Silverio reverted to the theme that women should be handled with the rod. Gil Campos proceeded to laugh, being gifted with an ironic vein, and made fun of him. For my part, I was tired of it, so I said to Lanza: "See here, Don Juan" (his real name was Juan Bautista Amorós), "what you are giving us now is literature, and poor literature at that. You are not, and I am not, able to violate law and women as we see fit. That may be all very well for Caesars and Napoleons and Borgias, but you are a respectable gentleman who lives in a little house at Getafe with your wife, and I am a poor man myself, who manages as best he may to make a living. You would tremble in your boots if you ever broke a law, or even a municipal ordinance, and so would I. As far as women are concerned, we are both of us glad to take what we can get, if we can get anything, and I am afraid that neither of us is ever going to get very much, despite the fact"--I added by way of a humorous touch--"that we are two of the most distinguished minds in Europe." My cousin Goñi replied to this with the rare tact that was characteristic of him, arguing that within the miserable sphere of tangible reality I was right, while Lanza moved upon a higher plane, which was more ideal and more romantic. He went on to add that Lanza and he were both Berbers, and so violent and passionate, while I was an Aryan, although a vulgar Aryan, whose ideas were simply those which were shared by everybody. Lanza was not satisfied with my cousin's explanation and departed with a marked lack of cordiality. Since that time, Silverio has regarded me with mixed emotions, half friendly, half the reverse, although in one of his latest books, _The Surrender of Santiago_, he has referred to me as a great friend and a great writer. I suspect, however, that he does not love me. XV THE PRESS OUR NEWSPAPERS AND PERIODICALS I have always been very much interested in the newspaper and periodical press, and in everything that has any connection with printing. When my father, my grandfather, and great grandfather set up struggling papers in a provincial capital, it may be said that they were not printers in vain. Because of my fondness for newspapers and magazines, it is a grief to me that the Spanish press should be so weak, so poor, so pusillanimous and stiff-jointed. Of late, while the foreign press has been expanding and widening its scope, ours has been standing still. There is, of course, an economic explanation to justify our deficiency, but this is valid only in the matter of quantity, and not as to quality. Comparing our press with that of the rest of the world, a rosary of negation might easily be made up in this fashion: Our press does not concern itself with what is of universal interest. Our press does not concern itself with what is of national interest. Our press does not concern itself with literature. Our press does not concern itself with philosophy. And so on to infinity.