With suitable precautions, that is, first vaguely insinuating the idea,
afterwards making it more and more definite, Miguel brought it to his
wife's notice that he must go to Galicia for a few days. She received
the news with consternation; but perceiving that her husband was
annoyed, she made an effort to control herself, and became calm, and
finally even quite cheerful. But finding herself, as always after
breakfast, seated on her husband's knee, while the "little rascal" was
sleeping, and ready to talk about the linen that the traveller would
need for his journey, the tears came into her eyes when least expected.
"What a girl you are," exclaimed Miguel, kissing her, "only a few days'
separation!"
"I was not crying for that exactly," rejoined Maximina, endeavoring to
smile. "But for several days I have been having such melancholy
forebodings."
"What forebodings?"
"I imagine that I am not going to live very long."
"_Ave Maria!_ what a terrible idea! What makes you have such crazy
notions?"
"I don't know," replied the little wife, smiling though the tears were
sliding down her cheeks. "What I dread most is leaving my baby while he
is so young."
"Don't be absurd!" said Miguel, impatiently. "These gloomy ideas are
caused by the sadness that you feel at having me go away. As for the
rest, though death is liable to come to any of us, there is no reason to
think that yours is near at hand. You are a child of seventeen; you were
never ill a day in your life, except when the baby was born. You enjoy
perfect health.... It is much more likely that I should die before you:
I am considerably older; besides, I haven't a very strong constitution,
as you know...."
"Hush! hush!" exclaimed Maximina, throwing her arms around him, and
bursting into a passion of tears. "I don't want to hear that you may
die!"
"Why, my child, there is nothing to be done about it."
"But I don't want to hear about it; I don't want to, I do not!" she
replied, with such lovely determination that her husband covered her
with kisses.
After a while, and when they had been speaking of other things, Maximina
returned to the same topic.
"If I should die, you would marry again, wouldn't you, Miguel?" she
asked, with an expression half serious and half mischievous, which
nevertheless concealed a very real meaning and a genuine anxiety.
"Back to the old subject? Please don't indulge in any more of these
follies, sweetheart."
"Would you marry again, Miguel?" she insisted, ceasing to smile, and
showing her anxiety.
"Well, then, I am going to speak with all frankness: If you should die
(but you aren't going to die), I will not answer for it, that in the
course of my life I should never have anything to do with other women;
but I give you my word and oath that I will never marry any one else.
And this is not alone because of the deep and affectionate love which I
bear you, so that to-day you are an essential part of my being, and if
you were taken away from me it would be as though half of myself were
taken away, but also for selfish reasons. I should be unhappy with any
other woman. God has endowed you, my darling, with all, absolutely with
all, the qualities necessary for making me happy."
The little wife well understood that these words were sincere, and she
looked at her husband with enthusiasm and joy.
Miguel, in speaking the last words, had felt his heart growing tender:
he covered his eyes with his hands, and turned away his head. On seeing
him in this attitude a smile of intense delight illumined his wife's
face.
"Are you crying?" she whispered into his ear.
Miguel did not reply.
"Are you crying?" she repeated. "You _are_ crying; don't try to deny
it." And with infantile curiosity she tried to pull his hands away from
his face.
"Stop, stop!"
"Let me see thy tears, Miguel!"
And she struggled with all her might to see her husband's eyes full of
tears.
"Are you satisfied now?" he asked, laughing; then after a moment of
silence, "And you, Maximina," he said, in a tone of anxiety, "would you
marry again?"
"Oh! for Heaven's sake!"
"You are very young, and it would not be at all strange if this should
happen. After some time the same circumstances might drive you to it!
Perhaps your relatives might urge you into it: a woman is not well off
alone in the world.... If this took place, I have no doubt that you
would love your husband; but I could take my oath that you would not
love him as much as you love me. There are things, Maximina, that are
never repeated, and one of them is first love; especially if this first
love has been blessed by Heaven as yours has been. Just notice the walls
of this study; preserve in thy memory the form of these pieces of
furniture, the color of the carpet, the sweetness of that sunbeam that
comes through the window. All this that now has so little importance, if
I should die, would, perhaps, seem much more so, for the moments of
bliss which we are now spending here, with thee sitting on my knees, and
with me looking into thy dear eyes, would never again return, Maximina,
would never return for thee!"
The little wife fell back against her husband's breast, when she heard
those words, like a sensitive plant which contracts at the slightest
touch.
"Oh! Miguel, light of my life, what have I done to make thee speak to me
so?"
And sobs choked her.
He tried to pacify her by such means as were in his power; but to
accomplish it he found himself obliged to promise her solemnly that he
would not die!
At last the day set for his journey arrived. It had been agreed that
during Miguel's absence Julita should come and sleep with her
sister-in-law. She and _la brigadiera_ both came over that afternoon to
bid the traveller good by. It was just dusk. Miguel, after eating a
hurried and solitary dinner, sent for a carriage, and prepared to
depart. When he went toward his wife to kiss her, she darted away, and
ran to hide in her bedroom.
"But it is your husband, _tonta_!" cried Julita, laughing.
