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FROTH
=Heinemann's International Library.=
=Edited by EDMUND GOSSE.=
_Crown 8vo_, _in paper covers_, 2_s._ 6_d._, _or cloth limp_, 3_s._
6_d._
_IN GOD'S WAY._ By BJOeRNSTJERNE BJOeRNSON. Translated from the Norwegian
by Elizabeth Carmichael.
_PIERRE AND JEAN._ By GUY DE MAUPASSANT. Translated from the French by
Clara Bell.
_THE CHIEF JUSTICE._ By KARL EMIL FRANZOS. Translated from the German by
Miles Corbet.
_WORK WHILE YE HAVE THE LIGHT._ By COUNT LVOF TOLSTOI. Translated from
the Russian by E. J. Dillon, Ph.D.
_FANTASY._ By MATILDE SERAO. Translated from the Italian by Henry
Harland and Paul Sylvester.
_FROTH._ By ARMANDO PALACIO VALDES. Translated from the Spanish by Clara
Bell.
_THE COMMODORE'S DAUGHTERS._ By JONAS LIE. Translated from the Norwegian
by H. L. Braekstad and Gertrude Hughes.
Other Volumes will be announced later.
Each Volume contains a specially written
Introduction by the Editor.
London:
WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 BEDFORD ST., W.C.
FROTH
A NOVEL
BY
ARMANDO PALACIO VALDES
TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH
BY
CLARA BELL
LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
1891
(_All rights reserved_)
INTRODUCTION.
According to the Spanish critics, the novel has flourished in Spain
during only two epochs--the golden age of Cervantes and the period in
which we are still living. That unbroken line of romance-writing which
has existed for so long a time in France and in England, is not to be
looked for in the Peninsula. The novel in Spain is a re-creation of our
own days; but it has made, since the middle of the nineteenth century,
two or three fresh starts. The first modern Spanish novelists were what
are called the _walter-scottistas_, although they were inspired as much
by George Sand as by the author of _Waverley_. These writers were of a
romantic order, and Fernan Caballero, whose earliest novel dates from
1849, was at their head. The Revolution of September, 1868, marked an
advance in Spanish fiction, and Valera came forward as the leader of a
more national and more healthily vitalised species of imaginative work.
The pure and exquisite style of Valera is, doubtless, only to be
appreciated by a Castilian. Something of its charm may be divined,
however, even in the English translation of his masterpiece, _Pepita
Jimenez_. The mystical and aristocratic genius of Valera appealed to a
small audience; he has confided to the world that when all were praising
but few were buying his books.
Far greater fecundity and a more directly successful appeal to the
public, were, somewhat later, the characteristics of Perez y Galdos,
whose vigorous novels, spoiled a little for a foreign reader by their
didactic diffuseness, are well-known in this country. In the hands of
Galdos, a further step was taken by Spanish fiction towards the
rejection of romantic optimism and the adoption of a modified realism.
In Pereda, so the Spanish critics tell us, a still more valiant champion
of naturalism was found, whose studies of local manners in the province
of Santander recall to mind the paintings of Teniers. About 1875 was the
date when the struggle commenced in good earnest between the schools of
romanticism and realism. In 1881 Galdos definitely joined the ranks of
the realists with his _La Desheredada_. An eminent Spanish writer,
Emilio Pardo Bazan, thus described the position some six years ago: "It
is true that the battle is not a noisy one, and excites no great warlike
ardour. The question is not taken up amongst us with the same heat as in
France, and this from several causes. In the first place, the idealists
with us do not walk in the clouds so much as they do in France, nor do
the realists load their palette so heavily. Neither school exaggerates
in order to distinguish itself from the other. Perhaps our public is
indifferent to literature, especially to printed literature, for what
is represented on the stage produces more impression."
This indifference of the Spanish reading public, which has led a living
novelist to declare that a person of good position in Madrid would
rather spend his money on fireworks or on oranges than on a book, has at
length been in a measure dissipated by a writer who is not merely
admired and distinguished, but positively popular, and who, without
sacrificing style, has conquered the unwilling Spanish public. This is
Armando Palacio Valdes, who was born on the 4th of October, 1853, in a
hamlet of Asturias, called Entralgo, where his family had at one time a
mansion which has now disappeared. The family spent only the summer
there; the remainder of the year they passed in Aviles, the maritime
town which Valdes describes under the name of Nieva in his novel _Marta
y Maria_. From Asturias he went, when still a youth, up to Madrid to
study the law as a profession. But even in the lawyer's office, his
dream was to become a man of letters. His ambition took the form of
obtaining at some university a chair of political economy, to which
science he had, or fancied himself to have, at that time, a great
proclivity.
Before terminating his legal studies, the young man published several
articles in the _Revista Europea_ on philosophical and religious
questions. These articles attracted the attention of the proprietor of
that review, and Valdes presently joined the staff. Next year he became
editor. He was at the head of the _Revista Europea_, at that time the
most important periodical in Spain from a scientific point of view, for
several years. During that time he published the main part of those
articles of literary criticism, particularly on contemporary poets and
novelists, which have since been collected in several volumes--_Los
Oradores del Ateneo_ ("The Orators of the Athenaeum"); _Los Novelistas
Espanoles_ ("The Spanish Novelists"); _Un Nuevo Viaje al Parnaso_ ("A
New Journey to Parnassus"), sketches of the living poets of Spain; and,
in particular, a very bright collection of review articles, published in
conjunction with Leopoldo Alas, _La Literatura_ en 1881 ("Spanish
Literature in 1881"). These gave Valdes a foremost rank among the
critics of the day. He wrote no more criticism, or very little; he
determined to place himself amongst those whose creative work demands
the careful consideration of the best judges.
Soon after he took the direction of the _Revista_, Valdes wrote his
first novel, _El Senorito Octavio_, which was not published until 1881.
In 1883 he brought out his _Marta y Maria_, a book which, I know not
why, is called "The Marquis of Penalta" in its English version. This
novel enjoyed an extraordinary success, and had more of the graphic and
sprightly manner by which Valdes has since been distinguished, than the
books which immediately followed it. Spanish critics, indeed,
remembering the wonderful freshness of _Marta y Maria_, still often
speak of it as the best of Valdes' stories. In this same year, 1883, he
married, on the day when he completed his thirty years, a young lady of
sixteen. His marriage was a honeymoon of a year and a half, of which _El
Idilio de un Enfermo_ ("The Idyl of an Invalid"), a short novel of 1884,
portrays the earlier portion. His wife died early in 1885, leaving him
with an infant son to be, as he says, "my illusion and my fascination."
