"As you please."
"Aunt Anita,[33] of course."
"Yes; I should be glad to see your Uncle Manolo here."
"And what gentlemen shall we have?"
"That will be my part."
"Shall you invite the men on the paper?"
"We will see; according as the cloth holds out."
"And Carlitos?"
"Yes; it will be his duty to illuminate the 'reunion on all disputed
points."
"And Mendoza?"
"Could we think of leaving out the most precious ornament?... But then,
he is very much engaged just at present with his marriage and politics."
This business of the invitations having been settled, and it having been
decided that certain letters should be written and certain calls made,
Maximina remained for some time pensive and melancholy.
At last, taking her husband's hand and looking at him lovingly and
sadly, she said:--
"I am sure that I am going to disgrace you, Miguel.... I am not used to
these things. _Virgen Maria!_ how much I would give to be like one of
those elegant and lovely ladies that you bow to in the theatres. I don't
see how you ever came to marry me, when I am neither beautiful nor able
to be compared with the ladies whom you know."
"Hush! hush!" said he, laying his fingers on her mouth. "I am prouder of
having married you than if you had been a princess of the blood."
"I know this," she replied, her eyes overflowing with love and
happiness; "I know that I am proud because I am your wife, and because
you preferred me to any handsome, elegant, and rich woman; me, a poor,
good-for-nothing...."
"Hush! hush! or I will bite you," he repeated, kissing her passionately.
During the days that followed, as had been decided, they began their
preparations and got out their cards. Miguel went in person to invite
his Uncle Manolo.
He lived in a magnificent mansion in the Calle del Pez. Since his
marriage he had changed few of his habits. It would be a great mistake
to imagine that he had in the least abandoned the solicitous cares which
he had always bestowed upon his elegant person: not at all! tinctures
and cosmetics followed in harmony with the latest advances of chemistry;
all bands and braces and the latest improvements in the science of
orthopedics; the best shoemaker in Madrid; the most skilful dentist, the
most fashionable tailor and perfumer in the city.
Uncle Manolo was a monument so admirably preserved that the Spanish
government might have taken him for a pattern for theirs.
Nevertheless, merciless Time had been making some ravages in that proud
edifice, and already some of his marks could be clearly seen on its
facade; crow's-feet and wrinkles of every sort each day grew deeper and
deeper; in spite of his shoulder-braces he bent a little more forward;
his step, also, was not half as light and firm as before. There was no
question that the least carelessness or omission in the process of his
self-preservation would bring him in ruins to the ground.
Miguel found his Aunt Ana, for variety's sake, by the chimney-corner;
and this, although it was rather early in the season for fires. In her,
as well as in her lord and master, the ravages of time were also
manifest, so much so, that it was more easy to believe that the good
lady, once married, had entirely forgotten the care and adornment of her
person, since, in so short a period, such terrible decay had occurred.
For _la intendenta_ had now quite the appearance of a septegenarian; her
hair was thin and white, her face pale and withered, her waist like a
barrel, and her hands dark and wrinkled and repulsive to look upon.
"Good day, aunt! How are you?"
"As usual, my son; and you?" she replied, indolently, in a plaintive
voice.
"I am well; and uncle?"
"How should I know how your uncle is?" she replied bitterly. "It makes
very little difference either. And your wife? Does her condition trouble
her any?"
"Not at all; she is perfectly well."
Miguel noticed that the depreciative tone in which _la intendenta_
always spoke of her husband had increased to an alarming degree; in the
inflection of her voice could be perceived not only scorn, but even
hatred. He therefore decided to avoid that subject, and to direct the
subject to other themes.
But in spite of all his efforts _la intendenta_ constantly found
occasion to bring him in, as it were, "by the hair," and make some
remark derogatory to her husband; and, naturally enough, this was not at
all pleasing to Miguel. Consequently, after announcing the object of
his call, he broke off the conversation and went to his uncle's room.
He found him wrapped up in a magnificent dressing-gown, and seated
reading his newspaper, while the barber was giving the last touches to
the curl of his mustache.
