-Xxv- · II

On leaving Barbacana’s house, the Archpriest met the judge and the notary in the post-office, and at the door Don Eugenio, untying his mare from an iron ring and preparing to mount.

“Wait a moment, Naya,” said he familiarly, giving him, according to the custom among priests, the name of his parish. “I am going to see the newspaper reports, and then we will set off together.”

“I am heading toward the Pazos.”

“I too. Tell them at the inn to bring my mule here.”

Don Eugenio executed the commission promptly, and shortly afterwards both ecclesiastics, wrapped in ample Spanish cloaks, with their hats tied under their chins with a handkerchief to prevent the strong wind blowing from carrying them away, were descending the slope of the highway at the leisurely pace of their mounts. Naturally they spoke of the approaching battle, of the candidate, and of other details concerning the election. The Archpriest saw everything through rose-coloured spectacles, and was so confident of victory that he was already thinking of bringing the band from Cebre to the Pazos to serenade the deputy-elect. Don Eugenio, though cheerful, was not quite so sanguine. The government disposes of great power, what the devil! and when it sees matters going badly it resorts to coercion, carrying the elections by means of the Civil Guard. All that talk of the Cortes was, in the words of the Abbot of Boán, a most solemn farce.

“Well, for this once,” replied the Archpriest, gesticulating and puffing to disentangle himself from the cape of his cloak, which the wind was wrapping around his face, “for this once we shall make them swallow hard! At least the district of Cebre will send to Congress a respectable gentleman, a native of the country, the head of an ancient and honourable house, who knows us better than those rascals from outside.”

“That is very true,” answered Don Eugenio, who seldom contradicted his companions to their faces; “I like as well as anyone that the house of the Pazos de Ulloa should represent Cebre; and were it not for things that we all know...”

The Archpriest, very grave, took a pinch through his silver tube. He loved Don Pedro dearly, having, as the saying goes, known him from his cradle; and, moreover, he professed the principle of respecting noble lineage.

“Come, man, come,” he growled, “let us have done with gossip... Everyone has his faults and his sins, and to God he will give account of them. We must not meddle in other people’s lives.”

Don Eugenio, as if he did not understand, persisted, repeating all that he had just heard in the post-office in Cebre, where scandalous commentaries were embroidered upon the news given by Trampeta to the Governor of the province. He related everything at the top of his voice, so that the Archpriest’s deafness, aggravated by the wind, might not prevent him from catching the substance of the discourse. The mischievous, roguish cleric took ineffable delight in seeing the Archpriest worked up, congested, holding his hand to his ear by way of an ear-trumpet, or furiously thrusting the silver tube into his nostrils. Cebre, according to Don Eugenio, was seething with indignation against Don Pedro Moscoso; the peasants were fond of him; but in the town, dominated by people protected by Trampeta, dreadful tales were told of the Pazos. For some days past, precisely since the Marquis’s candidacy, there had awakened among the population of Cebre a holy hatred of sin, a condemnation of concubinage and bastardy, a sentiment of rectitude and morality so exquisite that it was astonishing—it being noted that this fit of virtue was observable only among the clerk’s satellites, people for the most part of the bitterest rind and by no means edifying in their conduct. On learning such things, the Archpriest turned purple with fury.

“Pharisees, scribes!” he snorted. “And then they will call us hypocrites! Look at the modesty, the decorum, and the shame that have entered the uncircumcised of Cebre! (in the Archpriest’s mouth, uncircumcised was a tremendous insult). As if the best of that pack of scoundrels had not earned enough merits to go to the galleys... and to the gallows, yes sir, to the gallows!”

Don Eugenio could not contain his laughter.

“Seven years ago, a trifle of seven years,” stammered the Archpriest, calming down a little, but breathing with difficulty because of the high wind, “seven little years that that which frightens them so much now has been going on at the Pazos... And not a word have they chosen to say! But with the elections... What a cursed wind! We shall take wing, my boy!”

“Why, they whisper worse things still!” shouted the priest of Naya.

“Eh? One can hear nothing with this gale!”

“That they say things more serious still!” bawled Don Eugenio, bringing his restless little mare close to the Archpriest’s reverend mule.

“They will say that they are going to shoot us all... As for me, the clerk has already threatened to bring seven lawsuits against me and clap me in jail.”

“Lawsuits be hanged... Bend down your head... Like that... Although we are alone I do not want to shout too loud...”

Clinging to his companion’s cloak, Don Eugenio explained to him from close at hand something which the wings of the north-easter bore swiftly away with a shrill, mocking whistle.

“Confound it!” roared the Archpriest, no other word occurring to him. It took him nearly two minutes to recover the use of his tongue and to be able to spit out at the gale, which grew ever wilder and more furious, a string of insults against the infamous slanderers of Trampeta’s faction. The rogue Don Eugenio let him vent his feelings, and then added:

“There is more, more still!”

“And what more can there be? Do they say also that young Don Pedro takes to the highways to rob? Scoundrels of uncircumcised dogs, with no other God or law than their bellies!”

“They declare that the news comes from a person in the house itself.”

“Eeeh? The devil take the wind!”

“That the news comes from a person in the very house of the Pazos... Do you understand me now?” And Don Eugenio winked his eye.

“I understand, I understand... Dog’s hearts, scorpion’s tongues! A lady who is honesty itself, of so good a family, looking down upon nobody... and to slander her, and what is more with an ordained priest! Decent little Liberals, these fellows hereabouts, who sell themselves three for a penny! What a world we live in, Naya, what a world!”

“Well, they add also...”

“Confound it! Will you ever finish today? What a storm is brewing, Holy Virgin! What a wind... what a wind!”

“Listen to me, for this is not said by them, but by Barbacana. That that person of the house—Primitivo, in short—is going to play us a dirty trick in the election.”

“Eeeh? Are you in your dotage? Whoa, mule, let us see if I can hear better. That Primitivo...?”

“It is not certain, it is not certain, it is not certain!” vociferated the Abbot of Naya, who was enjoying himself more than at a play.

“By my life, this passes all bounds! Do me the favour not to drive me mad, eh? for the cursed wind is enough for that. I will not hear, I will not hear another word!” he declared this just as his cloak was suddenly caught by a heavier gust, and blown completely upward, leaving the Archpriest looking as Venus is usually painted in her shell. As soon as he managed to remedy the mishap, he put his mule to a trot, and no sound was heard along the road save the voice of the north-easter, which far away, tossing the chestnut groves and oak woods, mimicked a majestic symphony.