Chapter X: Part TWO: Castro Duro (3)

“What are you going to do there?”

“We are going to open a Club.”

“Are you going to speak?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Let’s go, so that I can hear you. Probably you will do it badly enough.”

“It’s possible.”

“And what you say won’t please anybody.”

“That’s possible, too. But that makes no difference. You will come?”

“Yes. Will there be picturesque speakers?”

“There are some, but they are not going to speak. There is one, Uncle Chinaman, who is a marvel. In describing the actual condition of Spain, he once uttered this authoritative phrase: ‘Clericalism in the zenith, immorality in high places, the debt floating more every day,...’”

“That’s very good.” “It certainly is. He made another happy phrase, criticizing the Spanish administration. ‘For what reason do they write so many useless papers?’ he said. ‘So that rats, the obscene reptiles, can go on eating them....’”

“That’s very good too.”

“He is a man without any education, but very intelligent. So you are going to come?”

“Yes.”

“Then we will meet at the station.”

CAN ONE CHANGE OR NOT?

They took the train at night and they chatted as they went along in it. Cæsar explained to Alzugaray the difficulties he had had to overcome in order that the Workmen’s Club could be reinstituted, and went on detailing his projects for the future.

“Do you believe the town is going to be transformed?” asked Alzugaray.

“Yes, certainly!” said Cæsar, staring at his friend.

“So then, you, a Darwinist who hold it as a scientific doctrine that only the slow action of environment can transform species and individuals, believe that a poor worn-out, jog-trotting race is going to revive suddenly, in a few years! Can a Darwinist believe in a revolutionizing miracle?”

“Previously, no; but now he can.”

“My dear fellow! How so?”

“Haven’t you read anything about the experiments of the Dutch botanist Hugo de Vries?”

“No.”

“Well, his experiments have proved that there are certain vegetable species which, all at once, without any preparation, without anything to make you expect it, change type absolutely and take on other characters.”

“The devil! That really is extraordinary.”

“Vries verified this rapid transformation first in a plant named OEnotheria Lamarckiana, which, all of a sudden, with no influence from the environment, with nothing to justify it, at times changes and metamorphosizes itself into a different plant.”

“But this transformation may be due to a disease,” said Alzugaray.

“No, because the mutation, after taking place, persists from generation to generation, not with pathological characteristics, but with completely normal ones.”

“It is most curious.”

“These experiments have produced Neo-Darwinism. The Neo-Darwinists, with Hugo de Vries at their head, believe that species are not generally gradually transformed, but that they produce new forms in a sudden, brusque way, having children different from the fathers. And if such brusque variations can take place in a characteristic so fixed as physiological form, what may not happen in a thing so unstable as the manner of thinking? Thus, it is very possible that the men of the Italian Renaissance or the French Revolution were mentally distinct from their predecessors and their successors, and they may even have been organically distinct.”

“But this overthrows the whole doctrine of evolution,” said Alzugaray.

“No. The only thing it has done is to distinguish two forms of change: one, the slow variation already verified by everybody, the other the brusque variation pointed out by Hugo de Vries. We see now that the impulses, which in politics are called evolution and revolution, are only reflexions of Nature’s movements.”

“So then, we may hope that Castro Duro will change into an Athens?” asked Alzugaray.

“We may hope so,” said Cæsar.

“All right, let’s hope sleeping.”

They ordered the porter to prepare two berths in the car, and they both lay down.

THE RECEPTION

In the morning Cæsar went to the dressing-room, and a short while later came back clean and dressed up as if he were at a ball.

“How spruce you are!” Alzugaray said to him.

“Yes, that’s because they will come to receive me at the station.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“Ha... ha... ha...!” laughed Alzugaray.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Cæsar, smiling.

“At your having arranged a reception and brought me along for a witness.”

“No, man, no,” said Cæsar; “I have arranged nothing. The workmen of the Club will come down out of gratitude.”

“Ah, that’s it! Then there will be only a few.”

At this juncture the car door opened and a man in the dirty clothes of a mechanic appeared.

“Don Cæsar Moncada?” he inquired.

“What is it?” said Cæsar.

“I belong to the Castro Workmen’s Club and I have come to welcome you ahead of anybody else,” and he held out his hand. “Greetings!”

“Greetings! Regards to the comrades,” said Cæsar, shaking his hand.

“Damn it, what enthusiasm!” murmured Alzugaray.

The employee disappeared. On arriving at the station, Alzugaray looked out the window and saw with astonishment that the platform was full of people.

As the car entered the covered area of the station, noisy applause broke out. Cæsar opened the door and took off his hat courteously.

“Hurrah for Moncada! Hurrah for the Deputy from Castro! Hurrah for liberty!” they heard the shouts.

Cæsar got out of the car, followed by Alzugaray, and found himself surrounded by a lot of people. There were some workmen and peasants, but the majority were comfortable citizens.

They all crowded around to grasp his hand.

Surrounded by this multitude, they left the station. There Cæsar took leave of all his acquaintances and got into a carriage with Alzugaray, while hurrahs and applauses resounded.

“Eh? What did you think of the reception?” asked Cæsar.

“Magnificent, my boy!”

“You can’t say I behaved like a demagogue.”

“On the contrary, you were too distant.”

“They know I am like that and it doesn’t astonish them.”

Cæsar had a rented house in Castro and the two friends went to it. All morning and part of the afternoon committees kept coming from the villages, who wanted to talk with Cæsar and consult him about the affairs of their respective municipalities.

