One
It's as if no time has passed. Everything is the same. See the street, the house, the goldfish swimming and revolving in incessant curves within their pools; see the cages of crickets hanging in clusters on each side of the door; observe the schoolroom window, and hear the sound of the little rascals that emerges through it. Nothing has changed, and Don Patricio Sarmiento, as punctual and immutable on his bench as the sun in the firmament, sheds the light of his wisdom across the whole territory of the classroom. Just as in the previous year, he expounds the disastrous history and tragic death of Gaius Gracchus; but his eloquent voice adds these fateful words:
-- Terrible days are on the way. Rome and Liberty are in danger.
Back then we were in February 1821; now we are in March 1822. During this year of anarchy, in the course of its 365 riots, the Calle de Coloreros has not suffered any important changes. Don Patricio doesn't seem older; on the contrary, one would think him rejuvenated by miraculous potions. He is more restless, more worked up, more lively; his eye shines with more brilliance, and the contraction and dilation of the venerable wrinkles on his brow reveal that within it there seethes a volcano of ideas.
When the hour of rest is sounded and the boys depart in haste, beating the ground with their impatient feet and filling the whole street with an ear-splitting clamour of shrieks, tomfooleries and caperings that, fortunately, doesn't last long, Don Patricio cleans his pens, arranges his cap so that no part of his cranium remains exposed, and sometimes with ruler in hand, sometimes with hands in pockets, goes out to the porch, intoning between his teeth a patriotic ditty.
If Lucas is at his post, father and son chat a while before going up to eat. At other times Don Patricio plants his picturesque, majestic figure on the threshold, snuffs the temperature and wind direction, and if his legs feel stiff, takes a walk towards the Arch of San Ginés, setting his feet down firmly and noisily so as to warm them up. A few sonorous words escape his chest while he looks again at the sky, as if in its unalterable grandeur he sees an image of immortality.
[The beginning of 7 de julio (The Seventh of July) by Benito Pérez Galdós (1876), the fifteenth volume of the Episodios Nacionales, i.e. the fifth of the second series.]
Complete Spanish text of 7 de julio.
*
crickets: often kept as caged pets in Spain.
little rascals : the word is moscardones. Literally a warble fly or gadfly, but figuratively referring to someone who is irritating or mischievous.
Gaius Gracchus: a legislator, tribune, and orator, of the 2nd century BCE. He died when violence broke out between Gracchus' supporters and his senatorial enemies, in particular the consul Lucius Opimius. By teaching the history of the Roman Republic rather than holy scripture, Don Patricio reveals his liberal sympathies.
February 1821: a footnote refers us to the previous volume, El Grande Oriente.
365 riots: probably referring to the lively, informal era of the patriotic clubs, replacing the stifling official ceremonials of the period 1814-1820, during which the constitution had been suppressed, as described in the first chapter of La fontana de oro, Galdós' first novel.
Calle de Coloreros: a street in central Madrid. Galdós nearly always uses real locations.
cap: Don Patricio wears the gorro, an emblem of his fierce liberalism and republicanism.
if his legs feel stiff: I'm inferring the meaning. The text says "si sus remos se han entumecido", which I think means "if his oars have gone numb".
Arch of San Ginés: a nearby archway, with buildings above, that connects the Plazuela de San Ginés with the Pasadizo de San Ginés. Here's an excellent post about it, with photographs: https://www.pasionpormadrid.com/2013/09/el-arco-de-san-gines.html .
*
Whilst away in Spain and elsewhere, I finally finished reading 7 de julio, several years after starting it. My poor Spanish made it a significant challenge and, as you can see from the state of the jacket, it's a book that has lived rough.
The fictional hero of the second series is Salvador Monsalud, a young liberal. Apparently he is set in contrast to an absolutist half-brother, but that doesn't emerge in this volume. Reading only 7 de julio doesn't reveal much of Monsalud's story, nor of such other matters as the misfortunes of Don Urbano Gil de la Cuadra, or the full details of why he hates Monsalud, or why Monsalud regards Soledad as his sister. Monsalud's character has intrigued some readers, as Octavio Paz testified, but in the Episodios Nacionales generally the interest consists less in these fictional protagonists than in Galdós' depiction of historical events and the effortlessly vigorous chatter of minor figures like the detestable Don Patricio.
