Part 19

To be sure, in Miguel's house he each day gained a more secure footing; he often dined with them, many evenings he dropped in for a social chat, and on others accompanied them to the theatre, and Maximina treated him like a brother. But this was the very thing that annoyed the _caballero_: in that house he was treated like a future brother. The young wife had not been convinced by his denial, and when she saw that he still kept up his attentions to Julia, she came to believe that he had denied it either out of hypocrisy or from a spirit of opposition, but that in reality he was deeply in love with his cousin; and there was reason for this, since Julia (as Maximina believed) was the most beautiful and fascinating girl in Madrid.

After the happy birth of Maximina's son, Saavedra behaved like a consistent friend, offering such services as were in his power, coming daily to make inquiries; in short, showing so much attachment and affection to the young couple that Maximina's tender heart responded with affectionate gratitude, as was perfectly natural.

Maximina was now more graceful and beautiful than ever; like all women who are really born to be wives and mothers, and are married to the men whom they love, the august crisis through which she had passed had been advantageous to her in every way. It was hard to recognize in this handsome young woman, with rosy cheeks and sweet brilliant eyes, the pale and timid maiden of Pasajes.

The Andalusian _caballero_ was gradually growing more and more impatient. The first part of his strategy had been carried out point by point, as he had foreseen; he had won Maximina's esteem and even affection.

The second part remained, but this was the most difficult and dangerous in its execution, the most tempting in its result.

How should he begin?

In spite of his inconceivable pride, Don Alfonso had a foreboding that he was destined to failure from the very first, and he kept putting off the attack so as not to do it rashly.

Nevertheless, as his passion and impatience kept growing each day more impetuous, and he was not a man ever to be found wanting in audacity, he tried the experiment of giving her a few muffled gallantries, and these the young wife received as the jokes of a pampered friend; then again, he would sometimes press her hand a little too warmly when he greeted her, touch her foot lightly under the table, and even pulled out a hair or two stealthily, while her lord and master was dozing in his easy-chair.

Maximina at first supposed that these things were accidental, and paid no attention to them; but as the Andalusian persisted in them, she was a little startled, though without having any clear idea of the danger, and she tried to keep him at a distance, and from that time she began to have a vague fear.

Though his first efforts met with results so far from flattering, still Don Alfonso was completely infatuated, and though he would not have been willing to confess it, he was very near losing his self-possession in which he took such pride, and ready to "throw discretion out of the window."

How this came about we shall soon see.

Miguel was very particular that his son should have plenty of fresh air; he was full of modern theories of education, and believed that children ought to live as much as possible out of doors from the earliest infancy. Thus, as soon as Maximina was able to go out, he began to take long walks with her through the Retiro. How happy our little mother was in having her husband at her side, and her baby in front of her!

And what a baby he was!

It was necessary to have followed his progress step by step, as she had for a month and a half, to appreciate the portentous gifts with which he was endowed, and the boundless resources of his unequalled genius. She would have been greatly offended had any one insinuated that he still sucked his fingers when he accidentally thrust them into his mouth; nothing of the kind! after he had been a fortnight in this vale of tears, he had raised his thumb to his mouth with the set and deliberate intention of sucking it, for nothing else. But this did not signify in the least that the said thumb was as satisfactory to him as his mamma's breast; he did it simply to amuse himself in moments of diversion. His exquisite and delicate taste was equally well shown by his energetic refusal to take the porridge which Juana had the impudence to offer him one day when his mother was having a nap.

The angry expression of his face and the screams with which he received the proposition gave no room for doubt; he would have preferred to die of hunger rather than run the risk of spoiling his digestion by such unsubstantial and harmful concoctions.

But the thing in which he best showed his practical talent, as well as the perfection of his character, was in sleeping. As soon as he was born he made up his mind that he was going to sleep twenty hours a day at the very least; all that was done to dissuade him from this intention was in vain; apparently he had weighty physiological reasons for carrying it out. When unfortunately any attention to him or attempt to keep him awake disturbed his plan, he would raise his voice to heaven, and the house in commotion.

Miguel would be the first to run to his aid, would take him in his arms and begin to walk up and down the corridors furiously, with the expectation--deluded man!--of putting him to sleep in that manner. The infant kept protesting more and more obstreperously against any such unsatisfactory method; the father would grow nervous after some time, and lest he should "dash him against the wall," he would turn him over to Juana's secular arm, but she rarely, also, had the good fortune to calm him. It was necessary to hand him over to his mother, who possessed in her beautiful and bounteous bosom the secret of putting to flight all his gloomy thoughts and making him see the world through rose-colored spectacles.

"But is this little monster always going to look to his mamma for his food?" asked Miguel, anxiously.

Maximina smiled, and shrugged her shoulders, and gave her son a kiss, as if to say that she was ready to give a thousand lives for him.

