laguardia thinking that he will soon be able to incorporate the income from the Castro Amézaga estate into his batteries of numbers !… It will not be a light disappointment he will have… Ah! If God grants that they return to Cintruénigo in droves, I will not be left without going to witness such a delightful spectacle… Believe it: thinking about it, I will grow younger. Calpena did not pay his full attention to this last part of Don Beltrán’s complaints and resentments , because he was distracted by a very enigmatic individual who had been sitting down by the hearth a few moments before and kept staring at him with impertinent fixedness. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen him, for as they entered Villacomparada , a knight on a gallant donkey appeared before them ; then he brought up the rear and followed the caravan, matching his colt’s gait to its pace . He wasn’t of a displeasing appearance, nor did his features reflect those that usually characterize suspicious people. He looked twenty-five at most, and his stature was graceful and impressive; his face was more handsome than ugly, though gloomy and full of shadows; his clothing and footwear were those of a rough man, more suited to stony heights than to pleasant valleys: a sheepskin coat and high boots, a beret, all of an earthy gray. If he carried weapons, they weren’t visible. He spoke to no one; He consumed heavy portions of meat and wine, and while eating and drinking, or having no other occupation than poking the fire with his stick, he spent almost all his time looking at Don Fernando, making him the object of a tiresome and weary study. Naturally, seeing himself so stared at, Calpena was also observing him; and as he noticed nothing by which he might discover the reason for this discourteous examination, he took advantage of the man’s brief absences to inquire who he was. The innkeepers were unable to give him any information. From his speech, he seemed Biscayan to them: if he carried a weapon, they would have thought he was a hunter. They hadn’t heard him speak to anyone except the donkey, whom he must have loved like a brother, for he often strolled into the stable to watch him eat and stroke his back. That night, while he was having dinner, Calpena noticed that the donkey’s owner, sitting at the small table with two others, persisted in staring at him, as if he were taking his picture. He was so annoyed by this fellow that he was on the point of approaching him and demanding an explanation. But after consulting the matter with Don Beltrán, he warned him that it was only proper for important people to pay no attention to such a man, nor to care about him at all. “Because now it will turn out that he can complain of the same impertinence on your part, for by looking to see if they are looking, the two of them provoke each other, and confuse their respective follies into a single foolishness.” Let’s change seats, and that way you’ll have his back to you… Well, he ‘s looking at me too… I’m going to wave to him… Do you know that more than a hunter, he looks like a barker or a horse dealer? You’ll see how, after so much looking, he comes up with the idea of ​​us buying his donkey. The next day, as the travelers were walking toward the mountains—for, to get away from Medina de Pomar, where Cristinos and rebels were shooting at each other, they had to take a long detour—the gentleman with the donkey appeared to them again , almost at the same time as they were entering the Villatomil inn. “Listen,” said Don Fernando to his servant, “do me a favor and take that man to you, and under some pretext find out who he is, what the hell he’s looking for around here, and his name; and if you manage to get on his good side, ask him why he’s looking at me.” While the masters were dining, Sabas came in to tell his master the result of his investigations, which, against his will and diligence, was entirely null. He had indeed asked all the questions a man who knows his trade as an inquirer can ask; but the other man answered no more than a marble-faced man. “He’s mute, sir.” Calpena observed at this that he had heard him talking to his donkey and to the innkeeper of Villacomparada. “Well then, sir, he’s deaf,” Sabas affirmed. “If I hadn’t shouted more than I had , the town crier wouldn’t have heard a word from me, and he wouldn’t have understood a word.” They laughed, and no more was said about the matter until two days later, when they were on the heights of Medina, in horrendous weather of rain, wind, and snow, which forced them to take shelter in some cabins in Recuenco. The sky having cleared somewhat, they took advantage of a clearing to continue their journey in search of a better town to stay in. They hadn’t gone half a league when they spotted a donkey and a knight in the vanguard emerging from a forest. The stranger roamed about at about a rifle shot’s distance all afternoon, and upon reaching the plain near Valmayor, he began to dash brilliantly back and forth, as if he wanted to offer the wayfarers a true donkey -riding performance. They admired the donkey’s graceful runs, its dashes and twists, and praised the skill with which its extravagant knight handled it. Further ahead, they saw him standing next to some shepherds. Since they were undoubtedly talking, either verbally or by signs, Don Fernando ordered his squire to go ahead and inquire about such a strange individual. “And propose that he sell us the donkey,” said Don Beltrán, “for he well deserves a diploma of nobility, elevating him to the rank of a horse with large ears. ” Sabas returned shortly afterward with the references the shepherds had given him. They knew nothing more than that the man was from Bilbao and that he often came to those parts to negotiate the felling of timber for the forges. As a result of a head ailment, he had become deaf; and although he wasn’t mute, since he said everything in Basque or in a Spanish like that, it was difficult to understand him. They called him Churi. With this, which was no small feat, Don Fernando had to be content, believing that the gentleman wasn’t well in the head. In Valmayor The travelers found better accommodations, and they weren’t badly off, because the storm raged hard all night, and it was fortunate that it didn’t catch them in a deserted area. They had to remain there for three or four days, as the roads were impassable, and the freezing temperature made it so hard to leave the fireside. Don Beltrán laughed at seeing his little friend so unhappy and said joyfully: “Don’t worry, son, we’ll get there soon, you’ll get to where your madness calls you. I warn you that our happiness doesn’t always lie in arriving promptly where we want to go, as the saying goes; for I know from experience how fortunate it is to arrive late in many cases—late, yes, and when things are already beyond repair.” Calpena not only felt annoyance and displeasure at the hindrances to his journey, but also profound sadness, motivated by causes he couldn’t fathom. He was already too far from the invisible lady; He saw the space between himself and the unknown and loving protective deity growing vast. So many days without any news of her disturbed him, saddened him, and horribly darkened the impression of his solitude in the world. One night of a frightful blizzard, bored and discouraged, with Don Beltrán’s gallant tales and festive anecdotes unable to draw him out of his melancholy , he even felt afraid to continue advancing toward Vizcaya. Almost delirious, he thought he should turn back. Where? To Laguardia, to Madrid? Not even he could determine where his hidden desires were calling him. Morning calmed his confusion, and, his mind clear, his old plans and purposes returned to dominate . Onward, then, display the proud motto: “To Bilbao by Aura.” It was a mercy that instead of diminishing, the obstacles that both nature and men opposed to Don Fernando’s generous desire increased, because as soon as the weather cleared and the roads dried up, the travelers were stopped by a crowd of people running in the opposite direction: villagers, women, entire families, with their animals, carts, provisions, and farm implements. They were fugitives from Mena, abandoning their homes threatened by the faction. The panic that gripped them prevented them from accurately reporting the news . Don Beltrán questioned many of them, but could only elicit the undeniable fact that the Carlists occupied part of the Mena Valley and continued advancing, as if intent on crossing the province of Burgos. He claimed that the expedition consisted of six battalions commanded by Zaratiegui, with many horses and artillery; who were half of half, but enough to devastate and stir up the entire region. Among so many people, there were some who knew Don Beltrán, and they said to him: “Sir, turn around, and don’t think of going to Villarcayo. Your family has taken refuge in Espinosa de los Monteros. ” Urdaneta didn’t need to know more to turn around, followed by Calpena, who was in a very bad mood. Retracing their steps, about two leagues further on, they encountered Cristina troops, who announced to them that there were no longer any rebels in Medina de Pomar, and that they could take refuge there in complete safety, adding that it wouldn’t be long before the liberal troops cleared the entire Mena Valley as far as Valmaseda, garrisoning the Puerto de los Tornos and Sierra Salvada, in order to cut off the enemy’s passage to the province of Burgos. If he tried to escape through the Encartaciones to Santander, good floodgates would also be placed in Ramales and Guardamino. With so many setbacks and repeated attempts at resignation, Calpena had already reached a grim and indifferent stoicism. “What remedy do you have, son,” Don Beltrán would tell him, “but to bow your head before fate, or, speaking Christianly, before the will of God? It could well be that what you judge adverse is quite the opposite: the beginning of your happiness. And behold, Medina de Pomar, a historic town, welcomed them and regally entertained them, for Urdaneta had friends and relatives there; and they had not been in that comfortable residence for five days, which for Don Beltrán was a Rest for Calpena, and slavery, when they saw a good wave of Christian troops arrive. The battalions followed one another, staggered from the villages in the valley to Villasante; Alaix’s division arrived first, with numerous cavalry and battalion trains; Oráa’s followed , and finally, one afternoon, they saw the commander-in- chief of the Army of the North, Don Baldomero Espartero, arrive with his illustrious staff, who was staying at the Constable’s Palace. “This Baldomero must be lucky in everything,” Don Beltrán said to his friend, shortly after seeing him pass. “For bringing with him everything good, even good weather. How many days have we gone without seeing the face of the sun? At least ten. For my man’s arrival is as if a great hole opens in the belly of the clouds, and the sun’s rays come out to play on the braids of the fortunate leader.” Didn’t you notice that when I entered the square, the sky cleared and we were flooded with light and a sweet warmth? Well, that’s the luck of the draw, son, the luck of this man, who came into the world under the sign of Pisces, the Fishes, which has proven him a formidable fisherman. You’ve already made him a great lieutenant general, and not by chance, but by earning his rank in war actions, fighting with courage and success; and that’s not all, for in waters very different from the military, he’s proven himself a great fisherman. Here, where you see me, I am his victim, dear Fernando; a victim of this man’s mad star, who doesn’t put his hand to anything that doesn’t shower him with advantages. Do you want me to tell you? “Before going to visit him… he saw me in passing… you would notice that he greeted me very affably, smiling… so before going up to his lodgings, I want to satisfy your curiosity, and at the same time offer you some healthy teaching that I hope will be beneficial to you… In the year 26 Baldomero came from America with a reputation as a brave soldier, and was assigned to Pamplona, ​​where I was residing at the time. We soon became friends. He and other military leaders, with various lords and gentlemen of the Navarrese aristocracy, passed the time of the tedious life of that city in the pleasant mansion of a friend of ours, second in command of Ezpeleta, where we had a trinca… men alone… “And there they amused themselves by watching them come… a common pastime of more or less glorious soldiers, and of more or less ruined nobles. ” “You said it.” Ezpeleta had already warned me: “Don’t gamble with that _ayacucho_, who, with the loss of the colonies, has brought back a terrible streak from America that will ruin us here.” But I paid no attention. Dominated by this damned vice, one night we began to kill time… In less than two and a half hours he won four hundred ounces from me… four hundred ounces, dear Fernando, that are still hurting me… You see how perfectly the moral is. My son, don’t gamble, don’t let yourself be dominated by that insane vice… Be very careful with heroes; those who are fortunate in war are no less fortunate at cards. Chapter 14. “My misfortune, far from cooling my friendship with Baldomero, made it firmer and more cordial. And instead of being vindictive, I took advantage of the opportunity that chance presented me to render my plunderer a great service. Nothing, the _boy from Granátula_ owes his happiness to me, the greatest and most beautiful victory he has ever won in the world. Do you remember the advice I gave you? Well, Espartero finding himself in a situation of perplexity similar to yours, I said to him: “My son, when you find a tree with pleasant shade and laden with fruit, _etc., etc._…” Like you, the good _Ayacucho_ had found the tree, and like you he hesitated, his wits about him for a beauty that he ran after without being able to catch, an ideal vision… But I, who love to guide youth along the right paths that he did not know how to follow, did not let go of his hand, and in our walks through the Taconera, or chatting in the house where we had the gambling den, I would constantly string along my tiresome sermon: “When you find a tree, _etc._…” Well, the man, contrary to what you do, penetrated the wisdom of my advice and sat down in the shade. The very rich tree is Jacinta Sicilia, a wealthy heiress from Logroño who was in Pamplona on vacation with her father, a great friend of mine. I had the pleasure of being her godmother at her wedding to Baldomero, which was a double godmothership, because I took her as my goddaughter… So you see: I thought of giving you just one lesson now, and I have given you two: one about gambling and one about the tree. Look at yourself in that mirror; look at yourself in that successful general, who today has everything a man could desire: military glory and domestic happiness. What a woman he has gotten! Demetria doesn’t put her foot forward in terms of honor and industriousness, and in beauty she falls behind Jacintita, who is, so you know, a beauty. ” I answer the same as before, Señor Don Beltrán… There is no parity.” This Don Baldomero is the man of luck… —He was born in Pisces: that’s why he fished. —Well, I must have been born in Scorpio, a sign of misfortune: everything goes the other way than I wish. —Laugh at these stories. You always do the opposite of what logic dictates. —Tell me: did logic tell you to play with Espartero? —In gambling, there is no logic; there is only luck. And that Espartero was on his side cannot be doubted. Listen to this incident he himself told me about. He was a prisoner in some place in America and about to be shot, when through the intercession of a beautiful lady, whom the great Bolívar was giving a gift to, he managed to have his life spared. He escaped as best he could, and while in Quilea, waiting for a ship to take him to Spain, my man found himself without clothes, without jewelry, without money, in an absolutely precarious situation… “So what?… Did God give him a tree?” “Exactly. As he’s told more than once, he found enormous trees on his way that invited him to hang himself… But he didn’t… God gave him a German, yes, a rich German, who was also looking for a boat. They stayed in a hamlet where there was nothing to eat. Searching here and there, they found a deck of cards, and to pass the time and stave off hunger, they began to play. When I tell you he was born in Pisces!… In a couple of hours, Espartero beat the German by sixteen thousand duros! You see: is that luck or logic? ” “It’s logic, because the German would have had just as much left, and it was good to leave so the other poor man could get by.” —You may be right. Anyway, I’m going to shake your hand. All the hubbub of the reception of dignitaries will be over by now. Wait for me here, I don’t intend to linger long. Don Beltrán went to visit the general-in-chief, and Calpena waited for him in the plaza, chatting with some officers he knew. He learned that the Carlists were closing in on Bilbao, which made him very worried, although his friends, with the youthful optimism typical of their race, assured him it would be a matter of days before they lifted the siege. Espartero didn’t mince words: a man of formidable drive, he possessed the divine gift of infusing his troops with his bravery and dragging them to victory. He wasn’t a general of study, but of inspiration, a true Spaniard, a man of impulses, of things, with his heart in his head. Don Beltrán expressed his own ideas to him upon his return from his visit. The rebels were preparing to lay siege to Bilbao, determined to perish or take it. For the second time, they set their eyes and their entire souls on the valiant town, hoping to finally tame it and make it their own. But the bone was too hard, and Espartero had sworn that they would leave their teeth there. For now, he had to attend to cutting off the wings of the rebels commanded by Sanz, who were already lurking in the Mena Valley and wanted to cross over to Old Castile. Once the expedition was thwarted, he would take his entire army against the besiegers of Bilbao. The elements he counted on were the courage of his troops, his lucky star, and the help of God. ” After what Baldomero has told me,” added Don Beltrán, ” I believe, dear Fernando, that there is no madness comparable to yours if You insist on going to Bilbao. “Then consider me finished,” the young man replied. “Before the Carlists establish their line, I must attempt to penetrate that glorious town that has already repelled a formidable siege, and will repel the second as well… I will begin my journey today; and if I cannot enter through the Mena Valley, I will try to escape to the Santander side to slip away along the coast. ” “On both sides you will encounter insurmountable dangers. I am already afflicted by grief, the feeling that I will never see you again if you persist in your foolish endeavor. If I were you, I would cling to the coattails of the fortunate general and share the fate of the queen’s army. If it breaks the siege, I would enter with him, and if not, I would remain fresh on this other side, watching events unfold, which is the great philosophy. ” Ferdinand objected that waiting for Espartero to enter to relieve the city was to postpone his enterprise indefinitely. His heart told him he shouldn’t waste a day or an hour. To the judicious advice that he wait even the necessary days to collect in Villarcayo the letters that would be written to him from Madrid, he replied that if God favored him in his endeavor, he would soon return satisfied and triumphant, and that he would then collect the letters. Pressing him further, Urdaneta announced his irremediable doom if he undertook the journey on horseback with his squire, in the guise of a rich gentleman who travels for pleasure. To this, Fernando replied that he and his servant would leave the horses in Medina in the care of Don Beltrán’s servants and begin their journey on foot, masterfully disguised. The tenacious old man had not yet exhausted his arguments, and at night, while eating dinner, he returned to the charge with these tricks: “Don’t you know, Fernandito? I spoke about you to Espartero, and he said he knew you… No, no; he doesn’t know you personally.” Both he and Jacinta have received letters from Madrid, begging them to take an interest in you, to not allow you to do anything crazy. This is really strange. Who wrote them those letters? He wouldn’t tell me. I agreed to introduce you to him.
“On my way back, Don Beltrán. No matter how much you think otherwise, I’ll be back soon. I’ll be on my way at dawn. Sabas and I will be in Bilbao the day after tomorrow. ” “I’ll bet you anything you want that I won’t. ” “Whatever you want. ” “You said you’ll let me have your horse. Well, if you’re back at headquarters within three days , you lose. ” “And you keep the horse. I’ll put a hundred ounces on it. ” “Closed. ” “Closed. And if I’m back at headquarters in eight days bringing with me what I’m looking for, what will you give me? ” “I can’t give you ounces, because I don’t have them. My two best horses are yours. ” “Closed.” Do I also win the bet if I don’t bring what I’m looking for with me? “The female…? No, no: if you don’t bring her, you lose. Bring the girl, because there’s no other way to prove you’ve entered Bilbao. Unless you bring her head, or even her hair. Portraits aren’t valid. ” “Then I stand by the bet. Three days to return if I can’t get in. ” “Let’s say eight days for the pros and cons. If you return without her, you lose. If you bring her, my horses are yours, and to top it off, I’ll be your best man, as long as your ideas are matrimonial. ” “They are… You’ll see what a tree, Don Beltrán. ” “A tree that comes and goes won’t have many roots. ” “We’ll see. Keep in mind that the sponsorship is an integral part of the bet. ” “That closed between the two of us is like a public deed. My two best horses and a best man. That’s all there is to it. ” “My horse and a hundred ounces on top. ” “Closed!” The next morning, while Calpena and Sabas were in a hamlet near Medina, trying to buy some clothes to disguise themselves, they saw the deaf man preparing his handsome donkey for a ride . When he saw them coming, he tied the animal to a tree and hurried into the house. Sabas followed him and saw him kneeling beside him. a chest, very attentive to what he was writing with difficulty in pencil on a crumpled piece of paper. “Sir,” said the squire to his master, “he’s writing strokes, and he’s having a hard time, he’s having a hard time, no doubt because they’re Basque strokes.” A short time later, they saw him mount his donkey and run off without looking back. A woman came up to Calpena and, giving him a piece of paper, told him that Churi had left that writing for him, which was so crude that Fernando could barely decipher its rough strokes. He could hardly interpret the following: “Señor Don Fernando: bayga sarri sarri Bilbo.” “That fool,” said Calpena, “recommends that I go to Bilbao, and soon, soon, for I believe that the words sarri, sarri mean something like ‘soonness.’ He tried to tell me in Spanish; but halfway through, he lacked the sufficiency.” Master and servant discussed whether that mysterious warning was from a friend or an enemy, with Don Fernando leaning toward the former. Sabas was of the opinion that they should be cautious in heeding such a warning, as it could well be a lure from thieves or rebels ambushing them during the roadside inconveniences. To this, Don Fernando objected that he had no knowledge that bandits ever used such tricks. The piece of paper was the work of a poor, insane man, rather than a villain, and it neither discouraged him from going to Bilbo nor encouraged him to hurry. Near Lanestosa, they found him again, without any communication between them. Much further on, near Ontón, on the Cantabrian coast, when they found themselves detained by an imposing band of Carlists, the deaf man reappeared. Calpena and Sabas, along with other road warriors who accompanied them, had to save their skins in that conflict thanks to their swift feet , and they would have fared badly had they not quickly sought refuge in a narrow gorge through which they escaped to the Encartaciones. In their swift flight, Sabas noticed that the deaf man’s donkey was being taken. Did he also lose his life? They made no attempt to find out, intent on safeguarding their own. Tenacious to the point of mad recklessness, Don Fernando attempted three days later to cross the line at Valmaseda, and there, with a greater risk of perishing, he had to give up, retreating to the Mena Valley with the regret of seeing his audacious attempt thwarted. “How my friend Urdaneta will laugh when he sees us coming!” he would say, while walking with Sabas along paths and shortcuts, still fearful of seeing the hated rifle of the Carlist guerrilla emerging from behind each bush. And how happy he must be to have won the bet, you old rascal! Do you believe I can’t get that damned deaf man out of my mind? Did they kill him? Were you able to observe whether he escaped like us, or whether his escapades ended there? “My lord,” said the squire, “when they took his donkey, he attacked the rebels. Either he is a complete madman, or he was braver than the Cid, for he only attacked a horde of them with kicks and bites. I could swear that in such an unequal fight I saw him fall head over heels. ” Chapter 15. The previous reference was true. The unfortunate Churi, valuing the possession of the donkey more than his own existence, attacked the fierce enemies who robbed him of what he loved most in the world. One of the rebels undoubtedly knew him, or intervened to prevent his death. They beat him soundly, leaving him, as Sabas observed, head over heels. But as soon as the Carlists had finished with him, he rolled over onto his back, all bruised and aching, and let himself fall, or crawled along a cliff towards the rocks where the rough sea was beating, and there he hid until, poking his head out again and again between the boulders, he became certain that the barbarians were far away. Walking with his four oars sideways over the slippery edges, more like an enormous crab than a man, he advanced as far along the coast as he could towards the east, for the Carlists had continued west. Night fell near the roadstead of Berrón. Picked up at dawn by a launch from Plencia, he disembarked at Algorta, And from there he saved the bar in another launch, finally disembarking his poor bones the following dark night in the Desert itself. He entered Bilbao on foot; at home he was entertained by his cousins, father, and uncles, who were already alarmed by his delay, and their first concern was to rub him all over with liquor and put him to bed, where he remained for only a few hours, because his liveliness was incompatible with rest, and he wanted nothing more than to run and find out everything that was happening in the glorious town. The house was one of those on the Ribera opposite La Merced, with a famous shop selling maritime goods, well stocked with all kinds of sailing gear. The example featured a frigate fairly well painted in oils, sailing at full sail, without adding any name or specification of what was sold there. The owners lived on the mezzanine; the ground floor was entirely occupied by commercial goods, iron, canvas, ropes, and a thousand objects as strange in form as in name, which people from the interior would have believed capricious, fantastic. The smell of tar was like the soul of the premises; and the inhabitants of the house were so attuned to it that the fresh air smelled unpleasant to them when they passed from the shop to the street. The owners of the establishment at the time were the siblings Valentín, Sabino, and Prudencia Arratia, children of the late José María de Arratia, a Bilbao merchant who died in the 30th, leaving behind an impeccable name and the remnants of a fortune ruined by bad business dealings. Each of the three siblings needs their own filiation, as all three have very significant and authentic characteristics in that race, as intelligent as they are hardworking. Valentín Arratia, the eldest son, fifty-three years old in 1936, was a deep-sea pilot, and had spent the best part of his life crossing the seas in America and the North. He first commanded someone else’s ship, then his own, of which he was captain and owner. In 1928, he divorced the salty sea to dedicate himself to the planking trade, which he had to abandon at the beginning of the war, taking refuge in his father’s establishment. He was a man at once tough and sweet, like Alicante nougat, clinging to a few ideas in the social and moral order, and with a great deal of them in everything related to navigation and ship management. He was widowed by his wife the same year he crossed the sea. She left him with rheumatism that affected his entire right side, making him walk with a heel. His wife left him a son, who is the donkey’s _Churi_, and also a forge located in Lupardo, a neighborhood of Miravalles. Prudencia, who is given second place for chronological reasons, married a wealthy gunsmith in Éibar at the age of fifty-one (1936). Widowed three years after marriage, she remarried Ildefonso Negretti, residing for many years in Bordeaux and Bayonne. A two-time wife, she never became a mother. Sabino, the youngest of the three brothers, was long at odds with his parents, having married, against their will, a young woman from Bermeo, the daughter of fishermen. Having made peace with his family, he lived for some years in Bilbao, dedicated to shipbuilding . He was a highly skilled shipwright and very skilled in naval architecture, which he learned not from principles, but from the rules and models of empirical masters. His shipyard produced highly renowned vessels, some so fast that they ended up in the hands of slave traders and shippers in the Gulf of Guinea. He was also a good mechanic in everything related to naval art, and very knowledgeable in iron smelting and forging. His wife, who died of cholera, left him three sons: José, Martín, and Zoilo, who in 1936 were twenty-somethings, and did not belie the family’s vigorous lineage or their consistent devotion to work. The most admirable thing about the Arratias was the unity and harmony that reigned among them since their father’s death, making the three brothers and their offspring a true close knit group. Huddled together, Without any of them considering individual interest, all applying themselves wholeheartedly to the common good, they offered a gallant example of the strength that, according to the proverb, is the product of unity. They banded together not only out of virtue, but also out of necessity or a spirit of defense, for when they lost their father, his business was in decline, and those of each of the sons were no more prosperous. Valentín had been unfortunate on his last commercial expeditions, losing on those to the North what he had earned on those to America. The brig Aurra (the younger one) was left in the ice off Stettin, and he was only able to save part of the timber it was loaded with, the sails, and the instruments. The frigate Victoriano, built by his brother, was sold contemptuously to fulfill commercial commitments, the result of an overly ambitious operation in the cocoa fields of Carúpano and La Guaira. After these disasters, he had a small amount of capital left, which he used in the Riga timber trade, which would have been reliably profitable had the war not come to hinder and paralyze transactions. For his part, Sabino had also suffered setbacks: the fish trade was dead due to the lack of communication with the interior, and his brother’s forge, which he took over, required considerable expense to operate profitably, as the turbine and all the machinery were in poor condition. He applied himself to this with determination; but when he was able to overcome the difficulties and began to work, it became necessary to give the Carlists at a low price, by way of royalties, most of the fruits of that industry. Meanwhile, Negretti, who was doing moderately well in the manufacture of weapons, was asked to put his extensive mechanical knowledge at the service of the absolutist cause. He was loath to compromise his peaceful political neutrality; But they dazzled him so much with fantastic promises that he finally fell into the trap and arranged for Charles V’s agents, counting on the collaboration of his brother-in-law Sabino. However, the latter, influenced by the patriots of Bilbao, became frightened and refused to go to Oñate. Negretti worked alone, at first with success and valuable rewards; later with difficulties and a thousand setbacks, until he was met with envious people and enemies in alarming numbers, and accused of being a Freemason, he was unjustly persecuted and imprisoned. The failure of that intelligent and honest worker produced true consternation in the family and moved them all to strengthen the fraternal group, both to conquer fortune and to defend themselves against adversity. And it is worth noting, to further clarify the effectiveness of the scheme, that Prudencia’s husband was as much a brother to Valentín and Sabino as a sister herself. that in the absence of children to love as such, Ildefonso and Prudencia loved their siblings’ children as if they were their own, and that everyone, uncles and nephews, brothers and brothers-in-law, parents or children, were united in a loving feeling, which was the glue that held that human concentration of forces together. Although it is also known, it is good to repeat that before Negretti settled in Don Carlos’s camp as a master gunsmith and maker of artillery projectiles, he went to Madrid summoned by a friend he respected, and from that trip he brought back a little niece, named Aurora, whom they entrusted to his guardianship and protection. It is known that while Ildefonso worked in Oñate or Durango, the girl resided in Bermeo with her aunt Prudencia, alternating between Valentín, Churi, and Sabino’s children. Some might believe that by adding to the family the person of Aura, a woman of exceptional beauty, of an education quite different from that of the Arratias, somewhat anarchic in her thoughts, capricious, extremely nervous and little inclined to subordination, a dissolving principle was introduced into it, a powerful disintegrator. This was what Prudencia believed in the first days of her guardianship, which were truly painful due to the mental disorder and the imaginative frenzy in which Aurorita found herself. Little by little she adapted to the The Arratias’ way of life, and the reality, the constant contact with her uncle’s relatives, acted as a second education for her. Prudencia was caused some discomfort at the beginning of her time in Bermeo by the care and discipline of the young woman, not because she did or thought bad things, but because everything she thought and did was extremely strange, belonging to another world, another planet… Prudencia also considered the beauty, not only human, but divine, of Jenaro Negretti’s daughter to be a significant calamity. Such extreme beauties, whose likeness was found only in paintings, in images of saints, or in mythological statues, were, in her opinion, an aberration within humanity. What did it lead to, Lord, that women were so utterly beautiful, except to cause a thousand misfortunes and troubles? Every man who saw the girl went crazy for her. A Carlist general who saw her at two in the afternoon wrote her a love letter at three, and at four he went to propose to her. The young men were constantly circling the street. The most daring harassed her on the sidewalk with annoying flirtations; others fired a barrage of letters and loving messages at the house. It is true that the charming girl, far from favoring these displays, gave everyone a sour face, and faithful to the sacred devotion of her first and only love, she did nothing that could accuse her of frivolity, inconstancy, or even coquettishness. Needless to say, Aura reciprocated her uncles’ affection with intense devotion, and although this feeling did not nearly fill the emptiness in her soul, it served as a great consolation to bear the painful absence, a tangible form of death, like this silent one, with slowness of time that gave the impression of eternity. From the first days of their life together, Ildefonso, his wife , and her brothers and nephews respected the mysterious conflict the young woman carried within her, that passion, that little-known drama of which Negretti himself had only vague impressions or references. The girl had left her lover in Madrid, a prince or something similar; a young man many believed to be the son of a potentate, perhaps a king, perhaps Napoleon himself . The family of this noble young man had arranged for the separation or exile of his beloved. What a drama, what beautiful poetry! The girl had, then, brought her legend from Madrid, and with it an immense mourning, which the Negrettis and Arratias respected with singular delicacy . None of them tried to distort the legend or apply common emollients to the pain. No one said to her: “Forget that, it’s a delirium, a dream, an idea…” Chapter 16. Surely the girl was not mistaken in thinking that there were no better people than her in the world. What a difference from Jacoba! She could not ignore that the change of guardianship had been a most fortunate one, even though it had taken place in the saddest circumstances of her life. She had gone from hell to heaven: it was true that it was a heaven without God, because he had remained over there, in unknown regions, lost in the dark distances. Her time in Bermeo was relatively pleasant for the young girl, because there she recovered her health and acquired a great friend who mended her soul, not by combating her pain head-on, but by softening it with soothing sadness, then with melancholic sweetness; lulling her with accents of vague poetry; entertaining her with very healthy games and exercises; calming her nerves and regaling her imagination with placid or sublime spectacles; sometimes frightening her a little, as if to fortify her innate courage: this friend was the sea. Once settled in Sabino’s house, Valentín came to live with them. The cousins ​​alternated; there was no equality in the shift, since José rarely left the forge, and Martín rarely left the shop, where no one could replace him without loss. Those who most enjoyed the pastimes of the maritime town were Churi and Sabino’s youngest son, who was named Zoilo after his mother, Zoila Maruri. Valentín’s only son had the same name as his father; but everyone knew him by that nickname. It came from the name of a sloop his grandfather owned, on which the boy spent his entire adolescence, due to his excessive love of the sea. The boat was christened Choria, the bird that popular usage and sailors believed had become Churi. The boy was so rude that they couldn’t assign him to any profession or trade, and he spent his life among the chochos of the estuary, rowing rotten four-plank barges or launching himself into prodigious swimming exercises . He would endure long hours at sea, paddling his arms or lying on his back; and when he offered to dive, none of those amphibian vagabonds could endure the depths any longer. No arithmetic formula or grammatical concept could ever be instilled in Churi’s thick head . All his geography lay between Machichaco and Quejo; all his knowledge lay in the government of a small sailing vessel, which he handled with singular, gallant skill on days of cool northeast winds. Taciturn and half-hearted, his vocabulary was very limited; his ideas could not have been luminous or abundant, unless he saved them for a better occasion; his willpower took no other form than that of stubbornness in his independent life and complete inaction on dry land. Seeing that they could make no career out of him, the family resigned themselves to leaving him in that savagery and rudeness, trying to employ him in menial tasks on the family ships when they were in port. At eighteen, he contracted a typhoid fever that kept him between life and death. They said that she had already trapped him, and believing him to be a fish, had released him halfway to his life into the open sea. When he recovered, he had lost his hair and his memory, leaving his head like a completely clean log, without any roughness on the outside or ideas on the inside. His hair having grown back in contact with the salt water, he contracted a new brain disease, and at the end of it, he found that his memory had returned and he had lost a sense of hearing. His deafness was like that of a bell that loses its clapper and falls into the deep abyss of the sea. Churi no longer heard any sound. With his ability to hear, his speech also disappeared; but this was temporary, because after three months of being completely dry, he began to extract Basque terms and phrases from his head. It was as if he were fishing words one by one with a hook, extracting them like the remains of a shipwreck. He barely reconstructed a slow and clumsy expression, half Basque, half Castilian, which he used to communicate with the world, reinforcing it with signals very similar to maritime ones, and sailing maneuvering movements, which only he and his fellow sailors understood. The strangest thing about Churi was that the transformation brought about by deafness made him less unsociable; the family was able to keep him in the house longer, and even employ him on jobs he had never wanted to perform, such as stowing wood in the warehouse, and transporting ore and coal in Lupardo. A year after becoming deaf, Churi would spend entire months without going to sea, or even without seeing it. By the age of two, he had taken such a liking to the forge that he didn’t know how to leave it. The nature of the work done there led to the change in his hobbies, the change from what we call today sport, but which at that time had no name: he became madly fond of the four-legged live sloop; And if the first day he rode it he was on the point of breaking his neck, soon his Biscayan stubbornness overcame the rudiments of horsemanship, and in a short time he was a donkey centaur. He had several donkeys, which he sold to buy a better one, and on them he made excursions to the nearby and distant mountains to cut firewood and batches of charcoal , food for the iron industry. In this way the vagabond had become another arm, although certainly the least useful, in that family of tireless workers. Zoilo, like Churi, had also been fond of the sea as a child, and he would dive in the estuary and go far out to sea with his friends in a slipper, unafraid of the dangers that nature offers on such a rugged coast . But his intelligence, his love for his family, and his desire to be a man and earn a living moderated his childish wanderings. He studied piloting; he was diligent and very formal; he practiced shipwrighting with his father; he also worked as a merchant, and he had great tenacity, self-respect, and vague ambitions for wealth and power. Healthy and vigorous, endowed with a steely temperament and a nature resistant to inclemency, he knew no fatigue. At twenty-two, he liked to show off his Herculean strength on every occasion. On the foremast, he was a prodigy; in ironworking, he had no equal. His Biscayan stubbornness sometimes took the form of a gentle patience, with which he endured the toughest tasks without complaint, always cheerful and talkative. His vigorous muscles were matched by his impeccable physical conformation, with statuesque lines, and a swarthy face with a serene expression, all loyalty and unpolished nobility. When he laughed, he did so with all his heart and soul, revealing his entire heart to his countenance; he knew none of the social arts that rely on words as their instrument; he didn’t use dissimulation, circumlocutions, or irony. He expressed with barbaric candor whatever came to mind, sometimes so crudely sincere that his family had to reprimand and even punish him. In the heat of ironworking, his black eyes sparked, and the snorts from his nostrils, which flared in response to the inner emphasis, harmonized with the music of the fire attacked by the jets of air. He was aware of his physical strength, and this was his greatest asset; he was also aware of his indomitable courage, which also filled him with pride; but he didn’t suspect that he was always beautiful, and even more so when, smudged and covered in sweat, he tamed the hardness of a metal less consistent than his will. His uncle Valentín took him to Bermeo to look after the house and its inhabitants while he spent a couple of days in Lupardo, and both Zoilo and Churi, who came whenever he pleased and left without saying goodbye, threw themselves into seaside amusements. Both considered Negretti’s daughter to be a superior being and felt shy and even afraid around her. In the first few days, Aura suffered more than one nervous fit with severe muscle dislocation, endless crying, moaning, and other manifestations of cerebral disorder or hysteria. The two boys, who had never seen anything like it in the girls they knew, believed that this ailment was a sign of prestige, an affliction typical of beings of exquisite and refined complexion, and seeing her suffer, they admired her almost as much as they pitied her. Two weeks after this, and when Aurora was calming down, Zoilo encouraged her to go out with them to the sea, where she could throw all her sorrows out for the water and the wind to devour. Churi said nothing to her: he did nothing but look at her, never getting enough; his deafness increased the use and enjoyment of his sight. Everything Aura said produced in Zoilo fits of laughter no less boisterous than the spasmodic rattling of the beautiful maiden. The other never laughed. He was by nature refractory to facial displays of soulful joy, and when he felt it, he expressed it by singing, but very seriously, and horribly out of tune due to his hearing loss. For nothing in the world would Prudencia let Aura go out to sea with those scoundrels. No, no: the girl would embark on a very good pastime for her health with Uncle Valentín. It should be noted that Aura, shortly after settling in Bermeo, called Prudencia’s brothers uncles, and the four lads, cousins. Yes: Uncle Valentín, who wanted nothing more than to please her, as soon as he came back from Lupardo, he prepared one of the best launches, fitting it out with sails and everything necessary. What Aurorita enjoyed on her Cantabrian excursions is beyond praise. More intrepid than the sailors steering the gallant ship, when the heavy seas with their swelling and the wind with its bellow ordered them to return, she asked them to go further, always further. She looked at the impassive face of Valentín, an old friend of the ocean and the storms, and since she didn’t notice any change in him, she wanted the walk to last