Yesterday
I gave her twenty-one
cents for meat, and she drank them also.
cents for meat, and she drank them also.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v19 - Oli to Phi
So home with a sad heart, and there find every body dis-
coursing and lamenting the fire; and poor Tom Hater come with
some few of his goods saved out of his house, which is burned
upon Fishstreete Hill. I invited him to lie at my house, and
did receive his goods, but was deceived in his lying there, the
newes coming every moment of the growth of the fire; so as we
were forced to begin to pack up our owne goods, and prepare
for their removal; and did by moonshine (it being brave dry,
and moonshine, and warm weather) carry much of my goods.
into the garden, and Mr. Hater and I did remove my money
and iron chests into my cellar, as thinking that the safest place.
And got my bags of gold into my office, ready to carry away,
and my chief papers of accounts also there, and my tallys into
a box by themselves. So great was our fear, as Sir W. Batten
hath carts come out of the country to fetch away his goods this
night. We did put Mr. Hater, poor man, to bed a little; but he
got but very little rest, so much noise being in my house, tak-
ing down of goods.
[February 16th, 1666-67. ] To Mrs. Pierce's, where I took up
my wife, and there I find Mrs. Pierce's little girl is my Valen-
tine, she having drawn me; which I was not sorry for, it easing
me of something more that I must have given to others. But
here I do first observe the fashion of drawing of mottos as well
as names; so that Pierce, who drew my wife, did draw also a
motto, and this girl drew another for me. What mine was I have
forgot: but my wife's was, "Most virtuous and most fair; " which,
as it may be used, or an anagram made upon each name, might
be very pretty. Thence with Cocke and my wife, set him at
home, and then we home. To the office, and there did a little
## p. 11301 (#521) ##########################################
SAMUEL PEPYS
11301
business, troubled that I have so much been hindered by matters
of pleasure from my business, but I shall recover it I hope in a
little time. So home and to supper, not at all smitten with the
musique to-night, which I did expect should have been so extraor-
dinary. Tom Killigrew crying it up, and so all the world,
above all things in the world, and so to bed. One wonder I
observed to-day, that there was no musique in the morning to
call up our new-married people.
[February 25th, 1666-67. ] Lay long in bed, talking with pleas-
ure with my poor wife, how she used to make coal fires, and
wash my foul clothes with her own hand for me, poor wretch!
in our little room at my Lord Sandwich's: for which I ought for
ever to love and admire her, and do; and persuade myself she
would do the same thing again, if God should reduce us to it.
So up and by coach abroad to the Duke of Albemarle's about
sending soldiers down to some ships, and so home, calling at a
belt-maker's to mend my belt, and so home and to dinner, where
pleasant with my wife, and then to the office, where mighty busy
all the day, saving going forth to the 'Change to pay for some
things, and on other occasions, and at my goldsmith's did observe
the King's new medall, where, in little, there is Mrs. Steward's
face as well done as ever I saw anything in my whole life, I
think and a pretty thing it is, that he should choose her face
to represent Britannia by. So at the office late very busy and
much business with great joy dispatched, and so home to supper
and to bed.
[July 24th, 1667. ] Betimes this morning comes a letter from
the Clerke of the Cheque at Gravesend to me, to tell me that
the Dutch fleete did come all into the Hope yesterday noon, and
held a fight with our ships from thence till seven at night; that
they had burned twelve fire-ships, and we took one of their's,
and burned five of our fire-ships. But then rising and going to
Sir W. Batten, he tells me that we have burned one of their
men-of-war, and another of their's is blown up; but how true this
is, I know not. But these fellows are mighty bold, and have had
the fortune of the wind easterly this time to bring them up, and
prevent our troubling them with our fire-ships; and indeed have
had the winds at their command from the beginning, and now
do take the beginning of the spring, as if they had some great
design to do. I to my office, and there hard at work all the
morning, to my great content, abstracting the contract book into
## p. 11302 (#522) ##########################################
11302
SAMUEL PEPYS
my abstract book, which I have by reason of the war omitted for
above two years, but now am endeavouring to have all my books
ready and perfect against the Parliament comes, that upon ex-
amination I may be in condition to value myself upon my per-
fect doing of my own duty. At noon home to dinner, where my
wife mighty musty, but I took no notice of it, but after dinner
to the office, and there with Mr. Harper did another good piece
of work.
[October 10th, 1667. ] All of us, my sister and brother, and
W. Hewer, to dinner to Hinchingbroke, where we had a good
plain country dinner, but most kindly used; and here dined the
Minister of Brampton and his wife, who is reported a very good
but poor man. Here I spent alone with my Lady, after dinner,
the most of the afternoon; and anon the two twins were sent
for from schoole, at Mr. Taylor's, to come to see me, and I took
them into the garden, and there, in one of the summer-houses,
did examine them, and do find them so well advanced in their
learning, that I was amazed at it: they repeating a whole ode
without book out of Horace, and did give me a very good
account of any thing almost, and did make me very readily very
good Latin, and did give me good account of their Greek gram-
mar, beyond all possible expectation; and so grave and manly
as I never saw, I confess, nor could have believed; so that they
will be fit to go to Cambridge in two years at most. They are
both little, but very like one another, and well-looked children.
Then in to my Lady again, and staid till it was almost night
again, and then took leave for a great while again, but with
extraordinary kindness from my Lady, who looks upon me like
one of her own family and interest. So thence, my wife and
people by the highway, and I walked over the park with Mr.
Shepley, and through the grove, which is mighty pretty, as is
imaginable, and so over their drawbridge to Nun's Bridge, and
so to my father's, and there sat and drank, and talked a little,
and then parted. And he being gone, and what company there
was, my father and I, with a dark lantern, it being now night,
into the garden with my wife, and there went about our great
work to dig up my gold. But, Lord! what a tosse I was for
some time in, that they could not justly tell where it was; that
I begun heartily to sweat, and be angry, that they should not
agree better upon the place, and at last to fear that it was gone:
but by and by poking with a spit, we found it.
## p. 11303 (#523) ##########################################
SAMUEL PEPYS
11303
[February 27th, 1667-68. ]
All the morning at the office, and
at noon home to dinner, and thence with my wife and Deb. to
the King's House, to see 'The Virgin Martyr,'* the first time it
hath been acted a great while: and it is mighty pleasant; not
that the play is worth much, but it is finely acted by Becke
Marshal. But that which did please me beyond any thing in the
whole world was the wind-musique when the angel comes down,
which is so sweet that it ravished me, and indeed, in a word, did
wrap up my soul so that it made me really sick, just as I have
formerly been when in love with my wife; that neither then, nor
all the evening going home, and at home, I was able to think of
any thing, but remained all night transported, so as I could not
believe that ever any musick hath that real command over the
soul of a man as this did upon me: and makes me resolve to
practice wind-musique, and to make my wife do the like.
[May 1st, 1669. ] Up betimes. Called up by my tailor, and
there first put on a summer suit this year: but it was not my
fine one of flowered tabby vest, and coloured camelott tunique,
because it was too fine with the gold lace at the hands, that I
was afeard to be seen in it; but put on the stuff suit I made
the last year, which is now repaired; and so did go to the Office
in it, and sat all the morning, the day looking as if it would be
fowle. At noon home to dinner, and there find my wife extraor-
dinary fine, with her flowered tabby gown that she made two
years ago now laced exceeding pretty; and indeed, was fine all
over; and mighty earnest to go though the day was very lower
ing; and she would have me put on my fine suit, which I did.
And so anon we went alone through the town with our new
liveries of serge, and the horses' manes and tails tied with red
ribbons, and the standards there gilt with varnish, and all clean,
and green reines, that people did mightily look upon us; and
the truth is, I did not see any coach more pretty, though more
gay, than ours all the day. But we set out, out of humour — I
because Betty, whom I expected, was not come to go with us;
and my wife that I would sit on the same seat with her, which
she likes not, being so fine: and she then expected to meet
Sheres, which we did in the Pell Mell, and against my will, I
was forced to take him into the coach, but was sullen all day
almost, and little complaisant: the day also being unpleasing,
*A tragedy by Massinger and Dekker.
## p. 11304 (#524) ##########################################
SAMUEL PEPYS
11304
though the Park full of coaches, but dusty and windy, and cold,
and now and then a little dribbling rain; and what made it
worst, there were so many hackney-coaches as spoiled the sight
of the gentlemen's; and so we had little pleasure. But here was
W. Batelier and his sister in a borrowed coach by themselves,
and I took them and we to the lodge; and at the door did
give them a syllabub, and other things, cost me 12s. , and pretty
merry. And so back to the coaches, and there till the evening,
and then home, leaving Mr. Sheres at St. James's Gate, where he
took leave of us for altogether, he being this night to set out for
Portsmouth post, in his way to Tangier, which troubled my wife
mightily, who is mighty, though not, I think, too fond of him.
But she was out of humour all the evening, and I vexed at her
for it, and she did not rest almost all the night.
## p. 11305 (#525) ##########################################
11305
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
(1834-)
BY WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP
Sugar
EREDA was born February 7th, 1834, at Polanco, a village of
Northern Spain, near Santander, the capital city of the prov-
ince of the same name, popularly termed also La Montaña,
or the Mountain. This is the region to which he has especially
devoted himself in his literary work. He is generously named by the
younger men of distinguished ability, like Galdós and Valdés, as the
most original of the contemporary Spanish writers of fiction, and as
the most revolutionary, in the sense of having cast off the conven-
tional influence of the romantic and classical traditions of the earlier
half of the century. His influence is a distinct and valuable element
in the work of the other leaders; and yet, unlike them,- owing to the
local raciness, the idiomatic difficulties of his style,- he has been
scarcely translated into any other of the modern languages, and into
English not at all; except in some fugitive short stories, rendered for
the periodical press by Mr. Rollo Ogden. Pereda is properly to be
named as the pioneer and standard-bearer of the best kind of modern
realism in Spain.
