Chapter XXIX

While they were in this destitute and most melancholy situation, it came to pass one afternoon just as he had come in from the printing-office that the bell rang. Juana announced that a very old _caballero_ wanted to speak with him. He sent word for him to come in, and instantly there appeared in his study the old apothecary Hojeda.

"Don Facundo!" he cried, with genuine joy.

"It is I, Miguelito; it is I. I am perfectly furious! Can't you see it by my face? I must give you a regular scolding. Who would have thought that you, degenerate scion, should be tramping through this blessed world of ours, hunting for a situation, and never have remembered an old friend like me! I know very well that I am a poor old man who is not good for anything."

"That is not so, Don Facundo; that is not so.... It is because our professions are so unlike.... Besides, I was afraid that mamma would find out...."

He could not give an excuse. The truth was that he had forgotten the saintly old man.

"No use, my dear fellow, no use; you were ungrateful.... You forget those who love you, and go and ask favors of men who did not even know your father."

"You are right...."

"Well, then, I have scolded you sufficiently. Let us come to what interests us more closely at present. I have come to offer you a place in the bank of Andalucia. For more than a month I have been begging it for you. At last, this very day, they put it at my disposition. Salary, sixty duros a month. Will you take it?"

Miguel's only answer was to squeeze his hand violently. After a moment he exclaimed, with his eyes full of tears:--

"If you only knew, Don Facundo, how opportunely this comes!"

"Haven't you any money?"

"Not a peseta!"

"Haven't you found anything to do?"

"Yes; that of assistant proof-reader in the printing-office just below here."

"How much salary?"

"Three pesetas a day."

"Jesus! Jesus!" exclaimed the apothecary, raising his hands to his head and remaining in a thoughtful attitude.

He had the delicacy not to ask him a question about his ruin. Nevertheless, Miguel of his own accord told him all, even to the smallest particulars. When Don Facundo had heard the whole story, he said:--

"See here, Miguel, I am going to ask a favor of you."

"You shall!"

"I want you to accept these six thousand reals[62];" and he laid the bills on the table. "I am an old bachelor: the money that I have is amply sufficient."

"Don Facundo, I cannot...."

"I demand it in the name of the friendship that bound me to your father."

There was no way of declining it.

"Besides, you must give me your word that if the sixty duros a month are not sufficient for your living expenses, and you find yourself in a tight place, you will come to me first of all.... I will not leave the house unless you promise me."

The brigadier's son gave the promise. Then he called in Maximina, and the three talked a long time about various matters. Don Facundo seemed to lose his wits over the baby. When it came the time for him to take his departure, Miguel seized him by the hand, and said with emotion:--

"Don Facundo, I give up trying to tell you what is passing through my heart at this moment. I will simply repeat what I said once before: _You are a great personage_."

"Miguelito, if you persist in saying these foolish things, I will never come to your house again."

"Then what name do you want us to give those who come only when there is some misfortune to alleviate?"

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.

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