Part 17

"In the primitive times of history man wandered naked through the forests, supporting life with the fruit of trees, and the milk and flesh of animals which he hunted. One day he saw an animal like himself passing through the woods. He flung his lasso and caught it. It proved to be--a woman. Hence the family, _senores diputados_...."

He went on giving a complete though succinct sketch of universal history, and explained to the minutest details the theories of the social contract. He quoted numerous texts from the wise men of ancient and modern times in support of his own theories. Attention was attracted above all by one proposition of bold originality, and as it was received with murmurs by the assembly, the deputy exclaimed:--

"What! does this surprise you? But it is not I that say it. Brigida says it."

"Who is Brigida?" asked a journalistic tyro.

"His housekeeper," replied another, without looking up.

"Why! what a ridiculous thing to quote his housekeeper here!" exclaimed the first.

The deputies received with renewed murmurs the name of the author of the quotation.

"Brigida says it," cried the orator with all the force of his lungs.

Louder and longer murmurs. When quiet was restored, he said in a grave and solemn tone:--

"Santa Brigida says so!"

"Ahaaaaaa!" replied the assembly.

The last five minutes were devoted to the events in Cadiz, and that was to say that it was all the fault of the government.

It seems logical to report that the orator was removed from there in a cage and taken to a mad-house. Nothing of the sort happened, however: the minister replied in all formality, and combated his quotations and theories with other quotations and other theories. At that period all addresses began with Adam and no one was surprised at it.

Next, coming to the order of the day, it was the turn of tariff reform, and Mendoza was granted the floor. He, having spread out on his desk his earthquake of notes, coughing three or four times, lifting up his hands an equal number, began his great oration.

His voice was well modulated, clear, and mellow; his tone grave and high-sounding; his gestures noble and refined. Neither Demosthenes, nor Cicero, nor Mirabeau were blessed with such an effective presence and such an elegant round of attitudes as our friend Brutandor.

But the trouble was that the ideas that proceeded from his mouth did not correspond in the least with such attitudes. That wrathful gesture, that lowering and raising of the voice, and those short but quick steps in front of his desk, were very appropriate to accompany the celebrated "Tell your master that only by the force of bayonets will we be taken from this spot," or the _Quousque tandem Catilina_; but for saying that the annual consumption of cotton in England in 1767 was 4,000,000 pounds, and that in 1867 it was more than 1,400,000,000 pounds; that the number of workmen engaged there in the manufacture of cotton is 500,000, and 4,000,000 the persons whose living depends on this industry; that the value of the paper manufactured in 1835 was 80,000,000 pounds and in 1860 exceeded 223,000,000; that the manufactories of the said product at the present time numbered 394; that in France its production exceeded 25,000,000 kilograms, etc.,--they did not seem so appropriate. His whole discourse was reduced to this: quantities, dates, facts. The deputies, with more or less dissimulation, began to desert the salon, one after the other.

"This orator is an air-pump," said one reporter. "At this rate there will soon be a perfect vacuum."

The jokes and flings in the press-gallery became general. Miguel, who knew what he had to expect from his friend's genius, listened with disgust to their raillery of him: he was anxious, and somewhat inclined to cut short their jests peremptorily; but, as in that tribunal of Liberty, comment on the speeches was traditional, he did his best to restrain himself. The best thing that occurred to him, in order to avoid being compromised, was to make a hurried visit home and find out how his wife was. When he returned, the orator was still speaking.

"Now, Congress is about to see the most curious thing of all," said the worthy Brutandor.

And, on turning round to gather up from his desk the papers on which it was written, he showed the seat of his trousers! But no one noticed this graceful _quid pro quo_ except Miguel and a shorthand reporter, who could not help laughing.