He is a country gentleman of good descent and liberal means,
resident, at no great distance from Santander, at the village of Po-
lanco, where his modern villa adjoins the casa solar or ancestral home-
stead of his family, with the arms heavily carved above the door in
mediæval fashion. He has never had to know the conflict between
poverty and literary aspiration, which is so common a feature in
the history of writers; yet this has in no way detracted from the
masculine vigor, the evidence of assiduous labor, and the notable
air of conscientiousness, in his work. In appearance he is of the
spare ascetic type we are accustomed to associate with the Span-
ish hidalgo. The distinguished French traveler and novelist, René
Bazin, in an account in the Revue des Deux Mondes of a visit to him
at Polanco, says: "As he drew near, one might have taken him for
Cervantes himself. " Galdós speaks of him as "the most amiable, the
most excellent of men. " He seems to have in a high degree the fac-
ulty of inspiring warm personal regard. This is well exemplified in
two most laudatory essays on two of his books,- the one by Galdós,
the other by Menendez y Pelayo, the eminent critic. Frankly colored
## p. 11306 (#526) ##########################################
11306
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
as these are by friendly admiration, they yet state convincingly the
reasons for their opinions; and these reasons can be accurately veri-
fied by whoever will have recourse to the text.
Pereda's literary work began in 1859 with the publication, in a
local journal, of the sketches of manners and customs afterwards gath-
ered into a volume called 'Escenas Montañeses' (Scenes in Mon-
taña). A number of these are marked by the triviality of their
origin; but several others, like 'La Leva' (The Conscription) and
'El Fin de Una Raza' (The Last of his Race), are esteemed equal to
the best of his later work. 'La Leva' is a picture, both touching
and humorous, of the poor fisherman Tuerto-an Adam Bede of a
rougher sort—and his drunken wife. The naval conscription finally
takes him out of his misery, but leaves his children to the mercies
of a cold world. The second story is in a measure a continuation of
the first, showing the return of Tuerto to find his children vagrants
and outcasts; but it is chiefly devoted to Uncle Tremontorio, an old-
school tar of a type that has now disappeared. The province of San-
tander is an almost equal combination of the mountains belonging to
the Cantabrian chain, and the coasts of the formidable Bay of Biscay:
both are affectionately referred to in the literary phraseology as
Cantabria, from the old Roman name of the province. Pereda divides
his interest impartially between sea and shore; between the life of
the farmers in the hilly interior and that of the hardy fisherman
on the coast; and notably Santander, with its tall squalid tenement
houses clustering round the park, which is the capital and the centre
of all the enterprises of these latter. This is the domain which the
author has chosen so exclusively for his own that he scarce wishes
ever to make any excursion outside it, literary or personal; for he
will not even live outside of it. He is hailed with especial pride by
its inhabitants, as the vindicator of the Northern race of people,
who had had no champion in literature from the very earliest times.
The grateful inhabitants of Santander paid him the compliment of
naming a fine street after one of his books, 'Sotileza' (Fine Spun),
choosing for the purpose the site at which a principal part of the
action of the book took place; and also presented him a large paint-
ing, showing a scene from the book: while Torrelavega, the small
town nearest his village, presented him with a piece of plate.
Though literature may not bring very large money returns in a coun-
try with comparatively so few readers as Spain, it receives many
places and preferments, and graceful honors of this kind.
manner Zorilla, the poet, was publicly crowned, with a crown made
of gold from the sands of the Darro at Granada.
Pereda's first novel, 'Los Hombres de Pro' (Respectable Folks),
was completed in 1874. It describes the rise in the world of Simon
## p. 11307 (#527) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11307
Cerojo, who kept a little cross-roads grocery. It is a story of char-
acter, the elements of which might be found in almost any country.
He finds that the men who "give life and character to communities
in our day are not richer, wiser, of better origin, nor even much
stronger in their spelling, than himself. " He is elected to the Con-
gress, makes a foolish speech, sees his pretty daughter Julieta elope
with a young adventurer of a journalist, is tricked out of the greater
part of his fortune, and drops back again, disillusionized, to the lower
level. The episode of the glib journalist, the humors of Don Simon's
canvas, the rude mountain hidalgo in his isolation, the dialogue of
the children teasing the unpopular Julieta, are some of the more
pleasing passages of a book which is everywhere graphic and enter-
taining. 'Don Gonzalo Gonzalez de la Gonzalera' (Mr. Gonzalo Gon-
zalez of Gonzalez-town), 1878, is a continuation of the above, in the
sense that politics is a strong element of interest in both, and the
abuses of popular suffrage, parliamentary misrule, and other modern
social tendencies, are vividly and amusingly satirized in both. Don
Gonzalo is one of those persons, returned after acquiring a small
fortune in the Spanish colonies, who are called Indianos. Very little
good is usually said of them. This one, besides being vulgar, is base
at heart; and does much mischief. He is refused by the refined
daughter of the impoverished hidalgo, whom he had aspired to marry,
and is left severely alone in the vulgarly pretentious house he built
to dazzle the community with. But the worst part of his deserts is
meted out to him by an incorrigible shrew; for such is the wife he
finally marries. Free and progressive as he is in literature, Pereda
is singularly conservative, or frankly reactionary, both in his books
and out of them, in all that relates to government and modern con-
ditions. He favors the absolute form of monarchy; and he has even
sat as a Carlist deputy in the Cortes. Galdós says of him in friendly
mockery that he would support even the restoration of Philip II. in
Spain. He recalls one of those, on our own side of the water, who
should still see only the better side of slavery, and sigh over the dis-
appearance of that genial, charming system. It is a striking contrast
between practice and theory; it testifies to the literary conscience of
the writer, and may fairly be considered, too, as a heightening touch
to his originality, now that nearly all the world is of an opposite
way of thinking.
The titles of his books at once give a clue to their vigorous and
homely character. 'De Tal Palo Tal Astilla' (A Chip of the Old
Block) belongs to 1879; 'El Sabor de la Tierruca' (Redolent of the
Soil), 1881; 'Pedro Sanchez,' 1883; 'Sotileza' (Fine Spun), 1884; La
Montalvez,' 1887; La Puchera' (The Family Board) and 'El Buey
Suelto (The Unruly Steer), 1888; Al Primer Vuelo' (The First
## p. 11308 (#528) ##########################################
11308
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
Flight from the Nest), 1890; Nubes de Estio' (Summer Clouds), 1890;
'Peñas Arriba' (The Upper Peaks), 1894. There have also appeared
three other volumes of miscellany, in the style of the Scenes in
Montaña': namely, Tipos y Paisajes' (Typical Figures and Land-
scapes), 1870; 'Bocetos al Temple' (Sketches in Distemper), 1873:
and 'Esbozos y Rasgunos (Scrawls and Scratches), 1880.
>
'Sotileza' is particularly the idyl of the sea; 'El Sabor de la
Tierruca' that of the rustic folk of the shore; others again, like 'La
Puchera,' are amphibious, dealing in an almost equal measure with
both. Around the central figure of the fisher-girl in the first, and
the young village squire in the second, are grouped a multitude of
very real and living types; and yet, owing to a certain rhythmic,
poetic feeling in the treatment, there is something of the eclogue
about them,—a quality that recalls Theocritus, 'Evangeline,' and Mis-
tral's 'Mirèio. Tal Palo Tal Astilla' has something of the religious
problem, like Galdós's 'Gloria,' and is less realistic than the others.
'El Buey Suelto' defends the institution of marriage and the family
against certain dangerous subversive tendencies. 'Pedro Sanchez,'
again, deals with political evils, in a tone of serene melancholy,
which however is pessimistic rather about institutions than human
nature itself. In 'La Montalvez,' for once, he abandons his mountain
province, and treats with his usual ability- for he touches nothing
that he does not adorn-of the society at Madrid; though society
not of a pleasing cast.
Pereda's style is a treasury of forcible, idiomatic language; he is
a master of dialogue, and excels in representing the racy talk of the
lower orders of people. He has taken a long step towards realizing
the ideal of many writers of our own day,- that of uniting the lan-
guage of daily life with that of literary expression. He is genuinely
humorous; and this humor, a legitimate continuation of the tradition
of humor so long established in Spain, makes him everywhere enter-
taining, and keeps him, in spite of his idealizing proclivities, both
from imposing upon us unreal Arcadias and from sinking into any
hopeless depression of spirits.
William Henry Bishof
>
## p. 11309 (#529) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11309
TUERTO'S FAMILY LIFE
From La Leva'
B
EFORE going any further, the reader should be informed that
there existed from time immemorial, between the seagoing
folk of High Street [the street along the heights] and those
by the water-side, an inextinguishable feud.
Each quarter forms a separate fishing corporation, or guild;
and the two have not been willing even to adopt the same patron
saint. The High Street folks, or the Upper Guild, chose Saint
Peter, while those on Beach Street, or the Lower Guild, com-
mend themselves to the holy martyrs Emeterius and Celadonius;
and to those illustrious saintships- said to have miraculously
come to port in a bark made of stone-they have built, at their
own expense, a very pretty chapel, in the Miranda quarter, over-
looking a wide expanse of ocean.
So now we continue.
Tuerto ["Cross-Eyes "] enters his house. He tosses off his
sou'-wester or serviceable tarpaulin hat, throws down upon an old
chest his duck waterproof, which he had carried on his shoul-
der, and hangs up on a nail a basket with an oil-skin covering,
and full of fishing-tackle. His wife dishes up in an old broken
pan a mess of beans and cabbage, badly cooked and worse sea-
soned, sets it on the chest, and puts alongside it a big piece
of coarse brown bread. Tuerto, without letting fall a word, waits
till his infants have got around the board also, and then begins
to eat the mess with a pewter spoon. His wife and children
accompany him, taking turns with another spoon, of wood. The
beans and cabbage are finished. Tuerto has the air of expecting
something next, which does not come; he looks at the dish, then
into the bottom of the empty stew-pan, then finally at his wife.
The woman turns pale.
"Where is the meat? " he at length inquires, with the chronic
hoarse voice of the fisherman.
"The meat? " stammered his wife. "As the butcher's shop
was closed when I went to get it, I did not bring any. "
"That's a lie. I gave you the two reals and a half to buy it
yesterday noon, and the butcher's doesn't close till four. What
have you done with the money? "
## p. 11310 (#530) ##########################################
11310
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
"The money? - the money? It's in my pocket. "
"You thieving jade, if you've been drinking again, I swear
I'll let daylight through you," roared the enraged Tuerto, on
observing the continually increasing confusion of his wife. "Let
me see that money, and be quick about it, I say. "
The woman pulled forth tremblingly a few small coins from
her pocket, and held them out to her husband, without fully
opening her hand.
"Its only eight coppers you've got there, and I gave you
twenty-one. Where's the rest? »
"I must have lost-have lost them. I had twenty-one this
morning. "
"Don't tell me such a thing as that: the two reals I gave you
were in silver. "
――――
"Yes, but I changed them at the market. "
"What has your mother done this morning? " quickly demands
Tuerto, clutching his eldest child by the arm.
