How much anxiety, how much misery it caused Maximina to make ready for
their 'fiesta'! Her slow and painstaking character ill accorded with
Miguel's marvellously quick and lively bent. Hence it came about that in
arranging the details of the affair little differences of opinion sprang
up between the two.
Miguel, not taking into account that it was the first time that she had
ever found herself engaged in such a rout, demanded impossibilities of
her.
The poor child, seeing his annoyance, made incredible efforts to have
everything right, not because the result made much difference to her,
but because she feared worse than death any blame from her husband.
Miguel, not noticing it, and being carried away by his impatience, did
not spare his criticisms on every occasion, harassing and mortifying her
beyond measure; only when, after some remark made in a harsh tone, he
saw the tears gathering in her eyes, would he perceive how unjust and
cruel he had been, and going to her he would cover her with kisses, and
beg her pardon.
Maximina would instantly become happy, and drying her eyes, would say
with touching innocence:--
"I will do what I can to satisfy you. You will not scold me any more,
will you?"
At last the preparations were all completed. A few new articles of
furniture were bought for the parlor, and it was put into elegant
condition. The table was laid in the next room, which was the library,
and in this task they were greatly assisted by Uncle Manolo. A few extra
servants were engaged for the occasion; one of the bedrooms was put into
order for a ladies' dressing-room; the stairway was adorned with vases
of flowers and brilliantly lighted, and the same was true of all the
rooms in the house. The porter was tempted by a good large fee to allow
the door to be kept open and the entrance lighted all night.
Likewise nothing that concerned the dress to be worn by Maximina at the
party was neglected. Miguel insisted that it should be rich and
magnificent, but she was intensely opposed to this; finally it was
decided to leave the matter to the dressmaker. And on the very day of
the 'fiesta,' early in the morning, that personage herself came with a
dress, of great simplicity, to be sure, but of the utmost elegance. But,
oh, how unfortunate! the dress was open in front in the form of a heart.
Miguel found his wife in despair on a sofa with the dress in her hands,
and almost ready to cry, while the modiste, with difficulty repressing
her anger, was arguing that the suggestion to have it filled in was out
of the question, and that no lady when she had such a party at her house
ever failed to wear a dress more or less _decollete_, and that in this
case the front was neither too high nor too low.
To all this Maximina replied sweetly, but firmly, that she had never
worn a low-necked dress, and that she should die of mortification if she
did so now.
Miguel at first sided with the modiste; but when he saw the sadness
painted on his wife's face, he was secretly flattered by her delicate
modesty, and suddenly changed his mind, saying:--
"Very well; don't say anything more about the matter. If the dress can
be altered for this evening, let it be done; if not, wear one of the
best ones that you have already."
It was difficult to persuade the modiste to alter it; but finding that
both of them were firmly resolved, she saw nothing else to do, and she
and Maximina put their heads together to remedy it as well as they
could.
In the evening, after the table was set and Uncle Manolo was gone, the
young couple were left alone with the servants.
Maximina shut herself in her room to dress, and Miguel did the same.
When he had finished his toilet he ordered all the lamps to be lighted.
Shortly after the house was illuminated, Maximina came from her room,
looking like a rosebud.
"Oh, how sweet!" exclaimed Miguel, when he saw her coming into the
study, where he was selecting the books to be scattered over the tables.
The young wife smiled and blushed.
"Come, don't make sport of me!"
"Why should I make sport of you, darling, since you are lovelier than
ever!"
In point of fact, Maximina, who had grown much prettier since her
marriage, now beamed in all the fresh and artless beauty with which
Heaven had endowed her.
Her dress was of a delicate brown, and to cover the opening they devised
an under-handkerchief of a very fine grenadine.
Miguel took her by the hands and looked at her for several moments, his
eyes beaming with love. The maids crowded around the door and looked in
to see their mistress.
"Isn't it true that my wife is very pretty?" he asked of them.
"Most beautiful, senorito!"
"She is just a very virgin!" exclaimed Juana.
"Not quite!" replied Miguel, mischievously.
"Stop it, _tonto_, stop it!" she exclaimed, in embarrassment, tearing
herself from his hands and starting to run.
They sat down to table as usual, but ate very little: Maximina
especially had no appetite for anything; they kept constantly
interrupting each other to suggest some detail that was lacking, and
more than once Maximina jumped up to attend to it herself.
Then they went to the parlor and waited patiently for their guests.
