Part 26

With this opportune visit, thanks to God, the anxiety of our young friends ended. The sixty duros, carefully husbanded, were sufficient for them to live comfortably. Nevertheless, Miguel did not care to relinquish the idea of the place in the Council of State, and when the examinations were given, he secured one with a salary of sixteen thousand reals; thereupon he resigned his place in the bank, which gave him too much work. With this salary and three or four thousand reals more that he earned by writing articles from time to time for the papers and reviews, he felt himself perfectly happy.

And he was in reality happy. Poverty had more than ever strengthened the cords of love. The cruel rebuffs that society had made him feel caused him to realize that his home was the only place where true happiness was to be found,--a corner of heaven where Maximina played the role of angel.

His love to her did not increase, for that was impossible; but his admiration did. This young wife's lofty spirit had never showed itself so admirable, so worthy of being adored, as during the critical and painful days through which they had just been passing. So great had come to be the love and admiration felt by our hero, that when he found in his study any object that Maximina had left there, he would kiss it tenderly and respectfully, as though it had been a sacred relic.

During the hours that he was free from his duties, he studied passionately. He rarely went from the house. When he did so, it was generally to read in the "Ateneo" the books which he was unable to buy.

"You read here a great deal, friend Rivera," some friend would say, laying his hand on his shoulder.

"It is because I haven't any money," he would reply, with a laugh.

When he returned home at half-past ten or eleven in the evening, his wife would be just about going to bed. That was the happiest time for Maximina. Since the birth of the baby they occupied separate apartments; she slept in a room with two beds, with Juana; he alone, in another chamber. Miguel enjoyed carrying to her room a little lunch, either brought in from outside or something already in the house; for as Maximina was still nursing the baby, who was now fifteen months old, she felt very weary at this time of the day. How great the poor girl's pleasure was to see her husband coming in punctually with a slice of ham or some dainty bit of sweetmeat! If he went to the extravagance of bringing her something expensive, she would say:--

"That must last three days."

And in spite of all his protests, she would insist upon it being divided into three parts.

Miguel watched her eating with a peculiar feeling of rapture; he would offer her a glass of wine, cut the bread for her, and carry away all the dishes. And then in a whisper, so as not to wake the baby, who was sleeping in his crib, they would talk sometimes for an hour and more.

Meanwhile Juana, still dressed, would be sound asleep in a room near the kitchen. Miguel, as he went to his chamber, would waken her (not a very easy task); and she, staggering with sleep, would go to her mistress's room for the rest of the night.

The young man, aged fifteen months, gave them, without being conscious of it, more enjoyment than all the tenors of the opera and the _zarzuela_ combined. He was constantly travelling, if we can allow that term to be applied to his going like a drunken man making _s_'s, from the arms of his father to those of his mother. The tyranny which he exercised in that house was something scandalous. Above all, toward Maximina he behaved in a manner exceedingly boorish, without there being the least reason for him to be offended with her. For though it was very clear that she was the one who from her own vitality furnished him nutriment, not only did he not show her the lofty consideration which she deserved, but he evidently had a preference for Juana, and this was caused by nothing else than the fact that the Guipuzcoana maid made him laugh more with her caresses and dandling of him.

Poor Maximina could not bring herself to believe in this cruel preference. One day after breakfast, as the three were playing with the baby in the corridor, Juana wanted to give proof of it.

"Come, now, go to your mamma," she said to the little one.

But he clung with all his might to her.

"It is evident that he loves you only when he is hungry," said Miguel, making fun of her.

Maximina became grieved and even vexed, and tried to take the child from Juana, but he objected and squealed.

"Come now, see if he won't come to me," suggested Miguel.

"Why not?" As soon as his papa spread open his arms, the capricious infant sprang into them.

"Do you see?" he exclaimed, leaping up in triumph.

Then Maximina, full of sorrow and mortification, the more because her husband and Juana laughed so heartily at her defeat, was going to pull him away by main force. Miguel started to run. Maximina, growing more and more nervous and incensed, trying not to cry, ran after him. At last, unable to overtake him, she went into the study. There Miguel shortly after found her standing up, leaning against the mantel-piece, her eyes hidden with one hand, and evidently crying. He went up to her on tiptoe, laid the baby on the rug, and said to him:--

"There now, go and ask forgiveness of your mamma, and tell her what you have just whispered in my ear: that you love her better than any one else in the world."

At the same time he put the child's mouth to his wife's hand, as it hung by her side.

When she felt her son's fresh, moist lips touching her, the little woman turned her head to look at him: through the tears gleamed in her eyes a smile of love and forgiveness, which it was a shame that that ungrateful little miscreant could not have appreciated.