The child trembles in affright, looks alternately at father and
mother, and remains silent.
<< Speak out, I say. "
"Mother will go and beat me if I do," replied the poor little
brat, sniveling.
"And if you don't answer me, I'll give you a crack that will
spoil your face. "
The boy, who knows by hard experience that his father never
deals in vain threats, now, despite the signals his mother makes
him to keep still, shuts his eyes, and speaking as rapidly as if
he feared the words would burn his mouth, says:
"Mother brought home a pint of brandy this morning, and
has the bottle hidden in the straw mattress. "
Tuerto no sooner hears these words than he fells his culprit
spouse to the floor with a resounding whack, rushes to the
bed, rummages amid the contents of the poor mattress, pulls out
from it a small bottle which contains the remainder of the con-
traband liquor, and returning with it towards his wife, hurls it
at her head at the moment when she is just getting up from
the floor. It knocks her down anew, and the children are sprin-
kled with the flying spirits. The wretched woman, sorely hurt,
laments and groans; the frightened children weep; and the irate
mariner sallies forth to the balcony, cursing his wife and the
day that he was ever born.
## p. 11311 (#531) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11311
Uncle Tremontorio, who arrived from the sea at the same
time with his mates Bolina [Billy Bowline] and Tuerto, had
been in his balcony knitting away at his fishing-nets (his custom-
ary occupation when at home) from the beginning of the dispute
between his neighbors. From time to time he would take a bite.
out of a hunk of bread, and another of dried codfish, the pro-
vision that constituted his usual dinner. Though he is perfectly
well posted about what has just taken place [across the narrow
street], it is not his way to mix himself up in what does not
concern him. But the furious husband, who needs an outlet for
venomous rage that still half chokes him, calls up his neighbor,
and the pair shout from one balcony to the other the following
dialogue: -
"Uncle Tremontorio, I can't stand this devil of a woman any
longer. One of these days you'll hear of some desperate deed
on my part; I suppose that's the way it will all end. "
"I have told you that it was your own fault, from the begin-
ning. She tacked your way a little, and you let go your whole
cable and thought your voyage was over. "
"What could I do? I thought then she was one of heaven's
own saints. "
"What could you do? Do? why, what I've always told you:
haul her taut, and make fast with a double turn. Rough wind
astern? all right, ahead you go. "
"But there's not a bone in her body I haven't already
tinkered at with a cudgel, as you might mend the ribs of a
boat. "
"You waited till the wood was rotten, my friend. "
"As God is my witness she's the worst villain unhung. What
is going to become of those poor brats of mine when I am taken
away from them? for the devil will never take that woman: he
has no place to put her. Last week I handed her twenty-four
reals to dress the children with.
Have you laid eyes on that
money? Well, neither have I. The drunkard spent them for
drink. I gave her a walloping that left her for dead, and yet
what does she do? Three days after that she sells a sheet from
our bed for a quart of rum.
Yesterday I gave her twenty-one
cents for meat, and she drank them also. And with all this the
young ones are naked, I haven't a shirt to my back, and I never
dare think of treating myself to an honest glass of wine of a
fête-day. "
## p. 11312 (#532) ##########################################
11312
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
"Why don't you get an exorcism said over her? Maybe she's
bewitched by evil spirits, and that's the cause of it. "
"I've spent a small fortune in those very tomfooleries, Tre-
montorio. I took her to more than three leagues from here, to
get a parson that they said had the gift of such things, to chuck
the gospels at her. Well, he did; then he gave me a little card
he had said a prayer over, and a sprig of rue, sewed it all up in
a bag, hung it round her neck, charged me nearly four dollars
for it, and that was all the good it did - not the first blessed
thing. The very next day she had a jag on worse than ever,
and wanted to paint the town red. I've given her brandy with
gunpower in it, a thing, they say, that creates a distaste for
liquor, but that beast, did it affect her that way? Not much!
she seemed to like the drink after that better than ever. I've
laid out a treasure in candles alone, setting them up before the
Holy Martyrs, to see if they'd rid her of the vice; and it was
just the same as if I had not spent a farthing. I swear to you,
I don't know what to do, Uncle Tremontorio, unless it is to kill
her: there are no bounds to this vice of hers. Just tell me what
you say of this: When I gave her the brandy with powder in it,
she was taken with such a colic I thought she'd burst. I had
heard that flannels soaked in spirits, applied good and hot, was
a cure for that sort of pains in the stomach; so I heated up
about half a pint of liquor in a saucepan. When it was blazing
hot, I took it over to the bedside, where the thief of the world
was writhing about in contortions. I had to leave the saucepan
with her a minute while I went to the chest to get out some
rags; I turned around, and, man, what do you think I saw ? she
was just swallowing down the last drops of the spirits from the
saucepan, almost ablaze as it was. Man, man, was there ever a
worse curse of God? "
"Well, friend in regard to that- ahem! what can I say to
you? When a woman chooses to take the crooked path, like
yours, give her the stick, and plenty of it. If with that she
doesn't mend her ways and float off in good style, then either
sink her to the bottom, once for all, or string yourself up to a
yard-arm. "
"I've told you already—what's the matter with you? - that
I've covered every inch of her body with the welts of a stick,
and I've decorated her face all over with bruises till there's
hardly room for another. "
________
_______________
――――――
-
## p. 11313 (#533) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11313
"Then go hang yourself, and leave me in peace to finish
these meshes. And you may as well know that the reason I
never married is to keep out of the devil's own scrape that you
are in. "
THE CANDIDATE VISITS HIS VOTERS
From Los Hombres de Pro'
ON SIMON Started upon his electioneering tour. In the first
village of his district, at the poor inn, a group of six agents
were waiting for him; their horses, caparisoned with orna-
mental trappings, after the fashion of the country, tied to the
posts or the projecting window gratings. They received him hat
in hand.
[All then passed into the dining-room, where a dozen more persons met
them, and a liberal dinner was served, for which the candidate duly paid.
The several days' ride through the mountain district next began. ]
The cavalcade was headed by one of the six caciques [village
magnates, previously mentioned]. He was a lean, dark man,
with a large nose, a penetrating eye, his face almost beardless,
although he was by no means young; he spoke little, but that
to the point; and as to confidence in men, he would have been
distrustful even of his own shadow. He knew the voters of the
district, every man of them, with all his virtues, vices, minor
faults, and necessities; and in consequence, he knew how to win
or to compel them.
(
·
"The Squire'" (said he),-" for thus they call him,-whom
we must see, is a rough sort of customer, but much bent on hav-
ing everybody flatter and bow down to him. When we leave
him, don't forget to give him a cigar; not one of the kind you
furnished us at dinner, you know, but one of those you have
in your cigar-case for your own particular use. "
Don Simon did his best not to notice this polite little slur,
and put himself at the orders of his adviser.
The party found the local great man presiding over the
turning-up of a new field he had just bought on that out-of-the-
way upland. He was still youthful; and he had a despicable
physiognomy. He manifested no great curiosity on the approach
of the little troop. He confined himself to returning coldly
XIX-708
•
## p. 11314 (#534) ##########################################
11314
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
the very affable salute which Don Celso [the leader] directed to
him, as representative of all the rest, and especially of Don
Simon, whom he proceeded to introduce to the impassive elector
as follows:
"This gentleman is our candidate, Don Simon de las Peñas-
cales by name, an illustrious man, I assure you, with thirty
thousand dollars income, and great talents. He comes to-day
expressly to thank you for your kind co-operation in his coming
election, reserving a more fitting payment till some later oppor-
tunity shall offer. "
"Servant, sir," responded the "Squire," laconically, staring at
his distinguished guest.
"Delighted, my dear sir. I hope I find you well," began Don
Simon, uncovering his head with a grandly sweeping bow, and
tendering his right hand to him of the new-plowed land.
"Me? ye-up, I'm well," replied the "Squire," without sign of
a movement to take the proffered hand.
"Do you smoke? " the candidate now inquired, feeling for his
cigar-case.
"Once in a while, if the tobacco is good for anything. "
"Then do me the favor to accept this. It is of the choice
brand of the Vuelta de Abajo.
"You sure of that? " grunted the other, taking it and biting
off the end.
"
"And how are our affairs going around here? " inquired the
candidate, trying to strike out some spark of interest from that
piece of flint, that unmitigated boor.
"We'll puff-"see when-the time comes," he returned,
using up about half a box of matches in lighting his cigar in the
open air.
"No need of asking him that, Don Simon," remarked Don
Celso. "When you come to see what the Squire has done, I
warrant you'll be more than satisfied. "
"In that case," said Don Simon, taking Don Celso's hint, “and
since we still have far to go to-day, and since I have had the
great honor of making your acquaintance, it only remains for me
to put myself at your disposal for anything that you may demand
of me, either now or henceforward and forever. "
"The same thing say I," muttered the Squire, scarce touching
the hand offered him anew, and turning back to the men work-
ing for him.
## p. 11315 (#535) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11315
When they had ridden on a bit, Don Simon could not help
saying to Don Celso in a crestfallen way:-
"If that fellow is one of those who support me, what can I
expect of the doubtful ones? And, for heaven's sake, what sort
of manners will those have who are against me? "
[Later on, they meet an inn-keeper who charges for the very rent of the
ground their horses stand on while they are talking to him. This incident is
developed in a long and amusing account. He promises to vote and use his
influence for Don Simon, if the latter will see that a certain road is built,
joining his mountain inn to the main road; but only on condition- as other
candidates have promised the same thing before-that Don Simon shall put
up the money for the road, about $3,000, in advance, out of his own pocket.
Don Simon is disappointed, betrayed, put upon, in numberless ways, and
would have lost his election except that- having started out as a Liberal can-
didate- he shrewdly turns Conservative, and secures his seat by the favor of
the ministry. ]
THE PORTRAIT OF DON GONZALO GONZALEZ OF
GONZALEZ-TOWN
From Don Gonzalo Gonzalez de la Gonzalera ›
L
OOK at him; here he is:-A man of middling size, carefully
clad in a suit of fine black, his knobby flat feet shod in
refulgent patent leather; clean-shaven; his shirt-collar ter-
minating, above his low-cut vest and glossy embroidered shirt-
front, in a butterfly-shaped bow, made with the open-worked
ends of his cravat. Over all this wandered in serpentine con-
volutions a heavy gold chain. His hair was very much frizzed,
and upon two lateral rows of ringlets, rather than upon his head,
lightly rested a silk hat. One of his thick, hairy hands grasped
a gold-headed cane, while in the other, lying along his thigh, he
held ceremoniously a pair of kid gloves.
