Now while Miguel was busy in this excitement and anxiety, through the
fear of approaching ruin to his fortunes, another danger, a thousand
times greater, was threatening him without his knowledge.
We have already seen what a strange liking for Maximina had been
awakened in Don Alfonso Saavedra: it can be compared to nothing else
than that of the wolf, of which the fable tells us, who, having in his
power the whole flock of a rich man, went to devour the only lamb owned
by a poor man.
As the Andalusian _caballero_ was not a man to be readily defeated, or
else because he almost always found women easy to conquer, or because
his ostentatious figure, his fortune, and his arrogance made him bold
toward those who resisted him, he remained deeply disgusted because of
the scene at the party, where he had played a part so supremely
ridiculous in his own eyes. The absolute lack of coquetry which was
noticeable in Rivera's wife, was what mortified him most of all, since
he could not even invent the illusion that the indifference with which
she had received his gallantries was more or less fictitious.
To say that after this rebuff his ardor greatly increased, would be
doing little honor to the penetration of my readers: every one knows
that disdain is far from being the best palliative for love, and that,
in the majority of the mad passions that we see in the world, self-love
comes in with a respectable contingent.
Saavedra did not lose his wits, nor did he even make any false show of
appearing foolish, like Don Quixote in Sierra Morena; but as a man of
sagacity, accomplished in adventures of this sort, he determined not to
lose again his self-possession, and to "establish the blockade" of the
place according to the rules which his experience had laid down.
Quickly reading through Maximina's character, he divined that in her
case there would be no use for that amiability stuffed with arrogance,
that politeness imbued with disdain, which he had employed in winning
his cousin Julia's love. This serene, serious, and humble nature could
not be attacked on the side of vanity: he must aim at her affections. He
proposed, therefore, to win her little by little; not in the guise of a
rejected lover, which he well knew would be to lose forever her esteem,
but as a sincere, affectionate, and helpful friend. He tried with all
his power to dispel the suspicions which the conversation at the party
might have left in the young wife's mind. He quickly discovered that the
excitement under which she was at that time laboring had prevented her
from noticing his attempt to flirt with her; and he was enabled at his
leisure to carry out the plan of the campaign which he had designed.
He began gradually to make more and more frequent calls at their house,
skilfully overcoming the antipathy which Miguel had not the power to
dissemble. To accomplish this, he allowed him to notice a certain change
in his behavior, in harmony with those ideas of peace, order, and
propriety, which are characteristic of family life; he had some
confidential conversations with him, in which he announced himself as a
man who loathed a corrupt life, and was weary of the snaring pleasures
of the world; in order to flatter his literary and scientific tastes, he
borrowed certain books of him; and, after reading them, talked about
them long and enthusiastically, which secretly much amused Miguel. Then,
more than ever, he understood and did not cease to marvel at the supine
ignorance of so-called "society men." Don Alfonso had never in his life
read much besides French novels, and sometimes he asked questions that
would have astonished any schoolboy.
"He is one of our most distinguished savages," said Miguel to his wife,
speaking of this new taste for books.
With Maximina our Audalusian entered into long conversations about his
travels, laying special stress on the domestic customs of other
countries.
"Just think," he said (he never addressed Maximina with the familiar
'_tu_,' though he thus addressed Miguel), "in England they eat five
times a day. In the morning they breakfast as they please; at nine or
ten they have a meal of considerable formality; at one, another still
more free and easy; at five or six they have dinner; and at bedtime also
they have a bite of something."
Maximina, as a good housewife, was interested in these details, asked
about the prices of provisions and of rents; and she was greatly
surprised at the liberty given to the women in the way of going into the
street alone, and even travelling.
"Come now, that is the great country for Maximina," said Miguel. "She is
too modest to go alone to mass, and yet the church is only a step away."
The young wife smiled, in embarrassment.
"Well, now, yesterday I went with Juana to the Calle de Postas to buy
some drawers."
"There you have a word that you could not speak in England before
people."
"_Madre!_ and when you buy them, what do you call for?"
"They speak it to the clerk as a confessional secret," suggested
Miguel.
"Don't you believe him," replied Saavedra, laughing. "For those ladies'
clerks in shops are not 'people.'"
Meanwhile, he was trying to get her interested in his own private
affairs, asking her advice, and often following it.
"The truth is, that in respect of good advice I do not miss my mother.
