"Still it can all be arranged. The general, when he accepted the post of
ambassador, left one district vacant, that of Serin, in Galicia. They
will soon be having the second elections. If the government will accept
you as _candidato adicto_, you are certain of a triumph."
Rivera said nothing, and seemed also lost in thought.
"Hitherto, Perico, I have never had the least idea of being the father
of my country. You know well that I am of no good for kicking my heels
in the ante-chambers of ministers, that I am not one to suffer
impertinences and scorn, nor have I the talent for manoeuvring plots,
nor the audacity for meddling in dark intrigues. I am so constituted
that a cool look wounds me, a discourteous word annoys me, any
disloyalty crushes and overwhelms me. I am incapable of giving my word
and not fulfilling it; I have not sufficient calmness to keep cool when
brought into contact with the sympathy and love, or the aversion, which
men inspire in me. I get excited and lose my head with excessive ease,
and under the influence of anger I speak out the first word that comes
into my mind, however dangerous it is. Moreover, I have the misfortune
of always seeing the comic side of things, and I have not sufficient
strength of mind to repress myself and to refrain from saying what I
think. Politicians, when they are not knaves worthy of jail, seem to
me, with a few honorable exceptions, a herd of vulgar, ignorant men who
have taken up this occupation as the easiest and most lucrative; many of
them village intriguers who come to repeat in Congress the same
trickeries which they have been practising in the _Ayuntamiento_[39] or
the _Diputacion_;[40] others, men who have failed in literature, the
sciences, and the arts, and not getting there the notoriety that they
crave, seek it in the more accessible field of politics: a young man
whose drama has been hissed off the stage; another, who has tried five
or six times in vain to get a professorship; another, who has written
various books that remain virgins and martyrs on the publishers'
shelves,--these are the ones who, making their way into the Hall of
Congress, where no one is judged by his merits, and rallying under the
standard of some personage who began as they did, climb to lofty
destinies, and as time goes on, come to regulate the affairs of the
nation.... But I have become too serious," he added, lowering his voice
and smiling. "The principal argument that I bring up against dedicating
myself to political life,--I will tell it to you as a secret,--is, that
I detest it; I detest it from the bottom of my heart. Nevertheless, as I
am threatened with ruin, I am determined to enter it to restore my
fortunes, which I was foolish enough to compromise."
Brutandor looked at him with wide-opened eyes: any one can imagine,
knowing the tendency of his mind, that Miguel spoke a language entirely
incomprehensible to him.
When he ended, the newly elected deputy imperceptibly shrugged his
shoulders and puckered his mouth into that look very common to him, one
that made it hard to tell whether it meant indifference or disdain or
surprise or resignation. Miguel used to maintain that his friend Mendoza
was able to understand only eleven things in this world: when anything
distinct from the eleven was said, instead of answering, he made the
face spoken of, and gave it to be understood that there the matter
ended.
"Well," said he, noticing that face, "to do this you must introduce me
to the government ministry."
"I will introduce you to the President of the Council. I am better
acquainted with him than with Escalante."
"I am glad of that, for Escalante is not congenial to me, and at all
events I don't know the President. Do you want to go this afternoon to
the Presidency?"
Mendoza looked at him in amazement.
"But don't you know that I am going to speak to-day in Congress?"
"Forgive me, dear fellow; I don't know a single word about it. And what
are you going to speak about?"
"About tariff reform. It is the first speech that I shall have made.
Hitherto I have only put inquiries."
"Don't be so modest, Perico; I happen to know that you have presented a
report concerning the citizens of Valdeorras, without flinching or
anything coming of it."
"Don't you laugh; the danger to-day is very serious."
"Terrible!... Especially for the taxes.... And when are you to be
married?"
Mendoza looked down and flushed.
"On the fifteenth."
"I am delighted that you are entering into the good path," said Miguel,
noticing Mendoza's mortification, and generously trying to spare him.
"Come, get up, man; it is already almost eleven o'clock."
"You will breakfast with me, won't you?"
"My dear fellow, you must know that to-day is an exceptional day for
me!"
"Of course I know it; but then we will go together to Congress; and
perhaps, if the session is over in time, we might go to the presidency."
This last suggestion pleased Miguel, because he saw clearly that his
thirty thousand duros depended on the influence that he might gain over.
After thinking a little, he said:--
"Very well; I will send a message to my wife, so that she will not be
worried."