The speech of
such a man may be divined: it was over-soft, mawkish, sicken-
ing. He doted on alliterations, like huevo hilado, and he used to
say frido, cercanidas, and cacado. *
What name should he adopt on going back to his native vil-
lage? His father, who used to be dubbed "Tony Breechclout "
for short, was called "Antonio Gonzalez "; he himself Nicho-
las. " But if he were going to style himself simply "Nicholas
Gonzalez," he might as well make it "Johnny Drumsticks" and
have done with it.
What if, for example, without ceasing
*It is a vulgar affectation of elegance, in the Spanish Americas, to insert a
❝d in such words, which should be simply frío, cercanías, cacao.
## p. 11316 (#536) ##########################################
11316
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
to sign "Gonzalez," he should add to it something like "de la
Gonzalera"? Some people shorten their names, do they not?
what harm, then, if some others should lengthen theirs out a
little? A trifle more or less of a thing-what difference does
it make?
No sooner planned than decided. He ordered a thousand
lithographed visiting-cards of various tinted pasteboards; and upon
these was placed, in fantastic characters and in vivid colors, the
name "Gonzalo Gonzalez de la Gonzalera. "
CLETO'S PROPOSAL TO SOTILEZA
[Sotileza is a poor waif, adopted by a worthy family, and has turned out
to be a charming and admirable character. The name is derived from a very
fine, strong cord, used in the apparatus of the fishermen. Cleto belongs to
a family of sardine-sellers, the terror and scandal of the street; but he him-
self aspires to higher things. ]
―
From Sotileza ›
SOT
OTILEZA Continued her sewing on the garment of Pachuca, by
the light of the candle which she had just set in its socket
on the wall. Cleto, now in her presence, actually felt the
tremendous difficulty which he had trusted to conjure away by
his boldness and resolution. The gift of speech - the confounded
gift of gab, that was always denied him-was lacking to him at
this moment more than ever.
"I was passing by," he began to stammer, trembling with his
diffidence, "I happened to be passing along this way, and so—
er as I was passing this way, I says to myself, says I, 'I'll
just stop into the shop a minute. ' So that's the way I happened
to come My! but that's a good skirt you're sewing there,
Sotileza. Yours, is it? "
Sotileza told him it was not; and out of politeness, asked him
to sit down.
-
Cleto took a seat a good distance away from her; then,
looking and looking at her a long while, as if he were trying
to intoxicate himself through the medium of his eyesight to a
sufficient extent to break the trammels that held his tongue, he
at length succeeded in saying:-
« Sotileza, once you sewed on a button for me. Do you recol-
lect about it? "
## p. 11317 (#537) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11317
"I'm afraid too many other things have happened since," she
returned smilingly, without looking up from her work.
"Well, for me, it's just the same thing as if it took place
yesterday. "
"Well, what of it, supposing it was so? "
"Whyer why, you see, after that button- It was like
a jewel to me; and I've got it yet, right here on the waistband
of these breeches. Look at it; do you see it? After that button,
I kept coming back and coming back to this house, for there's
no staying in mine; and by gracious! well, you know that, Soti-
leza, that isn't what you might call a habitation at all, nor are
those female kin of mine women like other women, nor is that
man there a man. Well, then, I had never known anything
better than that kind of folks, and for want of knowing better,
I gave you a slap in the face one day; you remember about that.
Holy jinks! if you only knew how sorry I've been for that slap,
ever since. "
-
―
Sotileza began to be overcome with astonishment at the dis-
course she was listening to; for never had anything even remotely
like to this proceeded from Cleto's lips. She fixed her eyes with
interest upon his; but the effect of this was, that she cut short
not only the poor fellow's words but the very breath of his
body.
"But why are you saying these things to me now? " she
demanded.
((
"Because I've got to, Sotileza," Cleto plucked up heart to
respond; that's the reason:- and because nobody else would
be willing to come to you and say them for me. I hope it's no
offense. Now, see here, Sotileza, just see what's happening to
me. I did not know till lately, myself, what was the matter with
me; and I let them go on,- that kind of griping feeling in my
insides and that dizzy feeling in my head, that got hold of me
when I came in here. And you kept on growing up and getting
prettier every day: heavens, what new rail you kept whipping
on nearly every time I saw you! No offense in looking on at
it, was there? at least I hope not; and no more was there,
either, in warming up my heart with a glimpse of this shop now
and then. Over there in our tenement there was nothing of the
kind, by a long chalk: filth and brutishness, the good name of
every person they spoke of pitched head first out of the balcony,
not a scrap of decency about anything they did. By thunder!
it's enough to give a fellow a bad temper, even if he was born
## p. 11318 (#538) ##########################################
11318
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
with one like sugar. That's the way I came to give you that
slap, Sotileza; if it wasn't, I would tell you so, honestly. Why,
if any one was to say to me, right here and how, 'Cleto, you
go and jump off the ramparts for Sotileza,' I would do it. Soti-
leza, if it could be of the slightest service to you, even if I got
nothing out of it but my broken neck. I never had any of this
kind of feeling before. Here you have a full account of it with-
out asking for it- and without offense, I hope. You see how it
was; it wasn't my fault. I liked those feelings too, in spite of
the pain, I liked them immensely; they made my disposition
of the purest honey, as if I had never had any other. I was
filled up, filled full with them, till it seemed as if my body
wouldn't hold any more. Then afterwards a tumble here and a
stumble there-a heavy surf, as it were, rolling round inside of
me; little sleep of nights, and a lump in my throat all the time.
Look you, Sotileza, I used to think there were no more troubles
than those I had at home; but now I can see that I slept better,
twice over, than since all this trouble began about you. I—I—
don't offend anybody, do I, in talking this way, Sotileza? And
thener, while all that was going on that I was telling you
just now, I got to getting fonder and fonder of you every day,
and I got to having more and more respect for you; and I tried
harder every day to see if I couldn't read your wishes in your
eyes, so that I could go and serve you somehow without your
having to tell me.
"And so all that was going on month in and month out, and
year after year; I was slowly foundering, and there was no
way of getting afloat again. For you see, Sotileza, it's one
thing for a man to be chock full of feelings like this, and
another thing for him to speak up and tell his girl about them,
if he's tongue-tied like me and can't put two words together. It
knocks me all out when I think what you are, and then what
I am,- the very mud of the gutter, in comparison. Well, I just
couldn't hold it all in any longer, and I went to some folks that
understand how to talk about this kind of thing, to get them
to come and see you for me. But what do you think? they
wouldn't do it. There's a nice charitable lot of parties, isn't it,
to lend a hand when a man was in such sore straits as I was?
You are attending, aren't you, Sotileza, to all this I'm telling you?
Well, the upshot of it was, that since nobody would come and
speak to you for me, I had to come and speak to you myself,
and — and — now I'm doing it. "
## p. 11319 (#539) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11319
It was no news to Sotileza that Cleto was in love with
her; for she had read it clearly in all his looks and actions for
some time past. She was not surprised, therefore, at his avowal;
but she was surprised, and not a little, that he should have mus-
tered the courage to make it. Looking at him with her serene
gaze, she said to him:
"Of course there's no offense in what you say to me, Cleto;
but in the name of all the saints, what possesses you to make
you say it to me just now? »
"My stars! what always possesses people to tell such things?
So they can be known. "
"Well, I know them, Cleto, I know them: now are you
satisfied? "
"Hum-er-why, no, not altogether. That is not enough,
Sotileza. "
"And what do you wish more? "
"What do I wish more? Gracious goodness! I wish to be a
man like another; I want to live a different kind of life from
what I've been living: you yourself have been the light that has
shown me what another kind of life could be. I want to live
the way life goes on in this little shop of yours; I am dying to
work for you, and to be neat and clean and decent-spoken, like
you. I would kiss the ground you walk on, and try and get you
the very mermaids from the sea, whom no one has ever set eyes
on, if you wanted them. Is it too little that I offer? »
He was veritably transfigured at this moment; and Sotileza
could not but marvel at the change.
"I have never seen you so lively and so talkative as to-day,"
was her answer.
"The mounting wave has burst," he rejoined, getting bolder
still; "and I myself believe I am not what I was before. I've
set myself down sometimes for a regular idiot; but by the living
gracious! I swear I am so no longer, with this that is going
on inside of me, and that makes me talk in spite of myself.
If you can work such a miracle as this without even knowing
it, what miracles could you not work with me when you really
put your mind on it? Now just look at me, Sotileza: I've got no
vices; I never was afraid of work; I haven't a grudge against
a person in the world; I am accustomed to do with little; and
picking out the very best I've had in my life, it has never been
anything but pain and trouble. Seeing here, about you, some-
## p. 11320 (#540) ##########################################
11320
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
thing so entirely different, you know what a value I set on it-
and whose fault it is that I do. There's a man needed in this
house. Are you taking in what I am telling you, Sotileza? "
For that very
Sotileza was giving heed to it only too well.
reason she replied with a certain curtness:
"Yes, I am; but what of it? "
"Again? Confound it! you make me that answer again,"
cried Cleto angrily. "Or is this your way of saying no, without
saying it directly? "
"Come, Cleto," said Sotileza coldly, "I am not under obliga
tions to answer all the questions you choose to put me on such
particulars, or any others. I live quietly here in my house with-
out speaking ill of anybody. I have none but the kindest wishes
towards you, and I know your value full well; nevertheless I
have my own way of thinking and feeling, and I wish to make
no change in my life at present. "
"What have you said, Sotileza? " exclaimed Cleto in dismay.
"Oh, this is boring a big auger-hole into the hull. I am wrecked,
I am lost. "
"Don't put it in that way; it is not so bad as that.
But sup-
pose, for the sake of argument, that if, instead of the no, Cleto,
which you dread to hear, I should say the yes you ask of me,
how would you be the gainer by that? You have to steal into
this house, carefully hiding your movements from your family
over in yours, even if you come here but for an instant, just to
pass the time of day. If such is the case now, what would it be
if — if the plan you are so anxious for came to pass? "
"You've hit it, Sotileza: that's just what the other folks told
me. But is there any sense and right in such a state of things?
I didn't choose the family that I belong to. "
"Who are the other folks that told you the same thing that I
have? " now inquired Sotileza quickly, ignoring the woe-begone
lamentations of the poor young fellow.
