Chapter XI

"FELLOW CITIZENS: the cry of liberty raised in Cadiz re-echoes all over the peninsula. Citizens, be proud! be proud of the name of liberals! The sun of liberty has at last pierced through the fogs of tyranny which have dimmed it for so many centuries, and it shines more gloriously bright than ever before, ready to blot out the miserable traces of a deadly and spurious brood...."

These and other similar metaphors the hirsute Marroquin was shouting from one of the balconies of the editorial office of _La Independencia_. He was surrounded by about half a dozen red banners, and his face was distorted by emotion, and his hands were tremulous. At his side could be seen some of his comrades, all rather pale, though not as pale as he. Now and then the orator turned to them as though demanding their concurrence, and this was for the most part generously granted, all murmuring, in a low voice, at the end of each period. _bravo! bravo!_ and other exclamations which imparted a new and powerful inspiration to the professor for continuing his harangue to the masses.

The masses, packed together in the Calle del Lobo, were listening with open mouths, and with their shouts and acclamations were likewise filling him with new spirit.

When at last all his astronomical metaphors were exhausted, and he had nothing more to say, he gathered all his forces and screamed in a stentorian voice:--

"Citizens! Long live liberty!"

"_Vivaaaaa!_"

"Long live the sovereign people!"

"_Vivaaaaa!_"

And now, having finished his discourse, he withdrew from the balcony.

A voice shouted from the street:--

"Down with property!"

"_Abajoooo!_"

The throng again started on its march, and in a short time Marroquin and all his comrades had joined it, raising aloft a tremendous blue standard on which could be read these words:--

"IMMEDIATE ABOLITION OF RELIGION AND THE CLERGY!"

All was tumult, noise, and gayety on that day, the thirtieth of September, in the capital of Spain. Brass bands marched through the street, playing patriotic airs; all the balconies (especial pains were taken that there should be no exceptions) were decked with variegated hangings; the church bells pealed forth a hypocritical jubilee; triumphal arches were built in all haste on the principal streets to receive the conquerors of Alcolea, the emigres and martyrs of the revolution; numerous patriotic crowds rushed through the city, ready at any instant to listen to the words of all the orators, more or less improvised for the occasion.

The one which Marroquin had joined was not the least noisy and enthusiastic.

Miguel was informed of its exploits by his ancient professor, Don Juan Vigil, the chaplain of the Colegio de la Merced, whom he met a few days afterwards in the street.

"You have triumphed. _Barajoles!_ God knows I am proud of you and other good friends whom I have had in the thick of the affair. The only thing that I regret is the excesses, don't you know? the excesses against our Holy Mother, the Church.... In front of the house passed that hog of a Marroquin at the head of a regular mob; I saw that you were not with him, and I congratulate you for not being mixed up with such rude people.... He had a card on which was printed, _Down with religion and the clergy!_ He appeared in front of the college, and began to wave the flag, bellowing like a calf: 'Death to the priest! Down with the night-hawks!'"

"I was standing behind the blinds, and _barajoles_! I felt strongly like going down into the street and giving the hog a good basting!"

Miguel could not restrain a smile as he remembered the slaps which, in days gone by, the priest had given him, and, lest the reason for his smile should be misinterpreted, he hastened to say:--

"Don't you remember, Don Juan, the caning which you gave me one day for having shouted during recess time, _Viva Garibaldi_?"

"Certainly I remember. And you did not thank me for it, I wager?"

"Not at all."

"That is the way! Do your best to inculcate in your pupils sound ideas of religion and morals, direct their steps in the path of virtue, correct their faults with paternal hand, and then when they become men they do not even thank you for all your vigilance!"

"Let us not dispute about that, Don Juan; for that I thank you with all my heart; but the canings, paternal as they may seem, I shall never feel grateful for--not a shilling's worth!"

"That is all right; I won't say anything more about the matter; the greatest reward for my cares is to see you an earnest man, and well received in society.... But, by the way, you can't imagine the sensation that this devil of a Brutandor gave me the other day. I was walking down the Calle de Alcala, with the purpose of witnessing the entrance of the leaders of liberty (as you call them now). I was accompanied by the mayordomo and two pupils, when I saw in the procession, lounging in a barouche in which rode two generals in full uniform, my Brutandor, saluting the people as though he were an emperor!... _Ave Maria Purisima!_ I said to myself, making the sign of the cross; I could scarcely believe the evidence of my own eyes. Of course I knew that this clown mixed in politics, and that he had slobbered a few articles in the papers, although I always imagine that they are about as much his as the compositions that you used to write for him in school; but how could I ever imagine that I should be destined to behold him transformed into a person of importance, riding underneath the triumphal arches as though he had just been conquering the Gauls or overcoming the Scythians? And I declare the idiot was swelling up, swaying round in the barouche, as though he had ridden all his life in one!"