He sat down at Mendoza's table, while the latter was dressing, and
dashed off a few lines to Maximina. While writing them, he could not
help saying in a tone of grief:--
"Strange circumstances that oblige me to leave my wife alone on the day
after she has presented me with a son! Nevertheless, it is for her and
for him that I do it. If I were a bachelor, it would not make much
difference if I were ruined."
After he was dressed, and before they went down into the dining-room,
Mendoza showed his friend the jewels that he was going to present to his
"future." They were magnificent and in the latest style. Miguel praised
them as they deserved, at the same time wondering where Perico had got
the money to buy them; and though he was much tempted to ask him, he had
the delicacy not to do so.
Then they went down to a private room on the _entresol_ floor, where
Brutandor was in the habit of breakfasting alone. The waiter served them
a remarkably fine breakfast, among other things, Burgundy and champagne
_frappe_ for dessert.
"This is extravagant, Perico," he said. "The next time I shall forbid
your treating me in such style."
"The senorito always breakfasts like this," said the waiter, smiling
with evident satisfaction.
"_Hola!_" exclaimed Miguel, in surprise. "Who could have believed,
Perico, that those heavy leaders that you used to write in _La
Independencia_ would have been so quickly coined into oysters, fillets
of veal, and Burgundy!"
Brutandor dropped his head, and there are reasons for belief that the
precursory symptoms of a smile appeared in his face. However, if any one
should be inclined to deny it, there would not fail to be arguments in
support of such an opinion. Mendoza's smiles always gave room for
dispute.
After breakfast they betook themselves to Congress, not, however,
without the Amphitryon first hurrying up to his room, and bringing down
a package of documents, which proved to be notes for his speech.
"_Maria Santisima!_" cried Miguel. "How calm and undisturbed are the
poor deputies who at this moment are without a thought of the coming
earthquake!"
They arrived in altogether too good season. There were but few people in
the _salon_ and the lobbies. Mendoza went to join a group of personages,
grave and solemn like himself, and began to talk with them. When one
spoke, the others maintained a courteous silence; there might be some
question, however, whether they listened very attentively, but there was
no room for doubt that each one listened to himself with perfect
delight. Miguel joined a group of journalists where tumultuous gayety
reigned.
When it was time for the session to begin, he went with them to the
reporters' gallery, which in a short time was crowded. Almost all the
faces to be seen there were young, and such a babel of voices and
disorder constantly prevailed there that it was difficult to hear.
In vain the ushers, with a familiarity that anywhere else would have
been called insolence, warned and even threatened them; the reporters
paid no attention to their menaces, and when they deigned to listen, it
was merely to reply with some bloodthirsty witticism: if the usher at
last became really angry, there was sure to be some one who would take
the wind out of his sails by throwing his arms around his neck, and
promising him promotion "as soon as he came to be minister."
Some amused themselves by sharpening pencils; others, by cutting up
paper into pads; others drew out from between vest and shirt enormous
writing-tablets: one would think that it was an orchestra beginning to
tune up. Settling themselves into absurd attitudes, they all talked,
shouted, laughed, fired repartees at each other, and made witty remarks
about the deputies who were now coming into the large and elegant
_salon_, and casting sheep's-eyes at them, or rather the eyes of dying
lambs asking mercy. As a general thing, these were the rural members.
Those who lived in Madrid always had some acquaintances among the
journalists, and to these they made signs and winks from below, and
sometimes sent caramels, to which the reporters would respond with
rhymed notes.
"Look here, my dear; do you know what uniform the sub-governors are
going to wear?"
"The sub-governors won't have anything else than a sub-uniform," replied
a sufficiently ill-favored reporter named Inza. This same Inza, who was
in one corner arranging his pad, shortly after remarked:--
"Ah, here comes Alonso Ramirez enveloped in the skins of his clients."
The famous lawyer just at that moment came in, wearing a magnificent
overcoat trimmed with fur.
This jest has since that time been credited to a politician by his
friends, and they would be quite capable of claiming that he wrote the
Holy Bible, if they felt like it.
Keen sallies passed from one to another in loud tones, and caused hearty
laughter, and stimulated the victim to sharpen his wits so as to reply
with some other joke still more piquante. Much talent and still more
jollity were wasted in that incommodious gallery.
"Do you know, Juanito, that you are losing your wits?" cried one young
man to another.
"What can I do about it, man; for a week ago the chief sent me to the
Academy of Moral and Political Sciences?"
From time to time hot disputes came up on subjects most absurd or
foreign to the profession of the disputant; for instance, about the
method of loading needle-guns or driving carriages.
