-Vii- · II

Julián listened in stupefaction to these miseries of a sinful life, and marveled at how well the devil weaves his nets.

“But, sir...” he stammered. “If you yourself recognize and understand it....”

“And why should I not understand it? Am I stupid, by chance, not to see that that shameless creature flees from me, and that every day I must hunt her down like a hare? She is only happy among the other peasants, with that sorceress who carries gossip and messages to and fro to the young men! She detests me. At the moment least expected she will poison me.”

“Señor Marquis, I am astounded!” argued the chaplain earnestly. “That you should vex yourself over a thing so easy to arrange! Have you anything more to do than turn such a woman into the street?”

As both interlocutors had grown accustomed to the darkness, Julián not only saw the Marquis shake his head, but also observed the grimace upon his face.

“That is easily said...” he pronounced in a muffled voice. “Saying is one thing and doing is another.... The difficulties are met with in practice. If I turn out that enemy, I can find no one to cook for me or come to serve me. Her father.... You will not believe it? Her father has threatened every girl in the parish that whoever enters this house once his daughter leaves, he will lodge a charge of buckshot in her back.... And they know he is the man to do what he says. One day I seized Sabel by the arm and put her outside the door of the house: that very night the other maids gave me notice, Primitivo feigned illness, and for a week I took my meals at the rectory and made my own bed.... And I had to beg Sabel, as a favor, to return.... Disabuse yourself: they are stronger than we. That company they bring about them are their retainers, who obey them blindly. Do you think I save a copper here in this wilderness? Not a bit of it! The whole parish lives at my expense. They drink my vintage of wine, feed their fowls with my grain, my woods and groves supply them with fuel, my granaries furnish them with bread; the rents are collected late, badly, and with endless trouble; I keep seven or eight cows, and the milk I drink would lie in the hollow of my hand; in my stalls there is a herd of oxen and steers that are never yoked to till my lands; they are bought with my money, true enough, but then they are given out on lease and no accounts are ever rendered to me....”

“Why do you not appoint another steward?”

“Ah, ah, ah! As if that were nothing! One of two things: either he would be Primitivo’s tool and then we should be in the same case, or Primitivo would put a bullet through his belly.... And if the truth must be told, Primitivo is not steward.... It is worse than if he were, for he commands everyone, myself included; but I never gave him such a stewardship.... Here the steward was always the chaplain.... That Primitivo can scarcely read or write; but he is sharp as lightning, and even in Uncle Gabriel’s time they had recourse to him for everything.... Look you, the fact is that the day he folds his arms, one finds oneself left in the lurch.... Not to speak of shooting, for in that he has no equal; I should lack hands and feet if I lacked Primitivo.... But in other matters it is just the same.... Your predecessor, the Abbot of Ulloa, was helpless without him; and you, who also came in the capacity of administrator, be frank with me: have you been able to manage alone?”

“The truth is I have not,” declared Julián humbly. “But in time..., with practice....”

“Bah, bah! No peasant will ever obey you or pay any attention to you, because you are a simple soul; you are far too good-natured. They need people who know their blemishes and are a hundred paces ahead of them in cunning.”

However depressing the observation was to the chaplain’s self-esteem, he was forced to recognize its accuracy. Nevertheless, his spirit being now piqued, he resolved to exhaust every resource of his ingenuity to achieve victory in so unequal a struggle. And his mother wit suggested to him the following obvious remedy:

“But, Señor Marquis..., why do you not go away to the town for a while? Would not that be the best way of unraveling the knot? I marvel that a gentleman like you can endure the whole year here, without stirring from these wild mountains.... Do you not grow weary?”

The Marquis was looking at the ground, although there was nothing on it worthy of being seen. The chaplain’s idea did not take him by surprise.

“Leave this place!” he exclaimed. “And where the deuce should one go? Here at least, for better or worse, one is king of the district.... Uncle Gabriel told me a thousand times: decent folk in towns are not distinguished from cobblers.... A cobbler who becomes a millionaire by running his awl in and out mounts upon the shoulders of any gentleman—of those of us who are gentlemen from father to son.... I am well used to treading my own ground and walking among trees which I fell if the fancy takes me.”

“Yet after all, sir, Primitivo rules you here!”

“Bah.... I can give Primitivo three dozen kicks, if my blood is up, without the magistrate coming to indict me.... I do not do it; but I sleep peacefully in the assurance that I could do it if I chose. Do you think Sabel will go and complain to justice of today’s blows with the gun-stock?”

This logic of barbarism confounded Julián.

“Sir, I do not tell you to abandon this place... Only that you should go away for a little season, to see how it suits you.... If you withdrew from here for some time, it would not be difficult for Sabel to marry someone of her own station, and for you also to find a suitable match according to your rank, a lawful wife. Anyone may slip, the flesh is weak; therefore it is not good for man to live alone, for he becomes mired, and as he said who understood these things, it is better to marry than to burn in concupiscence, Señor Don Pedro. Why do you not marry, sir?” he exclaimed, clasping his hands. “There are so many good and honorable young ladies!”

Had it not been for the darkness, Julián would have seen the Marquis of Ulloa’s eyes sparkle.

“And do you think, holy man of God, that it had not occurred to me? Do you think I do not dream every night of a boy who will look like me, who will not be the son of a hussy, who will carry on the name of the house..., who will inherit this when I die... and who will be called Pedro Moscoso, like myself?”

As he said this, the Marquis struck his sturdy torso, his manly chest, as though from it he wished to make the coveted heir spring forth, strong and already grown to manhood. Julián, filled with hope, was about to encourage him in such good resolutions; but he shuddered suddenly, for he fancied he heard behind him a sound, a rustle, the tread of an animal among the brushwood.

“What is that?” he exclaimed, turning round. “It seems a fox is prowling here.”

The Marquis caught him by the arm.

“Primitivo...” he articulated in a low voice, choked with anger. “Primitivo, who has been spying on us for a quarter of an hour, listening to the conversation.... Now you are in a fine plight.... We have made a pretty mess of it.... God and the saints of the heavenly court help me! My tether is running out too. It were better to go to the galleys than lead this life!”