Part 20

Enrique had not told a falsehood: no _lady_ was present or gentleman in dress-coat, except the _padrino_, who had one on, though it was the worse for wear, to be sure. On the other hand, the worthy women who were present, and the handsome young _chulas_, showed in their dress a picturesque magnificence very pleasant to see,--rich mantles of _burate_, brocaded in a thousand colors, and reaching almost to the floor; over that lace or plush mantillas, unlimited shoes of patent leather; in their ears huge pearl pendants; on their fingers enormous diamond rings. The arrangement of the hair was in almost all cases the same--parted in the middle, the hair on the crown bunched up behind, and little corkscrew curls at the temples.

The men for the most part wore a short coat and narrow-brimmed hat; but there were quite a number of _toreros_, friends, all of them, of the bridegroom; and they wore well-girdled jackets of velvet or broadcloth, according to their standing in the art, tight-fitting pantaloons, and embroidered shirts with huge brilliants in the bosom.

Miguel was the only member of the family that graced the occasion. Julita, who had been told of it by her brother, wanted to go, but her mother forbade it. Enrique likewise did not invite his friends in his own rank of society, for the reason that he gave Maximina; that is, because he did not want to mortify them.

When Miguel's wife made her appearance, a murmur of respect and admiration went round among the guests; some among them were polite enough to take off their hats. Manolita, who, be it said parenthetically, was exquisite in her black merino dress and velvet mantilla, when she saw her come in, was as confused as though it had been the queen, and went to meet her, trembling and with her face aflame.

"Senorita.... I am much obliged.... How do you do?"

"But," our readers will say, "have we not insisted that Manolita was a bold and redoubtable _chula_, if there are such?"

Now then, you shall see; the majority of these _chulas_ are really, to use the vulgar expression, 'unfortunates'; their exterior is the only terrible thing about them.

The strange thing in this case was that Maximina was as confused and flushed as Manolita was. Instead of having a haughty look or affecting a condescending expression as many ladies would have done to find herself among a set of plebeians, our little matron acted as though she were just making her appearance in an assembly of princes.

The procession started on its march to San Jose's.

But before we forget it, let us say that among the guests was dexterous Jose Calzada (a) _el Cigarrero_, with his band, which unfortunately missed the congenial Baldomero. The famous bull-slayer respectfully shook hands with Maximina, and she, who had shed tears when Miguel described the death of Serranito, gave him a look that spoke louder than words the admiration which his noble conduct had inspired in her.

Manolita also introduced her father to her, that awe-inspiring Cyclops whose acquaintance we have already made; fortunately he had not as yet had a chance to get tipsy; to greet her he doffed his _sombrero_, which must have weighed half an _arroba_,[48] and emitted a series of such odious grunts that Miguel's wife was frozen with terror.

The house in the Calle del Bano was all in commotion with this wedding. The procession escorting the pair made an infernal noise clattering down the stairs; the neighbors opened their doors to watch them pass. In the street, also, the people stopped, and shouts, "A wedding! a wedding!" and the questions of the passers-by were heard.

"Who are they," demanded an old shopkeeper.

"A milkmaid marrying a senorito: look; that's him in front," replied a _chula_, who had stopped in front of the shop.

"And the bride?"

"There she goes in the middle of 'em all, walking with a senorita!"

"Handsome piece! The senorito shows good taste. I would not object to marrying her myself."

"Aha! That would be a good one, wouldn't it!"

"Well, I'd take you, Barbiana!"

"Ay! You'd see me die first! My dear old fellow, 'Young sheep and old bell-wether never get along together.'"[49]

"Senorita," Manolita was meantime saying to her _madrina_, "I can never repay you for the honor which you are doing me. Enrique was right in praising you!"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake don't call me senorita; I am your cousin; I want you to call me Maximina; say 'thou' to me."

"Oh, I could never do that! What I am going to ask you as a special favor is, that when we get home, you will let me give you a dozen kisses."

Maximina smiled, and pressed her hand affectionately.

The priest blessed the union of the couple in the sacristy; then they went into the church and heard mass and took the sacrament.

When they went out into the street, the clock was just striking eight. The procession had greatly increased; there were more than sixty people surrounding the bridal couple. As it was impossible for so many to drink chocolate in the rooms in the Calle del Bano, it had already been decided days before that they should go to the Cafe de Cervantes, which is near the church. They accordingly went in there, and almost completely filled it. A most animated conversation sprang up on all sides, so that soon no one could hear himself talk.

