Chapter XIV

Miguel had for some time been planning to gather a few friends at his house to celebrate, not only his marriage, but also the early prospect of an heir.

Although he did not confess it, he also flattered himself with the idea of showing them his suite, which, now entirely furnished, was like a silver cup, all bright and new and glorious to see; and there was also the boyish, though very pardonable, vanity of making his appearance before society as a hospitable housekeeper and the head of a family.

Maximina, on hearing the plan, was troubled and confused; it had never entered into her calculations to "do the honors" of a reception, especially as her husband had assured her that such a thing on their part would be presumptuous.

Whenever Miguel took her out for the evening to the house of any of their friends, she always felt constrained and awkward, without knowing what to say or do, and not taking her eyes from him, so that she might get courage. What would it be now when she would be obliged to greet everybody, to say to each some pleasant word, and to foresee and anticipate their every desire?

"Oh, Miguel! I should die of mortification."

He laughed at her timidity, and even found an additional incentive for his plan at the thought of seeing his wife, so girl-like, so innocent, and so timid, "officiating as senora."

At first he thought of having a breakfast, but soon gave that up because their dining-room was only large enough to seat a dozen guests.

Then it occurred to him to give an afternoon tea, which was a form of entertainment very fashionable at the time; but even this seemed too small to Miguel.

After many hesitations he made up his mind that it should be a 'reunion' or 'soiree,' with a lunch of preserved oranges. The excuse for it should be to hear the reading of a drama which one of the _Independencia_ staff, Gomez de la Floresta, had written, and which had not yet been put upon the stage on account of the cabals of Ayala, Garcia Gutierrez, and other small fry, who ruled the theatres with a high hand, and "monopolized them."

"But didn't you say that this play was very dull, and that you had been bored to death when you heard it?" asked Maximina.

"That is the very reason. At this kind of 'reunion' it is absolutely indispensable that the thing read should be bad, so that all that follows after the reading may seem excellent to the guests. With this drama you can bring on champagne that cost only thirty reals, and it will be drunk like nectar."

Maximina did not understand very well this logic of her husband's, and she looked at him with very wide eyes; but seeing that he added nothing to make it clearer, she went to another subject,--that of the invitations.

"Whom would you invite?"

"Provisionally, mamma and Julia."

"Good; and then?"

"Cousin Serafina."

"Who would escort her?"

"Let Enrique accompany her."

"Shall we invite Eulalia?"

"Certainly; but I warn you that she will not come: her husband cannot abide me."

"And the De Rimirez family?"

"There is nothing against it."

"Asuncion?"

"Certainly."

Maximina hesitated a moment, then grew more serious, and said hastily:--

"And those ladies up stairs, for example?"

A slight smile hovered on Miguel's lips, and he replied:--

"As you please."

"Aunt Anita,[33] of course."

"Yes; I should be glad to see your Uncle Manolo here."

"And what gentlemen shall we have?"

"That will be my part."

"Shall you invite the men on the paper?"

"We will see; according as the cloth holds out."

"And Carlitos?"

"Yes; it will be his duty to illuminate the 'reunion on all disputed points."

"And Mendoza?"

"Could we think of leaving out the most precious ornament?... But then, he is very much engaged just at present with his marriage and politics."

This business of the invitations having been settled, and it having been decided that certain letters should be written and certain calls made, Maximina remained for some time pensive and melancholy.

At last, taking her husband's hand and looking at him lovingly and sadly, she said:--

"I am sure that I am going to disgrace you, Miguel.... I am not used to these things. _Virgen Maria!_ how much I would give to be like one of those elegant and lovely ladies that you bow to in the theatres. I don't see how you ever came to marry me, when I am neither beautiful nor able to be compared with the ladies whom you know."

"Hush! hush!" said he, laying his fingers on her mouth. "I am prouder of having married you than if you had been a princess of the blood."

"I know this," she replied, her eyes overflowing with love and happiness; "I know that I am proud because I am your wife, and because you preferred me to any handsome, elegant, and rich woman; me, a poor, good-for-nothing...."

"Hush! hush! or I will bite you," he repeated, kissing her passionately.

During the days that followed, as had been decided, they began their preparations and got out their cards. Miguel went in person to invite his Uncle Manolo.

He lived in a magnificent mansion in the Calle del Pez. Since his marriage he had changed few of his habits. It would be a great mistake to imagine that he had in the least abandoned the solicitous cares which he had always bestowed upon his elegant person: not at all! tinctures and cosmetics followed in harmony with the latest advances of chemistry; all bands and braces and the latest improvements in the science of orthopedics; the best shoemaker in Madrid; the most skilful dentist, the most fashionable tailor and perfumer in the city.

Uncle Manolo was a monument so admirably preserved that the Spanish government might have taken him for a pattern for theirs.