INAUGURATION OF THE CLUB

In the evening the Workmen’s Club was inaugurated. Nobody in Castro talked of anything else. The Clerical element had advised all religious persons to stay away from the meeting.

The large hall of the Club was profusely lighted; and by half-past six was already completely full.

At seven the ceremony began. The president of the Club, a printer, spoke, and told of Cæsar’s benefactions; then the Republican bookseller, San Román, give a discourse; and after him Cæsar took up the tale.

He explained his position in the Chamber in detail. The people listened with some astonishment, doubtless wishing to find an opportune occasion for applause, and not finding it.

Some of the old men put their hands to their ears, like a shell, so as to hear better.

Next, Cæsar spoke about life in Castro, and pointed out the town’s needs.

“You have here,” he said, “three fundamental problems, as is the case with almost all towns in the interior of Spain. First: water. You have neither good drinking water, nor enough water for irrigation. For want of drinkable water, the mortality of Castro is high; for want of irrigation, you cannot cultivate more than a very small zone, under good conditions. For that reason water must be brought here, and an irrigation canal begun. Second problem: subsistence. Here, as in the whole of Castile, there are people who corner the grain market and raise the price of wheat, and people who corner the necessities of life and put up their prices as high as they feel like. To prevent this, it is necessary for the Municipality to establish a public granary which shall regulate prices. For, want of that, the people are condemned to hunger, and people that do not eat can neither work nor be free. Third problem: means of transport. You have the railway here, but you have neither good highways nor good byways, and transportation is most difficult. I, for my part, will do all I can to keep the federal government from neglecting this region, but we must also stir up the little municipalities to take care of their roads.

“These three are questions that must be settled as soon as possible.

“Water, subsistence, transportation; those are not matters of luxury, but of necessity, matters of life. They belong to what may be called the politics of bread.

“I cannot make the reforms alone; first, because I have not the means; next, because even supposing I had, if I must leave these improvements in a township that would not look after them, not take care of them, they would soon disappear; they would be like the canals dug by the Moors and afterwards allowed to fill up through the neglect of the Christians. That is what politics are needed for, to convince reactionaries.

“At the same time, looking toward the future, let us start the school, which I should like to see not merely a primary school, but also a school for working-men.

“Let us endeavour, too, to turn the field of San Roque into a park.”

After explaining his program, Cæsar called on all progressive men who had liberal ideas and loved their city, to collaborate in his work.

When he ended his speech, all the audience applauded violently. Alzugaray was able to verify the fact that the majority of them had not understood what Cæsar was saying. “They didn’t understand anything. A few sparkling phrases would have pleased them much better.”

“Ah, of course. But that makes no difference,” replied Cæsar. “They will get used to it.”

The inauguration over, the bookseller, San Román, Dr. Ortigosa, Señor Camacho, who was the pharmacist that called himself an inventor of explosives, and some others, met in the office of the Club, and talked with great enthusiasm of the transformation that was obviously taking place at Castro.

XI. THE PITFALL OF SINIGAGLIA

A COMMISSION FOR THE MINISTER

A few days later, during Carnival, the Minister of the Treasury presented himself at Cæsar’s hotel. The famous financier was a trifle nervous.

“Come along with me,” he said.

“Come on.”

They got into a motor, and the Minister suddenly asked:

“Could you go to Paris immediately?”

“There’s nothing to prevent. What is it to do?”

“You know that the great financier Dupont de Sarthe is studying out a plan for restoring the value of the currency of Spain.”

“Yes.”

“Well, today the Speaker asked me several times if it was ready. It is necessary for me to introduce it soon, as soon as possible, and along with the plan for restoring the currency, one for the suppression of the government tax.”

“The Speaker wishes to have these plans introduced?”

“Yes, he wishes them introduced at once.”

“That indicates that the Conservative situation is very strong,” said Cæsar.

“Obviously.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

“Go to Dupont de Sarthe and have him explain his scheme clearly, and tell you the difficulties; if he has an outline of it, have him give it to you; if not, have him give you his notes.”

“All right. Shall I go tonight?”

“If you can, it would be the best thing.” “There’s nothing to prevent. Take me back to the hotel and I will pack.”

The Minister told the chauffeur to go back to Cæsar’s house.

“As soon as you arrive, let me know by wire, and write to me explaining the scheme in the greatest possible detail.”

“Very good.”

“You will need money; I don’t know if I have any here,” said the Minister, feeling for his pocket-book.

“I have enough for the trip,” replied Cæsar. “But, as I might need some in Paris, it would not be a bad idea for you to open an account for me at a bank there, or else to give me a cheque.”

The Minister vacillated, then went into the hotel writing-room and signed a cheque on a Parisian banker in the Rue de Provence, which he handed to Cæsar.

“See you on your return,” he said.

“Good-bye.”

Cæsar called a servant and bade him:

“Telephone to my friend Alzugaray. You know his number. Tell him to be here inside an hour.”

“Very good, sir.”

This arranged, Cæsar went to the main door and saw that the Minister’s motor was headed for down town. Immediately he took a carriage and went to the Chamber. The undersecretary of the Speaker was a friend of his; sometimes he gave him advice about playing the market.

Cæsar looked him up, and when he found him, said:

“How are we getting on?”

“All right, man,” replied the undersecretary.

“Come over here, so I can see you in the light,” said Cæsar, and taking him by the hand, he looked into his eyes.

“It’s true,” said the undersecretary, laughing, “that the situation is not very strong.”

“What is the danger?”

“The only danger is your friend, the famous financier. He is the one who could play us a dirty trick.”