"Father Polinar, in the first place" [the parish schoolmaster].
"Father Polinar?
coursing and lamenting the fire; and poor Tom Hater come with
some few of his goods saved out of his house, which is burned
upon Fishstreete Hill. I invited him to lie at my house, and
did receive his goods, but was deceived in his lying there, the
newes coming every moment of the growth of the fire; so as we
were forced to begin to pack up our owne goods, and prepare
for their removal; and did by moonshine (it being brave dry,
and moonshine, and warm weather) carry much of my goods.
into the garden, and Mr. Hater and I did remove my money
and iron chests into my cellar, as thinking that the safest place.
And got my bags of gold into my office, ready to carry away,
and my chief papers of accounts also there, and my tallys into
a box by themselves. So great was our fear, as Sir W. Batten
hath carts come out of the country to fetch away his goods this
night. We did put Mr. Hater, poor man, to bed a little; but he
got but very little rest, so much noise being in my house, tak-
ing down of goods.
[February 16th, 1666-67. ] To Mrs. Pierce's, where I took up
my wife, and there I find Mrs. Pierce's little girl is my Valen-
tine, she having drawn me; which I was not sorry for, it easing
me of something more that I must have given to others. But
here I do first observe the fashion of drawing of mottos as well
as names; so that Pierce, who drew my wife, did draw also a
motto, and this girl drew another for me. What mine was I have
forgot: but my wife's was, "Most virtuous and most fair; " which,
as it may be used, or an anagram made upon each name, might
be very pretty. Thence with Cocke and my wife, set him at
home, and then we home. To the office, and there did a little
## p. 11301 (#521) ##########################################
SAMUEL PEPYS
11301
business, troubled that I have so much been hindered by matters
of pleasure from my business, but I shall recover it I hope in a
little time. So home and to supper, not at all smitten with the
musique to-night, which I did expect should have been so extraor-
dinary. Tom Killigrew crying it up, and so all the world,
above all things in the world, and so to bed. One wonder I
observed to-day, that there was no musique in the morning to
call up our new-married people.
[February 25th, 1666-67. ] Lay long in bed, talking with pleas-
ure with my poor wife, how she used to make coal fires, and
wash my foul clothes with her own hand for me, poor wretch!
in our little room at my Lord Sandwich's: for which I ought for
ever to love and admire her, and do; and persuade myself she
would do the same thing again, if God should reduce us to it.
So up and by coach abroad to the Duke of Albemarle's about
sending soldiers down to some ships, and so home, calling at a
belt-maker's to mend my belt, and so home and to dinner, where
pleasant with my wife, and then to the office, where mighty busy
all the day, saving going forth to the 'Change to pay for some
things, and on other occasions, and at my goldsmith's did observe
the King's new medall, where, in little, there is Mrs. Steward's
face as well done as ever I saw anything in my whole life, I
think and a pretty thing it is, that he should choose her face
to represent Britannia by. So at the office late very busy and
much business with great joy dispatched, and so home to supper
and to bed.
[July 24th, 1667. ] Betimes this morning comes a letter from
the Clerke of the Cheque at Gravesend to me, to tell me that
the Dutch fleete did come all into the Hope yesterday noon, and
held a fight with our ships from thence till seven at night; that
they had burned twelve fire-ships, and we took one of their's,
and burned five of our fire-ships. But then rising and going to
Sir W. Batten, he tells me that we have burned one of their
men-of-war, and another of their's is blown up; but how true this
is, I know not. But these fellows are mighty bold, and have had
the fortune of the wind easterly this time to bring them up, and
prevent our troubling them with our fire-ships; and indeed have
had the winds at their command from the beginning, and now
do take the beginning of the spring, as if they had some great
design to do. I to my office, and there hard at work all the
morning, to my great content, abstracting the contract book into
## p. 11302 (#522) ##########################################
11302
SAMUEL PEPYS
my abstract book, which I have by reason of the war omitted for
above two years, but now am endeavouring to have all my books
ready and perfect against the Parliament comes, that upon ex-
amination I may be in condition to value myself upon my per-
fect doing of my own duty. At noon home to dinner, where my
wife mighty musty, but I took no notice of it, but after dinner
to the office, and there with Mr. Harper did another good piece
of work.
[October 10th, 1667. ] All of us, my sister and brother, and
W. Hewer, to dinner to Hinchingbroke, where we had a good
plain country dinner, but most kindly used; and here dined the
Minister of Brampton and his wife, who is reported a very good
but poor man. Here I spent alone with my Lady, after dinner,
the most of the afternoon; and anon the two twins were sent
for from schoole, at Mr. Taylor's, to come to see me, and I took
them into the garden, and there, in one of the summer-houses,
did examine them, and do find them so well advanced in their
learning, that I was amazed at it: they repeating a whole ode
without book out of Horace, and did give me a very good
account of any thing almost, and did make me very readily very
good Latin, and did give me good account of their Greek gram-
mar, beyond all possible expectation; and so grave and manly
as I never saw, I confess, nor could have believed; so that they
will be fit to go to Cambridge in two years at most. They are
both little, but very like one another, and well-looked children.
Then in to my Lady again, and staid till it was almost night
again, and then took leave for a great while again, but with
extraordinary kindness from my Lady, who looks upon me like
one of her own family and interest. So thence, my wife and
people by the highway, and I walked over the park with Mr.
Shepley, and through the grove, which is mighty pretty, as is
imaginable, and so over their drawbridge to Nun's Bridge, and
so to my father's, and there sat and drank, and talked a little,
and then parted. And he being gone, and what company there
was, my father and I, with a dark lantern, it being now night,
into the garden with my wife, and there went about our great
work to dig up my gold. But, Lord! what a tosse I was for
some time in, that they could not justly tell where it was; that
I begun heartily to sweat, and be angry, that they should not
agree better upon the place, and at last to fear that it was gone:
but by and by poking with a spit, we found it.
## p. 11303 (#523) ##########################################
SAMUEL PEPYS
11303
[February 27th, 1667-68. ]
All the morning at the office, and
at noon home to dinner, and thence with my wife and Deb. to
the King's House, to see 'The Virgin Martyr,'* the first time it
hath been acted a great while: and it is mighty pleasant; not
that the play is worth much, but it is finely acted by Becke
Marshal. But that which did please me beyond any thing in the
whole world was the wind-musique when the angel comes down,
which is so sweet that it ravished me, and indeed, in a word, did
wrap up my soul so that it made me really sick, just as I have
formerly been when in love with my wife; that neither then, nor
all the evening going home, and at home, I was able to think of
any thing, but remained all night transported, so as I could not
believe that ever any musick hath that real command over the
soul of a man as this did upon me: and makes me resolve to
practice wind-musique, and to make my wife do the like.
[May 1st, 1669. ] Up betimes. Called up by my tailor, and
there first put on a summer suit this year: but it was not my
fine one of flowered tabby vest, and coloured camelott tunique,
because it was too fine with the gold lace at the hands, that I
was afeard to be seen in it; but put on the stuff suit I made
the last year, which is now repaired; and so did go to the Office
in it, and sat all the morning, the day looking as if it would be
fowle. At noon home to dinner, and there find my wife extraor-
dinary fine, with her flowered tabby gown that she made two
years ago now laced exceeding pretty; and indeed, was fine all
over; and mighty earnest to go though the day was very lower
ing; and she would have me put on my fine suit, which I did.
And so anon we went alone through the town with our new
liveries of serge, and the horses' manes and tails tied with red
ribbons, and the standards there gilt with varnish, and all clean,
and green reines, that people did mightily look upon us; and
the truth is, I did not see any coach more pretty, though more
gay, than ours all the day. But we set out, out of humour — I
because Betty, whom I expected, was not come to go with us;
and my wife that I would sit on the same seat with her, which
she likes not, being so fine: and she then expected to meet
Sheres, which we did in the Pell Mell, and against my will, I
was forced to take him into the coach, but was sullen all day
almost, and little complaisant: the day also being unpleasing,
*A tragedy by Massinger and Dekker.
## p. 11304 (#524) ##########################################
SAMUEL PEPYS
11304
though the Park full of coaches, but dusty and windy, and cold,
and now and then a little dribbling rain; and what made it
worst, there were so many hackney-coaches as spoiled the sight
of the gentlemen's; and so we had little pleasure. But here was
W. Batelier and his sister in a borrowed coach by themselves,
and I took them and we to the lodge; and at the door did
give them a syllabub, and other things, cost me 12s. , and pretty
merry. And so back to the coaches, and there till the evening,
and then home, leaving Mr. Sheres at St. James's Gate, where he
took leave of us for altogether, he being this night to set out for
Portsmouth post, in his way to Tangier, which troubled my wife
mightily, who is mighty, though not, I think, too fond of him.
But she was out of humour all the evening, and I vexed at her
for it, and she did not rest almost all the night.
## p. 11305 (#525) ##########################################
11305
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
(1834-)
BY WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP
Sugar
EREDA was born February 7th, 1834, at Polanco, a village of
Northern Spain, near Santander, the capital city of the prov-
ince of the same name, popularly termed also La Montaña,
or the Mountain. This is the region to which he has especially
devoted himself in his literary work. He is generously named by the
younger men of distinguished ability, like Galdós and Valdés, as the
most original of the contemporary Spanish writers of fiction, and as
the most revolutionary, in the sense of having cast off the conven-
tional influence of the romantic and classical traditions of the earlier
half of the century. His influence is a distinct and valuable element
in the work of the other leaders; and yet, unlike them,- owing to the
local raciness, the idiomatic difficulties of his style,- he has been
scarcely translated into any other of the modern languages, and into
English not at all; except in some fugitive short stories, rendered for
the periodical press by Mr. Rollo Ogden. Pereda is properly to be
named as the pioneer and standard-bearer of the best kind of modern
realism in Spain.
He is a country gentleman of good descent and liberal means,
resident, at no great distance from Santander, at the village of Po-
lanco, where his modern villa adjoins the casa solar or ancestral home-
stead of his family, with the arms heavily carved above the door in
mediæval fashion. He has never had to know the conflict between
poverty and literary aspiration, which is so common a feature in
the history of writers; yet this has in no way detracted from the
masculine vigor, the evidence of assiduous labor, and the notable
air of conscientiousness, in his work. In appearance he is of the
spare ascetic type we are accustomed to associate with the Span-
ish hidalgo. The distinguished French traveler and novelist, René
Bazin, in an account in the Revue des Deux Mondes of a visit to him
at Polanco, says: "As he drew near, one might have taken him for
Cervantes himself. " Galdós speaks of him as "the most amiable, the
most excellent of men. " He seems to have in a high degree the fac-
ulty of inspiring warm personal regard. This is well exemplified in
two most laudatory essays on two of his books,- the one by Galdós,
the other by Menendez y Pelayo, the eminent critic. Frankly colored
## p. 11306 (#526) ##########################################
11306
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
as these are by friendly admiration, they yet state convincingly the
reasons for their opinions; and these reasons can be accurately veri-
fied by whoever will have recourse to the text.
