Thisbriefnovel by renowned Spanish author Benito Perez Galdos portrays his Torquemada, unlike his 13th-
century counterpart, as a torturer of quarry for purely personal gain. While the original got his jollies running hot pokers through heretical eyes, Galdos’s version barely notices the plight of his victims, on whom, in true
capitalist fashion, he places all blame for their economic woes squarely upon their own shoulders. They’re whiney, weak, wastrels of insipid character of the lowest order, always seeking something for nothing, worming their insidious ways into his pockets. The whole scenario rings familiar as the resident of the MacMansion up the road, who, at last week’s neighborhood cocktail gathering, laid the same complaining line on anyone Republican and drunk enough to listen. As for the “at the Stake” portion of the title, the tables get deliciously turned on the protagonist when he’s tethered to the most painful pike imaginable; his son, light of his life, infante genius with universal intellectual potential falls desperately ill. Initially sinking into deep immobilizing depression, the father literally ups one day and begins making rounds of his rentals, pardoning debts and debtors as he goes, each forgiveness coupled with
self-congratulatory kudos for his unending generosity as though it were actually true, rather than the pathetic attempt it is to placate God into sparing his son. “No good deed goes unnoticed?” Problem is recipients of his
sudden largess, while happily accepting it, have a hard time rationalizing the sudden burst of altruism. Only tough as nails Aunt Roma has the courage to call him on it, as well as his pattern of socially mercenary behavior over the years that got him where he is today. His current actions are nothing more than pointless theatre, as fast food chains touting their charity endeavors while slash and burning rainforests in the interests of raising cheap beef cattle. It’s a coverup, a ruse. Modern readers may balk a bit at the literary transparency, yet it’s simplicity of motivation beautifully conjures the period it which it was written, a simpler time. Each day passes and sonny, Valentin, gets weaker, finally dying in bitter agonizing throws amid our “hero’s” curses against God, man, his
rentors. Unfair! The old man raises fist to heaven, grovels in self pity, for a couple days at least. God, his rentors themselves have wronged him, him, him. Never again will he he be so foolish. Tomorrow, another day, it’s back to business as usual—onward, upward to greater heights of bourgeoiseism. He has learned nothing in the process. To this day, Galdos and Dickens notwithstanding, what good free-wheeling capitalist ever has?