His subsequent career has been laborious and systematic. He has
published one novel every year. In 1885 it was _Jose_, a shorter tale of
sea-faring life on the stormy coast of the author's native province.
About the same time appeared a collection of short stories, called
_Aguas Fuertes_ ("Strong Waters").
It was not until 1886, however, that Valdes began to rank among the
foremost novelists of Europe. In that year he published his great story,
_Riverita,_ one of the characters in which, a charming child, became the
heroine of his next book, _Maximina,_ 1887. Of this character he writes
to me: "My Maximina in these two books is but a pale reflection of that
being from whom Providence parted me before she was eighteen years of
age. In these novels I have painted a great part of my life." A
Sevillian novice, who has helped to care for Maximina in Madrid, reigns
supreme in a succeeding novel, _La Hermana San Sulpicio_ ("Sister San
Sulpicio"), 1889. But between these two last there comes a massive
novel, describing the adventures of a journalist who founds a newspaper
in the provincial town of Sarrio, by which Santander seems to be
intended. This book is called _El Cuarto Poder_ ("The Fourth Power"),
and was published in 1888. To these must now be added _La Espuma_
("Froth"), of which a translation is here given. When these words are
published, the original will just have appeared in Madrid. It is by the
kindness of the author, in supplying us with a set of proof-sheets, that
I am able to speak of a book which even the critics of Madrid have not
yet seen in Spanish.
In _La Espuma_ Valdes has reverted from those country scenes and those
streets of provincial cities which he has hitherto loved best to paint,
and has given us a sternly satiric picture of the frothy surface of
fashionable life in Madrid. From the illusions of the poor, pathetic and
often beautiful, he has turned to the ugly cynicism of the wealthy. With
his passion for honesty and simplicity, his heart burns within him at
the parade and hollowness which he detects in aristocratic and
bureaucratic Madrid. One conceives that, like his own Raimundo, he has
been invited to enter it, has taken his fill of its pleasures, and has
found his mouth filled with ashes. His talent for portraiture was never
better employed. If he is occasionally tempted to commit the peculiarly
Spanish fault of exaggeration--scarcely a fault there, where the shadows
are so black and the colours so flaring--he has resisted it in his more
important characters. The brutality of the Duke de Requena, the sagacity
and urbanity of Father Ortega, the saintly sweetness of the Duchess,
the naivete of Raimundo, the sphinx-like charm of Clementina de Osorio,
with her mysterious sweetness and duplicity, these are among the salient
points of characterisation which stand out in this powerful book. _La
Espuma_ is a cry from the desert to those who wear soft raiment in
kings' palaces. It is the ruthless tearing aside of the conventions by a
Knox or a Savonarola. It is stringent satire, yet tempered with an
artist's moderation, with a naturalist's self-suppression.
Those exquisite descriptions of Nature in which Valdes sparingly
illuminates the pages of his country-novels, must not be looked for
here. There is nothing in _La Espuma_ like the splendid approach to
Seville in _La Hermana San Sulpicio_, or the noble picture of the
Asturian sea-board, ravaged by the ocean, in _Jose_. The desolation of
the mining district, at the close of the book, is all that we can
compare with these. But one descriptive gift of Valdes, his power of
rendering with sustained vivacity a varied social scene, was never
better exemplified than by the dinner-party at the Osorios', by
Salabert's ball to Royalty, in which Clementina ejects the
_demi-mondaine_, or by the scene in Pepe's dressing-room when the mad
Marquis wants to shoot him. The absence of sensational emphasis of every
kind is notable. This is the result of severe self-training on the
novelist's part. He has confessed himself displeased with the end of his
own _Riverita_ as too theatrical, and in the prologue to _La Hermana San
Sulpicio_, he wears a white sheet, and holds a penitential candle for a
too stagey episode in _El Cuarto Poder_. No charge of this kind can be
brought against _La Espuma_. It is closely studied from life, and is
careful not to affront the modesty of nature, which loves an occasional
tragic catastrophe, but loathes the artifice of a smartly constructed
plot.
Of the author of so many interesting books but little has yet been told
to the public. In a private letter to myself, the eminent novelist gives
a brief sketch of his mode of life, so interesting that I have secured
his permission to translate and print it here:--"Since my wife died,"
Senor Valdes writes, "my life has continued to be tranquil and
melancholy, dedicated to work and to my son. During the winters, I live
in Asturias, and during the summers, in Madrid. I like the company of
men of the world better than that of literary folks, because the former
teach me more. I am given up to the study of metaphysics. I have a
passion for physical exercises, for gymnastics, for fencing, and I try
to live in an evenly-balanced temper, nothing being so repugnant to me
as affectation and emphasis. I find a good deal of pleasure in going to
bull-fights (although I do not take my son to the Plaza dressed up like
a miniature _torero_, as an American writer declares I do), and I
cultivate the theatre, because to see life from the stage point of view
helps me in the composition of my stories."
EDMUND GOSSE.
FROTH
CHAPTER I.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
At three in the afternoon the sun was pouring its rays on the Calle de
Serrano, bathing it in bright orange light which hurt the eyes of those
who went down the left-hand side where the houses stood closest. But as
the cold was intense the pedestrian was not eager to cross to the other
pavement in search of shade, preferring to face the sunbeams which,
though blinding, were at any rate warming. At this hour, tripping slowly
and daintily along, her muff of handsome otter-skin held up to shade her
eyes, an elegantly dressed woman was making her way down the street,
leaving behind her a wake of perfume which the shopmen standing at their
doors sniffed up with enjoyment, as they gazed in rapture at the being
who exhaled such a delightful fragrance.