Miguel followed her, and groping around in the darkness, found her in
one corner.
"Don't you want me to kiss you, sweetheart?"
"Oh, yes, Miguel; but there before people I should die of
mortification!"
As our young man took his place in the carriage he felt his heart
depressed within him.
"If it were not for what is at stake, I should not have been mixed up in
this dirty business, and I certainly should not be leaving my wife and
baby," he said to himself, with some bitterness.
Before reaching his district he made a stop at the capital of the
province, where he was received with extreme cordiality by the governor.
He was a young man who had recently been filling the position of second
or third _gazetillero_ on a liberal paper at the capital. It was said in
the city that his administrative knowledge might possibly have been more
solid without doing any harm; but, on the other hand, whenever it took
his fancy he replied in rhyme to letters, walked the street, in free and
easy costume, gave lunch-parties to the provincial deputies almost every
day, enjoyed cracking jokes with the ushers, and when the assembly was
in session, sometimes permitted himself to whistle in an undertone arias
from _Blue Beard_ or _The Grand Duchess_. His name was Castro.
As soon as Miguel presented himself at the _Gobierno Civil_, Castro gave
him a most hearty squeeze, as though he were an intimate friend,
although they had never spoken together in Madrid more than three or
four times, and began to address him from the very first with the
familiar "thou." He instantly promised him the whole weight of his
official influence.
"I'll get you in swimmingly, my lad, no matter what it costs. Go to the
district and write me from there all that you need, and I will do for
you anything in the world."
Rejoiced and flattered by this reception, our hero on the following day
took the diligence for Serin, which was about seven leagues from the
capital.
It was a miserable little village, but admirably situated near a river,
the banks of which displayed the luxuriant vegetation of tropical
countries, and the fresh verdure of the North; orange-trees,
lemon-trees, and river-laurels almost shook hands with oak and chestnut
groves which swept up the slopes of the mountains; they in turn were
gentle and green in the foreground, dark and steep in the background,
thus making a magnificent chain, rendering the landscape most
picturesque. The group of white cottages that composed the village of
Serin was surrounded by a thick border of trees, except on the side of
the river, in whose clear blue waters it was reflected.
Now this delectable spot, which appeared like a little corner of
Paradise was rather a little corner of Hades, as Miguel was quickly able
to assure himself. It even had, as we shall soon see, not one, but two,
serpents to torment its inhabitants.
These had been divided from time immemorial into two parties--"those of
the Casona" and "those of the Casina," thus named because the first met
in a great, dark mansion with two machiolated towers, which stood at the
upper end of the village, while the others met in a one-storied and
highly ornamented edifice with a handsome portal with an iron grating
and two great balconies, and was situated on the Muelle by the river.
They were likewise called "Don Martin's Party" and "Don Servando's,"
after the name of their respective leaders.
The division of these parties was not based upon the fact that the one,
that of the Casona, represented the traditional and conservative
element, while that of the Casina stood for the progressive and liberal,
the first having often been seen taking the side of "liberal
administrations," and the other sustaining the cause of the "moderate"
candidate. The quarrel was kindled solely by the eagerness for
controlling local politics, and thus of being in last analysis the
masters of the village. The rest was not of the least consequence.
Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that Don Martin's party had marked
tendencies towards absolutism. In Don Servando's, on the other hand,
there was no noticeable predilection for liberty.
It was this Don Servando, who, as Miguel alighted from the diligence and
received him, took him home, willy nilly. He was a fat man of medium
height, and was approaching his seventieth birthday; his face, with its
deep red complexion, was adorned with short gray whiskers; he wore a
very long, black frock coat, and black _hongo_ besides.
"Have I the honor of addressing Senor Corcuera," he asked him very
politely, with a strong Galician accent.
"No, sir; my name is Miguel Rivera, at your service."
"That is very good," the Galician replied, and addressing himself to a
servant, he said: "_Muchacho_, look up the gentleman's luggage, and take
charge of it. I will tell you where it has to be carried."
"I suppose that you are Senor Bustelo," Miguel hastened to say.
"We will have a chance to talk as we go around yonder corner. You will
do me the favor to follow me."
And Don Servando set forth with firm and deliberate step toward the
corner indicated. Miguel followed him without understanding what it all
meant.
When they had reached there, Don Servando said to him, without looking
at him, and as though he were speaking with the above-mentioned
corner:--
"I received word from the Senor Governor that you were to arrive this
afternoon, and I take it for granted that you will do me the honor of
accepting modest hospitality at my house."
"Provided that you are Senor Bustelo."
"The house that you see yonder, where there is a belvedere, is mine, my
dear sir. Have the goodness to go on ahead, and I will immediately
follow."
Miguel did what he commanded, without understanding the meaning of all
this mystery. Afterwards he had just as little an idea, but it no longer
surprised him.
Don Servando's predominant characteristic, which was manifested in all
his acts, and never failed him, was caution. He never asked directly
more than he already knew; what he was anxious to find out he always
accomplished by means of a long series of circumlocations, and hiding
his design. He never gave a straightforward and prompt answer to
questions, no matter how insignificant or meaningless they were.
