TWO MEN AND THEIR SCHEMES IN LIFE.
He stumbled over a root and at the same time felt a heavy hand laid
on his shoulder, with the words: “Your money or your life.”
“Leave me in peace,” said Leon shaking off his friend and walking on.
But Cimarra put his hand through his arm and held him so that he was
forced to spin round on one foot. Their tottering gait, and their
position, arm in arm, might have led a spectator to fancy that the
pair were tipsy; but this evil suspicion would have been dissipated
by Cimarra’s next speech as he said, very gravely and with an accent
of reproof in his harsh metallic voice:
“I have had desperate ill-luck! I am distinguishing myself greatly in
Iturburua.”
“Let me be, gamester!” said Leon angrily shaking the arm his
companion was holding. “I am not in the humour for jesting--and do
not intend to lend you any more money. Has the Marqués de Fúcar left
the table?”
“He is just going to his room. I never saw a man have such crushing
good-luck. This is the way with the country--to-night I represent the
country. Alas! poor Spain!--Solés has won enormously; since they made
him governor of a province he has had tremendous luck; his victims
are Fontán, X---- and I. But it is early yet. Leon, go up and fetch
some more shot from the locker.”
Leon did not reply; his mind was disturbed; but his thoughts were
far from the ignoble ideas which agitated his companion. Instead of
going upstairs as Federico had asked him, he went with him into the
card-room. One of the ‘victims’ was snoring on a sofa; the other
was saying good-night, with a voice and demeanour that did justice
to a diabolical temper; but he did not hurry himself and wrapped up
elaborately, as a protection against the night air.
The two friends were left alone.
“I shall not play,” said Leon shortly.
Cimarra, knowing Leon Roch’s tenacious nature resigned himself to his
fate, and seating himself by the table he took up the cards and began
turning them over in his slender and exquisitely-kept hands. A large
ring on his little finger reflected a pale light from the lamp, by
this time burning low, and with his eyes fixed on the pack, he dealt
and shuffled and shuffled and dealt so as to make an infinite variety
of combinations. The cards seemed plastic in his hands and obedient
to his touch.
“It is not my fault--it is not my fault!” muttered Leon gloomily
from the corner of a sofa on which he had dropped, evidently much
disturbed and agitated.
“What is not your fault?” asked Federico looking up in amazement.
“Something has gone wrong with you old fellow--where have you been?”
“No--there is nothing the matter with me; I cannot tell you what
has gone wrong. It is a strange sensation, a kind of remorse--and
yet, no, not remorse for I have done nothing wrong--it is a pain, a
regret--But you would not understand even if I were to explain it to
you; you are a libertine; your feelings are depraved, your heart is
dead, your emotions are all selfish and sensual.”
“Much obliged I am sure. If I am unworthy of a friend’s
confidence....”
“Friend! you are not my friend.--No friendship can subsist between
us two. Chance made us friends in childhood, but our natures have
made us indifferent to each other. In that atmosphere of frivolity,
of mere superficial virtue, if not of actual corruption in which you
have your being I can neither move nor breathe. My poor father’s
vanity flung me into its midst; his devotion to me led him into many
follies and illusions. He--who had made his fortune by the sweat of
his brow in a chocolate factory--wanted to make a fine gentleman of
his son, a finikin and aristocratic creature such as he pictured in
his deluded fancy. ‘Be a marquis,’ said he, ‘enjoy yourself; ride
your horses to death, drive your carriage, make love to other men’s
wives, marry into a noble family. Get into the Ministry, make a noise
in the world, let your name stand at the head of every list.’--These
were not his words, but that was what he wanted.”
Leon was too excited to sit still and he stood up as he spoke. There
are times when we must give vent to our thoughts lest they should
gather into so heavy a cloud as to darken the brain with a dense fog
of murky smoke.
“And what is the end of all this?” asked Federico with some disgust.
“Talk no more nonsense, but come and....”
“I say all this to you because I have made up my mind to desert.
The inhabitants of the social sphere into which my father insisted
on bringing me, I find simply unendurable. I cannot breathe this
air; all my surroundings depress and weary me--the people I meet,
their actions, their manners, their language--their very feelings,
though they are all well regulated, and in the very best taste. It
positively saddens me to look on at the extravagant fancies, the
capricious or sickly sentiment which possesses every mind that is not
sunk in selfish indifference.”
“You are energetic in your denunciation,” said Cimarra, laughing
at his friend’s emphatic _tirade_. “Something serious has happened
to you Leon; you have had some sudden blow. This evening you were
calm, reasonable, friendly, a little sad perhaps, with the peevish
melancholy of a man who is engaged to be married and who is eight
leagues away from his lady-love--and then, all of a sudden, I meet
you in the promenade, agitated and excited--you blurt out a few
incoherent words, and I see you are pale, with an expression--how
shall I describe it.--Whom have you been talking to?” And as he spoke
he gazed at him curiously, but without ceasing to shuffle the cards.