Galdós churned out the early volumes of the Episodios Nacionales at Simenon-like speed; this fifteenth volume was written in Oct-Nov 1876, less than four years after the first volume, Trafalgar. At first glance these books seem quite old-fashioned, considering their date of composition; and even when they evoke Scott or Dickens or Balzac, it's in the simplest and most generic manner of those masters. Perhaps, I ponder, Galdós needed to sketch out a whole literature of early Spanish realism as the essential foundation for such complex and innovative novels as Fortunata and Jacinta. Anyway, it was the Episodios that were popular with readers and paid the bills.
And they are still an excellent choice of reading, if you like historical novels and want to hone your imperfect command of Spanish!
*
She gazed around on all sides, showing an affectionate interest in the various objects of his living quarters, from the archive that occupied one end-wall, to the old, bad pictures that covered the other. These were portraits laid aside for lack of artistic quality, landscapes in the Flemish style, hunting scenes and absurd battles in which one might see dead horses resembling white pigs, arquebussiers aiming at the sky, serpents that vomited vermillion, and very polished towers on whose battlements appeared handsome archers bedecked with colourful plumes. To Sola this museum appeared most beautiful. After she had looked upon it with obvious signs of childish pleasure, she fixed her attention on the table and saw with surprise that it was not, as on other days, full of yellowing dusty papers, drafts, quires of paper, maps and account books; but instead of handsome volumes with gold edging and the finest paper quality; she saw also that her brother had before him several sheets of paper that did not have, as on former occasions, long ranks of numbers resembling armies drawn up for battle, but lines of continuous and flowing prose.
-- What are you doing? -- Sola asked her brother with friendly familiarity.
-- From you there are no secrets -- the youth replied, lifting his eyes from the paper. This isn't accounts; it is a speech that the Duke has instructed me to write.
-- A speech?
-- Yes; for him to deliver the day after tomorrow in the Cortes. There isn't much left to do -- he added, picking up a book and leafing through it -- Let's see what Voltaire says on this point, for you ought to know that His Excellency likes a speech to have many quotations, and in every paragraph two or three philosophers speaking through his mouth.
(from Chapter II)
end-wall : guesswork, really. The word is testero, which can mean the head of a bed, but the context suggests walls.
account books: "libros de asiento", literally entry books.
the finest paper quality: "finísimas pastas". "Pasta" is the Spanish equivalent of "pulp". Wood pulp was not introduced until 1843; before that, the main source of paper pulp was used textiles ("rags").
From you there are no secrets: That proves somewhat ironic: Monsalud is fond of Soledad but he never lets her into his many secrets, as the rest of this chapter demonstrates.
the Cortes: That is, parliament -- though the term "cortes" originated in a feudal age. In 1822 the Salón de Cortes was the church of the Colegio de doña María de Aragón (as described in Chapter 4). This building was subsequently absorbed into the Palacio del Senado.
*
The novel takes place during the "Trienio Liberal", when the Spanish Constitution had been restored and there were three years of constitutional government, and the absolutist monarch Ferdinand VII was virtually confined to his enormous Palacio Real (where, however, he still possessed the right of veto and used it to sabotage nearly all new legislation).
The most serious of several absolutist attempts at a coup d'état took place in July 1822, when the royal guards (Guardia Real) revolted and tried to take over the capital, but were defeated by the combined efforts of the national militia (Milicia Nacional).
https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golpe_de_Estado_de_julio_de_1822 .
[The Liberal Triennium came to an end in 1823, when a French invasion restored Fernando VII as absolutist monarch. The Quintuple Alliance (Austria, Prussia, Russia, Great Britain and France) had decided that Spain's seeming drift towards republicanism was a threat to the security of Europe.]
*
Once he [the king] manages to cross the palace threshold, the drums of the guards buffet some of the locals, sticks are crossed, there are punches and kicks, and a number of youths shed their precious blood in the streets. There is suddenly a mass of weals, scrapes, bruises and bumps, and hundreds of noses drop redness on the ground. The occasional rib creaks as it snaps, and not a few gums find themselves freed of a decaying molar. Lumps appear on quite a few heads, the odd shoulder-blade caves in. It is not much more than lads' games; but this is how the tragic chapters of history tend to begin, in every country.