For the Calle de Serrano, albeit the widest and handsomest in Madrid,
has an essentially provincial stamp; little traffic, shops devoid of
display, and dedicated for the most part to the sale of the necessaries
of life, children playing in front of the houses, door-keepers seated in
committee and discussing matters at the top of their voices with the
unemployed butchers' boys, fishmongers, and grocers. Hence a
well-dressed woman could not pass unremarked, as she might in the more
central parts of the town. The glances of the passers-by, as well as of
the loungers, rested on her with pleasure; the women commented on the
quality of the clothes she wore, and horrible jests were uttered by the
dreadful apprentices, provoking their companions to outbursts of brutal
glee. One of the most ruffianly and greasy looking threw out as she
passed one of those coarse remarks which would bring the colour to the
smooth cheek of an English Miss, and make her call the policeman, and
almost exact an apology. But our valiant Spanish lady, her soul above
prudery, did not even wince, but went on her triumphant way with the
dainty and hesitating step of a woman who rarely sets foot in the dust
of the highway.
For that hers was a triumphant progress there could be no doubt; no one
could look at her without admiration, not so much of her luxurious
attire, as of the severe beauty of her face and the distinction of her
figure. She was five-and-thirty at least. There was something extremely
original in the type of her features. Her complexion was clear and dark,
her eyes, blue, her hair coppery red. Such a strange mingling of
different races is rarely seen in a face: if it showed a stronger dash
of one than another, it was of the Italian. It was one of those faces
which suggest an English lady burnt under a Neapolitan sun. In some of
Raphael's pictures we see heads which may give some notion of our fair
pedestrian.
Her predominant expression at the present moment was one of proud
disdain, to which perhaps the sun contributed by making her knit her
smooth and delicate brows. There was not, it must be confessed, any
sweetness in this face; its firm and regular lines betrayed a haughty
spirit devoid of tenderness; those blue eyes had not the limpid serenity
which lends perfect harmony to a certain virginal style of countenance,
occasionally seen and admired in Spain, but more frequently in the north
of Europe. They were made to express the tumult of vehement and violent
passions, among which ardent love might, perhaps, have its turn, but
never that humble and silent devotion which would consent to die
unspoken.
She wore a high red hat, and a short thin veil, also red, reaching only
to her lips. The hue of this veil contributed to lend her face that
singular tinge which caught the eye of every one who met her. Her
wrapper was a handsome fur cloak, over a dress of the same shade as her
hat, with an overskirt of lace or grenadine such as was then the
fashion.
She held up her muff, as has been said, to shade her eyes, and kept her
eyes fixed on the ground as one who does not care to see or heed
anything which may come in her way. Consequently, till she came to the
Calle de Jorge Juan, she did not detect the presence of a young man,
who, keeping pace with her on the opposite side of the way, gazed at her
with even more admiration than curiosity. But on reaching the corner,
without knowing why, she raised her head, and her eyes met those of her
admirer. A very perceptible shade of annoyance clouded her face; she
frowned with greater severity, and the haughty expression of her eyes
was more marked than before. She walked a little faster, and, on
reaching the Calle de Villanueva, she stood still, and looked down the
street, hoping, no doubt, to see a tramcar. The youth dared not do the
same; he went on his way, not without sending certain eager and
significant glances after the graceful figure, to which she vouchsafed
no notice. The car at last arrived; the lady stepped in, showing, as she
did so, a pretty foot shod in a kid boot, and took her seat in the
farthest corner. Finding herself safe from indiscreet observation, her
eyes by degrees grew more serene, and rested with indifference on the
few persons who were with her in the vehicle; still the cloud of anxious
thought did not altogether disappear from her face, nor the touch of
disdain which lent dignity to her beauty.
Her youthful admirer had not resigned himself to losing sight of her. He
went on confidently down the Calle de Villanueva; but as the tramcar
went by he nimbly caught it up, and got on the step without being
observed. And contriving to place himself where the lady could not see
him, behind other persons standing on the platform, he was able to gaze
at her by stealth, with an enthusiasm which would have made any
looker-on smile.
For the difference between their ages was considerable. Our young friend
looked about eighteen; his face was as beardless, as fresh and as rosy
as a girl's, his hair red, his eyes blue, gentle, and melancholy. Though
he wore an overcoat and a felt hat, his appearance was that of a
gentleman; he was in the deepest mourning, which contrasted strongly
with the fairness of his complexion. Under the magnetic influence of a
firm gaze, which we all have experienced, our heroine ere long turned
her eyes to the spot whence the young man fired darts of passionate
admiration. Her face grew dark again, and her lips twitched with
impatience, as though the poor boy's adoration was an aggression. And
she began to show signs of feeling ill at ease in the coach, turning her
pretty head now this way and now that, with an evident desire to escape.
However, she did not alight till they reached the church of San Jose,
where she stopped the car and got out, passing her persecutor with a
look of proud disdain, which might have annihilated him.
He must have been a very bold man, or quite devoid of shame, to jump out
after her as he did, and follow her along the Calle del Caballero de
Gracia, taking the opposite side-walk to be able to stare more at his
ease on the face which had so taken possession of him. The lady
proceeded at a leisurely pace, and every man who passed her turned to
gaze. Her step was that of a goddess who condescends to quit her throne
of clouds for an hour, to rejoice and fascinate mortal men, who, as they
behold her, are enraptured and stumble in their walk.
"Merciful Virgin, what a woman!" exclaimed a young officer in a loud
voice, clinging to his companion as if he were about to faint with
surprise.
The fair one could not help smiling very slightly, and the flash of that
smile seemed to light up her exceptional loveliness. Presently two
gentlemen in an open carriage bowed respectfully to her, and she
responded with an almost imperceptible nod. When she reached the corner
where the streets part by San Luis she hesitated and paused, looking in
every direction, and again catching sight of the red-haired youth, she
turned her back on him with marked contempt, and went on at a more rapid
pace down the Calle de la Montera, where her appearance caused the same
excitement in the passers-by. Three or four times she stopped in front
of the shop windows, though evidently she did so less out of curiosity
than in consequence of the nervous state into which the youth's
unrelenting pursuit had plunged her.
Near the Puerta del Sol, to avoid him no doubt, she made up her mind to
go into Marbini's jewel shop. Seating herself with an air of
indifference, she raised her veil a little, and began to examine without
much attention the latest importations in gems which the shopman
displayed before her. She could not have done worse by way of releasing
herself from the observations of her boyish admirer, since he could
pursue them at his leisure and with the greatest ease through the plate
glass windows, and did so with a persistency which enraged her more and
more every minute.