“I have nothing to tell you,” said Leon, already more composed, “but
that as I am tired I will cut the matter short. I intend henceforth
to mould my life on my own pattern, as the birds build their nests
where their instinct leads them. I have laid my plans with the calm
reason of a practical man--eminently and strictly practical.”
“Ah--well, I have heard it said that the whole race of practical men
is the veriest set of dolts on the face of the earth.”
“I have laid my plans,” continued Leon, paying no heed to his
friend’s interruption. “I am going straight on with it--straight
ahead. It will not disappoint me; I have thought of it a great deal,
and have weighed the _pros_ and _cons_ with the accuracy of a chemist
who weighs the elements of a compound, drop by drop. I know what my
aim is--a lofty and a noble one, tending to the good of society and
of humanity, advantageous to my prospects as a man, to the health of
body and mind alike.--In a word I am going to be married.” Federico
looked and listened with an expression of covert amusement.
“And in choosing my wife,” Roch went on--“I ought not to say
choosing for I fell in love like any fool--but that did not prevent
me from realising my position and calmly and coldly reviewing the
character and qualities of my future wife. It is my duty to marry
her, Federico, distinctly my duty; there I am on firm ground and
that much is beyond a doubt. María captivated me by her beauty it
is true; but that is not all--far from it. I smothered my passion,
I studied her closely and I found behind that beauty, a mind in no
respect unworthy of it. María’s goodness, her sense, her modesty,
the submissiveness of her intelligence, her exquisite ignorance of
life added to the seriousness of her tastes and instincts--all made
me feel that she was the wife for me--I will be perfectly frank with
you: her family are not at all to my liking. But what does that
matter? I can separate from my relations. I only marry my wife and
she is delightful--she has feeling and imagination, and that sweet
credulousness which is the most ductile element in human nature. Her
education has been neglected and she is as ignorant as can be; but
on the other hand, she is free from all false ideas and frivolous
accomplishments, and from those mischievous habits of mind which
corrupt the judgment and nature of the girls of our day. Do you not
think me a happy man? Do you not see that this is the very woman I
want; that I shall be able to form my wife’s character, which is the
most glorious task a man can have--form it to my own mind and on my
own image--the highest achievement I can aspire to, and the only
guarantee of a peaceful life.--Do not you think so?”
“You ask me--a hardened and selfish worldling!” said Federico
ironically. “My dear fellow you are out of your mind.”
“I ask you as I might ask this bench!” retorted Leon turning his
back contemptuously. “There are occasions in life when a man feels
that he must speak his thoughts aloud to convince himself of their
validity. It is as if I were talking to myself. You need not answer
me unless you like.--I mean to mould her in my own way. I do not want
a ready-made wife, but a wife to make. I want a woman with a firm
basis of character--strong feelings and perfect moral rectitude. Any
extensive knowledge of the world, or the absurd teaching of a girl’s
school, would hinder rather than help my purpose. I should have to
pull down too much and to build on the ruins; I should have to dig
deep down to find a safe foundation for the edifice.”
Federico had risen during this harangue and thrown down the cards:
after walking two or three times round and about Leon who had not
moved; and now, laying his hand on Roch’s shoulder, he said in a low
voice:
“Most worthy and wisest of men, we, the depraved and ignorant, look
into the future as well as you; we too lay our plans, not indeed
mathematically but perhaps with better hopes of security than you
practical men. We are apt indeed to think of the ass as a practical
animal. We do not condemn matrimony; on the contrary, we regard it
as indispensable to the progress of society and the improvement of
the condition....” He paused a few moments and then went on--“of the
condition of the individual. You will understand what I mean. We,
to be sure, are not learned and when we have fallen in love like a
schoolboy we do not make an elaborate analysis of the qualities of
the women whom we choose to be our wives. We do not aspire to form
their character; we take the article ready made, as God or the devil
has wrought it. This marrying to become a school-master is in the
very worst taste. There is something else to be thought of in these
latter days besides a woman’s character. The inequality of fortune
among human beings, and the luckless fate to which some are born,
the hideous disparity between a man’s fortune and the ‘material of
war’ which he requires to fight against and for life--the miserable
‘Struggle for existence’ as the evolutionists have it--that is what
weighs on me--the scarcity of work to be done in this accursed
country, and the impossibility of making money without having
money.--Do you hear what I say?--All these things and many others
make it necessary to look out for something besides virtue in our
future brides.”
“What?”
Cimarra shook his hands as if he were clinking coin.
“Cash,” he said, “hard cash and ready.” Cimarra talked the mongrel
language of a man of fashion, mixing the style of an orator with the
slang of a gambler, and quotations in foreign languages with the low
blasphemies of a street boy, which shall not be recorded here.
“Life,” he went on, “is getting more difficult every day. It is all
very well for rich folks like you to send moral platitudes flying
about the world, and never to feel a base desire or harbour a thought
that is not the quintessence of the purest ether. However, we need
not exaggerate, as Fúcar is so fond of saying. I maintain that what
sanctimonious fools call filthy lucre may be a potent element of
morality. I, for example....”
“You! And what are you an example of pray?”