“Do you suspect what it could be?” “No. Not clearly. You must know better than any one else.”

“I have just seen the Minister, and he gave me the impression of being satisfied.”

“Then everything is all right. But I haven’t much confidence.”

Cæsar left the undersecretary, went out of the Chamber, and returned home in the carriage. Alzugaray was waiting in the entry for him.

Cæsar called to him from the carriage:

“I am going to Paris,” he told him, “to spend a few days.”

“Good.”

“I must draw out what money I have in the Bank.”

“Let’s go there now.”

They went to the Bank, to the paying teller, and Cæsar drew out twenty thousand pesetas of his few months’ winnings on the market.

“You are not going to play at all, this month?” asked Alzugaray.

“No, not this month.”

They left the Bank.

“I will wire you my address in Paris,” said Cæsar.

“Very good. And nothing is to be done?”

“No. That is to say, my partner and I are not going to play. Nevertheless, I am going to leave you two thousand pesetas, and if you think well, you can use it as you choose.”

“All right,” said Alzugaray, pleased at Cæsar’s confidence in his talents for speculation.

“In case I need any information which had best not be public,” Cæsar went on, “I will wire you in code. Do you know the Aran code?”

“No.”

“I will give it to you, directly, at my house. If you receive a telegram from me from Paris, beginning with your name: ‘Ignacio, do thus or so,’ you will know it is in the code.”

“I follow you. What’s up?”

“An affair the Minister is putting through, which we will not let him pull off without getting our share out of him. I will explain it to you, when I come back.”

“How long do you expect to be there?”

“Two weeks at most; but perhaps I’ll come right back.”

INDUCTION

On arriving at the train, Cæsar bought all the evening papers. In one of them he found an article entitled: _The Projects of the Minister of Finance_, and he read it carefully.

The writer said that the Minister of Finance had never been so closely identified with the Conservative Cabinet as at that moment; that he had plans for a number of projects for the salvation of the Spanish Treasury, which he would briefly explain.

“It’s a witty joke,” thought Cæsar.

He was too well acquainted with the market and monetary affairs in general, too well acquainted with the sterling worth of the famous financier not to understand the idea of his scheme.

Cæsar knew that the Minister not only was not on good terms with his colleagues in the Government, but was at sword’s points with them, and was moreover disposed to give up his portfolio from one day to the next.

Whence came this haste to launch the plan for the suppression of the government tax and restoring the value of the currency? Why did he send him, Cæsar, on this errand, and not somebody in the Department?

His haste to launch the plan was easy to comprehend.

The Minister was about to give a decisive impulse to all stocks; the suppression of the affidavit and the restoring the value of the currency would shove up domestic paper in Spain and foreign stocks in France to extraordinary heights. Then a difficulty with the Speaker, a moment of anger, such as was to be expected in a character like the Minister’s, would oblige him to offer his resignation... prices would take a terrible drop, and the Minister, having already planned for a big bear scoop in Paris, would clear some hundreds of thousands of francs and keep his reputation as a patriot and an excellent financier.

Why was he sending Cæsar? No doubt because he suspected his secretary, whom he had probably given similar missions to previously.

Cæsar knew the Minister well. He had described him in his notes in these words: “He is dark and brachicephalic; a man of tradition and good common sense; average intellect, astute, a good father and a good Catholic. He believes himself cleverer than he really is. His two leading passions are vanity and money.”

Cæsar knew the Minister, but the Minister did not know Cæsar. He imagined him to be a man of brilliant intellect, but incapable of grasping realities.

After thinking a long while over the business, while he was undressing to go to bed in the sleeping-car, Cæsar said:

“There is only one thing to find out. Who is the Minister’s broker in Paris, and who is his banker? With Yarza’s assistance that is not going to be difficult for me to ascertain. When we know what broker he works through and what banker, the affair is finished.”

Having concluded thus, he got into his berth, put out the light, and lay there dozing.

IN PARIS

On arriving at Paris next evening, he left his luggage in the hotel at the Quai d’Orsay station. He wired his address to the Minister and to Alzugaray, and went out at once to look for Carlos Yarza. He was unable to find him until very late at night. He explained to his friend what had brought him, and Yarza told him he was at his disposition.

“When you need me, let me know.”

“Good.”

Cæsar went off to bed, and the next morning he proceeded to the banking-house in the Rue de Provence where he was to cash the cheque handed him by the Minister of the Treasury.

He entered the bank and asked for the president. A clerk came out and Cæsar explained to him that on arriving at his hotel he had missed a cheque for three thousand francs from the Spanish Minister of Finance. He introduced himself as a Deputy, as an intimate friend of the Minister’s, and behaved as if much vexed. The department manager told him that they could do no more than take the number and not pay the cheque if anybody presented it for payment.

“You don’t handle the Minister’s business here?” asked Cæsar.

“No, only very rarely,” said the manager.

“You don’t know who his regular banker is?”

“No; I will ask, because it is very possible that the chief may know.”

The clerk went out and came back a little later, informing Cæsar that they said the house the Spanish Minister of Finance did his banking with was Recquillart and Company, Rue Bergère.

The street was near at hand, and it took Cæsar only a very little while to get there. The building was dark, lighted by electricity even in the daytime, one of those classic corners where Jewish usurers amass great fortunes.

There was no question of employing the same ruse as in the Rue de Provence, and Cæsar thought of another.

He asked for M. Recquillart, and out came a heavy gentleman, a blond going grey, with a rosy cranium and gold eyeglasses.