One night, after dinner, Miguel felt lazy, as was often the case, and did not care to go out. They went to the study, and Maximina began to read the paper. Afterward, when she had taken her seat on her husband's knee, they began to talk, as usual, telling each other about the little events of the day.

"Do you know?" she said, "this afternoon I had a caller!"

"Who was it?"

"A villain!" said the little wife, smiling mischievously.

Miguel could not refrain from a slight frown. He was very jealous, as all men must be who really love, though he tried carefully to hide it.

"Who was the villain?"

The somewhat harsh tone of this question did not escape Maximina.

"The cure of Chamberi."

"The little old man who said mass on the ninth?"

"The very same.... Why didn't you like it that the villain was here? eh, you rogue!" she added, giving him a tender hug.

"And what brought the cure?" asked Miguel, in his turn parrying his wife's question.

"To put us down in his book.... I could not help laughing a little.... I opened the door for him, and he said to me: '_Hola_, child! go and tell your mamma the rector of Chamberi is here.'--'I haven't any mamma,' said I.--'Then tell the lady of the house.'--'I am she,' I told him, half dead with mortification. He began to cross himself, saying, '_Ave Maria! Ave Maria!_ what a little, young thing!' He was still more surprised to know that we had been married two years and three months."

"That's natural enough,--with that smooth, round, baby cheek of yours, you would deceive any one."

"It is absurd; I am not a child any longer: I shall be eighteen next month."

Before going to bed, they put out the lights and opened the balcony window to enjoy for a little while the spectacle of the starry sky.

It was a clear, mild night toward the last of April. As they were on the third floor, and the section of the city where they lived was less built up, they could see more than half of the heavenly vault. As they stood together, Maximina leaning her arm on her husband's shoulder, they silently contemplated for a long time that sight which will forever be the most sublime of all.

"How large and beautiful that star is, Miguel. What a pure, bright light it gives!" said Maximina, pointing to the sky.

"That is Sirius. In the books of antiquity it is said that it used to shine with a red light. However, it is not any greater or more beautiful than the others, except that it is not so far away: it is one of three nearest to us."

"Though Sister San Onofre kept telling us that the earth was a star like those, only still smaller, I can never seem to believe it."

"And so small, Maximina! Each one of the stars that you see is thousands and millions of times bigger than our earth. Our solar system, of which we are the poorest and most insignificant part, belongs to that great nebula that crosses the sky like a white band. Each particle of that dust is a sun around which revolve other worlds, which, like ours, have no light of their own. In order that you may get some idea of its size, let me tell you it is isolated in the heavens like an island and is shaped like a lens; well, then, for a ray of light to travel from one extreme of the longer axis of this lens to the other it takes seventeen thousand years, and yet light travels at the rate of seventy thousand leagues a second!"

"_Madre mia!_ how tremendous!"

"But that is a mere nothing. Our nebula is only one of many others that people space. There are others vastly larger. With the telescope they are constantly discovering new ones. When a telescope of greater power is invented, then the nebulae are separated into stars; but beyond these are other nebulae still, which had never been seen before. If a telescope of still greater power were made, those nebulae, also, in their turn, would be reduced to stars; but then, beyond that, there would be still other nebulae, and so on forever."

"And so there is no end to the sky?"

"That is the supposition."

Maximina remained for a few minutes rapt in thought.

"And are there inhabitants in those other worlds, Miguel?"

"There is no reason why there should not be. Such observations as we can make in our own solar system make it probable that the other stars have conditions of life very like our own.... Do you see that big beautiful star which looks like Sirius? That is Jupiter, one of our brother worlds; but an older brother--fourteen hundred times as big as we are. He is a privileged brother, the first-born, so to speak, of the system. There the day lasts five hours, and the night five; but as he has four moons which are constantly shining, and long twilights, it may be said that nights do not exist there. The same may almost be said of the seasons. Eternal spring reigns over its whole surface. For us that is the symbol or the ideal of a happy existence. Why should there not be inhabitants in that fortunate world?"

The young wife was again silent and thoughtful, and at last she asked:--

"How do those worlds hang in space, and travel forever, and never run into each other?"

"They are sustained, and they live through love.... Yes, through love," he repeated, seeing the curiosity in his wife's eyes. "Love is the law that rules the whole creation: the sublime law that unites thy heart to mine is the same that unites all the beings of the universe, and yet keeps them distinct. We are one in God, in the Creator of all things, but we still enjoy the beautiful privilege of individuality. This great privilege, however, is at the same time our great imperfection, Maximina. Through it we are separated from God. To live eternally united to Him, to sleep in His bosom as the child in its mother's lap, is the constant aspiration of humanity. The man who most keenly and imperiously feels this necessity is the best and most righteous. What is the meaning of self-abnegation and sacrifice? Can it be anything else than the expression of that secret voice which has its seat in our hearts, and tells us that to love one's self is to love the finite, the imperfect, the ephemeral, and to love others is to be united by anticipation with the Eternal. Alas for the man who does not listen to the call of this voice! Alas for him who shuts his ears to the breathings of his soul, and runs in hot haste after transitory things! Such a man will always be a miserable slave of time and necessity...."

