“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.)