ERUNT DUO IN CARNE UNA.
For several days Leon did not go to Suertebella excepting once to
leave a complimentary card at the door. He spent most of his time
away from home; he had given up study and packed all his books into
cases. He frequented clubs and meetings, but his friends found him
taciturn and indifferent alike to gossip, news and discussion. He
talked of a journey without saying whither, of a long absence; but
if he had occasion to speak on any other subject it was with a
bitterness of sarcasm or invective very unlike his usual serene and
lofty way of viewing the events of life or the persons with whom he
had come in contact.
One night at the beginning of April he went home soon after eleven.
The door was opened by an under-servant.
“Where is Felipe? Why does he not let me in as usual?” asked the
master.
“Felipe is not in the house, Sir.”
“Where is he then?”
“My mistress has dismissed him.”
“What for? Was there anything wrong?”
“She was angry because he would not go to confess, Sir.”
“You do then?”
“Yes, Señor; once a month. My mistress takes care of that; if we
do not bring home a certificate she turns us into the street. But
Ventura, the coachman, has a friend who is a sacristan and who can
get him as many as he wants and so he satisfies my mistress who
believes he goes to confess. If it were not for your Honour, Sir, my
wife and me, we should have been off long ago from this place where
so much is expected and there is never a moment’s peace. When a poor
man has been hard at work all the week and Sunday afternoon comes
round what a terrible thing it is that he cannot be allowed to go
for a walk, but must needs be packed off to hear a sermon. My wife
says she can stand it no longer! And then look at the scarecrow she
has brought into the house. This morning when she sent off Felipe
she said she should put some one in his place at once. I thought she
would promote my brother Ramón: but no, she wrote a letter to the
priests at San Prudencio, and before we could turn round, in came a
fellow that looks like a sacristan, fat, red-faced and clean-shaved,
with coat tails down to the ground, a low-crowned black hat, a
sanctimonious, spiteful face and the manners of neither a man nor
a woman. My mistress told me that I was to take Felipe’s place and
the porter was to take mine and that this new gentleman--Pomares
is his name--was to be the new porter and a sort of steward and
superintendent of the rest of us.”
“You do not know what you are talking about. There has never been a
steward in my house!”
“Steward. The mistress herself said steward; and the long-tailed
rascal grinned and looked at us with his fishy squint as much as to
say: ‘I’ll send you to the right about.’ And then he preached us a
sermon and looked as sweet as he knew how, and called us all his
brothers and crossed his hands and declared he loved us all dearly!”
“Is your mistress in her oratory?” asked Leon.
“I believe she is in her sitting-room.”
Leon went into his wife’s boudoir where he found her talking with
Doña Perfecta, a confidential friend whom she took with her when she
went out at night. The worthy dueña was startled to see the master of
the house, and having no doubt a subtle intuition that a scene was
impending, she rose and took her leave.
No sooner were they alone than Leon began, without betraying any
annoyance or temper.
“María, is it true that you have dismissed poor Felipe?”
“Perfectly true.”
“Before turning him out of the house you would have done well to
reflect that I was very fond of the lad for his attention, his desire
to learn, and his thoroughly good heart which covered a multitude of
childish and provoking faults. I took him from your mother’s house
because whenever he came here, he was in such ecstasies at the sight
of so many books....”
“And in spite of these admirable qualities I was obliged to discharge
him,” said María coldly.
“But why? Did he fail in his duty to you?”
“Yes, shamefully. For a long time I have made him go to confess.
To-day I reproved him for having omitted last Sunday and the Sunday
before, and the impudent fellow, instead of being penitent, turned
upon me and said in the coolest way: ‘Señora, leave me in peace; I do
not want to have anything to do with your priests.’”
“Poor Felipe! And in his place,” Leon went on without betraying his
purpose, “you have engaged an elderly man....”
“Yes, Señor Pomares. I had hoped that you might come in early this
evening that I might speak to you and have your consent. He is a
very superior man, full of piety and good feeling, who thoroughly
understands his business.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“And who can do as much work in a day as two or three of your
profligate idlers. He is a perfectly confidential person and to
whom you may entrust your house, your interests, your most private
business without the smallest hesitation.”
“I should like to see him. Send for him.”
María did so and in about five minutes the weak-eyed, red-faced
dignitary made his appearance, exactly such as the man-servant had
described him. After gazing at him from head to foot, Leon said very
quietly:
“Very good, Señor Pomares. I will give you my first instructions.”
“What are your wishes, Sir?” said the new steward in mellifluous
tones and arching his eyebrows.
“That you walk out of my house, this instant.”
“Leon!” cried María, seeing with astonishment the wrath in her
husband’s face.
“You have heard me. Take your baggage and be off without loss of
time.”
“The lady--your wife sent for me,” said the old man with an attempt
at firmness, feeling himself strong in his mistress’s support.
“I am the master of the house, and I order you to go,” said Leon in a
voice that admitted of no reply, “and I warn you that if you ever set
foot within this house again you will go out not by the door, but by
the window.”
The man made a low bow and vanished.
“Good heavens!” cried María, folding her hands, “what a shame! To
treat such a good, humble, respectable man in such a way!”
“From this hour,” said Leon looking his wife full in the face,
“understand that everything in this house is changed. Henceforth
I find that I must absolutely interfere with your proceedings and
snatch you, either with or against your will, from the monstrous
course of life into which you have drifted; I must cure you, as
mad people are cured, by removing you as far as possible from the
influences that have occasioned your madness. My long suffering has
been fatal to us both; but now my determination, which will border
I warn you on tyranny--and by no fault of mine--is to straighten
somewhat the crooked paths in which you have chosen to walk.”
