THE DUKE'S DIVERSIONS
"The Light" the following Thursday was almost entirely devoted to
panegyrics on the Duke of Tornos: the first part gave his biography, the
second a description of his arrival at the fair, and the romantic way he
was accompanied to the town by its most beautiful maidens to the sound
of triumphal song and music; then reference was made to this event in
the verses by one of Don Rufo's sons; and finally there figured in the
third part of the paper two or three striking paragraphs about the
illustrious arrival. "The Youth of Sarrio," on the contrary, only
noticed his arrival in a short, cold article called "Welcome." But the
opportunity was taken to deal a spiteful double-edged thrust at its
enemies. The article described Don Rosendo taking the duke to the Club
and introducing him to its chief members, and this gave the ground for
great fun to be made of Don Rudesindo, Don Feliciano Gomez, Alvaro Pena,
Don Rufo, and other worthy persons. The account excited great
indignation among all Belinchon's friends, and fired their hearts with
revengeful feelings, and its well-turned spiteful phrases caused it to
be universally attributed to Sinforoso Suarez.
What? Was not Sinforoso the chief editor of "The Light," the faithful
friend and follower of Don Rosendo? No; not now. He left his old friends
about a year ago and went over to the enemy's side, which, trading on
his weak disposition and the ruling passion of his soul, put the screws
on, and, seconded by his father and others, told him that there would be
no career open to him as long as he belonged to the Club party, for in
attacking the religious ideas of the place he shut himself out from all
respectable houses and all conquests of the fairer sex, and he was
bribed with the vague prospect of a brilliant marriage with one of
Maza's daughters. So finally, to the surprise and astonishment of the
town, he deserted his friends and patrons, and in the space of
twenty-four hours he exchanged the editorship of "The Light" for a place
on the staff of "The Youth of Sarrio."
This act, however, was not done with impunity, for when Alvaro Pena met
him the next time in the Rua Nueva at midday, he loaded him with
imprecations, and, what was worse, his fist left marks on his face. The
punishment was so humiliating that Sinforoso, who was lacking in neither
pride nor bravery, was filled with a burning desire for vengeance
against his fierce assailant. Arming himself with a bar of iron provided
by his new friends, he lay in wait for the officer at the corner of the
Calle of San Florencio, and gave him from behind a blow on the head
which felled him senseless to the ground. Pena was then carried to his
house, where he had to remain eight days in bed. His friends were
powerless to persuade him to place the matter in the hands of the law;
for being an irascible, impetuous man, he thought that legal proceedings
would be too temperate for him. It was reported that the officer, when
looking at the walls of the cemetery from his window, was heard to say
in decided tones:
"Poor Sinforoso! It won't be many days before he takes his permanent
place there."
These prophetic words caused a great sensation in the town, for the
speaker was supposed to be imbued with the power of fulfilling them. The
effect that they had on Sinforoso is indescribable. As soon as the
officer had sufficiently recovered from his wound to reappear in the
street, Perinolo's son made himself scarce; he was not seen for quite a
month. It was said that he only went out at night, and then with many
precautions. But as everything must come to an end, the young man
gradually relaxed his precautionary measures, as he thought that time
must have tempered the murderous intents of Pena. He gradually grew
accustomed to the danger, and ventured to go out in the daytime; but he
avoided the spots where he might meet his enemy by asking people he met
if they had seen him go by, and in what direction had he gone. The town,
therefore, was in a state of great excitement, as it daily expected that
a catastrophe would ensue.
On a certain afternoon, hearing that Pena had gone to the mouth of the
river with Don Rosendo, our Sinforoso ventured to enter the Cafe Marina
and call for a bottle of beer.
Having taken a seat at one of the tables nearest the door, he noticed
that many of his friends and acquaintances exchanged smiles and knowing
glances; and before many minutes had passed the stentorian voice of the
officer fell upon his ear, for he was carrying on a discussion with his
friends in a dark corner of the cafe. This sound made our journalist
throw himself on all fours, and, gaining the door in this ignominious
position, he quickly took to his heels.
When he was supposed to be well out of reach, one of the party said:
"Alvaro, do you know who was here just now?"