Cæsar told him he was secretary to a rich Spanish miner, who was then in Paris. That gentleman wanted to try some business on the Bourse, but was unable to come to the bank because he was ill of the dropsy.

“Who recommended our house to this gentleman?” asked the banker.

“I think it was the Minister of Finance, in Spain.”

“Ah, yes, very good, very good! And how are we to communicate with him? Through you?”

“No. He told me he would prefer to have a clerk who knows Spanish come to him and take his orders.” “That is all right; one shall go. We happen to have a Spanish clerk. At what hour shall he come?” said M. Recquillart, taking out a pencil.

“At nine in the evening.”

“For whom shall he ask?”

“For Señor Pérez Cuesta.”

“At what hotel?”

“The one in the Quai d’Orsay station.”

“Very good indeed.”

Cæsar bowed; and after he had sent Yarza a telephone message, making an appointment for after the Bourse at the Café Riche, he took an automobile and went to hunt for the great financier Dupont de Sarthe, who lived on the other bank of the Seine, near the Montparnasse station.

He had a large, sumptuous office, with an enormous library. Two secretaries were at work at small tables placed in front of the balconies, and the master wrote at a big Ministerial table full of books. When Cæsar introduced himself, the great economist rose, offered his hand, and in a sharp voice with a Parisian accent, asked what he desired.

Cæsar told him the Minister’s request, and the great economist became indignant.

“Does that gentleman imagine that I am at his bidding, to begin a piece of work and stop it according as it suits him, and take it up again when he orders? No, tell him no. Tell him the scheme he asked me for is not done, not finished; that I cannot give him any data or any information at all.”

In view of the great man’s indignation, Cæsar made no reply, but left the house. He lunched at his hotel, gave orders that if any one brought a letter or message for Señor Pérez Cuesta they should receive it, and went again to the Rue de Provence, where he said he had had the good luck to find his cheque.

With all these goings and comings it got to be three o’clock, and Cæsar turned his steps toward the Café Riche. Yarza was there and the two talked a long while. Yarza knew of the manoeuvres of the Minister of Finance, and he gave his opinion about them with great knowledge of the business questions. He also knew Recquillart’s clerk, the Catalan Pujol, of whom he had not a very good opinion.

The two friends made an engagement for the next day and Cæsar hurried to his hotel. He wrote to the Minister, telling him what the fundamentals of Dupont de Sarthe’s project were; and between his own ideas and those Yarza had expounded to him, he was able to draw up a complete enough plan.

“The Minister being a man who knows nothing about all this,” thought Cæsar, “when he understands that the ideas I expound are those of the celebrated Dupont de Sarthe, will find them wonderful.”

RECQUILLART’S CLERK

After having written his letter and taken a little tea, he lay stretched out on a divan, until they brought him word that a young man was asking for Señor Pérez Cuesta.

“Send him up.”

Señor Puchol entered, a dark little man who wore a morning-coat and had a hat with a flat brim edged with braid.

Cæsar greeted him affably and made him sit down.

“But are you not Spanish?” Cæsar asked him.

“Yes, I was born in Barcelona.”

“I should have taken you for a Frenchman.”

“In dress and everything else, I am a complete Parisian.”

“This poor man is full of vanity,” thought Cæsar. “All the better.” He immediately began to explain the affair.

“Look,” he said, “the whole matter is this: the Spanish Minister of Finance, my chief, has dealings on a large scale with the Recquillart bank; you know that, and so do I; but the Recquillarts, besides charging an inflated commission, interfere in his buying and selling with so little cleverness, that whenever he buys, it turns out that he bought for more than the market price of the security, and whenever he sells, he sells lower than the quotation. The Minister does not wish to break off with the Recquillarts....”

“He can’t, you meant to say,” replied Puchol, in an insinuating manner. “Since you know the situation...” responded Cæsar.

“Oughtn’t I to?”

“Since you know the whole situation,” continued Cæsar, “I will say that he cannot indeed break off with the Recquillarts, but the Minister would like to do business with somebody else, without passing under the yoke of the chief.”

“He ought to make arrangements with another broker here,” said Puchol.

“Ah, certainly. I have brought some twenty thousand francs with that object.”

“Then there is no difficulty.”

“But we need a go-between. The Minister doesn’t care to turn to the first banker at hand and explain all his combinations to him.”

“That’s where I come in.”

“Good, but we must know beforehand how much you are to get. Your demands may be such that it would be better for him to stick to the Recquillarts.”

“Recquillart gets ten percent of the profits, besides a small commission as broker. I will take five.”

“It’s a good deal.”

“I will not accept less; the arrangement might cost me my career. Consult him....”

“If I could consult him! The truth is that there may not be time. We will accept five.”

“What does the Minister wish to speculate in? The same things as with Recquillart? Foreign Loans and Northerns?”

“Exactly. Just as before.”

“All right. The investment, as you can see, is safe,” Puchol continued. “I would put my fortune in it, if I had one. There are a lot of newspapers bought; all the financial reviews are predicting a rise.”

The clerk took out a folded review and handed it to Cæsar, who read:

“We are assured that the plan of the Spanish Minister of Finance must make foreign securities rise considerably. Northerns will follow the same path, and there are indications that their rise will be very rapid and will cover several points.”

“The field is going to be covered with corpses,” said Cæsar.

Señor Puchol burst out laughing; Cæsar invited him to dine with him, and gave him a sumptuous dinner with good wines.

Puchol was absolutely vain, and he boasted of his triumphs on the Bourse; it was he who guided Recquillart in the dealings he had with Spaniards, in which they had plucked various incautious persons.