He was not a little rejoiced to see his nephew, with whom he always kept
up relations that were more like that of a comrade than an uncle; he
forthwith accepted, with the greatest delight, his invitation, and
concerning his proposed supper gave him some very wise advice from his
own long experience.
"See here! Tell Lhardy to cook you some truffled quails, such as he sent
a few days ago to the house of the Swedish minister, and some stuffed
river pike, with a gravy of cream of soft-shelled crabs such as I ate at
the De Velez ball. Beside this, have anything that you like. I will
advise you that you ought to get your wines at Pardo's, on the Calle del
Carmen. Ask for _Margot_ ten years old, and tell Pardo that you are my
nephew, so that he won't take advantage of you.... I give you the hint
that you ought to warm it a little before inviting your guests into the
dining-room. Tell him that you want such champagne as I always order.
Don't buy any sherry: I will send you a couple of dozen bottles from a
cask which I had as a present! it is the best I ever drank.... But,
however, I will come round to your house on the day of your supper, to
see that everything is going all right."
After the barber had been dismissed, Miguel was anxious to hear from his
uncle something about his domestic life, since _la intendenta's_
aggressive words did not pass from his memory. He began by
circumlocutions so as to bring the conversation to the point desired;
but when he reached it, his Uncle Manolo restrained him with a gesture
full of dignity.
"Not a word about my wife, Miguel!"
He majestically extended his arm, scowled terribly, and his perfumed
locks waved above his immortal head.
Miguel understood well by signs that the relations between his uncle and
aunt could not be very cordial, and he made up his mind to watch them in
silence.
"Come to breakfast," said Senor Don Manolo de Rivera, looking at his
watch. "You will breakfast with us, will you not?"
"I have just had breakfast, uncle."
"Very well; then come and see us eat, and we will go out together."
They went to the dining-room, where the senora was waiting them, and
husband and wife sat down at opposite sides of the table, while the
nephew ensconced himself in a chair not far from them.
But one thing instantly threw him into a state of stupefaction, and that
was to see beside his uncle's plate, on the cloth, a large and
magnificent six-shooter.
And his amazement increased when he saw his uncle push it away a little
as though it were the tumbler, the napkin-ring, or any other of the
indispensable paraphernalia of the service; and still more, to see his
aunt pay no attention to it, but begin calmly to eat her boiled eggs as
though this were the most natural thing in the world.
Our hero's imagination began to whirl faster than a wheel, and he was
lost in a sea of conjectures; but he did not have the courage to ask
what it all meant, although his curiosity was terribly piqued: he
understood that such a question would be indiscreet. Not that he gave up
the idea of finding out, but merely postponed it till a more fitting
occasion.
Breakfast was finished without anything happening to require the use of
the deadly weapon which Senor de Rivera kept at his right hand; and this
might have been expected, since at one o'clock in the day it is not
common for robbers to break into houses.
The conversation was general, although the two elders seldom addressed
each other, Uncle Manolo especially, taking evident pains completely to
ignore his wife.
She, on the other hand, kept caroming phrases at him indirectly wounding
and pinching him, while talking with Miguel.
The chivalrous _caballero_, when the charge hurt him, would give a
wrathful look at his sweet enemy; and as she managed very cleverly to
avoid it, he would shake his head in sign of wrath, and make an
expressive face at his nephew, and then give his attention to what was
in front of him.
When breakfast was over, Miguel took leave of his aunt very courteously,
and after going back to his Uncle Manolo's room to help the old man put
on his coat, they went into the street together.
As soon as they were fairly out of doors, Senor Rivera's ill-humor and
the melancholy that had grown upon him during the last third of the meal
vanished as by magic; he pulled out his case, gave Miguel a cigar, and
lighted another, beginning to puff with satisfaction, while they were
passing along San Jeronimo Avenue.
Miguel, however, could not keep the revolver out of his thoughts, and he
was possessed to unravel the mystery concealed in it. When they had
turned the corner of the Calle de la Puebla, he stopped a moment, and
asked him boldly:--
"See here, uncle, though you may call me indiscreet, I am going to ask
you a question, because I can no longer stand the torment of
curiosity.... What the deuce is the meaning of that revolver that you
had beside your plate while you were at breakfast?"