Enrique, flushed with emotion, sat down at one table with Miguel, and began to unburden himself with remarkable verbosity:--

"I know well enough, Miguel, that I might have married a senorita, but don't you see, I have never cared at all about senoritas? They say the trouble is that I haven't any conversation. It may be so. We shall see; Miguelillo, isn't my flamingo worth all the sugar-paste senoritas of the upper ten? And besides, she knows how to work, and that is more than any of these high-flyers know how to do; and she can live on two _pesetas_ a day, and she can put a shawl on her head--do you understand? and take her place in the Plaza de la Cebada,[50] where vegetables are the cheapest; and when we go to the theatre, we shan't have to get a box or seats in the parquet. From the gallery we can see the play well enough, and be well satisfied; and if it is necessary, she can cook the dinner, and there is no need of going with her every day making calls. That comes in handy, my boy! You see, I am going to have forty-three duros' pay now that I am in the active service; my rooms will cost seven; that leaves thirty-six. We shall get along, Miguel; we shall get along! Besides, my mother has promised to help me; she will give me _garbanzos_ and chocolate, and some little thing 'under the rose,' do you see? We've got our rooms all fixed up. It cost me a good deal of work. For nearly a year I have not taken coffee, nor gone to the theatre, nor smoked anything except cigarettes; everything so as to save for this furniture! Man! I tell you that I have gone with one hat all the year, and that I have had my boots tapped three times! But I have done it all with delight for my darling _chulilla_, who is worth all Peru! Just look, look at her! See what eyes she is making at us!"

Enrique's happiness was so contagious that Miguel always felt happy to be with him.

This lad had often made him think that to be happy in this world one needs only to believe that one is.

They had not yet finished taking their chocolate, when the doors of the cafe were flung open, and six or seven street-musicians appeared on the scene, and they with their brass instruments made a discordant and unsanctimonious band. They immediately began to set up a waltz or something of the sort. Now, instead of escaping, and hiding in the garret, these people received the band as though it were the _Sociedad de Conciertos_, and began to accompany the music with their voices, and with their spoons, enough to scare away Mephisto himself.

Maximina got up, not on account of the noise, but because she was anxious about her baby, who was probably getting hungry. Manolita looked at her with timid eyes, as though reminding her of her promise. Miguel's wife threw her arms around her and kissed her tenderly, whispering in her ear:--

"Come and see us, and I will show you my baby: you will, won't you?"

When husband and wife left the cafe, they were in a happy frame of mind. Hearing from a distance the noise of the band and voices, Miguel exclaimed:--

"What a jolly wedding this has been! No toasts were given, and no poems were read!"

XXI.

With suitable precautions, that is, first vaguely insinuating the idea, afterwards making it more and more definite, Miguel brought it to his wife's notice that he must go to Galicia for a few days. She received the news with consternation; but perceiving that her husband was annoyed, she made an effort to control herself, and became calm, and finally even quite cheerful. But finding herself, as always after breakfast, seated on her husband's knee, while the "little rascal" was sleeping, and ready to talk about the linen that the traveller would need for his journey, the tears came into her eyes when least expected.

"What a girl you are," exclaimed Miguel, kissing her, "only a few days' separation!"

"I was not crying for that exactly," rejoined Maximina, endeavoring to smile. "But for several days I have been having such melancholy forebodings."

"What forebodings?"

"I imagine that I am not going to live very long."

"_Ave Maria!_ what a terrible idea! What makes you have such crazy notions?"

"I don't know," replied the little wife, smiling though the tears were sliding down her cheeks. "What I dread most is leaving my baby while he is so young."

"Don't be absurd!" said Miguel, impatiently. "These gloomy ideas are caused by the sadness that you feel at having me go away. As for the rest, though death is liable to come to any of us, there is no reason to think that yours is near at hand. You are a child of seventeen; you were never ill a day in your life, except when the baby was born. You enjoy perfect health.... It is much more likely that I should die before you: I am considerably older; besides, I haven't a very strong constitution, as you know...."

"Hush! hush!" exclaimed Maximina, throwing her arms around him, and bursting into a passion of tears. "I don't want to hear that you may die!"

"Why, my child, there is nothing to be done about it."

"But I don't want to hear about it; I don't want to, I do not!" she replied, with such lovely determination that her husband covered her with kisses.

After a while, and when they had been speaking of other things, Maximina returned to the same topic.

"If I should die, you would marry again, wouldn't you, Miguel?" she asked, with an expression half serious and half mischievous, which nevertheless concealed a very real meaning and a genuine anxiety.

"Back to the old subject? Please don't indulge in any more of these follies, sweetheart."

"Would you marry again, Miguel?" she insisted, ceasing to smile, and showing her anxiety.

"Well, then, I am going to speak with all frankness: If you should die (but you aren't going to die), I will not answer for it, that in the course of my life I should never have anything to do with other women; but I give you my word and oath that I will never marry any one else. And this is not alone because of the deep and affectionate love which I bear you, so that to-day you are an essential part of my being, and if you were taken away from me it would be as though half of myself were taken away, but also for selfish reasons. I should be unhappy with any other woman. God has endowed you, my darling, with all, absolutely with all, the qualities necessary for making me happy."