“How much will the Minister’s operation amount to?” Cæsar asked him.

“Nobody can prevent his making three hundred thousand, at the least. With the increase he has ordered you to make, it will come to six hundred thousand. We will gobble up the two points it falls.”

“I don’t know if there may have been some new order while I was in the train coming to Paris,” said Cæsar.

“No, his operation is all arranged,” replied Puchol, and he got out a note-book and consulted it. “It will be like giving away bread. We are going to sell ten millions of Foreigns and five hundred Northerns on the seventeenth, the eighteenth, and the twentieth.”

“And the scoop will take place?” asked Cæsar.

“On the 27th.”

“So that on those days we shall sell just as much again?”

“And we shall sell much dearer.”

They dropped that point and talked of other things.

Señor Puchol was a literary man and was writing a symbolistic drama which he wanted to read to Cæsar.

At twelve they said good-night. Puchol was to tell his chief that he had not been able to do any business with Señor Pérez Cuesta. In respect to the other matter, they had an engagement for ten the next morning at a café in the neighbourhood of the Bourse.

There were no great difficulties to overcome. They saw a broker named Müller. Cæsar entrusted him with his twenty thousand francs, and hinted that the speculation was being made for some rich people, who would have no objection to making up any loss, if he should exceed the twenty thousand francs.

The broker told him he could play whatsoever sum he wished.

As Cæsar had not entire confidence in Puchol, and did not care either to tell the broker that he was to begin only when the stocks fell, he brought Yarza into the deal.

Puchol was to say to Yarza: “The Minister has given the order to sell”; and Yarza would first verify this, if he could verify it; then he would tell the broker: “Sell.” It might go as far as handling twenty millions of Foreigns and up to a thousand of Northerns.

In order to get all the ends well tied up, Cæsar had to get from one place to another without a moment’s rest.

IN MADRID

The trap being set, Cæsar took the train, worn out and feverish. He arrived at Madrid, took a bath, and went to see the Minister; and after the interview went to his house in the Calle de Galileo and spent two days in bed, alone in the completest silence.

The third day Alzugaray arrived, anxious.

“What’s the matter? Are you sick?” he asked.

“No. How did you know I was here?”

“Your janitress came to my house to tell me you were in bed.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with me, boy.”

“You should know that there’s a splendid chance to make some money, today.”

“My dear fellow!”

“Yes, and we haven’t done anything in the market, except one miserable little operation.”

“And why do you think there is such a good chance?”

“Because there is, because everybody can see it,” said Alzugaray. “Prices are going to rise with this project of the Minister of Finance’s; they are going in for a big deal; everybody has been indiscreet, without meaning to be, and people on the market are buying and buying. Everybody is sure of a rise... and we are doing nothing.”

“We are doing nothing,” repeated Cæsar.

“But it is absurd.”

“What’s the date?”

“The twenty-second.”

“The evening of the twenty-seventh we will talk.”

“How mysterious you are, boy.”

“I can’t tell you any more now. If you have bought anything, sell it.”

“But why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“All right, when you get on these sibylline airs, I say no more. Another thing. Various gentlemen have come to tell me that they wanted to play the market; they have heard that it is about to go up....”

“Who were they?”

“Among others, Amparito’s father and Don Calixto García Guerrero.”

“If they wish to give security, tell our broker, and I will sell them anything they want to buy.”

“Really?”

“Really. I have my reasons for doing it.”

“This time we are all going to make, except you.”

“Dear Ignacio, I am at Sinigaglia.”

“What does that mean?”

“If you have a moment free, read the history of the Borgias,” murmured Cæsar, turning over in bed.

The next few days Cæsar lived in constant intranquillity. Yarza telegraphed him, saying that they had done the whole operation. On the 27th, in the afternoon, Cæsar wandered toward the Calle de Alcalá; Madrid wore its normal aspect; the newspaper boys were calling no extras. More worried than he liked, Cæsar went for his walk by the Canalillo and then shut himself in his house. In the evening he went out breathless and bought the newspapers. His first impression was one of panic; there was nothing; on reaching the third page he uttered an exclamation and smiled. The Minister of Finance had just offered his resignation.

The next morning Cæsar went to the hotel in the Carrera de San Jerónimo where he had a room, and in the afternoon to the Chamber. He telephoned to Alzugaray to come and see him after the exchange closed.

Alzugaray arrived, looking pale, in company with Amparito’s father, Don Calixto, and the broker. They were all wretched. The news was horrible. Domestics had fallen two points and were still falling; in Paris the Foreign Loan had fallen more than four; Northern was not falling but tumbling to the bottom of a precipice.

“Did you know that the Minister was going to present his resignation?” asked the broker, in despair.

“I, no. How should I know it? Even the Minister himself couldn’t have known it yesterday. But I had scientific data for not believing in that rise.”

“I am ruined,” exclaimed the broker. “I have lost my savings.”

Don Calixto and Amparito’s father had also lost very large sums, which Cæsar won, and they were disconsolate.

When they were gone and only Alzugaray remained, he said to Cæsar:

“And you have played in Paris, too, probably.”

“Yes.”

“On a fall?”

“Certainly.”

“You are a bandit.”

“This game, my dear Ignacio, based solely on events, is not a speculator’s game, but is, simply, a hold-up. The other day I told you: ‘I am at Sinigaglia.’ Did you read the history of Cæsar Borgia?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what he did at Sinigaglia to the _condottieri_, to Vittellozzo, Oliverotto da Fermo, and his other two captain-adventurers, I have done to the Minister of Finance, to Don Calixto, Amparito’s father, and many others.” And Cæsar explained his game. Alzugaray was amazed.