longer. Valentín rarely left the tiller to his son , not for lack of confidence, but because, retired from those and bigger struggles, he still liked to show off his expertise. Zoilo helmed the sheet. Between the two cousins, they lowered and hoisted the sail on the tacks, and if at the entrance to the harbor it was necessary to take up the oars, they displayed in fierce competition each the strength of their fists, and silently rowed, attentive to the orders of the skipper, in whom they saw an infallible master of all the fierceness of the sea. Fear was unknown there : Aura, seeing them so spirited, feared nothing either. One day during a rough storm, Valentín spoke words of prudence before deciding to go for a walk. It wasn’t advisable to go out. Aura was astonished, even more so when she heard the two boys supporting the veteran’s statement. She believed they were afraid. “Since it’s for recreation,” Zoilo indicated, “and not out of necessity, we’re not going out today. If Father lets you go alone with me, I’ll take you… I can guarantee that we ‘ll get wet, but we won’t drown. ” Of course, Valentín wasn’t going to allow such a crazy adventure. Churi, whose hearing was impaired, understood everything that was being said, scolded his cousin for boasting. He didn’t dare, no, nor was he a man for such a thing. He did dare, and in a small boat, even better: one hand on the tiller and the other on the sheet… “I’ll do the same,” said Zoilo laughing, “and if you want to see it…” Aura calmed them down when the matter was bordering on a dispute, proposing that the first day the bar was good , the four of them would go out fishing; to which Valentín agreed, ordering Zoilo to prepare the best tackle that could be found in the town, famous for its fishing. But it so happened that on the first good day Zoilo had to leave for Lupardo on an urgent errand, and the poor boy was unable to enjoy the joys of fishing, which was a most amusing recreation for the girl. On the third day of this entertainment, Martín, the second son, who usually ran the shop, arrived. He was the most sharp-witted of the three; The one who seemed most spiritual, no doubt because he didn’t boast athletic builds like José María and Zoilo, nor did he develop muscular energy with the splendid brutality of his brothers. He was, without a doubt, the most civil, the one best adapted to the urban life of the Biscayan capital due to the sociable ties inherent in commerce. Martín spoke very correct Spanish, using polished and refined phrases in common usage. Of the three—of the four, including his cousin—he was the one whose shoes rotted the least on the beaches and sandbanks, the one whose hands remained calloused from the hustle and bustle of the oars the least amount of time. He was quite educated, distinguishing himself in all matters of commerce; he spoke a smattering of English and understood the usual rules of decency and even elegance. In those days, the camaraderie of all Bilbao’s youth was a flattering fact, from which the town derived its unwavering determination to resist Carlist sieges. Political enthusiasm drew her closer, making her invincible; the good humor characteristic of her race refreshed her, giving her more life; work in peace invigorated her, and the common effort in war elevated her to a higher virtue. A sharer of the sentiments that gave a uniform vigor to the youth of Bilbao, Martín Arratia joined the National Militia from the very beginning, and he remained satisfied and confident in that corps, hoping that the homeland, that is, Bilbao, would ask its sons to make new sacrifices for its defense. Such was Martín, a well-coordinated piece in that formidable commercial and military organization that knew how to make Bilbao an impregnable bastion against absolutism and an emporium of wealth. He was considered the most talented in the family; in the town he was praised. as much as he deserved for his excellent qualities, and it goes without saying that in commerce he was distinguished for his stern honesty, for this quality being general in such times and among such a race, it is idle to point it out and make it a characteristic trait. Martin spent two very pleasant days there, also entertaining himself with fishing and strolls by the sea, which he enjoyed in good weather. Aura laughed in her face seeing him grow pale when the boat pitched violently , and he, without fear of seeming cowardly, asserted that he was becoming more terrestrial every day, adding that on land there are no lack of occasions to display heroic valor. If the raging waves are terrible, the fulfillment of one’s duty is no less terrifying in certain cases, both in war and in commerce. Everything is sailing; everything is a continuous struggle, a great waste of effort, skill, and courage to avoid drowning. Chapter 17. Although Martin was the same sobriety on weekdays, when… When Sunday came, the compressed appetites of the entire week would gather around him, and his stomach felt bottomless. A picnic was his delight, or a feast at home, with an enormous consumption of hake in sauce, pickled and fried foods, along with shellfish, eels, and on top of it all, very strong shots of the local chacolí. The Sunday that caught him in Bermeo, he paid the due homage to Bacchus and Ceres, to the horror and laughter of Aura, who was amazed to see her cousins ​​eat, and to see how much chacolí they swigged down without getting drunk. He was already understanding that no good Bilbao native was someone who didn’t know how to feast on holidays, after having been the same temperate during the week. Everything in its season: they worked hard, even when hungry if necessary; But when it came to leisure, no one could surpass them: thus they replenished body and spirit to return with greater ardour to their work. And these examples were not lost on Negretti’s little girl, whose appetite was whetted when her cousins ​​played at the Sunday refectory. She, too, was learning to eat heartily and to tip her elbow, which gave her face a luminous color that even the nymphs of the sacred Hellenic forests would crave for on feast days . In short, with the repasts, the seaside walks, and the placid life among people who went out of their way to distract her, the intense sorrows of the enamored young woman’s soul were gradually tamed. She was amused by the joy and voracity of her cousins, who at such revelry went wild, talking endlessly and with wit, for eating inspired them, made them ingenious, at times poets. And the battered Valentín, aged half a century and with his rheumatism that kept him always on the edge of his seat, was also being dragged down by youthful vertigo. He had done the same in his youth, and was prepared to repeat it until he reached old age, for he wouldn’t be a true Bilbao native if he didn’t, on every occasion, do the honors due to a good plate of cod with that vermillion sauce, and a scattering of Somorrostro chacoli. Valentín laughed with the others, talked nonsense, even allowed himself to dance in his shirtsleeves, and to waste a horrendous amount of Basque words, exclamations, and oaths of the sea. The family’s joy penetrated Aura’s soul, expanding her lungs and quickening her blood. Her face, from constant exposure to the sun and air, was taking on a warm, terracotta hue, entirely gypsy-like. The rabid black person’s hair harmonized with her complexion, a very fine tan with rose glazes. Her eyes were an immense sweetness with flames. Exercise had increased the flexibility of her body, accentuating its incomparable lines, giving greater thinness to the thin, greater turgidity to the fleshy. Even her voice seemed more vibrant in joy, softer and more affectionate in sadness… One Sunday when Martín wasn’t there, _Churi_ and Zoilo did so many crazy things in competition that Valentín, despite not being in a state of severity, had to call them to order. _Churi_ climbed onto the trees like a cat, and then he would throw himself from incredible heights; Zoilo would challenge him to a run, and they would take off like lightning; then they would get tangled up in a game of ball, or in rough gymnastics, somersaulting, or jumping on each other’s shoulders and from shoulders to head. Churi’s girl seemed made of stone. Encouraging them to have fun with less coarseness, Valentín said to Aura: “What a pair of brutes! Mine is a model of barbarism, as you see; but Zoilo is not far behind. All in all, they are two creatures; they are good, innocent, always ready for work. My brother has been lucky with his three sons: each one in his own right is a jewel. You already know Martín, so delicate, such a gentleman… a boy with a great future. José María is worth his weight, and this Zoilo, although brutish as you see, is no fool and knows how to earn his bread.” None of them complains, even if you have them working six weeks straight, without any breaks. They don’t know any vices… Look at that pair of angels, with what a primitive game they play: they fall into bed like stones. They don’t stir all night. What consciences! God bless them. Not a bad thought has ever entered their heads; you won’t hear a bad word from them. This wasn’t strictly accurate, because in the heat of pelota and gymnastics, they uttered them all the time without realizing that women were overhearing them. Suddenly, Churi had the whim to jump into the sea. They were in a trellised courtyard, near the dock, and in three minutes they all went to the end of the pier to watch the deaf man swim. He quickly procured this bathing suit, the best possible, and dove in headfirst, raising a great deal of foam. He surfaced far away, and was seen heading out and disappearing into the immensity, stroking his strokes. The sea was calm, at high tide, and it was a joy to look out at the deep, green water from the escarpment of the breakwater . A multitude of rascals, stripping naked on the most forward stones of the breakwater, threw themselves into the water as God had brought them into the world; their heads could then be seen, their puffy cheeks from blowing, and the four oars constantly struggling with the water. Some came out shivering and went to great lengths to put on their shirts; others, already half-dressed, stripped again, for encouragement and competition among themselves, and if they fought over the prize of swimming skill, they would hit each other while dressing, because one had put on the other’s wet underwear. Although Prudencia had told Zoilo not to swim because he was sweating and breathless, the boy allowed himself to disobey her on this occasion, eager not to be outdone by his cousin. And eager to show that he was no better than him in lung endurance or arm strength, he went to get a suit and wine, already in bathing attire, with his formidable chest and statuesque legs exposed. Aura and her uncles didn’t see him coming. Silently starting beside them at the edge of the abyss, he suddenly dove in, describing a graceful curve in the air until he broke the water with his hands raised above his head. Aura screamed when she saw the sudden swift leap and the violent fall of his body, as if breaking glass, raising a thousand splinters, foam, and lashes of water that clouded everything. The jagged surface boiled and filled with whitish tears. “That scared me!” —said Aura—. This Zoilo is a real devil . And they looked at the bottom without seeing anything. The high tide was so high that it was thirty feet deep. —But he’s not coming up, he’s not coming up! —exclaimed Aura, exploring the liquid immensity—; or is he going to come up far away, like Churi? —Don’t worry, he’ll come up soon,—said Valentín smiling, and Prudencia did the same. —But it takes a long time… How can you go so long without breathing? Thinking about it makes me feel oppressive… Time passed. Impossible to specify the seconds… Finally, Aura made out, amidst the crystalline opacity of the water, a moving shape, which became more distinct as it rose. It was a greenish-white body, with frog-like movements. It was moving forward rising… until Zoilo’s head appeared, blowing and spitting. His arms and legs continued moving to keep his body almost vertical. “Don’t be a human being; don’t hold back so much,” Valentín told him. “You could have a bad time.” Turning on his waist, Zoilo dove again. He was seen descending with his frog-like legs working slowly upward. The second dive was shorter than the first, and the guy, seeing him emerge, repeated his grunts: “Don’t play around, you piece of tuna. Come on, get out there quickly to find Churi, he must be back. ” “I can’t see him,” Aura said. “This exercise amazes me, it amazes me. It’s a great achievement to swim like this. ” “This isn’t merit,” Prudencia pointed out. “These little devils have been jumping into the water ever since they could crawl ! The sea already knows them and even seems to be having fun with them without hurting them.” “And it’s true,” Valentín added, “that they acquire a strength and robustness that can’t be achieved in any other exercise, in addition to the courage and serenity that we are forced to draw from within. Everything you see those people doing, I did when I was their age. My Churi is a real fish; and as for Zoilo, no one can outdo him in any element, because on land he’s a beast for work. He has that nature that ensures him a life of health and power for the struggles for bread. The day this boy gets married, what children he’ll bring into the world! It will be a generation of little Hercules, who will later become big Hercules… ” “You can’t see Zoilo anymore,” Prudencia said; “at least, I can’t tell him apart. ” “They’ll both look like that. If they go too far, they won’t be able to come back so soon, because the tide will be out in half an hour.” _Churi_ is quite capable of landing on any beach and returning at night, when the water rises. Looking with an expert eye at the immensity, she thought she could make out a point: it was a swimmer. “Zoilo’s coming back. No matter how much he boasts, he’s not as resilient as his cousin. Come on, let’s go to town. ” Shortly after the family returned home, Zoilo came in with his face and hands extraordinarily clean, his clothes damp from having dressed without drying his body. He couldn’t hide his bad mood at not having caught up with _Churi_, and if he didn’t follow him, it wasn’t for lack of power, but because he obeyed Aunt Prudencia and Cousin Aura, who ordered him to return soon. In those days, Negretti announced in a single letter the capture of Arlabán by the Cristinos, the departure of Oñate for Durango, and the meeting with the lord of Calpena, this last news being for the young lady like the crash of furious thunder. She was stunned by the sound of her words, and then burst into tears and praise for the Lord for having heard her prayers. The strength of her joy made her sad, fearful that so much good fortune would suddenly vanish with new misfortunes. Don Fernando in Oñate, just a few steps away! Would he come soon? Surely it was only a matter of a couple of days. Ildefonso himself wasted no time in verbally recounting everything he had written, adding that Don Fernando had seemed to him to be a gentleman of excellent education and honorable sentiments. He said something later that dampened the joy and enthusiasm of the poor young woman: Don Fernando, according to a report from the Italian gentleman who had come with him from Madrid, had gone to Vitoria the same night Oñate was evacuated, accompanying some girls and a sick gentleman who had escaped from the hospital. The natural and logical thing to do was for him to return as soon as possible. Aura was dismayed to learn this, and a thousand gloomy thoughts and pessimistic conjectures kept her awake that night. Why did Fernando retreat when he was so close? What women were he accompanying? And who could the sick man be? She tormented herself by imagining absurd events, monstrous people; and when she communicated her worries to Prudencia, she recommended, between severe and mocking, that she remain calm, since the truth of those comings and goings would be known when Don Fernando arrived… and if he didn’t come soon, his aims were not good, his Her intentions were not pure. Alone with Prudencia and her husband, she vented the bad mood that the news of her meeting with Don Fernando had produced in her. The sudden appearance of the young gentleman from Madrid, when she thought he had been carried far away by the winds of oblivion, thwarted her plans as a practical and all-rounder. Mrs. Negretti, who was physically very corpulent, mustachioed, strong, with a lively and sharp speech, spiritually possessed a firm will, constancy in her affections, even more so in her whims and manias; in addition, an ardent love for her family, and a calculating and arithmetic sense, which even the male Arratias would want for their holidays. From the moment Ildefonso’s niece fell into her hands, she thought that this jewel, in one sense priceless, should be for the family. Wasn’t it incredibly sad that such a beautiful girl, owner of no less handsome capital, should be lured by a Madrid aristocrat, who was perhaps a whistleblower, a hungry man, a hothead? It was true that Aurora had the spear of that passion stuck deep inside her, and it wasn’t prudent to pull it out by pulling too hard: it would be better for Don Fernando to remain forever in the limbo of absence. Time, a great miracle worker, would gradually cure the girl of such a misguided affection—pure pampering, boyish things—and would awaken in her an inclination more in keeping with her class, born in the warmth of the family with whom she lived, and who had made her their own, surrounding her with love and attention. This wasn’t the first time that Prudencia had let Negretti glimpse the prodigious conception of her domestic genius. That night she revealed her complete identity with a certain pride and vainglory, as if it were a mechanical invention, to better move the mind of her husband, a fan of inventions. Prudencia’s plan was to keep Aurora and her little fortune at home permanently. Good for her and good for the family. The way to achieve this: marry her off to one of her nephews. The most suitable for this purpose was Martín, due to his education, his refinement, and the respectability he was acquiring in the business world. He was the pride and glory of the Arratias family, and one of the most handsome and decent young men in Bilbao at the time. Of course, this wouldn’t be done by forcing their wills, but by skillfully manipulating them until they themselves agreed to adapt… Leave her alone in the management of Aura; get rid of the phantom of Madrid, and she would guarantee that the girl would soon understand the merit of her cousin, and everything would go smoothly. Negretti recognized the merit of his wife’s invention and considered it excellent; but he saw no way to put it from theory to practice, because the girl’s love was very strong, and with the gallant coming with good intentions and marriage plans, it would be madness to think of separating them. Not for all the gold in the world, nor for all the interests under the roof, would he do anything contrary to what his conscience, his firm idea of ​​right and wrong, dictated. The invention would only be practical if the commitment between the lovers were thwarted and nullified by itself, by their own doings, by any incident or unexpected twist in the drama of love. Without this prior outcome, he would do nothing to divert things from their natural direction. His conscience before all else. And what he wouldn’t do, he wouldn’t allow his wife to do either. Leave to God what belongs to the soul… serenely watch human events unfold, always looking toward truth and rectitude. Although Prudencia did not practice the cult of truth with that supreme devotion that made Negretti an exceptional character, she had no choice but to abide by what he said and ordered. And since Don Fernando came as the first occupant, with indisputable right, and Aura was waiting for him and wanted him, she left them her good, her peace. “You know,” Ildefonso told her upon leaving, “that my theme is: to each his own, and to God always the divine.” Chapter 18. Zoilo and Churi went to Lupardo, traveling the long road with. The scant comfort offered by a single donkey for the two of them. Although Zoilo always carried the safe-conduct permit that allowed him to safely cross the regions occupied by Carlists, the security of that document, a significant favor that Sabino Arratia owed to his great friend, the leader Sarasa, was not absolute, and more than once they had to avoid encounters with the armed men of Charles V with long detours or swift marches. All this was usually entertainment for the two boys , and a reason to display their astonishing agility and bravery in competition. They would happily begin the walk, and cheerfully finish it. There came a time, alas!, when their walks could be described as the opposite: they would begin it angry and indifferent, and they would end it furious. Before the fortunate or unfortunate—it was not easy to discern— appearance of Aura in the family, Zoilo and Churi lived united by a most beautiful brotherhood. Their travels were a continual game of emulations that ended in affectionate banter; their worldly goods— food, silver, or copper coins—were shared, as were their weapons and tools; they ate from the same plate, drank from the same glass, and lay in the same corner of the hut wherever night fell. Zoilo made up for Churi’s lack of hearing, communicating with signs of his own invention, understood only by both, the material facts most difficult to express without words, the things of the spirit that even spoken words provide the most difficult expression. They understood each other with moos, grimaces, and kicks, with grotesque facial contractions, with rapid telegraphy of hands and fingers. But the fateful day arrived, and that mutual love turned into suspicion, and the free language the two devised to communicate their affection only served to hurl at each other flashes of rivalry, insults, and threats. The cause of what can easily be considered one of nature’s greatest disorders was the unexpected presence of a woman in the family. Two weeks after this incident, Zoilo and Churi stopped loving each other. Since they both instinctively concealed their feelings from their family, the rivalry that divided them didn’t reveal itself until they were alone, on the road to Lupardo. They were walking along the Unzaga slope: Churi, somber, taciturn; Zoilo, with feverish joy, singing, amusing himself by jumping up and down to tear branches off the trees. Suddenly Churi grabbed him by the arm and said sullenly, in Basque: “You won’t deny it: you love Aura… You like Aura, you rascal.” More surprised than frightened, Zoilo answered yes, and all spontaneity and effusion, he added that God had set his soul on fire, and that as long as he could get his cousin to love him, he consoled himself by loving her in his own way, always thinking of her… telling her things that are thought more than said. How had the deaf man found out about this secret that Aura herself didn’t know? Churi was a prodigious observer; he saw in the look, in the gesture, in the actions and in the abstention from them, the truth of the phenomena of the soul. His penetration was the counterweight to his deafness. There, Zoilo managed as best he could to express to her that he wouldn’t allow her to interfere in that matter; that he _Churi_ had nothing to do with Zoilo adoring the girl for the sake of adoring her, and that in the solitude of his conscience he married her, and fabricated his happiness with suppositions or mental calculations, with a tremendous fire of love in his entire soul… “What you have to do,” he said, expressing his ideas with truly epileptic language, “is not to meddle in what does not concern you. What do you understand about this? Love her! You can’t. You’re deaf, and how can Aura love a man who can’t hear?” This argument had no reply, and _Churi_ swallowed it bitterly, remaining for a long time without knowing what to say. Suddenly he burst into a tirade, also accompanied by epileptic gesticulation, a mixture of clumsy Castilian and Basque clauses, which reduced to a single language were like this: “Well, that is a very big sin, Zoilo, and you’ll see how the uncles and cousins ​​when they find out… And even if you were to become someone other than you are, even if God gave you a world of merits, endless things, Aura wouldn’t want you, because her heart is already set on another love, a boyfriend more handsome and more refined than you… “Who?” Zoilo shouted furiously, brandishing a stake he had torn from a nearby tree. “Madrilgo gizona, the man from Madrid. ” Zoilo burst into a mocking laugh, and bending the strong branch in half, as if it were a reed, without caring whether Churi understood what he was saying or not, talking to himself rather, he exclaimed: “Madrilgo gizona! He’s not coming, he’s dead; and if he lives and comes, Aura will see that she must love me, and not him; and if she didn’t do it like that, if she clung to loving the other… then, ah! I’ll kill him, I’ll kill myself… I’ll kill them all, her, me, you… Seeing this decision, although the terms in which Zoilo expressed it were not intelligible to her, she withdrew into the sadness of her mind, into that echoless vault, for the human word produced only ideal sounds in it, and for a long time she remained wordless, while her cousin, who continued possessed by his fury of eloquence, spoke to the trees: his ardent expressions could have been the same for them as for Churi . “Mine, mine she must be… for me, for me… or they will know who Zoilo is. Although I haven’t told her anything, I know… this is known… that she knows that I love her; and I know that if she doesn’t love me now, she will love me later, when she sees fit… Because when there are many people at home, the one she looks at most is me, and when she says something laughable, she looks at me to see if I found it funny… she doesn’t look at the others anymore… And when I arrive, I know that she’s a little happy, and although every now and then she calls me stupid, she says it as if to say… “Stupid, I love you… well…” ” Come here,” Churi told him after a long moment of silence. “When your uncles and brothers find out, you’ll see how they won’t forgive you for your shamelessness. Because Aura is waiting for the one from over there to come, and if he doesn’t come, you can be sure that it won’t be for you… I don’t hear, but I see, and I see more than you, and nothing of what our uncles and aunts think escapes me… I feel within me the steps their feelings take, their thoughts when they’re strolling through their souls; I feel it all, Zoilo; It’s resounding inside me … Well, I’ll tell you something to dispel your hope. Aunt Prudencia, who’s the one in charge of Uncle Ildefonso, is disgusted by the fiancé from Madrid and doesn’t want him to come because she’s thinking of marrying the girl off to your brother Martín, who’s the young gentleman of the family and the one who’s worth the most, because we, you and I, are complete idiots, and he’s refined, so to speak, educated. Well, yes; this is Aunt Prudencia’s idea ; I got it from the way she looks at Martín when he comes, and from the way she looks at Aura when she talks about your brother… And now what are you saying, fool? Because you shouldn’t kill your brother … That would be nice: killing a brother!… What are you saying, what are you thinking? Zoilo was thinking that the firmament was falling on him, and he raised his hands as if to stop it before it crushed him. “That’s not true,” he said. You deceive me, _Churi_; you are envious… But you don’t play with me. Moments later, in great dejection, he was crying like a child. Once back on the road, they didn’t speak again the whole way. Staying in a humble hamlet, they didn’t lie down in the same pile of corn straw. _Churi_ hid in the most hidden place, with his head resting on a yoke, and there he spent the night in a sad monologue, listening to the breathing of his cousin who was fast asleep. “I love her too,” he said among a thousand other strange notions… ” How could I not, if she is as precious as the angels, or more so?… Let them not tell me about angels or angels!… Where is she, let them all go… But what attention can she pay to me?… How can she love a deaf man…, someone whose voice she cannot hear?… For if I could hear, God, who would take her away from me?” Oh, there is no beautiful or ugly woman who wants a man who is deaf!…, because although one can be a good husband without hearing anything, They don’t want to, they don’t want to…, and I’m right… But if it’s not for me, it’s not for this guy Zoilo either… That would be nice! What advantage does my cousin have over me? Listen… And who can assure me that he’s not also lacking something? Who knows!… And if he’s not lacking anything, he has too much conceit… No, it won’t be his, but the gentleman from Madrid’s… I wish he would come tomorrow so he could take her away, and we could all be spared this torment!… How I would laugh at this fool, this fanciful, this cheat!… He’s hoarse because he can hear; in other respects he can’t beat me, because I can do more than he can, and I’m braver, and even more handsome… What ‘s more handsome about Zoilo than me? Nothing. His eyes that shine… What a joke! They used to shine in me too before the silence came upon me…, but now…, with the silence, everything goes out in one. And Zoilo is such a shameless fellow who’s always laughing, showing his teeth… Well, no woman would like that… Let that gentleman from Madrid come, let him come quickly… And what will he be like? He’s probably not silent… But he’ll be elegant, and so fine, harrah!, that he’ll catch women’s attention… Cursed world! One should die not to see you. A few days after this, while Zoilo was in Lupardo and Churi was in Bermeo, the latter learned of Uncle Ildefonso’s meeting with Calpena, and he wasted no time in going to tell his rival. On that journey, the poor donkey arrived covered in sores; the rider urged it on so hard to get there quickly. And taking his cousin aside, he broke the terrible news. “There it is; he’s here… he’s coming… Don’t you think so?” “You idiot… _Madrilgo gizona_!… He spoke with Ildefonso in Oñate… He’s coming… tomorrow… you’ll see. ” “It’s a lie,” replied Zoilo, brandishing the tongs. “He’s not coming… And if he does, he’ll return without it. I swear he won’t take it with him.” The next day, _Churi_ went to Las Encartaciones to hire firewood, and the two cousins ​​did not see each other for two weeks. During this time, Zoilo spent a few days in Bermeo, where he had the satisfaction of seeing that the announcements of the imminent arrival of the lord of Madrid, prince or archpriest, failed. He observed in Aura sadness, grief, a reproduction of the nervous outbursts, and seeing her cry he said to himself: “Cry, cry, for you will never see him again… Here is the man who must console you, your Zoilo, whom you must love, because he deserves it… and if not, try him and you will see… This one, who looks at you without daring to say anything to you, out of shyness, has saved you a love like that of all the hearts in the universe… of all of them together in one. My heart is as big as the distance from here to the sun, or a little beyond , as I see it… Cry, cry, for after much crying, forgetting will come… With so many tears your soul will be washed clean of old love, and you will come to your Zoilo, whom you must love and adore as he adores and loves you, for so divinity commands.” Such were his silent declarations whenever he saw her. At this point, the sad news arrived of Negretti’s disfavor, of the accusations made against him through ignorance or perfidy, of his imprisonment, and of the case against him for infidelity or Freemasonry. The dismay these events caused the entire family, particularly Prudencia, who adored her husband, will easily be understood. Valentin roared with rage; Sabino was up in arms. And this is the occasion to mention that the good Sabino was the only Arratias who felt inclinations toward absolutism, even if only platonic, driven by religious rather than political motives. A pious, formulaic, and somewhat sanctimonious man, he disagreed with his brother Valentin, who was somewhat tainted by Voltaireanism, which did not prevent them from living in perfect harmony, both professing lukewarm opinions on the ideological level, without publicly taking sides. Sabino never resented the fact that his sons belonged to the Urban Militia, since his retrograde ideas on certain points yielded to the supreme devotion of the Bilbao citizenry. But if no one could accuse him of being a Carlist, Nor could he deny his great friendships in the enemy camp, from which he knew how to obtain some advantage for the business of the House of Arratia. The commanding general of the Vizcaya Division, Sarasa, had been his close and affectionate friend since childhood, and so were Guergué, Colonels Urréjola and Altolaguirre, Brigadier Tarragual of the Navarrese Division, and the commander of the Cantabrian Division, Don Cástor Andéchaga. It was to this acquaintance that he owed his free passage through the area between Bilbao and Bermeo, and the invaluable favor of being allowed to work in the Lupardo ironworks, with the obligation to transfer a certain quantity of iron to the Vizcaya Ironworks at a low price, an indirect form of canon or war tax. Trusting in his excellent connections , Sabino fled to the interior of the Carlist kingdom, and neither in Durango, where the king was, nor in Tolosa, where Negretti was being held prisoner, could he achieve anything for his brother-in-law, who would not have come to a good end without the determined protection of the enlightened Prince Don Sebastián. And while this was happening, the family continued to be overwhelmed with grief, since, to ensure nothing was lacking, Don Fernando did not appear, nor was there any news of the reasons for his delay, giving rise to this most singular event leading to the belief that he had died in some skirmish or war. While Aura languished, finally appearing as if tired of such a long wait, her aunt skillfully tried to convince her that the gallant of Madrid had passed away, and it was madness to wait any longer and subordinate a flourishing youth to the comings and goings of a ghost. The girl could well excuse herself from mourning him further, for all her longing for his absence would be taken into account for his death. That his death must have been glorious could not be doubted, since Calpena was a noble knight, a slave to honor. Despite what she thought and said, Prudencia, true to her name, did not rush into radical decisions and hoped for the effective aid of time to propose to her niece, resolute and joyful, the marriage with Martín Arratia. Chapter 19. That Zoilo was in his glories with the knight’s long eclipse of Madrid, and that Churi, on the contrary, was giving himself over to demons and would have run joyfully in search of him, needless to say. The former, trusting in his lucky star, encouraged by the faith instilled in him by his ardent passion, firmly believed that the knight would not come again, without getting involved in calculations and inquiries as to the reason for such an absence. The second, nourishing his credulity with his malice and hatred for his cousin, always hoped that Madrilgo Gizona would appear, when least expected, to claim what was his, and this hope was the spicy, bitter consolation of his silent existence. Finally, in mid-August, Ildefonso announced that she was free; but he was so fed up with the suspicion, narrow-mindedness, and ingratitude of the society of the new kingdom that he wanted nothing more than to lose sight of her. Since he did not believe it prudent for their escape route to end in Bermeo, nor was this town very safe for the family anymore, since the ill will and distrust of the rebels had also reached good Sabino, he ordered that they all go to the forge and remain there until something else was decided. At once Prudencia prepared to break camp, for she was already uncomfortable at the residence in Bermeo, where everything turned into young men and young gentlemen, and even old men, chasing the girl with ridiculous displays of love, and one morning she left for Lupardo with Aura, Sabino, and Churi. The good lady never tired of lamenting her husband’s misfortune in the suitor’s service, washing her hands of a matter in which Negretti acted in absolute disagreement with her. She had rightly told him not to accede to the demands with which Oñate’s artillerymen besieged his will. Honest and excessively credulous, Ildefonso had taken the pompous offers of those gentlemen as a matter of course, which were nothing more than siren songs. What resulted? The man had He had worked himself to death, with the villas and castles offered to him nowhere to be seen . He left the court of Charles V as he had entered it, stripped of all capital and furthermore lost in the conceits of liberals. He paid dearly for his obstinacy, and for ignoring the warnings of the practical woman, who always saw a deceitful lure, a trick, in the elegant accounts placed before his eyes to dazzle him. Lost was the work of his hands, lost was the fruit of his mind! But Ildefonso’s fate was to succumb to evil and selfishness, for being excessively upright, trusting, a slave to his conscience even in the smallest matters. “He is a saint,” Prudencia said, concluding with a deep sigh, “and I, despite having turned over the entire Christian Year, searching for holiness in industry, have not been able to find it. All those blessed ones came from convents and solitudes ; none from workshops.” They arrived in Lupardo happily, which was no small feat, given the country’s agitation for the faction. There, Aura saw a scene quite different from that of Bermeo. Accustomed to grandiose maritime spectacles, which foster the expansion of the soul and stimulate the daring flight of thought, Aura’s first impression was one of sadness, as if falling into a deep abyss and feeling the enormous weight of earth and sky crashing down upon her. The narrowness of the valley oppressed her heart. What a difference from that immense distance of the ocean horizons, which made the dream of measuring infinity almost achievable! And what about the purity of the air, that freshness that, with the intensity of the light, flooded body and soul? In the Nervión Valley , the atmosphere was heavy, and the green heights and cultivated slopes were poorly executed natural repairs by man, and minor fixes that spoiled it. Between the two slopes, on the banks of the river stained by the ferruginous clay, rose the forge building, red from the bottom up, black from the top down, constantly emitting dense smoke. It resembled an angry monster, with its rhythmic breathing and the terrifying noises that accompanied its operations: the fearful din of the turbine in the depths, the clanking of metallic hammering above, and the anxious blowing of the bellows. The forge breathed, its blood pulsed, and it continually struck the untamed material. This is how Aura saw it in her vivid imagination. The house where the workers lived was humble, also red and black, with nothing more than the bare necessities for a brief rest for the hard bones of those athletes. The upper rooms contained a small bedroom occupied by the two ladies; a large one where all the men slept; and another room where they ate, paid their wages, and settled their accounts . On the ground floor were the kitchen, stores of firewood and charcoal; from the ingot produced, enormous pieces folded in half, some forming a bow. There, Aura found the eldest cousin completely transformed, for the two times she saw him in Bermeo, he was dressed as a gentleman with considerable casualness, and in Lupardo, he covered his entire body with a long linen nightgown streaked with black person and red, ore and smoke, his arms rolled up, his feet in clogs, his head uncovered. He was the tallest of the family, and the least handsome , fleshy-faced, dry, and steely. His face revealed fatigue, a profound resignation of all his faculties in the face of the burden of duty, perhaps a distrust of success. He looked quite similar to Zoilo, although Zoilo was handsome and José María was not. His activity was not dizzying, like that of Churi and Zoilo, but thoughtful, patient, reaching an incredible tension. Sabino preferred managerial work to material work; He was less strong than his sons, who, with the exception of Martín, had inherited their Herculean constitution from their mother, Zoila Maruri. It was said of this lady that if cholera hadn’t killed her, she would have lived a century. His mother and grandmother were still alive in Mundaca; the first was eighty. years old, and the second one hundred and two. For her Sabino had a special knack for organizing the work of the others, and he gave his orders in a paternal, persuasive manner, without shouting or any fuss. Zoilo, on the other hand, was all liveliness, all noise and joy; from the moment Aura arrived at the forge, he multiplied his work, and redoubled the chatter and twittering of his youthful jubilation to an incredible degree. Castilian and Basque verses flowed incessantly from his lips; the curls adorning his forehead seemed, in the hands of the wind, like a halo of personae mane. His face was a palette dominated by red and black personae, mixed and tangled by copious sweat; the whiteness of his teeth and the carmine of his lips shone with a spicy color amidst so much filth; his sooty hands were the hands of a devil busy with the basest tasks of hell; His pride was being a black person, and in feverish fits of joy, he would scoop up soot with his fingers and paint stripes on his forehead and arms. Renouncing all footwear, he would splash around in the mud that the rains accumulated near the piles of ore, as well as in the greenish waters of the dam. To dry himself, he would rub his feet in the coal dust: he did this, he said, to polish his boots. He would hop from one place to another, even when carrying great loads. He would arrive faster than the eye could see wherever he was called, never repugnant to any task, no matter how difficult or tiresome it was. His zeal amazed everyone, and he was only scolded for his loud noise and his incongruous expressions, for it was not necessary to shout so loudly to do things well. When mealtime arrived, and he took his seat at the humble table without tablecloths, he made unreservedly excessive use of the food, to the great satisfaction of Aura, who enjoyed and laughed watching him eat, so that he would indulge in extreme greed without incurring in the ugly gluttony. After dinner, Sabino would gather them around him to pray the rosary and give thanks to God, with aspirations of his own devising, for the health enjoyed by the entire family, to ask that they reap the fruits of so much work and that the war would soon be over. After the devotions, everyone went to bed. Zoilo took a long time to fall asleep, because his brain was a spool of threads around which he constantly wound endless threads: love, hopes, plans, words he thought he would say to Aura, words that, in his opinion, she would say to him. When he felt his father and brother asleep, he would throw himself down from the cot where he lay half -dressed and go to the other side of the room, curling up next to a bare, cold partition. There he would spend another while unwinding his threads with the purest spirituality, and before falling asleep he would repeatedly kiss the partition. On the other side, in the next room, the pretty girl slept. No evil thought darkened the pure sky of that passion, all childlike nobility and freshness. Zoilo was a grown man, for he was already twenty-two years old; but his passion revived his childhood with all its delightful candor, with its daydreams and incredible facility for seeing the most absurd things transformed into reality. His candid mischief was not lacking in study, for he was quite certain that his tireless ardor in his work, his lightness in gymnastics, his eating a lot, his speaking while singing, his singing while laughing, and other extravagances pleased the lady of his thoughts. In this he was not mistaken. With the insight of a lover, he discovered in Aura’s eyes and smile a very singular pleasure and pleasure at seeing him do things so contrary to his manners. The boy therefore employed an original spring of pleasure that could very well be called counter-coquetry, consisting in applying to his person all the rules opposed to those of vulgar presumption. He guessed, or rather saw , that he was more beautiful the more freely he dressed, within the limits of decency, and that they did not want him according to the pattern of the well-dressed young gentlemen. He would be more elegant the more he resembled the air, the waves, the Birds. He didn’t reason this out, he felt it, cherishing a vague purpose of ceasing to be both bird and wave when circumstances led him to become a true man, and even a refined man, if necessary. The work at the forge was very hard: it was done exclusively by José María, Zoilo, Churi, and two hired Guipuzcoans. All of them, except Zoilo, wore long linen nightgowns. The foreman or task manager was designated by the Basque name arotza. Those who applied fire to the raw material to obtain iron were called smelters, an operation that was carried out in a brick-lined pit, where they put the ore and a large quantity of coal. Sabino, José María, and one of the Guipuzcoans were very expert in assessing the degree of ignition and the necessary temper. When the mineral was red-hot, forming the paste or _zamarra_, the forging work began, and there one could see the combined art of the _founders_ and the so-called _shooters_, who delivered hammer blows to the red-hot piece, placed on a firm or anvil, which had stakes driven deep into the ground for its base. A hole admitted the air expelled by mechanical lungs, driven by the turbine. The hammer had a formidable mass of iron for its head, and an enormous shaft for its handle, horizontal when not in use, hinged at its end. A rudimentary mechanism moved it, manipulated by the _shooters_, while the others handled the _zamarra_ with large tongs, turning it as necessary to receive the blow on both sides… The tremendous blows of the hammer, beating the soft red mass, were cleaning it of slag and adjusting the molecules of that incomparable iron for all uses in agriculture and industry. Zoilo and a man from Guipuzcoa usually acted as handlers, while José María and the other man turned the piece with the tongs. The _lender_ was the lowest-ranking worker in the forge; his duties included preparing the food, kneading the breadcrumbs and placing them between the hot plates, and at the same time he helped the others load the oven, carrying baskets of ore. Churi, who