"Who?"
"Sinforoso; he has only just gone."
"Ah! bad luck to him!" exclaimed Pena, rushing more than running past
the tables, and leaving the place in a whirlwind. But where was
Sinforoso? After flying a good way down the street without knowing
whither, the officer was obliged to return to the cafe, mad with anger
and rage. Nevertheless, so much time elapsed without his coming across
his assailant that his anger cooled down, and when three months later he
met him at the end of the pier he contented himself with the
administration of a couple of kicks, and the son of Perinolo thanked his
stars for getting off so easily. The indignation aroused by the upstart
journal was tempered with the hope of annihilating "the reptiles" who
had started it, or at least humiliating them with the reported grandeur
of the duke. During the days succeeding the arrival of the grandee,
Belinchon's friends cast mocking glances at their rivals.
"Tremble, pettifoggers, tremble," their glances seemed to say. Even Don
Rosendo, so magnanimous, so philosophical, so humane, shared their
implacable rage and longed to exterminate his rivals.
The combative spirit which had taken possession of him gradually gained
ground, so much so that all his high-minded desire for progress and his
interest in the moral and material evolution of his natal town were
swallowed up in his burning desire to injure his enemies. This, however,
was only an incidental state of affairs. The depths of his soul
remained as pure and as progressive as when it left the hands of its
Creator.
The Club party formed an impassable barrier around the duke, and
according to the expression of "The Youth of Sarrio," it "sequestered"
him.
He never went into the street without being accompanied by four or six
of the most important members. Opportunities of approaching him nearer
were only afforded to such of the townsfolk as were considered worthy of
the honor, for parties and dances were given in the town and in the
suburbs, and Belinchon's friends were not remiss in arranging picnics
and fishing and hunting expeditions.
Really, life was pleasant in Sarrio in summertime. The duke, whose
coming had been heralded by the arrival of a quantity of luggage, was
supplied with all necessary materials for painting, and, profiting by
the leisure hours at his command, he produced pictures full of marvelous
inspiration. His intercourse with the Belinchon family was of a stiff
and courteous character, perfectly befitting the maintenance of a
requisite distance. His words and his manners were always touched with
an assumed protecting air, which somewhat softened the look of boredom
on his face when in repose.
It was only with Venturita that his dull eyes seemed to brighten a
little, and with her the duke's attention even increased to the point of
a free-and-easy gallantry. When chatting in the family circle his
glance was always turned in her direction, as if she were the only one
capable of understanding him. Gonzalo's wife was the first allowed to
see the creations of his brush, and her admiration was the only person's
he valued; he gave her some French novels to read, and the discussions
on the subjects and authors of these works formed topics of conversation
between them at table, to which the others listened without
understanding. After some days the duke suggested painting Venturita's
portrait. He said that landscape was his chief taste, he had painted
portraits only of the Duchesse de Montmorency and of one of the infantas
of Spain; but now he had a great fancy to paint Venturita just as he had
seen her for the first time in the low-necked blue dress. The young girl
felt immensely flattered: the first portrait a duchess, the second an
infanta, the third herself! Then that particular wish of painting her in
the dress worn the first evening! No doubt she had made a great
impression upon the duke. The sittings were started in one of the rooms
on the ground floor. Don Jaime, as the grandee was called, decided to
paint her reclining on a crimson sofa, with plants and flowers at her
side. Dona Paula, Gonzalo, and Cecilia were present at the first
sitting, but they soon wearied of being there, and during the subsequent
sittings they were alone, the mother only occasionally coming in to
give a glance at the picture and to say a few polite words.