The joking continued among the reporters; the observations, however, were made more with the purpose of causing a laugh than of hurting the feelings of the orator, whom almost all knew or were intimate with. Only one, the editor of a Carlist daily, from time to time got off serious criticisms in bad taste, as though he had some personal ill-will against Mendoza. Miguel had already looked at this man two or three times in an aggressive manner, without the other taking any notice of it. At last, accosting him, Miguel said:--

"See here, friend; I am not surprised that the numbers of _El Universo_ are so stupid! You evidently take pains to waste all your wit here."

"What you just said to me seems to me an intentional insult, sir!"

"Perhaps."

"You will immediately give me an apology," said the journalist, very much disturbed.

"No; I should much prefer to give you some unpleasantness by and by," replied Miguel, with a smile.

Then the editor of _El Universo_ took his hat and went out in great indignation. In a short time, two Catholic, deputies made their appearance in the gallery, asking for Miguel.

"You have come to ask me to make an apology, have you? Then I tell you that I shall not make one. Come to an understanding with these two friends of mine."

And he introduced those whom he had selected. The Catholic editor's seconds had not come so primed for a bellicose decision: after consulting a few moments with Miguel's, they went down to ask further instructions of their principal; then returned in a short time with the calumet of peace in their hands, saying that 'their friend's religious principles did not allow him to settle insults with weapons.'

On hearing this, there was an explosion of laughter in the gallery.

"Then, if his religious principles do not allow him to fight," said Miguel, irritated, "there was no reason for him to choose seconds. But it seems as if this gentleman wished to try his fortune."

At last, Mendoza finished his oration with three deputies in the hall, one of them snoring. This, however, did not prevent the papers on the following day declaring that he was a man "most skilled in financial matters."

When Miguel went to congratulate him, he was sweating copiously but calm and serene as a god, surrounded by all the members of the committee of Estimates.

They left Congress together, and went for refreshments to the Cafe de la Iberia. After chatting there for some time, Miguel doing most of the talking (for we know of old that Mendoza was not the man to waste his breath foolishly), the latter got up, saying:--

"Well, Miguelito, excuse me if I leave you; I have a few things to attend to."

Rivera's eyes expressed surprise and indignation.

"Your glory has spoiled your memory, Perico. Hadn't we agreed to see the President after the session?"

"That is a fact: I had forgotten," replied Mendoza, without being able to repress a motion of vexation and disgust. "I don't know as this is--it is pretty near dinner time...."

Miguel, who had not failed to notice his gesture, said with characteristic impetuosity:--

"Look here, do you imagine that I lamentably wasted two hours hearing you quote data to be found in any statistical annual merely for the pleasure of doing so?... I never believed that your egotism was carried to such a degree. You see me within a hand's-breadth of ruin, for your sake, only for your sake, and instead of using all your powers to save me, in doing which you would be merely fulfilling your duty, you manifest Olympian indifference; you aren't even willing to put yourself out to go with me from here to the Presidency. That is unworthy, shameful! I have excused many things in my life, Perico; but this goes beyond bounds."

Rivera, in saying these words, trembled with indignation.

"Don't be so explosive man! why, I have not yet refused to go with you to the Presidency, or anywhere else," said Mendoza, laying his hand on his shoulder, while his lips were curved by that humble smile which Miguel compared to that of "a Newfoundland dog." "Come on! let us go this very moment to the Presidency!"

"Come on, then," said Rivera dryly, getting up.

After going a few steps his vexation subsided.

When they reached there, the President had not yet come in. Mendoza, as a deputy, made his way immediately into the office, and there they both waited, taking a comfortable seat on a sofa while the throng of office-hunters were spoiling in the anteroom. It was not long before there was the sound of a carriage under the _porte cochere_: instantly all the bells in the house began to jingle madly.

"Here comes the President," said Mendoza.

Indeed, in a few seconds he came into the office, accompanied by a number of deputies. Seeing Mendoza, he greeted him in the free and easy tone with which he greeted the friends who came every day.

"Well worked up, my dear Mendoza, well worked up. It has produced a very good effect."

He alluded to the speech.