Pereda's literary work began in 1859 with the publication, in a
local journal, of the sketches of manners and customs afterwards gath-
ered into a volume called 'Escenas Montañeses' (Scenes in Mon-
taña). A number of these are marked by the triviality of their
origin; but several others, like 'La Leva' (The Conscription) and
'El Fin de Una Raza' (The Last of his Race), are esteemed equal to
the best of his later work. 'La Leva' is a picture, both touching
and humorous, of the poor fisherman Tuerto-an Adam Bede of a
rougher sort—and his drunken wife. The naval conscription finally
takes him out of his misery, but leaves his children to the mercies
of a cold world. The second story is in a measure a continuation of
the first, showing the return of Tuerto to find his children vagrants
and outcasts; but it is chiefly devoted to Uncle Tremontorio, an old-
school tar of a type that has now disappeared. The province of San-
tander is an almost equal combination of the mountains belonging to
the Cantabrian chain, and the coasts of the formidable Bay of Biscay:
both are affectionately referred to in the literary phraseology as
Cantabria, from the old Roman name of the province. Pereda divides
his interest impartially between sea and shore; between the life of
the farmers in the hilly interior and that of the hardy fisherman
on the coast; and notably Santander, with its tall squalid tenement
houses clustering round the park, which is the capital and the centre
of all the enterprises of these latter. This is the domain which the
author has chosen so exclusively for his own that he scarce wishes
ever to make any excursion outside it, literary or personal; for he
will not even live outside of it. He is hailed with especial pride by
its inhabitants, as the vindicator of the Northern race of people,
who had had no champion in literature from the very earliest times.
The grateful inhabitants of Santander paid him the compliment of
naming a fine street after one of his books, 'Sotileza' (Fine Spun),
choosing for the purpose the site at which a principal part of the
action of the book took place; and also presented him a large paint-
ing, showing a scene from the book: while Torrelavega, the small
town nearest his village, presented him with a piece of plate.
Though literature may not bring very large money returns in a coun-
try with comparatively so few readers as Spain, it receives many
places and preferments, and graceful honors of this kind.
manner Zorilla, the poet, was publicly crowned, with a crown made
of gold from the sands of the Darro at Granada.
Pereda's first novel, 'Los Hombres de Pro' (Respectable Folks),
was completed in 1874. It describes the rise in the world of Simon
## p. 11307 (#527) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11307
Cerojo, who kept a little cross-roads grocery. It is a story of char-
acter, the elements of which might be found in almost any country.
He finds that the men who "give life and character to communities
in our day are not richer, wiser, of better origin, nor even much
stronger in their spelling, than himself. " He is elected to the Con-
gress, makes a foolish speech, sees his pretty daughter Julieta elope
with a young adventurer of a journalist, is tricked out of the greater
part of his fortune, and drops back again, disillusionized, to the lower
level. The episode of the glib journalist, the humors of Don Simon's
canvas, the rude mountain hidalgo in his isolation, the dialogue of
the children teasing the unpopular Julieta, are some of the more
pleasing passages of a book which is everywhere graphic and enter-
taining. 'Don Gonzalo Gonzalez de la Gonzalera' (Mr. Gonzalo Gon-
zalez of Gonzalez-town), 1878, is a continuation of the above, in the
sense that politics is a strong element of interest in both, and the
abuses of popular suffrage, parliamentary misrule, and other modern
social tendencies, are vividly and amusingly satirized in both. Don
Gonzalo is one of those persons, returned after acquiring a small
fortune in the Spanish colonies, who are called Indianos. Very little
good is usually said of them. This one, besides being vulgar, is base
at heart; and does much mischief. He is refused by the refined
daughter of the impoverished hidalgo, whom he had aspired to marry,
and is left severely alone in the vulgarly pretentious house he built
to dazzle the community with. But the worst part of his deserts is
meted out to him by an incorrigible shrew; for such is the wife he
finally marries. Free and progressive as he is in literature, Pereda
is singularly conservative, or frankly reactionary, both in his books
and out of them, in all that relates to government and modern con-
ditions. He favors the absolute form of monarchy; and he has even
sat as a Carlist deputy in the Cortes. Galdós says of him in friendly
mockery that he would support even the restoration of Philip II. in
Spain. He recalls one of those, on our own side of the water, who
should still see only the better side of slavery, and sigh over the dis-
appearance of that genial, charming system. It is a striking contrast
between practice and theory; it testifies to the literary conscience of
the writer, and may fairly be considered, too, as a heightening touch
to his originality, now that nearly all the world is of an opposite
way of thinking.
The titles of his books at once give a clue to their vigorous and
homely character. 'De Tal Palo Tal Astilla' (A Chip of the Old
Block) belongs to 1879; 'El Sabor de la Tierruca' (Redolent of the
Soil), 1881; 'Pedro Sanchez,' 1883; 'Sotileza' (Fine Spun), 1884; La
Montalvez,' 1887; La Puchera' (The Family Board) and 'El Buey
Suelto (The Unruly Steer), 1888; Al Primer Vuelo' (The First
## p. 11308 (#528) ##########################################
11308
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
Flight from the Nest), 1890; Nubes de Estio' (Summer Clouds), 1890;
'Peñas Arriba' (The Upper Peaks), 1894. There have also appeared
three other volumes of miscellany, in the style of the Scenes in
Montaña': namely, Tipos y Paisajes' (Typical Figures and Land-
scapes), 1870; 'Bocetos al Temple' (Sketches in Distemper), 1873:
and 'Esbozos y Rasgunos (Scrawls and Scratches), 1880.
>
'Sotileza' is particularly the idyl of the sea; 'El Sabor de la
Tierruca' that of the rustic folk of the shore; others again, like 'La
Puchera,' are amphibious, dealing in an almost equal measure with
both. Around the central figure of the fisher-girl in the first, and
the young village squire in the second, are grouped a multitude of
very real and living types; and yet, owing to a certain rhythmic,
poetic feeling in the treatment, there is something of the eclogue
about them,—a quality that recalls Theocritus, 'Evangeline,' and Mis-
tral's 'Mirèio. Tal Palo Tal Astilla' has something of the religious
problem, like Galdós's 'Gloria,' and is less realistic than the others.
'El Buey Suelto' defends the institution of marriage and the family
against certain dangerous subversive tendencies. 'Pedro Sanchez,'
again, deals with political evils, in a tone of serene melancholy,
which however is pessimistic rather about institutions than human
nature itself. In 'La Montalvez,' for once, he abandons his mountain
province, and treats with his usual ability- for he touches nothing
that he does not adorn-of the society at Madrid; though society
not of a pleasing cast.
Pereda's style is a treasury of forcible, idiomatic language; he is
a master of dialogue, and excels in representing the racy talk of the
lower orders of people. He has taken a long step towards realizing
the ideal of many writers of our own day,- that of uniting the lan-
guage of daily life with that of literary expression. He is genuinely
humorous; and this humor, a legitimate continuation of the tradition
of humor so long established in Spain, makes him everywhere enter-
taining, and keeps him, in spite of his idealizing proclivities, both
from imposing upon us unreal Arcadias and from sinking into any
hopeless depression of spirits.
William Henry Bishof
>
## p. 11309 (#529) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11309
TUERTO'S FAMILY LIFE
From La Leva'
B
EFORE going any further, the reader should be informed that
there existed from time immemorial, between the seagoing
folk of High Street [the street along the heights] and those
by the water-side, an inextinguishable feud.
Each quarter forms a separate fishing corporation, or guild;
and the two have not been willing even to adopt the same patron
saint. The High Street folks, or the Upper Guild, chose Saint
Peter, while those on Beach Street, or the Lower Guild, com-
mend themselves to the holy martyrs Emeterius and Celadonius;
and to those illustrious saintships- said to have miraculously
come to port in a bark made of stone-they have built, at their
own expense, a very pretty chapel, in the Miranda quarter, over-
looking a wide expanse of ocean.
So now we continue.
Tuerto ["Cross-Eyes "] enters his house. He tosses off his
sou'-wester or serviceable tarpaulin hat, throws down upon an old
chest his duck waterproof, which he had carried on his shoul-
der, and hangs up on a nail a basket with an oil-skin covering,
and full of fishing-tackle. His wife dishes up in an old broken
pan a mess of beans and cabbage, badly cooked and worse sea-
soned, sets it on the chest, and puts alongside it a big piece
of coarse brown bread. Tuerto, without letting fall a word, waits
till his infants have got around the board also, and then begins
to eat the mess with a pewter spoon. His wife and children
accompany him, taking turns with another spoon, of wood. The
beans and cabbage are finished. Tuerto has the air of expecting
something next, which does not come; he looks at the dish, then
into the bottom of the empty stew-pan, then finally at his wife.
The woman turns pale.
"Where is the meat? " he at length inquires, with the chronic
hoarse voice of the fisherman.
"The meat? " stammered his wife. "As the butcher's shop
was closed when I went to get it, I did not bring any. "
"That's a lie. I gave you the two reals and a half to buy it
yesterday noon, and the butcher's doesn't close till four. What
have you done with the money? "
## p. 11310 (#530) ##########################################
11310
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
"The money? - the money? It's in my pocket. "
"You thieving jade, if you've been drinking again, I swear
I'll let daylight through you," roared the enraged Tuerto, on
observing the continually increasing confusion of his wife. "Let
me see that money, and be quick about it, I say. "
The woman pulled forth tremblingly a few small coins from
her pocket, and held them out to her husband, without fully
opening her hand.
"Its only eight coppers you've got there, and I gave you
twenty-one. Where's the rest? »
"I must have lost-have lost them. I had twenty-one this
morning. "
"Don't tell me such a thing as that: the two reals I gave you
were in silver. "
――――
"Yes, but I changed them at the market. "
"What has your mother done this morning? " quickly demands
Tuerto, clutching his eldest child by the arm.
The child trembles in affright, looks alternately at father and
mother, and remains silent.