You take her place divinely, Maximina. I announce myself your adopted
son, though I am old enough to be your father."
"But you are not as obedient as I should like."
"Only in one point, as you well know. In all the rest I obey blindly."
The point was marriage. Maximina did not cease to urge him to get
married.
"Hitherto I have never found a woman who would satisfy me for a wife,"
he replied.
"Why don't you marry Julia?" she asked one day at random, with the
ingenuous frankness characteristic of her.
Don Alfonso was a trifle confused.
"Julia is a good girl.... Very well educated ... she is talented ... she
is pretty.... But see here! confidentially, do you think that I should
be happy with Julia?"
"Why not?" demanded the young wife.
Saavedra kept silent a few minutes, remaining apparently lost in
thought; then he said:--
"You will readily understand that as you are her sister-in-law, and I am
her cousin, neither of us can with delicacy speak about her except in
terms of praise, which she certainly deserves in many regards. But with
you I have the courage to say one thing, and that is that we are not
congenial. We are two...."
And Don Alfonso put his two index fingers end to end.
"Why, I supposed that you were fond of each other!"
"Yes, we are fond of each other, but ... between this and marriage there
is a considerable distance.... I remind you that I have just spoken as
though you were my mother. Don't say anything of this to Miguel. He is
her brother, and the most insignificant thing might trouble him."
In this insidious manner the serpent tried to make his way into this
paradise. And he succeeded at last. As he had wisdom enough not to take
advantage of it, he soon acquired a certain familiarity in visiting at
their house, but always at the time when Miguel was at home; he knew
perfectly well that the least shadow of suspicion passing through his
mind would be sufficient to put an end to everything--God only knew how!
He also seized upon the occasions when _la brigadiera_ and Julia were
going to call on the young couple to accompany them. The jealousy which
the Brigadier's daughter had felt on the night of the party had
completely vanished when she saw the brotherly familiarity with which he
treated her sister-in-law, and the pains which the latter took to bring
her and her cousin together, and see them talk by themselves.
"It was through you that I got married; I have made up my mind to make a
match for you," said Maximina.
"Yes, but through me you married the man whom you loved," replied Julia,
with a laugh.
"You love Alfonso also; don't try to deny it, Julita!" replied Maximina,
kissing her.
On the other hand, Saavedra, instead of breaking the link of love which
united him to his cousin, had drawn it tighter of late, perhaps so as to
avoid all suspicion of his plan, or, possibly, because he had another
string to his bow, and wanted to manage them both at once; for anything
might be expected from his depraved character.
But already several months had passed, and his dastardly undertaking had
not made any progress at all.
To be sure, in Miguel's house he each day gained a more secure footing;
he often dined with them, many evenings he dropped in for a social chat,
and on others accompanied them to the theatre, and Maximina treated him
like a brother. But this was the very thing that annoyed the
_caballero_: in that house he was treated like a future brother. The
young wife had not been convinced by his denial, and when she saw that
he still kept up his attentions to Julia, she came to believe that he
had denied it either out of hypocrisy or from a spirit of opposition,
but that in reality he was deeply in love with his cousin; and there was
reason for this, since Julia (as Maximina believed) was the most
beautiful and fascinating girl in Madrid.
After the happy birth of Maximina's son, Saavedra behaved like a
consistent friend, offering such services as were in his power, coming
daily to make inquiries; in short, showing so much attachment and
affection to the young couple that Maximina's tender heart responded
with affectionate gratitude, as was perfectly natural.
Maximina was now more graceful and beautiful than ever; like all women
who are really born to be wives and mothers, and are married to the men
whom they love, the august crisis through which she had passed had been
advantageous to her in every way. It was hard to recognize in this
handsome young woman, with rosy cheeks and sweet brilliant eyes, the
pale and timid maiden of Pasajes.
The Andalusian _caballero_ was gradually growing more and more
impatient. The first part of his strategy had been carried out point by
point, as he had foreseen; he had won Maximina's esteem and even
affection.
The second part remained, but this was the most difficult and dangerous
in its execution, the most tempting in its result.
How should he begin?
In spite of his inconceivable pride, Don Alfonso had a foreboding that
he was destined to failure from the very first, and he kept putting off
the attack so as not to do it rashly.
