THE TELEGRAM.
BAZILIO left the house very much agitated. Luiza’s pretensions, her
_bourgeois_ terrors, and the vulgar triviality of the whole affair
irritated him to such a degree that for a moment he thought of breaking
off with her, and letting things quietly take their course. But she
inspired him with pity. Without being in love with her, he admired
her; she was so beautiful and so tender. It was, besides, a manner of
passing away the time while he remained in Lisbon. What an accursed
complication!
On returning to the hotel he said to the servant, “When the Viscount
Reynaldo returns, say to him that I am in my room.”
This was a room on the second story, its windows overlooking the river.
Arrived there, he drank a glass of brandy and threw himself on the
sofa. On the table beside him were his _buvard_ with his monogram
in silver, surmounted by a count’s coronet, some French novels, the
“Manuel du Chasseur,” some numbers of “Figaro,” a likeness of Luiza,
and an engraving of a horse.
Lighting a cigar, he began to reflect, with a feeling of horror, on
his situation. This was all that was wanting,--that he should return
to Paris with such an encumbrance! To let a woman interfere with the
course of his well-ordered existence, merely because a letter had been
stolen from her, and she was afraid of her husband! What a pretension!
The whole adventure, from the very beginning, was a mistake. It had
been the idea of an enamoured _bourgeois_ to trouble the peace of
his cousin of the Patriarchal. He should have gone to Lisbon, arranged
his affairs there, remaining quietly at the Central Hotel, taken the
steamer back to France, and sent his country to the devil. His affairs
had been settled for some time, and he, like the idiot he was, still
remained in Lisbon, spending a fortune in carriages to make visits to
the street of Santa Barbara, for a woman like a thousand others. It was
true that while he remained in Lisbon there was something pleasant and
exciting, like a chapter from a novel, in the affair, with its mixture
of illicit passion and family ties betrayed. But he was tired of the
episode now; the best thing he could do was to leave Lisbon without
seeing Luiza again.
He had made his fortune in a speculation in Paraguay, the success of
which had led to the formation of a company of Brazilian capitalists;
but Bazilio and a number of French engineers desired to buy up the
Brazilian shares, which they found an obstacle in the way of their
ambitious designs. In order to form another company in Paris, and give
a more daring turn to the business, Bazilio had come to Lisbon to
negotiate with some Brazilian shareholders there, and had dexterously
managed to buy up their shares. The prolongation of this amorous
episode threatened to prove a disturbing element in his practical
affairs, and now that the matter began to assume an ugly aspect, it
was expedient that he should put an end to it at once.
The door opened, and Reynaldo entered, wearing blue glasses and looking
very tired. He was furious. He had just come from Bemfica, expiring,
absolutely expiring with this heat, which was only fit for a country
inhabited by negroes! He had had the stupid idea of going to see an
aunt of his, who had obliged him to listen to a long sermon, as if he
had been at church. A school-boy’s idea it was to go see her; for if
there was anything he especially detested it was a display of family
tenderness.
“What did you want to see me for?” he said in conclusion. “I am going
to remain in the bath till dinner-time.”
“Do you know what has happened to me?” responded Bazilio, rising.
“What has happened?”
“Guess; the most stupid thing you can imagine.”
“The husband has found you out?”
“No, the servant.”
“Shocking!” exclaimed Reynaldo, with an air of disgust.
Bazilio gave all the details of the affair, and folding his arms, said
in conclusion,--
“And now, what is to be done?”
“Slip away,” returned the other, rising.
“Where are you going?” asked Bazilio.
“To the bath.”
Bazilio requested him to wait a moment, saying he wanted to consult
him.
“Impossible!” exclaimed Reynaldo, with rude egotism. “Come downstairs
you. One can talk in the water as well.”
And he left the room, calling to William, his English servant, to
accompany him.
When Bazilio rejoined him, Reynaldo, stretched at full length in
a bath-tub full of water that diffused around a strong odor of
eau-de-Lubin, said to him in tones expressive of the physical enjoyment
he experienced,--
“A stolen letter, eh?”
“Tell me frankly, Reynaldo; I am really troubled about this matter.
What ought I to do?”
“Pack your trunks, my boy,” answered Reynaldo; adding, “this is the
result of making love to a cousin who lives in the Patriarchal.”
“Oh!” said Bazilio, impatiently.
“What!” exclaimed the other, supporting himself with both hands on the
edge of the bath-tub. “Do you think a woman is to be admired who takes
the cook into her confidence, who loses her love-letters, who cries,
and asks you for two hundred thousand _reis_, and who wants to
escape the consequences of her folly by running away?”
“Notwithstanding all that, she is a charming woman.”
