GONZALO BECOMES MAYOR
The Belinchon family retired to Tejada to mourn their bereavement in
seclusion for some time.
Dona Paula was mourned, as she deserved to be, by her magnanimous
husband, who, waiving his ideas of progress and reform, was not remiss
in showing signs of grief and affection, which, in my opinion, in no
wise detracted from his public dignity.
It was long before Cecilia ceased to mourn the loss of her mother, to
whom she had been bound as much by ties of sympathy as of blood. She was
more like Dona Paula than any other of the children, although she had
not been the favorite. Pablo, the pet, felt it as much as he was capable
of feeling anything; but, according to report, in a few days he was seen
at full trot on his last purchase in horseflesh, so he could not be said
to mourn very deeply.
But it was particularly on Venturita that the sudden death had a sad and
strange effect. She was so overcome that she was for some days in bed
in a high fever. When she recovered she looked pale and sad, replied
abstractedly when she was spoken to, and in spite of her husband's
entreaties she rarely left her room. This grief, as great as it was
unexpected, was a proof to Gonzalo of the truth of Cecilia and Dona
Paula's continual assertions that Venturita might be wild, capricious,
and vain, but she had a good heart. This was a great alleviation to the
sincere sorrow he felt at the death of his mother-in-law, for the final
and maternal service she rendered him had put the seal to the affection
with which her constant kindness had inspired him.
The Duke of Tornos returned to Madrid shortly after his friend's
affliction.
From thence he corresponded with Don Rosendo, and frequently did him a
good turn in the ceaseless feud that he maintained against his enemies
of the Cabin.
These services were finally crowned by the Grand Cross of Isabel the
Catholic. The grandee forwarded with the diploma the Order set in
diamonds worth not less than 20,000 reales.
Don Rosendo's gratitude and emotion on the receipt of the great mark of
honor can be imagined. As nobody in Sarrio owned the Grand Cross, he had
to go to Lancia for a knight of the Order to complete the honor by
decorating him with it.
And now that he was a knight, he who had professed a certain
metaphysical scorn for all religious observances now joined in the
procession of the parish, so as to carry a light, with the Order on his
breast and the ribbon across his frock coat.
All this was gall and wormwood to Maza's party, and their spite thereat
was let off not only at the Cabin, but in the periodical, in which the
famous founder of "The Light of Sarrio" was made the subject of both
comic and serious attacks.
In some of the fierce and caustic paragraphs one could almost see the
bilious mayor, pen in hand.
For the first time in his life Don Rosendo read the diatribes with no
sensation beyond that of infinite scorn. When the apogee of society is
reached, attacks from pygmies seem more curious than offensive. The
event roused Venturita from her lethargic, gloomy state. One of her
dreams had been realized, and she participated in the pride and glory of
her father, even to appearing sometimes in the town, but, of course,
always in the carriage.
She adopted a haughtier mien, and her languid, grand, ladylike air made
all the ladies of the town nearly die of envy, although they avenged
themselves for her contemptuous manners by calling her, in their hours
of spleen, "The Codfish Princess."
The death of her mother, whom everybody had known "with the
handkerchief tied behind," as they say, had contributed as much as the
Grand Cross of her father to raise the social status of the family, or
rather to make it aristocratic.
Venturita, with her scornful demeanor, her costly costumes, and the
disdainful coolness with which she treated her acquaintances,
effectually avenged the poor woman who had been made to undergo such a
lifelong mortification at the hands of the ladies of Sarrio.
The winter passed away at Tejada--a winter unusually inclement.
Sometimes it rained a great deal, which made it impossible to leave the
house; at other times there was a severe frost; the sky was clear, but
in the mornings the fields looked white with a coating of frost half an
inch thick. All these meteorological phenomena hold charms for those who
love the country. Gonzalo was born to revel in these fluctuations of
Nature. If it froze, he rose early in the morning and, to the
astonishment of the household, he went out into the corridor, where he
washed himself with the water which he had brought from the marble
fountain basin after breaking the ice. Then, donning a light shooting
suit, he took his gun and went off on one of his wonderfully long walks
of sixteen or eighteen miles, without any one hearing him complain of
fatigue afterward.
If it snowed, he put on his waterproof, his high boots, and his fur
cap, and went shooting wild pigeons or hares about the estate. More than
once he fell into one of the reservoirs filled with snow, and it was
only through his extraordinary strength that he managed to get out. And
then the country offered other pleasures unknown in town. The groups of
trees and bushes were pleasant to the eye; the dark green of the
conifera looked clear and bright with the collection of water on their
branches, which the frost soon solidified; the leaves of the magnolias
shone like crystals, and both the face and coloring of Nature were
incessant in their changes, and the forms of the trees and the mountains
were also subject to endless variations.