But when it was least expected, Juana, rich in contrivances like Ulysses, found one which, for its novelty and efficacy, left all others far behind.

And like the majority of fertile and wonderful inventions it had the additional merit of being simple. It consisted in holding the child in her arms with its mouth up, and dandling him up and down gently, and singing in rhythmic motion a certain melody.

We have always been desirous that great inventions with results of practical use to humanity should be spread abroad as soon as possible. Consequently, we shall not have the selfishness to hide this most original as well as simple expedient, which possibly the reader may be able to put to trial some day--I hope so with all my heart The words of the song are these:--

Byelow! baby, byelow! See the wild hen fly low! There at last upon the mast, Swaying, swinging high low![45]

As to the music, I am inclined to think that success was not attained by that altogether. However, any one can be sure of obtaining a happy result provided that--let this be thoroughly understood--provided that it be repeated a number of times, and the last line sung in a dying tone. For the stubborn infant to hear it, and to stop, with his eyes fixed in ecstatic contemplation of no one knew what, was the same thing. Perhaps it may have been the terrible hen forever swaying on the mast. The one thing sure was that those little eyes, so open and terrified, quickly closed in the softest slumber: all the inhabitants of the house drew a deep sigh of satisfaction: the child was then forthwith carried to the great nuptial couch, where it was deposited in one corner like a bundle of linen.

I say that at first Miguel took pleasure in going out to promenade with his wife; when the baby was hungry Maximina would nurse him, finding a seat on a bench in some retired spot; then they would go into a "dairy" near at hand and get some chocolate.

But after a few day's the Brigadier's son, either because of the exigencies of business or because he desired to chat with his friends, ceased to join her, suggesting that she go alone with the infant, because, under no consideration would he consent that the little one should be deprived of fresh air. With real heartfelt grief, though she concealed it as much as possible, she yielded to this desire. It was a great source of gain to the child, it is true, but she could never entirely conquer the timidity and fear which the Madrid streets inspired in her when she went out without her husband.

The first two days nothing went wrong in her excursion; but on the third, as she was walking along a lonely path in the Retiro to eat a bit of bread, which the nurse-girl had taken on purpose,--for nothing in the world would have tempted her to enter the chocolate-house alone,--she unexpectedly met Saavedra. Although she had seen him the day before at home, she felt a slight trembling, without knowing why; and a bright blush suffused her face, a sign which was not displeasing to the Andalusian dandy. He greeted her warmly, caressed the infant, and, without asking permission, walked along beside her. The nurse-girl respectfully passed on ahead.

The conversation turned on the ordinary topics of the time, the healthfulness of children going out, etc. Suddenly Saavedra, pausing, asked with a smile:--

"What did you do with the piece of bread that you were eating, Maximina?"

The young woman was so confused that she did not know what to reply.

"I am certain that you must have dropped it on the ground. Why are you ashamed to eat when you are nursing such a beautiful, strong baby?"

Enlivened by this praise, which for her was the most delectable that could be given, she replied:--

"Well, I feel a little weak by this time in the afternoon...."

"Dry bread isn't very appetizing, my dear. Come to the _chocolateria_."

"Oh, no; I do very well: I don't care for chocolate."

"Don't be hypocritical. When you go out with Miguel, you take it every afternoon. You did not take it yesterday nor the day before, perhaps because you did not dare to go in alone.... Now, you will say: 'How does Alfonso know all these things?'"

"Indeed, I do not understand...."

"And I will tell you very softly" (Don Alfonso brought his lips close to the young woman's ear); "because I have followed you those afternoons."

Maximina felt her fear increasing. At that moment she would have made any sacrifice to be at home. She did not answer a word, and went on walking. Don Alfonso likewise remained silent, so that the drop of poison might do its work.

When he came to the conclusion that Maximina's imagination had been sufficiently stirred, he brought the conversation back to where it had begun; that is, to ordinary commonplaces. He introduced a familiar chat as between two intimate friends, asking many questions about the baby, as that was a most convenient theme and most likely to please the young woman; he made affectionate fun of her; he touched upon his aunt _la brigadiera's_ foibles; finally, by great skill, he tried to calm her agitation, so as to restore confidence between them. But he did not succeed; Maximina was still nervous, although she exerted great force to hide it; and she replied to his questions in a hoarse and altered voice. However, in the course of time and by much diplomacy, Saavedra partially calmed her. He besought her again with impetuous entreaties to go to the _chocolateria_; but she declined absolutely, and insisted that it was time to go home, though this was not true.

The sun was still pouring his rays along the sanded walks; a mild and perfumed breeze breathed through the air, presaging the approach of spring; the swelling buds on the trees likewise joyously told the tale. Many elegantly dressed children, with long curls touching their shoulders, were seen trundling hoops and tossing ball, followed by their parents or guardians. Maximina had said to herself many times on other days: "When mine will be here too!" But now she saw them pass in front of her, and yet scarcely perceived them, so deep was the agitation that swayed her.