Reynaldo shrugged his shoulders incredulously. “You are in love,” he
replied, stretching himself with a yawn.
Bazilio shook his head impatiently, in denial of so grotesque a
supposition.
“Come, now,” said Reynaldo. “Do you want to remain tied to her
apron-strings, or do you wish to get rid of her? Tell the truth.”
“I should like,” returned Bazilio, drawing nearer to his friend, “to
get rid of her decently.”
“Stupid!” responded Reynaldo. “Why, you have an excuse for doing so
that if you had invented it yourself could not be better. She left you
like a madwoman, as you tell me. Well, then, write to her saying that
since you see she wishes to break with you, you will trouble her no
more, and then leave the city. Are all your affairs settled? You need
not say they are not, for Lapierre has told me they are. Very well; be
a man, order your trunks to be packed, and rid yourself at once of this
annoyance.”
And taking up the sponge he proceeded to let a shower of water fall
over his head and shoulders, exhaling his breath with satisfaction as
he did so.
“But to leave her in this difficulty with the servant!” said Bazilio.
“After all, she is my cousin.”
Reynaldo stretched his arms with a shout of laughter. “This family
affection is admirable,” he said. “See, go and say to her that your
affairs oblige you to leave Lisbon, and put a few bank-notes into her
hand.”
“That would be brutal!”
“And costly!”
“But it is a pity, after all, that the poor girl should be at the mercy
of her own servant,” said Bazilio.
Reynaldo stretched himself again. “Who knows,” he exclaimed in joyful
accents, “but that they are at this very moment engaged in scratching
each other’s eyes out?”
He leaned back in a state of beatitude, and declared that he was
supremely happy,--provided only that John had not forgotten to prepare
the champagne _frappé_.
Bazilio twisted his mustache in silence. He saw before him in fancy
Luiza’s parlor, and the horrible countenance of Juliana, with her
enormous head-dress. Were they indeed quarrelling at this moment? How
vulgar the whole thing was! Decidedly he ought to go away.
“But what pretext shall I make use of for leaving Lisbon?” he resumed.
“A telegram. There is nothing like a telegram! Telegraph to your agent
in Paris, Lachardie, or Lachardette, or whatever his name may be, and
tell him to send you the following despatch: ‘Come; business is going
badly,’ etc. It is the best way.”
“I shall do so at once,” said Bazilio, rising with decision.
“And we shall set out to-morrow?” asked Reynaldo.
“Yes, to-morrow.”
“For Madrid?”
“Very well; for Madrid.”
“Delightful!” exclaimed the other, standing up in the bath-tub; and
shaking the water from his person with a slight shudder, he stepped
out, enveloped in his Turkish bath-robe. His servant William entered
noiselessly, and kneeling down took one of the viscount’s feet in his
hands, dried it with extreme care, and proceeded to draw on, with
respectful tenderness, the black silk stocking with its embroidered
initials.
On the following day, a little before twelve, Joanna knocked
discreetly at the door of Luiza’s room, and announced in a low voice
(since Luiza’s fainting-fit Joanna had always spoken to her in a low
voice, as if she were a convalescent), “The cousin of the senhora is in
the parlor.”
This announcement took Luiza by surprise. She was still in her
dressing-gown, and her eyes were red with weeping. She powdered her
face, smoothed her hair, and went into the parlor.
Bazilio, dressed in a light-gray suit, was seated in a melancholy
attitude on the piano-stool. His air was grave, and without preface
he proceeded to say that, notwithstanding her anger of yesterday, he
took it for granted that everything was as before between them. That
he had come to see her because at such a time they could not separate
without coming to an understanding, and without arranging, above all,
the question of the letters. And with a sorrowful gesture, like one who
makes an effort to keep back his tears, he added,--
“For I find myself under the necessity of leaving Lisbon, my dear.”
Luiza smiled scornfully, without looking at him.
Bazilio continued: “Only for a short time, of course,--three weeks or a
month at most. But, after all, it is a separation. If my own interests
only were concerned--” and he shrugged his shoulders with a disdainful
gesture. “But the interests of others are also at stake. This morning I
received this.”
He handed her a telegram. She looked at it for a moment without opening
it; the paper trembled in her hand.
“Read it, I beg of you.”
“What for?” she answered.
She read, however, in a low voice: “Come at once; grave complications.
Presence absolutely necessary.”
She folded the paper and gave it back to him.
“According to this you are going away.”
“It is unavoidable.”
“And when?”
“To-night.”
Luiza rose abruptly, and extending her hand, said: “Very well; good-by.”
“You are cruel, Luiza,” murmured Bazilio. “No matter. But there is a
question that must be settled. Have you spoken to that woman?”