Even the monotonous pattering of the rain upon the foliage gave a
pleasant, reposeful feeling quite luxurious to those who had nothing to
do out of doors, and who had within all the comforts and luxuries of the
rich. It was pleasant to hear the chirping of the sparrows, who resorted
by hundreds to a large Washingtonia near the house as if it were a great
aviary. It was amusing to Gonzalo to feed the little exotic creatures
that Don Rosendo had on his property after walking over to the cages in
wooden shoes, and it was also delightful to doze in an armchair by the
fireside with a cigar in his mouth and a bottle of rum by his side,
while Cecilia read aloud either an interesting story or some harmonious,
sonorous poetry.
Don Rosendo and Pablo went regularly every day to Sarrio, and came back
to dinner. Don Rosendo occupied himself in directing public opinion
along the path of progress, both moral and material, and in crushing
those "reptiles who grovel in the mud because they are incapable of
rising to the high regions of ideas, and then eject their venom on every
one superior to them in intelligence or virtue"--it is unnecessary to
mention the names of "those reptiles" alluded to in his articles so
frequently by Don Rosendo--and Pablo was engaged in laying siege to the
hearts of several fair strangers who had arrived in the town.
One morning he went out shooting with his brother-in-law, but finding
that the cold spoiled his complexion, he gave up the sport almost
entirely. Besides, Piscis greatly objected to it, for a clever centaur
like him cared for nothing on earth but horses.
In the afternoon, when it rained, Ventura played _tresillo_ with Cecilia
and Gonzalo if she were in a good humor, and if not, the two latter
played _tute_ together, with a child seated on the lap of each; and
although the little girls upset the game every moment by taking up a
card in their tiny hands, the players were so good-tempered that they
merely took them gently from them.
"Be quiet, Cecilita, be quiet; if you show your aunt my cards she will
win."
"Never mind, auntie dear, look at them," said the child, laughing. When
the game was over the elders watched the children make houses with the
cards, while the raindrops pattered on the Chinese windows and the logs
of wood crackled on the hearth. The children had their meals with the
family, and attending to them was an important occupation to Cecilia,
for she had to serve them, to tie their bibs on, give them water, and
see that they did not drop their food. When Gonzalo was at home he
delighted in assisting at this repast and standing like a butler behind
the chairs of his children. Then when they had to be taken up to bed,
Cecilia took one in her arms, and Gonzalo the other, and they carried
them to the room where they both slept. The task of undressing them was
long and complicated. Gonzalo, in spite of his ox-like strength, was as
gentle as a woman in untying their strings and moving their little
bodies from one side to another without hurting them. Sometimes the
hands of the brother and sister-in-law touched each other; then a slight
cloud overshadowed her smiling face, but Gonzalo noticed nothing. When
the little ones were in bed, they smilingly listened to the innocent
prayers which Cecilita said to "auntie." Paulina did not yet know how to
address the Supreme Being, and so she only made the sign of the cross.
While they were going to sleep, papa and auntie had to remain close by
the bedside without moving. If they talked together, the children were
disturbed, and were a long time getting to sleep. Therefore they tried
to keep silent, or they only exchanged a few words in low voices.
Cecilita could not sleep without holding one of her aunt's ears. Gonzalo
often objected to this fancy, and every day he spoke of making her give
it up; but his sister-in-law did not mind it, and she even bent over the
pillow to indulge it. Sometimes Gonzalo fell asleep on Paulina's pillow,
especially when he had been out shooting, and on waking up he found
himself close to the sweet, pale face of his sister-in-law, whose
wide-open eyes were fixed on space.
"What are you thinking about, bag of bones?" he asked her as his eyes
met hers.
The girl collected herself with an effort, and smiled kindly.
"I don't know--nothing."
"Haven't you a lover?" he said one evening, raising her chin
affectionately.
"Bah! what lovers could I have in this place?" said Cecilia, coloring,
and withdrawing her face.
"You could have one in Sarrio."
"And he can't care much not to come and see me all the months that we
have been here. I have already told you that I am going to remain an old
maid," she added with a smile.
"That can't be," replied the young man with fervor; "it can't be. It
would be a shame to poor humanity for you to remain an old maid. You
were born to be married. Your chief delights are in managing the house,
looking after children, sewing and dusting. You will be a perfect wife,
like Luis de Leon describes. It is intolerable to think of any one who
could make any man happy remaining an old maid."
We do not know what Cecilia's thoughts were just then; but they were
probably something like this: "Yes; I could have made any man happy but
you."
She opened her lips with a gesture of indifference, and replied:
"What has that to do with it? All women who are not pretty have these
qualities. Those who shine in the world think of their clothes, and they
are right."
There was a sad, despairing irony in these words which Gonzalo could not
but feel in his heart.
"Oh! you always talk this nonsense. I believe you put on this modesty to
be contradicted--besides, we know that you can shine with the first. You
have eyes that are unequaled; you are graceful, elegant, even of
distinguished bearing. What do you want more, bag of bones? The thing
is, senorita, you have more here than here." And he put his finger first
on his forehead, and then on his heart. "When somebody comes along who
really interests you, you will see how all these ideas about celibacy
will disappear."