Nevertheless, as his passion and impatience kept growing each day more
impetuous, and he was not a man ever to be found wanting in audacity, he
tried the experiment of giving her a few muffled gallantries, and these
the young wife received as the jokes of a pampered friend; then again,
he would sometimes press her hand a little too warmly when he greeted
her, touch her foot lightly under the table, and even pulled out a hair
or two stealthily, while her lord and master was dozing in his
easy-chair.
Maximina at first supposed that these things were accidental, and paid
no attention to them; but as the Andalusian persisted in them, she was a
little startled, though without having any clear idea of the danger, and
she tried to keep him at a distance, and from that time she began to
have a vague fear.
Though his first efforts met with results so far from flattering, still
Don Alfonso was completely infatuated, and though he would not have been
willing to confess it, he was very near losing his self-possession in
which he took such pride, and ready to "throw discretion out of the
window."
How this came about we shall soon see.
Miguel was very particular that his son should have plenty of fresh air;
he was full of modern theories of education, and believed that children
ought to live as much as possible out of doors from the earliest
infancy. Thus, as soon as Maximina was able to go out, he began to take
long walks with her through the Retiro. How happy our little mother was
in having her husband at her side, and her baby in front of her!
And what a baby he was!
It was necessary to have followed his progress step by step, as she had
for a month and a half, to appreciate the portentous gifts with which he
was endowed, and the boundless resources of his unequalled genius. She
would have been greatly offended had any one insinuated that he still
sucked his fingers when he accidentally thrust them into his mouth;
nothing of the kind! after he had been a fortnight in this vale of
tears, he had raised his thumb to his mouth with the set and deliberate
intention of sucking it, for nothing else. But this did not signify in
the least that the said thumb was as satisfactory to him as his mamma's
breast; he did it simply to amuse himself in moments of diversion. His
exquisite and delicate taste was equally well shown by his energetic
refusal to take the porridge which Juana had the impudence to offer him
one day when his mother was having a nap.
The angry expression of his face and the screams with which he received
the proposition gave no room for doubt; he would have preferred to die
of hunger rather than run the risk of spoiling his digestion by such
unsubstantial and harmful concoctions.
But the thing in which he best showed his practical talent, as well as
the perfection of his character, was in sleeping. As soon as he was born
he made up his mind that he was going to sleep twenty hours a day at the
very least; all that was done to dissuade him from this intention was in
vain; apparently he had weighty physiological reasons for carrying it
out. When unfortunately any attention to him or attempt to keep him
awake disturbed his plan, he would raise his voice to heaven, and the
house in commotion.
Miguel would be the first to run to his aid, would take him in his arms
and begin to walk up and down the corridors furiously, with the
expectation--deluded man!--of putting him to sleep in that manner. The
infant kept protesting more and more obstreperously against any such
unsatisfactory method; the father would grow nervous after some time,
and lest he should "dash him against the wall," he would turn him over
to Juana's secular arm, but she rarely, also, had the good fortune to
calm him. It was necessary to hand him over to his mother, who possessed
in her beautiful and bounteous bosom the secret of putting to flight all
his gloomy thoughts and making him see the world through rose-colored
spectacles.
"But is this little monster always going to look to his mamma for his
food?" asked Miguel, anxiously.
Maximina smiled, and shrugged her shoulders, and gave her son a kiss, as
if to say that she was ready to give a thousand lives for him.
But when it was least expected, Juana, rich in contrivances like
Ulysses, found one which, for its novelty and efficacy, left all others
far behind.
And like the majority of fertile and wonderful inventions it had the
additional merit of being simple. It consisted in holding the child in
her arms with its mouth up, and dandling him up and down gently, and
singing in rhythmic motion a certain melody.
We have always been desirous that great inventions with results of
practical use to humanity should be spread abroad as soon as possible.
Consequently, we shall not have the selfishness to hide this most
original as well as simple expedient, which possibly the reader may be
able to put to trial some day--I hope so with all my heart The words of
the song are these:--
Byelow! baby, byelow!
See the wild hen fly low!
There at last upon the mast,
Swaying, swinging high low![45]
As to the music, I am inclined to think that success was not attained by
that altogether. However, any one can be sure of obtaining a happy
result provided that--let this be thoroughly understood--provided that
it be repeated a number of times, and the last line sung in a dying
tone. For the stubborn infant to hear it, and to stop, with his eyes
fixed in ecstatic contemplation of no one knew what, was the same thing.
Perhaps it may have been the terrible hen forever swaying on the mast.