It did not take much for the farce to turn into real drama. Growing ever more furious, the troops, when His Majesty had entered the palace, took possession of the upper parts of the Plaza de Oriente, ejected a reserve of the voluntary Militia, and, establishing a line from los Consejos to the Arco de la Armería, declared themselves in open and bare-faced insurrection. A number of shots were loosed off, seven locals and one member of the Militia fell to the ground. One young enthusiast, a son of Flórez Calderón, had the ill-conceived notion of haranguing the guards that were forming up next to the ministry building, and he was cruelly beaten and slashed.
The drums were beating the attack, and the furious grenadiers were insulting the crowd, threatening to stab them if they didn't draw back. Women fell down in fits of faintness and anguish, some men swore loud oaths, others roared; and meanwhile you could see in one window of the palace, as in a box at the bull-ring, a group of eager palace flunkeys and court ladies, who were waving their handkerchiefs to stir up the soldiery. Those poor people simply could not reconcile themselves to living under the hateful yoke of the Constitution! Secreted in the midst of those graceful faces, like the snake among the flowers, Ferdinand gazed with avid eyes at the audacity of the janissaries.
Among these there was one officer who dared to reassert the laws of the discipline that had been flouted. His name was Don Mamerto Landáburu, a liberal exaltado, a good patriot, a fontanista, a soldier of the clubs (a quality which certainly did not characterize the top caste of the soldiers), but at the same time a worthy and pleasant individual. This unfortunate officer spoke energetically to the soldiers, but received insuilts in reply. Blind with fury, he drew his sabre at the moment that another lieutenant, Goiffieu, was shouting frantically: Viva el Rey absoluto! Spurred by this cry, the grenadiers fell upon Landáburu, but major Herón and another officer whose name is not recorded managed to intervene and rescue him. The drew him away and led him into the palace, but the crowd of assassins followed, and within the eastern portal he received three shots in the back and fell forever, crying Viva la Libertad!
(from Chapter 14)
the king : his public appearance at the formal closure of congress on 30 June produced violent demonstrations of feeling on all sides.
palace : the Palacio Real in central Madrid, the largest palace in Europe.
the locals : paisanos, here not meaning countrymen but ordinary citizens of Madrid (as opposed to soldiers on either side).
Plaza de Oriente : the square in front of (i.e. to the east of) the Palacio Real. (The current monumental layout of the square dates from 1844, when a number of medieval buildings were demolished.)
los Consejos : i.e. the Palacio de los Concejos, where the Calle de Bailén, running south from the Palacio Real, meets the Calle Mayor. The line thus established threatens an advance on the Plaza Mayor, the heart of Madrid.
grenadiers : these particular granaderos of the Guardia Real were not literally hurlers of grenades but, like them, were selected for being especially large and burly. They were placed at the forefront of the troop, with the role of leading assaults.
janissaries : the household troops of the Ottoman Sultan -- here used figuratively to refer to Ferdinand's own household troops.
Landáburu : see https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mamerto_Landaburu .
fontanista, soldier of the clubs : that is, he was a regular at the Fontana de Oro, one of the patriotic clubs (and the setting for Galdós' novel of the same name).
*
7 de julio is a novel about political events but it is not focussed on the decision-makers and power-brokers, but instead on relatively powerless people who are trying to make sense of what's going on around them. Many (especially the men) have fierce political views. Everyone speculates about what really happened, what it really means, what's really behind it, and what's going to happen next ... but for the most part they're filling a vacuum with guesswork, even if their guesses are sometimes right. They often like to give the impression that they know things (see e.g. Don Primitivo) but their peers are generally not taken in by this behaviour. They talk about what they are passionately interested in, and one reason for that passionate interest is precisely that they don't know.
Galdós is brilliant at capturing the flavour of this kind of discourse which, of course, is still extremely familiar today.
