A Demagogic Journalist
Eleven was striking by the nearest clock; and as the last stroke vibrated upon Don Liberato Plebist tympanum an instantaneous electric commotion was transmitted from it to his brain, which made him hastily sit up in bed and begin to dress. He violently rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, which, together with the use of his pocket-handkerchief and four or five loud hollow coughs, sufficed to cause him to regain entire possession of his senses and natural powers, and shook him out of that kind of lethargy, or state of doze, which between a deep sleep and being wide awake occupies the function of a scruple.
He had fallen asleep with a fixed idea that he must rise early to write a long, forcible, and brilliant article, and seeing the sun already so advanced on its course, he jumped out of bed, and made towards his study in a rich dressing-gown and canvas slippers delicately embroidered by some feminine hand. He leaned back in an armchair before a solid mahogany writing-table, pulled the bell loudly three times by a silken rope; a footman appeared, who placed upon the table the silver brazier with some large red-hot pieces of charcoal; and then, when he had demanded breakfast with an imperative manner, and the man had withdrawn, Don Liberato lit a fragrant Havana, seized it between his teeth, grasped the pen with his right hand, rested his brow on his left, and leaning his elbow on the desk and gently tapping his right foot on the carpet, as if to excite ideas by this slight motion, remained in this attitude for five minutes, at the end of which he put his pen to paper and began to write to the following effect:—
“The incarnate enemies of the unhappy people—those wicked and egoistic men, who live under the shadow of privileges (Don Liberato smiled to himself) and grow fat with the substance of the poor—take very good care in all their writings and perorations to speak of nothing but principles and political questions, more or less metaphysical and vague, astutely keeping silence when there is any reference to social questions, upon which is actually based the revolution, which in this our age agitates Spain, disturbs Europe, and threatens the world.”
(Liberato, savouring the sonority of this rounded period, expelled from his cigar a dense cloud of azure and aromatic smoke... and continued writing.)
“The priority of certain castes, the inequality with which property is distributed, the malign influence of priesthood, the tyranny of the rich and potential over the masses, and other thousand obstacles which oppose the felicity of the people, are those which must be destroyed, but with regard to which the partisans of abuses ever succeed in embroiling a discussion. You, unhappy day-labourers, unfortunate artisans, fathers of a numerous family, who to gain bread for your unfortunate offspring must abandon your narrow bed at break of day....”
(At this moment Don Liberato’s clock struck a quarter to twelve, and the rays of the noonday sun, penetrating the green curtains, succeeded in bathing with light the richly furnished room of the journalist, who went on writing thus):—
“You will tell me if what interests you most is to discuss the preference for this or that method of electing representatives, or, on the contrary, the monstrous superiority of the potentate swimming in pleasures, of the sensual sybarite passing the night amidst the delicacies of the table, while you earn with the sweat of your brow the bread you must eat soaked in your tears.”
(The room door is opened, and Don Liberato’s footman enters carrying an exquisite china tea-service, with a savoury dish, tea, milk, and buttered toast. Placing his burden on a small table, covered with a fine white embroidered cloth, he draws it in the greatest silence within reach of his master to the right of the desk, and retires stealthily, so as not to interrupt the sublime composition which continues multiplying sheets of paper thus wise):—
“Ye hungry and naked sons of the unfortunate Spanish people (The writer throws away the stump of the Havana, and crams his mouth full with sweet-bread) rear your naked and hungry children with anxiety and fatigue, and rear them to be the slaves of a rich, powerful, and proud aristocracy....”
(Don Liberato again smiles to himself, and devours the rest of the sweet-bread.)
“Rear them to till their land, to build their palaces, to weave their rich clothes, to wrench from the bowels of the earth the precious metals with which their ostentatious apparel is embroidered, and their ornaments and furniture covered in scandalous profusion.”
(The writer imbibes about a quart of tea, and attacks the buttered toast.)
“Rear them that they may be dragged into misery with you, while the gilded chariots of the great, bearing their mistresses to shows and pageants, roll by, threatening to run over them, and bespattering them with mud....”
“Sir,” said the Gallegan servant, entering timidly.
“Wha the matter?” replied Don Liberato.
“They have brought this letter from the lady. It is urgent.”
Having read the note, he replied thus—
“Say, ‘very well’ and Domingo, remember to hire a carriage for this evening at five sharp: and I ca see anybody now, I must get on with my writing.”
“This, this is the real evil of society, the pitiful state of which the present generation aspires to vary by a revolution as glorious as just. Let those monstrous fortunes be divided and subdivided, let them return in small capitals to the hands of the poor people who made them. Thus these terrible scenes of misery will not be seen which are augmented by the scandalous neglect of the Government for the widows and orphans of the best servants of the State.”
“Sir!”
“What is it now?”
“The widow of that captain, who comes to see if you....”
“D—— you and the widow; throw her downstairs, and do open the door to every beggar.”
“But there also came....”
“Who came?—quickly.”
“A man with cigars, the one who brought that other box.”
“Here, take these twenty-five dollars, and go to the devil! Let us see if I can finish my article.”
“Meanwhile the vile aristocrats keep the people in the most humiliating servitude, and their condition and treatment is worse than that of cattle.”
“Sir.”
“If you do shut that door, you brute, I’ll throw the ink-bottle at your head.”
“The habits of despotism which they have acquired through the course of centuries....”
“But, sir, only one word....”
(Don Liberato hurls the salver at the poor Gallegan, and then continues scribbling with the greatest amenity until he comes to the following words):—
“And these errors, upheld by venal journalists....”
(Domingo returns to the charge, preceded this time by a man of ugly appearance, who pays Don Liberato a large sum for a compilation. Having taken the money, and returned the receipt, he continues):—
“And who tells these calumniators that the defence of the people is a propensity to anarchy; that the severe censure of deeds of despotism is an act of rebellion; and that the struggle against fanaticism is unbelief, impiety, and hatred of the sacred religion which we venerate more than they?”
“May I go out, sir?”
“No, no, hang you, and by heavens if you interrupt me again....”
“It is Sunday, sir, if you remember, and there is only late mass now.”
“You must do without mass, I require you here.”
“You must take it on your conscience, sir.”
“And so I will, you rascal; and I may take a stick too, and send you to hear mass in the infernal regions, that will stop your being such a confounded hypocrite.”
With this last invective the scene ended between master and man, and with a few more lines the article of our journalist. The latter, after having dined sumptuously, passed the evening driving with his mistress, entered a café, where he spent a dollar or two, calling the waiter a scoundrel and stupid idiot; went in the night to a gambling-house, where he parted with ten gold pieces, and returned to bed with the dawn, forming plans for heartrending articles on the lot of the poor, and furious declamations against the aristocracy, the rich, and the Government.
“El Estudiante.” Antonio Maria Segovia.