Miguel grew eloquent as he went on speaking. Maximina listened to him with ecstatic eyes. She did not absolutely comprehend his words, but she saw clearly that all that proceeded from her husband's lips was noble and lofty and religious, and that was sufficient for her to be in accord with him.

He still went on speaking. At last he suddenly stopped. Both stood in silence, gazing into the immensity of the heavens. A solemn and pure emotion had come over them. In rapt contemplation they listened to the mysterious harmonies of their souls, which, without the aid of speech, by a kind of magnetic power, vibrated from one heart to the other. After a while Maximina said in a whisper:--

"Miguel, would you not like to repeat a Pater Noster?"

"Yes," he replied, tenderly pressing her hand.

The young wife said the Pater Noster with true fervor. Her husband repeated it with equal earnestness.

Never in his life, either before or after, did our hero feel himself nearer God than at that moment.

The night was advancing. The clock in the study struck its twelve silvery notes. They shut the window, and lighted the lamps to retire.

* * * * *

XXX.

In the morning Maximina, after taking chocolate, felt a trifle indisposed. They attributed it to a little indigestion, and took no account of it. All that day she dragged about, feeling wretchedly, but still keeping up. When Miguel came from his office, she had thrown herself on the bed; on hearing the bell she quickly got up, and came out as usual to receive him. Nevertheless, she soon felt obliged to lie down again; she kept getting up to attend to this thing and that, but returned to a lying posture again, now on Miguel's bed, now on her own.

"I am going to call a doctor," said he. Maximina was strongly opposed. The only compromise that he could make was that she would allow him to call one on the next day if she were not better. She absolutely expected to wake up the next day sound and well.

But it was not so.

She awoke with a quick pulse, and Miguel would not hear to her sitting up. He called in an old and experienced doctor that there was in the ward, and he, after taking her pulse and looking at her tongue, declared that she had some fever, but that apparently there was no disorder of the stomach. Miguel, on hearing this, wished to stay away from the office, but his wife was so opposed to it that finally he gave in to her, promising to come home early.

In the afternoon her temperature had risen slightly; still she was calm: only from time to time, as though she felt some oppression, she would draw long, deep sighs.

The next morning the doctor found her decidedly feverish, but he could not as yet decide what was the cause, for the frequent and deep inspirations which he obliged her to take were perfect, and there seemed to be no lung difficulty, and the stomach also was in sound condition. He inclined to think that it was rheumatic fever, for, a few days before, she remembered that she had complained of pains in her shoulder; more than that he could not assure them.

Miguel went to his office, but he returned at two o'clock; the doctor left his clinical thermometer, so that her temperature might be taken from time to time and recorded on a piece of paper.

On the next day the temperature was still higher. The doctor now inclined to the opinion that the fever was nervous, because rheumatic symptoms were not well defined. He prescribed the valerianate of quinine and a potion. Miguel went to the office to report to his chief--nothing more. He stopped, however, to speak with his comrades; among them was one who had studied medicine, although without great success.

"What is the matter with your senora?" they asked him.

"I do not know. The doctor is doubtful whether it is a rheumatic or a nervous fever."

"Man alive! I don't see what one fever has to do with the other," said the medical employe, with self-sufficiency. "At all events pray God, Rivera, that it may not be nervous fever."

Miguel, on hearing these words, felt chilled through. A strange trembling passed over his frame. He made an effort to control himself, and said in a voice that was already changed:--

"The doctor told me to take her temperature often."

"And how does her temperature stand?"

Although he did not know what exact connection the degrees had with the fever, yet, terrified by the words that had passed, he did not dare to say that she had forty-one and a few decimals, and replied:--

"Forty centigrade."

"That cannot be; that would be a very high fever.... Come, friend Rivera, it must be confessed that you know more about philosophy than about taking temperatures."

"Yes, Rivera; you must be mistaken," said another.

He stood rooted to the floor; he grew terribly pale, and was on the point of fainting away.

His companions, noticing his pallor, began to encourage him.

"Man! don't be frightened.... You must have made some mistake. Besides, even if you hadn't, it would not be necessarily fatal."

A companion, to give him still more encouragement, whispered: "Don't mind that pestilent fellow! What does he know about fevers? He never in his life opened a book!"

Nevertheless, he felt a stab in his very heart. He left the Consejos with his face changed, and took a carriage, for he feared that he might faint. He rushed into his wife's room.

"How do you feel?"

"Well," she replied, with a sweet smile.

