In fact, he did not return ... until the next day; but he went dressed
_de corto_, that is to say, in short jacket, tight pantaloons, and
sombrero.
"See here, senorito, are you going to the slaughterhouse to skin
something?" asked Manolita, as soon as she saw him in that rig.
And then began their skirmish of love-making; he making use of all the
honied words at his command, she replying to each loving phrase with a
proud, tierce parry.
Enrique was not foiled by that, and he was right. By the example of her
young girl friends and companions, and by her rude training, the _chula_
was armed with a tough bark full of thorns; but God knew well, and
Enrique likewise knew, that at heart she was a poor girl, good,
industrious, long-suffering, ignorant as a fish, and more innocent in
certain respects than might have been supposed from her speech and
behavior.
She had lost her mother about two years before; her sister had married a
farmer, and lived out toward Las Vistillas. She herself lived with her
father, who was a Vizcaino,[31] who had been established in Madrid for
many years in a little house with two rooms facing the corral where the
cows were kept.
She was a genuine Madrilena to the extent of never having even set foot
on a railway train, or having in her walks gone farther than
Carabanchel.
The Vizcaino, since the death of his wife, who had exercised a
restraining influence upon him, had been taking more and more
desperately to drinking habits, and treated his daughter very brutally.
But even in her mother's lifetime she had become so accustomed to cruel
treatment that it had never once occurred to her that she was living a
very unhappy life; and when one day Enrique spoke of it in that way,
after one of those barbarous deeds which the dairyman frequently
committed, she looked at him in surprise and said, 'yes, that he was
right, that she was very miserable'; but her tone seemed to say, "Man
alive! don't you know that it isn't my fault?"
As day after day went by, Enrique, constantly visiting at the "dairy,"
enduring the _freshnesses_, the pushing, and occasionally even the slaps
of this gentlest of _chulas_, when he went beyond the bounds of reason,
spent his time very pleasantly in the toils of his love.
At first he had a few unpleasant encounters with the brute of a father;
but afterwards they became great friends as soon as the dairyman
discovered that the senorito knew a thing or two about bulls, that he
had himself taken part in bull-fights, and was a great friend of the
most famous _espadas_, to whom the plebeians of Madrid offer fervid
worship.
When he came into the shop drunk, Enrique would take his hat and go, and
the other was not in the least offended at him for it; in this way he
avoided any collision with him. He spent not less than two hours every
afternoon talking with Manolita; in the evening, after the shop was
closed, he escorted her to the cafes to collect for the milk that they
had used during the day; he would wait for her at the door while she
settled her accounts with the proprietor.
As the _chula_ had her suitors, and they belonged to the "common
people," and were jealous of a senorito paying attentions to her, our
lieutenant was sometimes threatened, and even attacked; but we know that
in his character of _bulldog_, he was most fierce and obstinate; he
could defend himself so well with his iron cane, which he always took
with him, that Manolita was perfectly tranquil about him, though she
would bravely come to his aid and give his aggressors a few raps, as
destructive as they were well directed.
What were Enrique's intentions when he first began this flirtation? They
could not have been more perverse and insidious: he expected to ruin the
_chula_ and afterwards back out of it, but after he had known her a
month Manolita had him a prisoner at her feet, as tame and obedient as a
mountebank's dog, and this (let us say it to his credit, since we have
said unkind things of him) because he had a noble heart and felt sorry
for the poor girl's fate, so sorry, indeed, that he made up his mind to
marry her.
He spent several days pondering over this resolution, and then took
courage to open his heart to his mother.
Dona Martina was annoyed beyond measure, all the more from remembering
her own former position as laundress; but as she was a woman of
excessive meekness, and Enrique was like the apple of her eye, she
quickly took his part, although she could not bring herself to speak to
her husband about it, since she knew his temper, and was perfectly
assured that he would tear things in pieces rather than consent to such
a match.
Finally the lieutenant, not having the courage to speak to his father,
determined to write to him, and leave the letter on his table.
Don Bernardo did not answer, nor did he show the slightest sign of
having received it; after a few days Enrique left another on the same
spot with the same result.
The only sign that he could see was in his father's face: generally
clouded, it was now more gloomy than ever. Then, after imploring his
brothers, Vincente and Carlos to take his part, and after receiving from
them a flat refusal, he went to ask a similar favor of his cousin
Miguel, with whom he always kept on the most intimate terms of
friendship.
"Fine recommendation mine would be!" replied Miguel. "If you want your
father to kick you out of the house you could not find a better way."
"Don't you believe it; my father is fond of you--much more than he ever
gives you reason to believe. That is the way with him ... stern in
appearance ... but very affectionate at heart."