Mendoza, instead of being embarrassed by the greatness of the personage before whom he stood, replied in the same familiar and fluent tone. This self-possession did not fail to impress Miguel; for he, being more accustomed to social intercourse, could not help feeling some emotion of respect before the man who held the reins of government.

The President was about fifty years old: he was fair and pale, with regular, and not unpleasing, features; the only thing that disfigured his face was a row of huge teeth, which were apt to be uncovered when he smiled; and this he did frequently, not to say incessantly.

"I present my friend, Miguel Rivera, who is now the actual editor of _La Independencia_."

"I have heard of this gentleman. I am very, very glad to make your acquaintance, Senor Rivera," said the President, shaking hands with exceeding amiability. "You will excuse me a moment, will you not?" he added, touching them both on the shoulder; "I have to speak a few words with these gentlemen.... I will be with you in an instant."

The instant was about half an hour. Miguel had been growing impatient. But the President's courteous reception made him feel better, and inclined him to pardon the delay.

"There," said he, after taking leave of the other gentlemen, "now I am at your service. What can I do for you, friend Mendoza?"

"I wanted to know if you have come to any decision about the district of Serin?"

"What district is that: the one left by General Rios?" he asked, for a moment ceasing to smile, and fixing his eyes on the window.

"Yes, sir."

"We have not as yet given any thought to the vacant districts. The second elections will not take place for two months at least."

"My friend Rivera, here, has conceived the idea of presenting himself for that district in case the government should favor it."

"There is some little time yet; still you would do well to begin making your arrangements.... But, friend Mendoza, you are a 'well of science'!" he added, jocularly, not making it at all evident whether he spoke ironically or not. "Ah! that was a meaty discourse that you gave us this afternoon!"

Brutandor inclined his head, and did his best to smile.

"I am not going to be ceremonious with you, gentlemen, for you are friends. Come and take dinner with me, and then we can talk with greater comfort and ease."

And he showed them into a private room where there was a table spread. Neither Mendoza nor Miguel accepted his invitation, but the latter appreciated this kindly hospitality.

The President began his meal, more than once deploring that his friends would not join him; he kept growing more and more expansive and genial with Mendoza, and he overwhelmed Miguel with refined and delicate attentions, now speaking in the terms of warmest eulogy of his father, whom he had known, and now calling to mind some good article in _La Independencia_; again, asking with lively interest into the details of his life: if he were married, and how long since? where had he studied? what was he doing? etc., etc. He related to them various lively anecdotes, and made some droll sketches of some dead politicians whom he had known in times gone by; of those who were alive he always spoke with sufficient consideration, even though they were in the opposition. Suddenly interrupting himself, he asked:--

"Isn't it true, Senor Rivera, that the President of the Council is a trifle impudent?"

"It used to be said that Richelieu also was," replied Miguel, with a bow.

"I feel that I have his defects, and not his qualities. You can imagine how I envy those reserved, polite, prudent men ... like our friend Mendoza here!"

Again it was difficult to tell whether the head of the government were speaking seriously.

"I do not; it would be depriving myself of one of the greatest pleasures of life."

"I agree with you; but it costs the most of all."

And in this connection he related several cases where by frankly saying what he thought, it had caused him serious losses. His conversation was gay, insinuating, without the least snobbishness; his fault lay, on the contrary, in excessive familiarity.

When he had finished eating, he courteously offered cigars, and after lighting one and leaning back in his chair, he asked Rivera:--

"So, then, you wish to be deputy for Serin?"

"If you have no opposition to it...."

"I? Why should I have any opposition to it? It is sufficient that you are Brigadier Rivera's son and Mendoza's friend. Besides, no election could be more suitable than yours. You are a young man of talent, as has already been proved; you belong to the democratic wing of the party, and that composes a very respectable contingent in it; you have an independent fortune ... on men like you the heads of the government ought to have great reliance, and ought to win them over at all hazards. We like young men of intelligence, and with a future ahead of them; rising stars! As for those that are declining, let them have a feather-bed to rest in! That is public life."