“How much have you made?”

“From what these telegrams say, I think I shall go over half a million francs. From those beginners, Don Calixto and Amparito’s father, I think I have made forty thousand pesetas.”

“What an atrocious person! If the Minister should find out about your game.”

“Let him find out. I am not worried. The famous financier, in addition to being an idiot, is an honourable rogue. He plays the market with the object of enriching himself and leaving a fortune to his repugnant children. I, on the other hand, play it with a patriotic object.”

The matter didn’t rest there: Puchol, carried away by an easily comprehensible desire for lucre, and thinking it brought the same amount to the famous financier whether he played through Recquillart or through Muller, had made the last bid for the Minister through the new broker.

The Minister’s winnings diminished considerably and Cæsar’s gained in proportion. The illustrious financier, on learning what had happened, shrieked to heaven; but he said nothing, because of the secret transaction they had had together. Puchol was dismissed by Recquillart, and with the thirty thousand francs he collected from Cæsar he set up for himself.

The Minister, a little later, went to Biarritz, to collect his share. On his return he sent Cæsar a note, unsigned and written on the type-writer. It read:

“I did not think you had enough ability for cheating. Another time I will be more careful.”

Cæsar replied in the same manner, as follows:

“When it’s a question of a man who, besides being an idiot, is a poor creature and a cheat like you, I have no scruple in robbing him first and despising him afterwards.”

Some days later Cæsar published an article attacking the retiring Minister of Finance and disclosing a lot of data and figures.

The Minister answered with a letter in a Conservative paper, in which he denied everything Cæsar alleged, and said, with contempt, that questions of Finance were not to be treated by “amateurs.”

Cæsar said that he considered himself insulted by the Minister’s words, whom, however, he admired as a financier; and a few months later he joined the Liberal party and was received with open arms by its famous chief.

XII. LOCAL STRUGGLES

THE WATER SUPPLY

Cæsar had money in abundance, and he decided to exert a decisive influence on Castro Duro.

For a long while he had had various projects planned.

He thought it was an appropriate moment to put them into practice.

The first that he tried to carry out was the water supply.

The Municipality had a plan for this in the archives, and Cæsar asked for it to study. The scheme was big and expensive; the stream it was necessary to harness so as to bring it to Castro, was far away. Besides it was requisite to construct a piping system or an aqueduct.

Cæsar consulted an engineer, who told him:

“From a business point of view, this is very poor. Even if you use the superfluous water, in a factory for instance, it will give you no results.”

“What shall we do then?”

“The simplest thing would be to put in a pumping plant and pump up the river water.”

“But it is infected water, full of impurities.”

“It can be purified by filtering. That’s not difficult.”

Cæsar laid this plan before the Municipality, and it was decided to carry it out, as the most practical and practicable. A company was formed to pump up the water, and work was begun.

The stockholders were almost all rich people of Castro, and the company drew up its constitution in such a manner that the town got scarcely any benefit out of it. They were not going to instal more than two public fountains inside the city limits, and those were to run only a few hours. Cæsar tried to convince them that this was absurd, but nobody paid any attention to him.

THE LIBRARY

A bit disappointed, he left the “Water Pumping Company” to go its way, and devoted himself entirely to things that he could carry out alone.

The first one he tried was establishing a circulating library of technical books on trades and agriculture, and of polite and scientific literature, in the Workmen’s Club.

“They will sell the books,” everybody said; “they will get them all soiled, and tear out the leaves....”

Cæsar had the volumes bound, and at the end of each he had ten or twelve blank sheets put in, in case the reader wished to write notes.

The experiment began; predictions were not fulfilled; the books came back to the library untorn and unspotted and with some very ingenuous notes in them. Lots of people took out books.

The clerical element immediately protested; the priests said in the pulpit that to send any chance book to working people’s houses without examining it first, was to lead people into error. Dr. Ortigosa retorted that Science did not need the approval of sacristans. As, in spite of the clerical element’s advice, people kept on reading, there were various persons that took out books and filled them with obscene drawings and tore out illustrations. Dr. Ortigosa sent Cæsar a letter informing him what was happening, and Cæsar answered that he must limit the distribution of books to the members of the Workmen’s Club and people that were known. He bade him replace the six or seven books abused, and continued to send new ones.

The ferment kept the city stirred up; there were no end of heated discussions; lectures were given in the Club, and Dr. Ortigosa’s paper, _The Protest_, came to life again.

“I am with you in whatever will agitate the people’s ideas,” wrote Cæsar; “but if they start to play orators and revolutionists, and you folks come along with pedantic notions, then I for my part shall drop the whole thing.”

When Cæsar was in Castro, he spent his evenings at the Workmen’s Club. They gave moving pictures and frequent balls. Cæsar did not miss one of the Club’s entertainments. The men came to him for advice, and the girls and the little boys bowed to him affectionately. There was great enthusiasm over him.

THE BENEVOLENT SOCIETY

Shortly after the initiation of these improvements in the Club, there appeared in Castro Duro, without fuss, without noise, two rather mysterious societies; the Benevolent Society of Saint Joseph and the Agricultural Fund. In an instant the Benevolent Society of Saint Joseph had a numerous array of members and patrons. All the great landholders of the region, including Amparito’s father, bound themselves to employ no labourers except those belonging to the Benevolent Society. In the neighbouring villages the inhabitants joined _en masse_. At the same time as this important society, Father Martin and his friends founded the Castrian Agricultural Fund, whose purpose was to make loans, at a low rate of interest, to small proprietors.