In point of fact, the elegantly decorated shop, glittering in every
corner with precious stones and metals, was a worthy shrine for her
beauty, the setting best fitted for so delicate a gem. And so the youth
was thinking, to judge from the impassioned ecstasy of his eyes and the
statue-like fixity of his attitude. At last, unable any longer to
control her irritation, the lady abruptly rose, and with a brief "Good
morning" to the attendant, who treated her with extraordinary deference,
she quitted the shop, and set off as fast as she could walk, towards the
Puerta del Sol.
Here she stopped; then she went a little way towards a hackney cab, as
though intending to take it; but, suddenly changing her mind, she turned
with a determined step towards the Calle Mayor, still escorted by the
youth at no great distance. Half-way down the street she vanished into
a handsome house, not without sending a hasty but furious glance at her
follower, who took it with perfect and wonderful coolness. The porter
who was standing in the portico, gravely clipping his bushy black
whiskers, hastily pulled off his braided cap, made her a low bow, and
flew to open the glass door to the staircase, pressing, as he did so,
the button of an electric bell. She slowly mounted the carpeted steps,
and by the time she reached the first floor the door was already open,
and a servant in livery was awaiting her.
The house was that of the Excellentisimo Senor Don Julian Calderon, the
head of the banking firm of Calderon Brothers, who occupied the whole of
the first floor, with a staircase apart from that which led to the rest
of the apartments, let to other persons. This Calderon was the son of
another Calderon, well known, in the commercial circles of Madrid, as a
wholesale importer of hides and leather, by which he had made a good
fortune, and in the later years of his life he had greatly augmented it
by devoting himself, not to trade alone, but also to circulating and
discounting bills of exchange. He being dead, his son Julian followed in
his footsteps, without deviating from them in any particular, managing
with his own property that of his two sisters--both married, one to a
medical man, and the other to a landowner of La Mancha. He, too, had
been married for some years to the daughter of a wealthy merchant of
Zaragoza, Don Tomas Osorio by name; the father of the well-known Madrid
banker, whose house in the Salamanca quarter of the town, Calle de D.
Ramon de la Cruz, was kept upon a princely footing. The handsome lady
who had just entered the Calderon's house was this banker's wife, and
consequently the sister-in-law of Senora de Calderon.
She passed in front of the servant without waiting to be announced,
walking on as one who had a right there; crossed three or four large,
elegantly decorated rooms, and, pulling aside with her own hand the rich
velvet curtain with its embroidered fringing, entered a much smaller
drawing-room where several persons were sitting.
In the seat nearest to the fire reclined the mistress of the house; a
woman of some forty years, stout, with regular features, and large black
eyes, but devoid of sparkle; her skin was fair, her hair chestnut, and
remarkably soft and fine. By her, in a low easy chair, sat another lady,
a complete contrast in every respect; brunette, slight, delicate, and
full of excessive vivacity, not only in her keen, bright eyes, but in
her whole person. This was the Marquesa de Alcudia, of one of the first
families in Spain. The three young girls, who sat in a row on straight
chairs, were her daughters, all very like her in physique though they
did not imitate her restlessness, but remained motionless and silent,
their eyes cast down with such an affectation of modesty and composure
that it was easy to see in what severe order they were kept by their
lively and nervous mamma. To one of them every now and then the daughter
of the house spoke in an undertone. She was a child of thirteen or
fourteen, with round cheeks, small eyes, a turn-up nose, and scars in
the throat which argued a delicate constitution. Her hair was plaited
into a long tail tied at the end with a ribbon, as was that of the
youngest Alcudia, with whom she carried on a subdued and intermittent
conversation. This young lady and her sisters wore fanciful hats, all
alike, while Esperanza Calderon sat with her little round head
uncovered, and wore a blue morning frock much too short for a girl of
her age.
Facing the Senora, and lounging, like her, in an arm-chair, was General
Patino, Conde de Morillejo. He was between fifty and sixty years of age,
but his eyes sparkled with all the fire of youth; his grey hair was
carefully dressed, and large moustaches a la Victor Emmanuel, a pointed
beard and aquiline nose, gave him a gallant and attractive appearance.
He was the ideal of a veteran aristocrat. By him sat Calderon, a man of
about fifty, stout, with a fat florid face, graced with short grey
whiskers, his eyes round, vacant, and dull. Not far from him was an
elderly woman, his mother-in-law, but quite unlike her daughter in face
and figure; so thin, that she was no more than skin and bone, dark, and
with deep-set, penetrating eyes, every feature stamped with intelligence
and decision. Talking to her was Pinedo, the occupant of the third-floor
rooms. His moustache showed no grey hairs, but it was easy to see that
it was dyed; his face was that of a man verging on the sixties; a
good-humoured face too, with prominent eyes full of eager
movement--those of an observant character; he was dressed with care and
elegance, his whole person exquisitely clean.
On seeing the beautiful lady in the doorway, the whole party showed some
excitement; all rose, excepting the mistress of the house, on whose
placid face a faint smile of pleasure showed dimly.
"Ah! Clementina! What a miracle to see you here!"
The lady in question went forward with a smile, and, while she embraced
the ladies and shook hands with the gentlemen, she replied to her
sister-in-law's affectionate reproach.
"Come, come. Fit the cap to your own head--you who never come to my
house above once in six months."
"I have my children to think of, my dear."
"What an excuse; I ask you! I, too, have children."
"Yes, at Chamartin."
"Well, but having sons does not hinder you from going to the opera or
out driving."
Clementina seated herself between her sister-in-law and the Marquesa de
Alcudia; the rest resumed their seats.
"Oh, my dear!" Senora de Calderon went on, "if you could have seen what
a cold I caught at the play the other night. It was all the fault of
that goose Ramon Maldonado; with all his bowing and scraping he could
not manage to shut the door of the box. The draught pierced my very
bones."
"Happy was that draught!" remarked General Patino with a gallant smile.
Every one else smiled, excepting the lady addressed, who gazed at him in
amazement, opening her eyes very wide.
"How--happy?" said she.
The General had to explain that it was a covert compliment, and not till
then did she reward him with a smile.
"And was not Gayarre delightful?" said Clementina.
"Admirable, as he always is," replied Senora de Calderon.
"He seems to me to want style of manner," the General suggested.
"Oh no, General, I beg your pardon----" And they went off into a
discussion as to whether the famous tenor had or had not the actor's
art, whether he dressed well or ill. The ladies were all on his side;
the men were against him.
From the tenor they went on to the soprano.