"Let me take your temperature," said he, hastening to put the thermometer under her arm. His heart beat furiously. Not being able to stay still while the thermometer remained there, he began to walk up and down through the room. At last with trembling hand he took it out, and ran to the shutter, which was closed; he opened it a little way and looked. The temperature had risen a few decimals: it was almost forty-two degrees.

He could not speak a word.

"What makes you so excited about that blessed little tube?" said Maximina. "What is the good of it?"

"I don't know; the doctor sent it to me.... I am going to set down the temperature."

Instead of going to his study, however, he went to his chamber, threw himself face down upon his bed, sobbing.

"They have killed me! They have killed me!" he murmured, while his tears bathed the pillows.

For nearly half an hour he thus lay without ceasing to repeat amid sobs the words: "They have killed me! They have killed me!"

In fact, a stab through the heart would not have had more effect upon him than the frightful idea that had been suggested to him at the office.

At last he arose, bathed his eyes in cold water, and again repairing to his wife's room told her that he was going to notify Don Facundo; for he would not forgive him for not doing so.

As he was going out, the neighbor who lived in the opposite apartment called at the door, to offer her services "for everything, absolutely for everything."

She was an excellent lady, a colonel's widow, whose son was a lieutenant and gave her much sorrow. Although she had only spoken a few words with Maximina on the stairway, it seemed that she was much drawn toward her. Miguel was very grateful to her, and took her into the bedroom, and then immediately set out on his errand.

He felt that he must confide in some one, and therefore he went in search of Don Facundo. As soon as he saw him, he began to weep like a child. The poor senor endeavored to console him as well as he was able.

"You are very impressionable, Miguelito. Who would ever have thought of getting into such a state when the doctor has not said as yet that there was any danger! But, at all events, as you are so much alarmed, it would be a good idea to have a consultation of doctors, even if it were for nothing else than to calm you."

"Yes, yes, Don Facundo; I want to have a consultation!" exclaimed the anxious young man, as though salvation entirely depended on it.

"Very well, I will notify the doctors; you speak with the regular attendant, so that he will not be offended."

Miguel left the apothecary shop, much calmer. When he reached home, Maximina was a little delirious.

"She imagines," said the colonel's widow, "that there is a door open behind the head of the bed, and much cold comes in."

"How do you feel?" asked Miguel, laying his hand on her forehead.

"Well; but a great deal of cold air comes in from that open door."

"You are right; I will go and shut it."

He pretended to do so, and for a time she was pacified. The young man afterward wanted to kiss her; but she would not allow him, saying in great agitation, though in a low voice:--

"How can you be so shameless? Don't you see that this senora is here?"

Not even though she was delirious did the sentiment of bashfulness desert this young creature.

During the afternoon she was very restless, sometimes out of her head.

After her whim about the door she imagined that a number of men had come to get her. When Miguel approached the bed, she would say, in terror:--

"See! see that man who has come to take me away!"

"Never mind, _preciosa_; as long as I am here, no one will take you away!"

Her husband's voice and caresses brought her back to reason as by magic, and soothed her for a few moments.

The widow insisted on staying to watch that night, for it was two nights since either Juana or Miguel had gotten any sleep. The latter went and threw himself down on his bed, charging that if there were the least change, he should be called.

And in fact the widow woke him up about midnight, saying that Maximina refused to take her potion and was very restless.

He immediately arose and ran to her room. His wife, after the struggle that she had undergone with the worthy senora, was in a very agitated state, her face extremely flushed and her eyes wildly rolling. She did not know her husband. He, seeing her in that state, lost all his courage and began to weep. Then Maximina looked straight at him; her eyes soon lost that terrible look of delirium, and she sat up in bed, and leaning over toward the young man asked him:--

"Why are you weeping, light of my life? why are you weeping?"

"Because you have refused to take your medicine, and if you don't, you won't get well."

"I will take it, I will take it; don't cry, for Heaven's sake! Give it to me!"

And she eagerly drank the spoonful that he put to her lips.

"You will not weep any more, will you?" she asked him, anxiously, and on hearing him say "no," she kissed his hand again and again.

In the morning the consultation of physicians was held. One at a time they went in to see the sick woman.

"How tired I am of showing my tongue!" she exclaimed, with a comic gesture which made him laugh in spite of his tribulations.

The doctors could not come to a definite decision as to the seat of the fever; they all were inclined, however, to the opinion that it was in the nervous centre. They were perfectly agreed that at all hazards the temperature must be in some way reduced. For this they prescribed an antipyretic remedy.

Miguel himself went in search of it. Its effect was very quick. Within a few hours after taking it the fever had subsided two degrees; in the morning the thermometer indicated only thirty-nine and a few decimals; her restlessness and delirium had entirely disappeared. She felt so much better that Miguel had no doubt that in four or five days she would be up and about.