cooked very well, commonly served as the _lender_, although he also helped, as the first, in transporting the material and lighting the stove… Burning a lot of wood and poking the candle was his greatest pleasure. Chapter 20. They usually ate dried bean broth with cured meat, breadcrumbs, and good shots of chacolí. At the beginning of the campaign, they killed a cattle, whose meat they salted and then put in the smoke. During the days when Prudencia and Aura were there, the Cyclops’ table improved somewhat because Mrs. Negretti had brought a couple of baskets of provisions, among which a four-pound wheat loaf stood out for its magnificence; the rest consisted of a roast hen, potatoes, dried fruit, eggs, and bottled tomato paste, homemade. This was the only thing she could bring from Bermeo, where provisions were already alarmingly scarce, as the muleteers who brought bread from Vitoria once a week now came rarely. The only thing in abundance was hake, which at that time of year, out of incomprehensible concern, was disregarded and sold for a mere eight a pound. Prudencia had made a delicious pickled fish, which she carried in large, well-prepared jars . With these provisions, there was room for real feasts in Lupardo, in which the people of Guipuzcoa partook, considering the wheat bread they had not tasted in months to be exquisite, and which Prudencia distributed in modest portions. On the other hand, Aura preferred bean broth with cured meat and cornbread; needless to say, Zoilo, to please her, consumed monstrous portions of that coarse food. The pretty girl would have liked to have tried that rough ironwork as well; but since Prudencia kept an eye on her, keeping her within her jurisdiction as a refined young lady, she found no opportunity to lift a heavy basket of ore onto her head to unload it into the furnace. Since she couldn’t work, she would get as close to the forge as possible, unafraid of the intense heat, unaware that the red dust of the mineral had settled on her face. If she had a mirror, she would have seen herself transformed into an Egyptian figure, due to the fiery color of the ceramic that shone like a projection of fire. Her beauty was then more for the enjoyment of the gods than for poor humans, spoiled by aesthetic conventionalism and the false arts of presumption. With the common criteria of these, Prudencia judged her niece’s new appearance , saying to her: “Oh, daughter, you look quite a vision! Thank goodness there are no one here to see you. How you look with that _embarrassed_ face! When will God want us to go to Bilbao so you can get dressed up!” The lady didn’t have to wait long to see her wishes for the girl’s tidiness fulfilled, because one afternoon, after they hadn’t been in Lupardo for five days, Martín arrived on a horse and had a lively conversation with his father, which was to result in the suspension of work at the forge. “Father,” said the young man, who at the first words raised the question, “this can’t be. In Bilbao they criticize us because while all the forges in Vizcaya are suspending work, ours alone is working. And why? Because it works for them, for the Carlists, and from here they get the war material with which they want to kill us. This can’t be. I ran to warn you so you can find out what they’re saying and thinking over there. Before they force you to stop, suspend work of your own free will. Consider that we are from Bilbao, and that we have to live with the opinions and feelings of our beloved people. ” Sabino must have been somewhat bitter; But he finally gave in to Martín’s expressive arguments. “I am a national militiaman; I am proud to belong to the corps that defends the sacred city, and I cannot in any case disagree with the opinion of my comrades. ” Valentín thought the same. It was not in the family’s best interest, given the nature and state of their affairs, to distance themselves from the opinion of the people, where the spirit of implacable resistance dominated. Bilbao would be a pile of ruins rather than allow Charles V to set foot on its soil. Either they would all die, or they would defend themselves to the point of despair. It was already certain that they would gather their battalions and refuel with artillery and bullets to lay siege to the capital, determined to achieve what Zumalacárregui could not. These reasons did not fail to have their effect on Sabino’s spirit , for although he felt no enthusiasm for the liberal cause, it was impossible for him to escape Bilbao’s solidarity , not only out of love for his hometown, but also because of the influence his brother and his second son exerted over him. On another occasion, he would have had his doubts, for he was attracted by strong friends from the Carlist camp, and he was seduced by the religious apology the pretender displayed for his cause; but now that was no longer the case. His older brother had pledged his support for Isabel, agreeing to be included in armament and defense committees; Martín was a militiaman, and both were fervent apostles of the “Bilbao will not surrender.” For nothing in the world would Sabino make the sad spectacle of appearing at odds with his own people. What a horrible discord that makes enemies of children and parents, of beloved brothers! No, no. Death would rather die than see hatred in his family, even if that hatred were political. Onward, and off they went, all huddled together. Bilbao and family were one sentiment, and saying “Bilbao, echea” meant what was most pleasing to the heart. It was decided, then, that after finishing some pieces that were in the forge, they would put out the fires and withdraw, taking all the iron material they could, since whatever was left there would soon be seized by the faction. Having achieved their objective, and after a while of talking with Prudencia and Aura, Martín prepared to mount his horse again, since he couldn’t miss the shop. Prudencia said to him: “It’s a pain to see how this girl has become. Look at that face, look at that face.” What hands! Aura laughed, naively declaring that she liked that life, and that she didn’t believe her figure was diminished by having turned the color of ore. Martín opined that even if she painted herself with black smoke or slate, she would always be a divinity; but that it wasn’t right for her to lose her air of a proper young lady; and he added that since the fame of her beauty had reached Bilbao, there were already many people there who wanted to meet her. Bilbao society was very lively. Aura was bound to cause a rapture… He would be very happy if next Sunday, dressed in her best clothes, she went to see the National Militia parade when they went to mass in Santiago. Afterwards, the music would play in the Arenal, and there the young ladies would parade with the militiamen and the army officers. Having said this and other things pertinent to the war and the threat of siege, the amiable young man withdrew on his nag, bidding the ladies farewell with an affectionate “see you tomorrow.” Evening was falling, and Sabino, not liking his son going alone, ordered Churi to mount his donkey and accompany him, returning the next day to help transport the materials. The family would travel in a well-equipped country wagon, leaving at a convenient time to arrive before nightfall. Zoilo was not entirely sure of his father’s decision to move to the capital, because in that savagery of Lupardo, the young man was at his best; and having his idol there, and being able to pay him ardent and secret worship at all hours, he wouldn’t trade the forge for earthly paradise . And he could almost guarantee that the girl didn’t like the move either, because there she enjoyed watching the work, and, damn it!, watching him. There, the two of them had, as intermediaries for their love, at least on his part, the flames and the heat of the forge, the air from the blowtorch, and that pleasant and sad countryside, the roaring river, the birds, the red ore, and the black person coal. All of this spoke, everything smiled, and was good and… friendly. Poor Zoilo despaired at the thought of how arid and tiresome life in Bilbao would be. There, they would dress the girl as a damsel, taking her from visit to visit, or they would keep her all day long in the living room, where he hardly ever entered; and if, finally, during the festive season, they confined him, as was greatly feared, to Ripa’s lumberyard, he would have a wonderful time . Meanwhile, Aura’s sweet presence would be enjoyed by his tiresome visitors, the gentlemen and ladies of Ibarra, Gaminde, and Vildósola; and to top off the annoyance, Martín would be able to see her all day long, and he wouldn’t. This was truly worse than a punishment. Aura would go down to the shop in the mornings, and since her handwriting was so beautiful, Martín might have put her at the desk next to him to copy letters and invoices, his elbow touching hers… No, not a thousand times: she couldn’t stand this. If he saw their elbows together, he’d surely do something outrageous. Thinking about these silly things, she spent almost the entire night, and at the height of it, while her father and brother slept, she warmed the cold plaster of the partition with her kisses. The next day, the furnaces were turned off, the tools were gathered, everything that was to remain there was arranged and put back in order, the finished iron was transported , and the whole family was transported to Bilbao in a cart sent from Miravalles . It turned out, alas!, that’s exactly what Zoilo had feared: from the night of their arrival, the house was infested with visitors, who came like flies. Clingy ladies and young ladies who came to peck, to guluzme, and to spend hours in the living room. The praises for the beautiful niece were enthusiastic; the congratulations for having her there, very cloying. Zoilo would have taken a whip and thrown out into the street all that importunate lordship, who was taking away his own good; because with so much looking at the girl, and so much caressing and kissing her, showering her with flattery, they carried particles of that divine being stuck to their hands and mouths. What did it matter to anyone that Aura was a prodigy of beauty? Or what did those curious, nosy people have to do with it? What if she were an orphan, betrothed to a little prince, and what the hell? The man’s nose was already stinking, and he felt like showing everyone, young and old, that he alone cared about his cousin’s beauty and other superior merits… He was quite glad that he wasn’t confined to Ripa’s warehouse, crammed with lumber, barrels of tar, and pitch, for if his father assigned him a job that kept him there for a few hours, most of the day he was at Ribera, helping Martín with the hustle and bustle of the office. Thanks to this, he could lose himself in his divinity without ever getting tired. If seeing her in the plain dress of Bermeo and in the casualness of Lupardo he had fallen in love with her like a fool, in Bilbao, when they dressed her as a young lady to take her to mass or to the visitation, and with the christening clothes to present her in the Arenal, his foolishness turned into madness, with deep fainting spells and fits of rage. Aura had a marvelous and stupefying effect on the youth of Bilbao when she made her first outing with Prudencia and the lady and ladies of Gaminde on the Arenal promenade, for although fame had already anticipated praises of such singular beauty, reality dwarfed the work of fame, contrary to what happens in most cases . And although then, as now, feminine grace and beauty were commonplace in Bilbao, Aura’s appearance, her simplicity and majesty, the incomparable lines of her body, her Hellenistic profile, and the divinely human expression of her eyes, were a source of general admiration and rapture. Men gazed at her dazzled, the old men stunned, the women with suspicious astonishment, and nothing but praise could be heard as she passed. If on one hand such displays satisfied Zoilo , on the other they mortified him horribly, because from so much looking at her and praising her, it became clear that she wasn’t his, but the public’s. Wandering alone, separated from his friends, along the edges of the promenade, he would follow his cousin and observe from a distance the expressions on the young men, both soldiers and civilians, as they passed by her; or he would follow behind the groups of strollers, trying to hear what they were saying. The exclamations “What a woman!…”, “She’s more than they said…”, “This isn’t a woman, she’s a goddess” were like so many stilettos digging into his chest. If she was more than a goddess, the damned gods wouldn’t allow such a superior woman to be to him… And when he saw and heard that a group of militiamen, where his brother Martín was, were congratulating him for having such a beauty in his house, and were teasing him, he was on the verge of lashing out at those shameless fools… Nervous and agitated, he paced back and forth around the most eccentric circle of the promenade, which was like the turning of a Ferris wheel, thinking that if there were pistols with many shots, and he possessed such a prodigious weapon, he would use it beautifully on that occasion… How so? Firing a shot, pim!, at all those who passed by Aura and said, “Ah! Oh!…, and another shot, pam!, at those who allowed themselves to comment on her beauty, and I don’t know what…, and another and another shot, pim, pam!, at the witty and joking people… Hala!…, and let them come back for another! Chapter 21. It was not very easy for the beautiful maiden to adapt herself to the new pattern of life, and to get used to such an environment; but in the end she had to yield to the jurisdiction of necessity and custom. The narrowness of the house, a mezzanine without lights on the inside, caused her oppression, anguish. She breathed better in the tent, although the rolls of ropes, the pieces of canvas, and the innumerable pieces of ship’s iron that were everywhere left her little room. She soon became familiar with the smell of tar, and enjoyed going down to the shop and witnessing the lively scenes of selling and buying. The sailor’s language enchanted her, and the roughness of those wind-beaten faces awakened in her sympathy and admiration. Called more than once by Martin to help him at the desk, she would descend joyfully, and He copied invoices and letters; then he wandered around the shop, learning the strange maritime nomenclature. On slow afternoons, the two clerks, old sailors who had already been dismissed as useless, would go out of their way to give him lessons. Aura would ask them: “What’s this for? What’s that for?” And they, kindly, would answer everything, giving him an idea of ​​the maneuvers in which they had spent their best years. The desk was a corner of the shop, separated from it by a glass partition, which in that place should properly be called a bulkhead. There was no more space than necessary to squeeze between the table, with a folder for two people, and the bookshelf. Two stools, the smallest possible seating, completed the furniture. The rest of the small warehouse was occupied by shelves crammed with merchandise, almost everything related to fishing, packages of hooks, nets, weights; Elsewhere, pieces of flannel for flags, brushes, fenders, and higher up, hanging from the ceiling, light bulbs of different shapes, side lanterns, etc. Martin went back and forth from the desk to the shop through a narrow door, no wider than those that usually lead into the cabin of a moderately comfortable vessel. Except when he had to write, he walked all over the premises, from the large room facing the street to the innermost one, the end of a tortuous series of rooms where the smell of tar and the darkness and lack of air resembled the stifled confines of a ship’s hold. In the deepest part were the barrels of stone pitch, tar, and tallow blocks; and along the rooms, the coils of rigging formed a well-ordered stowage, like ashlars for a series of columns, leaving a narrow alleyway for the passage . Watching how they cut pieces of rope from the rolls and how they weighed and sold them, Aura learned the names of the different pieces of hemp used in navigation, and she knew how to distinguish the hawser and the hawser from the arrowhead and the rope of a lanyard. She asked everything, and she retained everything in her prodigious memory. “Do you like this trade?” Martín would ask her, searching for a way to flatter her, but he couldn’t succeed: such was his shyness and respect. And she would reply: “Ugly things become beautiful when we learn to see their usefulness. This thing that seems so ugly ceases to be so as we understand its purpose. Look, I was raised among precious stones. I’ve played with them! Do you think I ever liked that trade? ” “It’s like it’s a trade that lives only on vanity,” Martín said, swollen with satisfaction. Stones are objects of pure luxury, and this, Aura, this is life, this is bread… Because if there were no ships, look carefully, cousin, there would be no commerce, and without commerce we wouldn’t even have a shirt to wear, and we would live like the personae. When Zoilo came in and saw her sitting at the desk next to Martín, and he was correcting her copies, for which he stood too close, almost touching their heads, the poor boy didn’t know what was happening to him. Oh, that one too!… And it just so happened that that man was his brother! If he weren’t, he would have taught him to maintain the proper distance between a gentleman and a lady when they’re not engaged. Fortunately for Zoilo, there was war, which evidently favored him. The _chance_ of it being war kept the Urban Militia in arms, and every moment, morning or evening, the orderly came with warnings that sent Martín packing. “Don Martín, review at three… Don Martín, at two, exercise.” And first, the young man needed a star in the sky to leave before he answered the call of his country and freedom. Thanks to this, Zoilo was left alone with Aura, and if there was a sale of small items, he would teach her how to sell, or give her instructions beforehand for when someone came looking for needles for sewing canvas, or irons for caulking. “What is the use of this round wooden block,” she would ask him. with three holes, which looks like a face with its little eyes and a mouth below?… —This is what we call a _moustache_, and it is used for the arrowheads in the rigging. A long lesson in rigging followed, which Aura generally didn’t understand. The fact is that, without understanding it well, the girl asked for information about everything; and he, with scientific seriousness, explained to her the use of the different kinds of shackles, guard ropes, and other irons. He showed her a _rempujo_ and how to use it to sew sails, and he put it on her and fastened it with the buckle, so that she could take charge of that _thimble in the palm of her hand_; he instructed her in how to caulk, inserting the filament, which was the tow for the useless ropes, into the joint of the boards and tightening it well with irons… —I will teach you how to do filament. But your fingers are too fine for this operation. No, no: leave it to me. You just have to open the tow… It’s very easy. —Wow, with all the things inside a ship! I’d like to have a very large frigate, very large. —And me. To go sightsee, you and I… And then we’d bring it back full of pearls and diamonds; loaded with precious stones up to the hatches. —Jesus, what nonsense! —Yes: with precious stones, which, even if there were so many, would be few to adorn your beauty. Say yes. —How silly! —It’s true. What are stones? Trash… To adorn you, there’s nothing but the sun and the stars, with the moon in the middle, and two dozen rays on each side. —Most Holy Mary…, divine God! —There is no more divine God, nor greater divinity than you… I say it, and here I am to support it… Finally, the man broke away. Between serious and playful, Aura answered him laughing and turning her head, mockingly or amazed at his audacity. “But, Zoilo, are you crazy? ” “Yes, yes… I feel like being crazy. It’s my pleasure… Just like dying or killing myself if you don’t love me…” “Shut up, Zoilo… don’t joke about that… Shut up, the lady’s coming down… I think I can feel her.” What Prudencia was doing was calling her from the top of the extremely narrow staircase, more like a ship’s ladder, that connected the shop to the mezzanine. “I’m going, Aunt,” Aura shouted, while Zoilo, happy to have personified the fire, to have put an end to the silence that was burning in his soul, said to himself: “That sly Aunt Prudencia of mine sends her down below when Martín is here, so that the other one can tell her things, and she calls her when I’m here, so that I can’t tell her… I’ll show my lady aunt who Zoilo Arratia is.” And he began to measure fathoms of rope, which the two clerks were weighing. Sabino and his eldest son spent almost the entire day in Ripa’s warehouse, where they had a large quantity of staves, magnificent blocks of mahogany and cedar, and a decent supply of teak and riga that they couldn’t sell in those disastrous times because shipbuilding had been at a standstill . At night, they would all gather on the mezzanine floor of La Ribera and dine together, discussing the war, bringing to the heart of the hardworking family the echoes of the town’s opinion regarding the imminence of a second siege, even more pressing than the first. Valentín, Martín, and Aura were in favor of resistance at all costs and were confident of success, driven by their ardent faith in Bilbao. Sabino and José María acted as interpreters for the distrustful and somewhat pessimistic minority of the neighborhood. They feared that the town would have to surrender; they didn’t place much value on the militiamen’s bravado, nor did they believe the meager garrison could perform miracles. Zoilo, patriotic and enthusiastic, joined the first party , declaring that he wanted to shed his blood for Bilbao and contribute to the defense with all his might. Some supported him, others laughed, and Prudencia declared, always within the sagacious criteria that her name imposed on her, that the family should not all stand on the Isabelline side, but should divide into the two opinions in order to be awaiting the outcome of events. “If we all,” she said, “go with Liberty, woe to us in the end.” In case evil comes, and Liberty goes for a walk and obscurantism triumphs! But Valentín refuted these arguments with firm logic and even eloquence , maintaining that double dealing was not decorous, but rather putting two candles to God and none to the devil. God was Liberty. Sabino had to protest this definition, establishing that God should not be mixed up in matters of politics. That it was deemed appropriate to defend Liberty and the throne of Isabella, very holy and very good; but no need to involve God in these messes, because He was neither constitutional nor royalist, but simply God, and His divine will was that Christian blood not be shed so wantonly. They all agreed on this, as well as that if Zoilo felt like shooting, he should be secured entry into the National Militia. The interested party welcomed this idea with great joy, and Aura, equally joyful, suggested that the fabric for the uniform be purchased without delay , and that once the tailor had cut it, she would sew it with her own hands, even if she had to keep watch. “We’ve already made Periquito a monk,” said Prudencia. “We’ll sew the little clothes soon, so he can wear them in formation on Sunday.” That same night, he walked around the dining room and the corridors with a martial air. He regretted not having his uniform ready before Churi came. He had gone off on his donkey to his usual explorations of the Encartado country or the Mena Valley, out of pure desire for independence, or rather laziness, since there was no longer any need to bring firewood and coal. What a surprise it would give him if, when he returned, he found him in all the splendor and magnificence of his military appearance! And how angry he would be to see him! Let him be furious, yes, and let the demons take him away, as punishment for the stupid things he had said to him when he left. Of the last thing they spoke, the least violent thing is copied, leaving the phrases of the deaf evil man untranslated and natural. ZOILO.— I’m sure she loves me… I’m not thinking about killing myself now, but about living, about doing things of great dignity, about learning everything I don’t know, about being brave, about behaving like a gentleman. CHURI.— _Patuo_, don’t _think_ so much…, from behind the rag falls on you… What a _nonsense_ you have!… _Tell_ yourself that, then. ZOILO.— Step aside, you fool. CHURI _without understanding_.— _Prinsipe enraged_ he will come, and he will marry her, and more… To the _devil_ you right here, and more. That _tell_ you, well… What will you do if Aunt _Pudrencia_ finds out?… What’s the point of saying it? You’ll die… I’ll laugh… _tell_ you, how foolish you are, _foolish_ and _parole_. ZOILO.— Shut up… or you’ll see. CHURI.— It’s _heaven_ day, and more… You _sarama_… _Sarama_ won’t climb to _heaven _… They’ll pick you up with a broom… Zoilo entered the Militia; he made the solemn debut of his uniform, and the devilish deaf man was no longer present. The one who arrived was Negretti, in a pitiful moral state, wounded by cruel disappointment, cursing the time when he had put his intelligence at the service of the _Pretension_. A man of sincerity, he recognized his error and honestly regretted not having followed his wife’s opinion and advice. Alas! Women tend to have a surer nose and sharper eyes than men in matters of business related to social life … The entire family devoted themselves to comforting him from the first day, surrounding him with attention and care, since his health, with such serious setbacks and disappointments, had suffered noticeably. Speaking alone with Valentín about the very sad past, the black person present, and the uncertainties of the future, he said: “I feel so dejected, so disheartened, that unless encouragement comes from outside me, I doubt I’ll be able to get it out of here. I hope that days, many days, pass before we see what turn this cursed war takes. And I also assure you that I only came to Bilbao to take a break, and for the pleasure of spending a few days with you before leaving for France. I’m not here, dear Valentín; I don’t dare go out into the street, afraid that they’ll blame me for having brought you here.” the filings from Don Carlos’s workshop stuck to my hands. They’ll take me for an enemy, perhaps a spy… They don’t know me well enough to see in me the neutral worker, who serves where he’s paid. Reality, human weaknesses, have made me understand that neutrality is impossible, and that’s why this war isn’t over… Tenacity there, tenacy here… Woe to him who, like me, finds himself caught and crushed between the two tenacity!… Ah! You, happier than I, can raise a flag, and defend it, and even die for it… I can’t… I’ve rendered myself useless for this side or the other… What I can tell you is that you might as well prepare yourselves well, because they’re going to besiege you, and with powerful elements. No one knows them as well as I do… They’ll press you hard , and if a good army doesn’t come to break their line, you’ll be in very bad shape, very bad shape, believe me. If Bilbao doesn’t do something heroic, it seems to me that you’ll soon be vassals of Charles V… It’s sad; and if I had the fire of heaven in my hand, I’d give it to you to resist. Because… I’m not vindictive, no, nor do I wish anyone harm; but for those, ah! For those, I wish Bilbao would give them indigestion, so they’ll finally burst. Negretti’s warnings regarding the imminent siege were confirmed in the following days. On October 21 and 22, the Carlists opened trenches in Artagán. On the other side of Mount Archanda, on the Bermeo road, they had the cannons they were to position at different points to dominate Begoña and Achuri. Towards Ollargan , they were preparing strong batteries against San Mamés and La Concepción, and through Sodupe, they were arranging attacks on Burceña and El Desierto. The situation was, therefore, extremely serious. From the heights of Santo Domingo and Archanda, on the right bank of the Nervión, and on the right, from those of Ollargan, the Carlists looked down on Bilbao at the bottom of the pot, and all they had to do was reach out to grasp the poor little thing and devour it. And as it prepared for defense, the capital of Biscay looked more like a town in the midst of a celebration than a town condemned to the horrors of siege warfare: one might say that the people of Bilbao had decided to encourage one another with emphatic displays of jubilation and disregard for danger. Their activity in the preparations drew new life from that common joy, from that confidence they either felt or feigned. The fiction of fortitude is a great virtue in these cases. People thrive on collective sentiment, and the people of Bilbao knew how to cultivate it on this supreme occasion, having previously created the atmosphere in which they were to consummate their unprecedented feats. a false atmosphere, if you will, but one that the facts, the constancy and tenacity of that divine lie would later transform into something real and positive. And they organized success with premature displays, sustained without fainting, like roles in a heroic comedy. The actors would cease to be so by dint of pretending well and appearing happy when reality imposed sadness on them. They were a people of imaginative people, and imaginative people who proceed with intensity in their psychological work end up creating. Chapter 22. It is easy to understand that in this prior organization of success through the people’s fanatical self-confidence, women played the majority , and among these, the young women worked harder than the older ones in composing the martial atmosphere. The ladies and young ladies of the eldest class, those of the commercial patriciate, the artisans and shopkeepers, were the cloud in which those elements of extraordinary effectiveness were formed, from which men would later take the lightning. They made the fire. An example of this development of courage was offered by the beautiful Aura, who, already linked by ties of friendship with the girls of Gaminde, with those of Orbegozo and others from the town, spent the whole day pecking in female circles about what was being done in the fortifications, the distribution and destination of the pieces, what the governor Don Santos San Miguel was doing and thinking, what the City Council was doing with the magistrates of Albia and Begoña, and commenting the plans of Brigadier General of Engineers Don Miguel de Arechavala, what the Armament and Defense Board, the Provincial Council, and the crowned verb were preparing. All of them had a brother, a cousin, or a boyfriend in the Urban Militia; some had fathers who belonged to the Armament Board; others to the Provincial Council. They knew, therefore, everything that was happening, and what they didn’t know, they invented, unaware of their extremely fertile military inspiration. Aura would spend the afternoon at the Gaminde family’s house on Victor Street, or at the Busturia Artecalle family’s, or they would all raid Arratia’s house. Here and there, their diligent little hands would work tirelessly, with more joy than in the preparations for a dance, on the delightful task of sewing canvas sacks for the parapets, emptying mattresses to fill sacks of wool, arranging beds for the field hospitals, and making lint, although this didn’t seem the most urgent thing to them, because before there were wounded, there had to be bulwarks and defenses; and the flags had to be very showy; and everything that signified triumphs for Liberty and blows to Carlism had to be given priority; the lint and bandages had to be made by the enemy, as they were most in need of such remedies. Zoilo, once immersed in military life, made new acquaintances with young men from the leading families and strengthened the bonds of his old friendships. Assigned to the Fourth Company of the First Battalion, his inseparable companions were Pepe Iturbide, son of the courier who had a workshop for blocks, patescas, and quadernales next to the Arratias’ warehouse in Ripa, and Víctor Gaminde, brother of the young ladies with whom Aura had become so close. He often went with his friend to the latter’s house when they were off duty, and there he would run into his idol, who anxiously asked him: “Where have you been today, cousin? What’s up? What have you seen? Tell us. ” “Well, this morning we worked on the Morro fort in Achuri, where we’ve installed two more cannons, and three more that were there, five, which will destroy the whole structure they’re building up higher up.” In Artagán we have four pieces, say four hells, that will destroy everything they bring through Santo Domingo and Matalobos. In the afternoon we worked on San Agustín, where there is a 36-pounder, larger than this room, and two 24-pounders, which are a pleasure to see, and two more, and a howitzer that, when it spits out, they’ll see what a mess it is. They say that tomorrow we’re going to Sabalbide and the Reinaga battery, where we’ll place countless cannons that will fire beyond Begoña. I only want to get started so they can see how we sweep them away. Do you think not? —I do; I believe you’ll sweep them away, that not one will be left to tell the tale. And accompanying her home later, with her brother José María and an aunt from Gaminde, who was going to spend some time with Prudencia, a childhood friend of hers, the two of them talked as much as they wanted, because José and the older lady, who was very annoying, were in the back, and they, with youthful lightness, went ahead. “Aura,” said Zoilo with a grave accent, “I want nothing more than for you to be the first to call the shots, so you can see what I’m capable of. What do you have to say to this? ” “I’m not saying anything, Zoilo. I want you to be brave… I would very much like for them to celebrate you and put you in the clouds. ” “And if they celebrate me and put me even higher in the clouds? ” “I’ll be very happy, believe it. ” “I want it to be said that the bravest defender of Bilbao is someone… someone who loves you, who loves you more than his own life… And they will say: ‘Lucky her, that the bravest man in Bilbao loves her !'” —Well, _Zoiluchu_… If they tell me, I’ll be happy… All that’s left is for you to be as courageous in deed as in word. —You’ll see… Tell us to start soon… I wish for shots, for grenades and bombs to rain down, and for us to have to go against them bare- chested… I’m already tired of so much preparation. To fire and attack with bayonets, send me quickly… My great love for you will save me from Death. By saying, “Aura, my Aura favor me,” no bullet will dare to attack me… But if you don’t love me, the bullets won’t respect me; just say no. ” “Don’t be silly. What do bullets have to do with affection? ” “They do, just say yes. I’m sure that by saying, “Aura loves me; behind me, gunpowder fire,” I won’t have a scratch. And if you don’t believe it, you’ll see it, and you’ll believe it. Love me, and tell me where there are seven thousand serviles to go against them alone, just me. ” “Jesus, what madness! ” “No, don’t laugh… You ask God and the Virgin that we begin at once … Let them break out against us, let them spit, and then we’ll go up and cover their mouths and shove the iron into their bellies. I’m wasting away waiting, waiting. Why don’t we break out, with a hundred thousand bagpipes?” —Well, I’m curious to know what all your bravery is up to. I also want to see it break. This is beautiful. A small town, deep in the depths, defending itself against so many thousands of furious men throwing themselves at it from on high. A magnificent thing, Zoilo; a sublime thing! I want to see it… Will you tell me everything you see? —Everything, I’ll tell you everything, and you’ll love me, say yes. —Don’t be annoying… You know it can’t be. I love you because you’re my cousin; but nothing else… You’re a good boy, you could become a great man. What will you be a great man at? I don’t know: maybe in commerce, maybe in industry… and who’s to say you won’t be one in the military? —I’ll be whatever you tell me to be. Do you want me to apply myself to the military and become a general? —Jesus and Mary… so soon! —If the war continues, realize it… I’ll be whatever you command; but don’t tell me you can’t love me. If you love me, if you believe me worthy of your love, why do you deny it to me? You’d be a good fool if you scorned me for one who will never come! —I don’t scorn you, Zoiluchu. —Well, love me… you’ll see how brave… What lifts a man more than courage? —Truly… courage is more than anything. —Well, I am yours, and all my courage is yours, and whatever I do is your glory, because if I didn’t love you, I would be very cowardly, and I would crawl under a table. But loving you makes me want to rise to the stars. To equal you, God grant me. You’ll see later… Wait a little. —No, if I wait… You see, I spend my life waiting. —Waiting on the other hand for what will not come… and here I am so that you don’t wait any longer… Give me a battle, and you’ll see. —But how am I supposed to give you a battle? —By saying that you love me. It’s gotten into my head that if you tell me that, the moment you say it the Carlist cannons will explode on those mountains, and those mountains, and those beyond, all at once, _brmm_! —Hail Mary, Most Pure! —Conceived without sin. What is natural, Aura, must come. What is natural is that you love me and that the Carlists attack. —Of course: you call what you desire natural. Well, for me, everything I desire becomes supernatural. —Because you don’t pay attention to me, who am what is natural, Aura; look… Well, what am I more than what is natural? They couldn’t say more. At the door of the tent they found Martín, who gave them the news of Churi’s arrival, bruised, in a sorry state, and without a donkey. They had put him to bed; but at nightfall, tired of lying in bed, he ran out into the street to look around the fortified points. Martín and Zoilo had dinner early so they could return to their posts, one in Morrillo, the other in Solocoeche. Their father would have liked them to be in the same company, so that they could help each other in some difficult situation and look out for each other; but it was not to be. Everything in the house was sad. Sabino, who led the domestic prayers, added to the usual rosary an infinite number of prayers, some recited, others read devoutly, on his knees, from a pious book. It was all to implore the Lord to put an end to the war between brothers. And so long it was. The prayer, which by the time they sat down to dinner, was already faint. End the war by divine intercession! Now, now; a beautiful conclusion was being prepared. Faithfully, the winds of peace were blowing. From the dawn of God, the Carlists began to drop bombs and grenades on the poor town. The town responded to them along the entire line of fortifications, from Achuri to San Agustín, and from Ripa to San Francisco. The day was alarming, though not as much as the next. The women were alone in Arratia’s house, and Negretti, who was necessarily confined to Bilbao by the siege, did not leave the house, remaining in an inner room devoted to studies and mechanical calculations. Some ladies from the upper floors went down to the mezzanine, and when fear gripped them, because it was said that bombs had fallen on Somera Street and Artecalle, they all went down to the tent, where they believed themselves safer. They remained ignorant of what was happening until late at night, when Valentín arrived to tell them that the defense had been brilliant. Sabino had gone to Sabalbide, where, he was told, Martín was, and José María was working at the Concepción blood hospital as a member of the Relief and Health Board. “Who’s winning?” asked Negretti, who appeared at the door of his room just to satisfy this curiosity. “Well, what a question!… Us,” said Valentín. Ildefonso seemed pleased and returned to his task, while his brother-in-law explained to the women of the house and the neighbors gathered there the day’s fighting at the different defensive points. In every one of them, the Bilbao men demonstrated as much serenity as courage. The casualties were not many, and the serviles had not advanced an inch . The following day was a day of great anxiety for the residents of that part of Ribera, because in the early hours of the morning, a parapet and barricade were erected at the corner of the theater, and a huge cannon was brought in to fire from there at Uribarri’s Carlist positions. Amid joyful uproar and excitement, the work continued all morning: children, old people, and some women helped fill sacks of earth, while the soldiers and militiamen cleared the paving stones from the street. Everything was done quickly. When they began firing, the shots echoed in Arratia’s house as if the world were coming to an end. The women, sheltering in the depths of the tent, did not move until they stopped hearing nearby shots. Negretti remained in his room on the mezzanine, pacing restlessly and nervously. Hearing a bang, he would say, “That’s a good one… for them!” and then he would start to turn around again , sighing loudly, constantly running his hand over his head, against the grain, as if he wanted to make it a perfect broom. His wife wanted to take him to the tent, but he resisted, insisting that the house was solid: the most that could happen was that the roof would collapse. Two days passed in this situation, without any of the Arratias appearing. They feared that Valentín, carried away by his fiery temper, would rush into battle. A neighbor said she had seen him pass at the head of a group of countrymen who were running with picks and shovels toward the Arenal, where they were also setting up pieces. This news reassured them; and at night Sabino arrived, thank God, with good news from everyone except Zoiluchu. Valentín, after working as a black person, was at the Consulate, where the Armament Board was meeting. José María had moved from the Bilbao la Vieja hospital to Achuri; Martín remained in Solocoeche safe and sound, and nothing was known of Zoilo. He was probably still at the Mallona fort. He had found Churi working on the Cendeja barricade. “Who’s winning?” Negretti asked, half-opening the door to his hiding place. “These,” Sabino replied. And when Valentín entered at that point and heard his brother’s “these” coming up the stairs, he shouted loudly and enthusiastically: —Not these people; us, us! Although Martín arrived at midnight with the news that Zoilo was alive and well in the Mallona fort, they were still not entirely reassured, as his brother hadn’t seen him… The poor boy arrived , exhausted and distraught; his honor, more than his martial courage, sustained him, although he was ready to start again as soon as he was ordered to. His pallor, the faintness of his frozen body, the startled look in his gaze, called for a truce so that he could recover the enormous amount of courage and enthusiasm he had spent in recent battles. —Duty, son, duty above all,— his father told him, caressing the prayer book. —Let us fulfill what the honor of our people asks of us, and God will arrange what is best for us all. What does he order to triumph? Then let us triumph… What does he order to die? Then death. Valentín had already launched a formidable attack on the already half-cold dinner that Aura was placing on the table. Martín vigorously seconded him, and both announced their intention to postpone praying until they ate. Negretti silently ate a few spoonfuls of soup, paying no attention to anything that was being said, and Prudencia went to great lengths to give her niece orders to care for and look after Martín. “Yes, Aunt,” said Aura, “I didn’t forget to save the half chicken for you. I’ve put it to heat. I’ll bring it over now.” And as she served it to him, she said affectionately: “Eat, you poor thing. Calm down… Have you made a big, big fire? What would Bilbao be without brave men!… Zoiluchu will surely have done something crazy… some barbaric thing… ” “He’s so bold,” said Valentín, “that I’m afraid his bravery will cost him dearly. ” “But there’s no need to fear,” added Prudencia. He wouldn’t be struck by lightning. Martín said nothing: he ate in silence, with the eagerness for reparation of selfish matter. The entrance of _Churi_ renewed everyone’s concern for Zoilo. Observing the deaf man’s somber face, they feared he was the bearer of some bad news; but to the questions they put to him, expressive enough without needing to use words, he answered with a sour face: “What do I know? Seventeen dead from Mallona… I can see them. Zoilo won’t be there; none of the seventeen dead is himself… But I don’t know…” Chapter 23. Aura wasn’t content with ignoring the fate of her youngest cousin, and on the morning of the 26th, she asked everyone who entered the house if they knew anything, if they had seen the dead from Mallona. No one gave her any information. All that day, which was a day of great anxiety, because during it the Carlist companies called “Algerians” carried out a terrible assault on Mallona, ​​no news reached the Arratia house from the men of the family. At night, Aura and Prudencia, learning that Víctor Gaminde had been brought home wounded, rushed there. Prudencia wanted nothing more than to find out and gossip a little, and leaving her niece there, she turned around so that Ildefonso wouldn’t be alone. Aura saw the wounded young man and the distraught family: the little sisters were crying; the mother didn’t know what to do, and the father, Don Francisco Gaminde, a person in whom kindness did not exclude fortitude of character, smiled with heroic self-control, assuring them that the boy’s stab wound wouldn’t be fatal; they would treat him, give him good broth to replace his lost blood, and “off we go, back to the post! Bilbao doesn’t want hens, but good roosters with spurs.” It all came down to a bayonet wound in his right side, just touching his ribs. Thread, adhesive tape, and in three days he could pick up the poplar again. He would pick it up too if necessary… And in the last resort, rather than allow the absolute to enter Bilbao, even the girls, the brave Bilbao women, would have to go to the fire. The wounded man remained in good spirits and was not happy to be put to bed. At this point, two of his comrades came in, and, very happy to see them, he lamented that he would not be completely healed the next day, so he could return there. He had hardly finished saying this when a third militiaman came in, covered in blood, his face black, of smoke, of soot, of the dark mud of the batteries: it was Zoilo, the very same Zoilo, but in such an appearance that Aura was slow to recognize him; he seemed thinner, taller… how strange!