"You have always been unjust toward Mendoza, Don Juan. More portentous things than that remain to be seen."

"I believe you, even if you don't take your oath on it. If these are the men by whom you expect to regenerate the country, I have no doubt that I shall see him very soon made into mince-meat."

And cursing the glorious revolution, and scorning in the person of Brutandor the whole confraternity, he took a most friendly farewell of Rivera, for whom he had never ceased to feel a genuine fondness.

Little had Miguel cared for the revolutionary movement, although he figured as one of the most earnest adepts of democratic doctrines. The cultivation of his mind by an incessant devotion to the best reading, and his domestic life, took too much of his attention for him to give to politics more than a very small part of his energies; the very journal, the management of which he had taken hold of with enthusiasm, began to bore him; the everlasting polemics, the disgusting phraseology of the leaders, soon wearied him, and he longed for the time to come when he could resign his position, and give himself altogether to more serious and useful labors.

He was happy in his home life, but not in the way that he had expected to be. For he had imagined before he was married that love and the joyful experiences which love would bring would be sufficient to fill his life absolutely and entirely, without leaving him time or desire for other things. And to discover that love occupied in his life a place apparently accessory or secondary, and that he was constantly occupied in other pursuits, some pertaining to his outward life, others to his studies and thoughts; that a slight disappointment would annoy him, and any inappropriate word vex him as much as before; that time and again he would return home from the cafe stirred up by some discussion, and his wife's caresses were not enough to calm him,--all this surprised him, and he was obliged to confess that domestic life had to take a place subordinate to other influences and pursuits.

Maximina herself had sometimes to suffer for the outside annoyances caused by others; when he was in an irritable frame of mind, it took a very slight annoyance to upset him; and although he was conscious of his unfairness, he nevertheless did not fail to speak his mind to his wife when the neatness of his room, or of his linen, or any trifling detail was not up to the mark.

To be sure, as soon as he saw her eyes fill with tears, he was sorry, and immediately gave her a loving embrace and many kisses. As for Maximina, as soon as she felt her husband's lips on her face, all her griefs would fade away as if by magic; so that their quarrels--if such a name can be applied when one does the disputing and the other makes no reply--never lasted more than a few minutes.

In a word, as our hero suffered from the complaint, which among children is called _mimos_, or--what amounts to the same thing--as he was accustomed to see his wife constantly sweet-tempered, affectionate, and patient, it never once occurred to him that she could be anything else, and for that very reason he could not appreciate the value of that peace and home comfort which so many men seek in vain.

Maximina, on the other hand, enjoyed a happiness almost celestial. The presence of her husband, with whom she each day fell deeper in love, was sufficient to keep her in a state of felicity which shone in her eyes, and was manifested in all her words and movements. When he was in the house, she could scarcely take her eyes from him; she would follow him about wherever he went; she even liked to watch him when he was washing and dressing himself. Miguel used to make sport of her on account of this constant pursuit; occasionally when he was in bad humor he would say:--

"Come now, leave me, for I am going to get dressed."

And he would make believe shut the door; but she would respond with such beseeching eyes:--

"For Heaven's sake, don't drive me out of your room, Miguel," that he could not help smiling, and, taking her by the hand, he would put her down in a chair as though she were a child, saying:--

"Very well; but don't you move from there."

When he was away from home, he was never for a single instant absent from her thoughts; when she had to talk with the maid-servants, she would always manage to refer to him directly or indirectly. If she gave orders to have the mirrors washed, it was so that _he_ might not notice that they were soiled; if she consulted her cook book, it was to learn how to make some dish that _he_ liked; the clothes that she was mending were _his_, and _his_ was the chain that she cleaned with powder, and the silk handkerchief which she sent her maid to wash, and the shirts which she sent out to be done up, because she did not feel that she was able to rival the laundryman, though her will was good.

The only little clouds that crossed the horizon of her happiness was her husband's unreasonable fretfulness, which seemed to increase. Sometimes she would say, with tears in her eyes:--

"I was worried about to-morrow, because for the last five days you have been scolding me!"

Miguel, grieved as always to see her weep, fondled her, and would return to his usual serenity and content.

Nevertheless, there was one cloud larger and blacker than the others, and the cause of it was the fact that on the second floor of the same house lived the widowed Countess de Losilla with her two daughters of twenty-three and twenty-four years old, six and seven years older respectively than Maximina. Cards, bows on the stairway, and smiles from the balcony brought about an exchange of calls, and finally there sprang up a very cordial friendship between the young ladies and the bride.