“It is all arranged,” she responded, frowning. Bazilio took her hand in
his and said, almost with solemnity,--
“My dear, I know that you are proud, but I ask you to tell me the
truth; I do not want to leave you in difficulties. Have you spoken to
her?”
Luiza drew away her hand impatiently.
“I tell you that it is all arranged,” she answered.
Bazilio seemed preoccupied; his face was paler than usual. He took a
pocket-book from his breast-pocket, and said,--
“Very well; but it is possible, and ought to be taken into account,
since we do not know with whom we are dealing, that there may be still
further exactions.” And he opened the pocket-book, and took out of it a
small and well-filled envelope.
Luiza, her face crimson, followed all his movements with her eyes.
“In order that you may be able to arrange matters with her to your
satisfaction, I think it well to leave you some money,” he said.
“Are you mad?” she exclaimed.
“But--”
“You want to give me money?” said Luiza, in a trembling voice.
“But I think that--”
“Good-by!” she repeated, rising indignantly.
“Luiza, for Heaven’s sake! You do not understand me!”
Luiza paused, and said hastily, as if impatient to put an end to the
interview,--
“I understand you. Thanks; it is not necessary. I do not feel well; let
us not prolong this. Good-by.”
“As I have already told you, I will be back in three weeks.”
“Very well; we shall see each other then.”
He drew her towards him and kissed her on the mouth; her lips were cold
and unresponsive. This indifference wounded his vanity. He pressed her
to his heart, and said in low and passionate accents,--
“Will you not give me a kiss?”
A sudden gleam shot from Luiza’s eyes; she kissed him hastily, then,
drawing back,--
“Good-by,” she again repeated.
Bazilio looked at her for a moment, and sighed.
“Good-by,” he responded. And turning back again at the door, he
added in a melancholy voice, “At least, write to me; you know my
address,--Rue St. Florentin, 22.”
When he had gone, Luiza approached the window. She saw him light his
cigar in the street, speak to the driver, enter the coupé and hastily
shut the door,--all without one glance towards her! The carriage rolled
away. She should see him no more! Their hearts had palpitated with
an equal love; they had shared the same fault. He went gayly away,
carrying with him the romantic souvenirs of this episode in his life;
she remained behind with the ineffaceable bitterness of her fall. Such
was the world! She felt a sharp pang of anguish at the thought of her
solitary and deserted condition. She was alone, and life stretched out
before her like an unknown plain, wrapped in mist and peopled with
dangers. She went back with languid step to her room, and threw herself
on the sofa; on the floor beside her lay the satchel she had prepared
the day before for her flight; she opened it, and began to take out its
contents; in the folds of an embroidered wrapper she found the likeness
of Jorge. She held it in her hand, contemplating his loyal glance,
his honest smile. No, she was not alone in the world! She still had
him! He loved her, and he would never betray her nor abandon her! And
convulsively pressing her lips to the likeness, she buried her face in
the cushions of the sofa, crying, as she burst into bitter tears,--
“Jorge, dearest Jorge, forgive me!”
After dinner Joanna came to her and said,--
“Does not the senhora think it would be well to make some inquiries
about the Senhora Juliana?”
“How is one to inquire?”
“She goes once in a while to see a friend of hers who lives in the
direction of the Carmo. Perhaps she has had an attack of some kind, not
to have sent any message since yesterday morning. I might go and see.”
“Very well; go.”
This sadden disappearance disturbed Luiza also. Where was Juliana? What
was she doing? It seemed to Luiza that some terrible plot was being
concocted against her, that would by-and-by burst with terrible force
upon her head.
Night fell, and she lighted the candles. She experienced a vague
feeling of terror at finding herself alone in the house, and pacing
up and down the room, her thoughts wandered to Bazilio, at this time
joyfully buying his ticket in Santa Apolonia, then entering the cars
and lighting his cigar, and then being carried away from her forever.
For she had no faith in this absence of three weeks or a month. No; he
was going away forever; he was flying from her, and although she now
regarded him with hatred, she yet felt that through this desertion her
heart had received a wound that was bleeding painfully.
It was almost nine o’clock when the bell rang hastily. Thinking it was
Joanna who had returned, Luiza took a candlestick in her hand, and
went to open the door. She drew back quickly on seeing Juliana, her
countenance livid and stamped with Suffering.
“Will the senhora do me the favor to listen to a word?” she said.
She followed Luiza into her room, and burst out furiously,--
“Does the senhora think things are going to remain as they are? Does
the senhora think that because her lover steals away, things are going
to remain as they are?”
“But what things do you mean, woman?” said Luiza, stupefied.
“Do you think that because your lover is going away, this is going to
end in nothing?”
“But for the love of Heaven!”