Maximina was trembling with excitement. Miguel showed a nervous joy, for
he was not certain that the 'fiesta' would prove to be a success, and
he was afraid of anything ridiculous. He gave his wife his arm, and they
began to promenade up and down the parlor, glancing at the mirrors as
they passed them. Maximina hardly recognized herself: she was surprised
to appear such a respectable and elegant senora.
"Do you see!" said Miguel; "everything depends on appearances in this
world: these people who are coming are neither more nor less respectable
than we are; consequently you have no reason to be afraid."
In spite of these encouragements, Maximina kept growing more timid; each
instant she imagined that she heard steps on the stairs.
"Come now; imagine that I am a guest coming this very moment...."
(_Miguel went to the anteroom and came back again, making low bows_).
"Senora, at your feet!... How do you do this evening? It is a genuine
honor and a great satisfaction to be present at this _soiree_, where my
friend Miguel wants to show everybody how happy he is in his choice....
But he deserves this happiness ... he is an excellent young man; you
also, senora, will have little reason to repent. The truth is, I have
been anxious to see him married; and though he is to be envied, all of
his friends, including myself, wish him greater happiness every day of
his life.... (Come, wife, say something.)"
Maximina, standing motionless in the middle of the parlor, listened,
with her mouth open and a smile on her lips.
"Answer, wife.... Come now; I see that you will never be a star of
society.... Nor is there any reason why you should be," he added gently.
And suddenly, taking her by the waist, he darted with her through the
parlor, making a few turns of a waltz.
At that instant the bell rang. Both stopped as though petrified and
instantly let go of each other: Miguel went into his study. The servant
opened the door, and a young man made his appearance, who proved to be
none other than Gomez de la Floresta.
Miguel had forgotten that the reading of his drama was the pretext for
the party, and he felt some slight vexation to see him, manuscript in
hand; but he received him no less cordially.
The three sat down in the study and talked for a long while, as the poet
was far ahead of time.
The next to arrive was Utrilla, the ex-cadet of the military school,
whom Miguel had taken pains to invite, not only on account of the
friendship that existed between them, but also because of his pity for
his blind love for Julita, and the hope that she might at last come to
return it. He was in evening dress, the same as Gomez de la Floresta.
Then came in quick succession his cousins Enrique and Serafina, Mendoza,
Julita and her mother, with Saavedra, _Rosa de te_ and Merelo y Garcia,
the De Ramirez ladies, and Miguel's cousins, Vicente and Carlitos;
Asuncion and two other young ladies whose names we do not remember, and
a few other guests.
What Miguel had foreseen came to pass: Maximina, smiling and blushing,
received the people without any of those meaningless and polite phrases
which are customary on such occasions; but her naturalness and modesty
made a great and very favorable impression on every one. La Senora de
Ramirez said to Miguel in an aside:--
"How good your wife must be, Rivera!"
"What makes you think so?"
"It is enough to see her face."
"Yes; she is very _simpatica_," said one of the girls, with a
condescending tone.
The guests formed groups, and were conversing gayly. Gomez de la
Floresta was burning with impatience.
At last Miguel, not so much to gratify him, as to have everything pass
off in good form, invited him to begin the reading of the play: he took
his stand by the side of the fireplace, under a gas-fixture; the people
scattered themselves at their convenience on the chairs and sofas; a
servant brought on a waiter various refreshments, and placed them as
well as he could on the mantel-piece near the poet.
Gomez de la Floresta coughed two or three times, cast a troubled glance
over his audience, and then began the reading of his drama, which was
entitled _The Serpent's Hole_, and was cast in the time of Carlos
II.,[35] the _Bewitched_.
As we know the author, there is no need of saying that the lyric note
prevailed in it; that it was couched in sonorous verse, that it abounded
in elegant and exotic adjectives; in writing it he had put under
contribution the beautiful and picturesque phrases of our _Esmaltes y
Camafeos_,[36] of Theophile Gautier, and the no less beautiful but more
spontaneous ones of our own Zorilla.
The result was a composition of beautiful words in diapason, producing a
notable musical effect, alternating with some phrase or sentence _a la_
Victor Hugo. Not a single character said anything in a straightforward
manner: instead of telling who they were and whence they came, they
drowned themselves by anticipation in a river or cascade of Oriental
pearls, moonbeams, dewdrops, perfumes of Arabia, sunsets and sapphires
and emeralds, so that the thread of the discourse was lost, and no one
could gather the least idea of its character and tendency.
When he was half through the act, the Countess de Losilla and her two
daughters came in, later than all the rest, since they lived the nearest
of all. Their entrance for a few moments interrupted the reading; all
arose, and Maximina hastened to greet them.