Unsurprisingly, a theme that kept arising for me was reason vs. unreason. The novel's characters skilfully appeal to reason when trying to dissuade others from their convictions or behaviour. Yet all carry within themselves a solid core of unreason, they are driven by their own convictions, which may lead to fanaticism and may lead to heroism, incredible sacrifice or blind selfishness, but always go beyond what reason can coldly approve. The two schoolmasters prove as unreasonable, or more so, than the ignorant maidservant Doña Rosa. And Soledad and Monsalud are just as helplessly bound to their own unreasonable courses (though driven by love and dreams of ambition) as the egotistical cynic Don Urbano or the incessant Don Patricio. Reason is good in itself, but Galdós is not "on the side of reason", because he sees that reason can never take charge of society, human nature just isn't like that.
*
By the evening of the 6th he [Don Patricio Sarmiento] was hoarse and almost asthmatic, but none the quieter for that; and as Don Primitivo Cordero ventured (heinous notion!) to make excuses for the seven carbuncles -- i.e. the ministers -- Don Patricio made his apologia in some such terms as these:
-- What should become of a nation where the seat of state is occupied by a Rosita the Pastry Chef, gentlemen, a woman? All right then, I'll admit he's a man -- but what a man! Does he govern a nation while making verses? If at least they were like Virgil's! .... But instead he goes with Rabadán, no more nor less, for so I say. What does it matter that he pronounces pretty, polished speeches that are stuffed with lies? Some politicians! He started by oppressing our beloved idol Riego, and has ended by defending the aristocracy in the hope of them giving him a title. Yes, as for him ... he would be capable of selling Christ for thirty chambers (since he would never be content with just two) -- and for the absolute veto. I .... I am not saying this out of cruelty, gentlemen, I would hang him without the slightest scruple. And what should I say of the Apprentice, gentlemen, this infamous man who dreamt up the Regulation to ruin the Militia, this pedant who, while the country is in peril, busies himself in sowing Irish flax-seed in the fields of Calatayud? Why should I conceal it? If he were in my hands, I would hang him ...
(from Chapter 15)
seat of state : Don Patricio constantly selects or adapts terms that express his contempt. Doubtless he relishes using the word poltrona which is indeed a kind of seat but also means "poltroon".
Rosita the Pastry Chef: nickname of Francisco Martínez de la Rosa, prime minister loathed by both the absolutists and the exaltados. The nickname implies a compromiser, someone who can always cook up an agreement (e.g. with the king) because they are willing to bend on matters of principle.
making verses: Martínez de la Rosa was also a dramatist.
Rabadán : I'm afraid I have no explanation for this.
oppressing our beloved idol Riego: Riego had been imprisoned in September 1821, wrongly accused of republicanism following a failed republican revolt.
content with just two: Martínez de la Rosa wanted to introduce a bicameral system in Spain (and some years later, he succeeded).
the absolute veto: Don Patricio does not explicitly state his own republicanism, but it's implied by his loathing for the royal veto and for those who countenance it.
Apprentice: Galdós' footnote tells us that this is José María Moscoso de Altamira, minister of the interior.
Calatayud: city in Aragon, in an agricultural region.
*
7 de julio : Chapter Summary.
1
March 1822. The schoolmaster Don Patricio Sarmiento brusquely directs the pale, gentle Soledad (who is asking for Salvador Monsalud) to the home of his employer, the Duque de Parque. Then, in private conversation with his son Lucas, he gives vent to various insulting remarks about her and more especially her disgraced father Don Urbano Gil de la Cuadra, and he lectures his son about the need to avoid inappropriate tenderness of heart when it comes to such people.
2
Soledad manages to find Monsalud at his work, writing a speech for his master to deliver to the Cortes. Monsalud regards Soledad as his "sister" and is covertly providing financial assistance to Soledad and her father (though without the latter's knowledge). Soledad is endlessly grateful and adulatory towards her "brother" -- evidently she is in love with him. But, perhaps in consequence, she tries to resist his controlling tendencies. She also asks questions about e.g. what Monsalud has actually done to earn her father's abhorrence, questions that he contrives by a mixture of slipperiness and authority to avoid answering.
3
Monsalud's comic interview with the Duque, an eminent soldier who labours under the delusion that he is cut out for a brilliant career in politics. The Duque is delighted with the draft speech but demands various changes, such as dropping the eulogy to Riego (the Duque has ended up standing as a very liberal candidate, but his liberalism is evidently highly selective.)
4.