… he was another… no, no… the same in spirit; but more erect, his voice hollow, his face emaciated. Despite these changes in appearance, he was clearly recognizable in his grave expression, in the arrogance of his attitude without a trace of boasting, in the aplomb with which he presented his rudeness before distinguished people of both sexes, not allowing himself to be overcome by shyness. He had hardly finished greeting everyone present and shaking his friend’s hand when Valentín hurried in, charged with informing Señor Gaminde of important agreements of the Junta, and asking him on behalf of his comrades to come immediately to where they were gathered. Amidst the mass of diverse matters which, this one and the other, haphazardly thrown together, expressed with such different concepts, the voice of the wounded militiaman stood out for a moment, saying: “The heroes of Mallona have been two… poor Mendiburu, and another who is present. When the first twenty Algerians entered through the breach, more like beasts than men, five of us rushed at them… Of those five, three remained at medium distance; only two advanced resolutely. Of the two, Mendiburu fell dead; the other is alive, and he is this _Luchu_ that you see here.” After the dead and the living, the rest of us ran… I don’t know how it happened… a miracle, a dream… I don’t know… I still have doubts that those of us who lived were still alive, and that I don’t know how many Algerians were left disemboweled on the ground… I don’t know how what happened could have happened… I don’t know, I don’t know… Zoilo, in response to the account of his feat, displayed a calm modesty, without hypocritical denials or vain boasts. His uncle Valentín gave him a loving slap and three kisses that looked like bite marks, shouting: “It’s Arratia, from Bilbao from the Seven Streets!”… and there was no more to say. Gaminde, without exceeding his admiration, since such deeds should be considered, according to him, as the strict fulfillment of duty, said no more than: “Bilbao is full of these puppies, who know how to do their job. Any day now the _absolute_ ones will be here! Let’s go, Valentín.” “Let’s go,” Arratia said to her niece, “it’s late. I’ll drop you off at home when I pass. ” “Let’s go, Luchu. Come and rest,” the girl said to the heroic young man. And, linking together with that “let’s go,” the four of them left in a chain. In the street, cousin and cousin went ahead; behind them, the two older people were talking about serious things. “Is it true that you did what Victor says?” the maid asked. “Say it was nothing,” the young man replied very seriously. “I don’t boast about things that are worthless. ” “You’ve been very brave… you can’t deny it. ” “I would have done more if they’d let me… But they won’t let one of us. How annoying! If the others had wanted, we’d have left, and there’s not a single Algerian left to show for it. ” “You’ve been very brave,” Aura repeated, stopping and looking into his eyes. Hers shone with joy. Valentín and Gaminde had fallen far behind. “Don’t doubt it, Don Francisco,” said the former. “It’s authentic news. It was brought by two rebel artillerymen who stopped by last night. ” “But it’s not credible… ” “Well, believe it. They’re lifting the siege. They don’t have any ammunition. The ones they distributed today are the last. ” “We won’t get that chance, Valentín. ” “Besides, there’s a fight between them. Villarreal and Simón de La Torre are out to kill, and Simón de La Torre retreated toward Munguía, refusing to obey him. ” “I believe that; but I don’t believe they’re retreating. ” “They’re lifting the siege, Don Francisco!” As they said this, they approached the other couple, and Zoilo grasped the meaning of “lifting the siege.” He couldn’t express the rage this produced in him, because they arrived at the tent, and he found himself surrounded by his father, brother, and aunt, who were all congratulating him affectionately on his return. Valentín and Mr. Gaminde continued towards San Antón, while Zoilo, reluctantly going up to the mezzanine, was forced to answer a thousand questions. impertinent. He hadn’t done anything unusual: so they shouldn’t talk to him about exploits or heroism. “Very well,” Sabino told him. “A good soldier does what he’s told, without getting involved in bragging. Each one does his duty, and then God decides. ” Aura brought out some sweets she had saved for him, the best the house had. But the boy, sadly impressed by his uncle’s phrase , “They’re lifting the siege,” had no desire to eat. Indignation and spite were upsetting him. He felt his patriotic love scorned, his cheerful hopes on the ground. “Lift the siege!” he exclaimed, banging the table with the handle of his knife when he and Aura were alone. “No, no: that can’t be.” If they retreat, we must go after them and grab them by the ear, cowards! And bring them back to the trenches… There… fire…! Didn’t you want a siege of Bilbao? Well, a siege of Bilbao… Stand firm… until not one of them remains… How infuriating! To retreat when we had barely begun to crush them!… What are you saying, Aura? Are you making fun of me? “I’m not making fun of me, no… I like to see you so fiery,” replied the maiden. ” But if you’ve already done enough, if you’ve behaved like a brave man, what do you want more glory for, fool? ” “I didn’t do anything,” declared the militiaman, suddenly rising, fierce, frowning. “Those pretty children are amazed at anything… Come on, I don’t want any more dinner. Don’t bring me any more food; I don’t want it… It makes me furious that they’re lifting the siege; and I’m so angry, I can’t swallow the food… It would hurt me; It would turn into poison for me. Save it for my brother Martín; he’ll come later, and he’ll be very happy if he knows what I know… I’m going to see what’s being said. I’m off until twelve o’clock; but I won’t rest until I know whether we’re going on or not. What do you think? “I think,” said Aura, “that they’re going to lift the siege. ” “Aura! ” “Hang on… they’re withdrawing to organize themselves better, and gather more people and more cannons and more bullets. When they have all that, they’ll return. They’ve decided to take Bilbao, and they’ll take it if you let them. ” “Me!… If I don’t let them!… Aura, don’t play… If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care much… but I love you… You’re very high, I’m very low. To get to you, there’s only a little path: it’s narrow and very steep, made up entirely of Carlist bodies; of living bodies, I mean, so living that they all throw their rifles at my face when they see me. ” Well, I have to step over all those bodies to get to the top… and to step on them and make them my steps, I have to kill them first… So you get the picture… Aura felt a current of intense cold along her spine. Gritting, she said: “They’re retreating… they’ll come back with more cannons, more rifles, more bullets… Poor Zoiluchu! ” “Don’t call me ‘poor!’… just out of pity. I’m not ‘poor!’… And why are you trembling? You’re cold… ” “Yesss… ” “Is it from fear? ” “Or else… I don’t know…” At that moment, a cannon shot resounded, making the house shake. The women screamed, and Sabino’s voice was heard saying that it was the firing from the battery they had set up in Uribarri. With a leap, Zoilo leaped to grab his rifle and dashed up the stairs like a whirlwind, unable to stop him. He ran down six steps at a time, shouting, “Long live Isabel!” and was already on the street when he finished, ” …Second!” They fired cannons all night, and although they continued harassing the square on the 27th , news spread hour by hour that they were lifting the siege, for no other reason, in the opinion of the Bilbao residents, than the vigorous punishment they received when they attempted to attack Mallona. On the 28th, their attacks having weakened, they began to withdraw some of the artillery they had armed against Banderas, and also from the Ollargan side. At dusk, the bells of San Agustín announced the withdrawal of a considerable enemy force. Bilbao gave way to demonstrations of jubilation; but the boys were not entirely sure. The poor girl Aura, wanting to offer her cousin something comforting, had made a prophecy. The strange thing was that Negretti thought the same, tersely assuring them that they would return. Valentín doubted it; Sabino declared that it would be what God wanted, and Martín, eager for rest and eager to exchange the warlike ardor for peaceful commercial struggle, prophesied according to his wishes: “The lesson has been hard, and it won’t be easy for them to return for another.” Since all the posts remained garrisoned, and the town services were uninterrupted, Zoilo didn’t seem at home; according to José María, he was working on the repairs of the Mallona, ​​Circo, and Iturribide forts, displaying a frenzied activity, his tireless arms resting day or night, impervious to rain and cold. A northwesterly wind had set in, capable of dampening the most ardent enthusiasm and numbing the most vigorous muscles . But the fledgling soldier didn’t mind the storm: his companions and the mercenary workers took turns; he took turns only with himself, and he would often say: “This is only natural, Sir. I do what I must, and I must do what I can. If I can do much, I know why. Hala!” One night, it must have been the 5th, he went to his house to move. Aura found him leaner, his gaze more penetrating and luminous, the curls on his forehead more playful, his face blackened, his hands like enormous steel tongs. He was the embodiment of physical strength, fueled by the inextinguishable internal furnace of moral energy; a formidable muscular machine driven by faith. “How right you were!” he said to his cousin, joyfully, sparks shooting from his black person eyes. “They’re coming back… Again, over Bilbao. Now… two dozen Algerians, bring them to me.” “You’ve insisted on it,” Aura said, smiling, looking into his eyes. ” Now you’re happy…” “Say yes… They came back because I wanted it, as I know how to love things. Everything you want strongly, you have, Aura. ” “Well, not everything. ” “I say yes.” He went into the room where his aunt had prepared a good washbasin and clean clothes for him, and when he came out with his hair damp, in stiff, coiled strands, similar to Medusa’s snakes, he was having difficulty buttoning his shirt collar because of the roughness of his fingers. “Aura, give me a hand here…” While his aunt and niece passed him the little buttons, he stood with his hips akimbo, looking up at the ceiling, and said: “Now we’ll see what my town is like… Father, don’t you know? It’s no longer Villarreal, the servile cattle, who rules, but the one-armed Eguía.” They tipped me off about Villarreal in the Encartaciones to not let Espartero pass… They’re all fools! “Son,” Sabino indicated, “let’s not judge… Whatever God decides, will be. We don’t know anything. ” “I do know one thing: that Espartero will pass over Villarreal, just as I pass over that mat; and that the Marquis of Casa Eguía will enter Bilbao in two months, on Three Kings’ Day… He’ll come like a Three Kings, riding on Churi’s donkey, wearing his little oilcloth-lined top hat. ” “Son, don’t joke about holy things or the events of war, which are subject to chance and a thousand eventualities… What do you want? I always wish for peace. I ask God all the time… ” “Peace?” “Well, I ask for war… I ask him for war… and you can see how he listens to me more than he does to you. ” “Son, don’t be crazy.” Let us not attempt to fathom the lofty designs… —Father—added the militiaman, now dressed, displaying his defeated uniform, still very gallant—, do you suppose you know what God said when He made the world? —Well, He said…, He said… Aura, what did He say? —Well, uncle, I think He said: “Let there be light.” —And there was light. _Amen_. —No, it’s not that… —continued Zoilo—. Later: more recently, when He made humanity. —God did not make all of humanity at once. Don’t be a heretic… God made the first man… —And the first woman, humanity was already barely formed. Well When God had formed humanity, he said: “Fire!…”, which means : “Let there be war.” They had dinner without Negretti, who, melancholy and ill, did not leave his room; Martín and Valentín were dining with their friends from Vildósola; Churi had gone fishing for his donkey… which had fallen into the sea in the waters of Ontón, as Zoilo jokingly said; José María was in the store with the two clerks preparing an order for shackles and rigging that the English Navy’s ships, Ringdowe and Saracen, had placed that afternoon. When dinner was over, Prudencia was called by Ildefonso, and Sabino fell asleep, resting his forehead on his pious prayer book. Aura and Zoilo were alone together, and she asked him: “Why are you so bellicose? Why did you decide to go to war?” —Who I want is you, you who are my war, and my Bilbao, and my _angelica Isabel_… Either I conquer you, or I die… Conquer, die! To say this, isn’t that the same as saying war?… Aura felt, as she had the night before, the intense cold running down her spine. —Are you shivering already? Women want peace: they are fearful… I love you; I like war, because it teaches us to win the impossible. A strong desire, with a lot of fire inside, and a will like well-beaten iron, conquers all… Don’t you think the same? —Yesss… —Then get ready. Will you do what I tell you? —Yesss… —Well then… I’m leaving, —said the gallant, looking at the corridor, at the end of which Prudencia’s voice could be heard speaking to the maid. —Until God wills. She said goodbye to her aunt; she waited for her to re-enter Ildefonso’s room . Alone again, by the stairs, Zoilo repeated, no longer questioningly, but affirmatively: “You’ll do as I tell you.” The young woman nodded. She wore a silk scarf, the ends of which she tied over her mouth, biting the knot. She felt very cold and completely faint, corresponding to a sudden exhaustion of her nervous strength. She grabbed the stair railing to keep from falling. “You’ll do as I tell you,” repeated Zoilo, who, having already gone down three steps, had his head level with her waist. “Well, first of all… come closer so I can tell you quietly… don’t trust Churi, he’s very bad… Don’t trust Aunt Prudencia too… ” “Oh! Not that… Prudencia loves me. ” “You, yes; but not me. She loves someone else more… I think I can feel her… Goodbye.” Chapter 24. Around November 8, Zoilo’s wishes were fulfilled, and he had the satisfaction of seeing numerous Carlist herds of troops coming up from Munguía on the heights of Archanda. They brought heavy cannons, which they placed in Santo Domingo, threatening Banderas. On the 9th, General Eguía marched along the lines, wearing his oilskin-lined top hat and long frock coat, his only spare hand tucked into his pocket. Everything indicated that they would attack the outer forts, without prejudice to attacking the interior of the fortress. And Espartero, no sign of it! The telegraph from Miravilla called him in vain, constantly waving flags and banners. From Portugalete, they responded in monotonous language: “We’re coming; wait a bit.” Bilbao waited with stoic fortitude, without yet reaching the supreme opportunity to exert all its energies. There was still a great deal of fanaticism for defense, courage, and self-respect, which doubled their strength with the salt and spice of joviality. In the house of Arratia itself, there was no news except the breaking of windows and the devastation of the attics, with a threat of fire that was fortunately cut short. In the family itself, there was no great news either, nor had any events occurred that had noticeably changed the life imposed on everyone by circumstances; but something was happening there that, although belonging to the dark order and without any heroic brilliance, does not deserve to be forgotten. The narrator says nothing. He lets Prudencia speak, who, taking her brother Valentín at the desk, where he was heatedly arguing with Vildósola about whether it was easy or difficult to take the fort of Banderas, he made him go up, and by the stairs he told him what is copied: “Stay away, brother, at least for a moment from these novelties of war and siege, and come to my aid, for God’s sake, for I am already beginning to fear, not only for my health, but for the life of Ildefonso. Have you noticed how he is? In fifteen days he has lost half his weight, two-thirds of his flesh, and all, absolutely all the joy of his spirit. What is this? Is it illness, is it sadness, is it a passion of soul?… Look at that languishing face; at those eyes that one moment seem dead, the next they flash; observe how when he stands up his whole body twists… and he leans against the walls to avoid collapsing, he who was once so upright, so strong, so lively, iron and gunpowder… No, no: Ildefonso is not well; Ildefonso cannot go on like this.” I want him to be seen by the best doctors in Bilbao; I want you to finish the place quickly so I can take him to France, to blessed France, far from these struggles, from these horrors… Valentín, for God’s sake, go into his room: not like other times, the entrance through the exit… accompany him, engage him in conversation, speak to him as you know how to do when you want, with grace… try to divert his understanding from the idea that is devouring him… I’ve exhausted my gift of the gab… I haven’t achieved anything; I can’t take it anymore. “Yes, I will… Poor Ildefonso! I didn’t like him yesterday… frankly… Does he still have no appetite? ” “Today he’s eaten nothing but a bit of breadcrumbs. He says he can’t stomach anything else… Breadcrumbs, and if they’re burnt, smelling of scorch, even better… Listen to what I thought: could it be the damned inventions his imagination is constantly immersed in that brought him to this state ?” “What are those plans he makes and undoes, and crosses out and erases, and repaints, with so many lines and tiny letters? Well, what about when he spends all night filling a sheet of paper with little numbers, and little numbers and little numbers keep coming up, so they look like flea legs… and he finishes a sheet and starts all over again?” “Woman, they’re calculations, drawings…, plans for some mechanical thing… I don’t know… I’ll go in right now. Leave me alone with him… Don’t you start bluffing. Women, talking too much, ruin everything .” Valentín entered Ildefonso’s room, and Ildefonso, without raising his eyes from the paper on which he was tracing lines and microscopic numbers, said to him: “It seems they want to take Banderas from you. What do you think? Will they get away with it ?” “You shouldn’t think so much about whether they take it or leave it, Ildefonso. We’ll take care of that, of disputing a single inch of land with them.” “Realize that you’re not in a besieged city, and if they fire, let them fire.” Negretti replied between sighs, suspending his work for a moment. He couldn’t escape the shocks and terror of the siege, because if Bilbao wasn’t his homeland, it belonged to his wife and her brothers, whom he regarded as brothers. Having committed the egregious blunder of serving Don Carlos as a mercenary industrialist and machinist, without understanding that he was thereby compromising his political neutrality, he found himself in a very sad moral situation, a guest of a people the Carlists were murdering with weapons manufactured by Ildefonso Negretti. He was condemned to unspeakable martyrdom , and every time a shot rang out, he felt the demons running from one side to the other in different parts of his body, but mainly in his head and heart. He had always had a great affection for Bilbao and admired the people of Bilbao for their honesty and hard work. They were the cream of the crop… And he had made the shells with which they burned them! No, he had no consolation. Thank goodness the incendiary shells were not his work, but that of the Frenchman they called _Tutorras_, and they were useless. He had already said so when they were being built. But the grenades and bombs… he knew them as daughters. He fathered them, alas!, to destroy rich and noble Bilbao… “Hey!… don’t go on, don’t go on,” said Valentín, throwing his arms around him . around his neck—Ildefonso, what’s your fault? We don’t hate you. Bilbao doesn’t wish you ill… Not one more word of war and siege. It’s time to forget. —That’s what I’m getting at, that’s what I want… to drown my sorrows by thinking, calculating. —But don’t get too deeply into the calculations, —his brother said affectionately, —it could be the remedy worse than the illness… And what is that?… May I ask? —You’ll remember that one afternoon, in Bermeo, watching a steamboat sail east, I told you… —Yes, I remember: that steam navigation, as it is today , has no future, especially in war… I always said that those paddles on the side are good for navigating rivers; but at sea, in rough weather, there’s no way to steer. The sea comes in rough, and the slightest damage to the paddles leaves the boat a buoy. If the wind makes it list over until it wets the mastheads, you’ve got the animal with one leg underwater and the other in the air. This is a fool’s errand. “The inconveniences of wheels on the side of a steamship, ” Negretti said with the coldness and conviction of a scientist, ” will be overcome when a new invention is applied, tests of which were carried out in France. I’ve witnessed them… It consists of replacing the two wheels with a single one. ” “Yes… a single wheel in the center, operating within a rectangular hatchway, open to the water. That’s extremely complicated… ” “A single wheel, Valentín, placed aft, perpendicular to the sternpost. ” “A vertical wheel, turning in the direction of the keel?” Valentín said, incredulity etched on his swarthy face. “And how do you move it? With levers, with connecting rods? How do you steer so that the transmission works underwater? ” “You don’t understand.” The problem is extremely simple, something like Columbus’s famous egg. Don’t you see how a boat, a barge, moves with a single oar in the stern? The lateral movement of that oar is enough to give the vessel a uniform forward motion, always moving forward in a straight line. —Yes… the sum of alternating lateral impulses, more like an angle, gives… —An angle, that’s it. Well, build an oar that produces those impulses in rotary succession… —An oar!… —Call it a wheel, since it boils down to a circular motion. —With blades that…? —This will work, Negretti said triumphantly, showing a drawing that looked to Valentín like a fireworks display. —Do you understand me? This is a propeller. Here’s the theory very well explained. Do you know the _Archimedes’ screw_? —I know the flour ones better. —Two helical segments rest on the shaft… —Look, look, don’t present the problem of the propeller, or the screw, to me in mathematical form. I’m too stupid to understand it that way. Explain it to me with examples. Negretti gave him vulgar explanations of the propeller as a propulsion system, adding that it wasn’t his own invention, but that of a Frenchman who hadn’t yet managed to put it into practice, due to the difficulties presented by routine and the envy of all grandiose innovation. —I’m studying it, and if God gives me life and the war ends, I’ll try to do an experiment here. I’ve modified the Frenchman’s theory, making the angle of the blades with the normal angle of the ship more acute; and as for the transmission, I’m launching into a new system, which I’m now calculating… —For the transmission to be practical, the engine has to be placed aft. —Oh, no. I’m launching into placing the engine in the center of the boat, on the main frame. —The ship has to be small. —I’m studying my project on an ideal ship, twice the size of the largest known today. —Let’s see how much? My Victoriana was two hundred and forty feet. The largest merchant ship I’ve ever seen didn’t exceed three hundred. —Well, my ship is four hundred feet long, —said Negretti with an enlightened expression. —And you place the shaft of your steam engine on the main frame? —asked Valentin, more attentive to the delirium painted in Negretti’s eyes. Ildefonso, to the mechanical problem—And to transmit the motion… what do you put in? A waterwheel chain, a set of knuckles, cogwheels , or what?… —No…, I’ll put in a steel shaft. —Which will necessarily be at least 180 feet: that shaft will rotate on its axis… —Connected to the propeller… you see how simple it is… At the other end, an eccentric will give it motion. —What diameter will that little shaft have? —A foot and a half… —And made of steel… all forged, naturally… Tell me something else: with such a chocolate pot, will your ship travel… at least, at least 10 miles. —Twenty miles, Valentín; 20 miles per hour! —Well, if you put it… put 100 miles, said the sailor, no longer hiding his mocking skepticism. —And another thing: does the propeller stay underwater? —Exactly. —And the tree is one hundred and eighty feet… and it’s made of steel… and the ship measures, between perpendiculars… —Four hundred feet… —Well, son…, let me know when all that’s ready, so I can go see it. And I ask you: what are we loading that ship with? We could fit a mountain inside it. —Exactly: a mountain… —muttered Negretti, getting absorbed in his work. The old sailor left the room so disheartened and gloomy that Prudencia didn’t have to ask his opinion of the unfortunate calculator. Valentin said to himself: “He’s a man overboard. Poor Ildefonso! His macho talent is finishing him off.” But not wanting to alarm his sister, he softened his opinion in this way: —I find him a bit off his rocker; and if on the one hand I see the cause of the disorder in this tragic siege, on the other it seems to me that the calculations, instead of being a remedy, have just finished him off. That’s not a bad idea the poor guy has in his head!… What things he has said to me; What inventions, daughter, the work of the devil himself!… Imagine a steel shaft one hundred and eighty feet long and a foot and a half in diameter…, placed like that, and the engine in the main frame!… Lost, daughter, lost… But if you cross him, it’s worse… Let him, let him invent monstrous ships, with propellers at the stern, and a speed of eighty miles per minute… I mean, per hour… Let him, let him… I’ll bring Don José Caño, who is the best doctor in town… And in the meantime, see to it that he eats…, you also invent a way to put cargo in that hold and provisions in that sump… Otherwise , your husband will die… or he’ll go crazy, which is worse… I’ll go back… ,
I’m going to see what’s going on… It’s been a while since any shots have been heard… Chapter 25. Prudencia listened to these appraisals, which did nothing more. which confirmed her pessimism, and communicating this to her niece, the two discussed the best way to distract the sick man and draw his mind away from both the gloomy rumination of the siege and the cursed mechanical calculations, capable of drying up the juiciest and most steadfast brain. Aura entered the room for a while and tried, with pleasant, cheerful conversation, to draw his thoughts to peaceful regions. Unfortunately, the situation of the besieged square, which in those November days worsened with new disasters and setbacks, did not favor the young woman’s wishes. The shooting was continuous; news of roofs collapsing or similar damage in different places arrived at every moment, and there was no way to hide the truth of so many misfortunes from Negretti . José María entered when least expected , with the sad certainty that the rebels had taken Fort Banderas, and that Capuchinos was also about to fall. Aura was close to crying out of grief and rage. “Let’s not attribute this to black people or whites,” Sabino said with unction, which in this case wasn’t very pertinent. “God is the one who decides everything . Neither they should be proud, nor we should be too afflicted. The Lord’s designs are above all… If he decides that we die, it will be because it is convenient for us.” The misfortunes did not end there, because the next day San Mamés surrendered , after a spirited defense, and the same fate befell the forts of Luchana and Burceña. “Neither we nor they have to decide it,” Sabino said to his son Martín, who entered, deeply dejected by the loss of almost the entire outer line, which had significantly weakened the defense. ” With a clear conscience, we will accept whatever results. ” “Well, I won’t accept it,” Valentín shouted furiously, swinging his fists. ” Forts or no forts, Bilbao will not surrender; Bilbao will perish, and let them come for the rubble of the houses and the bones of the neighbors.” Zoilo’s opinion was unknown because he didn’t contribute anything there; he continued fighting like a lion in the new battery of Cendeja. Martín, spiritually and physically enmeshed in the machine of general opinion, assured, like his uncle, that Bilbao would remain firm, always fighting, always glorious and great. The measured Arratia did not consider himself a hero; but he would know how to occupy the position assigned to him, whether it was dangerous or not, and he would blindly obey the orders of his superiors. No one surpassed him in the strict fulfillment of duty. In a new interview between Negretti and Valentín, Negretti told him: “I’m keeping a rough account of what the enemy is consuming. The flat-nosed bullets I made have fired about three hundred 24-pounders and eighty 36-pounders. My 14-inch bombs are running out… They’ll soon use others, which I hope are worse made than mine. They’ve consumed a lot of my 7- pounders… The 36-pounder and 24-pounder canisters don’t belong to me: I declare this to clear my conscience…” Valentín emerged from those talks with his brother more hopeless and pessimistic each time , and he immediately shared his impressions with Prudencia to see if the two of them could discuss a solution. “Imagine,” he said to him, “how deranged the man must be, that today, after noticing the bullets the _serviles_ are throwing at him, he has given me more explanations of his plans, maintaining that the ships will no longer be made of wood, but of iron… all of iron… just imagine. It is true that a metal hull floats as long as it is empty; but add to an iron vessel of four hundred feet a machine in proportion, and then that windmill he talks about, of one hundred and eighty feet… What things a deranged mind concocts! I did not want to contradict him, because Don José Caño recommends that we leave him in the full enjoyment of his chocolate pot, because if we hid the papers from him or burned them, he might have fits of rage… No, not that: the treatment, you know, is to feed him as much as possible; stow him well, even if it’s made of cornmeal, and prevent his genius from getting carried away… And when the siege is over, if we live, take him to France, where it may well be that the man will deploy his inventions with more skill. Spain is not a country for that: here we invent wars and tricks. Things of machinery, I always saw that they came from abroad…, from which I deduce that what is madness here, will not be so elsewhere. Neither inside nor outside Spain did the good woman see any remedy for her poor husband’s cerebral disorder, a victim, according to her, of his punctilious rectitude and delicacy… No, men must not have been so consummately honest. Proof of the disadvantages of excessive puritanism was Negretti, who had spent his life working, exploited by this one and that one, with very little benefit to himself, and a drain on his notorious energies. Thinking about this, Prudencia prepared to reassert within the marriage the authority that her husband had exercised until then. He, sometimes consulting with his own counsel, made decisions on his own, according to his rigid conscience. This could no longer be: Ildefonso was incapable of governing; she, therefore, assumed all powers, preparing to resolve any pending matter, even the most serious. Certainly, her resolutions would be less rigorous than Negretti’s, but more practical, always inspired by the good of all, and by the eternal laws of common sense. Prudencia considered this, because she found herself facing a very delicate domestic problem; and after much hesitation Between submitting it to Ildefonso’s opinion and judgment or resolving it himself, he decided on the latter approach, as more convenient and expeditious. He took upon himself the responsibility and the glory of the case. And that the problem was extremely delicate will be demonstrated simply by stating it. On November 2, one of the days between the second and third siege of valiant Bilbao, three couriers from Castile arrived, escorted by the Toro battalion and other reinforcements from Portugalete, under the command of Brigadier Don Miguel Araoz. He was received at Arratia’s house with several business letters, one for Ildefonso Negretti. Prudencia took it, and knowing the handwriting on the envelope, she kept it, intending not to deliver it to her husband while he was so pitifully affected. It was necessary to avoid headaches, and someone brought the letter, in the handwriting of the Lord of Mendizábal. It was not her intention to open it, as this would have violated her subordination to her master and lord; but time passed; Ildefonso did not improve; according to Valentín’s impressions and Don José Caño’s opinion, his illness was undeniable. He was, therefore, in no mood to occupy himself with anything. Prudencia was burning with curiosity to see the contents of the letter. What was the problem with opening it now? Ildefonso’s illness was the abdication of marital sovereignty, which in fact belonged to the woman. Her conscience strengthened by these considerations, she did what she had never done before: open a letter addressed to her husband. Her astonishment and disgust were great when she learned what Don Juan Álvarez had written to Ildefonso. What a joke the good man was getting at! That if Don Fernando Calpena came to ask for the girl’s hand in marriage, no obstacles were to be placed in his way, and that Aura’s immediate marriage to this Don Fernando was to be arranged… That he was a man of high standing, born to parents of the highest lineage… That he possessed a fair fortune, and would possess an even larger one in the future… and so on and so forth… “Exalted person!” Prudencia said to herself, putting the letter in the deepest recesses of a chest where it would remain without seeing the light of day for ever and ever. “So exalted that it disappears into thin air! If this gentleman loves the girl so much, why didn’t he come sooner?… Why is he keeping her in such a state of neglect?… What kind of love is this that doesn’t deign to come forward, or even to write? Under my own responsibility, as an honorable woman who looks out for her own, I allow myself to send Señor Don Juan _de las campanas_ packing and make all necessary arrangements for my niece’s happiness. God knows what bad habits this Don Fernando is up to, and what the reasons for his absence are!… No, no: here we don’t believe in witches, nor in high-ranking personages whose birthplace is unknown … Well, if with all this brazenness it turns out that Calpena is a loser, one of those who write in the papers, a freeloader, a scrounger!… No, no: under my responsibility, the order is obeyed, but it is not carried out. If Ildefonso decided to do so, he would surely add one more simpleton to the many he has committed in his life. Because he is such a strictist, he is as he is: poor and abandoned…». Having said this, he firmed his resolve, and his face so expressed the hardness of his character and his determination to pursue his objective without hesitation or affectation that his brow seemed more nebulous, his lower jaw longer, the wrinkles on his forehead deeper, and one might even believe he had grown a mustache. Without consulting Ildefonso or informing him of anything, since the man was in no mood to worry, he decided to quickly and skillfully direct events until he saw his golden dream realized. Oh, what an ideal! To marry Aurorita to Martín. If he achieved this, she would have done more for the good of the family than all the Arratias since the fifth generation. Understanding the need for collaborators, he thought he should communicate his plans to Sabino. Martín would undoubtedly have to be taken into account, having previously instructed him, since he was also of the same stock as The delicate, the rigid, the irreducible conscience… They would try to handle things straight, fostering affection and sympathy between the two people who were to be married. The most difficult thing was to convince the girl and cure her of that ridiculous deformation of her will: love for a fantastic, volatile, and erratic gallant, who was nowhere to be seen. But if Aurora sometimes sinned by being independent and unsociable, knowing how to manipulate her and take advantage of the whims of her imagination and the fainting spells of her nerves, it was easy to make her whatever one wanted. Go ahead, then, work with faith. In that family of workers, the brave worker of the arts pertaining to the soul was not to be left behind . Thus, while the Carlists, having taken the main positions of the outer line of defense, quietly built new barricades and parapets at night to position their artillery against poor Bilbao, Prudencia and Sabino, in parallel with the rebellion, began their siege work to storm the heart of Aura and establish their dominance there. “It is essential to act quickly,” the lady said to her brother, “and to reach the goal before the siege is over.” And when Sabino declared that in such a matter there was no need for haste that might amount to kidnapping, Prudencia’s nose swelled and she angrily replied: “You always remain calm, with your ‘we’ll see’ and your ‘tomorrow will be’… You can see the mess you’ve made with such a system. Leave it to me, for with Ildefonso’s breeches, wearing them better than he and all of you, I will know how to carry out this great idea.” She had been very careful not to tell her brother about the letter, afraid that Sabino would come out with his rigorism and a case of conscience. Another one like that! They were all so lost! She too had a conscience; but a practical conscience, and with her practical conscience she would arrange things so that when the little boy from Madrid came with his hands washed to ask for the girl, Prudencia could come out and say to him very politely, making herself known: “What girl, sir? You have been mistaken. Aurora Negretti is the wife of Don Martín de Arratia.” Chapter 26. The loss of the forts of Banderas, Capuchinos, San Mamés, Burceña, and Luchana did not discourage the people of Bilbao ; rather, rising to the challenge, they drew from their misfortunes new energy to defend themselves. Neither the garrison nor the militia nor the neighbors flinched. Each one maintained their composure, reinforcing it with joy, resulting in an irresistible collective force. November 17th was a painful day: the firing lasted seven hours, without interruption. The main objective of the rebels was to get their hands on what they believed to be the key to Bilbao: the convent of San Agustín, located between Arenal and Campo Volantín, at the foot of high hills and almost on the edge of the estuary. The companies from Toro, Trujillo, and Compostela performed heroically, supported by the militiamen. The walls of the convent crumbled, cracking under the enemy cannon fire, and, with several breaches opened between the collapsed or pulverized masonry, the enemy attempted an assault with force. A greater thrust of bayonets and valiant chests halted their onslaught. There, some of the combatants remained in tatters; But the stones of San Agustín remained under the power and insignia of Isabel II. On the 18th, a violent storm from the northwest struck, bringing wind and rain; the firing in San Agustín ceased, and the besieged occupied themselves with repairing the damage with sandbags. But in the center of town, and particularly in the Siete Calles, bombs fell, wreaking havoc on buildings and people. The house in Busturia in Artecalle threatened to collapse, and its inhabitants scattered among friends’ houses, with two women and a child ending up in the house in Arratia. In _Goienkale_, today Somera Street, almost all the residents had gone down to the cellars and basements. The bustle was extraordinary, mingling the cries of women with the songs of cheerful and spirited children. Food supplies were scarce, and the relative abundance of one family came to the aid of the other’s shortages, with admirable fraternity. Amidst such desolation, phrases of hope, fantasies of patriotism, flickers of the faith that never goes out, circulated. Espartero was already arriving in Portugalete with so many thousands of men, and it wouldn’t be long before he smashed the Carlist lines, crushed General Eguía’s rubber hat , and turned them all to dust… Bombs fell here and there; the clouds wept; the streets were mud, reeking of gunpowder. A sinister reddish light illuminated the town. The wind fanned the fire, spreading it, carrying it from one side to the other. From the cellars, the brave Bilbao men climbed to the roofs to put out the fires; they walked above like cats; Black people descended, smoked, and in the depths of the houses, refuge of the weak, they breathed the atmosphere of feverish bodies; in the streets they stepped on mud, blood in the batteries, and if they didn’t go mad on nights like that, it was because their brains were built to withstand madness, and fortified by a conviction harder than all the metals found in nature. With the house next to the Arratias’ threatened with fire, Prudencia arranged to move with Negretti to the home of her friend Antonio Cirilo de Vildósola, a currency exchange broker, in Portal de Zamudio. Aura and her friends from Busturia went to the house of Mr. Gaminde, already a well-known reader, a wealthy merchant who dealt in cod, wool, and other goods. During these comings and goings, there were dispersions. The men couldn’t be involved in everything, since, while attending to the moving and transfer of women, they had to abandon urgent work at the Cujas battery and at Cendeja. Prudencia, with the two ladies from Busturia, found Martín in Bidebarrieta, accompanying Ibarra’s wife and children; she stopped to tell him: “I don’t know if Aura has arrived at Don Francisco’s house. She was with Nicolás Ledesma, the organist, and Manuela Echavarri.” Martín reassured her, assuring her that he had seen her minutes before with the aforementioned people, and with his brother Zoilo. “Then there’s no need to worry. You’ll remember what I asked you to do,” Prudencia told him aside. “You’re going to dinner at Gaminde’s, and there Aura will be ready to tell her what you know… Try to be gallant, and leave aside the dullness. ” The young man observed that the occasion was not very appropriate for amorous expansions. He had already said something to her that morning at his house and at Vildósola’s, when they went to bring Uncle Ildefonso home, and the girl certainly hadn’t seemed very pleased with his hints, which were hints, for she didn’t dare to say anything else. “You’re a saint,” Prudencia told her, “and saints, in matters of love, have to give everything ready-made.” Ibarra’s conversation continued toward Perro Street; Prudencia went to the Portal de Zamudio; shortly afterward, Martín entered Gaminde’s house, composing in his mind a pathetic exposition of his pure affections to spill to his cousin without delay. Unfortunately, Aura had left with Don Francisco and the Orbegozo girls to seek their home, where they had just brought Juanito Orbegozo, of the 2nd Militia, one of Gandasegui’s boys, wounded. Martín had to give up continuing his loving battle that night because other obligations called him to the Mallona battery, where he was on duty. Along the way, he met José Blas de Arana, who gave him an account of the day’s casualties, adding with a pitiful tone: “If Espartero doesn’t hurry, it seems to me that we’ll have to leave the bones here. ” “If necessary; if Bilbao wants it,” said Martín, “we’ll leave them, and let my men go ahead, for they’re of little use. ” For in the midst of so many disasters, those men found the calm and humor to celebrate the Queen’s Day 19, marching through the streets in clamorous groups and cheering each other, troops and militiamen, as if they were on the eve of triumph. All afternoon Music was playing on the Circus drums, and the songs made many people’s throats hoarse. God did not let them die of sadness and despair, suggesting new hope to them every day. On the 26th, when the Desierto fort announced with a 21-gun salute that Espartero had entered Portugalete, the glorious town breathed in the lungs and smiling mouths of all its children, singing victory and mocking and ridiculing the terrible enemy. The enemy’s artillery fell silent, as if what the Desierto cannon announced struck fear into the enraged besieger. But their silence was the dull preparatory work for the furious attack they planned to launch the following day, the 27th. At dusk on the 26th, the Carlists rested in the firm belief that they were on the eve of the end. Only one more night separated them from the reward of their perseverance: the surrender of Bilbao. Aura went five days without seeing Zoilo, and three without hearing from Martín. The family was troubled, and Sabino did nothing but go from fort to fort, questioning everyone he met. Aura accompanied him on one of these excursions, without fear of danger, and finally, upon returning from the Circus, they learned that Martín was all right and had gone to Solocoeche. “Well, you’re calm now,” her uncle told her. “The boy lives, and you’re resurrected. With that impressionability that God has given you, you seemed dead from fear and grief. ” “But we shouldn’t rejoice yet, Uncle: we don’t know anything about Zoiluchu. ” “That’s true; I understand that he doesn’t appeal to you as much as Martín; but he’s also a son of God, and we should look out for him. Although he seems like a scoundrel, my Zoilo is worth a lot; few can beat him in bravery; he has his courage, and he knows how to carry the family name. But he will never equal his brother Martín, for he is one of those who enter the ring. You, nor anyone else, will be able to point out a single good quality he doesn’t possess. Aura said nothing, and, feeling the urgent need to practice within a sacred precinct the devotions with which he daily nourished his faith, Sabino suggested to the young woman that they enter the first church they found open. Fortunately, the Lord was manifest in the Chapel of Mercy, and there they went, both spending about half an hour in prayer and meditation. Aura sat down; Sabino remained on his knees for a very long time. “I have asked the Lord for two things,” he said to his niece, finally sitting next to her, his mouth still full of syllables of prayer. ” First, that He preserve the life of the little one as He has preserved that of his brother, and that likewise, they and we arrive alive and well at the end of the siege, whatever solution His Divine Majesty gives him. Second, that He grant me the fulfillment of a most holy wish that inspires me, concerning Martín and you… ” Aura did not complain. A sudden urge to pray seized her, and she knelt down , somewhat disconcerting the good Sabino. But the latter wasn’t discouraged by such a small gesture; standing with his hands crossed, he also offered a long prayer in a low voice; and shortly after, when they were ready to speak , he returned to the attack. “I understand that shyness, modesty, the timidity of a pure maiden, prevent you from expressing your feelings… but you love my son, don’t you? You recognize in Martín the only practical husband you deserve… don’t you?