All the ladies looked sharply and eagerly at the young ladies' dresses
and jewelry, which were in the highest degree elegant and original,
especially that of Filomena, who had a remarkable genius for inventing
and combining adornments, departing from the fashion when she pleased,
or changing it according to her own caprice; she knew how to make the
most of her extreme slenderness by wearing dresses such as would have
been unbecoming to any other girl, and she took pains by her
extraordinary manner of brushing her hair to make the strange
originality of her face more brilliant.
During the interruption the poet fortified himself with a glass of
currant juice.
Then the reading began anew. At the end of the act, there were signs of
approbation, especially among the young ladies, to whom, though they had
not understood a word, it had sounded very fine. A few gentlemen
remained in the parlor while the dramatist was resting: he and one or
two others had gone into the corridor to smoke.
"What does _Rosa de te_ think about it?" asked one of the gentlemen,
addressing the young critic.
_Rosa de te_ reddened, and spoke a few incoherent words.
"Leave him, leave him alone with his grief!" said Miguel, who happened
to be in this group. "When the heroes of comedies and novels do not
adopt resolutions, it makes him desperate."
The drama was finished at eleven o'clock, to the great and ill-concealed
satisfaction of each and all of the company.
During the last act the girls yawned in an angelic manner; the gentlemen
exchanged expressive winks under the poet's very nose. Then came
encouraging and prolonged applause! All broke out into eulogies, and
predicted great things for the piece.
Gomez, overwhelmed, flushed, and trembling from head to foot,
acknowledged the compliments by laying his hand on his heart, really
believing that his work was already saved from the "claws of the
public."
The poor fellow had no idea that many of those who were applauding him
had all ready a howl for the "first night" of his play, in vengeance for
the forced applause that they had given him.
After this the ladies went to the library, where supper was served. The
gentlemen took their places in the rear, and there began that buzzing of
flat and conventional phrases between both sexes, which constitutes what
has been called the "witchery of the salon."
At that moment, after Gomez de la Floresta's drama, nothing that was
said could fail to seem clever or to excite the mirth of the guests;
something, and it is not extravagant to say much, was contributed to
this desirable state of things by the sight of the well-laden and
decorated table, which in its final state was the work of Uncle Manolo.
Saavedra had been sitting the whole evening behind Julia, whispering
clever things in her ear, while Utrilla, seated not far from them, and
suffering as though they were roasting him on a gridiron, gazed at them
fiercely, and planned how he might call his rival to one side, and
demand an explanation as soon as the chance presented itself. We already
know that in the matter of explanations he was no amateur.
It is befitting that we say a few words in regard to the state in which
Julia's relations with her cousin and the ex-cadet were placed.
Don Alfonso had spent a few days at the Astillero with his aunt and
cousin, and during this time he had settled his love-affair with Julia
on a firm basis.
Then he went to Paris, intending to arrange his business, and return to
Spain for good. In the first days of September he really returned to
Madrid, but he did not lodge at his aunt's; reasons of delicacy, which
he explained to Julia, compelled him to this.
While he was in Paris he wrote few letters, and these in the fluent
terms of cousinly rather than lover-like affection. Julia's pride
forbade her asking any explanations; but when he returned he hastened to
give them, telling her in rather obscure terms that he wanted to keep
his relations with her secret for a time, so as conveniently to settle
his affairs, and announce their engagement to his family at the earliest
possible moment, and thus realize the union which he so eagerly desired.
This secret and somewhat underhanded conduct, instead of dampening
Julia's ardor, each day made her more and more her cousin's slave.
Don Alfonso, when he was not sleeping, spent almost all the hours of the
day at his aunt's house; he was often there to dinner, and likewise
often went to drive or to the theatre with them.
As for our _bizarre_ cadet, his fate could not have been more desolate.
Julita had broken off entirely with him; and on this account he had
fallen into such a decline that it was pitiful to see him: his sallow
complexion had turned green; his bones could be counted even at a long
distance; only one thing had grown in his body, and that was his Adam's
apple; this had reached really fantastic proportions.
As Miguel was going along the vestibule, he felt that some one touched
his shoulder.
It was Utrilla.
"Don Miguel, I want to ask a favor of you."
"You shall, my dear boy."
"It is absolutely necessary that you and some other friend this very
moment carry my challenge to this Senor Saavedra. I thought of doing it
myself, but I am rather excited, and I do not care to let myself cause a
scandal in your house."