Nevertheless, merciless Time had been making some ravages in that proud edifice, and already some of his marks could be clearly seen on its facade; crow's-feet and wrinkles of every sort each day grew deeper and deeper; in spite of his shoulder-braces he bent a little more forward; his step, also, was not half as light and firm as before. There was no question that the least carelessness or omission in the process of his self-preservation would bring him in ruins to the ground.

Miguel found his Aunt Ana, for variety's sake, by the chimney-corner; and this, although it was rather early in the season for fires. In her, as well as in her lord and master, the ravages of time were also manifest, so much so, that it was more easy to believe that the good lady, once married, had entirely forgotten the care and adornment of her person, since, in so short a period, such terrible decay had occurred.

For _la intendenta_ had now quite the appearance of a septegenarian; her hair was thin and white, her face pale and withered, her waist like a barrel, and her hands dark and wrinkled and repulsive to look upon.

"Good day, aunt! How are you?"

"As usual, my son; and you?" she replied, indolently, in a plaintive voice.

"I am well; and uncle?"

"How should I know how your uncle is?" she replied bitterly. "It makes very little difference either. And your wife? Does her condition trouble her any?"

"Not at all; she is perfectly well."

Miguel noticed that the depreciative tone in which _la intendenta_ always spoke of her husband had increased to an alarming degree; in the inflection of her voice could be perceived not only scorn, but even hatred. He therefore decided to avoid that subject, and to direct the subject to other themes.

But in spite of all his efforts _la intendenta_ constantly found occasion to bring him in, as it were, "by the hair," and make some remark derogatory to her husband; and, naturally enough, this was not at all pleasing to Miguel. Consequently, after announcing the object of his call, he broke off the conversation and went to his uncle's room.

He found him wrapped up in a magnificent dressing-gown, and seated reading his newspaper, while the barber was giving the last touches to the curl of his mustache.

He was not a little rejoiced to see his nephew, with whom he always kept up relations that were more like that of a comrade than an uncle; he forthwith accepted, with the greatest delight, his invitation, and concerning his proposed supper gave him some very wise advice from his own long experience.

"See here! Tell Lhardy to cook you some truffled quails, such as he sent a few days ago to the house of the Swedish minister, and some stuffed river pike, with a gravy of cream of soft-shelled crabs such as I ate at the De Velez ball. Beside this, have anything that you like. I will advise you that you ought to get your wines at Pardo's, on the Calle del Carmen. Ask for _Margot_ ten years old, and tell Pardo that you are my nephew, so that he won't take advantage of you.... I give you the hint that you ought to warm it a little before inviting your guests into the dining-room. Tell him that you want such champagne as I always order. Don't buy any sherry: I will send you a couple of dozen bottles from a cask which I had as a present! it is the best I ever drank.... But, however, I will come round to your house on the day of your supper, to see that everything is going all right."

After the barber had been dismissed, Miguel was anxious to hear from his uncle something about his domestic life, since _la intendenta's_ aggressive words did not pass from his memory. He began by circumlocutions so as to bring the conversation to the point desired; but when he reached it, his Uncle Manolo restrained him with a gesture full of dignity.

"Not a word about my wife, Miguel!"

He majestically extended his arm, scowled terribly, and his perfumed locks waved above his immortal head.

Miguel understood well by signs that the relations between his uncle and aunt could not be very cordial, and he made up his mind to watch them in silence.

"Come to breakfast," said Senor Don Manolo de Rivera, looking at his watch. "You will breakfast with us, will you not?"

"I have just had breakfast, uncle."

"Very well; then come and see us eat, and we will go out together."

They went to the dining-room, where the senora was waiting them, and husband and wife sat down at opposite sides of the table, while the nephew ensconced himself in a chair not far from them.

But one thing instantly threw him into a state of stupefaction, and that was to see beside his uncle's plate, on the cloth, a large and magnificent six-shooter.

And his amazement increased when he saw his uncle push it away a little as though it were the tumbler, the napkin-ring, or any other of the indispensable paraphernalia of the service; and still more, to see his aunt pay no attention to it, but begin calmly to eat her boiled eggs as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

Our hero's imagination began to whirl faster than a wheel, and he was lost in a sea of conjectures; but he did not have the courage to ask what it all meant, although his curiosity was terribly piqued: he understood that such a question would be indiscreet. Not that he gave up the idea of finding out, but merely postponed it till a more fitting occasion.

Breakfast was finished without anything happening to require the use of the deadly weapon which Senor de Rivera kept at his right hand; and this might have been expected, since at one o'clock in the day it is not common for robbers to break into houses.

The conversation was general, although the two elders seldom addressed each other, Uncle Manolo especially, taking evident pains completely to ignore his wife.

She, on the other hand, kept caroming phrases at him indirectly wounding and pinching him, while talking with Miguel.