The one thing sure was that those little eyes, so open and terrified,
quickly closed in the softest slumber: all the inhabitants of the house
drew a deep sigh of satisfaction: the child was then forthwith carried
to the great nuptial couch, where it was deposited in one corner like a
bundle of linen.
I say that at first Miguel took pleasure in going out to promenade with
his wife; when the baby was hungry Maximina would nurse him, finding a
seat on a bench in some retired spot; then they would go into a "dairy"
near at hand and get some chocolate.
But after a few day's the Brigadier's son, either because of the
exigencies of business or because he desired to chat with his friends,
ceased to join her, suggesting that she go alone with the infant,
because, under no consideration would he consent that the little one
should be deprived of fresh air. With real heartfelt grief, though she
concealed it as much as possible, she yielded to this desire. It was a
great source of gain to the child, it is true, but she could never
entirely conquer the timidity and fear which the Madrid streets inspired
in her when she went out without her husband.
The first two days nothing went wrong in her excursion; but on the
third, as she was walking along a lonely path in the Retiro to eat a bit
of bread, which the nurse-girl had taken on purpose,--for nothing in the
world would have tempted her to enter the chocolate-house alone,--she
unexpectedly met Saavedra. Although she had seen him the day before at
home, she felt a slight trembling, without knowing why; and a bright
blush suffused her face, a sign which was not displeasing to the
Andalusian dandy. He greeted her warmly, caressed the infant, and,
without asking permission, walked along beside her. The nurse-girl
respectfully passed on ahead.
The conversation turned on the ordinary topics of the time, the
healthfulness of children going out, etc. Suddenly Saavedra, pausing,
asked with a smile:--
"What did you do with the piece of bread that you were eating,
Maximina?"
The young woman was so confused that she did not know what to reply.
"I am certain that you must have dropped it on the ground. Why are you
ashamed to eat when you are nursing such a beautiful, strong baby?"
Enlivened by this praise, which for her was the most delectable that
could be given, she replied:--
"Well, I feel a little weak by this time in the afternoon...."
"Dry bread isn't very appetizing, my dear. Come to the _chocolateria_."
"Oh, no; I do very well: I don't care for chocolate."
"Don't be hypocritical. When you go out with Miguel, you take it every
afternoon. You did not take it yesterday nor the day before, perhaps
because you did not dare to go in alone.... Now, you will say: 'How does
Alfonso know all these things?'"
"Indeed, I do not understand...."
"And I will tell you very softly" (Don Alfonso brought his lips close to
the young woman's ear); "because I have followed you those afternoons."
Maximina felt her fear increasing. At that moment she would have made
any sacrifice to be at home. She did not answer a word, and went on
walking. Don Alfonso likewise remained silent, so that the drop of
poison might do its work.
When he came to the conclusion that Maximina's imagination had been
sufficiently stirred, he brought the conversation back to where it had
begun; that is, to ordinary commonplaces. He introduced a familiar chat
as between two intimate friends, asking many questions about the baby,
as that was a most convenient theme and most likely to please the young
woman; he made affectionate fun of her; he touched upon his aunt _la
brigadiera's_ foibles; finally, by great skill, he tried to calm her
agitation, so as to restore confidence between them. But he did not
succeed; Maximina was still nervous, although she exerted great force to
hide it; and she replied to his questions in a hoarse and altered voice.
However, in the course of time and by much diplomacy, Saavedra partially
calmed her. He besought her again with impetuous entreaties to go to the
_chocolateria_; but she declined absolutely, and insisted that it was
time to go home, though this was not true.
The sun was still pouring his rays along the sanded walks; a mild and
perfumed breeze breathed through the air, presaging the approach of
spring; the swelling buds on the trees likewise joyously told the tale.
Many elegantly dressed children, with long curls touching their
shoulders, were seen trundling hoops and tossing ball, followed by their
parents or guardians. Maximina had said to herself many times on other
days: "When mine will be here too!" But now she saw them pass in front
of her, and yet scarcely perceived them, so deep was the agitation that
swayed her.
Don Alfonso had been trying for some time to keep her back; but the more
he insisted on her remaining, the more anxious she was to be going.
Now then, as he was walking toward the entrance of the Retiro and
considering on the one hand how soon he would be obliged to leave her,
and on the other that the step that he had taken was too bold for him to
be able to retrieve it, he resolved "to throw the fish into the water";
and so he said, pausing again:--
"All this time you have not asked me why I followed you these last
afternoons."