During the fortnight that the painting of the portrait lasted, the
intimacy between the duke and the beauty made great strides. The grandee
even condescended to tell her a great deal of his private history; his
public one was known by everybody. Don Jaime de la Nava and Sandoval
married, when very young, a grand lady united by ties of blood to the
sovereign. The marriage did not prove happy. The passionate love of the
lady, which had led her to overstep the social barrier which separated
her from her husband, soon cooled down; differences arose, a scandal
took place, and a separation ensued. Although Don Jaime descanted on the
privileges and honors of his elevated position, he did not make it all
roseate, for no, he was a victim to fate, and only custom made him
callous to the sufferings to which he was a prey. He had not had time to
recover from the shock of his wife's treatment, but he found some
consolation in making bitter attacks upon the aristocracy of Madrid, and
the highest people of the land were not exempted from the venom of his
remarks. Venturita had thus an opportunity of gaining an insight into
the character of the magnate, and as the duke grew more at home with her
he took the measure of the girl's character. He would turn the
conversation to other topics, as if he felt it was not good form to
pursue depressing subjects; and he talked with perfect naturalness of
the immoral conduct of high-born ladies in Madrid as if it were a matter
of daily occurrence. The Duquesa de So-and-So is now with a certain
banker's son; the Marquesa de So-and-So has gone off to Brussels with
the son of the Russian ambassador; this lady takes up with toreadors,
that one with her groom; the Condesa de So-and-So is proud of having
three lovers at a time; the Baronesa de So-and-So had hers in the
carriage with her, while her husband drove on the box.
In fact, there was not a lady of the court at whom he did not cast some
aspersion, not excepting his wife herself. Once he concluded his
discourse by saying: "And finally, if you want to know what the
aristocracy of Madrid is like, you have only to take the Duchess de
Tornos, who is a conglomeration of all its vices."
Ventura was amazed. She had a vague idea of the duke's bad feeling
toward the duchess, but she had not thought it possible that a husband
could speak like that of his wife under any circumstances.
Nevertheless, she was so fascinated by the importance of the grandee
that she soon began to think that his cynicism and style of conversation
were only according to fashion and "good form."
Then spicy anecdotes followed of a most questionable character, but they
were told in the soft, low voice of the duke, and his lips were
wreathed with a smile of superiority as he said:
"One can tell you these things, as you are married."
It was thus that the young girl gained a panoramic view of the court
world, which she had been so anxious to know. The private life of those
pallid youths with waxed _mostachos_ she had seen driving smart vehicles
in the Castellana, and of those beautiful, proud ladies rolling by in
their carriages, scarcely deigning to cast a careless, scornful glance
at her, now passed before her mind's eye. While only affecting a polite
attention to these details of the world, she was in reality drinking
them in with feverish eagerness, for she had always a nascent desire for
brilliant society, extravagant fancies, and unattainable ambitions.
Thus the Duke de Tornos, inadvertently, and for the mere pleasure of
indulging his bored, wounded state of mind, did more for the corruption
of the young wife's soul in a few days than could have been done by a
whole course of novels.
Because, after all, what the novels say is not true; but the stories of
the duke had only recently taken place, and the people who had played a
part in them were really living persons known by their world; in fact,
to use a common expression, it was real life.
The grandee with his corrupt mind and worn-out body, and the beautiful
country girl anxious to fly to other spheres, doubtless both thought
they had been born to understand each other and to be drawn together
like certain forces in natural science. Venturita centred all her powers
of fascination upon the painter, and she became more engaging every day.
When the duke, raising his eyelids to look at her, evinced any sign of
admiration, her delight suffused her cheeks with crimson, and she was
filled with the deepest scorn for the state of life in which fate had
cast her lot.
Although she did not presume upon the friendliness of the grandee, she
ventured to joke with him a little occasionally, to the great distress
of Don Rosendo; in fact, she knew she was the favorite, and so she
assumed a coquettish manner in his company. The duke meanwhile, in spite
of his assumed indifference for all things in heaven or earth, devoted
an immense deal of attention to his coat, shirts, ties, and, in short,
all that constitutes man's attire; and the variety, originality, and
eccentricity of the costumes in which he appeared were a revelation to
Venturita and a source of wonder to the town. In fact, if she dressed
herself for the duke, he did so no less for her.
It gradually dawned upon Don Rosendo's younger daughter that the
friendship of the duke might be turned to account by augmenting her
father's political influence in the town, as well as by adding lustre
and dignity to the family.
For instance, he might have a large cross.