The chivalrous _caballero_, when the charge hurt him, would give a wrathful look at his sweet enemy; and as she managed very cleverly to avoid it, he would shake his head in sign of wrath, and make an expressive face at his nephew, and then give his attention to what was in front of him.

When breakfast was over, Miguel took leave of his aunt very courteously, and after going back to his Uncle Manolo's room to help the old man put on his coat, they went into the street together.

As soon as they were fairly out of doors, Senor Rivera's ill-humor and the melancholy that had grown upon him during the last third of the meal vanished as by magic; he pulled out his case, gave Miguel a cigar, and lighted another, beginning to puff with satisfaction, while they were passing along San Jeronimo Avenue.

Miguel, however, could not keep the revolver out of his thoughts, and he was possessed to unravel the mystery concealed in it. When they had turned the corner of the Calle de la Puebla, he stopped a moment, and asked him boldly:--

"See here, uncle, though you may call me indiscreet, I am going to ask you a question, because I can no longer stand the torment of curiosity.... What the deuce is the meaning of that revolver that you had beside your plate while you were at breakfast?"

On hearing this, the _ex-gentil caballero's_ face once more darkened; he bent his head until his beard touched his breast, and began to walk on again without saying a word. After a considerable time he heaved a deep and most pitiable sigh, and began to speak in a low voice:--

"You must know, Miguel, that for some months past my life has been a hell! My wife (who, parenthetically, is the most loathsome woman that God ever put into the world) has taken it into her head to be jealous of me! Would you believe that such a piece of trumpery, an old shoe, has the slightest right to be jealous of a man like me? Does it not seem to you that I have done enough in burdening myself with her?

"Now, instead of thanking me for the sacrifice that I made in marrying her, she is foolish enough to believe that I ought to adore her, to be dying with love for her. And as this is the height of absurdity, and cannot be, she is eating out my very soul. When I get up, when I lie down, when I go out of the house, when I come in, when I eat, and when I sleep, never can I enjoy an instant's peace; above all, at meal-time she has been making such a martyr of me that I cannot eat half as much as I ought, and even then it troubles me to digest it. I cannot go on in this way without danger of losing my health. Great evils require heroic remedies; one day I took the revolver, and said to her: 'If at table you say another word to disturb me, I will put an ounce of lead into your head.'

"That was a happy idea, for since that time she has not said a single word more, and to-day only by taking advantage of your presence did she make a few indirect insinuations. My servant has been charged, when setting the table, to place the revolver by my plate.... Perhaps you will imagine that she is jealous of some definite person, and that I am doing wrong not to break loose from this person, and thus avoid all occasion for torment; but there is nothing of the sort. Each day she is jealous of some different woman, and never once hits the truth. Man alive! to show you how stupid she is, I will tell you that day before yesterday a good lady, whom I happened never to mention to her, sent me a couple of dozen tarts; and she, without any more ado, flung the platter on the floor, and began to berate the servant like a sardine-woman. Tell me now if I don't need patience, and if it would not have been better for me to have had all the bones in my body broken than marry this calamity!"

Uncle Manolo ceased speaking, and continued silent for a long time, brooding over his sad thoughts. Miguel dared not disturb them, since he knew too well that it was hopeless for him to offer him any advice. Finally, that magnanimous man, richer every day in tribulations, stopped again, and asked his nephew, with severe intonation:--

"Tell me, Miguel, don't you know any place now infested by the cholera or any other contagious disease?"

"No, uncle; I do not," replied Miguel, struggling hard not to laugh. "What a strange idea! Do you wish to murder your wife?"

"Man! no, of course not to murder her. I only thought in any case of letting nature have its perfect work.... But could I have a blacker fate? Just imagine! I learn from a medical friend that Madrid is full of fevers and pneumonia, caused by the bad custom of riding on the Prado in September. Well now, after many entreaties, and 'making myself into syrup' to accomplish it, I succeeded in getting my wife out to drive with me several evenings. 'Come now,' I said to myself, 'if she does not get pneumonia, she may at least catch a bit of a fever, and as she is feeble...." Do you understand?"

"Perfectly! and did she?"

"Hush, man, hush! The one who caught a catarrh, and had to stay in the house four days was ... myself. I haven't got over my cough yet!"

All this time they were walking along the Calle de Peligros, and they saw coming toward them a young woman not at all bad-looking, since she had bright, rosy complexion and red lips; her dress was attractive and rather scanty. As she passed she smiled upon Uncle Manolo, giving him a very expressive salute.

"Who is that girl?" asked Miguel.

"Don't you know her? She is Josefina Garcia, one of the ballet at Los Bufos."

And after they had walked a few steps farther, he added, with some perturbation:--

"See here, Miguel, if you will excuse me, I will leave you.... At five we will meet at La Cerveceria[34], if you say so."

"All right, uncle, all right," he added, without being able to hide a smile; "go where you please. We'll meet again."

And they took leave of each other, shaking hands.