And they would gabble and get angry until the ushers compelled them to
stop, or some opportune joke from a comrade would bring them to their
senses.
The President mounted his lofty seat; instantly he was surrounded by a
group of deputies, to whom he began with paternal solicitude to offer an
abundant supply of caramels.
These caramels, which at that time did not cost the State more than five
hundred duros a day, are an institution, the history of which has
unfortunately been very much neglected. Nothing more useful can be
imagined than to study the vicissitudes through which it has passed, the
beneficent influence which these sweetmeats have exercised on the
government of our people, and the elements of progress which they have
carried with them. Its whole history might be compassed in three small
volumes of easy and agreeable reading.
When they were through, or when the President no longer cared to give
any more, the deputies went to their seats, and the session was opened.
The first person to get the floor was an ancient republican of pale
complexion, dull eyes, and a great shock of hair which made him look
like the images in our churches. He got up to speak of an insurrection
that had been started in Cadiz. The subject was of keen interest, and
there was a great curiosity in Congress to hear this gentleman's
remarks, as he was supposed to be one of the promoters of the
revolution. He began in these words, or to the same effect:--
"In the primitive times of history man wandered naked through the
forests, supporting life with the fruit of trees, and the milk and flesh
of animals which he hunted. One day he saw an animal like himself
passing through the woods. He flung his lasso and caught it. It proved
to be--a woman. Hence the family, _senores diputados_...."
He went on giving a complete though succinct sketch of universal
history, and explained to the minutest details the theories of the
social contract. He quoted numerous texts from the wise men of ancient
and modern times in support of his own theories. Attention was attracted
above all by one proposition of bold originality, and as it was received
with murmurs by the assembly, the deputy exclaimed:--
"What! does this surprise you? But it is not I that say it. Brigida says
it."
"Who is Brigida?" asked a journalistic tyro.
"His housekeeper," replied another, without looking up.
"Why! what a ridiculous thing to quote his housekeeper here!" exclaimed
the first.
The deputies received with renewed murmurs the name of the author of the
quotation.
"Brigida says it," cried the orator with all the force of his lungs.
Louder and longer murmurs. When quiet was restored, he said in a grave
and solemn tone:--
"Santa Brigida says so!"
"Ahaaaaaa!" replied the assembly.
The last five minutes were devoted to the events in Cadiz, and that was
to say that it was all the fault of the government.
It seems logical to report that the orator was removed from there in a
cage and taken to a mad-house. Nothing of the sort happened, however:
the minister replied in all formality, and combated his quotations and
theories with other quotations and other theories. At that period all
addresses began with Adam and no one was surprised at it.
Next, coming to the order of the day, it was the turn of tariff reform,
and Mendoza was granted the floor. He, having spread out on his desk his
earthquake of notes, coughing three or four times, lifting up his hands
an equal number, began his great oration.
His voice was well modulated, clear, and mellow; his tone grave and
high-sounding; his gestures noble and refined. Neither Demosthenes, nor
Cicero, nor Mirabeau were blessed with such an effective presence and
such an elegant round of attitudes as our friend Brutandor.
But the trouble was that the ideas that proceeded from his mouth did not
correspond in the least with such attitudes. That wrathful gesture, that
lowering and raising of the voice, and those short but quick steps in
front of his desk, were very appropriate to accompany the celebrated
"Tell your master that only by the force of bayonets will we be taken
from this spot," or the _Quousque tandem Catilina_; but for saying that
the annual consumption of cotton in England in 1767 was 4,000,000
pounds, and that in 1867 it was more than 1,400,000,000 pounds; that the
number of workmen engaged there in the manufacture of cotton is 500,000,
and 4,000,000 the persons whose living depends on this industry; that
the value of the paper manufactured in 1835 was 80,000,000 pounds and in
1860 exceeded 223,000,000; that the manufactories of the said product at
the present time numbered 394; that in France its production exceeded
25,000,000 kilograms, etc.,--they did not seem so appropriate. His whole
discourse was reduced to this: quantities, dates, facts. The deputies,
with more or less dissimulation, began to desert the salon, one after
the other.
"This orator is an air-pump," said one reporter. "At this rate there
will soon be a perfect vacuum."