“I was going to say that I, if I found myself the possessor of a
fortune, should be a model gentleman, and might even be known to
posterity as the Illustrious Cimarra. For is it not a matter of
course, a phrase ready coined?--Tom, Dick and Harry are Illustrious
nowadays.”
“Though you may try to conceal it, I see some remains of shame in
you,” said Roch. “Your laxity of morals is not as great as you try to
make the world believe.”
“Everything is relative, as my friend Fontán always says in jest,”
replied Federico shrugging his shoulders. “You cannot judge off-hand,
in that light and easy way, of a man like me who lives with the
rich and is poor himself. Get that well into your head. I talk to
you with perfect frankness. My projects after all are as yet merely
visions--sketches, my dear fellow. We shall see--I flatter myself I
have made a good beginning. Time will show. Some day perhaps when you
have quite forgotten me, lost in the bliss of pedagogic matrimony,
you may hear that that reprobate Cimarra has found a wife. We all
have to come to it--sooner or later. Even a poor devil like me has
his schemes and his philosophy. We are all tortoises together, but
some have more shell to cover them than I have.--Do not take it into
your head that I am indifferent to the moral graces of my wife--nor
that I propose to marry a monster. I shall have a virtuous wife, my
learned friend, thoroughly respectable, take my word for it, and a
fine family of children and grand-children.”
“Then you have made your choice.”
“I have.--But I must warn you that I make no great point of personal
beauty. I am not like you; I have a soul above being caught by a
pair of fine eyes and a mouth that time can only spoil. Beauty is
only skin deep. It lasts, as the poet says ‘_l’espace d’un matin_.’
But she has a pleasant and attractive expression, _distingué_
manners, a quantum of dignity, a quantum of liveliness, wit and even
_chic_--Education? Well nothing much to speak of, but we do not
intend to set up for Professors. She has a great deal of good in her
with a spice of the devil too; she has wild ways occasionally, freaks
of temper, habits of extravagance....”
Leon turned pale and fixed a gloomy eye on his companion.
“What do I care if she smashes a lot of rubbishy plates, or cuts a
Murillo into strips, or makes mince-meat of her lace? There are some
things in which no husband should interfere.”
Leon sat staring dully at the green cloth of the table on which he
had propped his elbows.
“Mercy, how the time goes, man!” he exclaimed rising abruptly and
throwing open the window. “It is day!”
The white dawn fell into the room and its light fell on two pale and
haggard faces. The dying lamp still burnt forlorn and dingy; a long
sooty flame flared up the chimney, smelling detestably.
“What a life--by way of recovering one’s health!” said Leon.
Outside, the sky was gray and rainy, a dismal background to the
gloomy faces of the two men who had been up all night. Leon stood
a few minutes, lost in that vague meditation which leaves no mark
on the mind in moments of extreme fatigue, a state half-way between
dreaming and suffering, when it is hard to be sure whether we are
sleeping or only enduring. Federico gazed at his friend who stood
the living image of melancholy; everything about him was black--his
dress, his hair and his beard; his handsome features, and clear
olive skin were marked with dark lines for want of sleep. His fine
forehead, dignified though charged with painful doubts, might suggest
a lowering and threatening sky where the light of day was hidden
behind a shroud of clouds.
Suddenly he turned to Cimarra and said:
“Well, I wish you luck!”
“I wish I could get a little rest,” said Federico. “I am simply dying
for want of sleep; but I must start at once with Fúcar.”
“You are going too?”
“Did I not tell you?--Yes, they made a point of my going with them.
We are getting on you see--like a house on fire!”
Cimarra emphasised his words with a cunning smile.
“_Bon voyage!_” said Leon turning his back on him.
At this juncture they heard the rumble of the Fúcars’ carriage coming
up to convey the travellers to the station of Iparraicea. Federico
rushed up to his room to prepare to start, and for a short time the
hotel was full of the bustle that always accompanies the arrival or
departure of guests--the dragging of luggage, the chatter of boys and
the calling of servants. Leon did not stir from the card-room, and
even when he heard the voices of Fúcar and his daughter at breakfast
in the dining-room, he did not care to go out and bid them farewell.
In half an hour an omnibus was sent off, packed with servants and
baggage, and the travelling-carriage followed with the Fúcars and
Cimarra. Leon saw the first vehicle pass close by the window and
before the second could come past he turned away, put his hands into
his pockets and walked to the opposite corner of the room.
“What need I care?” he muttered to himself. “It is no fault of mine.”
Then he went out into the hall, where the most inveterate bathers
were beginning to put in an appearance, in motley deshabille. The
bath servants, with their aprons tucked up, went into the dens where
yawned the marble vats; through the doors came the noise of the
bubbling mineral water and the swish of the brooms in the baths,
with a strong whiff of sulphur. He loitered down to the avenue and
seeing in the distance the two carriages slowly mounting the hill of
Arcaitzac, he could not help saying to himself with a sigh: “Alas,
for those who have no control over their imagination!”
For a couple of hours he lay down to sleep, and at nine o’clock
took a place in the coach that was starting for Ugoibea. His whole
appearance was altered; he looked the happiest man on earth.