VISITS OF CONDOLENCE.
Leon was awake and fighting his mental battle till daybreak; then he
felt very weary, and locking himself into his room, he slept for some
hours with that deep sleep which is apt to visit the condemned wretch
on the last morning, a sort of intoxication produced by violent and
long-continued sorrow.
It was about ten o’clock when he called his servant to help him dress,
gaining much interesting information meanwhile. The señora’s body had
been carried into the chapel by the kind permission of Don Pedro, and
Padre Paoletti had watched by it all night, and would remain there all
day and the night to come, praying incessantly. Padre Paoletti, with
the parish priests of Polvoranca and the neighbouring village, had
performed Mass early that morning at the altar of St. Luis Gonzaga.
Then Paoletti made his appearance to discuss various pious legacies
left by the deceased. To all this Leon gave his most anxious attention,
and he gave further orders to the priest so that whatever remained to
be done might be carried out with all magnificence. The marquis himself
came in, and they sat talking for a long time, without excitement or
hard words, gloomy and calm like a couple of diplomatic envoys from
conquered nations who in the midst of disaster are anxious to checkmate
a victorious usurper.
“It all rests with you,” said Don Pedro again and again, with a
melancholy expression. “You are master of the situation.”
But even after these words the conversation continued for some little
time longer, growing more and more grave and gloomy, till the last
sentences sounded almost like a funeral chant. The conference, like
some on which the fate of nations has turned, ended in a breakfast. But
on this occasion it was eaten in silence and hardly touched, a thing
which never happens in politics.
In the afternoon visitors began to arrive. Leon saw a melancholy
procession of black coats and heard a succession of sighs which
announced the comers like vocal visiting cards. Some with warm and
genuine sympathy, and others with total indifference, expressed their
sorrow at the event of the previous day; but without mentioning what,
thus offering an opportunity for a satirical explanation. Some shook
their heads, expressing: “What a world we live in!” Others squeezed
his hand as much as to say: “You have lost your wife! When shall I
have such a piece of luck!” Two hundred black-gloved hands pressed his
in turn. To him, feeling giddy and stunned and paying no attention
to their monotonous formulas, all they could say sounded like a hiss
and hum of irony. If the _Incroyables_ themselves had taken up their
parable, speaking through the mass of neckcloth that almost covered
their mouths, it could not have produced a more discordant mockery of
woe. Some, of course, had come out of sincere regard; some to witness
this extraordinary scene, this scandal above scandals; to look close
at the widower who, after killing his wife with neglect, flaunted
his connection with a married woman under the very roof where the
innocent victim had died only a few hours since. This idea lurked
perhaps in only a few minds, but it did in some. After paying their
respects to the mourner, several went into the chapel to gaze at the
dead--beautiful even in death.
At last the dismal crowd grew thinner--only three were left--two--one.
He was one of Leon’s most intimate friends and he stayed some time.
Then Leon was alone.
“Can I speak to you?” he heard a voice say at the door and he started
on seeing Gustavo.
“If you will speak briefly and plainly,” he replied.
His brother-in-law slowly approached.
“We are quitting this house,” he said, “which to us is the abode of
sorrow and sin. You, I presume, will remain here, bound to it as you
are by interest and passion. We are glad to be free from you. My mother
desires me to beg that you will not attempt to see her and take leave
of her.”
“I had already made up my mind to forego that honour,” said Leon
coldly. “Pray be good enough to make that clear to all your family.”
“Very good.--I can only congratulate myself on being the very opposite
to you,” said the lawyer laying his hand on his breast. “I answer your
ironical philosophy with Christian charity, and announce to you that my
mother, my father, all of us forgive you.”
“Thank them in my name. I am edified and delighted by such Christian
conduct.”
“We forgive you, not merely for the sad end....”
“What! again?”
“Not merely for the sad end to which you have brought my sister, but
for the insult you have offered to her sainted remains.”