The young wife felt herself trembling more violently than ever, her face
grew pale, her legs failed under her. She did not wish or was not able
to find words to answer his question.
"Then I am going to tell you; because I feel for you, Maximina, what
hitherto I have never felt for any woman in this world. From the very
beginning of my acquaintance with you, I have been inspired with a
lively admiration, irresistible, all-controlling. Afterward, I perceived
that this admiration was rapidly changing into love, and I struggled
with all my might to resist it. It was useless.--I have known many
women; I have loved, or believed that I loved, a few; but I swear to
you that the feeling which they inspired was very different from that
which now dominates me. I met them on equal terms, I saw their good
points and their defects, I admired, and was kindled by their beauty;
but now! now, it is not alone love which I feel, it is a deep adoration
for your simple and open nature, a respect which until now tied my
tongue, although the secret struggled to escape. In my eyes you might
have read it whenever I looked at you. It is months since my heart has
thus been filled by your beauty and goodness, Maximina...."
This gentle _caballero_ said all this string of gush with trembling lip
and excited gestures, such as are the stock in trade of seducers,
provided they, like him, are "men of the world." Observation has taught
me that the "men of the world" who have been called dandies, fops, and
_dudes_[46] are not _espirituales_, or, to avoid a Gallicism, do not
speak with any greater wit and grace than in novels. In life, and above
all when they are shaken from that languid and _blase_ appearance
characteristic of them, they are apt to be as vulgar and absurd as the
latest medical student.
Poor Maximina was so disturbed at hearing this amorous jargon, of which
she understood only the general tenor, that her pallor changed to a
livid hue, then the blood rushed suddenly to her face, her eyes grew
dim, and she was ready to fall.
By what seemed like an automatic movement which she afterward could not
explain, she abruptly quitted her companion, and started to run, crying:
"Placida! Placida!" until she caught up with her, and then she said:--
"Run, run! how ill I feel!"
Both ran quite a while, until fatigue compelled them to relax their
efforts; but by this time they were a long distance from Saavedra, who
stood in the same spot, full of amazement and chagrin at her sudden and
unexpected flight.
A severe lecture, premeditated and prepared, in judgment on such
imprudence and dastardly meanness as Don Alfonso had just committed,
could not have been more hard and cruel than that desertion. Maximina,
without being aware of it, had not only preserved her dignity, but had
inflicted on the insolent fellow the punishment which is severest in
such cases--that of making him seem ridiculous.
Saavedra remained rooted to the ground with rage, until seeing some
promenaders approaching, and gazing at him with curiosity and then
turning around to look at the fleeing women, he wheeled about and strode
away, from the place.
Fortunately, when Maximina reached home, Miguel was still away; if he
had been there, on seeing her so excited, he would have made some
inquiries, and perhaps have even become suspicious. She had time to get
a little calmed; the servants really believed that she had had an ill
turn, and so did Miguel himself when it came dinner time.
Nevertheless, that night and the following day the young wife was very
nervous; she did not know what course to take. For the present she
determined not to go out walking alone any more, under the pretext that
she was afraid she might be attacked by another faint turn. But if Don
Alfonso should come to call upon her, how should she present herself
before him? She was certain that she should appear disturbed; her
disgust and fear of him were so great that in spite of her they would
appear in her face.
It happened that Don Alfonso realized the same thing, and ceased coming
to Miguel's house. But Miguel, accustomed to see him frequently, called
attention to his absence, and said, while they were at table:--
"It is a number of days since Alfonso has shown up."
Maximina made no reply, and went on eating, with her head down. After a
moment he added:--
"I should be glad if he did not come any more. In spite of all my
efforts I cannot endure that man. Wednesday, they tell me, he fought a
duel which, in my opinion, was a piece of sheer cowardice. He fought
with an engineer, who never in his life had been used to weapons; and,
of course, wounded him dangerously at the first encounter. A man who
goes out to fight with a certainty that such is going to be the case is
not a true man, nor can he be called even decent."
"Oh! there is no doubt about that," Maximina would have said, with the
greatest unction.
But she did not dare. The poor girl imagined that Saavedra would not
take any more thought about her. Without her adored Miguel having had
any annoyance whatever, everything had come out satisfactorily. Little
did the ingenuous young wife know of the nature of human passions. She
was soon to learn to her sorrow, what pride and revenge united are
capable of attempting.