"She is altogether charming," said the General, with the confidence and
conviction of a connoisseur.
"Oh! delicious," exclaimed Calderon.
"Well, for my part I regard the Tosti as extremely commonplace. Do you
not think so, Clementina?"
Clementina agreed.
"Do not say so, pray, Marquesa," the General hastened to put in,
glancing as he spoke at Senora de Calderon. "The mere fact that a woman
is tall and stout does not make her commonplace if she holds herself
proudly and has a distinguished manner."
"I do not say so, General; do not make such a mistake," replied the
Marquesa, with some vehemence. But she proceeded to criticise the grace
and fine figure of the soprano with much humour and some little temper.
The argument became general, and the issue proved the reverse of the
former discussion; the men were favourable to the actress and the ladies
adverse. Pinedo summed up by saying in a grave and solemn tone, which,
however, betrayed some covert meaning, "A fine figure is more essential
to a woman than to a man."
Clementina and the General exchanged significant glances. The Marquesa
frowned sternly at the dandy, and then hastily looked at her daughters,
who sat with their eyes downcast, in the same rigid and expressionless
attitude as before. Pinedo himself was quite unmoved, as though he had
said the most natural thing in the world.
"For my part, friend Pinedo, it seems to me that a man too should have a
good figure," said slow-witted Senora de Calderon.
As she spoke a faint gasp was heard as of laughter hardly controlled. It
was the youngest of the Alcudia girls, at whom her mother shot a
pulverising look, and the damsel's face immediately resumed its original
expression of timidity and propriety.
"That is a matter of opinion," replied Pinedo with a respectful bow.
This Pinedo, who occupied one of the apartments on the third floor of
the house, the whole belonging to Senor de Calderon, held a place of
some importance in one of the public offices. The changes of political
administration did not affect his tenure; he had friends of every party,
and had never thrown himself into the scale for either. He lived as a
man of the world; was received at the most aristocratic houses in the
metropolis; was on terms of intimacy with almost every one who figured
in finance or politics; was an early member of the Savage Club (_Club de
los Salvajes_), where he delighted in making fun every evening with the
young aristocrats who assembled there, and who treated him with a
familiarity which not rarely degenerated into rudeness. He was a genial
and intelligent man, with considerable knowledge and experience of the
world; tolerant towards every form of vanity from sheer contempt for
all; and nevertheless, under the exterior of a courteous and inoffensive
creature, he had in the depths of his nature a power of satire which
enabled him to take vengeance quite gracefully, by some incisive and
opportune phrase, for the impertinence of his young friends the
juveniles of the club, who professed an affection for him mingled with
contempt and fear.
No one knew whence he had sprung, though it was regarded as beyond doubt
that he was of humble birth. Some declared that he was the son of a
butcher at Seville; others said that in his youth he had been a waif on
the beach at Malaga. All that was positively known was that, many years
since, he had come to Madrid as hanger-on to an Andalucian of rank, who,
after dissipating his fortune, blew his brains out. Under his protection
Pinedo had made a great many useful acquaintances; he came to know and
be known by everybody who was anybody, and was popular with all. He had
the tact to efface himself when he crossed the path of a pompous and
overbearing man, letting him pass first; he gave rise to no jealousies,
and this is a certain means of exciting no hostility. At the same time
his cleverness, and his caustic wit, which he always kept within certain
bounds, were a constant amusement at social meetings, and sufficed to
give him a certain importance which he otherwise would not have enjoyed.
His family consisted of one daughter aged eighteen, and named Pilar. His
wife, whom no one had known, had died many years before. His salary
amounted to forty thousand reals,[A] on which the father and daughter
lived very thriftily in the third-floor rooms which Calderon let to them
for twenty-two dollars a month. Pinedo's chief outlay was on
"appearances"; that is to say, as he moved in a rank of society above
his own he was obliged to dress well and frequent the theatres.
Understanding the necessity for keeping up his acquaintances--the
pillars on which his continuance in office rested--he indulged in such
expenses without hesitation, pinching himself in other departments of
domestic economy. Thus he lived in a state of stable equilibrium; his
position enabled him to move in the society of the great, while they
unconsciously helped to keep him in his position. No Minister could
venture to dismiss a man whom he would inevitably meet at every evening
party and ball in the capital. As Pinedo had occasionally had the honour
of speaking with Royalty, certain sayings of his were current in
fashionable drawing-rooms, where they enjoyed a fame out of all
proportion to their merits, since, as a rule, there is a conspicuous
lack of wit in most drawing-rooms; he was a good shot with pistol or
rifle, and possessed a voluminous library on the culinary arts. The very
highest personages were flattered when they heard that Pinedo had
praised their cook.
"How long is it since you were at the Colegio, Pacita?" asked Esperanza
of the youngest de Alcudia, in an undertone.
"On Friday last. Do not you know that mamma takes us to confession every
Friday? And you?"
"It is at least three weeks since I was there. Mamma and I confess once
a month."
"And is Father Ortega satisfied with that?"
"He says nothing about it to me. I do not know whether he does to
mamma."
"He would say nothing to her; he knows better than to put his foot in
it. Have you seen the Mariani girls?"
"Yes; I met them in the Retiro Gardens a few days ago."
"Do you know that Maria is engaged?"
"She did not tell me."
"Yes. In the cavalry, a son of Brigadier Arcos. Such a queer-looking
fellow; not ugly, but his legs tremble when he walks, as if he had just
come out of the hospital. You see, as the brigadier is her mamma's most
devoted--it is all in the family."
"And you? Do you keep it up with your cousin?"
"I really cannot tell you. On Monday he went off in a huff and has not
been to the house since. My cousin is not what he seems; he is no
simpleton, but a very presuming fellow; if you give him an inch he takes
an ell. If I did not keep a very sharp look out there is no knowing to
what lengths he would go at the pace he makes. Do you know that the
other day he insisted on kissing me?"
Esperanza gazed at her, smiling and curious. Pacita put her mouth close
to Esperanza's ear and whispered a few words.
"Mercy!" exclaimed the girl, turning scarlet.
"As I tell you, child. Of course I told him he was a horrid wretch, and
I would not touch him with a pair of tongs. He went off very much
nettled, but he will come back."
"Your cousin rides very well. I saw him on horseback yesterday."
"It is the only thing he can do. Books make him idiotic. He has been
examined six times already in Roman law, and has failed to pass every
time."