Those who had one were addressed as "excellency." If her father were an
excellency he would lose the stamp of a codfish merchant, which was an
offense to her. And why should it not come to pass? A person of such
influence as the duke could easily manage it. She had heard that a title
of count or marquis could be bought. A title! And Venturita, without
thinking of her elder brother and sister, lost herself in pleasant
thoughts of one day being addressed as "la senora marquesa," or "la
senora condesa."
But then that husband of hers was such a "boor"! So averse to
interfering with politics or asserting himself at all. Oh! if she were
but a man, what would she not do!
In a short time her friendship and influence with the duke increased to
such a degree that it was noticed not only by the inmates of the house,
but also by outsiders. Don Jaime even went to meet her when coming from
bathing, and walked back with her right across the town, to the great
excitement of the people. The girl nearly died with pleasure at the
thought of the envy of her friends at this mark of favor, for the duke
openly paid her a thousand attentions, and made no secret of admiring
her more than the other members of the family. Gonzalo was secretly
very much annoyed at this friendliness. He had disliked the duke from
the first, and he noticed that the antipathy was mutual, although, as a
man of the world, the duke had assumed a courteous, almost kind
demeanor, which would have disguised his feelings to any but a very keen
observer, or a simple-hearted fellow like Gonzalo. Nevertheless, with
his increased friendliness and ease with the wife there was a decrease
of animosity toward the husband, and his politeness seemed to be of a
sincere character. Knowing that Gonzalo was devoted to sport, he made
him a present of a magnificent gun which had been given him by the Czar
of Russia. Then the grandee frequently invited him to join him in
shooting expeditions, so that their relations became less strained. But
unfortunately an accident occurred which upset them again.
One day, Gonzalo having gone to Lancia on business for his
father-in-law, the duke went off coursing, only accompanied by Don
Feliciano and Don Sanjurjo, the notary; the dogs he took with him
belonged to the house. Then it happened that the harrier Gonzalo thought
most of, having bought him for a high price in England, misbehaved
himself. The fault that he committed was one of the gravest that can be
committed in the exercise of his duty; it was nothing less than dropping
a hare when the duke ran forward to take it from his mouth, so that the
timid creature, only wounded in one leg, escaped into the bracken.
Thereupon the rage of the grandee was so great that, raising his gun, he
fired upon the dog, but the animal, seeing the aggressive attitude of
the sportsman, ran away and got off scot-free.
The duke, in a fury, pursued the animal to put an end to it, but he
could not overtake it. The culprit fled from the scene, and was
invisible for the rest of the day. When the grandee reached home he was
told that the dog had returned, and then Don Jaime, who was still in a
rage, said to the servant:
"Catch that dog, take him out of the town, and shoot him."
The man-servant was thunderstruck. He stood for some minutes in doubt,
and then, cowed by the stern, imperious look of the duke, he bowed
submissively and proceeded to execute the order.
He called the dog, put a chain on him, and taking his gun he left the
house. How little the poor creature thought he was going to his death!
He leaped for joy; he wriggled with delight, and lavished such licks of
affection on the servant's face that the man's eyes filled with tears,
and he cursed the course of action to which he was compelled, for the
beautiful dog was a great favorite of his.
"Heaven's mercy on us! What should he say to Senor Gonzalo when he
heard that his Polion had been killed?"
Just as he was thinking this, Gonzalo appeared round the corner of the
street. He had arrived in the coach from Lancia, and was on his way
home. Seeing the servant, he said with some surprise:
"Where are you off to, Ramon?"
The servant, abashed and frightened, hesitated a few seconds, and then
said:
"To kill the dog."
This reply so astonished the young man that he was dumb with amazement.
"Kill the dog!"
"Yes, senor; the duke gave me the order because he dropped the hare
after catching it."
Gonzalo turned livid.
"How dare he give such a shameless order!" roared the young man, and
snatching the chain so roughly from the servant that he made him
stagger.
Then he strode toward the house, accompanied by the dog, with the
intention of having a violent scene with the duke. But before he reached
home he had time to consider that it would be a breach of hospitality to
quarrel with a guest, and so he contented himself with sending Polion
back to the kennel, and treating the duke somewhat coldly.