If not exactly pretty, they were rather handsome, to say the least: the older, Rosaura, a brunette with coarse features, and handsome though too prominent black eyes; the other daughter, Filomena, was very slender, and had a pale complexion, green eyes, a strange and mischievous look, and reddish gray hair. This young lady had a certain amount of forwardness unbecoming her sex and education, and this pleased the men even more than her figure.

Miguel enjoyed keeping up a glib conversation with her, and it amused him to see with what unrestraint and ease the girl slid over all obstacles, and what skill she displayed in making retorts, and giving her phrases the meaning that she desired.

And it must be said that when they came on dangerous ground they several times narrowly escaped a conversation of exceedingly questionable taste. When such a skirmish of wit began, Maximina used to walk up and down the balcony with Rosaura; although she smiled, it was evident that she did not approve. When she and her husband were alone afterwards, she said nothing about it, but the way in which she spoke of Filomena showed that she felt no great esteem for her.

"Well, in spite of her boldness and her masculine ways," Miguel used to say, "she is a nice girl ... much better than her sister, according to my way of thinking."

Maximina said nothing, so as not to contradict him, but she had her own very decided opinion. A vague feeling of jealousy, for which she could not fully account, contributed toward making her feel an antipathy to her.

Thus matters stood, when, one morning Miguel, lying back in an easy-chair in his study, was tranquilly listening to Maximina, who, seated on a stool at his feet, and leaning her shoulder against his knees, was reading aloud from _Adventures of the Squire Marcos of Obregon_, written by Vicente Espinel. While the young wife was reading, he was playing with the braids of her hair, which she wore loose in the house for his special pleasure.

The reading could not have been much to Maximina's taste, judging by the careless and inattentive way in which she modulated her voice.

The novels which she liked were not those where everything that takes place is commonplace and prosaic, but another sort, the plot and extraordinary action of which piqued her curiosity.

Thus almost all the books brought by her husband for her to read made her tired and sleepy, and it surprised her that he praised these, and called those that she liked pestiferous.

She had just finished reading one chapter, terribly heavy for her, when suddenly, turning her head around and giving him a look which was half innocent and half mischievous, she asked:--

"Do you like this?"

"Very much indeed."

"I thought so; when a book does not please me nowadays, I always say to myself: 'How fine it must be!'"

She said these words with such ingenuousness and such a graceful resignation that her husband, laughing heartily, took her head between his hands and kissed her enthusiastically.

The young wife, encouraged by this caress, joyfully began to read another chapter.

She must have been about half through it, when she suddenly paused and uttered a slight _ay!_ in such a peculiar intonation that Miguel was surprised; he started up and could see that his wife's face was flushed and full of an almost mystic joy.

"What is the matter?"

"I just felt ... as though something ..."

"What was it?" he asked, although he knew perfectly well what it was.

"As if a little, wee foot gently touched me."

"That is nothing strange."

Maximina did not care to read more; she laid the book on a chair and knelt down in front of her husband: they began to talk eagerly about their child.

"See here! how do you know that it is going to be a boy, and not a girl?"

"Because I want it to be a boy."

"But now _I_ want it to be a girl, and like you.... But do me the favor to get up, because, if any servant should come in and surprise you in this attitude, it would be very ridiculous...."

"No, no; I don't want ..."

At that moment steps were heard at the door, as Miguel had feared, and a voice, that was not a servant's, called out:--

"Can I come in?"

Maximina was on her feet in a flash.

"Walk right in!"

Filomena entered in her morning gown, with her hair in studied disarray, and her body _submerged_, if such an expression be permitted, in a magnificent blue silk morning gown trimmed with white lace.

Miguel had never been able to persuade his wife to dress in such an elegant and sumptuous fashion at home; the poor child did not enjoy putting on dresses that were for ornament rather than use, because, as she said, it made her feel bad to wear a new suit merely to go in and out of the kitchen.

"I am afraid that I am disturbing you," said the young lady, casting a malicious glance at Maximina's confused and blushing face.

"No, no; not at all," she replied, growing still more confused.

"One has to act with great circumspection toward newly married people.... But then, you are not among the softest. I came in without ringing, because the servants had left the door open. But if I am disturbing you I will go.... I have known the eleventh commandment this long time."

That light and slightly insolent tone amazed and wounded the little provincial girl more and more each day.

"On the contrary, at that very moment, we were talking about you," said Miguel, in the same light and jesting tone, perfectly intended to convey the idea that he was prevaricating.

"Man alive! what are you telling me?" she rejoined, ironically. "Well, I have come," she added, sitting down in an easy-chair and crossing her legs, "to ask you if you will let Maximina go with us to the opening of the Royal; we have a box...."

Maximina gave him a look, signifying that he should say _no_; but either because he lacked the wish or the courage, he replied:--

"A thousand thanks.... There she is."