The little wife well understood that these words were sincere, and she looked at her husband with enthusiasm and joy.

Miguel, in speaking the last words, had felt his heart growing tender: he covered his eyes with his hands, and turned away his head. On seeing him in this attitude a smile of intense delight illumined his wife's face.

"Are you crying?" she whispered into his ear.

Miguel did not reply.

"Are you crying?" she repeated. "You _are_ crying; don't try to deny it." And with infantile curiosity she tried to pull his hands away from his face.

"Stop, stop!"

"Let me see thy tears, Miguel!"

And she struggled with all her might to see her husband's eyes full of tears.

"Are you satisfied now?" he asked, laughing; then after a moment of silence, "And you, Maximina," he said, in a tone of anxiety, "would you marry again?"

"Oh! for Heaven's sake!"

"You are very young, and it would not be at all strange if this should happen. After some time the same circumstances might drive you to it! Perhaps your relatives might urge you into it: a woman is not well off alone in the world.... If this took place, I have no doubt that you would love your husband; but I could take my oath that you would not love him as much as you love me. There are things, Maximina, that are never repeated, and one of them is first love; especially if this first love has been blessed by Heaven as yours has been. Just notice the walls of this study; preserve in thy memory the form of these pieces of furniture, the color of the carpet, the sweetness of that sunbeam that comes through the window. All this that now has so little importance, if I should die, would, perhaps, seem much more so, for the moments of bliss which we are now spending here, with thee sitting on my knees, and with me looking into thy dear eyes, would never again return, Maximina, would never return for thee!"

The little wife fell back against her husband's breast, when she heard those words, like a sensitive plant which contracts at the slightest touch.

"Oh! Miguel, light of my life, what have I done to make thee speak to me so?"

And sobs choked her.

He tried to pacify her by such means as were in his power; but to accomplish it he found himself obliged to promise her solemnly that he would not die!

At last the day set for his journey arrived. It had been agreed that during Miguel's absence Julita should come and sleep with her sister-in-law. She and _la brigadiera_ both came over that afternoon to bid the traveller good by. It was just dusk. Miguel, after eating a hurried and solitary dinner, sent for a carriage, and prepared to depart. When he went toward his wife to kiss her, she darted away, and ran to hide in her bedroom.

"But it is your husband, _tonta_!" cried Julita, laughing.

Miguel followed her, and groping around in the darkness, found her in one corner.

"Don't you want me to kiss you, sweetheart?"

"Oh, yes, Miguel; but there before people I should die of mortification!"

As our young man took his place in the carriage he felt his heart depressed within him.

"If it were not for what is at stake, I should not have been mixed up in this dirty business, and I certainly should not be leaving my wife and baby," he said to himself, with some bitterness.

Before reaching his district he made a stop at the capital of the province, where he was received with extreme cordiality by the governor. He was a young man who had recently been filling the position of second or third _gazetillero_ on a liberal paper at the capital. It was said in the city that his administrative knowledge might possibly have been more solid without doing any harm; but, on the other hand, whenever it took his fancy he replied in rhyme to letters, walked the street, in free and easy costume, gave lunch-parties to the provincial deputies almost every day, enjoyed cracking jokes with the ushers, and when the assembly was in session, sometimes permitted himself to whistle in an undertone arias from _Blue Beard_ or _The Grand Duchess_. His name was Castro.

As soon as Miguel presented himself at the _Gobierno Civil_, Castro gave him a most hearty squeeze, as though he were an intimate friend, although they had never spoken together in Madrid more than three or four times, and began to address him from the very first with the familiar "thou." He instantly promised him the whole weight of his official influence.

"I'll get you in swimmingly, my lad, no matter what it costs. Go to the district and write me from there all that you need, and I will do for you anything in the world."

Rejoiced and flattered by this reception, our hero on the following day took the diligence for Serin, which was about seven leagues from the capital.

It was a miserable little village, but admirably situated near a river, the banks of which displayed the luxuriant vegetation of tropical countries, and the fresh verdure of the North; orange-trees, lemon-trees, and river-laurels almost shook hands with oak and chestnut groves which swept up the slopes of the mountains; they in turn were gentle and green in the foreground, dark and steep in the background, thus making a magnificent chain, rendering the landscape most picturesque. The group of white cottages that composed the village of Serin was surrounded by a thick border of trees, except on the side of the river, in whose clear blue waters it was reflected.

Now this delectable spot, which appeared like a little corner of Paradise was rather a little corner of Hades, as Miguel was quickly able to assure himself. It even had, as we shall soon see, not one, but two, serpents to torment its inhabitants.

These had been divided from time immemorial into two parties--"those of the Casona" and "those of the Casina," thus named because the first met in a great, dark mansion with two machiolated towers, which stood at the upper end of the village, while the others met in a one-storied and highly ornamented edifice with a handsome portal with an iron grating and two great balconies, and was situated on the Muelle by the river.