"What does that matter!" exclaimed Esperanza, with a scorn which might
have made Heinecius turn in his grave. And she went on, "Did Madame
Clement make those hats?"
"No. Mamma had them bought in Paris by Senora de Carvajal, who arrived
on Saturday."
"They are very pretty."
"Yes, prettier than any Madame Clement makes."
Little Esperanza de Calderon, though plain enough, was nevertheless not
without attractions, consisting partly perhaps in her youth, and partly
in her mouth, on which, with its full fresh lips and even white teeth,
sensuality had already set its seal. The youngest of the Alcudias was a
delicate creature, all bones and eyes.
At this point another lady was shown in--a woman of forty or more,
pretty still, though painted, and marked with lines left by a life of
dissipation rather than by years.
"Here is Pepa Frias," said Mariana--the Senora de Calderon--with a
smile.
"Quite right; here is Pepa Frias," said the lady so named, with an
affectation of bad humour. "A woman who is not in the very least ashamed
to set foot in this house." The company all laughed.
"You would suppose by my appearance that I had come out of the
workhouse? That I had no home of my own? But I have. Calle de Salesas,
Number 60--first floor. That is to say, the landlord has--but I pay him,
which is more than all your tenants do, I am very sure. Oh! Pinedo, I
beg your pardon, I did not see you. And I am at home on Saturdays--it
is not so hot as you are here, oof! And I give chocolate and tea and
conversation and everything--just as you do here."
And while she spoke she went from one to another shaking hands with a
look of fury. But as every one knew her for an oddity they took it as a
joke and laughed.
She was a woman of substantial build, her hair artificially red, her
eyes rather prominent, but handsome, her lips rosy and sensual--a
decidedly attractive woman, in short, who had had, and, in spite of
advancing years, still had, many devoted admirers.
"What there is not at my house," she went on to Senora de Calderon,
giving her a sounding kiss on each cheek, "is a woman so graceless and
so insignificant as you. For, of course, I am not come to see you, but
my dear Senor Don Julian, who now and then comes to wish me good
evening, and tell me the latest prices of stocks. And _a propos_ to
prices, Clementina, tell your husband to hold his hand till I give him
notice. No, you had better say nothing about it. I will call at your
house this evening."
"But, child, how you are always loaded with papers about shares and
stocks!" exclaimed Mariana.
"And so would you be if you had not such an energetic husband, who heats
his head over them that you may keep yours cool and easy."
"Come, come, Pepa, do not be calling me names, or you will make me
blush," said Calderon.
"I am saying no more than the truth. You may imagine that it is pure joy
to be always thinking whether shares are going up or down, and writing
letters and endorsements, and walking to and from the bank."
"I imagine, Pepa," said the General, with a gallant smile, "that, from
all I hear, you have a perfect talent for business."
"You imagine! That is an event!"
"I have not so much imagination as you, but I have some," retorted the
General, somewhat put out by the laugh Pepa's speech had raised.
Pepa enjoyed the reputation in society of being a very funny person,
though, in fact, her wit was hardly to be distinguished from audacity.
Speaking always with an affectation of anger, calling things bluntly by
their names, however coarse they might be, saying the most insolent
things without respect of persons--these were the characteristics which
had won her a certain popularity. She had been left a widow while still
young, with two children, a boy who had entered the navy and was at sea,
and a girl who had now been married about a year. Her husband had been a
merchant, and in his later years had gambled successfully on the Bourse.
At that time Pepa had caught the same passion, and, as a widow, she had
cultivated it. Prudence, or more probably the timidity which generally
hampers a woman in such a business, had hitherto saved her from the ruin
which, as a rule, inevitably overtakes gamblers. She had somewhat
impaired her fortune, but still enjoyed a very enviable competency.
"Pepa, the matter is going on famously," said Pinedo. "Zaragoza wishes
to have one volcano, and at Coruna the authorities have decided on
making two, one on the east and one on the west of the town."
"I am glad; I am delighted. So that the shares will not be put on the
market?"
"No; the syndicate has ample security that they will be at three hundred
before the month is out."
The few who were in the joke laughed at this. The rest stared at them
with intense curiosity.
"What is all this about volcanoes, Pepa?" asked Senora de Calderon.
"Senora, a society has been formed for establishing volcanoes in various
districts."
"Indeed. And of what use are volcanoes?"
"For warming, and as decorative objects."
Every one understood the joke excepting the lymphatic mistress of the
house, who still inquired into the details of the affair with continued
interest, her friends laughing till Calderon, half amused and half
annoyed, exclaimed:
"Why, my dear, do not be so simple. Do you not see that it is a joke
between Pepa and Pinedo?"
The couple protested, affecting the greatest gravity. But Pepa whispered
in her friend's ear: "Mariana is such a simpleton that for the last
three months that carpet-knight, the General, has been making love to
her and she has never found it out."
Pepa was not far wrong in styling General Patino a carpet-knight. In
spite of his swagger, his somewhat damaged features and his martial
airs, Patino was but a sham veteran. He had got his promotion without
losing a drop of blood--first as military instructor to one of the
princes, then as member of various scientific committees, and finally as
holding a place under the Minister of War; cultivating the favour of
political personages; returned as deputy several times; senator at last
and a member of the Supreme Court of Naval and Military Jurisdiction, he
had never been on the field of battle excepting in pursuit of a
revolutionary general, and then with the firm determination never to
come up with him.
As he had travelled a little and boasted of having seen every implement
in the arts of war, he passed for an accomplished soldier. He subscribed
to two or three scientific reviews; when his profession was under
discussion he would quote a few German authorities, and he spoke in an
emphatic tone and a deep chest voice which impressed his audience. But
in fact the reviews were always left to lie open on his table, and the
German names, though correctly pronounced, were no more than empty
sounds to him. He piqued himself on being a soldier of the modern
school, and for this reason he was never seen in his uniform. He was
fond of the arts, especially of music, and was a regular subscriber to
the Opera House and the Conservatorium Quartetts. He was fond of
flowers, too, and of women--more especially of his neighbour's wife;
insatiable in tasting the fruits of other men's gardens. His life
glided on in simple contentment, in watering the gardenias in his little
garden--Calle de Ferraz--and making love to his friends' wives.