He remained a few moments pensive; puffed at his cigar, and added:--

"I am not acquainted with this district of Serin. Do you know how it is situated, Mendoza?"

"My impression is that government has absolute control of it. The general had certainly no opposition."

"Very good; but you must remember that the general is a figure of the first magnitude in politics, and that his name would be sufficient to scare off all opposition."

"Nevertheless, I believe that the district, with such little help as the government may afford, is secure."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir."

"And is the general agreeable to Senor Rivera's candidacy?"

"Certainly he is; they are old friends. I will stand guarantee for him."

"Well, if that is so," said the President, rising and laying one hand on Miguel's shoulder; "count yourself as deputy."

"Many thanks, Senor Presidente!"

"Don't mention it. What other wish could I have than that all the deputies of the majority were like you!... Don't fail to come and talk things over with me soon. Though the elections will be postponed a little, it will be necessary for you to write to the district, and through the general's mediation come into relationship with some person of influence there. Don't send out any manifesto. When the occasion arrives, we will write to the governor. _Adios, senores_; I am so glad to have made your acquaintance! You must feel assured that I am at your service. Do not forget me, and be sure to come and see me some time!"

Miguel departed, enthusiastic over his interview. When he was in the street, he exclaimed:--

"But how cordial the President is! Oftentimes one finds a mere clerk more puffed up in his office! Still he lets one see the superiority of persons when it is legitimate. I am not surprised that he has so many friends, and so firm ones.... How easy it is for a man high in rank to win friends! Now, here I am! He gives me merely a natural and kindly welcome, and says a few courteous phrases, and I am ready to die for him!"

"You must not neglect to write to the general immediately," said Mendoza, gravely.

"You are a man of ice, Perico! For you there are no friendships nor hatreds; no men are congenial or antipathetic. From all you take what you need, and go your way.... Perhaps you are right."

XVIII.

"You aren't vexed with me, Maximina, are you? The idea of leaving you alone all day!" he said, as he came to his wife's bed.

"Pshaw! If you did so, it must have been for some good reason," replied she, kissing the hand which was smoothing her cheek.

On the next day they received a call from Aunt Martina and her daughter Serafina. The worthy lady had grown visibly more feeble. 'Such a life she led with her husband! Don Bernardo kept growing more and more crazy with his foolish jealousies!' As she told what went on at home, she wept aloud.

"After forty years of married life, how could I possibly be unfaithful to your uncle, Miguel? Don't you think that I have proved that I am virtuous? And if I had to fall, moreover, it would not be with a _carcamal_[41] who smells of drugs for a mile! Isn't that so? You understand!..."

Miguel nodded assent, with difficulty repressing a smile, for it was as good as a play to find his aunt imagining that any young man would flirt with her.

"I am an honest woman.... Serafina, don't come in here; take the baby into the dining-room," she said, interrupting herself on seeing her daughter come into the bedroom with the sweet little thing in her arms.

"I have been all my life long. Never even in thought have I been untrue to my husband. In return for this, he puts me to shame before the servants, treating me little less than if I were a public woman. I cannot longer endure this martyrdom, Miguel. I am dying, dying daily. The other day he made a perfect scandal because he found the end of a cigar in my room. As neither Vicente nor Carlos smoke, he took it for granted that Hojeda had been there; he even went so far as to insist that it was a cigar such as the apothecary smokes, although he always smokes cigarettes! It made me faint away; they had to call the doctor. Finally, in the night, a little fifteen-year-old servant boy whom we have, seeing the serious trouble there was in the house, confessed to the maid that it was he who had left the cigar-end there, and he went to tell your Uncle Bernardo. Then, though he instantly dismissed him, he did not remain calm. The servants don't stay with us more than a fortnight; he imagines that they are all the apothecary's pimps.... Day before yesterday the newsboy came along and handed me the paper as I happened to be walking along the corridor. My husband sees it, takes it into his head that this too is an emissary, and dashes out of the window. Simply because Hojeda passed by a little while before! I can't tell all that goes on; it is madness, a catastrophe! If it were not for Vicente, I would blow my brains out with a revolver.... I cannot go out without having my daughter with me, and then leaving on a piece of paper where I am going.... He has ordered all the mattresses in the house to be ripped open, so as to find some of the letters which he says that I have hidden.... Finally,--but do you want to hear more? He has sent and had an iron grating put in the fireplace, for he has an idea that Hojeda comes in that way...."