They were likewise called "Don Martin's Party" and "Don Servando's," after the name of their respective leaders.

The division of these parties was not based upon the fact that the one, that of the Casona, represented the traditional and conservative element, while that of the Casina stood for the progressive and liberal, the first having often been seen taking the side of "liberal administrations," and the other sustaining the cause of the "moderate" candidate. The quarrel was kindled solely by the eagerness for controlling local politics, and thus of being in last analysis the masters of the village. The rest was not of the least consequence. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that Don Martin's party had marked tendencies towards absolutism. In Don Servando's, on the other hand, there was no noticeable predilection for liberty.

It was this Don Servando, who, as Miguel alighted from the diligence and received him, took him home, willy nilly. He was a fat man of medium height, and was approaching his seventieth birthday; his face, with its deep red complexion, was adorned with short gray whiskers; he wore a very long, black frock coat, and black _hongo_ besides.

"Have I the honor of addressing Senor Corcuera," he asked him very politely, with a strong Galician accent.

"No, sir; my name is Miguel Rivera, at your service."

"That is very good," the Galician replied, and addressing himself to a servant, he said: "_Muchacho_, look up the gentleman's luggage, and take charge of it. I will tell you where it has to be carried."

"I suppose that you are Senor Bustelo," Miguel hastened to say.

"We will have a chance to talk as we go around yonder corner. You will do me the favor to follow me."

And Don Servando set forth with firm and deliberate step toward the corner indicated. Miguel followed him without understanding what it all meant.

When they had reached there, Don Servando said to him, without looking at him, and as though he were speaking with the above-mentioned corner:--

"I received word from the Senor Governor that you were to arrive this afternoon, and I take it for granted that you will do me the honor of accepting modest hospitality at my house."

"Provided that you are Senor Bustelo."

"The house that you see yonder, where there is a belvedere, is mine, my dear sir. Have the goodness to go on ahead, and I will immediately follow."

Miguel did what he commanded, without understanding the meaning of all this mystery. Afterwards he had just as little an idea, but it no longer surprised him.

Don Servando's predominant characteristic, which was manifested in all his acts, and never failed him, was caution. He never asked directly more than he already knew; what he was anxious to find out he always accomplished by means of a long series of circumlocations, and hiding his design. He never gave a straightforward and prompt answer to questions, no matter how insignificant or meaningless they were.

After being a few hours in his company Miguel became convinced that it was idle to try to find out anything about his personality. It was, above all, on account of this quality that he was greatly admired by all his friends and feared by his opponents. He talked little, and never looked a man in the face.

After they had eaten supper, and the guest's luggage had been brought in with infinite precautions, the two shut themselves into Don Servando's office, where, in less than an hour, he imbibed six bottles of beer.

"It seems to me that you are fond of beer, Senor Bustelo."

"Psh! so, so.... I prefer wine," he replied, with the gravity and the Galician accent peculiar to him.

On the following days Miguel had the opportunity of observing that he scarcely touched wine.

One after another, and as though some desperately dangerous conspiracy were in progress, the official candidate received the calls of Don Servando's partisans, who promised great success in the coming election. Nevertheless Miguel was quick to see that the forces were very evenly balanced; indeed, so well that while in what we might name the urban region of Serin, in the brain of the community, the Casina party was predominant, it was in a large minority in the rural districts. Official influence was as little at the complete disposition of this party; while the town authorities[51] of Serin were theirs; those of two other precincts, Agueeria and Villabona, gave allegiance to Don Martin, and it was in these, after all, that the key of the election finally lay.

General Rios had been put up for this district without opposition, and from that moment the partisans of the Casona had rivalled Don Servando's in zeal and efficacy in serving him. This was the usual tactics among them. When they found it impossible to struggle they humiliated their proud heads, and did all that they could to win the deputy's friendship, or at least his good will, to beg a few of the crumbs of favor, so that they might not be wholly at the mercy of their implacable enemies. They well knew by experience that if this happened, they were liable to all kinds of annoyances, and sometimes to the guard-house, since each party excelled in letting the star of the morning witness their _dissipations_.

Owing to this state of affairs, though the general inclined toward the Casina party, he had not consented to the others being maltreated, and he had even gone so far as to leave in their hands certain offices which were in the gift of the state, and this stirred up the wrath of Don Servando's friends, and made them so indignant that they secretly murmured against the count, and even proposed to "pay him off" when the suitable occasion came.

Thus it was that as the horizon was now darkened by a second deputy, who they hoped would be absolutely in their interests, and tear up by the roots Don Martin's influence in the _concejo_,[52] at least for a long season.

It was for this reason that Don Servando had the keen foresight to lodge him in his house, in order that neither Don Martin nor any of Don Martin's friends could call upon him.