… Confess it to me, tell me here before the Blessed Sacrament. ” “What do you want me to say?” Aura murmured with a pained expression. “That Martín’s qualities are very good… unique. ” “I already know that… tell me the other thing; tell me that you appreciate those qualities, and that you want to make a beautiful bouquet of them with yours and his…” She couldn’t quite make out the picture. The beautiful maiden rescued him from his rhetorical difficulties by declaring that she did not want to hear of marriage with Martin or anyone else, because she was determined to marry only… She did not finish. Sabino took the word from her mouth to put his own: “He who lives in dreams, my daughter, dies dreaming. You will think about it… You were not born to dress images, but to be dressed in… Congratulations. Martín has no shortage of matches; but he loves you… Have compassion, for she is the mother of affection, and this is the father of love… You’d better be practical, like all of us; you’d better not dwell so much on the past, because he who looks back too much, stays behind… and he who lives among ghosts becomes a ghost… or a pillar of salt, like the other one… I don’t remember her name… Anyway , I won’t tell you any more, because here come Doña María Epalza and Juanita. Two ladies, mother and daughter, who were finishing their lengthy prayers, joined them, and good old Sabino gave them all holy water with his icy fingers. They pecked for a while at the door about the disasters of the siege and the shortage of provisions. There was no more meat, not even salted meat. “If that general doesn’t come soon,” said the older lady, “poor Bilbao!… But they want us all to perish, shouting ‘Long live Isabella II!’ and here we women are, too, ready to carry out the program. ” “It will be, my ladies,” Sabino declared fervently, throwing on his cloak, ” whatever the one above decides, who dictates the programs. What are we to do but obey divine will? ” “And divine will,” affirmed the younger lady, a very pretty young widow, ” orders that Bilbao perish rather than surrender. ” “No, daughter: let it neither surrender nor perish… because perishing is no fun. We must bring up the child, our angelic queen… Don’t you think the same, Sabino? ” “Madam, I think… ” The well-known saying “he who sleeps with children” was already on the tip of his tongue , but he refrained from saying it, out of scruples of language and respect for the ladies. The widow suggested that since they weren’t shooting that day, they could take a step at a time toward Cendeja to see everything our men had done there, the magnificent, imposing defenses where the rebels’ courage would be shattered. The old lady hesitated; Sabino expressed apprehension about walking in such places; but the girls showed such determined and enthusiastic curiosity that they went all the way down Ascao Street and Esperanza Street, until at the end of the latter, their path was impeded by the unevenness of the unpaved road, the puddles and mud, the piles of rubble. Over a plank back reinforced with faggots, they saw a disheveled head sticking out; the head of a very handsome, joyful devil, calling out in a loud voice. It was Zoilo. Aura was the first to see him. “Uncle Sabino, look where that rascal is!” The priest ran, and the ladies ran. Stretching his head as far above the plank as he could, the militiaman said to them, “Aura, Father, have you seen the sign we’ve put up on the outside of the battery for them to see? ” “Yes, we know,” Aura said, looking at him joyfully. ” A skull with two shins, painted on a black person. ” “And a sign that says: Transition to Death,” or what is the same: anyone who comes to take this barricade dies, and those of us who defend it will stay here until they kill us. ” “Good, son, good: we haven’t seen the sign, but we imagine how pretty it will be. God grant you well. We didn’t know about you. ” “Hey, Zoilo,” said the old lady, “is Luisito Bringas, my niece’s son , here, you know? ” “Luis, the Indian’s son? Yes, ma’am. He’s here nearby, at Las Cujas. He and I ate together a little while ago.” —Tell him that his mother was very sorry that he asked to come here, where there is so much danger, and that all he does is cry. —That one is one of the reckless, crazy ones, like my son, — observed Sabino. —God takes care of them. —Bravo, Luchu! — exclaimed Aura. —How long have you been here? —I’ve been here for two days now. I don’t go out, in case they take my job. —Why didn’t you tell home, son? We were worried. Your cousin and I are coming from the Circus and Mallona, ​​where we asked for you. Tell me, aren’t you afraid? —Yes, sir: I have one fear, just one. I fear that those cowards, after gasping so much, won’t attack us tomorrow as they say. —Transit to death! —repeated Aura with admiration, feeling no see the gloomy sign. “But they won’t die… That’s what they say… ” “And it’s done.” “Let ’s go, let’s go…” said Sabino. “This is no place for ladies. Zoilo, in case you don’t know, José María and I slept at Melquiades Echevarri’s house. Let’s go, lest… ” “If they don’t shoot now!” They’re praying the rosary. When Sabino tenderly said goodbye to his son, tears began to flow , and Aura, seeing him cry, cried too. “Oh, what sons these are!” the older lady sighed. “What they’re inventing! _Transition to death_! ” “It’s something from those in Trujillo, from those in Compostela,” the little widow indicated. “And these, the Nationalists. They’re all the same. ” “Blood of boys, hearts of men!” And Doña María Epalza, with a sudden burst of activity unbecoming of her age and obesity, stood to attention and, raising her arms with convulsive frenzy toward the board from which several heads were sticking out, shouted: “Yes, cubs of my land. Long live Bilbao, long live Isabel II!” They moved away, stepping on mud, rubble, splinters… distant rifle shots could be heard; from the side of the San Agustín ravine came a black cloud of smoke, the smell of gunpowder… Aura looked back as far as the convent of La Esperanza to see the gestures Zoilo was making, stretching half his body out of the back of the boards. The older lady, clutching Sabino’s cape, said to him: “Oh, I’m sick; I was overcome with joy and enthusiasm at seeing the tenacity of those big boys!… It can’t be helped… it’s in the Bilbao blood… And the youngest lady completed the thought with this phrase: “Bilbao is dying, but it won’t surrender. ” “So be it,” said Sabino. “And above all, God’s will… For now, Señora Doña María, today we have beans at twenty-six cuartos, and cod at seven reales… But they say it doesn’t matter… We are nothing; the people are everything, the people say: “Die before surrender.” Doña María, who was barely able to move after the effort she made to gird herself up and let out the furious cheers, modified her concept: “Die, perhaps; surrender, never.” Chapter 27. The morning of the 27th was flattering. The belief spread throughout the town that… that Espartero was heading for Castrejana, and if he managed to force the bridge and cross to the right bank of the Cadagua, the besiegers would be compromised. Valentín Arratia, who retained his excellent seafaring vision, climbed the Miravilla tower and, keeping an eye on good telescopes, made out the Isabelline battalions marching through the Baracaldo valley. In Bidebarrieta and Arenal, the patriots were spreading the good news from group to group. “For me,” said Valentín Arratia, “it won’t be long before we have Don Baldomero here. I’ve seen the queen’s troops just as I see you, marching in columns toward the bridge. ” “What will happen, we don’t know; but it’s obvious they’re beating each other up pretty good,” said Antonio Cirilo de Vildósola. “Whatever it is, it’ll sound. ” “It’s already sounding!” “We heard a terrible shooting,” said Don Francisco Bringas, a wealthy Indian, an exalted liberal, and the town’s foremost optimist. “I’ll bet anything they want that they’ll lift the siege this afternoon… check!” “Say you’re inviting us, Don Francisco, and we’ll all agree. ” “Well, I’m leaving, check!” “I still have two dozen bottles of Baquio’s chacolí left. ” “Not as much as this afternoon, I won’t say they’ll spare our lives,” Arratia indicated; “but tomorrow morning… Here comes our friend Arana. He’s coming from the Provincial Council, where they’ll have arrived fat and good. ” “José Blas, what do you know? ” “I only know that I know nothing, as the other one said. ” “You’re keeping quiet, so as not to invite us.” This José Blas de Arana, one of the most exalted leaders of the defense, was a dealer in tallow, barreled sardines, oyster mushrooms, and other similar items. In his down-to-earth modesty, he allowed his friends to call him _Borra_, and he exacted this acquiescence by applying nicknames to his fellow citizens. —Shall I invite you?… To what? With grapeshot, if you will. However, if it is confirmed that _they generously renounce Leonorita’s hand_, as Guzmán says in La Pata, I’ll offer. I have a codfish meal and up to half a hundred moldy biscuits. Tomás Epalza approached, a wealthy man by his own means, a banker, like those before him, belonging to the Armament Board. He was a jovial man, content on all occasions and circumstances, with a blind faith in Bilbao’s resistance , ready to give everything he had if the complete crushing of the Pretension depended on it. “These people think of nothing but food,” he said laughing. “Well, that’s it… It seems Espartero is coming and bringing us wheat bread. ” “And if he doesn’t bring it or it gets lost on the way,” Arana pointed out, “here are the rich people of Bilbao, the richest of them, ready to eat cornbread and stewed cat until Saint John lowers his finger.” —The rich of Bilbao—affirmed the Indian Bringas with the boastfulness of a good shadow that did not offend—have their money to spend on defense, control!, and on their table there is always a plate for all the _Borras_, who do not surrender to the _yoke of servility_. You know…, on Ferro Street you have the table set… Have you eaten all the tallow candles yet?… Well, at home there is everything, for example, cocoa beans and nuts… So that we know, what is the story? —That tired of obtaining victories—said Vildósola, who was becoming too serious to joke—, they are going to lay siege to the Rock of Orduña, where the hidden treasure is. The Indian expressed his joy by scratching his under-beard, with a bang or cheek of gray hair, and kicking his feet to keep warm. “Comrade,” Epalza told him, “if you feel like dancing the aurrescu, here comes Ostolaza, who desires nothing else, to celebrate Espartero’s arrival.” The man called Ostolaza was one of the most ardent patricians, a merchant in the Seven Streets, so fond of the Basque dance that he never missed an opportunity to start it for any reason that stirred his patriotic spirit. Before he could speak, terrible cannon shots rang out. “Ostolaza, there you have them,” they said. “Didn’t you want the aurrescu? Don Nazario wants to dance it with you. ” “Beautiful music, comrades,” the dancer replied joyfully, rubbing his hands together. “I know why they’re pulling… It’s fear; they’re completely scared , and they think that by pulling they’re tricking us, so that we won’t make a sortie.” “If our friend Espartero attacks you this afternoon, gentlemen,” said Bringas, “and we arrange a graceful exit here, not a single rat will escape. ” Don Juan Durán, the brave colonel from Trujillo, who was coming from Governor San Miguel’s house, approached the group and said: “Nothing, nothing: this is clear. They want to waste their ammunition to do us as much damage as possible before withdrawing. ” “Is Don Baldomero in Castrejana? ” “And charging hard, it seems. ” “We’ll soon find out. Gentlemen, whoever has it will eat the stew . ” “I have it for everyone,” said Bringas, “with superior cecina, I check! ” “Come on, gentlemen, let’s eat. Each to his own breadcrumb… At three, together. ” “And at four, _aurrescu_.” “And at five, hugs… Espartero!… Up Bilbao!” Dispersing, Valentín headed in the direction of San Nicolás, where he had to leave an order from the War Commission, and he hadn’t gone twenty steps when he saw Churi coming with others running at full speed. At the same instant, a sharp burst of gunfire rang out toward San Agustín. Approaching his father, the deaf man, with a terrified expression, speaking more with gestures than words, said: “In San Agustín, they…, I saw… A lot of fire… They came in from below … Run; see them on a high floor… fire. ” Others coming from there were saying the same thing with different expressions. The news spread with electric speed… Valentín stood behind San Nicolás, hesitant… Curiosity and patriotism drove him toward San Agustín; fear made him retreat. Almost without realizing it, he was dragged by a crowd of countrymen and nationalists who were running toward Cendeja. Among them, he saw Churi, and taking him by the arm, he led him with him. “Don’t leave me… We’re going to the fire.” If you need people, I’ll take them here. A deaf man and a lame man: I have no more. The Carlists had secretly dug an excavation, through which they penetrated the convent’s sewer; from there they climbed to the main floor, dominating the gatehouse and lower cloisters. The troops garrisoning the building were surprised and defended themselves gallantly within the walls, in the lower bays, and were forced to retreat in the face of the overwhelming superiority of the enemy positions. A battle broke out contesting the passage to the sacristy. Once the rebels won, another action was undertaken for the passage from the sacristy to the church. Trujillo’s brave men had to retreat, leaving half a company prisoner. They still tried desperately to defend the passage to the choir stall, and from there to the next house called Menchaca; but they succumbed to sheer numbers. In that series of brief, terrible actions within a labyrinth formed by ruined walls and half-destroyed embankments, each taking advantage of an angle, a gap, or a step, they instinctively developed the same strategic principles as on a large battlefield, where there are rivers, hills, defiles, and other features. A terrifying miniature! Everything that diminished the size of the scene increased the horror of the tragedy; and the combatants were larger the smaller the field of their fierce struggle. At last, the Carlists remained in control of the building and the nearby house; from their high windows, they dominated the batteries that had once been the second line of defense, and were now the first line. On the front of these, they could read the gloomy inscription: _Transition to Death_. When Valentín and _Churi_ reached Calle de la Esperanza, the firing was horrific. The Carlist batteries bombarded incessantly. Considering the space between San Agustín and Arenal as the key to the fortress, the besieger had only to extend his hand, extend his foot to cross that small space, a very easy task indeed if the Bilbao heart weren’t there. And it rushed to block the passage with as much speed as bravery. All the military leaders came forward, all the nationalists who weren’t needed elsewhere, the peasants who were ready to take up arms. A lot of flesh was needed to close that breach. There the Bilbao people were playing for the fate of their beloved city: one more step by the rebels, and Bilbao would belong to them. The formidable duel lasted all afternoon: one of the first wounded was the governor of the fortress, Don Santos San Miguel; shortly after, Brigadier Araoz also fell : neither of them had serious injuries; but they were useless. It was urgent to choose another commander of the defense. The Permanent War Commission met in San Nicolás and appointed Brigadier Arechavala, who commanded in Larrinaga. Valentín Arratia went to find him, eager to be useful, since he didn’t believe himself fit for combat, as he didn’t know how to handle any weapon. Mechanically, without realizing what he was doing, he handed Churi the rifle and cartridges he’d been given moments before and ran off toward Larrinaga. As soon as the deaf man saw himself armed and equipped for war, he ran to where the Nationalists and troops were firing most ardently. He was shooting too; his aim wasn’t bad. From the cannonade and the roar of combat, he heard nothing but a bellow and deep tremors; but what did it matter to him? In a moment, he’d used up the cartridges his father had left him and asked for more, and they gave them to him, and he fired without ceasing, to the keening delight of his rough, solitary soul. He would have liked to possess a weapon that could fire countless bullets with a single shot, killing many at once, not caring much if, when the rebels fell, some of those from here fell as well. He valued human lives little, and since he was not happy, nor could he be for lacking a precious sense, unhappiness spread throughout the world, and death reigned where life should flourish. He was absolutely ignorant of the fundamental reason for the war, and had not been able to discern the reason why the cause of an Isabella was better than that of a Charles. He participated, though without realizing it, in The fierce stubbornness of Bilbao. Defend oneself at all costs! This was a cause, a reason, a banner. Valentín ran to fulfill his mission, as a member of the Junta, and on Ronda Street he met José María, who was coming from the hospital with a convoy of stretchers, carried by old men from the Hospice and some women. “Run, son, run, all this will be sorely needed… It’s not a bad downpour over there! But before stretchers, we’ll need good shooters… Before thinking about the wounded, let’s think about killing… Listen, listen. If they don’t give you a rifle, help carry the water… Take all the women from the neighborhood… and take the ladies… let them work _at a time_ . There are buckets in San Nicolás… Bilbao will perish today, if we don’t give it our all…” They set off in the opposite direction. On his way back from Larrinaga, passing through Ascao Street, a crowd of women, both from the town and the manor, sheltered in shops and doorways, wanted to stop him with their clamor and anxious questions. “Is it true they’re also attacking at the Circus? And what do you know about Cendeja, Valentín? Are there many wounded? What a horrible day! Will it end soon? Will they get in? If they don’t get in!” From a group of young ladies and girls from the town, in delightful confusion, he saw Aura emerge, pale, her hair disheveled, her eyes flashing. “Uncle Valentín, are Zoilo and his brother there? Do you know anything about them? ” “My child, this isn’t the time to give news… nor can I delay… We don’t know how this will end. Things are getting tight. ” “Will they get in? But will they get in? ” “Who? They?” Never!… Standing up in the middle of the street, he let out the hoarsest register of his voice to shout: “Long live Isabel II, long live Liberty! And know that where Bilbao is, there is Spanish bravery!” The exclamations that responded to these shouts thundered through the street. “Girls, women, ladies, be brave… Don’t let the men see you as cowards… If you are brave, the _chimbo_ won’t fall, what will it fall!… Cheer up, and let them hear you laugh from over there, not cry… not cry. Today we don’t cry here… And if they order you to carry buckets of water to cool the cannons… haul them in, _like an ant_!” The displays he had to make while shouting the cheers intensified his chronic pain, and he limped away, but no less hurriedly, although his old injury to the starboard quarter bothered him horribly . The choir could be heard throughout the street, with a variety of voices, singing the lively verses of the hymn composed in those days by the militiamen Zearrote and Casales: ” Among ruins, brave Bilbao natives, you gird your brows with laurel, and in the martial roar only liberty and long live Isabel can be heard.” Soldiers from Trujillo and Toro, and some companies of Nationalists, defended La Cendeja, the key to Arenal and Bilbao, with a tenacity exemplified only by the epic battles of Zaragoza and Gerona . Determined that the masters of the San Agustín position would not take a step outside, they swore to make with their flesh and bones a gate that the besieger would not open without first disposing of the lives within. Such firm will, such great fortitude, produced stupendous individual and collective feats and pitiful deaths throughout the afternoon . Every moment the number of heroic Bilbaoans was painfully diminishing. Rather than resigning the living to certain death, they devised a plan that would allow them to fortify their positions and redouble their efforts. To prevent the Carlists from harassing them with such terrible persistence in the formidable positions they had conquered, it was necessary to provide them with something other than cannon and rifle fire. Some combatants from Cendeja thought that if they managed to set fire to San Agustín and Menchaca’s house, the enemy would have enough to do to put it out. This idea gradually took shape in the hot-headed people there, and finally took shape as an effective resolution in their minds. main one, in the head of the defense, Brigadier Don Miguel de Arechavala. He proposed it in the crude manner typical of the difficult case: “Boys, do you dare set fire to the convent?” They answered yes. And the leader of the Nationalists, Don Antonio de Arana, shouted: “The enemy wants to smoke: is there anyone who dares to carry a candle to him?” The only sound was “Me, me, me!” Chapter 28. They said it very quickly; but once it was said, there was no choice but to execute it. José María Arratia, who had been firing incessantly, attached to the Safeguard Hunters, was one of the first to bring a quantity of straw in bundles from San Nicolás; others carried mattresses, tar, and pitch. They already had the candle. Who was the handsome man who approached the enemy to offer it? Nationalist Lieutenant Don Luciano Celaya gave an example of foolhardy daring, heading for the door of Menchaca’s house with a mattress under one arm, like someone carrying a book, and a lit torch in the other. The Carlists opened the door and closed it again in dismay; meanwhile, two guards and a young Nationalist boy climbed piles of rubble to reach a window and threw burning straw inside the building. The Nationalist, who was none other than Zoilo Arratia, hung on even higher, barefoot, and, despising the hail of bullets, shoved in wherever he could, stumbling across the pit of burning sulfur. These were extended to him by others no less daring, though not as agile in their climbing skills, holding on with one hand and carrying the fire in the other. Two more climbed after Zoilo : one fell halfway up, injuring a leg; The other, clinging to a railing, fell dead from a shot fired at point-blank range. Meanwhile, two more climbed up through the crack of Menchaca’s house. They carried cans of tar, bundles of straw , and fuses of gunpowder. Fortunately, Zoilo managed to reach the roof, and lying belly down on the eaves, he managed to grab the combustible materials from his comrades’ hands and throw them through a half-destroyed attic. All this with such speed and skill that when the Carlists arrived, he was already lowering himself down a gutter. He couldn’t make the full descent because the rusty tin fell off, and with it the spirited boy came down. Fortunately, all the damage done was to his clothes, and the blood oozing from one foot was from a minor scratch. The attempt to set fire was repeated with incredible courage, resulting in the loss of many people. Half of the arsonists remained behind, either on the way there or on the way back; the enemy rifle fire was horrendous, supported by the cannon from the Albia, Campo Volantín, and Uribarri forts. At nightfall, the Cendeja bastion was so crowded with dead and wounded that it was no longer possible to withdraw, nor was there anyone to do so. The living continued to fight in that paroxysm of rage that leaves no room for weakness or time for reflection, and the convent and the adjacent house burned like hell. The objective was achieved: the rebels had one more enemy inside , favored by a furious northwest wind, which had become a supporter of Isabel II. It stemmed the burning of the Carlists and saved Bilbao. When night fell, the heroes of Cendeja, no longer harassed by the rebels’ rifle fire, were able to collect their wounded and remove the dead. But no one rested that night, because the whole night was spent repairing the damage to the bastion, reinforcing the break in the first line from Quintana to Cendeja, and establishing two more lines of _caballos de frisa_. In addition, the battery was thickened on the side facing the Albia cannon; the battlements on the quayside were given greater strength; and, finally, the houses on Esperanza Street were prepared to be set on fire in case of serious difficulty. All the residents who were not under arms helped in this operation. If the enemy managed to conquer the remaining area of ​​land in successive battles, Between San Agustín and La Cendeja, he would find himself facing an immense barricade of fire, which would later become one of rubble. The tenacious Bilbao native, determined to defend the precincts of his sacred city at all costs, would seize a house and smash it into the fierce besieger’s face; and if one wasn’t enough, two, three, and more would follow. Fire and stone at them! Churi wandered inconsolably around the outskirts of San Nicolás, watching the incessant bustle of those coming and going with tools, sacks of wool, and other military engineering material. They had taken his rifle to give it to a more useful combatant; sometimes they ordered him to do things he understood backwards, and finally, they ordered him to leave, for there he was nothing more than a hindrance. Prompted by José María, who found him sitting on a doorstep with his head resting in his hands, _listening to himself_, he helped transport the wounded, and from ten at night until dawn he carried stretchers, with no more rest than the one he took at San Antón to eat a little bread and raw cod. His father also joined the medical service, rivaling in activity with illustrious estates and wealthy merchants. At the hospital, Sabino Arratia cared for the wounded with heartfelt love and compassion, and consoled the dying, assuring them that the gates of heaven were wide open to them, and that there they would find eternal reward for having fulfilled their duty. —There, say what you will, there is no distinction between absolutists and liberals, and God looks upon them all as children, without noticing whether they fight for these or other causes. These matters of causes and rights are a matter for men, with a little bit of Satan’s manipulation. Having said that, he went for the Viaticum, which for most was now the only medicine. There was also a primary care hospital in Santa Monica, with charitable assistance from ladies and women, without distinction of class. Shortly before dawn, Prudencia Arratia approached the door, wearing a shawl, accompanied by the maid, who was carrying a basket on her arm as if she were going shopping. She needed to procure meat, even the worst kind, to give Ildefonso some substance, for the good man was completely out of his mind. He left Vildósola’s house, and before heading to Belosticalle, where he hoped to find goat and at least a couple of eggs, he stopped by Santa Monica to see his niece, who there, among the noble women and the commoners, was caring for the wounded. The good lady, fearful of being forced, against her will, to act as a nurse, waited for someone she knew to arrive and put her in touch with Aura. She had her sick man at home, seriously injured, and of the brain, which is an injury worse than any loss of a leg or arm, and by taking good care of him she was doing her part both with God and with Bilbao. Doña María Epalza and the widow arrived at this point, and Prudencia used them to convey to the girl the good news that Martín was well and healthy. “Would you be so kind as to tell him as soon as you see him, Señora Doña María… the poor thing will be dying of anxiety… It was no mean miracle that the boy escaped in the midst of that horrible fire. Providence, madam. God protects the good. ” “Well, Fernando Cotoner was very good,” the widow said promptly, arching her eyebrows and pursing her mouth, “and he is here whether he lives or dies.” The three finally agreed that they should refrain from blaming the deity for such things, and instead feel the misfortunes and rejoice in the good fortunes, thanking God for them without getting involved in any further schemes. When Prudencia hinted at the purpose of her outing, the old lady told her not to tire herself out looking for eggs, because she would hardly find any. The day before, she had bought the last ones at Gorriti’s house on Ronda Street, at the exorbitant price of twenty reales for half a dozen. With a gesture of resignation, they said goodbye, and Doña María Epalza and her daughter entered Santa Mónica. The widow soon ran into Aura in the middle of the commotion and told her the good news, marveling that she did not receive them with as much jubilation as she had expected. The two of them went to the kitchen to get bowls of soup for the wounded, which they collected from the illustrious cooks, Mrs. Orbegozo, Mrs. Arana, and Mrs. Mac Mahón. The poor nurses also had to look after their lives; and once they had fulfilled their duty, they went to a corner of the kitchen to have a little soup. “You know?” the widow, who was very bright and somewhat malicious, said to her friend. “Last night we stayed at my uncle and aunt Arana’s house. Antonio Arana arrived this morning, you know, the commander of the Militia, and he told us about the heroic deeds of your cousin… I think it was Martín; but I’m not sure.” He carried the first fire to Menchaca’s house and the convent, and all afternoon he was number one in danger… in short, he has been the astonishment of everyone… “I knew none of that,” Aura said, feeling proud, and pride must have been the ardor that burst onto her face. “Now I hear of it for the first time; but if any of my cousins ​​has done anything brave, believe me it isn’t Martín, but his brother. ” “The little one? ” “Little one? He’s a man like few others, with a heart so big it’s almost frightening. You won’t find anyone as brave, or one who knows, as he does, how to put his whole soul into what honor and duty command. ” “And he’s handsome, more handsome than Martín. ” “Come on, let’s go, we’re needed.” All day Aura thought about what the widow told her; And as news of her cousin’s exploits reached her through various channels , she felt very pleased with the honor the family was receiving , and she longed to see the hero to congratulate him. That night, when Sabino came to pick her up to take her with the young ladies of Gaminde to his house, they talked about the same thing. The father was drooling as he repeated the praises that were being heaped throughout the town on the boy’s unheard-of courage. “He has behaved like a brave man, and has raised the name of Arratia to the stars. They say they are going to propose him for the Cross of San Fernando, and it may also be that suddenly and unexpectedly they will make me a lieutenant or a captain. I would regret this… because, as he is, with such a fiery temper, he could take a liking to the military… and the military is not my devotion.” I’m for civil matters, for commercial matters, for peaceful matters… At Gaminde’s house, they told how that morning, after the brave response the town gave to the summons of the Carlist General Eguía, Arana and other militia leaders gathered at the Correo café and invited Zoilo, who was passing by. They spent a long time toasting and singing couplets, and cheering Bilbao and its freedom. One improvised speeches, the other new verses of the national anthem. In a fit of joy, Zoilo let out his toast, in which his ingenuity and humorous bravado sounded like military eloquence: “He wasn’t brave but stubborn… They didn’t kill him because he was dying to live… Everything a man wants, he achieves when there is a firm will, which is not bent or twisted by anything…” The Carlists would not enter Bilbao; There remained in the town many stones, much fire, the balls of the trinquets, the fists of the men… and the hearts of the women, from where all the strength came… Arana was so enthusiastic upon hearing these ardent phrases that, after embracing him, he gave him a magnificent pistol that he carried in his belt. A very old gentleman from Bilbao, Don Calixto Ansótegui, a veteran of the War of Roussillon, approached Zoilo and, holding him in his arms, kissed him on the head and said: “In the name of my people, I kiss you and bless you.” These and other scenes and events of that day awakened in Aura’s mind ideas of war, of military greatness, and the entire night she spent dreaming, between sleep and wakefulness, of legendary heroes and marvelous deeds. Those he had known as humble people grew up at his side, and were already great captains, leaders, kings… what a delirium! And Bilbao was the sacred, intangible town, thanks to the courage of its children, who defended it and illustrated it with their exploits. then make him rich and prosperous among all the peoples of the earth. She laughed with tears thinking about this, and wished to live to witness such greatness. And when Zoilo told her about his acts of heroism, she would hide her admiration, and act indifferent, for it was neither discreet nor decorous to see her so enthusiastic… What would she say, what would she think!… Chapter 29. Emboldened by the easy conquest of San Agustín, which although it turned out to be a burnt stew, a conquest it was, the rebels undertook the assault on La Concepción, a convent designated as a barracks on the other side of the river. After they had their fill of bombarding it with the Mena and Santa Clara batteries, and when they had already reduced the weak walls of that building to dust, they assaulted it with courage. The Bilbao residents, with no more support than that provided by the cannon located in the tower of San Francisco and the rifle fire of La Merced, bravely resisted them with bayonets. The Carlists left seventy dead there and more than a hundred wounded, some of whom were able to withdraw. This fortunate event, which lifted spirits, coincided with the fortunate report transmitted from Portugalete to Miravilla by optical telegraph, which read: “Let Bilbao continue to defend itself. It will soon be rescued.” In the defense of La Concepción, Martín was slightly wounded in the left arm. Nothing extraordinary was reported of him: he was a strict performer of duty, never exceeding his authority. The wound was of no importance; he was almost ashamed to speak of it, refractory on every occasion to displays of bravery. He refused to have his treatment treated in the hospital, where more serious cases had to be treated, and went to Vildósola’s house, seeking the assistance of Negretti and Prudencia. The latter immediately sent for Aura, and upon seeing her enter, said: “We have to do something. Martín is wounded; And although it doesn’t seem like a very serious matter, I fear it could get complicated, since it’s related to his heart… There he is, so pale and sad it’s pitiful to see him. Immediately the two of them proceeded to treat him with great care, and he, having recovered his serenity and good humor, joked with Aura, allowing himself to praise her beauty, and concluding with the exquisite gallantry that he considered himself fortunate in that damage so that such hands could be employed in curing him. The girl responded with good sense that honor belonged to anyone who, through their uselessness, could lend a helping hand to the Bilbao cause, aiding the heroes; she modestly rejected the loudly proclaimed gallantry, which belonged to her brother, and assured him that she desired no glory other than that of a respectable citizenship dedicated to work. They exchanged shots for a while until Gaminde’s maid arrived with the message that Miss Aura should come there soon, since Jesusita had fallen ill and he wanted her by his side. Prudencia replied that she would go later with her uncle Valentín. Instead, Sabino arrived with some Samaritan balm he had gone to get for his son’s treatment, and the girl left with it shortly after. The man was in a hurry, as he had agreed to accompany the Viaticum, which was being given at the same time to Leonardo Allende and Paco Amézaga, both mortally wounded in the recent battles. As luck would have it in Arratia , before they reached the corner of Matadero Street, Zoilo appeared, coming, after so many days, to check on the family. Such a fortunate situation delighted the father, who wanted nothing more than to leave for the Viaticum, as if he thought it wouldn’t be effective without his help. “How opportune you arrive, Luchu!” he said. “When I found you in Santa Monica and sent for you, I didn’t think you were so smart. You’ll go up later to see your uncles and your brother; this one’s wound is insignificant.” Now you accompany your cousin to Gaminde’s house, and I ‘ll go this way to Santiago. “Run, Father, run; if you’re careless, you won’t make it…” Negretti’s little girl had been completely paralyzed in voice and thought upon seeing her cousin. She had carefully thought out the expressions she should give him the first time she saw him after her heroic deeds, and it was all erased from her memory. “Let’s go,” said Zoilo, watching his father disappear down Calle de la Tendería. And she repeated, “Let’s go,” believing that this said enough. “Why’s he so quiet?” she asked herself when, having walked all the way down Calle de la Cruz, they reached the corner of the Sombrerería. “Is he angry with me? I don’t know why that could be.” When they reached the entrance to the Plaza Nueva, the militiaman said curtly: “This way, this is the way we’re going. ” “What’s going on?” she indicated. “Is Calle de la Sombrerería blocked? ” “No: it’s just that we haven’t seen each other for days, many days, Aura, and I’ve arranged for us to take a walk… by ourselves. ” “But, boy, they’re waiting for me!” “Let them wait… I’ve waited more… So many days without seeing you, and every moment believing that my last hour was coming and that I would never see you again!” —I know you’ve been very brave. It’s all known. They’ve told me everything, and I said: “He acts like who he is, and does what he sets out to do.” —That’s what one is in this world for, say it. One always does what one must, and with willpower one gets what one desires. —And what do you have? What have you gained with your heroics? —What have I gained?… Does it seem little to you? Something worth the whole world, and more. I’m winning over you. —Me!… What nerves you have!… But tell me, fool, where are you taking me? Shall we leave this way for the Arenal? Let’s not go too far. Let the walk be short. —The walk will be as long as I decide. —You’re arrogant. —How could it be otherwise, taking you with me? —A short while. —Or a long one… —If I take a while, your aunt will scold me. —My aunt or any aunt in the world shouldn’t scold you, because over you no one has more power than one person. —But that person isn’t here. —That person is here, and it’s me, —the militiaman stated, standing at attention… —Zoiluchu, don’t talk nonsense; I don’t belong to you. —You belong to me. I’ve won you over… That I’ve known how to win you over, you know it, God knows it… Let’s continue on to the Ribera, we still have a lot to talk about. —Careful… If they see us alone around here…! —If they see us alone, they’ll say: “There goes Zoilo Arratia, then, with his wife.” —Jesus, how outrageous! —Because if you aren’t one yet, you will be, and no one will be able to stop it, because I love him, and so do you… you and I, which is like saying _we in one_… My father and my aunt may take it badly , because they have other plans; But neither my aunt, nor my father, nor the entire family, nor all of humanity will prevent what I want, calling me _we_, what must be and will be. Zoilo’s firm will, so categorically formulated, without any attenuation; an incontrovertible, irreducible power, of the order of fatal facts or the laws of nature, acted on Aura’s spirit like a fascination, like an exorcism, more like a sidereal attraction. She was the small body that found itself torn from its orbit, assumed into the orbit of the larger body. Zoilo’s immense desire, his immense will enveloped her and swept her away with him in an infinitely large whirl. “But what are you saying? That you… that we… that I…” ” I say you’re my wife, and you say it; that since I wanted it, it’s like this… and in the face of this, Aura, the family, and the entire world have to bow their heads… What you’re going to tell me, I already know.” A cannon shot rang out. Albia fired a curved projectile; a few seconds later, Landaverde fired another. One went too far; the other landed in the estuary, further down the Arenal. “Let’s go through Barrencalle to take the Cantones… This way… Don’t be afraid. Those fools are shooting for the Holy Souls at this hour… Don’t fear anything. God has said that neither you nor I will die in the siege. Because I know it, I am courageous, not out of courage per se… Do you understand? My courage is Aura, my faith is Aura, say it… and believing in Aura and having her, there are no bullets, there can be no bullets that can touch you. ” “Yes, trust me…” the maiden murmured, wanting to laugh. —Well, yes; I know what you’re going to tell me: that about the engagement, that about Don Fernando… Don Fernando isn’t coming anymore… or he’s dead, or he’s not a knight… And even if he comes… what?… An abandoned kingdom, a lost kingdom. I, Zoilo Arratia, have sat on his throne. Let’s see if he’ll throw me out… with his washed hands… with his pretty hands… Mine, burned and smelling of gunpowder, will be more than his. —Not that… _Luchu_, not that… —said the girl, very embarrassed, unable to find anything in her fertile mind but that anodyne, childish denial… —I say yes… I fear nothing. There are no obstacles for me. I’ll go against an army if necessary… I don’t know what distrust is; I don’t know what fear is… I don’t even fear you. I know I must triumph over everything, and I don’t care whether Don Fernando comes or not, not even Saint Ferdinand himself, if he came down from heaven. “How you grow, cousin!” Aura exclaimed thoughtfully, subjugated by that irresistible torrent of will. “You’re arrogant. ” “I’m growing! Say I have plenty of life… And what’s missing! Aura, no matter how high I climb, you’re still higher. And seeing you so high up doesn’t bother me… Better yet, I grow even higher.” They made very little progress in their walk, because they stopped at each sentence to be able to look face to face, and with their gaze and the mutual flashing of their eyes, enhance the expression of what they were saying. “So,” Aura said, “you fear nothing? ” “Nothing. God tells me that I will have everything I want, because I know how to love it. ” “According to that, you, Zoilo… don’t doubt? ” “Doubt! Of what?” You’re my wife, I have you… No one will take you away from me… —You said it very quickly. What if I, supposing I wanted to be yours, couldn’t be? —Not being able…, wanting to!… Ah! I know why you say it… Do you think I’ll pay attention to that nonsense of my Aunt Prudencia’s, that she wants to marry you to Martín?… I laugh; and you? —Me too. —But you haven’t had the courage to tell Aunt Prudencia and my father that it can’t be. —Oh, I don’t dare! —Well, I do. I’ll go and tell them right now. —Oh, no, for God’s sake!… What you have to do right now is take me to Gaminde’s house. Enough of this stroll. What will they say, what will they think!