At the Cortes, where the ultra-liberal Riego (now released from prison and elected to the Cortes) is hailed as a hero by most of the crowd, much to the embarrassment of the moderate government. Meanwhile the nervous Duque completely botches his delivery of the ghost-written speech. Monsalud has come along to support his master, but in fact he doesn't witness this debacle; he has spotted someone else in the crowd, someone who interests him far more than his employer does, and has hurried away.
5.
May 1822. We learn that Don Patricio detests Señor Naranjo, who is a schoolteacher like him but with diametrically opposed political views. It is Naranjo who is sheltering Don Urbano and his daughter at his house in the Calle de las Veneras. We find Don Urbano alone, apparently seeking a means to commit suicide. Soledad comes home and her father complains to her about her stifling care (e.g. hiding the scissors). He speaks of his despair, of not wishing to go out or see anyone, and of his one dream of Soledad marrying her cousin Anatolio and thus having someone to support her after her father's death. But Anatolio has not been in contact for a long time and seems to have forgotten the promise he made to his late mother (Don Urbano's sister), presumably because of their disgrace and poverty.
6.
They hear the voices of Naranjo and an unexpected visitor, Don Patricio Sarmiento, dressed in the uniform of the national militia (which makes him even more inflated and rude). Naranjo confesses that this visit comes as a surprise. Sarmiento outlines their political differences (Naranjo is clearly a supporter of religion and absolutism), accuses him of being mixed up in conspiracies and warns him to watch his step, which Naranjo is offended by. But the apparently innocent reason for Sarmiento's visit is to bring a letter from Anatolio, at which Don Urbano faints with happiness and is carried to his bed.
7.
Anatolio writes that he has been ill but is now on his way, arriving tomorrow or the day after. He is joining the Guards. Don Urbano notes that Soledad doesn't seem as excited as he is. In his excitement he actually wants to go out for a walk with his daughter. He tells her how much he has suffered for her sake (it's really the other way round), and admits he planned suicide for them both. Father and daughter go outside, where they run into Don Patricio, whom Don Urbano enthusiastically greets. Sarmiento says he hopes the letter contained good news about his business. Don Urbano, not perceiving Don Patricio's suspicions, says yes, very good news, and incautiously mentions that his nephew is joining the Guardia Real.
8.
Anatolio Gordón arrives two days later. He's broad-shouldered, good-natured, clumsy and none too bright, but he can do no wrong in Don Urbano's eyes. Apart from boasting naively about his inheritances, he says that he has a letter of introduction to the Duque del Parque who, he believes, owes him money. Soledad shows no inclination for him, but says she is happy to marry him to please her father.
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| Anatolio meets Don Urbano and Soledad (Chapter 8) |
[Image source. This and the other illustrations come from an 1881 illustrated edition, a testament to the popular audience that these novels attracted. The title page says: Ilustrado por los SRES. GÓMEZ SOLER y ESTEBAN .]
9.
June 1822. Historical survey of the anarchic political situation throughout Spain. The absolutist king, moderate but weak government, and liberal-minded congress. The scabrous press, e.g the satirical publication El Zurriago (The Whip), representing the views of the ultra-liberals (los exaltados). Different parts of the army supporting different causes. The (voluntary) Milicia Nacional is relatively unified and has high morale; many boys of good family have now joined what was once a purely plebeian organization.
10.
Evening of 26 June. A group of Milicia Nacional relaxing in the Casa-Panadería. Introduces Don Primitivo Cordero, a loyal moderate. Upright and good-natured, but ignorant, a blind follower of Martínez de San Martín (Tintín de Navarra), unable to conceive that others could honestly hold any other political views than his own, so must have shady motives for seeming to do so. Tries to convey the impression that he knows all about everything already, via certain mysterious information channels.
11.
Conversation, mostly between Don Primitivo and Don Patricio. About the royalist conspiracies, of course, the agents in Bayonne, etc. But the two are not entirely in accord. For instance Don Primitivo thinks that El Zurriago and the "anarchists" are being financed by the royalists (i.e. to destabilize the government). On the other hand Don Patricio suspects the government itself of being secretly absolutist, observing that they always seem to come down hard on the exaltados while turning a blind eye to the patent plotting of the royalists. Conspiracies are certainly rife. While the two are right in the general drift of their conspiracy theories, for instance about the imminent rising of the Guardia Real, Don Patricio is also shown as jumping to totally false conclusions about what Don Urbano and Anatolio are up to; it's obviously a deep royalist plot, he supposes. (We also meet Don Primitivo's uncle, Don Benigno Cordero, with small nose and gold spectacles; a great-hearted but most un-martial-looking volunteer.)