The two Catholic institutions set themselves up in rivalry to the Workmen’s institution. The town was divided; the Catholics were more numerous and richer; the Liberals more determined and enthusiastic. The Catholics had given their upholders a resigned character.

Moreover, the name Catholic applied to the members of the two Clerical societies made those who did not belong to them admit with great tranquillity that _they_ were not Catholics.

The Clericals called their enemies Moncadists, and by implication Schismatics, Atheists, and Anarchists. Inside the town there was a Moncadist majority; in the environs everybody was a Catholic and belonged to the Benevolent Society.

Generally the Catholics were abused in word and deed by the Moncadists; the members of the Workmen’s Club held those of the Benevolent Society for cowards and traitors. Doubtless Father Martín did not wish that his followers should be distinguished by Christian meekness, and he appointed a bully whom people called “Driveller” Juan warden of the Benevolent Society. This Juan was a lad who lived without working; his mother and his sisters were dressmakers, and he bled them for money, and spent his life in taverns and gambling-dens.

“Driveller” began to insult members of the club, especially the boys, and to defy them, on any pretext. Dr. Ortigosa went to see Cæsar and explained the situation. “Driveller” was a coward, he didn’t venture beyond a few peaceable workmen; but if he had defied “Furibis” or “Panza” or any of the railway men that belonged to the Club, they would have given him what he deserved. But in spite of “Driveller’s” cowardice, he inspired terror among the young boys and apprentices.

Dr. Ortigosa was in favour of getting another bully, who could undertake the job of cutting out “Driveller’s” guts.

“Whom are we to get?” asked Cæsar.

“We know somebody,” said Ortigosa.

“Who is it?”

“’ El Montes.’”

“What kind of a party is he?”

“A bandit like the other, but braver.”

_BANDITS_

“El Montes” had just come out of Ocaña.

He was a Manchegan, tall, strong, robust, and had been in the penitentiary several times.

“And how do we manage ‘El Montes’?” asked Cæsar.

“We make him a servant at the Workmen’s Club.”

“He will corrupt the place.”

“Yes, that’s true. Then at the right moment we shall send him to the Café del Comercio. They gamble at that café; he can go there and in two or three days call a halt on ‘Driveller’ Juan.” “Good.”

“We must arrange for you to dismiss the new judge and put in some friend of yours, and one fine day we will get a quarrel started and we will put all Father Martin’s friends in jail.”

“You two play atrocious politics,” said Alzugaray, who was listening to the conversation.

“It’s the only kind that will work,” replied Ortigosa. “This is scientific politics. Ruffianism converted into philosophy. We are playing a game of chess with Father Martin and we are going to see if we can’t win it.”

“But, man, employing all these cut-throats!”

“My dear friend,” responded Cæsar, “political situations include such things; with their heads they touch the noblest things, the safety of one’s native land and the race; with their feet they touch the meanest things, plots, vices, crimes. A politician of today still has to mingle with reptiles, even though he be an honourable man.”

“Besides, we need have no scruples,” added Ortigosa; “the inhabitants of Castro are laboratory guinea-pigs. We are going to experiment on them, we are going to see if they can stand the Liberal serum.”

* * * * *

_THE TWO ASYLUMS_

A little after these rivalries between the Benevolent Society and the Workmen’s Club, which stirred up every one’s passions to an extreme never before known at Castro Duro, another motive for agitation transpired.

There were two asylums in the town; the Municipal Aid and the Asylum of the Little Sisters of the Poor.

The Municipal Aid had its own property and was wisely organized; the old people were permitted to go out of the asylum, they had no uniform, and from time to time they were allowed to drink a glass of something. In the Little Sisters’ Home, on the contrary, discipline was most severe; all the inmates had to go dressed in a horrible uniform, which the poor hated; to be present, like a chorus, at the funerals of important persons; pray at every step; and besides all that, they were forbidden under pain of expulsion, to smoke or to drink anything.

So the result was that there were abandoned old wretches, who, if they couldn’t get a place in the Aid, let themselves die in some corner, rather than put on the uniform of the Little Sisters’ Home, degrading in their eyes.

That asylum had no income, because its Catholic managers had eaten it all up. In view of the institution’s bad economic condition, it occurred to Father Martin to consolidate the two; to make one asylum of the municipal and the religious, and to put it under the strict rule of the religious one. What Father Martin wanted was that the Little Sisters should have a finger in the whole thing, and that the income of one institution should serve for both.

Cæsar threatened the mayor with dismissal if he accepted the arrangement, and insisted that the Liberal councilmen should not permit the fusion, which was to the great advantage of the Clerical party.

As a matter of fact, the plan came to nothing, and Cæsar treated the Municipal Aid to two barrels of wine and tobacco in abundance, which aroused great enthusiasm among the old people, who cheered for the Deputy of their District.

Cæsar rode over the situation on horseback; but the Clerical campaign strengthened at the same rate that popular sympathies went out toward him. In almost every sermon there were allusions to the immorality and the irreligion that reigned in the town. The support of the women was sought and they were exhorted to influence their husbands, brothers, and sons to resign from the Workmen’s Club.

The old pulpit oratory began to seem mild, and on the feast of the Virgin of the Rock, a young preacher launched out, in the church, into an eloquent, violent, and despotic sermon in which he threatened eternal suffering to those who belonged to heretical clubs and would not return to the loving bosom of the Church. The homily caused the greatest impression, and there were a few unhappy mortals who, some days later, were reported as dead or missing at the Workmen’s Club.