Don Alfonso had been trying for some time to keep her back; but the more he insisted on her remaining, the more anxious she was to be going.

Now then, as he was walking toward the entrance of the Retiro and considering on the one hand how soon he would be obliged to leave her, and on the other that the step that he had taken was too bold for him to be able to retrieve it, he resolved "to throw the fish into the water"; and so he said, pausing again:--

"All this time you have not asked me why I followed you these last afternoons."

The young wife felt herself trembling more violently than ever, her face grew pale, her legs failed under her. She did not wish or was not able to find words to answer his question.

"Then I am going to tell you; because I feel for you, Maximina, what hitherto I have never felt for any woman in this world. From the very beginning of my acquaintance with you, I have been inspired with a lively admiration, irresistible, all-controlling. Afterward, I perceived that this admiration was rapidly changing into love, and I struggled with all my might to resist it. It was useless.--I have known many women; I have loved, or believed that I loved, a few; but I swear to you that the feeling which they inspired was very different from that which now dominates me. I met them on equal terms, I saw their good points and their defects, I admired, and was kindled by their beauty; but now! now, it is not alone love which I feel, it is a deep adoration for your simple and open nature, a respect which until now tied my tongue, although the secret struggled to escape. In my eyes you might have read it whenever I looked at you. It is months since my heart has thus been filled by your beauty and goodness, Maximina...."

This gentle _caballero_ said all this string of gush with trembling lip and excited gestures, such as are the stock in trade of seducers, provided they, like him, are "men of the world." Observation has taught me that the "men of the world" who have been called dandies, fops, and _dudes_[46] are not _espirituales_, or, to avoid a Gallicism, do not speak with any greater wit and grace than in novels. In life, and above all when they are shaken from that languid and _blase_ appearance characteristic of them, they are apt to be as vulgar and absurd as the latest medical student.

Poor Maximina was so disturbed at hearing this amorous jargon, of which she understood only the general tenor, that her pallor changed to a livid hue, then the blood rushed suddenly to her face, her eyes grew dim, and she was ready to fall.

By what seemed like an automatic movement which she afterward could not explain, she abruptly quitted her companion, and started to run, crying: "Placida! Placida!" until she caught up with her, and then she said:--

"Run, run! how ill I feel!"

Both ran quite a while, until fatigue compelled them to relax their efforts; but by this time they were a long distance from Saavedra, who stood in the same spot, full of amazement and chagrin at her sudden and unexpected flight.

A severe lecture, premeditated and prepared, in judgment on such imprudence and dastardly meanness as Don Alfonso had just committed, could not have been more hard and cruel than that desertion. Maximina, without being aware of it, had not only preserved her dignity, but had inflicted on the insolent fellow the punishment which is severest in such cases--that of making him seem ridiculous.

Saavedra remained rooted to the ground with rage, until seeing some promenaders approaching, and gazing at him with curiosity and then turning around to look at the fleeing women, he wheeled about and strode away, from the place.

Fortunately, when Maximina reached home, Miguel was still away; if he had been there, on seeing her so excited, he would have made some inquiries, and perhaps have even become suspicious. She had time to get a little calmed; the servants really believed that she had had an ill turn, and so did Miguel himself when it came dinner time.

Nevertheless, that night and the following day the young wife was very nervous; she did not know what course to take. For the present she determined not to go out walking alone any more, under the pretext that she was afraid she might be attacked by another faint turn. But if Don Alfonso should come to call upon her, how should she present herself before him? She was certain that she should appear disturbed; her disgust and fear of him were so great that in spite of her they would appear in her face.

It happened that Don Alfonso realized the same thing, and ceased coming to Miguel's house. But Miguel, accustomed to see him frequently, called attention to his absence, and said, while they were at table:--

"It is a number of days since Alfonso has shown up."

Maximina made no reply, and went on eating, with her head down. After a moment he added:--

"I should be glad if he did not come any more. In spite of all my efforts I cannot endure that man. Wednesday, they tell me, he fought a duel which, in my opinion, was a piece of sheer cowardice. He fought with an engineer, who never in his life had been used to weapons; and, of course, wounded him dangerously at the first encounter. A man who goes out to fight with a certainty that such is going to be the case is not a true man, nor can he be called even decent."

"Oh! there is no doubt about that," Maximina would have said, with the greatest unction.

But she did not dare. The poor girl imagined that Saavedra would not take any more thought about her. Without her adored Miguel having had any annoyance whatever, everything had come out satisfactorily. Little did the ingenuous young wife know of the nature of human passions. She was soon to learn to her sorrow, what pride and revenge united are capable of attempting.

XX.