12.
Anatolio is at Aranjuez with the court. The wedding is planned for early July. An anguished Soledad goes to see her "brother" at the Duque's. Monsalud advises her to marry her cousin even though she does not love him. (He himself has now met Anatolio, who came to claim his debt from the Duque, and he approves of him.) He points out that they had better not meet any more, as Soledad no longer needs his support and it would be difficult to explain their relationship if Anatolio got wind of it. Monsalud is infuriatingly blind to Soledad's real feelings, and indulges in contrasting her happy prospects with his own turmoiled life. Monsalud is anxious for Soledad to leave; just as she is going, she sees a beautiful woman arriving in a coach outside.
13.
Anatolio returns, dines with Don Urbano and Soledad and then falls asleep in the middle of playing cards with his uncle. They hear noises in Naranjo's quarters and, peeping out, they see the king's confessor (Victor Sáez) and senior commanders of the Guards (including the Conde de Moy); and also, the same mysterious beauty that Soledad glimpsed earlier in the day. Don Urbano warns Soledad to keep quiet about all this. He has had his fingers burnt by getting mixed up in conspiracies and doesn't want any involvement in whatever is going on in Naranjo's quarters. He tells Soledad, however, that an insurrection of the Guards seems likely (at which she suddenly feels a gleam of hope, thinking it might disrupt her dreaded wedding). Anatolio wakes up, and Don Urbano says he ought to leave the house immediately, in case he is spotted and wrongly associated with the conspiracy. (Anatolio is in fact planning to resign from the Guards as soon as possible.) Naranjo comes in and reiterates the need for absolute secrecy about this evening's visitors.
14.
Outside, when Anatolio leaves, he is rudely assailed by Don Patricio and his son. There is a brawl; Lucas' nose is broken, but reinforcements arrive and Anatolio clears off. It's one of many scuffles in the last days of June. After the king's brief and turbulent attendance at the closure of congress (30 June), the insurrection begins, with the guards taking over an area outside the palace. The first real casualties, followed by days heavy with tension: "the town had become an encampment".
[An ironic scene at the end. Some young officers of the guards, with liberal sympathies, have walked out on the rebellion and are being loudly acclaimed by the people. The name of one of them, Benigno Cordero informs Don Patricio, is Ramón Narváez. In later life he would become a famously reactionary prime minister.]
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| 2 July: Madrid has become an ecampment (Chapter 14) |
15.
The government makes overtures to the palace, but no-one pays them any attention. General Morillo (by curious chance a senior commander in both the opposing troops) valiantly tries to maintain order, and over-rules Riego's hot-headed intention of attacking the palace; consequently Morillo himself becomes an object of suspicion. July 6. Conversation between Don Patricio, Don Primitivo and others. A long harangue by a hoarse Don Patricio, who thinks all the current ministers should be hanged. The ministers themselves have gone to the palace. Don Primitivo claims to have information about the Guards' plans but everyone laughs at him. Don Patricio once more raises the subject of raiding Sr Naranjo's house, as the probable source of the conspiracy leading to the insurrection.
16.
The abject Sr Naranjo is terrified, fearing that his guests' designs are going to fail and he will inevitably be arrested as an accessory; he has stopped doing any teaching, and his cane is covered in dust. Meanwhile, elsewhere in the house, Don Urbano (reverting from overheated exhilaration to blackest pessimism) is fretting about his nephew, who is with the guards at El Pardo (one of the other royal palaces in Madrid), and who will surely meet his death. On 4 July Don Urbano himself falls seriously ill and is confined to his couch. At midnight of the 6/7 July Naranjo receives information that the police are coming to arrest them at daybreak. The fatalistic Don Urbano tends to be grimly unsympathetic to Naranjo's troubles. (During this discussion, it emerges that the mysterious woman brought news from Bayonne and the exiled Eguía.) As Naranjo gets ready to flee, he unconsciously takes his revenge on Don Urbano by suddenly turning on the Guards for having stupidly missed the critical moment and for dispersing e.g. to El Pardo. Then Naranjo in a further spasm of self-pity announces that he has no money. Don Urbano nods to Soledad to give him their own money, and Naranjo suddenly cheers up and tactlessly starts preaching to Don Urbano about the necessity of keeping your hopes up.