The jokes and flings in the press-gallery became general. Miguel, who
knew what he had to expect from his friend's genius, listened with
disgust to their raillery of him: he was anxious, and somewhat inclined
to cut short their jests peremptorily; but, as in that tribunal of
Liberty, comment on the speeches was traditional, he did his best to
restrain himself. The best thing that occurred to him, in order to avoid
being compromised, was to make a hurried visit home and find out how his
wife was. When he returned, the orator was still speaking.
"Now, Congress is about to see the most curious thing of all," said the
worthy Brutandor.
And, on turning round to gather up from his desk the papers on which it
was written, he showed the seat of his trousers! But no one noticed this
graceful _quid pro quo_ except Miguel and a shorthand reporter, who
could not help laughing.
The joking continued among the reporters; the observations, however,
were made more with the purpose of causing a laugh than of hurting the
feelings of the orator, whom almost all knew or were intimate with. Only
one, the editor of a Carlist daily, from time to time got off serious
criticisms in bad taste, as though he had some personal ill-will against
Mendoza. Miguel had already looked at this man two or three times in an
aggressive manner, without the other taking any notice of it. At last,
accosting him, Miguel said:--
"See here, friend; I am not surprised that the numbers of _El Universo_
are so stupid! You evidently take pains to waste all your wit here."
"What you just said to me seems to me an intentional insult, sir!"
"Perhaps."
"You will immediately give me an apology," said the journalist, very
much disturbed.
"No; I should much prefer to give you some unpleasantness by and by,"
replied Miguel, with a smile.
Then the editor of _El Universo_ took his hat and went out in great
indignation. In a short time, two Catholic, deputies made their
appearance in the gallery, asking for Miguel.
"You have come to ask me to make an apology, have you? Then I tell you
that I shall not make one. Come to an understanding with these two
friends of mine."
And he introduced those whom he had selected. The Catholic editor's
seconds had not come so primed for a bellicose decision: after
consulting a few moments with Miguel's, they went down to ask further
instructions of their principal; then returned in a short time with the
calumet of peace in their hands, saying that 'their friend's religious
principles did not allow him to settle insults with weapons.'
On hearing this, there was an explosion of laughter in the gallery.
"Then, if his religious principles do not allow him to fight," said
Miguel, irritated, "there was no reason for him to choose seconds. But
it seems as if this gentleman wished to try his fortune."
At last, Mendoza finished his oration with three deputies in the hall,
one of them snoring. This, however, did not prevent the papers on the
following day declaring that he was a man "most skilled in financial
matters."
When Miguel went to congratulate him, he was sweating copiously but calm
and serene as a god, surrounded by all the members of the committee of
Estimates.
They left Congress together, and went for refreshments to the Cafe de la
Iberia. After chatting there for some time, Miguel doing most of the
talking (for we know of old that Mendoza was not the man to waste his
breath foolishly), the latter got up, saying:--
"Well, Miguelito, excuse me if I leave you; I have a few things to
attend to."
Rivera's eyes expressed surprise and indignation.
"Your glory has spoiled your memory, Perico. Hadn't we agreed to see the
President after the session?"
"That is a fact: I had forgotten," replied Mendoza, without being able
to repress a motion of vexation and disgust. "I don't know as this
is--it is pretty near dinner time...."
Miguel, who had not failed to notice his gesture, said with
characteristic impetuosity:--
"Look here, do you imagine that I lamentably wasted two hours hearing
you quote data to be found in any statistical annual merely for the
pleasure of doing so?... I never believed that your egotism was carried
to such a degree. You see me within a hand's-breadth of ruin, for your
sake, only for your sake, and instead of using all your powers to save
me, in doing which you would be merely fulfilling your duty, you
manifest Olympian indifference; you aren't even willing to put yourself
out to go with me from here to the Presidency. That is unworthy,
shameful! I have excused many things in my life, Perico; but this goes
beyond bounds."
Rivera, in saying these words, trembled with indignation.
"Don't be so explosive man! why, I have not yet refused to go with you
to the Presidency, or anywhere else," said Mendoza, laying his hand on
his shoulder, while his lips were curved by that humble smile which
Miguel compared to that of "a Newfoundland dog." "Come on! let us go
this very moment to the Presidency!"
"Come on, then," said Rivera dryly, getting up.
After going a few steps his vexation subsided.
When they reached there, the President had not yet come in. Mendoza, as
a deputy, made his way immediately into the office, and there they both
waited, taking a comfortable seat on a sofa while the throng of
office-hunters were spoiling in the anteroom. It was not long before
there was the sound of a carriage under the _porte cochere_: instantly
all the bells in the house began to jingle madly.
"Here comes the President," said Mendoza.