… —They’ll think we should get married soon. —Go on! —Nothing: doesn’t Don Francisco have a brother who’s a priest? —Yes, Don Apolinar: he’s always there. “Well, I’m going to see you, and then I’ll talk to him about getting us married. ” “Zoilo!” Aura exclaimed, taking a step back, terrified by such an extraordinary decision. She had never seen a force comparable to her cousin’s. The fiery boy was action itself; he didn’t implore the favors of fate, but rather took fate itself by the neck and made it his slave. While the girl took that step back, Zoilo said that if Don Apolinar didn’t want to marry them, he knew a troop chaplain who would do it in no time. The attraction, gravitation, or whatever it was, acted again on Aura’s spirit, and she took a step forward, not daring to say more than this: “Well, cousin; I think we should go now…” “As you wish… We agreed that I’ll go see you at Gaminde’s house. ” “Oh, how much they talked about you yesterday, and how they praised you!” I, naturally, was very proud… for the family, for you… —Say it was even more for you… —They also told about the coffee; the toast you made, what Arana said when he gave you the pistol, and the kiss that old man Ansótegui gave you, in the name of Bilbao. —The kiss wasn’t for me, Aura. Saying this, and without giving her time to move away, he grabbed her head and, squeezing it tightly, planted about twenty or so kisses on different parts of her, from the top of her head to her throat. —For God’s sake, oh, oh! Don’t be so stupid… How daring, how…! Leave me… No more… You’re hurting me… No, no; move away, move away… People are passing by… Oh, no! —If people are passing by, let them pass, —said Zoilo when he concluded. —It would be nice if one couldn’t caress one’s wife where one provides… The girl came up with very compelling reasons to protest that barbaric violation of composure, of the respect she deserved; but between her mind and her lips, her reasons were lost, and when she tried to find them, they were nowhere to be found… She only uttered broken voices that were, to use a warrior’s simile, like breadcrumbs thrown against a granite bulwark. The young woman continued on her way, trembling, like a brave beast caught and tied up by a powerful hunter. “You’re very bold, Zoilo,” she said, recovering as they passed from the solitude of Calle de la Torre to the Plaza de Santiago, “and that ‘s not right… I repeat, it’s not right… I’ll arrive very late, and they’ll scold me. ” “Don’t pay attention. I’m your owner, and I won’t scold you, then. ” “And your father will scold you, if he knows…” “I’m a man… My father will respect me as I respect him… If he says anything to me, since I’m married, I’ll answer him. ” “You’re atrocious, Luchu.” —I’m terrible… When I convince myself that I have to go somewhere, I go. Nothing intimidates me… No one dominates me, and I dominate everything I want, and more. —That’s saying a lot… —I do more than I say… I speak with my actions. —With that, they arrived at Gaminde’s house, and he was so wise that he didn’t stop her at the doorway. —Get in quickly. You know I’ll come see you when the service allows it. —Goodbye… Don’t do anything stupid. You’ve shown off enough already. —I don’t want to show off… I exercise; my body asks for it… and my soul… That’s how you make yourself strong for whatever comes, Aura. Goodbye. —Goodbye… I fly up. Chapter 30. Feeling physically far from the sphere of attraction of that powerful will, the girl turned around in its orbit again and felt some of her personal strength recovered. “He’s a brute,” she said to herself, “but I can’t find a way to escape his power. What a man, what energy! Oh! I’ll have to make an effort not to let myself be dominated, because otherwise, I don’t know what will happen… He has merit… What will Zoilo be capable of, if a bullet doesn’t kill him ? Well, of the greatest things. He scares me, he truly frightens me as much as he amazes me… How wrong I was to let him kiss me! He must think I belong to him, and that’s certainly not the case. But he caught me so off guard, what a rogue! I couldn’t… Anyone would say no to him. This one is one of those who doesn’t let himself be governed, and he governs everyone … I don’t know what’s happening to me… When I’m far from him, I’m very brave… but he comes close to me, and I’m already trembling… What a man! But no: I must remain in my duty and in my consistency, because I cannot break my oath. .. Mine is another…, and although I am very angry with Fernando because he doesn’t come, or announce himself, or anything, I must remain firm… The truth is that it already weighs, Lord, this abandonment I am under already weighs, and if I were to declare myself independent, I would have no reason to complain. God knows that I have loved him and I love him as much as when we met… He will not say that I have failed him. He is the one who is missing… And who assures me that he has not lingered far from me with another woman? That would be iniquitous, that would be outrageous to me… But I am who I am, and I hope, I hope, I hope… Until when, Lord, until when?… Say what you will, I have much merit, and the palm of constancy no one can take away from me…». Thinking about this, which was her constant thought, she resolved to wait for Fernando until a few days after the end of the siege… What if he arrived after the deadline she had set, and gave satisfactory explanations for his delay? No, no: they had to wait for him until they were certain he would not come. It happened that in her nocturnal musings on this subject, Fernando’s person sometimes appeared in Aura’s mind somewhat distorted in his attributes. As everything wears out and perishes, that being so often brought up in the dreams of the sensitive young woman, diminished, became tarnished, like material beauties that time and use eat away, like flowers that wither, like noble garments that fade, like fine weapons that rust… Everything that exists acts as time, a meticulous artist who undoes some works, piece by piece, to create others, or reduces them to dust to cast them in a better mold. The damned thing is never still, and there is nothing worse than leaving in its possession, for safekeeping, some moral or physical object of great merit and esteem. If it doesn’t keep it, it returns it transformed. Negretti’s girl was not idle in those days, for her little friends did not let go of her hand, taking her from house to house, to patriotic women’s gatherings to sew sacks, prepare threads and bandages, when they didn’t go to Santa Monica, according to the shifts designated by the older ladies. One afternoon, a group of no fewer than two dozen girls, some of the prettiest in town, gathered together and decided to visit the wounded officer Fernando Cotoner, who, due to his gentleness and charm, was very popular with the fair sex. Guarded by a committee of mothers, they invaded his house and found him well on the way to recovery, cheerful and talkative as usual. He became so excited by the arrival of pretty girls, and such an appetite for lively, profane talk came over him that the doctor had to order the immediate departure of the swarm. “I’m not going to die from this, my dearest friends,” he said, nailed to an armchair, gesticulating excessively, for, condemned to absolute stillness with no more play than his arms, he used them excessively. “It was just one more hole, and I’ve already lost count of the ones I owe to the war. Whoever marries me knows she’s marrying a sieve… Fernando Cotoner doesn’t go into action without some kind of blow… He’s the darling of bullets… Do you know the career I’m following?” The invalid’s career… Goodbye, beautiful flowers, joy of my heart… One moment, wait a little while… Long live the girls of Bilbao! Long live Liberty, and death to Charles V! The joyful chorus responded from the doorway and in the hallway, where the doctor Don Miguel Medina was pushing them, shaking them with his handkerchief as if chasing away flies. Aurora often went to spend a little time with her uncle Ildefonso, who cheered him up, breaking him out of his gloomy taciturnity for brief moments. He liked it when she, and not the others, told him about the successive events of the siege, the victories the town was winning with their heroic tenacity, the probable or assumed location of the troops coming to the aid of the square. And he, always kind, not forgetful despite his turmoil, liked to tell her what he considered most pleasing to her: “If Espartero comes soon and saves Bilbao, as soon as communications are opened we’ll have the good Don Fernando here, I believe.” And another day, to Prudencia’s great regret, as she bit her lip to contain her desire for controversy, he said: “My heart tells me the gentleman of Calpena is with Espartero, and that he will enter with him. ” Days passed without Aura and Zoilo seeing each other, due to the brave boy’s almost continuous presence on the defensive lines. However, whenever the girl went to Vildósola’s house, she was sure to find Martín, who took longer to recover from his wound than seemed natural. Prudencia delayed the traumatic process, applying bandages with little ointments of her own invention, completely harmless. In the long space of this delaying treatment, the worthy young man managed, with no little study, urged by his aunt, to declare to the beautiful maiden the pure love, of most honorable and holy ends, that inflamed him, using formulas somewhat similar to Prudence’s pharmacopoeia. Aura replied by thanking him for his noble sentiments and declaring herself unable to reciprocate due to the long-standing commitment that bound her to another person. For her part, the shrewd ruler, whenever she caught her alone, urged her not to be so unsociable with Martín, assuring her that she would not find a better match even if she sought him out loud. The poor young woman burst into tears; she wished that Uncle Ildefonso would get well so that she could tell him her troubles and ask him to marry her. advice; but this was very difficult, because Prudencia never left her alone with her husband, fearful that Ildefonso, with his puritanism and the rigor of his principles, so contrary to practical sense, would twist her further than she already was. And unfortunately, poor Negretti was going from bad to worse. One afternoon, as Vildósola, Valentín, and Prudencia were talking about it in front of Aura, the latter tearfully expressed her sorrow at the manifest madness of her husband’s ideas. “Yesterday,” Valentín sighed, “he continued with the theme that ships will no longer be made of wood, but of iron, with the entire hull made of iron … ” “This isn’t absurd, no, my friend,” said Vildósola, a very indulgent, very credulous man , and who was not pessimistic in the case of Negretti. “Not absurd… Scientifically, it may be.” The big thing is that, according to Ildefonso, all the iron needed to build tomorrow’s ships will be shipped from Bilbao to England. Just imagine how we’re going to end up without mountains. “Little by little, Valentín. Frankly, I don’t see the delirium, I don’t see the nonsense… ” “But, man, are you crazy? Loading all of Biscay onto iron ships to take it to England! Ah, you rascal! Like a good currency exchange broker, your mouth is already watering thinking about the London paper you’re going to place the day you… ” “It’s not that… I say…” ” Shut up, Cirilo… It’s about ships, and I…” “It’s about trade, and I…” “Wait…” said Prudencia, cutting her off. He assured me that our entire estuary wouldn’t be enough to contain the largest vessels… He told me that within forty years, four hundred ships of two to three thousand tons would be seen in these waters, unloading coal and carrying away ore… By that time, the streets of Bilbao would be paved with pounds sterling, and we’d have factories and workshops here as large as the one from here to the Paseo de los Caños… Well, that delirium, the broker stated, deserves my applause, and I only needed to hear it mentioned to feel infected. I’m delirious too, Valentín. I believe in iron… I see it… What you see is the exchange, the shillings and pence. You’re no good, Cirilo… The place will drive us all mad. I see the iron… Yes: we’ll have to grow iron heads to be able to think. Go ahead. “Even though this thing about exporting the mountains is a crazy idea,” Prudencia added, ” it doesn’t seem as crazy to me as the one he told me this morning. We were talking about the siege, about whether or not Espartero is coming, and he, very serious, convinced, and completely committed to his opinion, allowed himself to be told that in order for Bilbao to carry its defense to the very end, driving the Carlists mad and forcing them to flee in haste, it was necessary to appoint as governor of the city—who do you think? —our nephew Zoilo. He says that Luchu is the strongest military force we have here. And that if he were in charge of the Army of the North, there wouldn’t be a single Carlist left to remedy it. ” “The fact is that last night,” Vildósola pointed out, “Zoilo was telling him stories about cannon fire and battles, with the exaggerations and fervor that the boy puts into everything he says.” “I’ll take care of it,” Prudencia declared, “that it doesn’t happen again… Tell Zoilo about his exploits to those who are healthy, not to those with mental illness, who easily get lost hearing about encounters, throat-cuttings, bomb blasts, and other such antics of war, which don’t amuse me at all. ” Aura heard these things without venturing to comment on them, and the only thing she could think of was the intention of warning her cousin, as soon as he saw him, to refrain from telling his uncle about war adventures, or anything involving bombs, grenades, and shrapnel. On December 5 , shortly before the besiegers’ sortie from Artagán, believing they were acting in concert with Espartero, the girl saw the militiaman; but she couldn’t speak to him. She was going with Gaminde’s and Ibarra’s women along Correo Street to hear mass in Santiago. When the militia companies and Trujillo’s passed in the direction of Achuri, Zoilo saw her, and she saw him. Aura did nothing but smile and blush; he greeted her graciously with a smile and a fleeting movement of his lips. At night, hearing how the sortie, although brilliant, hadn’t been effective due to the bad decision of having carried it out with only 400 men, the beautiful young woman thought that if Zoilo had organized the operation, at least 1,000 would have come out… Come on, who would have thought of sending 400 men, not even counting on Espartero’s support _on the other side_? She too was becoming strategic. The truth is, she didn’t understand why her uncles found Negretti’s ideas regarding _Luchu_ so crazy… So what? Where was there a will like his? Who could equal him in greatness of heart, bravery, and serenity? For just as he possessed these gifts, he could well have possessed the others: the ability to calculate where to attack, and with what forces, and on what occasion and moment. He went to bed with his head aching, congested from so much thinking, and spent a terrible night, unable to sleep, tormented by a tenacious, monomaniacal idea of ​​establishing a parallel between Don Fernando and his cousin, measuring and assessing the sublime qualities of each. Without a doubt, there were few like Fernando, whose intelligence, chivalry, exquisite education, and refinement were captivating… This did not mean that the other was more of a man, more… he did not know how to express it. He was as much of a man as one could be. With the willpower he possessed , one could make a hundred energetic people, or a thousand… One only had to look into those eyes to understand that his soul was all about action, of those who govern and do not allow themselves to be governed, of those who subjugate and overpower… But for being less of a man, Fernando did not lose his beautiful merits. What talent, what grace, what elegance of form! Then again, he knew so many things, had read so much!… On the other hand, Zoilo was a brute, a brute, nonetheless, capable of learning in a short time everything he didn’t know, and filling the deep well of his ignorance with knowledge… The gentle girl insisted, giving absurd extension to these feverish parallels, on belonging to Calpena, on remaining faithful to her commitment; but she had to strengthen her will greatly to oppose the torrent of Zoilo’s desire, that desire that brooked no reply or opposition, that swept everything away until it imposed and consolidated its empire. To defend herself against the audacious tyrant, the best thing would be to not see him again, not to speak to him… And how could this be? If Fernando came soon, everything would be all right; but, alas! She felt in her heart that Fernando would either be a long time away, or he would never come again. Ildefonso ‘s insistence in stating that he would come with Espartero was a folly of the good mechanic’s disturbed mind… It was impossible, then, to escape the overwhelming, sovereign, fatal suggestion of his cousin. God had given him the gift of loving with such great intensity that whatever he desired came true. He didn’t dream, he did; thought and action meant the same thing to him. Since the girl was so intelligent, and also possessed a bit of education, extraordinary for girls of that time, she could discuss these matters of human character, and even find a relatively appropriate form to express her judgments. Continuing the ingenious parallel, she said to herself: “And this Luchu, is he a romantic?… Maybe he is; but not like Fernando, a romantic of dreaming, but of action… That’s how I see him.” All of Fernando’s romanticism and poetry is that of dramas, that of the books that are out now: in books and dramas, which are pure lies, he has drunk his romanticism, like bees in flowers… This Luchu is not like that: he has everything in his soul since God made it. Don Fernando dreams, he gets drunk on what he has read…, he wants to put it all into action and he can’t…, he can’t… Of course, as if it isn’t his… _Long pause of bewilderment and confusion_. But now I realize it. Zoilo is not romantic, but classical, so classic, which could not be more so… The absurdity of comparing him to the ancient gods occurs to me , who took the form of men, and sometimes of animals, to walk the world and do whatever they wanted … And they interfered with armies, and gave victory to whomever they wanted, and destroyed towns, and unleashed lightning bolts, and seduced women…, without anyone being able to oppose their will… Naturally, as if they were gods. Chapter 31. Valentín considered that dispersion of the family in different dwellings to be ineffective, since nowhere was safe in the town center. The immense danger that the residents of Ribera saw in this part of the town when the Carlists were preparing their attack on Concepción was averted by the bravery of Bilbao on the bloody day of November 29. If the enemy had conquered that line, putting themselves within rifle range of the entire Ribera front, it would have been uninhabitable from the theater to Barrencalle. But since they remained in their old positions in Santa Clara and the Mena neighborhood, and logically had no intention of getting involved in risky adventures in that direction, since all their strength and vigilance were needed from the Salve down, alert to Espartero’s footsteps, the residents of La Ribera regained their peace of mind, and the less timid began retreating into their homes. Sabino and Valentín decided to gather the dispersed family. José María and Churi, who had settled into the house to take care of everything, had already begun the necessary repairs to the roof. Prudencia shared her brothers’ opinion regarding the gathering, since she was not very comfortable in Vildósola’s house. Vildósola and Rufina, his wife, were excellent people; not so her mother-in-law, who was constantly nagging and becoming annoying, giving the impression that the guests were bothering her. Furthermore, that entire neighborhood of Zamudio had become the most unsafe. The rebel batteries in the Santo Domingo and Iturribide ravines were setting off fire and shells; on Calle de la Cruz and at the turn of Calle de la Ronda, shells had fallen, destroying two buildings. To add insult to injury, on the night of the 13th, a shell set fire to the property adjacent to Vildósola; the residents of this building had to evacuate in a hurry, and Negretti was taken to the house of Don José Antonio de Ibarra, a family friend, solicitor, and merchant with a shop and warehouse on Calle de la Sombrerería. Although the Ibarras were very good, hospitable, and helpful people, Prudencia was not content to live in borrowed homes, and she would say, grumbling: “Every wolf to its den, and whatever God decides.” José María spent all his free time in the health service cleaning the house, assisted by Churi, who was using his words less and less each day. With a gesture, he expressed everything he had to say; with a grimace, he gave a categorical and brief answer to any question he was asked. He obeyed his cousin blindly, and together they would go to eat at the house of Miguel Ostolaza, the member of the Junta and a merchant from Siete Calles who was distinguished by his boisterous patriotism and his boundless fondness for aurrescu. Another of the Ostolazas had a pharmacy in Artecalle: with him or with Miguel , depending on the circumstances of the place, lived the mother and a sister, Juanita Ostolaza, whom José María was courting, with relations of exquisite honesty and composure, and with plans for marriage. Since they were both children, they had been involved in those honest dealings, and both families had agreed to arrange the marriage for when Bilbao was triumphant and free. The two cousins ​​from Arratia ate at Francisco’s pharmacy or at Miguel Ostolaza’s shop, and promptly returned to their occupations. Zoilo also frequented his father’s house to change his clothes, which he did with unusual frequency. He had become very conceited; he groomed himself; he kept his uniform in perfect condition; he went to battles as he did to parade, gallant, handsome, his hair His hair was neatly combed, his youthful mustache trimmed with martial grace, his chin clean-shaven, and the buttons on his uniform gleaming. If by chance the two rival cousins ​​met in the store, they didn’t speak to each other: Churi didn’t even look at Zoilo, and Zoilo wasn’t very expressive with his older brother either. The good-natured José attributed these reservations to the genius of one of them and the other: Churi, with his isolating deafness, became increasingly wrapped up in his sadness, carving out a cocoon to bury himself within; Luchu, on the other hand, with his noisy military triumphs, fatally tended toward talkative expansion and domination. José was not unaware of his brother’s merits, nor of the services he had rendered to the Bilbao cause with his bravery and heroic serenity ; he almost found his growing pride justified. Simple and benevolent, he was the first to spread the glories of the Rooster of Arratia to the entire family and to enjoy his prestige and fame, which resulted in a tacit recognition of his superiority. Aura remained at Gaminde’s house, so beloved by the girls Florencia and Jesusita that they couldn’t separate themselves. But it happened that the little girl contracted a raging fever, and Prudence, fearing contagion, took her niece to Orbegozo’s house, where she was also loved and treated. Miss Orbegozo owned several volumes of novels, which Aura read, among them Valerie and Beaumanoir by Madame Genlis. Such cloying food was not to the young woman’s taste, and she craved something more tonic and bitter. Sweetheart was also a helpmate, and very fond of fashionable novelties and frills. They did not get along. Aura felt more at ease with the girls from Busturia, girls raised in a back room, simple, hardworking, unaffected domestic heroines; but although celebrated by both sides and desiring to maintain such good friendships, she longed to return home, to live among her own people, who were already hers, with ties of the soul, the Arratias young and old. At the same time that these annoying dispersions were occurring, everyone’s unease was increasing due to the shortage of food, already at terrifying proportions. A dozen eggs, of remote antiquity, could not be purchased for less than sixty reales. For a consumptive hen , some would give half an ounce. The sparrows, which the children hunted and sold for _chimbos_, were worth as much as chickens. Beans reached fabulous prices; potatoes did not exist, and cod was beginning to become scarce. Some days, Churi would go quietly up the Nervión River to near Isla, and bring back half a cup of elvers, which Prudencia would present to those from Ibarra, celebrating the morsel as a precious find in such times. The runner Vildósola and José Blas de Arana, both famous among the people of Bilbao for their generous eating habits and their culinary skills, would pass by . They consoled themselves from the abstinences of the siege by talking about succulent meals, traditional dishes, and remembering their picnics and gaudeamus in better days. Arana offered Churi a militia helmet and a saber if he would bring him a cup of elvers, and Vildósola would recount with good intentions his dreams, which were always of eating a lot and well. —Last night, to whet my appetite, I finished four rounds of hake, and on top of that a dozen fig chimbos, which were followed by a batch of barbarines… —You could have saved something for us, —Prudencia pointed out. —Ildefonso
is madly fond of barbarines fried in paper. —Well, me, —said Arana, —if I dreamed those things I’d get sick, and when I woke up I’d have to purge myself. I’m saving myself for when we’re out of this joke. The chances are we’ll all perish, and we’ll die remembering Liberty and cod in red sauce. But if I’m lucky enough to make it out alive and see Don Carlos burst, I hope it’s during the time of the guibilurdines so I can celebrate with a good binge of such a delicious vegetable. —Look, —said Vildósola, —I hope we finish before the guibilurdines come. I bet you anything you want that the entrance From Espartero we celebrate it in San Agustín itself with Quintana chacoli, and elvers, and the rest of the season… and all this before the Christmas rooster crows. —I’ll bet you anything you want that the rooster and turkey this Christmas will be those that walk on the rooftops. This is going to take a long time, and it’s almost certain that we’ll go out dressed in masks to shoot at the _serviles_. Espartero is eating hake, and he doesn’t remember us… But what can I do? We’ll eat pickled cloves. Hey, don’t you know? Bringas sent me some very good chocolate, and two dozen biscuits that were left over from the first place… At home, with eight of us in a family, we get by with the corn that was left in the warehouse in Busturia. We pound it; Hilaria knows how to make some very good combinations: buns, pan-fried fruit, with a little bran we have left, linseed oil, nutmeg… I’ll treat you if you like, and as a gift I’ll add a magnificent rat we caught this morning in my storehouse… barley with oxtail and sardine, you see. ” “Thank you: I have pigeon eggs today, and some goat jerky that’s saying ‘Eat me.’ ” “No: what it says is ‘Throw me.’ It’s the kind Cosimo of Belosticalle had, which he spread with chorizo ​​pepper to give it color and make it look like ham.” They entertained themselves with these jokes, happily conveying the sadness of such a distressing situation. Stripped of her precious humor, and feeling her patriotic energy already weakened, Prudencia couldn’t wait for the nightmare of the siege to end. Oh, it would be like waking up with joy! They could no longer endure the constant rain of bombs and grenades, the spectacles of death and horror, the hunger, which the healthy could bear to a certain extent, but not the sick. Patriotic duty was a struggle for everyone, suffering a thousand inconveniences, sometimes living in the middle of the street. Sabino, a man of great endurance, often arrived at night without having eaten more than a light breakfast; Valentín carried crumbs of bread in his pockets, and he fed himself during the walks and occupations that his position in the Junta imposed on him at all hours. More than one person slept on a bench in the barracks in Plaza Nueva, or on the hard floor of the café called Gari Guchi Poco Trigo. The barracks were meeting places, similar to modern casinos. A few friends rented a space in a good location and there they would lighten up the long winter nights with delightful conversation or amuse themselves with innocent pastimes. Luxury was unknown in such facilities; The furniture was just enough to avoid the discomfort of sitting on the floor or eating with a plate on one’s knees. There was a barracks in the Plaza Nueva, belonging to a group of estates and second-borns; another on Pelota Street, where the mercantile element dominated; and both in these and in others of lesser standing, the embryonic form of the casinos that today are centers of recreation, idleness, and worse, in both large and small towns, was evident. During the siege, the barracks were open to anyone who wished to enter and served as a convenient stopping place for soldiers and civilians who, having to go from one place to another, needed refreshments without having to go home. The patriots met there; members of the Junta and the garrison commanders took the most urgent measures in this or that barracks. For the busiest, who couldn’t rest all night, dinner was sent to the barracks. The fraternity was extremely cordial, the meals shared. Whoever, for whatever reason—family neglect or lack of notice—didn’t have dinner, confidently dipped their hand into a friend’s plate. The Gari guchi was a combination of a cafe and a barracks, since on the mezzanine, rented by several merchants of the Seven Streets, they had set up their recreation area with billiards and tresillo tables. Neither there, nor at the Post Office Café, nor in any of the barracks, was there any such thing as to eat. But this progress was already beginning in a rudimentary way, for if they didn’t cook, they would heat up the food brought from one house or another; and the caretaker or manager also made coffee for the masters, who didn’t pay for the cup, but provided the ingredients, making the culinary work free of charge: it didn’t occur to the caretaker of the premises to charge money for that service. In this way, patriarchal customs began their initial evolution, announcing this modern organization of selfishness. Wars destroyed the old patriarchal regime of societies and gradually created the way of life we ​​know it today, where everything is owned and paid for, where individual comfort and freedom develop in the warmth of the public hearth, while the women remain alone in the domestic one, ensuring that the last embers don’t go out. Chapter 32. Exhausted from fatigue and hungrier than expected during Lent, he arrived. Valentín went to the Plaza barracks, where he was fortunate enough to find the mayor Don Nemesio Mac Mahón, an exalted patriot, who offered him a share of the soup he was eating. At the same faded pine table, the members of the Provincial Council, Don Vicente Ansótegui and Don Antonio Irigoyen, were spending their days with a captain from Trujillo and another from Toro. The conversation centered on Espartero’s movements, who, after futile attempts on the Aspe and Azúa sides, had returned to the left bank. At that time, he was holding a council of generals to decide what to do in such a tight situation, since Bilbao, already bled dry and without supplies, seemed to be reaching the limits of perseverance. The telegraph had said for the third time: “Let Bilbao continue to defend itself, and it will soon be rescued.” But help, by God, was slow in coming. Since surrender was the ultimate absurdity in everyone’s mind and will , they had no recourse but a glorious, Numantian death. At this point, Zoilo Arratia and his friend Víctor Gaminde entered; Valentín left the gentlemen to run to the youth, in whom he always found the patriotic flame and the native courage of the land alive. Zoilo spoke with the barracks manager, an old man wearing goggles and a baseball cap, who never took his pipe out of his mouth. He handed him a paper wrapper he was carrying, urging him to be as active as possible in preparing the concoction, as both of them were fainting. “What is that, Zoiluchu? Coffee by any chance?” “By any chance it’s cocoa husks. I have more, and if you want… ” “And sugar,” said Víctor Gaminde, giving the guard another cone. We found it among the ruins of a house that burned down in Esperanza. It’s nothing but caramel from the fire.” And he offered it to the gentlemen with obsequious delicacy. “If you want caramel, here it is. We have plenty more, and now we’re going to have a very sweet cocoa shell decoction. Nothing hot has entered our bodies since yesterday.” At this point, Sabino arrived, his cloak dripping with water because it was raining heavily. He hung it on a peg, saying with a sour pout: “By all means, the weather is turning out to be good enough for Don Baldomero to come to our aid. It seems to me that this… ” “But this Sabino!… He’s already muttering about the general-in-chief,” said Mac Mahón. “Is Espartero also to blame for the rain? ” “It’s because he didn’t undertake operations before the storm hit. That’s what he’s a generalissimo for. God commands the weather, good and bad. A man should look to the sky and take advantage of the clear weather. ” —But don’t you know that there’s no one who can be trusted? —What I do know, Señor Don Nemesio, is that there’s no General Cristino who isn’t a bore. —Come on, man, calm down, you’re going to get thin. Sit here: we’ll give you a few spoonfuls of soup. —You’re a little late arriving, Sabino, —Ansótegui told him. —There aren’t even any scraps left. If you don’t take the time to lick all the plates… —Thanks: I’m coming from the _Posi_ café, where Blas Arana and I split half a dozen sardines and a plate of beans… They told me there that Don Baldomero, for a change, is returning to the other side of the Nervión, and that they are dismasting ketch-boats to build a pontoon bridge… At this rate…! The good gentleman has spent a month making preparations, and he still hasn’t finished deciding which bank to take off from… And Bilbao is holding out for more and more space!… Don’t tell me about Numancia and Sagunto… A delicious Christmas awaits us! —Well, yes: Christmas without a manger. —And that someone should have to celebrate the birth of the Son of God in this situation!… I believe it: Don Baldomero, with hake and sea bream everywhere , is in no hurry… What does it matter to him if we eat each other up here ? —But, son, if God’s will is so, what do you want us to do? —I’m not complaining for myself. But I gave Bilbao my three children, the only thing I own, and I don’t want to see them die of hunger… Not even God would be pleased with that. God says: do your duty… but eat, nourish yourselves. “Are you quite sure God says that? ” “There are the Holy Scriptures… So why did he multiply the loaves and fishes? ” “There you have a miracle that would come in very handy now.” “If only he multiplied the cats, we’d consider ourselves well served.” Leaning on the table where the young men were waiting for the remedy to their need, Valentín asked Zoilo for his opinion on what might happen if Espartero’s delay continued. They discussed the matter for a long time. The militiaman had acquired so much authority in the family by virtue of his courage and military aptitude that his uncle now liked to listen to him and highly valued his discernment and opinion on matters of war. The boy’s arrogance did not preclude his deference to adults. Zoilo had grown morally in the space of a month, acquiring poise, serene energy, and an enormous strength of conviction in everything he held and thought. Without realizing it, his father and uncle were gradually accepting the superiority of the inferior, the greatness of the little one, and they didn’t feel humiliated by it. “Listen, my son,” Valentín said to him, while the three of them savored the hot, sweet infusion from separate bowls. “When Bilbao is free, you ‘ll decide on a military career, for which you show the disposition of a father and a very good lord… If you do so, I’ll be happy for you; I ‘ll feel sorry for the house. ” “No, uncle,” Zoilo replied laconically. “I won’t be a soldier. ” “In ten years, if the war continues, we’ll see you as a general: I believe so,” Valentín assured him, taking some crumbs of breadcrumbs out of his pocket, which he shared with the boys, and quickly softening his own in his cup. “I’ll continue as I was… And if you want, so my father can rest, I’ll take over the forge.” —Frankly, for a man like you, so cut out for the military, brave as none, it seems to me that the modest profession of blacksmith is not suitable. —Well, if I’m not a blacksmith, I’ll be something else: I’ll work for myself, and I’ll soon make a fortune. If I put my mind to it, I’ll achieve it… Everything a man wants with firm will, he has, and more. —What a waste of breath you’re giving, kid! God preserve it… I’ll be glad to see you by the side of the family, so that you can help us all… As soon as this cursed war is over, we’ll work like beasts, and we’ll get the house back on its feet. You, the nephews, must establish yourselves in new families under our protection. We’ll immediately marry José María, since both he and his fiancée are up to scratch, to the priest on board; then we’ll marry Martín off to Aura, who ‘s also arranged; And you might as well go looking for a bride, for a bird of your stature must have a nest and produce strong and brave children.
“Bride, you say?… I already have one… ” “Already?”… Very well, my son; that’s how I like men: determined, determined. What, they have a goal in mind, a purpose? Well, him, control! Just when the others go, you come back found… And who is the relative? May I ask?” The two young men remained silent; Victor Gaminde smiled. —Victor knows who he is… Can’t I? Well: these things are a little embarrassing… You can’t make a bad choice. I ‘d be very pleased to see you _with_ one of the prettiest and most honest girls in town. And if you find one of those… who are heavy, you know?…, who are heavy…, because there’s a ballast of ounces in the chest, all the better, Zoiluchu, all the better. You’ve shown that you’re worth a lot; you have a great future. To say it all, son, you’re very handsome: you lack nothing. Now you can bring us home the best of Bilbao, you deserve it, you’ve well earned it. —I’ll take the best of the town… don’t worry… I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t. —You’re a man… —I am… Zoilo Arratia, son of his works…, who when he wants…, wants. —You whistle…, the world is yours. Once they’d eaten their frugal supper, the boys got up. They were going to the _Gari guchi_ to spend the remaining hour and a half playing billiards before returning to Cendeja. “It’s raining cats and dogs, my children. ” “What do we care about the rain? ” “Just as we don’t care about the fire. ” “We’ll go snuggled up to the houses.” “Wait, wait a moment. If Sabino lends me his cloak, I’ll go with you… I don’t like the company of old people: I prefer to stay close to young people, to warm myself in the fire of your hearts, which are not afraid, which strongly desire…” Having obtained his cloak, he went with them, and they walked through the streets, one after the other, seeking the protection of the eaves and cornices. When they reached Nueva Street, where the Gari Guchi was, Valentín said to his friends: “I’ve come not only to keep you company, but to see if anyone in this café can give me news of Churi, whom I lost sight of three days ago. ” “Last night he was along the estuary in a barge,” Víctor Gaminde said. ” Iturbide, who saw him, told us. ” “The way I see it,” Zoilo added, “is that what Churi wants is to escape from Bilbao. I don’t know why… or what interest he could have in it. ” “That’s something that kid does,” his father stated, “he’s crazier than a goat. They told me that a few days ago he tried to cross their lines over the Salve… ” “And since he can’t escape by land, he might try to slip away at night across the estuary. ” “And where is he going? What’s he doing?” “He’ll want to eat, uncle. ” “That’s the only explanation that satisfies me.” Well, if God saves him from a bullet, and he manages to escape, and eats his fill; if after such a feat he undertakes the opposite, the return, taking advantage of these nights of rain and closeness, and comes down here with a couple of hake, let him go and come, blessed be God… What do you think? Until the moment arrives to shout: “Long live Espartero, who brings us Liberty!” we will shout: “Long live Churi, he who brings us hake!” Chapter 33. All the morning of the 19th Prudencia spent in her house, cleaning and tidying, helped by Vildósola’s maid, for her own had fallen ill with tonsils. In the store, José María and a grocer from Ripa worked morning and afternoon, putting everything in its place; that during the days of panic, the Arratias having delivered a large quantity of nails, wire, empty barrels, and other objects for the defense works, they hastily removed them, and everything was left in a jumble and confused state. Martín arrived, taking advantage of a free moment he had, and said to them: “Gather up for me all the nails that are scattered on the ground, carefully separating the three sizes. We’ll see if the broken bundles can be remade. And since the piles of ropes have been taken down, I would arm them in another way, so that they would be less of a hindrance. ” “Zoilo said,” José María indicated, “that we should place the piles of ropes from largest to smallest, not forming cylinders, but cones. ” “Don’t pay attention, and put it back as it was. My brother knows more about military matters than I do; But I know more about this mess than he does… I ask you one more thing: don’t touch anything on my desk: even if you see it all in disarray, leave it as it is, and I’ll fix it. —Zoilo is of the opinion that the desk should be cleared out a bit, taking the oarlocks, pins, nets, and scrapers out to the store, and leaving only the fishing goods. —It really is more methodical… We’ll fix it that way another time. The eyebolts and straps should also be removed from there… My brother is right… There’s no room on the desk… But don’t touch anything for now… I’m afraid you’ll mess up my books and the packets of letters will fall apart. He was just leaving when Prudencia came downstairs and, calling him aside, said: —I’m terribly distressed. Ildefonso is getting worse every day. Now his mania is that as soon as Espartero arrives, we leave for France on the first ship out, taking the girl with us, naturally… I’m afraid that when he finds out about our plan he’ll cry out loud, and I… just