After being a few hours in his company Miguel became convinced that it
was idle to try to find out anything about his personality. It was,
above all, on account of this quality that he was greatly admired by all
his friends and feared by his opponents. He talked little, and never
looked a man in the face.
After they had eaten supper, and the guest's luggage had been brought in
with infinite precautions, the two shut themselves into Don Servando's
office, where, in less than an hour, he imbibed six bottles of beer.
"It seems to me that you are fond of beer, Senor Bustelo."
"Psh! so, so.... I prefer wine," he replied, with the gravity and the
Galician accent peculiar to him.
On the following days Miguel had the opportunity of observing that he
scarcely touched wine.
One after another, and as though some desperately dangerous conspiracy
were in progress, the official candidate received the calls of Don
Servando's partisans, who promised great success in the coming election.
Nevertheless Miguel was quick to see that the forces were very evenly
balanced; indeed, so well that while in what we might name the urban
region of Serin, in the brain of the community, the Casina party was
predominant, it was in a large minority in the rural districts. Official
influence was as little at the complete disposition of this party; while
the town authorities[51] of Serin were theirs; those of two other
precincts, Agueeria and Villabona, gave allegiance to Don Martin, and it
was in these, after all, that the key of the election finally lay.
General Rios had been put up for this district without opposition, and
from that moment the partisans of the Casona had rivalled Don Servando's
in zeal and efficacy in serving him. This was the usual tactics among
them. When they found it impossible to struggle they humiliated their
proud heads, and did all that they could to win the deputy's friendship,
or at least his good will, to beg a few of the crumbs of favor, so that
they might not be wholly at the mercy of their implacable enemies. They
well knew by experience that if this happened, they were liable to all
kinds of annoyances, and sometimes to the guard-house, since each party
excelled in letting the star of the morning witness their
_dissipations_.
Owing to this state of affairs, though the general inclined toward the
Casina party, he had not consented to the others being maltreated, and
he had even gone so far as to leave in their hands certain offices which
were in the gift of the state, and this stirred up the wrath of Don
Servando's friends, and made them so indignant that they secretly
murmured against the count, and even proposed to "pay him off" when the
suitable occasion came.
Thus it was that as the horizon was now darkened by a second deputy, who
they hoped would be absolutely in their interests, and tear up by the
roots Don Martin's influence in the _concejo_,[52] at least for a long
season.
It was for this reason that Don Servando had the keen foresight to lodge
him in his house, in order that neither Don Martin nor any of Don
Martin's friends could call upon him.
On the next morning after his arrival Miguel wrote Maximina, and sallied
forth to drop the letter in the post-office, thinking that it was a good
time to explore the town. In the first street, which ran into the
Muelle, he discerned a letter-box, and made for it; but, as he came near
to it, he found that it had a board nailed over the aperture. He walked
along a little farther and soon saw another; but here this same state of
things was repeated, and likewise in three or four others which he
happened upon in various parts of the village.
"Will you please tell me where I can mail this letter?... All the boxes
that I have found are nailed up," he said to a domestic who was passing.
"It's because Don Matias is postmaster now ... you'll find it in a
provision store near the Muelle, do you see?... Don't miss your way ...
follow this street down, and you'll see it."
The postmastership, as he discovered afterwards, was one of the
perquisites which the two parties of Serin quarrelled over furiously, it
having passed alternately from the hands of one of Don Servando's
friends to those of one of Don Martin's, and _vice versa_. As each time
it came into the hands of a different person,--for it was necessary to
satisfy all,--it happened that many of the houses in Serin had been
pierced for letter-boxes. The postmaster received the salary of three
thousand five hundred reals[53] a year.
As he was walking along one of the streets he met Don Servando, who
greeted him solemnly, and started to pass on.
"What is the good word, Senor Bustelo; are you going home?"
"No, sir, no; I am taking a little walk; then I have some business to
attend to.... Good by, Senor de Rivera."
Miguel went home, but before he reached the house he saw Don Servando go
in. Why had he lied? God only knows.
When he learned that Miguel had posted a letter, the chief of the Casina
party turned livid.
"What!... Senor Rivera ... a letter?"
"Yes, sir; a letter," replied Miguel, not understanding the reason for
his surprise.
"But don't you know, my dear sir, that Don Matias is ... belongs to the
_others_?"
"What of that?"
"Here we never receive or drop letters at the village post-office; we
send them to Malloriz, and there we have also a person who gets those
directed to us, and forwards them to us afterward."
"Man alive! what distrust!"
"We can't be too careful, my dear sir; we can't be too careful."
Assured by the thought that his letter was for his wife, he immediately
invited Don Servando to take a bottle of beer. For the leader of the
Casina beer-drinking was an august function of life. He had surprised
the community by saying, perhaps with truth, that he drank five duros'
worth a day of this beverage. Such prodigality, truly tremendous in that
region, helped him not a little in maintaining his prestige. Don
Servando was the only rich man who spent all his income in Serin, and
this was because he was a bachelor.