It happened to be about this very time that Enrique made up his mind "to drag the honor and good name of his family through the mire." In fact, he presented himself one afternoon at Miguel's house, and confided to him his project, telling him with tears in his eyes that it was not his intention to drag anything through the mire, and far less the honor of the family, but simply to fulfil the bond which he had undertaken, and the words which he had given to Manolita.

"I am a gentleman, Miguel. I cannot decently go back on this little girl. Put yourself in my place. I am well aware that my family are right in opposing this marriage, but I swear to you that it is not my wish to injure its good name. Why should I? What good would it do me to drag it through the mire, I should like to know!"

"That is evident; you have no occasion to revenge yourself on the good name of your family."

"Of course not!"

Then with much hesitation and timidity he confessed that he had a plan. It cost great trouble to make him reveal it.

Finally, by dint of entreaties, he declared that if Maximina would do him the honor of being the _madrina_ at his wedding he should consider himself the happiest mortal in the universe. After he had said that he repented, the more as he saw that Miguel remained lost in thought; he then became so conscience-stricken that he flung his hat on the floor, and began to call himself names, and tear his hair.

"What does this mean, Enrique? Have you gone mad? As far as I am concerned there is no objection to it in the least. Ask her yourself, and if she consents, it is done."

"No, I won't ask her. Manolita is an honest girl, but of a very humble station in life. All those who will be present at the wedding will be also 'children of the people.' 'The lowest of the low,' do you see, my lad? We must call things by their right names. Your wife will not want to be there, and right she is."

Miguel got up from his chair, went to the door, and shouted:--

"Maximina!"

Instantly the little wife appeared.

"Enrique has come to ask you to be _madrina_ at his wedding. Will you accept his invitation?"

"Oh! and so you are to be married, are you? Then I think that I should be very much pleased to be _madrina_."

Enrique's face lighted up as though at that instant he had seen a procession of all the angels, archangels, thrones, and dominions of Heaven; but suddenly growing serious, he replied, a little stiffly:--

"No, Maximina, it is impossible for you to be _madrina_. People of your station will not be present at my wedding."

The young matron looked at him in surprise:--

"Of my station?"

"Yes; only women of the common people will be there: fish-wives, fruit-women, tavern keepers' wives, etc."

"What difference does it make to me who comes? I will be _madrina_ if you wish. Do you take me for some princess?"

"An angel is what you are!" exclaimed Enrique, instantly losing his senses: as proof of it, his hat, which just before he had dashed to the floor, he now flung to the ceiling, then he immediately sprang after it into the air, making three or four portentous pirouettes; quickly realizing the enormity of his behavior, he took Maximina's hands, and began to kiss them in a perfect frenzy.

"You will forgive me this sudden freak, won't you, Miguel? Your wife is better than if she were made of gold and diamonds!"

"I suppose so; what could I do with a wife made of gold and diamonds?"

"Man alive! don't be so literal; that is a saying! Maximina, every one speaks so well of you ... even my sister Eulalia, which means a great deal, as you can imagine. But no one knows what your worth is! As soon as I take part in another _corrida_, I will present you the bull."

"No, no, Enrique," protested Maximina, laughing.

The young man's face darkened.

"That is a fact; a bull killed by me has little value. But I assure you that I am going to, or at least I can get Lagartijo, the great Lagartijo himself to present you one in a benefit fight."

"You misunderstood me; I said no, because I never go to bull-fights."

"What! doesn't Miguel take you? Shameless wretch! Never you mind, child; leave it to me, and at the first _corrida_ that takes place, you shan't fail of a private box, or at least two front seats."

The _padrino_ chosen to stand with Maximina was a cavalry captain, an old comrade of the bridegroom's.

"I am afraid that he may not be to your mind, Madrina" (from that moment till the end of his days, Enrique never called Miguel's wife anything else); "for though he is a very distinguished man, he is rather a misogynist,[47] do you see?"

"I don't understand you...."

Miguel burst into a laugh.

"That is, he does not enjoy ladies' company."

"Ah, very good," rejoined the young wife; "I will promise not to trouble him."

"How could you trouble him, star of the morning?" exclaimed Enrique, losing his balance again; "It is worth more to hear you talk than Tamberlik, in the _credo_ of '_Il Poliuto_'! What I fear is, that he will not hold his tongue."

The time set was Wednesday, and the hour seven in the morning. The day broke clear and magnificent; in the Madrid streets not a speck of mire could be seen; that which soiled the good name of the Rivera family was purely metaphorical. Miguel and Maximina went to the bridal apartment, which was the third-story room on the same Calle del Bano, not facing the street.

Enrique had rented it after consultation with his lady-love, and had furnished it little by little, bringing every day, like a goldfinch, his bit of straw in his bill: one day the wardrobe; another, a table; another, a couple of cane-seated chairs; and then again, a few dozen of dishes; and so on. The nest was plain and small, but pleasant, like all that is new and prepared for and by love.