17.
Left alone, Don Urbano and his daughter talk. He feels his lack of faith in providence is confirmed. Soledad suggests they seek a friend to protect them. When her father derisively asks her to name a friend (he has no friends), Soledad dares to mention Monsalud, but Don Urbano reacts with horror. He is struck to the heart, his health is failing and he can now no longer see clearly. He falls into a stupor and, Naranjo's old maidservant (Doña Rosa) having arrived, Soledad decides to go out. As she is going, she hears her father mutter four words: He seduced my wife. She goes out anyway.
18.
2 a.m., 7 July. Soledad goes looking for the batallón sagrado (a unit of the national militia) -- evidently Monsalud is a volunteer in this batallion. But she cannot make any headway with her enquiries: the city is in tumult, there is firing, all the militia are in full operation, and she is almost the only woman on the streets. Eventually she decides to go home, momentarily cheered by the thought that in all this chaos the police probably won't come to arrest them at daybreak. But she can no longer find a way back to the Calle de las Veneras, because other streets are now full of fighting.
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| 7 July: The Guardia Real advance through the streets (Chapter 19); note the granaderos at the front. |
19.
Account of the decisive fighting to prevent the Guards from entering the Plaza Mayor. The Guards have advanced along the Calle Mayor (just to the north), and the key fighting is in three streets or passages that connect the one with the other: Calle de la Amargura, Callejón del Infierno, Calle de los Boteros. [With remodelling of the Plaza Mayor these are now the arcades "Calle del 7 de Julio", "Arco del Triunfo" and "Calle Felipe III", as expained here.] The trained soldiers advance against those they mock as "paper soldiers" but they are driven back by the courage and unity of the militia. The most dangerous moment is in the Calle de los Boteros, where the hero of the hour, renewing the courage of his companions when it falters, is Don Benigno Cordero (who is wounded but survives).
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| 7 July: The fighting in Calle de los Boteros (Chapter 19) |
20.
A contrast between the enthusiast Don Benigno, a true hero, and the fanatic Don Patricio. The latter goes berserk during the fierce fighting in the Callejón del Infierno, blaspheming furiously, wounding one of his fellow militiamen with his bayonet and even stabbing the wall itself. The battle has been a disaster for the Guards, who are now a fleeing rabble. A moment of sweet victory for the people, celebrated not by laurels and triumphal arches but by wine and cake. And now the Militia advance upon the Palacio Real. Somewhere in the chaos we hear an anguished woman's voice, asking about the batallón sagrado ...
21.
The batallón sagrado make advances on the palace despite considerable resistance. However, glorious action now gets bogged down in negotiation, in which the agents of the palace are far more skilled than the indecisive council who represent the victorious side. The upshot is that while the four batallions of Guards that invaded the capital will be requested to surrender, the other two batallions of guards will be allowed to remain in service. Soledad, having got home and come back out again, finally meets Monsalud who says that everything will be fine, but he cannot come at once as his troop is overseeing the surrender of the Guards. And then there is more shooting and everything descends briefly into chaos once more. The king is heard to be still urging on the Guards.
22.
Soledad goes out a third time, meets Monsalud and returns with him to Naranjo's house. Doña Rosa tells them that the beautiful woman turned up there, and was very angry to discover Naranjo's flight; she left half an hour ago. (Monsalud is so agitated by this that he momentarily stands up to leave, forgetting why he has come.) Don Urbano, hearing a male voice and not seeing clearly, assumes Anatolio has returned. He asks Soledad and "Anatolio" to embrace each other, which they do. Don Urbano, in his death agony, is soothed by this, but when he later overhears Monsalud say something he instantly recognizes the voice and cries out to "Anatolio" to kill his mortal enemy. Soledad asks her father to pardon Monsalud, but he refuses. Soon afterwards, he dies.
23.