Indeed, in a few seconds he came into the office, accompanied by a
number of deputies. Seeing Mendoza, he greeted him in the free and easy
tone with which he greeted the friends who came every day.
"Well worked up, my dear Mendoza, well worked up. It has produced a very
good effect."
He alluded to the speech.
Mendoza, instead of being embarrassed by the greatness of the personage
before whom he stood, replied in the same familiar and fluent tone. This
self-possession did not fail to impress Miguel; for he, being more
accustomed to social intercourse, could not help feeling some emotion of
respect before the man who held the reins of government.
The President was about fifty years old: he was fair and pale, with
regular, and not unpleasing, features; the only thing that disfigured
his face was a row of huge teeth, which were apt to be uncovered when he
smiled; and this he did frequently, not to say incessantly.
"I present my friend, Miguel Rivera, who is now the actual editor of _La
Independencia_."
"I have heard of this gentleman. I am very, very glad to make your
acquaintance, Senor Rivera," said the President, shaking hands with
exceeding amiability. "You will excuse me a moment, will you not?" he
added, touching them both on the shoulder; "I have to speak a few words
with these gentlemen.... I will be with you in an instant."
The instant was about half an hour. Miguel had been growing impatient.
But the President's courteous reception made him feel better, and
inclined him to pardon the delay.
"There," said he, after taking leave of the other gentlemen, "now I am
at your service. What can I do for you, friend Mendoza?"
"I wanted to know if you have come to any decision about the district of
Serin?"
"What district is that: the one left by General Rios?" he asked, for a
moment ceasing to smile, and fixing his eyes on the window.
"Yes, sir."
"We have not as yet given any thought to the vacant districts. The
second elections will not take place for two months at least."
"My friend Rivera, here, has conceived the idea of presenting himself
for that district in case the government should favor it."
"There is some little time yet; still you would do well to begin making
your arrangements.... But, friend Mendoza, you are a 'well of science'!"
he added, jocularly, not making it at all evident whether he spoke
ironically or not. "Ah! that was a meaty discourse that you gave us this
afternoon!"
Brutandor inclined his head, and did his best to smile.
"I am not going to be ceremonious with you, gentlemen, for you are
friends. Come and take dinner with me, and then we can talk with greater
comfort and ease."
And he showed them into a private room where there was a table spread.
Neither Mendoza nor Miguel accepted his invitation, but the latter
appreciated this kindly hospitality.
The President began his meal, more than once deploring that his friends
would not join him; he kept growing more and more expansive and genial
with Mendoza, and he overwhelmed Miguel with refined and delicate
attentions, now speaking in the terms of warmest eulogy of his father,
whom he had known, and now calling to mind some good article in _La
Independencia_; again, asking with lively interest into the details of
his life: if he were married, and how long since? where had he studied?
what was he doing? etc., etc. He related to them various lively
anecdotes, and made some droll sketches of some dead politicians whom he
had known in times gone by; of those who were alive he always spoke with
sufficient consideration, even though they were in the opposition.
Suddenly interrupting himself, he asked:--
"Isn't it true, Senor Rivera, that the President of the Council is a
trifle impudent?"
"It used to be said that Richelieu also was," replied Miguel, with a
bow.
"I feel that I have his defects, and not his qualities. You can imagine
how I envy those reserved, polite, prudent men ... like our friend
Mendoza here!"
Again it was difficult to tell whether the head of the government were
speaking seriously.
"I do not; it would be depriving myself of one of the greatest pleasures
of life."
"I agree with you; but it costs the most of all."
And in this connection he related several cases where by frankly saying
what he thought, it had caused him serious losses. His conversation was
gay, insinuating, without the least snobbishness; his fault lay, on the
contrary, in excessive familiarity.
When he had finished eating, he courteously offered cigars, and after
lighting one and leaning back in his chair, he asked Rivera:--
"So, then, you wish to be deputy for Serin?"
"If you have no opposition to it...."
"I? Why should I have any opposition to it? It is sufficient that you
are Brigadier Rivera's son and Mendoza's friend. Besides, no election
could be more suitable than yours. You are a young man of talent, as has
already been proved; you belong to the democratic wing of the party, and
that composes a very respectable contingent in it; you have an
independent fortune ... on men like you the heads of the government
ought to have great reliance, and ought to win them over at all hazards.
We like young men of intelligence, and with a future ahead of them;
rising stars! As for those that are declining, let them have a
feather-bed to rest in! That is public life."