You want to leave us?
Yes.
You’re only 17 and I’ve still got authority over you. You must keep on with your studies.
Maybe in Valencia, or in Madrid, if you’ll let me.
We’ve been separated for such a long time because of the political situation. Let’s stay together, now that we can. Here, in Valladolid. It’s a good university.
I want to go.
You’re mother won’t stop crying!
She’ll get over it. It’s not a tragedy. All sons leave their parents sooner or later.
If it’s any use, take the advice of this not-so-stupid old doctor… The advice of your father… Don’t take on the world just yet. You don’t know it.
That’s why I’m leaving. I need to get to know it if I’m going to write about it. If I’m going to rip away the masks.
What masks?
Everyone wears one.
You’ll need one too. It’s a bad world.
I’ll try not to wear one, even if others think I am. (He laughs.) Laughter will be my mask. But it won’t hide anything from those who can read.
A satirical writer. Teenage passion for the truth…
The above sample taken from the translation The Shot by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
We were just saying how good it might be for you to have a new pseudonym for the Revista Española.
And Grimaldi’s already come up with one.
Another nickname?
The men standing on the left watch GRIMALDI and wait.
Something more… French… if I can put it like that.
Or Italian. (We start to hear Rossini’s Cavatina played very softly on the piano.)
Why? Larra is Spanish.
And so is what I’m suggesting!
Well I don’t understand a thing!
I do. Either I’m mistaken, or you’re suggesting I adopt ‘Figaro’.
Amazing!
It’s very simple! It’s French, by Beaumarchais. Italian, by Rossini. And Spain, because of Seville.
Incroyable!
Do you like it?
I’d prefer a more home-grown rogue.
I think it suits. ‘The factotum of the city’. The beard-shearing barber, always laughing and keeping everyone in check.
Very strange.
Why? (The sound of the piano slowly dissipates.)
Let’s not talk about it anymore. I’ll be Figaro.
Bravo! (He bangs the table proudly.)
Or rather, it’ll be the same as always. Figaro will speak, but he’ll say nothing. (LARRA looks at him very carefully.)
Of course he’ll speak! And he’ll speak even more if they lift the censorship today.
I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Vega. But thank you.
Well if the censorship doesn’t vanish, he should keep quiet. Otherwise, he’ll be giving in to it.
Or maybe it will give in to us. Who can do more?
Trite! Either we must speak clearly or say nothing.
You’re already saying nothing, Señor Díaz. Leave it to me to say something.
Larra, don’t pay him any attention.
The above sample taken from the translation The Shot by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
The only joke around here is this war supposedly motivated by the problem of succession. But in all honesty, Señor de Mendizábal, what does it matter who reigns? When a queen sleeps with a groomsman, the heir to the throne will be the son of the groomsman.
Watch your tongue! I’m a loyal subject of Her Majesty the Queen.
Well I’m a loyal servant of the people.
Not any more than I am! Sovereignty lies with the people. But the Queen and Her Government lead.
We’ll see what the nation’s sovereignty has to say about that tomorrow… If, that is, they have a voice in the polls…
You insist on criticising my electoral law?
The law. And its application. You only allow those with more than 12,000 reales in annual income to vote. You prohibit votes for the under-30s, even though they’re able to write and talk to you right now. They’re even able to be MPs.
You are, yes. But the masses… Let’s be sensible, Larra… the masses are ignorant. Giving them the vote today would end in chaos. And we’ve all seen what that leads to. Murders, mutinies…
Power is also a murderer.
What?
Don’t forget María Griñó, or the prisoners in Barcelona.
Ludicrous! Don’t you know that General Mina has been dismissed?
The Government has shut its eyes to the outrages of others who haven’t been dismissed.
We can’t be left with no leaders!
If you want to win the war, concern yourself with the people and with our cause, not the leaders. Change the conditions of the land seizures and broaden the electoral law.
It would be a disaster and Carlism would win. Keep dreaming as much as you like. I need to stay vigilant. (He gets up. LARRA and ESPRONCEDA stand.)
So it’s a no?
Categorically. No.
In that case, Señor Mendizábal, listen to my final words on the matter. (He approaches and, while speaking, very gently removes MENDIZÁBAL’s mask and hands it to him.) You once were a politician exiled because you served freedom. But you haven’t given us any freedom. You’ve defended the popular cause in your speeches, but you’re a rich millionaire and your land seizures are another parlour trick in favour of the rich, not the workers. In summary: you’re ushering in another considerable series of privileges. And whether you fine us or imprison us, we will speak out.
The above sample taken from the translation The Shot by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
I’m sorry, it’s the wine. There! It says there that I’m an animal who only knows how to eat and sleep. And that if I’m not happy, it’s not that I’m unhappy. (He looks at his master.) As if a servant were less than a dog. And as if only grand folk had troubles. (LARRA goes to the bedside table and sits down, avoiding the gaze of his servant.)
Go on.
You’re right in what you say about the drinking. Can I go to bed?
No. Sit down. (He slaps the seat beside him.)
You want me to sit?
Please. (He points to the chair. Very surprised, Pedro sits.) Talk to me… as if I were your own son.
A son?
Take a drink. (His servant hesitates.) Drink, man! (PEDRO decides, takes the bottle and drinks. LARRA speaks slowly.) And now, think of me as an ignorant child, with you as my father. (Silence. PEDRO removes his mask and leaves it on the table. He starts crying. Intrigued and moved, LARRA fixedly watches him. PEDRO presses down on his forehead and his eyes with a rough hand. Then, he shows his wet face: the face of a sturdy peasant with naïve eyes.) Why are you crying?
I lost a son.
Go on.
What do young gentlemen know of such things?
What things?
You don’t go to war.
What?
No one from the café is fighting the Carlists.
Some are… Espronceda is an officer.
So he can show his uniform off around Madrid.
Or wherever they send him! Escosura is second lieutenant in the Artillery. Pezuela’s a Calvary officer. Estébañez Calderón serves in the barracks of the northern army. (He gets emotional.) And my unforgettable friend, the Count of Campo Alange…
I read what was written about his death. He was indeed one of the brave.
He was more than that. A selfless and decent man. Maybe my only true friend! And how little I remember him!
But he fought because he wanted to. None of you has to fight, if you don’t want to.
Us?
Noblemen, rich men, lawyers, writers, manufacturers. Nor do the landowners or cattle owners. The ranks are made up of day labourers, apprentices and beggars.
The above sample taken from the translation The Shot by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
The above sample taken from the translation The Shot by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Entry written by Gwynneth Dowling. Last updated on 6 May 2012.