<< Speak out, I say. "
"Mother will go and beat me if I do," replied the poor little
brat, sniveling.
"And if you don't answer me, I'll give you a crack that will
spoil your face. "
The boy, who knows by hard experience that his father never
deals in vain threats, now, despite the signals his mother makes
him to keep still, shuts his eyes, and speaking as rapidly as if
he feared the words would burn his mouth, says:
"Mother brought home a pint of brandy this morning, and
has the bottle hidden in the straw mattress. "
Tuerto no sooner hears these words than he fells his culprit
spouse to the floor with a resounding whack, rushes to the
bed, rummages amid the contents of the poor mattress, pulls out
from it a small bottle which contains the remainder of the con-
traband liquor, and returning with it towards his wife, hurls it
at her head at the moment when she is just getting up from
the floor. It knocks her down anew, and the children are sprin-
kled with the flying spirits. The wretched woman, sorely hurt,
laments and groans; the frightened children weep; and the irate
mariner sallies forth to the balcony, cursing his wife and the
day that he was ever born.
## p. 11311 (#531) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11311
Uncle Tremontorio, who arrived from the sea at the same
time with his mates Bolina [Billy Bowline] and Tuerto, had
been in his balcony knitting away at his fishing-nets (his custom-
ary occupation when at home) from the beginning of the dispute
between his neighbors. From time to time he would take a bite.
out of a hunk of bread, and another of dried codfish, the pro-
vision that constituted his usual dinner. Though he is perfectly
well posted about what has just taken place [across the narrow
street], it is not his way to mix himself up in what does not
concern him. But the furious husband, who needs an outlet for
venomous rage that still half chokes him, calls up his neighbor,
and the pair shout from one balcony to the other the following
dialogue: -
"Uncle Tremontorio, I can't stand this devil of a woman any
longer. One of these days you'll hear of some desperate deed
on my part; I suppose that's the way it will all end. "
"I have told you that it was your own fault, from the begin-
ning. She tacked your way a little, and you let go your whole
cable and thought your voyage was over. "
"What could I do? I thought then she was one of heaven's
own saints. "
"What could you do? Do? why, what I've always told you:
haul her taut, and make fast with a double turn. Rough wind
astern? all right, ahead you go. "
"But there's not a bone in her body I haven't already
tinkered at with a cudgel, as you might mend the ribs of a
boat. "
"You waited till the wood was rotten, my friend. "
"As God is my witness she's the worst villain unhung. What
is going to become of those poor brats of mine when I am taken
away from them? for the devil will never take that woman: he
has no place to put her. Last week I handed her twenty-four
reals to dress the children with.
Have you laid eyes on that
money? Well, neither have I. The drunkard spent them for
drink. I gave her a walloping that left her for dead, and yet
what does she do? Three days after that she sells a sheet from
our bed for a quart of rum.
Yesterday I gave her twenty-one
cents for meat, and she drank them also. And with all this the
young ones are naked, I haven't a shirt to my back, and I never
dare think of treating myself to an honest glass of wine of a
fête-day. "
## p. 11312 (#532) ##########################################
11312
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
"Why don't you get an exorcism said over her? Maybe she's
bewitched by evil spirits, and that's the cause of it. "
"I've spent a small fortune in those very tomfooleries, Tre-
montorio. I took her to more than three leagues from here, to
get a parson that they said had the gift of such things, to chuck
the gospels at her. Well, he did; then he gave me a little card
he had said a prayer over, and a sprig of rue, sewed it all up in
a bag, hung it round her neck, charged me nearly four dollars
for it, and that was all the good it did - not the first blessed
thing. The very next day she had a jag on worse than ever,
and wanted to paint the town red. I've given her brandy with
gunpower in it, a thing, they say, that creates a distaste for
liquor, but that beast, did it affect her that way? Not much!
she seemed to like the drink after that better than ever. I've
laid out a treasure in candles alone, setting them up before the
Holy Martyrs, to see if they'd rid her of the vice; and it was
just the same as if I had not spent a farthing. I swear to you,
I don't know what to do, Uncle Tremontorio, unless it is to kill
her: there are no bounds to this vice of hers. Just tell me what
you say of this: When I gave her the brandy with powder in it,
she was taken with such a colic I thought she'd burst. I had
heard that flannels soaked in spirits, applied good and hot, was
a cure for that sort of pains in the stomach; so I heated up
about half a pint of liquor in a saucepan. When it was blazing
hot, I took it over to the bedside, where the thief of the world
was writhing about in contortions. I had to leave the saucepan
with her a minute while I went to the chest to get out some
rags; I turned around, and, man, what do you think I saw ? she
was just swallowing down the last drops of the spirits from the
saucepan, almost ablaze as it was. Man, man, was there ever a
worse curse of God? "
"Well, friend in regard to that- ahem! what can I say to
you? When a woman chooses to take the crooked path, like
yours, give her the stick, and plenty of it. If with that she
doesn't mend her ways and float off in good style, then either
sink her to the bottom, once for all, or string yourself up to a
yard-arm. "
"I've told you already—what's the matter with you? - that
I've covered every inch of her body with the welts of a stick,
and I've decorated her face all over with bruises till there's
hardly room for another. "
________
_______________
――――――
-
## p. 11313 (#533) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11313
"Then go hang yourself, and leave me in peace to finish
these meshes. And you may as well know that the reason I
never married is to keep out of the devil's own scrape that you
are in. "
THE CANDIDATE VISITS HIS VOTERS
From Los Hombres de Pro'
ON SIMON Started upon his electioneering tour. In the first
village of his district, at the poor inn, a group of six agents
were waiting for him; their horses, caparisoned with orna-
mental trappings, after the fashion of the country, tied to the
posts or the projecting window gratings. They received him hat
in hand.
[All then passed into the dining-room, where a dozen more persons met
them, and a liberal dinner was served, for which the candidate duly paid.
The several days' ride through the mountain district next began. ]
The cavalcade was headed by one of the six caciques [village
magnates, previously mentioned]. He was a lean, dark man,
with a large nose, a penetrating eye, his face almost beardless,
although he was by no means young; he spoke little, but that
to the point; and as to confidence in men, he would have been
distrustful even of his own shadow. He knew the voters of the
district, every man of them, with all his virtues, vices, minor
faults, and necessities; and in consequence, he knew how to win
or to compel them.
(
·
"The Squire'" (said he),-" for thus they call him,-whom
we must see, is a rough sort of customer, but much bent on hav-
ing everybody flatter and bow down to him. When we leave
him, don't forget to give him a cigar; not one of the kind you
furnished us at dinner, you know, but one of those you have
in your cigar-case for your own particular use. "
Don Simon did his best not to notice this polite little slur,
and put himself at the orders of his adviser.
The party found the local great man presiding over the
turning-up of a new field he had just bought on that out-of-the-
way upland. He was still youthful; and he had a despicable
physiognomy. He manifested no great curiosity on the approach
of the little troop. He confined himself to returning coldly
XIX-708
•
## p. 11314 (#534) ##########################################
11314
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
the very affable salute which Don Celso [the leader] directed to
him, as representative of all the rest, and especially of Don
Simon, whom he proceeded to introduce to the impassive elector
as follows:
"This gentleman is our candidate, Don Simon de las Peñas-
cales by name, an illustrious man, I assure you, with thirty
thousand dollars income, and great talents. He comes to-day
expressly to thank you for your kind co-operation in his coming
election, reserving a more fitting payment till some later oppor-
tunity shall offer. "
"Servant, sir," responded the "Squire," laconically, staring at
his distinguished guest.
"Delighted, my dear sir. I hope I find you well," began Don
Simon, uncovering his head with a grandly sweeping bow, and
tendering his right hand to him of the new-plowed land.
"Me? ye-up, I'm well," replied the "Squire," without sign of
a movement to take the proffered hand.
"Do you smoke? " the candidate now inquired, feeling for his
cigar-case.
"Once in a while, if the tobacco is good for anything. "
"Then do me the favor to accept this. It is of the choice
brand of the Vuelta de Abajo.
"You sure of that? " grunted the other, taking it and biting
off the end.
"
"And how are our affairs going around here? " inquired the
candidate, trying to strike out some spark of interest from that
piece of flint, that unmitigated boor.
"We'll puff-"see when-the time comes," he returned,
using up about half a box of matches in lighting his cigar in the
open air.
"No need of asking him that, Don Simon," remarked Don
Celso. "When you come to see what the Squire has done, I
warrant you'll be more than satisfied. "
"In that case," said Don Simon, taking Don Celso's hint, “and
since we still have far to go to-day, and since I have had the
great honor of making your acquaintance, it only remains for me
to put myself at your disposal for anything that you may demand
of me, either now or henceforward and forever. "
"The same thing say I," muttered the Squire, scarce touching
the hand offered him anew, and turning back to the men work-
ing for him.
## p. 11315 (#535) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11315
When they had ridden on a bit, Don Simon could not help
saying to Don Celso in a crestfallen way:-
"If that fellow is one of those who support me, what can I
expect of the doubtful ones? And, for heaven's sake, what sort
of manners will those have who are against me? "
[Later on, they meet an inn-keeper who charges for the very rent of the
ground their horses stand on while they are talking to him. This incident is
developed in a long and amusing account. He promises to vote and use his
influence for Don Simon, if the latter will see that a certain road is built,
joining his mountain inn to the main road; but only on condition- as other
candidates have promised the same thing before-that Don Simon shall put
up the money for the road, about $3,000, in advance, out of his own pocket.
Don Simon is disappointed, betrayed, put upon, in numberless ways, and
would have lost his election except that- having started out as a Liberal can-
didate- he shrewdly turns Conservative, and secures his seat by the favor of
the ministry. ]
THE PORTRAIT OF DON GONZALO GONZALEZ OF
GONZALEZ-TOWN
From Don Gonzalo Gonzalez de la Gonzalera ›
L
OOK at him; here he is:-A man of middling size, carefully
clad in a suit of fine black, his knobby flat feet shod in
refulgent patent leather; clean-shaven; his shirt-collar ter-
minating, above his low-cut vest and glossy embroidered shirt-
front, in a butterfly-shaped bow, made with the open-worked
ends of his cravat. Over all this wandered in serpentine con-
volutions a heavy gold chain. His hair was very much frizzed,
and upon two lateral rows of ringlets, rather than upon his head,
lightly rested a silk hat. One of his thick, hairy hands grasped
a gold-headed cane, while in the other, lying along his thigh, he
held ceremoniously a pair of kid gloves.