This he did as one who makes it his business, and in the most
business-like way. He devoted all his mind to it, and all the powers of
his considerable intelligence, as a man must who means to achieve
anything great or profitable in this world. His strategical knowledge,
which he had never had occasion to display in the battle-field, served
him a good turn in storming the fair ones of the metropolis. First he
established a blockade with languishing glances, appearing at the
theatre, in the parks, in the churches frequented by the lady;
where-ever she went Patino's shining new hat, gleaming in the air,
proclaimed the ardent and respectful passion of its owner. Then he
narrowed the _cordon_, making himself intimate in the house, bringing
bonbons to the children, buying them toys and picture-books, taking them
out to breakfast occasionally and bribing the servants by opportune
gifts. Then came the attack; by letter or by word of mouth. And here our
General displayed a daring, an intrepidity, which contrasted splendidly
with the prudence and skill of the siege. Such a combination of talents
have always characterised the great captains of the world: Alexander,
Caesar, Hernan Cortes, Napoleon.
Years did not avail to cool his ardour for great enterprises, nor to
diminish his extraordinary faculties; or, to be accurate, what he lost
in energy he gained in art; thus the balance was preserved in this
privileged nature. But since fortune--as many philosophers have taught
us--refuses her aid to the old, in spite of his skill the General had of
late experienced certain repulses which he could not ascribe to any
defect of foresight or courage, but only to the vagaries of fate. Two
young wives in succession had snubbed him severely. But, as is always
the case with men of real genius, in whom reverses do not produce any
womanly weakness, but, on the contrary, only prompt them to concentrate
and brace their spirit and power, Patino did not weep like Augustus
over his legions. But he meditated, and meditated long. And his
meditations were rich in results; a new scheme of tactics, wonderful as
all his schemes were, rose up from the labour of his lofty thoughts.
Taking stock very accurately of his means of attack, and calculating
with admirable precision the amount of resistance which the fair foe
could offer, he perceived that he could no longer besiege new citadels,
where the fortifications were always comparatively recent, but only
those which, being ancient, were beginning to show weak spots. Such keen
penetration in planning the attack and such skill in execution as the
General could bring to bear, promised him certain victory. And in fact,
as a result of this new and sure plan of action, first one and then
another of the most seasoned and mature beauties of the capital
surrendered to his siege, and at the feet of these silver-haired Venuses
he won the reward due to his prudence and courage.
Like Hannibal of Carthage Patino could vary his tactics as circumstances
required, according to the position and temperament of the enemy.
Certain strongholds demanded severity, a display of the means of
coercion; in other cases craftier measures were needed, a stealthy and
noiseless approach. One fair enemy preferred the martial and manly
aspect of the conquering hero: she would listen with delight to the
history of the famous days of Garrovillas and Jarandilla, when he was in
pursuit of the rebels. Another took pleasure in hearing him discourse in
his highest style of oratory and richest chest notes on political and
military problems. A third, again, went into ecstasies over his
interpretation of some famous melody of Mozart's or Schumann's, on the
violoncello. For our hero played the 'cello remarkably well, and it must
be confessed that this elegant instrument had helped him considerably in
his most successful achievements. He brought out the notes in a quite
irresistible manner, revealing very clearly that, in spite of his
dashing and bellicose temperament, he had an impressionable heart, alive
to the blandishments of love. And lest the long-drawn notes should not
express this with absolute clearness, they were corroborated by eyes
upturned till they disappeared in their sockets at each impassioned or
pathetic point of the melody--eyes which really could not fail of their
effect on any beauty, however stony-hearted.
Pepa's malicious insinuation was not unfounded. The gallant general had
for some time past been turning his guns on Senora de Calderon without
her showing any signs of being aware of it. Never in the course of his
many and brilliant campaigns had he met with a similar case. To bombard
a citadel for several months, to pelt it with shell as big as your
head--and to see it as undisturbed, as sound asleep, as though they had
been pellets of paper! When the General came out, point-blank, with some
perfervid address Mariana smiled complacently.
"Hush, wretch! A nice specimen you must have been in your day!"
Patino would bite his lips with annoyance. In his day! He who fancied
his day was still at its noon! But his amazing diplomatic talent enabled
him to dissimulate, and smile in bland reply.
"How much did you give for that bracelet?" Pacita inquired of Esperanza,
who was wearing a very pretty and fanciful trinket.
"The General gave it me a few days ago."
"Indeed! The General evidently makes you a great many presents then?"
said her friend, with a slightly ironical tone which the girl did not
understand.
"Oh, yes. He is very kind. He is always giving us things. He gave my
little sister a beautiful locket to wear at her neck."
"And does he make presents to your mamma?"
"Yes, sometimes."
"And what does your papa say?"
"Papa!" exclaimed Esperanza, opening her eyes in surprise, "What should
he say?"
Pacita, without replying, called the attention of one of her sisters.
"Mercedes, look what a pretty bracelet the General has given to
Esperanza."
The second of the Alcudias abandoned her rigidity for a moment, and
taking Esperanza's arm examined the bracelet with interest.
"It is very pretty. And the General gave you that?" she asked,
exchanging a meaning glance with her sister.
"Here comes Ramoncito," said Esperanza, looking towards the door.
"Ah! Ramoncito Maldonado."
A tall young man, slight and thin, very pale, with black whiskers which
encroached on his nose, in the style adopted by his Majesty the King,
and, following his example, by many of the youthful aristocracy, came
into the room with a smile and proceeded to greet the company without
any sign of shyness, taking their hands with a slight shake, and
pressing them to his breast in the affected style which, a few years
since, was the correct thing among the coxcombs of Madrid society. As he
came in he filled the room with some penetrating scent.
"Heavens, what a poisonous atmosphere!" Pepa exclaimed in an undertone,
after shaking hands with him. "What a puppy that fellow is!"
"Hallo! Old boy!" exclaimed this youngster, coolly taking Pinedo by the
beard. "What were you doing yesterday? Pepe Castro called on you----"
"Pepe Castro called on me! So much honour overwhelms me!"
Such familiarity on Maldonado's part to a man already of mature age and
venerable appearance was somewhat startling. But all the gilded youth of
the Savage Club treated Pinedo in the same way without his taking
offence at it.
"And here is Mariana," Pinedo went on, "who has just been abusing you;
and with reason."
"Indeed."
"Do not believe him, Ramoncito," exclaimed Senora de Calderon, much
surprised.