Cecilia shrugged her shoulders and resumed her far-away look as she
dropped the conversation.
With the month of April the family returned to Sarrio.
The municipal elections took place in June, and Gonzalo was elected town
councilor against his will. Don Rosendo imposed the sacrifice upon him.
Ventura regained her spirits with the approach of summer. She went out
more frequently, and her open carriage always created a certain
sensation. The fact was, it was very grand with its trappings from
Paris. She liked to dress in black, for in her vanity she knew that it
enhanced the brilliancy of her complexion, and brought out the golden
hue of her hair. When she went to the eleven o'clock mass, which was the
most crowded service, her presence excited a repressed murmur of
curiosity among the women and of admiration among the men. The
princess-like air that exasperated the ladies was what delighted the
men. They all agreed that her beauty, elegance, and distinguished
manners made her far superior to the other young women in the town, and
would create quite a sensation in more aristocratic circles. Ventura had
been of the same opinion for some time, and she turned over in her head
the idea of going to live in Madrid.
When she suggested it to her husband he expressed a great objection to
the plan; he was not a man for the court; the social duties imposed by
etiquette would be distasteful to him, for he was born for liberty, the
enjoyment of the open air and sea, bodily exercise, and easy homely
occupations. Besides, he was quite aware that the income upon which they
lived among the first people in Sarrio would not be sufficient to keep
them on the same social plane in Madrid, particularly with his wife's
disposition. Nevertheless, Venturita was so sure of overcoming these
objections that she ceased speaking of the project, but kept on thinking
of the time and means of its fulfilment.
An event then occurred to disturb the life of the Belinchon family.
Gonzalo was unexpectedly elected mayor of Sarrio through the influence
of the Duke of Tornos. His first idea was to decline the appointment
with some excuse, but Don Rosendo and all his friends were so eager and
hot about his accepting it that he could not avoid doing so. The members
of the Club were somewhat upset about it; they considered they were put
upon, for the new mayor would never allow the foundations of their
enemies' houses to be laid bare, as Maza did, neither would he resort to
any other extreme measure of their suggesting.
In the month of September, when the bathing season was over which filled
the town with guests, and shooting began in the country, Gonzalo
returned with his family to Tejada. The children were very well there,
and he always liked it; besides, there was not much going on just then
in Sarrio. His office of mayor somewhat stood in the way of this move,
but he arranged with his municipal colleagues to go to town every day,
or at least very frequently. The journey could be made in a carriage in
less than half an hour. Moreover, Don Rosendo kept his house open, so
that Gonzalo could dine and sleep there as often as he liked.
As Venturita was thinking of going to Madrid the next spring, she made
no objection to these plans of her husband; and he was glad to have made
this arrangement when he found that the Duke of Tornos was coming in
October, for life in Madrid had brought a recurrence of the malady which
the air of Sarrio had benefited. Unwilling as he would have been to
confess it, Gonzalo still felt the sting of jealousy in the inmost
depths of his heart, and neither reflection nor specious argument with
himself could eradicate it.
While the duke was away he was free from that feeling, but the news of
his approaching arrival was a vexation to him, if not an actual trouble.
And in effect, at the end of October there was no escape from going to
meet him at Lancia with his father-in-law and several gentlemen, all
members of the Club. The mayor's appointment through his influence made
the grandee a powerful patron of the party. He put up at the Estella
Hotel with his secretary, and began the outdoor life which he said, with
truth, suited him so well. Several fine days he went out fishing, or
walking, or shooting, or riding. This time he only brought two horses
with him: one for a tilbury, and a magnificent saddle one; so when the
secretary rode, he used a horse that Don Rosendo put at his disposal.
The duke maintained cordial relations with the Belinchon family, but he
had only been to Tejada three times in a fortnight. As Ventura and
Cecilia frequently came to Sarrio, he saw them and talked to them,
although he avoided being with them in public.
After the duke's arrival Gonzalo assiduously read "The Youth of Sarrio,"
which now like "The Light" came out three times a week. He read it to
soothe the uneasiness which he felt, because he was in continual fear of
some insulting paragraph like that which enraged him so much the
previous summer. In the first numbers after the grandee arrived, "The
Youth" contented itself with showing its hostility toward the duke by
making fun of him under such transparent nicknames as those of
"painter," "fisher," and even "politician," and insinuating the idea
that the duke was a person despised in Madrid, dismissed from court,
and without influence with the Government. Some stories of his life were
brought to light which were not much to his credit; and even his habits
about his clothes and cravats were made fun of. Don Jaime did not read
such an obscure journal; but when Pena showed him what was said about
him he smiled maliciously, and wrote to the governor of the province
asking him to take the first opportunity of suppressing the paper. The
Club party hearing of this letter, joyfully anticipated the blow.