Miguel smiled, feeling respect for that judgment of a good son, and
still he continued to decline the office; but Enrique insisted so
strenuously, and with such fervent words, almost with tears in his eyes,
that at last, though not with very good grace, Miguel consented to call
upon his uncle and talk over the matter with him.
On the day set for the visit Enrique was waiting for him, walking up and
down the corridor in a state of agitation easy to understand. When the
door-bell rang he was the one that opened it.
"How pale you are, my friend!" exclaimed Miguel.
"My heart beats worse than if I were going to fight."
"Poor Enrique! Make up your mind that even if my meddling turns out ill,
as I predict it will, you will not hesitate a moment to hang yourself on
the beautiful tree that you have chosen!"
"See here, I can't wait for you in the house. My head is like a furnace;
I must have some fresh air.... I will wait for you at the Imperial."
Before going to his uncle's room Miguel went straight to Vincente's, who
was still master of ceremonies for the family.
Vincente received him with the affable gravity characteristic of him,
and was amiable enough to give him a circumstantial and entertaining
account of how the pipe that brought water to his wash-basin had, for a
number of days, been afflicted with a small break, which had made it
leak so that it had almost ruined a tapestry of the Catholic kings; but
fortunately it had been discovered in time, and after a long search they
had succeeded in finding the wretched leak.
Then he told him another story, no less interesting, about a curious
system of bells which he had invented for communicating with the
servants and the coachman. Finally, the oldest son of the Senores de
Rivera, manifesting a generosity which was as honorable to him as to his
cousin, brought from a closet a small ivory triptich, which he had
recently bought at El Rastro. It was an exquisite work, a real jewel, as
its owner declared, although somewhat the worse for wear. After both of
them had looked at it and admired it, Vincente, as he was returning it
to its place, and trying not to burst out laughing, said:--
"And do you know what Senor de Aguilar would be willing to give me for
this triptich?"
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"Just imagine, Miguel!... a Trajan! Think of it! he wanted to take me in
with a Trajan."
And Vincente, unable longer to contain himself, laughed till the tears
ran.
"How absurd!" exclaimed Miguel, laughing in sympathy, but not having a
very clear idea of what a Trajan was, and still less its value compared
with the triptich. The good humor into which this recollection put
Vincente resulted in his being anxious to do everything to gratify his
cousin.
"You want to speak with papa, do you? Now see here, he's engaged in
going through his gymnastic exercises; but I'll take you to him, at all
events."
"Gymnastic exercises?" exclaimed Miguel, in surprise.
"It was prescribed by the doctor because he had lost his appetite; do
you see? He did not eat a mouthful, and even now he takes very little.
He has been sallow and weak this two months, so that you would scarcely
know him."
On entering his uncle's stern and gloomy room, Miguel was, indeed,
surprised to see the change that had taken place in that excellent
gentleman's physique; the strange garb that he wore contributed in no
small degree to give him a sinister and terrible appearance: he wore
nothing except a gauze shirt, through which could be seen his lean and
bony frame; also full trousers of drilling, in which his shins could
scarcely be made out. His face, always broad and lean, seemed more
fleshless than ever; the yellowish complexion, the sad and glassy eyes,
and, as his razor never ceased to perform its devastating work, his
mustache had come to be only a slight speck beneath his nose.
His library had been turned into a gymnasium; there were parallel bars,
a few pairs of dumb-bells on the floor, and a number of iron rings
swinging from the ceiling.
When Miguel went in, his uncle was going through his evolutions on the
parallels; he had the opportunity of watching him at his ease, and it
pained him. Seeing the rapid and astonishing decline, he could not help
saying to himself:--
"It must be that my uncle has some grievous sorrow."
And as the old gentleman, absorbed in his painful task of walking on
his hands over the bars, did not perceive his presence, he said aloud:--
"Good afternoon, uncle."
Don Bernardo dropped to the floor, and gazing with bleared, vacant eyes,
replied:--
"_Hola!_ What brings you here?"
"Go ahead, uncle; don't let me interrupt you. How do you find yourself?"
"So, so. And your wife?"
"She is very well; go on, go on!"
Don Bernardo gave a jump, and again perched on the parallels.
"You can tell me what you want; I am listening."
Miguel looked at him a moment, and perceiving that the best thing to do
was to attack the business in hand directly, and without any beating
about the bush, he began to say:--
"I have come to talk with you on a subject which probably will be
irksome to you, ... but I got myself into it with over-haste, and I have
no way of retreat, but must fulfil it as well as I can.... Enrique has
told me of his desire...."
Don Bernardo dropped a second time.
"Not one word about Enrique," said he, stretching out his arm
imperiously.