XIII. AMPARITO IN ACTION

_LAURA AT CASTRO_

A time for new elections arrived, and Cæsar stood for Castro Duro. Don Calixto, who had married his two daughters and was bored at not being allowed to pull the strings in the town, decided to move to Madrid. First he had thought of spending only some time at the capital, but later he decided to stay there and he had his furniture sent down.

People said that Don Calixto had no great affection for the old palace of the Dukes of Castro, and Cæsar proposed that he should rent the house to him.

Don Calixto hesitated; in Castro he would certainly have refused, but being in Madrid he accepted. His wife advised him that if he had any scruples, he should ask more rent. They came to the agreement that Cæsar should pay three thousand pesetas a year for the part Don Calixto had formerly inhabited.

This time Cæsar had the election won, and there was not the slightest fight. He was the boss of Castro, a good boss, accepted by everybody, save the Clericals.

Cæsar had money, and he wrote to his sister to come and see him at Castro in his seigniorial mansion. Laura arrived at Madrid in the autumn, and the two went to Castro together.

Laura’s appearance in the town created a great sensation. At first people said she was Cæsar’s wife. Others said she was an actress; until finally everybody understood that she was his sister.

Laura really took undue advantage of her superiority. She was irresistibly amiable and bewitching with everybody. The majority of the men in Castro Duro talked of nothing but her, and the women hated her to the death.

Being a marchioness, a Cardinal’s niece, and a Deputy’s sister, gave her, besides, a terrible social prestige.

One person who clung to her, enchanted to have such a friend, was Amparito. She went to the palace in her motor at all hours, to see Laura and chat with her. In the afternoon the two of them used to walk in Amparito’s father’s property, where the labourers, who were threshing, received them like queens.

What enchanted Laura was the wild garden at Don Calixto’s house, with its pomegranates and laurels, its tower above the river, full of climbing plants and oleanders.

“You ought to buy this house,” she used to tell Cæsar.

“It would cost a good deal.”

“Pshaw! You could arrange that wonderfully. You would get married and live here like a prince.”

“Get married?”

“Yes. To Amparito. That young thing is enchanting.

“She will make a splendid little wife. Even for your respectability as a Deputy, it would be fitting to marry. A bachelor politician has a poor look.”

Cæsar paid no attention to these suggestions and continued to lead an unsocial life. He covered the environs on horseback, found out everything that was going on and settled it. In this he set himself an enormous task, which was not notable for results; but he hoped to succeed in conquering the district completely, and then to extend his sphere of action to others and yet others.

After being a fortnight in Castro Duro, Laura went to Biarritz, as was her custom every year.

AMPARITO AND CÆSAR

Cæsar was left alone. He had seen Amparito with his sister many times but had scarcely ever exchanged more than a few words with her. One afternoon Cæsar was in the gallery in an arm-chair, with his feet high. He felt melancholy and lazy, and was watching the clouds move across the sky. Soon he heard steps, and saw Amparito with an old servant who had been her nurse.

Cæsar jumped up.

“What’s the matter?” he exclaimed.

“I came to get something Laura forgot,” said Amparito.

“She forgot something?” asked Cæsar stupidly.

“Yes,” replied Amparito; and added, addressing the old woman:

“Go see if there is a little glass box in Señorita Laura’s room.”

The old woman went out, and Amparito, looking at Cæsar, who was on his feet watching her nervously, said:

“Do you still hate me?”

“I?” exclaimed Cæsar.

“Yes, you do hate me.”

“I! I have never hated you.... Quite the contrary.”

“Whenever you see me you get away, and just now you looked at me as if you were terrified. Have you such a grudge against me for a joke I played on you long ago?”

“I, a grudge! No. It is because I have the impression, Amparito, that you want to upset my plans, to make game of me. Why do you?”

“Do you think I try to amuse myself by worrying you?”

“Yes.”

“No, that isn’t true. You don’t think so.”

“Then why this constant inclination to distress me, to poke fun at me?”

“I never poked fun at you.”

“Then I have made a mistake.... I had come to think that you took some interest in me.”

“And so I did. I did take an interest in you, and I keep on taking an interest in you.”

“And why so?”

“Because I see that you are unhappy, and you are alone.”

“Ah! You are sorry for me!” “Now you are offended. Yes, I am sorry for you.”

“Sorry!”

“Yes, sorry. Because I see that you despise everybody and despise yourself, because you think people are bad, and that you are too, and to me this seems so sad that it makes me pity you deeply.”

Cæsar began to walk up and down the gallery, trembling a little.

“I don’t see why you say this to me,” he murmured. “I am a morbid man, with an ulcerated, wounded spirit.... I know that. But why say it to me? Do you take pleasure in humiliating me?”

“No, Cæsar,” said Amparito, drawing near him. “You don’t believe that I take pleasure in humiliating you. No, you know well that I do not.”

On saying this, Amparito burst into tears, and she had to lean against the gallery window, to hide her face and dissemble her emotion.

Cæsar took her hand, and as she did not turn her head, he seized her other, too. She looked at him with her eyes shining and full of tears; and in that look there was so much attachment, so much distress, that Cæsar felt a weakness in his whole frame. Then, taking Amparito’s head between his hands, he kissed it several times.

She leaned her head on Cæsar’s shoulder and stood pressed against him, sobbing. Cæsar felt a sensation of anguish and pain, as if within the depths of his soul, the strongest part of his personality had broken and melted.