Filomena looked at Maximina, and she, not having the strength to refuse or to make an excuse, made an ambiguous gesture, which the countess' daughter interpreted as an acceptance.

"Very good; at eight sharp we will call for her. You can come to our box, also, if you like; or, perhaps you may like to improve the opportunity for a little dissipation."

"Filomena! for shame!"

"Yes, yes; how virtuous you are! Any one who trusts in you must be fresh!"

And jumping up, she began to play with the paper-cutter, the paper-weight, and all the objects that lay on the table, among others a box of cigars.

"To see what cigars you smoke!... Man! what little bits of ones! what cunning ones! Are they mild?"

"Rather."

"Come now, I should like to try 'em."

And without any hesitation she took a "puro," and bit off the end. Miguel laughed, and handed her a lighted match.

"I have a very clear head," she replied, giving a bold stare at Maximina.

But after four puffs she threw away the cigar, saying:--

"Horrors! What detestable cigars you smoke! They taste as if they were from Cordova!"

"You little hypocrite! It makes you squeamish!"

Filomena shrugged her shoulders, and began to run over the books in his library, naming them aloud:--

"_Works of Moliere_ ... _Descartes_; _Discourse concerning Method...._ Method of what?... _Gil Blas de Santillana!_ Ouf! how dull that book is! I could not get half through it. Haven't you any of Octave Fueillet's novels? No? Then you show very poor taste.... _Plato: Dialogues._ _Goethe: Faust._ I should like to take this book, Miguel, because I only know the opera, and I am very much interested in the argument.... _Stuart Mill: Logic...._ _Saint Thomas: Theodicea._ _Lope de Vega: Comedias...._ _Balzac: Physiology of Marriage...._ I have read that book; it has some very delicate and true observations.... Haven't you read it, Maximina?"

Maximina was dumfounded.

"That is one of the books that Miguel has forbidden me to read."

Filomena fixed her eyes on him, and smiled in a peculiar way, as though to say, "I understand you."

Then suddenly, with the vivacity and ease which marked all her movements, she left the bookcase, opened the parlor door, and went in. Maximina and Miguel followed her. She sat down at the piano and began to give a powerful rendering of a polka. Before she had played it through she jumped up, and went to the _entredos_, where there were two great pots of flowers, and buried her face in them again and again, breathing in the fragrance with ecstacy.

"Oh, what lovely flowers! Did you buy them?"

"No; my sister-in-law Julia sent them to me."

"I am going to give you a slip," said Miguel.

"No; it is a shame to mutilate a growing plant."

"It won't mutilate it. I am going to make you a little bouquet. Maximina, bring me some thread and a pair of scissors."

The young wife went for what he wanted, and handed them to him gravely, without saying a word. Then she went and sat down on the sofa, and from there watched the arrangement of the bouquet.

While this was proceeding, Miguel and Filomena kept up a constant warfare of repartees, in which the young lady showed sovereign freedom, and he very little respect for her.

Maximina listened to what they said, perhaps without understanding a word; but the expression of her sweet eyes kept growing more and more grave and thoughtful.

Finally Miguel handed the young lady the bouquet, with a gallant smile. She accepted it with a smile of thanks.

"For this gallant action I forgive you for all the saucy things that you have said to me. _Caramba!_ it is already eleven o'clock!" said she, consulting the clock that stood in front of the mirror, "and mamma told me to make haste! _Adios_, Miguel! see you later, Maximina!"

And she flew from the room like a rocket, and opened and shut the outer door herself. The keen and somewhat mocking glance which she gave Maximina as she went out showed that she had an inkling of what was passing through her mind at that moment.

The young wife started to rise; but when she saw how swiftly Filomena was taking her departure, she sat down again, and remained there with her arms by her side, her head bent over, and her eyes on the floor. Miguel was looking at her out of the corner of his eyes, and understanding perfectly what that attitude signified: he hesitated for several minutes before he threw his arm around her.

"What is the matter?" he asked, drawing nearer and sitting down by her side.

"Nothing," she replied, lightly lifting upon him her sweet eyes dimmed with tears.

"Oh, what a little goose! Jealous of that impudent creature!"

"No, no! I am not jealous," rejoined the girl, forcing herself to smile. "Only I somehow felt a pain without knowing why.... I was so happy till a moment ago!"

"And you are now just the same as you were, sweetheart!" he said, embracing her. "Isn't it true that you are?... Tell me yes!... A few jokes with that shameless girl--are they sufficient to destroy all your happiness? That isn't common sense...."

It needed a few more words to banish his wife's painful impression; and then, wiping her eyes, she exclaimed with a trembling voice torn from her very heart:--

"If you knew, Miguel, how I loved you!"

After their reconciliation they went out of the parlor with their arms about each other.