imagine… I have no greater sorrow than to upset him… “Then let’s give up, Aunt,” said Martín with a feeling that mingled timidity and delicacy. “I don’t want there to be any disagreements or displeasure in the family on my account… Let’s at least postpone the matter, in the hope that time will resolve it for us. ” “Everything would go smoothly if that crazy girl would see reason and take charge of what is best for her happiness. ” “Oh, Aunt of my heart!” replied Martín sadly, sighing, ” Aura doesn’t love me nearly as much… come on, she doesn’t like me at all… Faced with this fact, there’s no choice but to bow one’s head… ” “Well, you have to know how to please, my dear sir; “You have to kill the turkey and acquire charm and grace. If I were a man, you’d see if I knew how to tame a pretty, pert little beast… ” “But what can I do, Aunt?” said the poor militiaman, in a state of haste, crossing his arms. “Order me whatever you like, as long as you don’t order me to do anything contrary to honor. ” “No, son, I’m not ordering you anything… Leave me; I’m crazy… Go kill Carlists… that’s the only thing you’re good for… It’s for your own good that I work: I’m a good fool… I ought to be selfish and not care about anything… Go on, go on, you’ll be needed elsewhere.” The pleasant young man went, sullen and dejected, to his duty station, and before he reached it he heard the cannon of the _Perla_ de Albia, thundering furiously against the _Cujas_. The name of this battery, illustrious for memorable exploits, came from some benches located at the end of Arenal and Estufa Street. Their backrests were shaped like the headboards of beds then in use, and were called cujas. There, after the afternoon’s firing, heavy and arduous, with some casualties, Sabino went in search of Martín to discuss family matters with him; but he didn’t find him, because the companies had been swapped and he was assigned to the Circus battery. Zoilo was there instead, and from a distance he told his father to wait for him so they could go home together. Sabino had spent the morning in Santiago, where he met his church friends, and on the way out, they consoled themselves for their bitterness by speaking ill of Espartero, because he wasn’t coming soon, even if it was through the air. So much preparation was fear… It was already clear that Don Nazario, although one-handed, knew where men’s right hands were. What did they think? From the church he went to the barracks in the Plaza, where Ibarra gave him bad news about Negretti, and he went there immediately, finding his brother-in-law quite dejected, taciturn, and somewhat prone to anger. He spoke only to rail against Espartero, laconically calling him inept and cowardly. “There’s only one man here who knows how to command troops,” he said, slamming his fist down on the table, “and that one soldier is your son Zoilo.” So as not to irritate him with the contradiction, Sabino agreed with such an extravagant opinion, adding that Zoiluchu would soon be a general, and by then the people of Bilbao wouldn’t be condemned to eating mice. Vildósola arrived at that moment, and together they tried to divert Ildefonso from his maniacal vertigo. Meanwhile, Prudencia worked tirelessly to put the house in order. In the middle of the afternoon she called her niece to help her, and the two They bustled about until nightfall with the girl from Vildósola, who had retired to her duties at home. Once the light was on, the two of them continued washing the dishes until suddenly an urgent message arrived from Ibarra’s house, brought by the doorman. Señor Don Ildefonso had become very ill: he had had an accident; his tongue was tied, and he couldn’t move his left arm… “Come on, let’s go quickly,” said Aura, washing her hands. And Prudencia, for whom the news was like a bolt of lightning, after remaining silent with terror for a moment, unable to breathe, also dried her hands hastily, saying: “Come on, yes… No, no, I’ll go alone… You’re staying… I had forgotten. My brother Valentín said he would come to get us. He won’t miss it. Martín will come with him; he leaves duty at seven… Are you afraid of being left alone?” —Yes, Aunt: I’m afraid… —Well, let’s go… When they saw the door closed, they’ll go looking for us there. They were going down the stairs when two men entered. It was Zoilo and his father. Hearing what had happened, Sabino said: —I was afraid of it: this afternoon, when I saw him, I didn’t like him at all. —Whatever God wants. —His holy will be done!… And Martín, isn’t he here? —We were waiting for him. He agreed to come with his uncle. —Stay, Luchu, —Sabino ordered, —keeping the girl with you, Valentín and your brother won’t be long… —Go up… it’s very dark here… or dim the light here , —Prudencia said. —But be careful with the fire. —Don’t worry, Aunt… We won’t get burned. The two Arratias hurried out, and Zoilo, when he took Aura’s hand , thought he was picking up a trembling piece of ice. —Why are your hands so cold? —I washed them a little while ago… Then, when I found out that Uncle Ildefonso… What could it be?… I went numb… Shall we go up? —No… what I’ll do is close the door, —said the militiaman, doing so immediately. —Why are you locking it? —So that no one can get in… And now I’ll dim the light and put it on the desk… —For God’s sake, don’t set it on fire. Zoilo, who in four bounds climbed to the light, came down without it. He didn’t have the light, but a faint light. —I left it in the hall, next to the stairs. —For God’s sake, cousin, don’t let anything burn. —There’s no need to worry there… Why are you holding the handkerchief to your nose? —he asked her, watching her fixedly. —Because now I smell the tar like I’ve never smelled before… It seems to envelop me all over, to penetrate inside me… My head is going. Closing her eyes, she sank down, as if exhausted from fatigue, onto a pile of coiled rigging. “We’ve worked like mad… I’m tired… the tar makes me dizzy… It’s not that I dislike the smell; but… I swear… it’s never penetrated me so much. ” “Are you cold? ” “I’m freezing… scared to death. ” “Afraid with me here? ” “You see… perhaps because you’re here… ” “I didn’t think I’d come… but my father told me that today your marriage to Martín would be arranged, and here I am to prevent it. ” “Martín’s wife! That won’t happen, Luchu… ” “You say it… you think it… But… what if, out of fear, you let yourself be carried away, you let yourself be married…? ” “I’m braver than you think… But if I needed more courage than I have… you would give it to me.” —That’s what I’m here for, I’m telling you… Here I am, a man who will never, for anything in the world, consent to have his wife taken away from him… and when it comes to this, for me there are no brothers, for me there is no uncle, for me there is no father… I am my own master, and you are mine in this life and the next. Before he could finish saying this, he held her in his arms and gave her as many kisses as he wanted, never getting enough. —Zoilo…, Luchu…, for God’s sake…, leave me…, don’t be bad… I don’t love you like this. —Well, how, how? —I’ll tell you…, let me…, let me talk to you. —Tell me soon. Almost breathless, Aura said to him: —You have great qualities, Luchu… I esteem you greatly… I admire you for the will, for courage; but… —But what…, but what… —You lack one quality, cousin… No, you don’t have it. —What do I lack? Tell me, tell me quickly so I can have it at once… —Well… you lack…, yes, I’ll tell you… That you are not a knight. The boy remained suspended and absorbed. The tremendous blow to his pride shook his whole being… —I am not a knight! Look, look at what you say… That I am not a knight! If someone else were to tell me so, by Christ!… But since you tell me so…, I look inside myself, to see myself, to see if what you say is true…, and if I were to find that I am not a knight, I would take my life right here. Chapter 34. —If you want, —continued Aura, —for me to take you for a knight, behave like one. —And what should I do? —The opposite of what you do… Zoilo, open the door. “It’s open,” he said, leaping to the door and turning the key. “That’s the way I like it. You don’t always have to command. He who wants to be obeyed, learn to obey… Now sit there in front of me. ” “Tell me everything I need to be worthy of the woman I’ve taken for myself, so that no one can take her away from me. I’ve taken you; you belong to me. If I’m determined never to let you go, I also want you to be happy to be mine. ” “You won’t let me go?” “No, no; say no… first the firmament collapses. If the family doesn’t want it, I care little for the family… I’ll take you, I’ll carry you… I’ll go with you to the ends of the earth: I know how to do things… But I’m not content with doing… I also need your heart to be mine, and for you to say: ‘I’m happy that this man has taken me… there’s no one like him.'” “There’s no one else like him,” Aura repeated in the whirlwind of attraction, gravitating toward him with an infallible law of physics. “There’s no man like you… Luchu, if I could convince myself of this, I would be very happy. ” “What do I lack for you to be able to say it?” the militiaman asked her, his eyes blazing, but keeping his distance from her. “Do I lack instruction? I’m not stupid. Everything another knows, I know. That’s what books are for, that’s what teachers are for. I’ll soon learn everything I don’t know… things of science and art… What else do I lack? Chivalry? I have that too, and as much as anyone. I’m generous, I’m delicate. No one can beat me in honesty… What I lack, you ‘ll teach me simply by loving me. ” “Oh! Luchu, my cousin… I don’t know how to tell you… I love you and I don’t love you… my soul is divided… Now it goes from one side, then it goes from another.” I do nothing but brood and go mad… When I want to avoid thinking about you, I think. When I want to hold my thought to you, it goes away… I am very unhappy. May God finally bring me my good, and place it before me; but one good, just one: may He not bring me two, may He not keep me like the pendulum of a clock… This is not living… I think about you, and when you are praised I am filled with pride… To be yours, yours forever, that is more difficult!… You will take me, you will take me by force… you will take half of me, perhaps a little more than half… each day will be half plus a little, Luchu… I am mad, I don’t know what’s happening to me; Don’t pay attention… —Well, now I’m telling you that they’ll tear me to pieces like this before I give up my conquest… What are you talking about there about halves?… All, all of it, entirely for me, because even if you believe that about the little bits for the half, it’s just your imagination, a thing of your head more than your heart… If we live together one day, I’m sure you’ll tell me: “Luchu, no more little bits, but all for yourself.” You’ll tell me, right? What ‘s the point of talking more, Aura?… Say that everything has been said… Tonight without fail I’ll devote myself to Don Apolinar. —Well, not yet… Wait… —Wait! I’ve erased that word from my papers. I don’t wait when I see the end of things, when I touch them, when things say to me: “Come!” He who leaves for tomorrow what he can do today, doesn’t deserve to have the life that God has given him. Have you ever seen that God waits? Tomorrow? Have you ever seen the sun say: “I’m not coming out today, but tomorrow I will”? In nature, all things are and come just in time, and nothing is left for later. Is it determined that a chick will hatch on such a day ? Well, it does; it doesn’t say: “I’m going to stay inside my shell for another week.” Trees teach us punctuality: what bears fruit in August doesn’t save it for December. What is meant to be, what is ripe, must not be left to rot… A little while ago you told me that I am not a gentleman… Well, so that you don’t doubt my chivalry, as soon as someone from the family comes, even if it’s Martín, I’ll leave you to go in search of Don Apolinar, who is my great friend, just so you know, and he loves me… I’ve already told him something, and the man always asks me when he sees me: “Luchu, number one of the chimbos, when shall I throw out the clove hitch?” Don Apolinar is a great sailor, fond of two things: fishing and marrying everyone off… Well, tonight I’ll catch him and tell him: “Don Apolinar, the _chimbo_ and the _chimba_ want to get married… They are honorable, they love each other… but very much, without halves, with little, and they wish to be united by the Holy Church so that people won’t say…” The gentle Aura was seized with a nervous laugh. Zoilo’s expressions and arguments amused her greatly; and that peremptory determination, that colossal aptitude for execution, subjugated her: they were like a miraculous power, enormously suggestive, with an irresistible influence over the woman… The poor girl thrashed about with an instinct for defense; but she fell again, held by invisible bonds, which she didn’t know if they were human or divine. Delighted to see her laugh, Zoilo continued outlining his plans for the future, and at that moment the door was pushed open. It was Sabino and Valentín. “How happy you are here!” —said Sabino, advancing in the darkness, hands out in front of him, like a blind man, while Valentín examined the ground with his cane. —Why are you in the dark? —Aura is so afraid of fire that I didn’t want to dim the light. —Are you alone? —said Valentín. —Yes, sir,—replied the militiaman,—all alone and so happy. What do they know about Uncle Ildefonso? —That he isn’t as bad as they feared… A boiling of blood… The danger is over. —I’m not content with this darkness,—said Sabino, going up to find the light. —And what were you doing here all alone? —asked Valentín, approaching the girl. —Aura… what are you saying?… When we came in, we heard you laughing… Was this guy telling you something funny? —Yes, uncle: he was telling me… I don’t know something about Don Apolinar… No, it wasn’t that… Things about Luchu. —Things about Luchu,—he repeated, his hands on his hips. Luchu’s affairs are now going in ways you don’t know, uncle… but you should know them. Neither you nor my father have found out that Aura, here present… is my wife… Valentín thought he had heard wrong, or that the boy was joking. He looked at both of them. Aura lowered her head; Zoilo repeated the idea, just as Sabino descended with the light. “My son,” he said, stopping halfway down the stairs. “On a man like you, on a military gentleman, mockery about such delicate matters doesn’t go down well. ” “I’m not joking, Father. I’m very formal, and now more than ever. Aura is my wife. She loves him , and I love him more. No one will object, and whoever objects will not be my father, or my uncle, or anything to me. I am in control of myself and of her… and let all mankind know it.” Sabino looked at Valentín, and Valentín at Sabino, both with their mouths half open, dazed. Aura brought her handkerchief to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Zoilo added, “that Martín didn’t come too, so that he could know what you already know. Aura Negretti is my wife, or will be tomorrow if Don Apolinar keeps his promise, and if not, I have no shortage of priests. Take it as you will. I was always a good son, and now I will be one too, declaring that in this business, there is no will above my will : my reason, as a free man, is above all reasons. I ask for nothing: I am enough for myself. ” “Either we are dreaming,” said Valentín, “or this boy has the devil in his side.” the body, and whoever says devils says angels or the lightning of divinity… “My son, I love you very much,” declared Sabino, putting aside the light and getting rid of his cloak, which that night was also wet. ” But you know that the family had other plans. ” “The family’s plans,” replied Zoilo, “are reduced by my will, by hers, to meaningless chatter. The family doesn’t know how to do things; I do. And if they want to prove it, let them put me in charge of the house when the siege is over. ” “By God, living and blessed,” exclaimed Sabino, who was about to fall to the ground from the force of emotion and astonishment, “I don’t know what ‘s wrong with me!… Let me calm down, let me think about the case, and if I see God’s will in it… ” “Aura, my daughter,” Valentín said affectionately, “get us out of this doubt.” Do you think your cousin has gone mad? “Yes, uncle: he’s mad… and so am I,” replied the beautiful young woman, embracing the old navigator. “But you…? ” “I don’t know… Don’t ask me anything. I don’t know how to affirm or deny anything… If I die, so much the better. That way I won’t suffer anymore. ” “And since I don’t like to leave things for tomorrow, or even for later, ” said Zoilo, “I’m going to look for Don Apolinar.” “I was just entering Achútegui’s house,” indicated the priest. “I’m going there. Don Canuto is my friend. ” “Come here, fire from heaven, southwesterly storm,” said Valentín, taking him by the arm; “stop and listen: you can’t waste time chasing after a clergyman. Don’t you know what’s going on? It’s been discovered that the enemy is mining in San Agustín. We’ve started a countermine over here to meet them underground. You’ll be absent from your post on a fine occasion. ” —I’m sure of it, I’m going right over there now… Let them speak to Don Apolinar… It must be as I wish, and no other way… Are you now beginning to understand who Zoilo Arratia is? I’ll arrange things for me. I respect my elders; I’m not afraid of them. Let them say that I know how to do things… you’ve already seen it… Well, you still have a lot to see. He said a fond farewell, in half-words, to the woman he called his wife, and to those who were effectively his father and uncle, and like a flash of lightning ran to the disputed and increasingly glorious Cendeja. Urged on by her uncles, each of whom was holding her by the arm, seated on either side of the pile of rigging, Aura, in a distressed voice, gave these explanations: —Yes, yes… Zoiluchu has loved me for a long time… and I him… I love him a little… I say it incorrectly, a very great deal… No, don’t pay attention; I don’t know what I’m saying… He’s a man, and there’s no one like him… He alone is worth more than the entire Arratia family, past and present. With his fierce genius, he dominates whatever he wants. He will rule over me, over all of you, over all of Bilbao, if he chooses… You ask me, do I love him? I don’t know how to answer… I am now like those who leave one world to enter another… I have one foot in that world; the other in this one… Where should I put those two feet? I don’t know… I say I’m crazy, and I don’t want to be. May God enlighten me once and for all, and let me know where I am… I really don’t know… Am I going or coming? Where do I turn my face?… “My daughter,” Valentín said to her affectionately, while Sabino did nothing but sigh, “calm down, reflect… Consult your heart.” From what I’ve just heard from you, I reckon… well, you want Zoilo… —But not getting married… I want to wait… My conscience tells me not yet… Let’s wait for the siege to pass; let’s wait some more. At this point, Sabino believed the time had come to cast his vote, and he did so with gravity and in his usual sermonizing tone: —My dear child, the heavenly designs are manifest, and delaying their fulfillment will be as if we were calling them into question. Having said this, without getting a response, for both Aura and Valentín remained silent, looking at the ground, good Sabino also cast his gaze below; and when he saw a multitude of nails and lag screws scattered about, he began to pick them up one by one, taking care that not even the smallest ones escaped him. In this operation, the poor man was attacked. Lord, gloomy thoughts. His two sons, Martín and Zoilo, the hope and glory of the family, were at that time in the most dangerous position, digging the countermine to search for the _absolute_ in the bowels of the earth. What if God decided to decree that one of them would perish in the terrifying subterranean fray!… Apart from this, saddened beyond all reason, he recognized and confirmed that the quantity of nails of different sizes scattered on the ground was enormous. While he collected and grouped them on a bench, he could have believed that an invisible angel was whispering in his ear, on behalf of divinity, that one of his sons would die… His blood froze in his veins… “No, Lord; not that: take this cup from me…” He noticed that Valentín and his niece were speaking in whispers; But she didn’t understand what they were saying, because the corner where she was collecting nails was the furthest from the pile of rigging. Surely, Valentín would advise her to be reasonable and stop waiting for the coming of the Antichrist. But that wasn’t what he was saying, but rather this: “Calm down… and let’s wait for tomorrow, because the two boys have their lives decided by tossing a coin… We’re here calculating lives, and we don’t even remember death, which is sometimes what takes us out of our doubts… ” “In danger, in danger, Luchu!” exclaimed Aura, dismayed. “Well, I don’t want it, I don’t want it… For him to leave the battery, for him to come home. Enough with the feats and heroism… Family comes first… ” “Daughter, duty, honor…” murmured Sabino, who, approaching, was able to understand this concept. “Luchu, in danger!” repeated Aura in the tone of pampered children. I want no more glory… no, no. “Come on, don’t cry,” said Sabinus, “and if we cry, let it be for both of us.” As he expressed this thought, and was about to lay down the handful of iron he had just picked up on the bench, a gloomy thought struck him in a more terrifying form, and the angel whispered again in his ear… The terrible sentence was no longer that one of the two brothers would die. The Supreme Judge and Supreme Executor struck both their heads with a single blow. The good father trembled, and the only thing that occurred to him was to go immediately to whatever church was open, prostrate himself and water the floor with his tears, saying to the divinity: “Not both, Lord: that would be too much… In any case, one, just one … and that is still too much.” Chapter 35. Prudencia sent for them, adding to the message that Ildefonso had calmed down, recovering the use of speech. The three of them went there, and said nothing that night about the girl’s situation; but the next day, barely after the move and the whole party gathered in their own house, Sabino thought it a great opportunity to submit to his sister’s illustrious judgment the new problem the children had raised without commendation to God or the devil. Mrs. Negretti didn’t have time to express her stupor and disgust, because they had to go to the pretty girl, who collapsed first with a fainting fit, then with a nervous and convulsive fit, followed by collapse, delirium, and anguish. She said nothing more than: “I don’t want… Luchu dead… Wait, wait…” Caring for her affectionately, Prudencia felt the collapse of her pride, and she was not content that her idea should deviate so visibly from the line along which she had, with all her foresight and talent, tried to direct it. Poor Martín was disappointed, and she was disreputable as a director and governor! It was a trick of reality, which had the damned knack of solving things on its own, making a fool of logic and common sense… But, in the end, the least of the evils. The essence of her plan always resulted: that everything would remain in the house, and that the lazy man from Madrid would leave, if he came at all, with his ears closed. As the new unexpected solution began to make its way into the practical woman’s mind, she recognized Zoilo’s qualities and judged him with greater benevolence. She couldn’t help but praise him. the grace and audacity with which he had overtaken his dull brother, demonstrating an entirely manly resolve. He was a man, a true Bilbao native. With his courage in war, and that gallant frankness in seizing the girl and making her his own, without asking anyone’s permission or fussing, he had suddenly placed himself at the head of all the Arratias, and seemed determined not to relinquish his hard -earned supremacy. Taking advantage of Aura’s moments of peace and Ildefonso’s relative tranquility, Prudencia summoned Don Apolinar and held a conference with him in the dining room, behind closed doors. It was essential to marry the boys immediately, because they had shown such impatience that it was essential to throw the cloak of matrimony over their love. If this were not done, scandal and dishonor could ensue. Don Apolinar, for whom there was no more pleasurable dish than marrying someone off, agreed and proposed to explore the girl’s spirits and exchange a few words with her. This cleric possessed a singular delicacy for inserting his fingers into the mouths of the most bashful and prudish young ladies; but in that case, he didn’t glean the revelations he thought he would. Deeply distressed and more inclined to cry than to confess, Aura only said that, yes…, she loved Luchu… that Luchu was a man, and that with his willpower he was capable of moving mountains… But that she didn’t want to get married until a long, long time had passed, since there was an old commitment that she had to respect in conscience… Her first love had not yet left her mind. Little by little she was leaving … but her head was still inside… or her feet… She could not discern whether it was the feet or the head of the other love, what had not yet been torn out of her… From this came her doubts, her unease of soul and body, her lack of resolution…, her fear of rushing things…, her desire for rest and a long “we’ll see”… Prudence, sworn enemy of “we’ll see”s, protested against these vacillations; but neither she nor Don Apolinar could restrain the beautiful girl. How stubborn she was! Alone again, the lady and the priest resolved to prepare everything for the blessings, for it could well be that Aura’s postponements were an intense coquetry, a subtle art; for the nervous deceive and deceive themselves, considering as abominable that which they most ardently desire. The news of the terrifying battle raging in the gloomy galleries opened by the besiegers and the besieged between Uribarri and Quintana’s house, below San Agustín, diverted the thoughts of aunt and niece from that matter, and nothing remained in their minds but terror. Aura, delirious, was one moment immersed in a gloomy duel, and another, wanting to rush into the street, eager to reach the tragic scene, hear the shots, see the dead carried out, and experience the direct impression of the catastrophe, as one experiences a poison that puts an end to human suffering. Her romanticism puzzled her aunt and the priest, who considered it a pathological phenomenon. “I don’t want doubts,” she said. “Live or die… I don’t want to see myself half-living or half- dead… If all of Bilbao is to collapse in a second, so be it… That’s how we’ll end our doubts. ” With these fears and shocks, Aura’s imagination running wild, Prudencia and the priest commending themselves to the Virgin, Negretti sometimes alone, sometimes with his wife, lost in a cavernous meditation, they spent the entire afternoon until Valentin arrived with better news, implying that the danger had been averted. The poor navigator arrived , extremely tired, his face sooty and livid, so fiercely dominated by his chronic rheumatism that it was with great difficulty that he pulled on his right leg to use it. He sank into a chair, his arms dangling, his hat thrown back… and waited a little while until his lungs and larynx were able to function normally. “I’ve never seen a similar case,” he told them between coughs. “I looked out at the countermine and came out horrified. At eight-thirty at night they started with two branches. They had to see the young troops and Militia working like moles. The old men, among whom I spent more than two hours maneuvering baskets, were removing the earth. At dawn, one of the two branches from here met theirs. The darkness came, muzzling in the earth, and digging with its nails from the Uribarri fountain, to look for the drum of Quintana’s house, which they wanted to blow up… But they didn’t count on the fact that here too we have moles, not the servile ones who don’t see, but from Liberty, very alert… When the hole from here and the one from there joined, the sapper sergeant, Elizagárate, grabbed the factional shovel, and gave it such a strong push that the blow of the shovel destroyed the belly of the miner over there… Only two men could work on the front of the gallery, three feet wide on both sides. Opening a gap with all their might, those from here rushed to the other side: Zoiluchu smashed one with his shovel and killed another with a pistol shot. The hole, which was already short, became even shorter with the two corpses. Would they pass here, or would we there? And meanwhile, if the earth sank, as it very well could, they would all be buried there… I got as far as the connecting gap and became so frightened that I ran away in terror. Give me water and a gale: I don’t fear either one; but I don’t play with the deep earth… I am terrified to see myself in the grave before I die… When I came out into the air, it seemed to me that I had risen again. There’s no one to breathe in there… And in the light of the lanterns, you see arms grabbing you and snagging your clothes… They’re tree roots… Taking a deep breath, he then recounted how they had smoked the galleries with burnt pepper to scare off the besiegers. The moles from over there slipped away, and when the suffocating stench was dissipating, those from here rushed down the mine, breathing half-heartedly. They said they reached the mouth and found it sealed off with bags of earth, as if they wanted to defend it. Then our men spread out along the tube, waiting to see if they dared to poke their noses in again. If they dared, God knows what would happen! But, warned as we are, they won’t be able to charge the mine; We have been saved, even if the galleries remain blocked with the flesh and bones of brave men… Finally, with the precautions taken, everyone thinks that if we have known how to cut short the eagle’s flights and outsmart the cat, we will also know how to plug the holes of the fractious little mouse. Just as they were having a frugal supper, giving one egg to Negretti and another to the girl, with a little wine soup, Sabino entered, flushed and joyful. After spending the whole day from church to church, imploring Divine Mercy, he had appeared in Cendeja, where he had just had the satisfaction of seeing his son Zoilo alive and well. He hadn’t seen Martín; but through Pepe Iturbide he knew that he was still in Las Cujas without incident. “Thanks be to the Lord,” said Valentín; and Aura, with the happy news, seemed to recover her spirits and contentment. They spent the night as they were, and very early the next day, as Prudencia continued with the household arrangements, she arranged a change that seemed pertinent. She thought she should install her nephew in the large bedroom where her parents had once slept, which she later occupied with Negretti for periods of time, and which most recently served as Valentin’s bedroom. She then prepared the lavish matrimonial bed, and although Aura woke up eager to get up, her aunt didn’t allow her to leave so soon. Displaying exquisite kindness and gentleness, she moved her from room to room and bed, saying: “No, my child, no: you’re faint… I know your nature well… and I know that you need a long rest to regain your balance. I’ll move you to the large bedroom, so that you’ll understand that the best part of the house must be for you, and that we’re all doing our best to ensure that the little gem of the family is happy and content .” Here’s a good light, in case you get bored and want to read for a while. Or I’ll bring you your sewing, your crocheting… But get up, oh! Don’t even think about it, you’re very weak and you’d have to to go back to bed… Amazed by such refinement and so many gifts, Aura allowed herself to be loved. Wherever they placed her, there she remained with her thoughts, her doubts, her cruel anxiety. The blessed Don Apolinar arrived around nine o’clock, and without sitting down, asked the three brothers, fortunately gathered in the dining room, what had been decided on the serious case of conscience. They had not yet expressed their opinion, through the authoritative voice of their sister, when they heard a noise in the tent. It was Zoilo and José María who had just entered. Sabino suggested that his brothers and the priest go and chat with the girl in the master bedroom, while he had a few words with his youngest son, for his conscience would not be at peace until he had clarified with him, within the sacred confines of the Arratia home, a serious moral point… Morality, sound conduct, and the rigorous observance of divine and human laws had always been the norm of the honest family, from the time Arratia first came into the world until the present occasion. He took Zoilo to the farthest corner of the back room and, with gravity and gentleness, speaking as a father and a friend, said to him: “Motill, I begin by giving you a hug for your military conduct. Bilbao glorifies you, and you, by honoring Bilbao, honor your own… But there is another realm, very different from that of war, where you have not conducted yourself with the purity and dignity of an Arratia. ” “What are you saying, Father?” “—exclaimed Zoilo, who in his ardor could not contain his feelings within a measured manner. ” I say that your conduct with the girl falls short of what is required by the decorum of our family… If you loved her, why didn’t you come clean, so that we could incline her mind…? ” “Because I am more than enough to… incline minds. ” “But then you have committed a greater fault, for which I want to scold you… gently, don’t think so…” said Sabino, who, faced with the militiaman’s arrogance, shrank more than necessary. “I want to make you see that you have offended God… I suppose in a moment of confusion, of… I’m not scolding you… You will be forgiven if you confess… ” “What?” “That by rushing your marriage to the girl and rendering our plans regarding your brother useless, you have…” Zoilo’s flashing gaze confused him. He could not express his thought, even with the euphemisms that the delicate case required. The boy understood what his father, troubled and stammering, wanted to express; and with a clear and complete voice, putting the brakes on his indignation of courteous reasoning and a respectful tone, he unleashed this broadside: “If what you are telling me, or want to tell me, were told to me by anyone other than my father… if it were not my father who inflicts such infamy on me, I wouldn’t even have time to repent of his evil thought. I am as honorable as my wife, as the one who will be my wife, and I don’t allow the slightest blemish to be placed on her honor, nor on mine either. Not one more word, Father… What’s the point of saying it? ” “But I wasn’t scolding you… Come here, don’t be so angry… It was suspicion, son; it was interrogation… and I don’t object, I don’t object to you getting married tomorrow if you want. ” “How tomorrow?” said Luchu, turning back and dazzling his father again with the flashes of his eyes. What’s this about tomorrow?… I’m getting married first thing tonight. That’s what I’ve arranged. And in case Don Apolinar doesn’t want to do me that favor, I’ve already spoken to the chaplain at Toro, who will marry us in the military style, with four blows… Let’s go upstairs. It didn’t surprise him that Aura, whom in his mind and will he already had as his wife, occupied the alcove of respect and the grandiose bed with its monumental bedstead, a representation of the historical nest of Arratia. When he entered, the gaze of those in the room surrounding the bed was fixed on him, and his own gaze was fixed on the beautiful young woman, who, crouching down, shivering from the cold that overcame her at that moment, was veiling her beautiful face behind her veil, revealing nothing but the suns of her eyes and her disheveled black hair. Aura looked at him, She remained silent, and because of the presence of the family and the priest, he didn’t rush to remedy his wife’s intemperance with ardent kisses. The first to break the silence was Don Apolinar with this judicious observation: “The young lady thinks we should wait. ” “Yes, we shall wait,” Zoilo resolutely stated, taking a few steps toward the bed and placing his hand on the bump formed by Aura’s feet. “We shall wait a few hours. This afternoon, Señor Don Apolinar, you will marry us if you wish, and if you don’t, the chaplain from Toro will do it. ” “It’s not up to me,” the clergyman stammered. “Well, as I was saying, we’ll be married tonight at dusk. My cousin has no other illness than a bit of a fright… Aura, you will get up at noon. ” No one dared to reply to this, since the way he said it precluded any rebuttal. The girl stared in astonishment at the one who, with such tyrannical manner, imposed his authority in such a serious matter. And although formulas of protest ran through her mind, these collided with very strong feelings and stimuli that rendered the ideas ineffective. She found herself under a magnetic, psychological, or whatever power; the tremendous attraction pulled her from her orbit and carried her into a broader, more rapidly moving one. She had no will: she surrendered, she submitted… Luchu snatched her away like one takes a small fire to join it to a larger one, forming a single flame. Valentín believed he had the chance, as the eldest of the family, to obtain a definitive answer from Aura. “What do you say to that, girl? Does it seem right to you?” The girl faded into the sheets… Like the setting sun, her eyes were hidden; then her forehead: nothing remained outside but twilight… the black people’s hair scattered on the pillows, as if among clouds. Prudencia approached and heard her sigh loudly, there among the warm folds of the bedclothes. “That’s done,” she said aloud; and in a low voice, “In these cases, he who sighs gives consent.” Chapter 36. “Well,” said Sabino in the corridor, sniffing at his brother, “ everything will be ready by seven o’clock… It’s a good hour… I’m going to Santiago to have an agreement with the parish priest… At seven o’clock sharp, you know?… And what shall we say to poor Martín? Well, we’ll tell him that this rascal… No: we’ll tell him that God’s will has led things, not by the highway, but by the shortcut… What can we, poor mortals, do against the designs…? I’ll speak to him… At seven o’clock sharp: don’t let your guard down. Without fanfare, without noise… People will gossip about something tomorrow; but what does it matter?… I’ll inform the familiar families… I’ll say that they were engaged; that… the marriage can remain a secret until it is convenient to publicize it. I will speak with the parish priest, Don Higinio, who will deny me nothing… We have been friends since childhood: he, Guergué, and I used to spend our afternoons playing _cotán_ at the Cantones… Valentín, you know, at seven o’clock. We have to be there at a quarter to seven … I’ll take care of the paperwork… And don’t we say anything to Ildefonso?… It would be better if he found out later. Come on, don’t be careless… I’m leaving. Without failing to pay due attention to such an important matter, the veteran of the sea dedicated himself to searching for his son, whose absences and long eclipses were worrying him, as well as his increasing taciturnity and sadness. It had been three days and nights since he had been seen by the family, and they would have doubted his existence if news of him had not been given by friends who had seen him at different hours paddling in the estuary at low tide, or lurking gloomily around the outskirts of the town. Dragging his hobble, Valentín ran through streets and squares, not forgetting the vicinity of the batteries, with such bad luck that he never found him: in many of them, people told him they had seen him. It was believed that the devilish boy was circling him , eluding his pursuit, swift as a bird and slippery as a fish. In the afternoon, he had to give up his tiring hunt and went to rest at Las Cujas, where he found his nephew Martín. Already with the pill in his body, administered by Sabino. As if this weren’t enough, he had a wound on his right hand, which his physical body was treating at first glance when his uncle arrived from a forced landing, sailing with a single paddle. For both mishaps, Valentín had to offer him the appropriate consolations. What remedy was there but to be patient? With the mischief and a man’s impetuosity, Zoiluchu had gotten ahead of him. Fortunately, it all remained in the family… Martín would forget the slight, in which his modesty and amorous clumsiness had played no small part, and bear it with resignation, for, thank God, he would not be short of beautiful and substantial girlfriends. As for the wound, it would be enough for him to keep his hand completely still, as it would no longer be suitable for even marriage. “Do you know the consolation my father has given me?” —said Martín, wanting to smile, while the tears caused by the bitter pain of the treatment were still rolling down his cheeks. —Well, according to him, this bullet wound is the expressive way in which the Divine Will tells me that I shouldn’t get married. Gosh, God could have told me otherwise ! —I think the same. What a way the Lord uses to point the finger! It was enough to take away one’s bride… The intention was already clear… Martín used his wound as an excuse not to go home that night. The doctor had recommended that he go to the hospital, and his father offered him to spend the night with him. _The hand in hand was very good for him_ to escape the unpleasantness of the wedding… As soon as he was healed, he would return home, and what’s past is past: all brothers, all united, now working for the common good. Saddened by his nephew’s double misfortune, which he endured with his usual meekness; Also distressed at not finding Churi, and cherishing the firm resolve to correct his laziness with a good slap on the wrist, Valentín headed, at the slow pace of a leg and a half, to the house on the Ribera. How unaware he was that when he entered it, around five in the afternoon, already an hour of complete darkness at that season, the lost Churi was not far away ! Crouching beside the estuary’s parapet, in an attitude similar to that of the poor who beg for alms, the deaf man saw his father enter the house; with a deep sigh, he crept away on all fours, without leaving the shadow of the parapet, in the direction of the Arenal, and all along this cat-like journey he was giving verbal form to the thoughts that agitated his soul…
“Father, goodbye…” he muttered in obscure language, which must be clarified and translated. Now that I’ve seen him, I have nothing else to do… Goodbye my father, goodbye my uncles, and goodbye my cousins ​​forever , and goodbye you, my home… because you will never see Churi again, nor will Churi ever see you… because he himself is leaving Bilbao, with no intention of returning… I don’t want any more family, nor any more home… because rather than die of rage, or become evil and a bully, I’d rather go far away, to other lands inside, or outside, or to the devil. Crossing the Arenal at a brisk pace, he continued his refrain… “I don’t see my home anymore… Goodbye you, home, and goodbye you too, Bilbao, my town; for all of you, family, home, and town, have become like poison to me, and if I don’t leave here, I’ll condemn myself… Now they’ll say: “But where is Churi, he doesn’t seem to be there?” They’ll think I’ve thrown myself into the sea, or that a cannonball has caught me in the middle… No, gentlemen, no. _Churi_ is leaving… don’t you know why? Well, let them ask that thief Zoilo, that fanciful man, who takes another man’s wife for himself, and has won her through fear… I’ve seen it clearly… Goodbye, you, Arenal, my San Nicolás; goodbye Cujas and Campo Volantín of my soul: you’ll see me no more, because _Churi_ is good; _Churi_ doesn’t want to kill one, nor two, nor any death, and to avoid them, he’s going to the end of the world… Suspension bridge, goodbye, and goodbye Siete Calles y Cantones… As long as I see land ahead, I’ll walk, for I have good legs; and if I see the sea and they let me embark, I’ll go too, far away, far away, to the other side of the earth, which they say is round like an orange, to see if I can find a country…, there may be one…, a country where all the people are deaf…, where _humanities_ live without hearing a word, because they have another way of understanding one another…, whether through signs or winks of the eyes…, which could well be… And love doesn’t need to be spoken, but rather done, with garatusas…, well, I don’t know… Maybe there is one, maybe there is that country, where we don’t have ears, and instead we have other, bigger instruments than here, seeing, tasting…, I don’t know… The instrument of hearing isn’t necessary, not for eating, nor for sleeping, nor for being a father of a family…; no, it isn’t necessary… Goodbye, father and people, for I ‘m going far away… It would be eight o’clock when he was sailing downriver in a tiny barge made of rotten planks, which he had patched up the night before, the smallest amount of craft possible. He had previously brought his provisions aboard: some pieces of cornbread wrapped in a cloth. This was one of the small Spanish flags that combatants used to place on the batteries: he had stolen it days before, and he carried it in case the warships, upon seeing him land in Portugalete, ordered him to raise the flag of his nationality. With his flag, his crumbs of cornbread, and a bucket for bailing, he had enough, and now he had no choice but to pray to God to be able to cross, under cover of the storm, the pontoon bridges that the Carlists had built at San Mamés and Olaveaga. Fortunately for the daring sailor, shortly after casting off, it began to rain heavily, and a harsh northwesterly wind was blowing from the port side, from the Baracaldo side, with gusts of gale that raised waves in the estuary. The gloomy darkness, the rain, the horrendous cold were sufficient reasons for the rebels to be careless; and to top it all off, the water had been falling since nine o’clock. By letting himself drift with the tide, staying as close to the windward side as possible, to the left bank, which offered the most shelter, he would slip away like a fish… An expert navigator, knowing the estuary better than his own house, knowing better than anyone how to find the spots where the current was most favorable, he drifted without using the oars to avoid the noise and the shimmering water. The agitation of the water, the deep murmurs of nature, concealed his escape route. All it took was for the crew member to duck while slipping between the barges supporting the decks of the bridges was enough for the humble barge to pass for a floating piece of timber, dragged along by the tide. In all his desires, poor Churi was favored, both by nature and by chance, and no one saw him, nor did he hear human voices, nor rifle shots fired at his ship. At eleven he sailed safely past the San Mamés boats, and before twelve he eluded those of Olaveaga. At one he saw the lights of the Carlists bivouacking at the Luchana batteries. He passed without incident, protected from a frightful downpour , which, because of its coldness, seemed like snow, and from a terrible gust of wind. At two, drifting to leeward to get away from the Desierto fort, he also crossed unnoticed through this place. Later, to starboard, he saw the Aspe quarries, and at those latitudes, judging himself safe, he held on with the oars, since the water was already beginning to rise. He had nothing to do but stay there, weathering the swell that came from the west, and correcting his situation at every step that the current altered. With this, and with bailing out relentlessly, since otherwise the barge would sink, he had enough work to do until dawn, which must have been around seven o’clock. He held his own, therefore, weathering the wind and tide, and when he saw the first glimmer of dawn to the east, he hoisted his little flag on the bow, preparing to make port. His observations, with no other instrument than his naked eyes, indicated a bearing of a quarter of a mile east of Portugalete. He no longer feared Carlist fire: he was in the waters of Isabel. At eight o’clock, he spotted the English brigs Ringdowe and _Sarracen_, which he already knew, another Spanish warship, and several gunboats… The temperature was glacial; the wind had shifted to the first quadrant and was bringing fine rain, little points of snow that pricked like needles. At eight o’clock he passed alongside a Spanish gunboat that hailed him… Understanding that he should express his Isabella-like sentiments, he proudly pointed to his flag, which bore the motto _Isabel II, Libertad_ above its colors. From the side of the gunboat they asked him: “Do you have a report?” But he took no notice and continued rowing. Shortly after, he saw the bridge emerge from the depths of the haze, armed with ketchams and xebecs to cross the estuary between Bilbao and Las Arenas; bugles, drums, and bells sounded on land and on the ships: for _Churi_ it was as if nothing had happened. Finally , the brave slipper docked at the Portugalete ladder, and many people came down to meet the bold sailor, asking him: “Do you have a report? What’s going on in Bilbao?” He set foot on land with the gravity of an admiral; removing the flag from the bow of the barge, he kicked it, equivalent to the resolution of never entering it again, and climbed the ladder with his flag over his shoulder, without answering the questioners. Among these, there were quite a few who recognized him upon boarding. “It’s Churi, the deaf man from Bilbao,” they said, and no one bothered him with any more annoying questions. He didn’t come with papers, nor did he have to tell anyone what he was looking for in Portugalete. Secured by his flag, which gathered women and children at his side, he headed for a beautiful house next to the Town Hall, which he entered as a familiar person, without greeting anyone. Two women were frying fish in large pans. —Hello, _Churi_, you’re a great time to arrive, —they told him. —What’s up in Bilbao? Very hungry, aren’t you? Sit down and rest. Is your father good? They say many people have died… You’ll have very long teeth, son. Two rounds of hake here, then. —Without sitting down, _Churi_ devoured what was put in front of him, and looked from side to side, as if searching for someone he knew… —I know who you’re looking for, _Churi_, —said another of the women, who spoke correct Spanish. —He’s not here… And when the deaf man understood that the missing person wasn’t in that town, and was greatly distressed to believe it so, the good woman explained to him as best she could, with terrible screams accompanied by energetic gesticulations, that Senora Saloma was at the _Casa de Jado_… —You know? Over there, on the way to the Desert. We have the contract from the General Staff. There ran _Churi_, with a wheel of hake in his mouth and another in his hand, and with alacrity he slipped into the building designated for him, ignoring the guard who tried to stop him. Entering through a door on the right, he went to the kitchen, and in it he saw a gallant, dark-haired, pretty woman with black eyes, who was receiving a plate with a fried egg and a chorizo ​​from another woman. Happy, the deaf man went to the pretty girl, and when she saw him, she let out a festive laugh, saying: “Hello, _Churi_…, you sell yourself dearly… Where have you come from, by sea or by air? You are the devil… Oh, son: I can’t delay… Wait here, I’m going to take the general-in-chief his breakfast…” Chapter 37. The deaf man saw soldiers and orderlies in the kitchen, officers who without… Caesar went up and down the main staircase, where he appeared, to pass the time, waiting for his friend. She reappeared saying: “I’m not going back up. The aides won’t let you live… Look at the bruises I have on this arm. An aide told me that the general is ill and won’t eat anything… that we should have broth by twelve o’clock… You, Casiana, give me some stew, I’m fainting… Add, add more, and poor Churi will eat with me… Isn’t it true, son, that you’re hungry? Poor deaf boy!