Leon sat silent, dignified and sad.
“Do you protest? Do you deny it?” said Gustavo.
“I deny nothing. I have the pleasure, on the contrary, of leaving you
undisturbed in the unenviable enjoyment of your base imaginings.”
“Then we will drop this odious subject. We are convinced, you are
impenitent; each must hold his own.--Before we part for ever I am
anxious to have you understand that I have done nothing to encourage
Cimarra, or to incite him to attack you. He came to my house, and
consulted me; I advised him and drew up his case. All the rest is your
own doing.”
“Be quite easy. Do not torment your conscience about that man; while
defending his lawful rights, you may possibly guide him into the path
of salvation.”
“Your atheistical mockery cannot disturb my conscience, which, though
it is far from spotless, at any rate can see what is just and right.
Whether Federico’s repentance is sincere or not I cannot tell. But it
is against all sound doctrine to reject a man who confesses his sins
and declares he is resolved to act rightly for the future. If he is
brought to profess repentance, he may be led to desire it; and the
desire is half-way to the accomplishment of the fact. In this respect
this man’s form of evil has an advantage over your hardened disbelief,
since you can never confess nor repent.”
“I do beg you,” said Leon “to spare me the soporific treatment of
your sermons. The strangest thing about them is that they are in fact
grossly heterodox. A pretty apostle the Church can boast of!--Polito
might have come to announce the forgiveness of the family, and he would
not have preached to me.”
“He wished to come, but mamma would not allow it. His impetuous nature
fills her with alarm. We all hope that as he is about to undertake the
sobering duties of married life he may settle down, and break himself
of the vices which scandalize us.”
“Leopold is going to be married? Allow me to congratulate the lady,
though I have not the pleasure of knowing her.”
“The difficulties between my family and the Villa Bojios were all
removed last night when the young lady’s mother came to call and was
most lavish in her affectionate condolences. The Villa Bojios have
lately lost a son, and the mothers mingled their tears; it was agreed
that Leopold and Susana should be married as soon as we are out of
mourning.”
“Congratulate your mother for me--I wish her every success.”
“The covert satire of your tone is worthy of your utter disregard of
our sorrow.--I have had nothing whatever to do with this business,
and you yourself know very well that I have bewailed from my heart
all the disgrace which has fallen on the family in consequence of my
father’s misdemeanours, my mother’s folly and Polito’s vices. You, when
I believed you to be honest and honourable, were the confidant of my
griefs. Now, when we recoil from you with invincible repugnance, I feel
I must tell you that I cannot eat a morsel of bread in peace until we
have repaid to the uttermost farthing a man who does not deserve to be
our creditor.”
“If you mean me, I look for no indemnification. I am sufficiently
repaid with ingratitude.”
“That is all very fine,” said Gustavo sarcastically. “What I have said
I have said. Now, we meet no more. My last word is to acknowledge
that I was mistaken in saying that you would die of rage: You will
live on cynicism.--I know, the carriage is waiting and the trunks
packed for a theatrical flight in defiance of social decency and the
laws of morality. Well, well; it is no more than might be expected of
you.--_Bon voyage_, son of Satan....”
“Your penetration and information as to my proceedings are really
remarkable!--Now, if you please we will part.”
“It is my desire.”
“And I insist upon it. Good-bye.”
Not long after, peeping through the blinds, he watched the departure of
what had been his family. The marquis, feeble and crushed, was almost
carried by the poet who was still in attendance. His wife, really
broken-hearted, was a pathetic object. Polito, his throat muffled up
in voluminous wraps, gave one arm to the young lady who was to be
his wife, while in the other he held a dog. Milagros was supported
and almost lifted into the carriage by Pilar and Señora de Villa
Bojío.--Whips cracked, the horses pawed, and one, two, three, four
coaches rolled across the park bearing away the dozen or so of human
creatures, to whom the solemnity of a recent sorrow lent factitious
respectability.