On hearing this, the _ex-gentil caballero's_ face once more darkened; he
bent his head until his beard touched his breast, and began to walk on
again without saying a word. After a considerable time he heaved a deep
and most pitiable sigh, and began to speak in a low voice:--
"You must know, Miguel, that for some months past my life has been a
hell! My wife (who, parenthetically, is the most loathsome woman that
God ever put into the world) has taken it into her head to be jealous of
me! Would you believe that such a piece of trumpery, an old shoe, has
the slightest right to be jealous of a man like me? Does it not seem to
you that I have done enough in burdening myself with her?
"Now, instead of thanking me for the sacrifice that I made in marrying
her, she is foolish enough to believe that I ought to adore her, to be
dying with love for her. And as this is the height of absurdity, and
cannot be, she is eating out my very soul. When I get up, when I lie
down, when I go out of the house, when I come in, when I eat, and when I
sleep, never can I enjoy an instant's peace; above all, at meal-time she
has been making such a martyr of me that I cannot eat half as much as I
ought, and even then it troubles me to digest it. I cannot go on in this
way without danger of losing my health. Great evils require heroic
remedies; one day I took the revolver, and said to her: 'If at table you
say another word to disturb me, I will put an ounce of lead into your
head.'
"That was a happy idea, for since that time she has not said a single
word more, and to-day only by taking advantage of your presence did she
make a few indirect insinuations. My servant has been charged, when
setting the table, to place the revolver by my plate.... Perhaps you
will imagine that she is jealous of some definite person, and that I am
doing wrong not to break loose from this person, and thus avoid all
occasion for torment; but there is nothing of the sort. Each day she is
jealous of some different woman, and never once hits the truth. Man
alive! to show you how stupid she is, I will tell you that day before
yesterday a good lady, whom I happened never to mention to her, sent me
a couple of dozen tarts; and she, without any more ado, flung the
platter on the floor, and began to berate the servant like a
sardine-woman. Tell me now if I don't need patience, and if it would not
have been better for me to have had all the bones in my body broken than
marry this calamity!"
Uncle Manolo ceased speaking, and continued silent for a long time,
brooding over his sad thoughts. Miguel dared not disturb them, since he
knew too well that it was hopeless for him to offer him any advice.
Finally, that magnanimous man, richer every day in tribulations, stopped
again, and asked his nephew, with severe intonation:--
"Tell me, Miguel, don't you know any place now infested by the cholera
or any other contagious disease?"
"No, uncle; I do not," replied Miguel, struggling hard not to laugh.
"What a strange idea! Do you wish to murder your wife?"
"Man! no, of course not to murder her. I only thought in any case of
letting nature have its perfect work.... But could I have a blacker
fate? Just imagine! I learn from a medical friend that Madrid is full of
fevers and pneumonia, caused by the bad custom of riding on the Prado in
September. Well now, after many entreaties, and 'making myself into
syrup' to accomplish it, I succeeded in getting my wife out to drive
with me several evenings. 'Come now,' I said to myself, 'if she does
not get pneumonia, she may at least catch a bit of a fever, and as she
is feeble...." Do you understand?"
"Perfectly! and did she?"
"Hush, man, hush! The one who caught a catarrh, and had to stay in the
house four days was ... myself. I haven't got over my cough yet!"
All this time they were walking along the Calle de Peligros, and they
saw coming toward them a young woman not at all bad-looking, since she
had bright, rosy complexion and red lips; her dress was attractive and
rather scanty. As she passed she smiled upon Uncle Manolo, giving him a
very expressive salute.
"Who is that girl?" asked Miguel.
"Don't you know her? She is Josefina Garcia, one of the ballet at Los
Bufos."
And after they had walked a few steps farther, he added, with some
perturbation:--
"See here, Miguel, if you will excuse me, I will leave you.... At five
we will meet at La Cerveceria[34], if you say so."
"All right, uncle, all right," he added, without being able to hide a
smile; "go where you please. We'll meet again."
And they took leave of each other, shaking hands.