… Sit here, tell me…” This Saloma was so lively of temper that at times she seemed to be out of her mind. Allowing herself to be carried away by her communicative vein, she without stopping He lied about Churi’s deafness, and while they were eating, he told him about military events of notable relevance. “Look, son, we’ve been here since the beginning of the month wanting to help Bilbao, and we’re left wanting to do so. We’re just as likely to go along this side as we are to go along that side, and we’re not lucky either. At Castrejana, all we did was lose a lot of people, and we came back here with our ears closed. Over there, in Azúa and Lejona, we’ve done nothing but point the gun. Thank goodness the English, men of great judgment, have built a little altar in the Desert that will give the servile something to do.” Now it seems we’re operating over there, and all we’ll have to do is take the bridge and fortified houses those dogs have made in Luchana… Baldomero is desperate to give them a good beating … but I tell him: “Baldomero, be careful and don’t get involved… Draw your lines first, measure terrain and distances… It’s bad to throw flesh into the fight without first measuring well…” But he doesn’t listen to me… He’s so hot-headed by nature that if he didn’t have weapons, he’d attack them with bites… Here we have Don Marcelino Oráa, who comes as quickly as he goes. On the other side, the troops are camped in a bad way, badly fed, frozen to death. You tell me if battles can be won like that? I say no; Baldomero maintains that Spanish blood needs nothing but its own fire to fight and win. Out of kindness, Churi nodded in agreement, without understanding a word. Let it be said quickly, to avoid misinterpretations, that this Baldomero, constantly referred to by the arrogant Saloma, was a sergeant of the Guides, who had the honor of being named after the illustrious leader of the Army of the North; and let it be added that he stood out for his courage, earning crosses and being very close to earning the rank of second lieutenant. Don Marcelino Oráa, whose assistant he had been, held him in high esteem, and Espartero himself knew him by his name Baldomero Galán and honored him. “Well, to give you a better understanding,” he said, “the English help us like gentlemen. They have a talent for cannons, and an eye for aim that is a joy to behold.” Baldomero says he would serve with them more gladly than with those from here, because they pay well, eat better, and are very punctual in everything… I tell him: “Learn from them how to draw lines and take measurements before you fight… Notice how they don’t move a paw without thinking carefully, and they examine carefully the piece of ground where they are going to put it.” And he replies: “Yes, woman, you’re right: they are very studious; but here one is from La Rioja, and before one begins to study, one’s blood heats up and off goes one’s anger without realizing it.” His hunger satisfied, Churi also felt a strong desire to communicate his bitter sorrows to someone he liked. He acknowledged, without understanding, what Saloma had said to him, and continuing the conversation without a logical connection of ideas, he said to her in a poorly Castilianized Basque that is difficult to translate: “Indeed, Saloma Ulibarri, I have not forgotten you; And as soon as I decided to leave my town and my family forever, I thought of you; and I’ve come to tell you that if you’re inclined to return soon to your land of Navarre, as you told me the last time we saw each other, I’m going with you… “Here I am, waiting for the operations,” Saloma replied. ” Of my own free will, I’d set off right now for my beloved Aragon, for I’m almost more Aragonese than Navarrese. But it all depends on where Baldomero is assigned, as he’s already on his way to second lieutenant. If he wins in these actions, he’ll ask to be sent to the Center… I hiccup in the Center too. I’m fed up with these cold, slimy lands… with so much rain and so much eating of fish and beans… I want to see my Ebro, my scorching land , my sky over there that is the joy of the world… Will you really come with us? Ah! _Churi_, you have done some very serious mischief in your house… This time, _Churi_’s first opinion happened to coincide with Saloma’s last. “I am not guilty,” he said, “but unfortunate; so unfortunate that Too bad I feel sorry for myself, I can’t bring myself to take my own life. I’m leaving, yes. Suddenly the deaf man jumped up with a question that didn’t seem appropriate. “Tell me, Saloma, do you know if there’s a young gentleman here who goes by the name of Don Fernando Calpena… a civilian, unless he only recently joined the military … handsome, noble, refined?” At first, the girl couldn’t find any clue. There were so many people at Headquarters , soldiers of different branches and origins, advisors, physicians, armed civilians! She searched her memories, and finally found the person she was looking for in the crowd. “Don Fernando, you say? Yes, yes: a handsome young man, with beautiful eyes… a close friend of the commander-in-chief… Yes… Don Fernando, I don’t know what… He’s upstairs. He’s staying in one of the attics of this house with Mr. Uhagón, a civilian from yesterday, now a captain… Is that gentleman a friend of yours?” —He’s not a friend… But I have a letter to write him, which you can deliver… Bring me paper and pen. It took them a while to give him what he asked for, and meanwhile he delighted in contemplating the lush, racy beauty of _Saloma la Navarra_, as they called her there. It’s worth noting that in previous months, and before the ardent passion that had brought him to such a pitiful state began in Bermeo , poor _Churi_ suffered from lovesickness, falling in love with Saloma with yearnings and worries of little spiritual quality. It was a youthful delirium, which died away in the ashes, after much flirting and pretending with no result. What an unhappy man! All because of his cursed deafness, because of that partition of silence that, erected between him and humanity, prevented him from savoring the sweetness of love… Badly cured of such a secondary and superficial affection, he fell into the deep illness that gripped his body and spirit, the divine and the human. Saloma, with her inciting gallantry and gracious talk, vanished from his mind; the integral and sovereign passion eclipsed the partial and plebeian. There remained, always the affectionate and loyal friend, who conversed with him affably, fed him, entertained him, and cared for him, pitying the inferiority to which his deafness condemned him. The deaf man had to spend almost the entire afternoon writing, because, excessively severe with himself, nothing he wrote pleased him, sometimes because he couldn’t hit the nail on the head with which he wished to express it, other times because his clumsy handwriting caused him to make glaring errors; in other words, tearing paper and writing very bold letters, he spent hours slipping away. Finally, when it was getting dark, the monument was finished, which he read and reread, looking for mistakes, adding or erasing commas, without ever reaching the desired perfection. “Take all the time you need, son,” Saloma told him, “and write it well, slowly, for the gentleman for whom the letter is left this morning for the other side, and we don’t know when he will return.” Tired from the arduous writing, as much as from the journey, poor Churi couldn’t stand it from sleepiness and broken bones. Saloma gave him a cot in the house in Portugalete where she had her restaurant , associated with Casiana and the Anabitarte brothers, wine merchants, and the deaf man fell into it like a stone. If he were not deaf, he would not have failed to feel the horrific storm that night. The waves and whirlpools of the bar were terrifying to the eye; the roar of the sea, combined with the wind, drowned out all the sounds of land, not to mention the cannon fire from the Desierto batteries against Luchana. All night long, the Navarrese woman could sleep, thinking of her poor Baldomero camped in the open or sheltered by some wall, there in the army’s positions on the right bank. And what would a Christian go through for the rights of Isabelita, Carlitos, or the crowned devil!… It was snowing at dawn. It was about nine o’clock when Saloma woke Churi, who couldn’t get enough of sleeping, insensitive to the roar of nature. ” Get up, son, it’s late.” Well, you haven’t taken it lightly! There ‘s your knight from Madrid. With Ensign Ordax, he’s come from Las Arenas here in a haulboat, because the pontoon bridge has arrived. with the fury of the sea. That’s another one!… Get up quickly, lazybones, and if you want to see him, come with me there and lean against the stairs, because Don Fernando has entered the house in Azcoiti, where the artillerymen are quartered , and he will soon go to change his clothes. He’s soaked… Give me the document and I’ll take it to him when he changes, for it’s not right for me to enter his room while the man is getting rid of his clothes. A short time after this conversation, I saw Churi enter the gentleman from Calpena and hurry upstairs. It was him, the same one: you could have let go of the rocket without a care. And half an hour later, Saloma returned to the kitchen and gave the deaf man an account of her commission in these or similar terms: “Oh, son, what a blow the poor gentleman took with your letter!” When he read it, he was whiter than the paper you wrote it on. He asked me who you were, and where you came from, and I, naturally, told him that you were from the wealthy part of Bilbao, a good boy, a great sailor, only a little handicapped in the audience… Now have your breakfast and come to the stove, for today is not the time for wandering around the town. Alone in his attic, and already dressed in dry clothes, Don Fernando could not take his thoughts or his eyes off the letter he had received; and between giving credence to the tremendous statement it contained, or considering it a malignant imposture, time passed quickly in the young man’s head without him noticing. “Last night Aura married Zoilo Arratia,” the scribbles on the paper read in substance, written in bold letters, as if to make up for the clumsiness of the writing with size. In vain, his friend Uhagón, a recent and most cordial friendship formed during those months, came to tell him that if the storm worsened, there would be no choice but to suspend operations. Calpena remained silent about everything; He, so talkative, so enthusiastic about that campaign, so united with the army that its action and his own had become one and the same, said nothing, did not comment, nor did he even offer an opinion. “What do you think?” his friend asked him. And he, enclosing within his soul a storm more horrific than the one that was sweeping through the air, stood up and said: “I think… that the Carlists are doing well in leaving not one stone upon another in Bilbao…; I think that humanity is an old matchmaker, and nature a fragile woman…” Chapter 38. The storm worsened throughout the day, its violence not hindering the brave Isabelline troops from launching themselves into battle. From the cot where he lay in Jado’s house, Espartero gave the orders for the attack, after having previously distributed his forces on both banks, in order to operate in concert against Luchana. The Mayol Brigade, which was in Sestao, crossed the Galindo River via the bridge built by the English and occupied the heights of Rentegui and the Torre de la Cuarentena opposite the mouth of the Azúa River. Meanwhile, with the pontoon bridge over the Nervión River rendered unusable by the storm , eight companies of hunters—two from the First Regiment of the Guard, two from Soria, two from Borbón, one from Zaragoza, and another from the 4th Light Regiment—along with a force of engineers and artillery, crossed the river in barges guarded by war rails. During the arduous crossing, the poor soldiers sang along to the storm’s furious cantata with their exclamations of blind enthusiasm. The lashings of hail with which nature punished them only made them even more furious. A beautiful occasion to proclaim Liberty and declare themselves ready for a horrendous sacrifice for such a fickle goddess, whom the unfortunates had never seen, nor knew what she looked like!… Having landed on the right bank, they hurried to warm up by marching against the cursed bridge. Baron de Meer’s division, which had spent the day fighting on the banks of the Azúa, resumed its attacks with greater vigor when it saw itself reinforced; the chasseurs rushed towards the bridge without commending themselves to God or the devil, and the temerity of those madmen was no small feat , because the Carlists had cut off a section and armed powerful batteries on the other side, with which Fire and relentless musket fire could scorch the very angels who approached. The military history of the world can surely offer few examples of personal courage comparable to that of that night ; and no matter how much the narrator stretches the limits of language to describe it, it must always come across as a fabulous combat between mock heroes of mythology or legend. They fought each other in the darkness of a freezing night, treading on snow, battered by hail, soaked to the bone. If we add to this the fact that they had eaten little and poorly, the implausibility of that effort, which began with quixotic boasting and ended with sublime reality, increases. The dead rolled on the snow; the wounded dragged themselves among rocks and puddles with no one to help them; the living assaulted the bridge almost blindly and on all fours, and doubtless, not seeing the danger, attacked and overpowered it. In broad daylight, and with good weather, such an endeavor might have been nothing more than an honorable attempt. Success turned into a brilliant feat, perhaps the most glorious of that bitter war. It could have happened that the Carlists, trusting in the implausibility of Isabel’s movement, and considering it madness and bravado, neglected to bring all their might to bear on the defense. They too fought in the darkness, wrapped in the icy clothing of hail and rain; they too were numbed and paralyzed by the cold, and the snow denied them safe ground to fight… Nature treated them all equally. On both sides, they fell in droves, most never to rise again. The virginal whiteness of the snow was stained with blood. To the curses and cries of a martial person, the wind responded with more terrifying roars. Finally, the liberals secured the bridge, took it over, and set foot on the snowy mud of the left bank of the Azúa. The engineers immediately began repairing the destroyed section so that cannons, horses, and the entire Cristino army could cross. The hitherto victors didn’t realize the significance of their victory, nor did they know how to gauge the obstacles they would still encounter once they had taken the bridge, since the rebels had carved formidable trenches through the mountains of Cabras and San Pablo. If those from here didn’t take them quickly, all they had done was a useless drain. The Cristinos’ momentum had been so great, and they were so courageous and excited that they gave themselves no rest, nor breath, to continue their quest for the trenches, with the mad ambition of also setting foot on them and tearing to pieces those defending them. From nine to ten at night, furious bayonet duels raged in the rugged mountains: the Isabelinos climbing; the others standing firm in the impregnable ditches. Here, mangled bodies rolled. There, others expired. Now , the liberals advanced upward, now, they retreated headlong, knee-deep in snow; they sank into it, they surged forward, and the bayonets seemed like instruments of nature: the ice and hail turned into sharp points and moved by the hurricane. An enemy battery, positioned on the right flank of Isabel’s troops , pounded them incessantly. But they paid no attention, and to conclude quickly and decide the matter once and for all, there was no other recourse than the bladed weapon. The attacks were repeated over a large area, as Baron de Meer’s troops crossed the left bank over a makeshift bridge. The Carlist trenches, deep and carved out of rocky , rugged terrain, remained impregnable. They were too hard a bone to be gnawed by those here, too vast to be won by surprise. And the night did not clear up, nor did the furious brutality of the storm diminish. It seemed as if the ground wanted to swallow the men and become an immense rotting pit and charnel house for all living things. It was about ten o’clock when the spirited and experienced General Oráa, to whom Espartero, due to his illness, had conferred command, saw the impossibility of advancing, let alone holding, and asked for reinforcements. Espartero immediately sent him the first brigade of Ceballos Escalera’s division; then the second, under the latter’s command. They continued the terrifying fight, trying to scale the trenches, and falling backwards to return to the attack, without fainting, _to keep warm_. Baron de Meer, Brigadier Méndez Vigo, and a multitude of officers were wounded. The chief of the hunters, Ulibarrena, had already been mortally wounded in the attack on the Luchana bridge. The soldiers were falling by the hundreds. At half past ten, General Oráa saw that they had reached the limit of human effort; They would soon cross the line separating the last displays of effective desperation from the first spasms of impotence, and ordering them to hold their positions and continue fighting, he went down to the estuary, crossed with two aides and Colonel Toledo to the left bank, and, gaining time, headed towards the residence of the commander- in-chief. Don Baldomero heard the roar of that tenacious conflict from his bed , and between the pain that held him back and the care he received from outside, he tossed and turned restlessly , more afflicted by anxiety than by the painful cystitis. At the moment of his greatest collapse, the brave Oráa arrived and, with military rudeness, described in a few expressive words the cramped situation of the army on the other side of the river. Espartero instantly dropped half a dozen thick suits of clothes and, rejecting the clothes from his cot, began to dress hastily… “I’ll go right now, even if it costs me my life…” Of course! The bridge taken, what can we do but rise up like wild beasts? What time is it? Eleven o’clock. A beautiful Christmas Eve! Gentlemen, we have sworn to perish or save Bilbao. Tonight our oath will be fulfilled. An attendant came to dress him, and he, putting on his boots, ordered those who remained in the next room awaiting his decision to enter. “Gurrea, forward… Toledo, come in… Come in too, Fernando… Well, you see: I’m going to give it my all. It’s them or me… Now we’ll face each other… Those buttonholers are already charging at me… My horse… soon, my horse… Oráa told me that Ulibarrena is dead… I must repay them with interest for the life of that brave man… Bring on the cloak, the cane… Here we are… Poor soldiers, dying of cold!… ” Here I go, here I go, Bilbao on my way… I don’t want to drink anything… a little wine, and that’s enough… Gentlemen, whoever wants to have fun and hear the Christmas rooster crow, come with me… Overcoming his illness and drowning the horrible discomfort and pain he suffered, he soon showed his military bearing, gallant, well-built, smiling. His yellow face, which was evident from a recent bilious effusion, was animated by the fire that the warrior’s passion ignited in his soul. His black people eyes shone; beneath the skin of his lower jaw, adorned with short sideburns, the vibration of the muscles could be seen ; his lips pursed with grimaces revealing impatience. His mustache, badly trimmed due to the carelessness inherent in his illness, offered bristly black tips, and under his lower lip the fly had spread further than presumption would allow. He still hadn’t grown a goatee. His mustache gave his features a military character, in keeping with the special tone of the time: almost all the sergeants in his army imitated him in this style of personal decoration. The resulting faces were lean, dry, with some Masonic symbolism in the triangular arrangement of the hair ornaments, and an expression of tenacity and perseverance. He stamped his feet firmly on the ground to keep warm, while outside they were preparing for the crossing to the other shore. His bladder problem forced him to take precautions, foreseeing that during a night of long battle, he would lack even the minutes for the most specific tasks. And at the same time, he did not stop hurrying. They told him that as soon as the boats that had brought the second brigade of the division returned, Ceballos Escalera would have passed the headquarters. Espartero was so restless that he would have passed alone on a plank, and unable to bear this inaction any longer, he left chewing his saliva, spitting out the occasional spear and half- barreled interjections… His most sensitive parts of his body ached; the extremely compromised situation of his army ached ; his pride ached. When he arrived at the embarkation point, he was warned that his horse was already sailing toward Luchana. The Extremadura companies and almost the entire Minuisir division began to embark. The general boarded the nearest barge, along with his staff and military attachés and civilians. The limited luggage he had, including very little clothing, scant food, and some gossip and drugs, a burden imposed by his illness, was loaded onto the same boat that had held his horse. A sad and religious silence reigned throughout the voyage. No one spoke. For a moment, in a rent in the clouds, the waning moon was visible, its face half-blushed. The storm was rumbling in the distance. It was twelve o’clock, the hour of Jesus’ birth, which there announced no rooster crowing, nor did the rebec of innocent shepherds celebrate. Rather, the bugles and brass instruments, and the terrifying whistling of the wind, proclaimed the destruction of the world. Chapter 39. Espartero set foot on the right bank, and with him the troops he had as reinforcements. The general rode ahead of them all, and cautiously crossing the famous bridge that would immortalize his name, he was the first to ascend toward Mount San Pablo, finding scattered corpses along his way, over which the shroud of recently fallen snow was already whitening. He began by ordering that the reinforcement troops relieve the unfortunates who had fought desperately all night, their feet numb, rooted to the ground. Forced by the terrain to dismount, Don Baldomero conversed with the troops, responding with fraternal expressions to the cheers and shouts of enthusiasm with which he was greeted. He conferred with his Chief of Staff, General Oráa, and they agreed to suspend the attack in order to organize it with all available useful forces and to immediately relieve the advanced posts. Either chance or an unforeseen accident produced events contrary to what the leaders’ routine logic dictated. It so happened that Oráa ordered the halt signal to be given, and the bugler , unaware of what he was doing, distracted or deluded, perhaps intoxicated by the frenzy of battle, sounded the attack, and as soon as the warlike roar was heard, they all charged up the mountain with an orderly and rapid movement, the ones the general had brought with them vying in ardor with those he found there. Oráa wanted to restrain them and carry out his command, which was misinterpreted by the bugler; Espartero, with better instinct and quick vision, took advantage of that fortunate surge of troops, and with a flash of inspiration, saw that the moment had arrived to follow the impulse of the inferiors, of the great warring mass. The latter was taking the initiative; the latter, in a fleeting collective spasm, was directing and commanding. It was necessary, therefore, to favor this surge, direct it, take it to the extreme, and not allow it to falter. Brandishing his sword, he stood in front of a column, and with that sonorous voice, with that arrogant and fierce tone that electrified the crowds, adopting very energetic and at the same time fraternal forms of language, he said to them: “Forward everyone, and let’s run over those ragged ones… Courage, children, courage!… Now you will see what we are. In front of the one of you who advances the furthest, goes your general, who wants to be the first soldier… To the bayonet… , charge! Courage, children!… In front goes this sword that wants to be the first bayonet… Let those scoundrels die right now , courage!, or abandon the field, for it is ours. Long live the Queen, long live the Army, long live Liberty!” And communicating this fury to the entire division, they advanced up the mountain with a roar that silenced the roars of the storm. Oráa stood at the head of another column on the left. Upon reaching the enemy trench, they heard sounds of panic. Many Carlists were fleeing, others defended themselves with heroic fury; but the onslaught was so strong that the resistance could not have been long or effective. They fell skewered from one side and the other. The general’s voice, not hoarse, always clear and vibrant, shouted to them: “Don’t fire… Clean bayonet… Don’t you want freedom? Then put it in your own bodies… Forward: up everyone. Children, courage!… Bilbao is ours, and theirs is the ignominy. All the glory is ours. Let them see what we are. Up, up… They’re already fleeing. Firmly on them! ” The enemy didn’t wait for a second attack and fled in disarray up the hill toward the second line of trenches. Suddenly, when they were given the order to continue, such a heavy rain and hail broke out that the combatants had to stop. They couldn’t see; The hail was blinding them; the furious wind forced them to take shelter behind a bush, under the protection of some rock, tree trunk, or ruined wall. “My general, here,” shouted a second lieutenant, seeing Espartero whipped violently by the storm, his hand on his hat, his greatcoat unbuttoned by the wind’s claws. They took shelter in the lee of a rock. The leader recognized him instantly: “Ordax… Aren’t you Ordax? Tell General Oráa where I am. Have him come immediately. This gust will soon pass… ” The officer, who was one of those who distinguished himself most in the attack on the bridge, ran to carry out his commander’s orders. His aides soon found him, and they grouped together to give him more shelter with their bodies. In the confusion of that moment, the air furrowing and the earth lashed by the furious lashes of the hail, shouts, voices, calls, and names could be heard, ringing out in the midst of the raging storm. Espartero made his imperious voice heard: “Here I am… Hey! Gurrea… Toledo… here! Damn the weather! We were already keeping them on tenterhooks… bring Oráa… Oráa!… Where is Ceballos Escalera? ” “Here, my general,” replied the powerful voice of the commander of the second division. “How far are we from Banderas? I can’t see anything. Where is Banderas? ” “There, my general. ” “I know he’s there… But roughly how far away? Do you know that I’m feeling better from my pains? The heat has done me good, and on top of the heat, the soaking. What a night! And they say that God is born on this night… I don’t believe it.” —My general, we’re within rifle shot of Banderas… But we still have to take another line of trenches higher up. —What trenches, what the heck! We’ll kick them out of those too… but with rifle butts… with kicks… Another gust of hail. Okay: come on, all at once… Now, stop. Let them sound the alarm. Let’s not waste time. What time is it? —Three-thirty, my general. —At this point, Oráa arrived, and Espartero said to him: —Choose fifteen determined men, those who don’t believe in death, and an officer, to go and reconnoiter at Banderas Heights. We can’t presume the strength they have there, or whether they’re determined to defend the bridge at all costs. They’ve had time to fortify themselves well. But however they are, and whether they’ve built more bastions and batteries than Gibraltar has, we’re going there right now , _in the cool_, to give them the final kicking. The downpour having ceased, Don Baldomero emerged from his hiding place and urged the soldiers on how easy it was to climb to Banderas. The enemy probably had no desire to see Isabelline faces there and would flee as soon as they learned of the visit. Once the lines disrupted by the storm were reestablished, the general’s horse was brought to him, and Carondelet joined him, while Ceballos Escalera hurried off to carry out his final orders. The fifteen soldiers and the officer who had volunteered to go on the reconnaissance marched silently up the mountain. Unhappy men, how great was their self-sacrifice! They were only going to test the degree of strength that Banderas had the enemy. If the enemy met them with intense fire, it was a sign that the elevated position was willing and able to defend itself. Meanwhile , the columns advanced with orders to be quiet, their drums and bugles silenced, their mouths also silent. About halfway between the starting point and Banderas, the fifteen men stumbled upon a ruined cabin infested with rebels, who, through the gaps in the destroyed walls, opened fire. The general and his followers watched this from a distance, imperceptible due to the darkness; but they couldn’t see much. The silence was interrupted by Espartero’s thunderous voice ordering the attack, and thunder resounded among the mass of troops, and the columns swept away like a furious gale, sweeping away everything in their path. In the ruins, more than half of the fifteen men were rolling down the snow-covered slopes. In the first push toward the upper trenches, those on this side were unable to dislodge the enemy. The retreat was short. They needed no encouragement to return with renewed vigor. Espartero and his aides spurred on, seeking the most dangerous spot. This was highly effective in encouraging the soldiers, who, despising death, once again challenged it face to face; and at the third push, the Carlists who were not left lying down took to their heels. To the left, on the slopes of San Pablo, the column commanded by Oráa was able to advance with fewer obstacles. Espartero couldn’t see it. Only by the sound of drums and the human curses hurled by the storm could those in the first column appreciate that their comrades had some advantage. Positioning themselves above the ruins of the hut, Espartero could make out the Carlist masses on the Banderas Hill, moving on the flank. Were they retreating? Were they beginning an encircling movement? Carondelet and the general-in-chief made more or less daring calculations about this . “To know for sure,” he said, “let’s go up… I’ll go first. We mustn’t give them time for anything… Children, take courage! We’re better off dead on top than alive below.” As they advanced, they saw more clearly. A scant light descended from the sky, magnified by the very white and gloomy reflector that covered the entire mountain, the snow, whose clean, candid surface was cut through by the piles of human bodies. The head of the dead Carlist peeked out from between the arms of the inert liberal. The darkness enlarged them: they believed themselves to be the bodies of winged giants, fallen from a frightful combat in the sinister brown clouds; these also ran, attacking each other, and scattered their torn fleeces across the murky sky. In the struggle across the earth, a horrifying roar of drums, bugles, shouts, cheers, and cries of death marked the passage of the human cloud, which slid across the snow, roaring like thunder, striking like lightning. On the eminence, the rude clash produced an instant retreat. Nothing could be seen but a tragic tumult, a confusion of heads and arms, and between them the flashing of bayonets. Not far from the vanguard column, Espartero was saying to them: “Hard, children, hard, we’re home!… No one can beat us… Here we all go, I’m first…” The absolutists were soon disbanding along the northern slope. Once the fort began to abandon, those here put their hands on the summit, then their knees. Isabella’s army finally delivered the furious kick that shook and forever broke the insecure reign of Charles V. It was about five o’clock when Espartero’s horse played the anthem with its vigorous hoof on the ground of the fort’s parade ground. The noble animal could not stifle the shouts of the soldiers, drunk with joy, with its neighing. The army that accomplished such a feat was a great army; but for it to shine in all its greatness the holy patriotic ardor and the military pride that inflamed it, it was necessary for it to have leaders who knew how to take it by the arm and lead it to the strategic peaks, which symbolize the high summits of glory. Without such shepherds, There may be such flocks. The Cristino troops were shepherded on that terrible night by a soldier with a big heart, who knew how to instill in them a sense of duty, the conviction that by sacrificing their mortal lives they would save the immortality of the homeland, the historical honor of the flags. Time, instead of diminishing the stature of those figures, magnifies them every day, and today we see them rise, not so much perhaps because of how much they grow, as because of how much we ourselves shrink. And we even weep a little, now with the whole century in our bodies, seeing that such beautiful seeds have only borne fruit on the field of the Civil War. We believed that this was the apprenticeship for undertakings of greater magnitude… But it was nothing more than childish precocity, from which later fails, giving us, behind the young man of extreme cerebral vigor, rickety and brainless men. The example of Espartero on the glorious Christmas of ’36 should not be shown in isolation; Which, combined with other examples and memories of that leader, shines with greater clarity and allows us to understand the full greatness of the men who were. Before the liberation of Bilbao, the army’s supplies were going as God intended. The government demanded victories to keep its spirits high—victories for barefoot and hungry soldiers ! Cordova’s entire command was a continual lament for this negligence. Espartero was no luckier, and in his eagerness to undertake operations vigorously, burning with courage, attentive to his decorum and the morale of his troops, he resolved the conflict in an elementary, almost innocent way. Undoubtedly because it was a family affair, the letter he wrote on this occasion to his wife, the very good, beautiful, and peerless Jacinta Sicilia, has not been perpetuated in gold letters on marble. It said, among other things: “Pledge your word, mine, and those of my friends; pawn your jewelry and even the piano; gather all the money you can, and send it to me in gold.” The lady was so diligent that, with the same messenger who carried the letter, she sent her husband a thousand ounces. The general fed his soldiers, and a few days later, bedridden with bladder pain, and seeing his beloved troops in such dire straits at Monte Cabras and Monte San Pablo, he leaped from his bed, with a freezing temperature, and did what had been seen before… Spain was miserable then; but he had men. Chapter 40. At daybreak, which, like one of the shortest of the year, did not begin to wake up until seven o’clock, the cloudiness of the sky helping their laziness, the victors saw the vanquished marching hastily along the paths leading to Erandio and Derio. Others hurriedly took the roads to Deusto, to cross to the left bank by the pontoon bridges they had at San Mamés and Olaveaga. “What a pity,” said Espartero, seeing the enemy’s rout, ” not to have cavalry available to take them away with all the sacraments! ” Having also taken the Windmill without firing a shot, and leaving it and the fort well garrisoned, Espartero continued on to the hamlet of Archanda, where he occupied the same house where the Carlist leaders Eguía and Villarreal had celebrated Christmas with a splendid dinner . They even found the table set, and on it the remains of food, all in disarray, as if the diners had had to flee, still chewing and with their napkins still on fire. The house having been invaded by the general staff and aides, Espartero sat down in the dining room and said to them: “You see, Spain, I have kept my word. I left for Bilbao, and we are in Bilbao; at least we have the key to the door.” “My general,” said Gurrea, who was incessantly giving orders regarding provisions, “I’ve ordered coffee to be made for us. ” “For you. I know I’m not drinking it now. I’d have something hot… I didn’t bring anything… I didn’t have time to fill the lunchbox… Listen, make me some garlic soup… I want some mulled wine. ” “How are you feeling, my general?” asked Carondelet. ” Shall we bet that tonight’s julep will do you good?”… Glory, I understand, it’s good medicine. —Well, yes… I thought I’d be worse. The same nervous excitement sustained me… There was a moment, I confess, when my spirits wanted to leave me. It was when I asked: “Where is the Guard?” And from a pile of corpses whitened by the snow came a dying voice that said to me: “Here is what remains of the Royal Guard.” Hearing this, I felt that deadly cold that comes from my kidneys, and up my spine to the back of my neck… But what the devil! I kicked a few times to release the cold and the fear through the soles of my boots… well, I tied a knot around all my fears, and also the pains that gripped my insides, and I said to myself: “Don’t bother me now… To the obligation; to burst here, or to win.” God has favored us: he ordered the thunder to play the anthem… Don’t believe it: when I got out of bed, I had a feeling we were going to destroy every snob there was and ever was… And yet, comrades, this night has been one of those where you call God by your first name! “General,” said Don Marcelino Oráa, coming in hurriedly and smiling, ” I have a roast hen, and it seems to me that after what we’ve done, we might as well eat it in peace. ” “Yes, man, yes; come on: we’ll eat it between the two of us… But tell them to heat it up. ” “They’re already at it. The vacating gentlemen have left the kitchen lit for us. ” “And is there a fire? ” “Magnificent. And now we’re stoking it even more. ” “Well, let’s go there… I’m freezing… To the kitchen, gentlemen.” And on the way to the hearth, Don Baldomero, leaning on Carondelet’s arm, for his back pain was bothering him more than necessary, said: “Those poor soldiers, frozen to death, out in the open!… Let all the bodies be provided with firewood, for the oystermen would have plenty of it here… Let them build bonfires… And as for food, let them be given whatever there is, at their discretion… Another day a tax will be levied; today nothing is levied, for they have given _in full_ their blood and the fire of their hearts… What I say: “On days like this, God ought to do something extraordinary for the poor soldiers as well; and since it’s Christmas, why doesn’t He send down a good shower of turkeys, but roasted, and capons to boot?” Well, it shouldn’t all be hail and bullets. Gentlemen, I’m at my wits’ end.” And if it’s okay with you, after I’ve eaten my share of chicken and the garlic soup, if you give it to me, I’ll rest a while. Now, what time do we enter Bilbao? “Around eleven seems like the best time,” said Don Marcelino with his mouth full. “They haven’t found out yet there. It won’t be long before flocks of patriots arrive. The story is that they’re worse off than us, and we’ll have to give them our share.” With these jokes, they ate, offering each other and accepting what each had. Officers and civilians, more or less armed, were constantly arriving , some of whom were added to the headquarters . “Hello, Uhagón!” said Espartero. “We’ve already saved your people. You’ll be calm now. Do you see how every deadline is over?” “My poor chimbos are overjoyed. You can already hear the ringing of all the bells in Bilbao.” —Poor things, how eager they must be to see us! And I am to see them too… Hello, Fernando: come in, come in. I didn’t think you would have dared to come up to this main floor… coming down from the clouds. How are you? Did you witness the madness last night? Did you come from the rear? —Not so much from the rear, my general, —said Calpena, — that you would fail to see the miracles of the Spanish soldier. —It was a miracle… well said. See, see, gentleman from Madrid, how we know how to deliver here. —I’ve already seen it, and if I hadn’t seen it, I would never have believed it. Never, I say, has the truth been so improbable. —Now you have to tell… Sit down wherever you can, and find a plate, I want to give you a chicken wing. —Thank you very much, my general. Uhagón, Ordax and I, hanging around the Windmill with other friends, were lucky enough to discover nothing less than a roast lamb, and a tray of rice pudding. “Man, what luck! And there’s nothing left?” “My general: we’ve eaten it all. ” “Good: we must gather our strength to enter the square. You now have Bilbao free, Bilbao open. And there the pretty girls awaiting the youth. You will enter with me. ” “If Your Grace allows us, Uhagón and I will go ahead, uncovered , my general. We both have family here. ” “Congratulations: leave right now if you like… and say that at eleven I will enter with my General Staff to greet the authorities of that heroic town, all the people, the brave garrison, the intrepid Militia.” An aide announced at that moment that a large number of people were coming up the Deusto road , commissions from the Provincial Council and the City Council, and half the town behind them. Uhagón and Calpena didn’t wait any longer and went down the mountain, avoiding trenches; But since quite a few people were climbing along the same twists and turns , and among them many of Uhagón’s acquaintances, they had to stop every now and then . Between greetings here, hugs there, and responding to cheers and giving a brief account of the previous night’s fighting, they spent nearly two hours reaching Deusto. Burning with impatience, Calpena pulled his friend along like a tiresome and necessary burden. When they reached La Salve, Uhagón had to restrain Fernando’s brisk pace, saying: “Don’t rush, for even if you could fly, we wouldn’t arrive as quickly as you wish. Fortunately, once you enter my town, you won’t need to make inquiries to find what you’re looking for. I know the Arratias, Sabino, and Valentín; I know the house in Ribera. What I’m sorry about is not being able to accompany you: you understand that I must go home immediately, and before I get there, I’ll find relatives, family, who will seize me and kidnap me.” If you don’t want to come home with me, I’ll find someone who will take you to Ribera… You can’t get lost… Keep going along this bank of the Nervión. You see the Arenal promenade, and always go forward, along the estuary; you see the theater, and go forward… And you’re already there… Look at the shop doors, and wherever you see a frigate in full sail… a display with a painted ship… there it is. Shortly after the Bilbao native said this, they fell into an enthusiastic, frenzied group, in which more than twenty individuals embraced Uhagón because they knew him, Calpena without knowing him, and whether they would have stopped to sing odes and elegies before the smoky walls of San Agustín. Calpena couldn’t have remained insensitive either to the demonstrations of that delirious patriotism, or to the sympathy and affection with which strangers led him from one place to another, showing him the glorious ruins, the scenes of death, now transformed into historic monuments. Seeing himself separated from Uhagón, who in the commotion was dragged far from his friend, those surrounding Calpena said to him with affectionate civility: “We’ll find Celestino. You will come to my house.” And they all offered to take him as soon as they saw the victorious general enter. Grateful, the Madrid native politely excused himself, and without realizing the deceptive time that was passing, he allowed himself to be wooed, allowed himself to be led. Arriving at Cendeja, the crowd blocked their way. They tried to retreat, and found themselves faced with another tumult and even greater shouting. Espartero was approaching with his entire staff to solemnly enter the square like a glorious liberator. In the swirling crowd to open the way, Calpena found himself separated from the strangers who accompanied him; he searched for them with his eyes; But neither they nor Uhagón appeared among the thousand faces in the crowd, which, due to the unity of the feeling they expressed, seemed to belong to a single being. Unable to advance, he leaned against a wall and saw the general on foot, advancing with martial gallantry in front of San Agustín, then crossing through the pass opened for that purpose in the _Battery of Death_. The popular exclamation at that beautiful moment; the explosion of the crowd, a confused mixture of enthusiasm, gratitude, Of mourning, of love, it was like an immense cry. Connected to the whole, and sharing in the total emotion, Calpena also wept with cries of joy. While Espartero embraced the militia leaders in the Arenal, the eddies of people carried Don Fernando from one place to another. He couldn’t escape the people’s delirium; he felt with them the joy of victory, and the bitter aftertaste of past suffering. The human wave, bursting with songs, cheers, and various cries, swept him away. He felt like a citizen of the valiant town; he felt besieged, hungry, dying, redeemed at last by his own efforts and those of the hero who at that moment confused his legitimate pride with that of his neighbor, and his faith with the faith of Bilbao. Until the height of popular emotion had passed, Calpena didn’t feel himself outside the wave… He thought about finding his bearings. Recognizing the point where he had entered and observing the course of the estuary, he reestablished his course. “Along this bank, always forward,” Uhagón had told him. He soon recognized the theater, and was heading toward it when the crowd began to move in the same direction. The leading groups hesitated for a moment. Here they said the general was going to the City Hall; over there, to the Provincial Council. But those who indicated the first point must have been right, because the mass of Bilbao residents, ardent, boisterous, intoning patriotic songs and brandishing military trophies, ran toward the riverbank. “That’s where we’re all going,” Calpena told himself, allowing himself to be swept away again by the waves and moving as close as he could to the estuary’s ledge so as not to lose his way. He looked at the neighboring houses one by one , and before the curve that the line of buildings describes in that area, obedient to the course of the Nervión, ended, he saw a beautiful frigate sailing at full sail above a gate. There it was!… The crowd completely filled the road from the houses to the river. Over the sea of ​​moving heads, the frigate sailed in the opposite direction, ramming its gallant prow into the human current. This is how Calpena saw it, observing at the same time that there were no people on the balconies next to the ship, and that the door of the shop was closed. He grabbed the parapet to free himself from the wave, like a shipwrecked man clinging to a rock. Truly, he had traces of a shipwrecked man. The mud reached his knees; he trembled with anxiety, with cold… END OF “LUCHANA” Santander San Quintín, January-February 1899. Thank you for joining us for this reading of Luchana by Benito Pérez Galdós. Through its pages, we have witnessed the vicissitudes of war, the courage of its characters, and the author’s lucid analysis of contemporary Spanish society. Galdós reminds us that history is not just a succession of dates, but a human drama filled with ideals, sacrifices, and hopes. If you enjoyed this literary journey, don’t forget to subscribe to Ahora de Cuentos for more unforgettable stories. See you next time.