10 p.m, 7 July. A knocking at the door. Monsalud opens it to a party of soldiers headed by a puffed-up Don Patricio, seeking Anatolio and looking to arrest the other residents. He tells them that Naranjo has fled and Don Urbano is dead. After they have searched and found no-one to apprehend, Monsalud terminates Don Patricio's insensitive bluster by pushing him out of the door.
24.
9 July. Monsalud brings Soledad to stay with his mother and himself (at a peaceful house with a beautiful garden in el Prado Viejo: it belongs to the Duque del Parque). He sets about tracking down Anatolio; he is confident, he tells Soledad, that her cousin is alive and will still be her husband. In the mean time she can stay at this house for as long as it takes. Monsalud's investigations draw him into rambling conversations with the Corderos, nephew and uncle, both claiming to be able to help him but really preoccupied with their own affairs; Don Primitivo planning a lunch of thanksgiving with thousands of guests; Don Benigno continuing to speak up for a moderate approach and stating his belief that the king is not personally responsible for the violence carried out in his name, but has been "seduced" by hombres pérfidos. Both are evidently bothered by the recent promotion of exaltados to ministerial posts formerly held by moderates. Monsalud eventually manages to get away. Neither the Corderos nor anyone else has any real information about Anatolio's whereabouts.
25.
Monsalud finds himself talking more freely to Soledad. He mysteriously voices the wish that she and his mother (Doña Fermina) should conspire to hold him back from some undisclosed act that he is being tempted into. In the course of the conversation Soledad lets slip that she now knows the reason for her father's hatred of Monsalud, which knocks him off balance. He says that he gets the impression that Anatolio does not want to be found, and he will search no more for him.
26.
Monsalud has gone out. Soledad in the garden is shocked to see Anatolio appear, dressed in black and with his arm in a sling. He tells her that he hid in a house when wounded on 7 July, and later went to Naranjo's house to find her gone. Now he has tracked her down, but, whose house is this? Soledad doesn't know what to say. Anatolio apologises for his brusqueness, but says he has heard things and he now doesn't intend to marry her. It turns out he has heard about her relations with Monsalud from Lucas Sarmiento (with whom he has reconciled himself, after their brawl). Soledad is serenely accepting of his decision, though asserting her innocence. Anatolio demands proof but she will not supply it, saying she doesn't wish to marry him anyway. Anatolio leaves, feeling he has suffered a blow.
27.
Monsalud returns at nightfall, but he is not the frank companion of the morning; he looks severe and avoids conversation. Soledad remarks on his change of manner, but Monsalud says he can't talk about it tonight, he's in the power of the devil. Later she overhears mother and son talking, the mother apparently pleading. When she awakes the next day he has gone out. His mother tells her that Monsalud is leaving them -- they pack his chest. Monsalud, returning, mentions to Soledad that he has heard about Anatolio's visit. Soledad reports what happened, and Monsalud says he will convince her cousin he is in the wrong, but Soledad is not in favour. Monsalud asks for his chest to be ready by ten. As the evening draws on he behaves wildly, at each moment wavering between asserting that he's leaving and deciding that he won't leave. He asks to be chained up, for the doors to be locked.
28.
His mother having retired, the "brother" and "sister" continue to talk, Monsalud wishing that he could draw inspiration from her serenity and peaceful spirit. Soledad retires in turn, but she doesn't sleep, being far from reassured by this conversation. Suddenly she hears a coach draw up outside. She slips outside, sees Monsalud at the gate and the chest being loaded onto the coach. She hears a woman's voice saying: What is this? Do you repent? Monsalud replies: No, let's go. Away! In despair, Soledad calls out his name (though only internally) and drops senseless to the ground.
*
Spotting this in a shop window, I thought: "Why, that's Salvador Monsalud!" Well it isn't of course. The portrait that Alianza chose for the cover of 7 de julio is Jean Terford David, a French-born American officer painted by Thomas Sully of Philadelphia in 1813. But I think it works pretty well for Galdós' handsome and ambiguous hero.
*
About Trafalgar (1873), the first volume of the first series of the Episodios Nacionales: https://michaelpeverett.blogspot.com/2016/01/benito-perez-galdos-trafalgar-1873.html .
Labels: Benito Pérez Galdós, Specimens of the literature of Spain