"Oh, and Pepa too."
"You, Pepa?" asked the youth, trying to appear indifferent, but in fact
somewhat uneasy; for Pepa de Frias was very generally feared, and not
without cause.
"I? Oh yes, and I will have it out with you. What do you mean by soaking
yourself with scent? Do you hope to subdue us all through our olfactory
organs?"
"I only wish I could subdue you through any organ, Pepa."
The retort was generally acceptable. There was a spontaneous burst of
laughter, led by Pacita. Her mother bit her lip with rage and whispered
to the daughter next her to tell the second, to communicate to the
youngest that she was a shameless minx, and that she would hear more of
it when she got home.
"Well said, boy! Shake hands on it!" exclaimed Pepa, holding out her
hand to Ramoncito. "That is the first sensible speech I ever heard you
make. Generally you only talk nonsense."
"Thank you very much."
"There is nothing to thank me for."
"We have just read the question you put in the Assembly, Ramoncito,"
said Senora de Calderon, trying by amiability to discredit Pinedo's
accusation.
"Pshaw! Half a dozen words!"
"Every one must make a beginning, young man," said Calderon, with a
patronising air.
"No, no. That is not the way to begin," said Pinedo, gravely, "You begin
by dissentient murmurs; next come interruptions"--"That is inaccurate;
prove it, prove it; you are misinformed"--"Then you go on to appeals and
questions. Next comes the explaining of your own vote, or the defence of
some incidental motion. Finally a speech on some great financial
question. So you see Ramon is at the third stage, that of appeals and
questions."
"Thanks, Pinedito, thanks!" replied the young man, somewhat piqued.
"Then, having reached that stage, I appeal to you not to be so devilish
clever."
"I declare! That too is not so bad," exclaimed Senora de Frias in a tone
of surprise. "Why Ramoncito, you are sparkling with wit!"
The youthful deputy found himself a seat between the daughter of the
house and Pacita de Alcudia who parted reluctantly to make room for his
chair. Maldonado, a man of good family, not altogether devoid of
fortune, and recently elected member of the Chamber, had for some time
been paying his addresses to Esperanza de Calderon. It was in the
opinion of their friends a very suitable match. Esperanza would be
richer than Ramoncito, since Don Julian's business was soundly
established on an extensive scale; still, the young man, who was by no
means a beggar, had begun his political career with credit. The young
girl's parents neither opposed nor encouraged his advances--Calderon,
with the dignity and superiority which money gives, hardly troubled
himself as to who might profess an attachment to his daughter, satisfied
with the certainty that when the time came for marrying her she would
have no lack of suitors. Indeed, five or six young fellows of the most
elegant and superfine society in Madrid buzzed in the parks, at evening
parties, and at the theatre, round the wealthy heiress, like drones
round a beehive.
Ramon had many rivals, some of them men of position. But this did not
trouble him so greatly as that the damsel, by nature so subdued, and
usually so silent and shy, with him was saucy and at her ease, allowing
herself sundry more or less harmless little jests, and blunt answers,
and grimaces, which amply proved that she did not take him seriously.
And for this reason, Pepe Castro, his friend and confidant, constantly
told him that he should make himself more scarce, that he should seem
less eager and less anxious, that a woman was the better for being
treated with a little contempt.
Now Pepe Castro was not merely his friend and confidant, but his model
for every action of social or private life. The verdicts he pronounced
on persons, horses, politics--of which however he rarely spoke at
all--shirts and walking-sticks were to the young deputy incontrovertible
axioms. He copied his dress, his walk, his laugh. If Castro appeared on
a Spanish mare, Ramon sold his English cob to buy such another as his
friend's; if he took to a military salute, raising his hand to the side
of his head, in a few days Ramon saluted like a recruit; if he set up a
flirtation with a shop-girl, it was not long before our youth was
haunting the low quarters of the city, in search of her fellow. Pepe
Castro combed all his hair forward to hide a patch that was prematurely
bald; Ramon, who had a fine head of hair, also combed his hair forward;
nay, he would very willingly have imitated the baldness to appear more
_chic_.
However, in spite of all this devout imitation of his model, he could
not obey him in the matter of his incipient passion. And for this
reason: strange as it may seem, Ramoncito was beginning really to care
for the girl. Love is but rarely a single-minded impulse; various other
passions often contribute to suggest it and vivify it: vanity, avarice,
sensuality, and ambition. Still it is hardly to be distinguished from
the real thing; it inspires the same watchful care, and causes the same
doubts and torments; the touch-stone lies in unselfishness and
constancy. Else it is very easy to mistake them. Ramon believed himself
to be sincerely in love with Esperanza, and perhaps he was justified,
for he admired her and thought of her night and day, he sought every
opportunity of pleasing her, and hated his rivals mortally. However he
might try to follow the advice of the infallible Pepe and to conceal his
devotion, or at any rate the ardour of his feelings, he could not
succeed. He had begun to court her out of self-interest with all the
unconcern of a man whose heart is free, and the young lady's disdainful
indifference had quickly brought him to thinking of her constantly, and
feeling himself confused and fascinated in her presence. Then the
rivalry of other suitors had fired his blood and his desire to win her
hand as soon as possible. And in deference to the truth it must be said
that he had _almost_ forgotten Calderon's thousands, and was _almost_
disinterested in his attachment.
"So you really made a speech in the Chamber, Ramon?" asked Pacita. "And
what did you say?"
"Nothing! Half a dozen words about the service of the bridges," replied
the young man, with an air of affected modesty.
"Can ladies go to the Chamber?"
"Why not?"
"Because I should so much like to hear a debate one day. And Esperanza,
too, I am sure."
"No, no. Not I," Esperanza hastily put in.
"Nonsense, child; do not make any pretence. Do not you want to hear your
lover speak?"
Esperanza turned as red as a poppy and burst out: "I have no lover, and
do not wish for one."
Ramon, too, coloured scarlet.
"Paz, what horrible things you say," Esperanza went on, in indignant
confusion. "If you say any such thing again I will go away and leave
you."
"I beg your pardon, my dear," said the malicious little thing, enchanted
at having put her friend and the deputy to such confusion. "I quite
thought--so many people say--Well, if it is not Ramon it is Federico."
Maldonado frowned.
"Neither Federico nor any one else. Leave me in peace. Look, here comes
Father Ortega. Get up!"