"_Ave Maria!_ How crazy poor uncle must be!" exclaimed Miguel.

"Don't you believe it; he speaks as reasonably as you or I, and his memory is as good as ever."

"Aunt, phrenopathy is not your strong point. Madmen have made progress like every one else in this world. Nowadays, they discuss and talk like all the rest of us. To distinguish an insane person from one in his senses you must depend upon a specialist; consequently, you must not meddle in things that you don't understand; however, my uncle is certainly showing symptoms that seem very suspicious, even to the ordinary intelligence."

"Sane or insane, I want to separate from him, for my life is a hell. But when once this subject came up, he became frantic, declaring that I wanted a divorce so as to marry my lover, and that he would empty his six-shooter into me if I did any such thing...."

"Poor aunt!" said Maximina, with tears in her eyes.

"How does my life seem to you?... But it is not this alone. I have still another cause for tribulation. Eulalia's little maid is almost blind!"

"What of?" asked the young mother.

"What do you suppose, child? Of her eyes, of course!"

"No; I meant of what disease!"

"Ah! I don't know what name the doctor gives it. Then, besides, Encarnacion the maid, who you must know has been my hands and feet, got married last Monday. You can't imagine the state of the house since she left us! It is a republic, children! I can't be in half a dozen places at once. For a dozen years I have depended wholly on her.... She had the keys to the linen closet; she kept account of the washing; she took out the chocolate and the _garbanzos_[42]; she looked out for the wine-closet when the wines were getting low; she ironed Carlos' and Enrique's shirts (for Vicente sends his out to be done up). Finally, I hardly had to trouble myself about what the servants got to eat, she had them so under her control.... Now, whom can I put into the house? Whom could I put in her place, the service being so turned topsy-turvy? Thursday the lackey came to me saying that Modesta was not willing to mend the sleeve of his livery-coat, which he had torn...."

"And Enrique? How about him?" asked Miguel, fearing that his aunt, in talking about the servants, would never finish, as was her custom.

"That is another thing! Bent on marrying the _chula_! There is no way of getting it out of his head. His father will not hear his name mentioned, and has already declared that, if he continues his relationship with her, he will send him out of the house. Vicente and Eulalia are also just as set against him. The one who 'pays for all the broken glass in the house' is myself, because I sympathize with him; don't you see?"

"Yes; Enrique has always been your favorite!"

"The whole family have always declared this to be the case, but it is not true; as you see, he is the least favored.... On the other hand, he treats me worse than a shoe!"

The entrance of Serafina with the baby again interrupted the conversation; behind her came all the maids, evincing a lively excitement:

"What is the matter?"

"Why! the baby smiled!" said Serafina.

"Smiled! He smiled, as sure as there is a God in heaven, senorita," said one of the maids, adding her testimony.

"Go along with you! you are all crazy!" said Dona Martina. "Why, he is only two days old!"

"It cannot be," insisted Maximina, although she flushed with joy at the thought.

"But he did; he did!" exclaimed all the servants.

"This is the way it happened, senorita," said one maid, scarcely able to get her breath. "The Senorita Serafina was this way with the baby; do you see? And I looked and took hold of him by the shoulder, do you see? and lifted him up, and began to move him up and down, and to say: 'Little chicken![43] rosebud! pink! do you want to be called Miguelito, like your papa?' The baby didn't do anything. 'Do you want to be called Enriquito like your uncle?' He didn't do anything this time either. 'Do you want to be called Serafin after your aunt?' And then he opened his eyes just a wee bit, and made up a little mouth with his lips. Oh, so cunning!"