Luiza’s voice expressed so much anguish that Juliana was silent.
Presently she continued in a lower tone,--
“The senhora knows that it was with some purpose I took the letters;
I wanted to ask the help of the senhora’s cousin. I am worn out with
work, and I want rest. I went to the hotel this afternoon; the cousin
of the senhora was gone--to Olivares, or to the devil! The servant was
to follow in the evening with the luggage. Does the senhora think I am
to be balked in this way?” And she added angrily, bringing down her
hand with violence upon the table, “May a thunderbolt strike me dead
if I do not make a scandal in this house that will be the talk of all
Portugal!”
“How much do you want for the letters, thief?” asked Luiza, standing
before her.
Juliana remained silent a moment.
“Unless the senhora gives me six hundred thousand _reis_ I shall
not give up the letters,” she responded at last, with determination.
“Six hundred thousand _reis_![10] And where do you expect me to
find that sum?”
“In hell!” shouted Juliana. “Either you give me six hundred thousand
_reis_, or as sure as I am standing here, when your husband comes
back I will read them to him.”
Luiza threw herself on a chair, completely overwhelmed.
“What have I done, my God, that this should happen to me?” she cried.
Juliana placed herself insolently in front of her mistress.
“The senhora says well,” she said. “I am a thief, it is true. I
took one letter from the rubbish, and the others I took from the
bureau-drawer. And I did this that I might be paid for giving them
back.” And she added, frantically taking off and putting on her shawl
alternately, “My turn had to come; I have had suffering enough, and I
am tired of it. Find the money wherever you wish, but it shall not be
five _reis_ less than I have said. I have spent years and years
in misery. While the senhora is amusing herself I am slaving myself to
death from morning till night to earn fifty _reals_[11] a month.
I rise at six o’clock in the morning, and without a moment’s delay set
to work to sweep, to dust, to put in order, while the senhora is lying
comfortably in bed without a care. For a month past I have been rising
at daybreak to wash and iron; and the senhora never thinks of all the
clothes she soils; she goes wherever she wishes to go, and here is
the slave with the heart-disease, with the iron in her hand, working
herself to death. For the senhora all is pleasure,--parties, carriages,
silk gowns, everything she takes a fancy to; but the slave,--let her
kill herself working!”
Luiza, overwhelmed, without the strength to answer, cowered under the
weight of Juliana’s anger, like a bird in the fowler’s net; while the
latter was stimulated to still greater violence by the angry sound
of her own voice and by the recollection of the hardships she had
undergone and the humiliations she had suffered, which heated her blood
like the glowing breath from a furnace.
“Why, what did you think,” she continued,--“that I should go on eating
the leavings, and the senhora the tidbits? Who would give me a drop of
wine if I should want it, after working hard all day? I must buy it for
myself. Has the senhora seen my room? There are so many insects in it
that I have to sleep with my clothes on; while if the senhora should
feel a single bite, she has the slave take her bed apart, and clean it
for her. The servant is a beast of burden; let her work if she can, if
not, to the street or to the hospital with her! But my turn has come at
last!” she ended, striking her breast with revengeful fury. “It is I
who am mistress now!”
Luiza sobbed in silence.
“Does the senhora weep? I, too, have wept a great deal. I wish you
no ill; no, Senhora, amuse yourself, enjoy yourself, but I must have
my money. I want it all, or these letters shall be heard about. May
the roof fall down and crush me if I do not show the letters to your
husband, to your friends, to every one in the neighborhood, till you
axe ready to drag yourself on your knees through the streets for the
shame of it!”
She paused, out of breath, and then continued in a fatigued voice,--
“Let the senhora give me my money, my darling money, and she shall have
her letters; and may a thunderbolt strike me dead this instant if ever
I open my lips after receiving it.”
And she clapped her hand to her mouth.
Luiza rose, very pale.
“Very well,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I will get you this money.
Wait a few days.”
A silence ensued that, after the previous noise, appeared all the more
profound. Even the furniture of the room seemed more motionless than
before. The only sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock; the
candles on the dressing-table burned with a reddish light.
Juliana took up her parasol, put on her shawl, and after looking for a
moment at Luiza, said curtly,--
“Very well, Senhora.”
And turning on her heel she left the room.
Luiza heard the outer door close noisily behind her.
“My God! what an expiation!” she exclaimed, dropping into a chair and
bursting into tears.
It was almost ten when Joanna returned.
“I have not been able to find out anything, Senhora,” she said. “No one
knows anything about her.”
“Very well; bring the lamp.”
And as Joanna left the room, Luiza murmured to herself,--
“That good girl has some love-affair, and she has been enjoying herself
with her sweetheart.”