The speech of
such a man may be divined: it was over-soft, mawkish, sicken-
ing. He doted on alliterations, like huevo hilado, and he used to
say frido, cercanidas, and cacado. *
What name should he adopt on going back to his native vil-
lage? His father, who used to be dubbed "Tony Breechclout "
for short, was called "Antonio Gonzalez "; he himself Nicho-
las. " But if he were going to style himself simply "Nicholas
Gonzalez," he might as well make it "Johnny Drumsticks" and
have done with it.
What if, for example, without ceasing
*It is a vulgar affectation of elegance, in the Spanish Americas, to insert a
❝d in such words, which should be simply frío, cercanías, cacao.
## p. 11316 (#536) ##########################################
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JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
to sign "Gonzalez," he should add to it something like "de la
Gonzalera"? Some people shorten their names, do they not?
what harm, then, if some others should lengthen theirs out a
little? A trifle more or less of a thing-what difference does
it make?
No sooner planned than decided. He ordered a thousand
lithographed visiting-cards of various tinted pasteboards; and upon
these was placed, in fantastic characters and in vivid colors, the
name "Gonzalo Gonzalez de la Gonzalera. "
CLETO'S PROPOSAL TO SOTILEZA
[Sotileza is a poor waif, adopted by a worthy family, and has turned out
to be a charming and admirable character. The name is derived from a very
fine, strong cord, used in the apparatus of the fishermen. Cleto belongs to
a family of sardine-sellers, the terror and scandal of the street; but he him-
self aspires to higher things. ]
―
From Sotileza ›
SOT
OTILEZA Continued her sewing on the garment of Pachuca, by
the light of the candle which she had just set in its socket
on the wall. Cleto, now in her presence, actually felt the
tremendous difficulty which he had trusted to conjure away by
his boldness and resolution. The gift of speech - the confounded
gift of gab, that was always denied him-was lacking to him at
this moment more than ever.
"I was passing by," he began to stammer, trembling with his
diffidence, "I happened to be passing along this way, and so—
er as I was passing this way, I says to myself, says I, 'I'll
just stop into the shop a minute. ' So that's the way I happened
to come My! but that's a good skirt you're sewing there,
Sotileza. Yours, is it? "
Sotileza told him it was not; and out of politeness, asked him
to sit down.
-
Cleto took a seat a good distance away from her; then,
looking and looking at her a long while, as if he were trying
to intoxicate himself through the medium of his eyesight to a
sufficient extent to break the trammels that held his tongue, he
at length succeeded in saying:-
« Sotileza, once you sewed on a button for me. Do you recol-
lect about it? "
## p. 11317 (#537) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11317
"I'm afraid too many other things have happened since," she
returned smilingly, without looking up from her work.
"Well, for me, it's just the same thing as if it took place
yesterday. "
"Well, what of it, supposing it was so? "
"Whyer why, you see, after that button- It was like
a jewel to me; and I've got it yet, right here on the waistband
of these breeches. Look at it; do you see it? After that button,
I kept coming back and coming back to this house, for there's
no staying in mine; and by gracious! well, you know that, Soti-
leza, that isn't what you might call a habitation at all, nor are
those female kin of mine women like other women, nor is that
man there a man. Well, then, I had never known anything
better than that kind of folks, and for want of knowing better,
I gave you a slap in the face one day; you remember about that.
Holy jinks! if you only knew how sorry I've been for that slap,
ever since. "
-
―
Sotileza began to be overcome with astonishment at the dis-
course she was listening to; for never had anything even remotely
like to this proceeded from Cleto's lips. She fixed her eyes with
interest upon his; but the effect of this was, that she cut short
not only the poor fellow's words but the very breath of his
body.
"But why are you saying these things to me now? " she
demanded.
((
"Because I've got to, Sotileza," Cleto plucked up heart to
respond; that's the reason:- and because nobody else would
be willing to come to you and say them for me. I hope it's no
offense. Now, see here, Sotileza, just see what's happening to
me. I did not know till lately, myself, what was the matter with
me; and I let them go on,- that kind of griping feeling in my
insides and that dizzy feeling in my head, that got hold of me
when I came in here. And you kept on growing up and getting
prettier every day: heavens, what new rail you kept whipping
on nearly every time I saw you! No offense in looking on at
it, was there? at least I hope not; and no more was there,
either, in warming up my heart with a glimpse of this shop now
and then. Over there in our tenement there was nothing of the
kind, by a long chalk: filth and brutishness, the good name of
every person they spoke of pitched head first out of the balcony,
not a scrap of decency about anything they did. By thunder!
it's enough to give a fellow a bad temper, even if he was born
## p. 11318 (#538) ##########################################
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JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
with one like sugar. That's the way I came to give you that
slap, Sotileza; if it wasn't, I would tell you so, honestly. Why,
if any one was to say to me, right here and how, 'Cleto, you
go and jump off the ramparts for Sotileza,' I would do it. Soti-
leza, if it could be of the slightest service to you, even if I got
nothing out of it but my broken neck. I never had any of this
kind of feeling before. Here you have a full account of it with-
out asking for it- and without offense, I hope. You see how it
was; it wasn't my fault. I liked those feelings too, in spite of
the pain, I liked them immensely; they made my disposition
of the purest honey, as if I had never had any other. I was
filled up, filled full with them, till it seemed as if my body
wouldn't hold any more. Then afterwards a tumble here and a
stumble there-a heavy surf, as it were, rolling round inside of
me; little sleep of nights, and a lump in my throat all the time.
Look you, Sotileza, I used to think there were no more troubles
than those I had at home; but now I can see that I slept better,
twice over, than since all this trouble began about you. I—I—
don't offend anybody, do I, in talking this way, Sotileza? And
thener, while all that was going on that I was telling you
just now, I got to getting fonder and fonder of you every day,
and I got to having more and more respect for you; and I tried
harder every day to see if I couldn't read your wishes in your
eyes, so that I could go and serve you somehow without your
having to tell me.
"And so all that was going on month in and month out, and
year after year; I was slowly foundering, and there was no
way of getting afloat again. For you see, Sotileza, it's one
thing for a man to be chock full of feelings like this, and
another thing for him to speak up and tell his girl about them,
if he's tongue-tied like me and can't put two words together. It
knocks me all out when I think what you are, and then what
I am,- the very mud of the gutter, in comparison. Well, I just
couldn't hold it all in any longer, and I went to some folks that
understand how to talk about this kind of thing, to get them
to come and see you for me. But what do you think? they
wouldn't do it. There's a nice charitable lot of parties, isn't it,
to lend a hand when a man was in such sore straits as I was?
You are attending, aren't you, Sotileza, to all this I'm telling you?
Well, the upshot of it was, that since nobody would come and
speak to you for me, I had to come and speak to you myself,
and — and — now I'm doing it. "
## p. 11319 (#539) ##########################################
JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
11319
It was no news to Sotileza that Cleto was in love with
her; for she had read it clearly in all his looks and actions for
some time past. She was not surprised, therefore, at his avowal;
but she was surprised, and not a little, that he should have mus-
tered the courage to make it. Looking at him with her serene
gaze, she said to him:
"Of course there's no offense in what you say to me, Cleto;
but in the name of all the saints, what possesses you to make
you say it to me just now? »
"My stars! what always possesses people to tell such things?
So they can be known. "
"Well, I know them, Cleto, I know them: now are you
satisfied? "
"Hum-er-why, no, not altogether. That is not enough,
Sotileza. "
"And what do you wish more? "
"What do I wish more? Gracious goodness! I wish to be a
man like another; I want to live a different kind of life from
what I've been living: you yourself have been the light that has
shown me what another kind of life could be. I want to live
the way life goes on in this little shop of yours; I am dying to
work for you, and to be neat and clean and decent-spoken, like
you. I would kiss the ground you walk on, and try and get you
the very mermaids from the sea, whom no one has ever set eyes
on, if you wanted them. Is it too little that I offer? »
He was veritably transfigured at this moment; and Sotileza
could not but marvel at the change.
"I have never seen you so lively and so talkative as to-day,"
was her answer.
"The mounting wave has burst," he rejoined, getting bolder
still; "and I myself believe I am not what I was before. I've
set myself down sometimes for a regular idiot; but by the living
gracious! I swear I am so no longer, with this that is going
on inside of me, and that makes me talk in spite of myself.
If you can work such a miracle as this without even knowing
it, what miracles could you not work with me when you really
put your mind on it? Now just look at me, Sotileza: I've got no
vices; I never was afraid of work; I haven't a grudge against
a person in the world; I am accustomed to do with little; and
picking out the very best I've had in my life, it has never been
anything but pain and trouble. Seeing here, about you, some-
## p. 11320 (#540) ##########################################
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JOSÉ MARIA DE PEREDA
thing so entirely different, you know what a value I set on it-
and whose fault it is that I do. There's a man needed in this
house. Are you taking in what I am telling you, Sotileza? "
For that very
Sotileza was giving heed to it only too well.
reason she replied with a certain curtness:
"Yes, I am; but what of it? "
"Again? Confound it! you make me that answer again,"
cried Cleto angrily. "Or is this your way of saying no, without
saying it directly? "
"Come, Cleto," said Sotileza coldly, "I am not under obliga
tions to answer all the questions you choose to put me on such
particulars, or any others. I live quietly here in my house with-
out speaking ill of anybody. I have none but the kindest wishes
towards you, and I know your value full well; nevertheless I
have my own way of thinking and feeling, and I wish to make
no change in my life at present. "
"What have you said, Sotileza? " exclaimed Cleto in dismay.
"Oh, this is boring a big auger-hole into the hull. I am wrecked,
I am lost. "
"Don't put it in that way; it is not so bad as that.
But sup-
pose, for the sake of argument, that if, instead of the no, Cleto,
which you dread to hear, I should say the yes you ask of me,
how would you be the gainer by that? You have to steal into
this house, carefully hiding your movements from your family
over in yours, even if you come here but for an instant, just to
pass the time of day. If such is the case now, what would it be
if — if the plan you are so anxious for came to pass? "
"You've hit it, Sotileza: that's just what the other folks told
me. But is there any sense and right in such a state of things?
I didn't choose the family that I belong to. "
"Who are the other folks that told you the same thing that I
have? " now inquired Sotileza quickly, ignoring the woe-begone
lamentations of the poor young fellow.
"Father Polinar, in the first place" [the parish schoolmaster].
"Father Polinar?