“I am resigned to endure,” said María with the hypocritical unction
she had learnt to display. “I will drink the cup you force to my
lips. What is it to be? What do you require of me? Will you kill me;
or is your cruelty more refined? Will you force me to renounce the
habits of piety that I have formed? Do you mean to make me abjure my
faith?”
“I have no desire that you should abjure your faith.... No, what I
want is something quite different. Woe is me!”
He turned away as though he really did not know what he wanted. In
point of fact while María was calm and played the part of the victim
to admiration, Leon was disturbed, and hesitated in his part of
executioner.
“I do not wish to have any discussion with you to-night,” he said.
“We have fought too long without result, but now it strikes me that
some definite action on my part may rescue us from this hideous
state of things. Forgive me if instead of giving you explanations
I threaten you, if instead of arguing I command, if instead of
answering you I say nothing.”
“What do you require? Tell me at once.”
“I am going to leave Madrid.”
“Why? Are you tired of theatres, bull-fights, clubs, and atheistical
meetings? Ah! if you leave this it will not be to live in a desert
but to go to Paris, or London, or Germany!”
“You forsook and neglected me,” said Leon sadly. “You avoided me and
flung me back upon the frivolities of society; you, entrenched in
your impeccability, have destroyed all that might have been the joy
and comfort of my life and have made my home the abode of misery.”
María was speechless.
“Well then,” said Leon with unwonted vehemence. “I am tired of having
no home. I am determined to have one.”
“And is not this your home? For my part I am always here,” said
María, as coldly as though she spoke with a mouth full of snow.
“This my home! And what are you? Harsh, thorny and repellent!
Henceforth....”
“You have only to command, and yet you are far more agitated than I;
my resignation gives me self-control, while with all your haughty
tyranny you tremble and turn pale! In one word Leon, what would you
have?”
“I am going to leave Madrid. That is imperatively necessary.”
“What is the matter?”
“I do not want ... I cannot stay here; I have no comfort, no
affection in my own house; I have no one to care for me, since the
companion of my life, instead of surrounding me with gentleness and
tenderness and fondness, has shut herself up in an icy shroud. She,
in the delirium of her exaggerated pietism, and I, in the gloomy
solitude of my scepticism, are not, and can never be, a sympathetic
and happy pair. Some men might be able to vegetate in this barren,
arid atmosphere; I cannot. My soul cannot be fed with study only;
however, as it can have no other nourishment, it is forced to be
content with that.”
“And why can you not study here?”
“Here!” exclaimed Leon, amazed at the proposal. “I cannot stay here.
I have told you already that I am going away.”
“I do not understand you?”
“I daresay not; it is quite possible that you do not; but who will
understand me ... who?”
He clasped his hands over his head with a bitter groan of despair;
and María, respecting his anguish, refrained from making the
impertinent remarks she was accustomed to indulge in on such
occasions. At last she repeated her former suggestion:
“You can study as much as you like here. Let us live together. You
will not interfere with my religious exercises, nor I with your
studies. We shall be two recluses--I devoted to faith and you to
atheism.”
“A beautiful prospect indeed! Nay, what I crave is not a cell, but
a home; I have no contempt for the joys of life; I ask to enjoy
them, in all moderation and honesty; I do not want a life of fevered
exaltation, but a wholesome and practical life, the only life
that leads to true human virtue, to duties fulfilled, to a free
conscience, to peace and honour. What I want now is what I looked for
when I married you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. What I do not understand is why, in order to
gain such a home, you must quit Madrid.”
“You quit it with me.”
“I!”
“Where I go you must go.”
“San Antonio! help me to do my duty!” said María with sanctimonious
resignation. “And where do you propose to take me?”
“Wherever you please. But when once we are settled in the place we
select for a residence you will lead a totally different life.”
“How?”
“I shall lay down a plan which you will have to follow with perfect
exactitude. I shall forbid your going to church on ordinary days; I
will not have my house filled with the crowd of priests and bigots
that have taken this house by storm; I shall weed out your books,
picking out those which are really pious from others that are mere
farrago of horrible nonsense and rhapsody....”
“Go on, pray go on; what more?” said María with cold sarcasm.
“I have only one thing to add; and that is that you can take your
choice between this and a complete separation, henceforth for the
rest of our lives.”
María turned pale.
“You are cruel! abominable!” she exclaimed. “Give me time to consider
at any rate. All this is to take place away from Madrid, you say?”
“Yes, quite away. You may choose the place.”
“Come, come, do not drive me crazy with your preposterous nonsense,”
she suddenly said, trying to make light of it, “nothing shall induce
me to leave Madrid.”
“Then good-bye,” said Leon. “Henceforth you are mistress of this
house. Our separation is an established fact--not by law, but by
my will. To-morrow my lawyer will call upon you and tell you what
allowance I propose to make you. Now good-bye; in matters of business
there is nothing like decision and promptitude. It is settled.” And
he went towards the door.
“Wait,” said María following him; but then, as though she repented of
the impulse, she folded her hands and raised those sea-blue eyes to
the ceiling.
“O Lord!--Blessed Virgin!--Luis, my brother! inspire me rightly; tell
me what I ought to do.”
Leon waited; they looked at each other in silence. Then, yielding
to some instinct, he went up to her and took her hand with tender
respect, saying as he did so:
“María, is it possible that I count for nothing in your memory, in
your heart? My name that you bear--my person as your husband--do
these not appeal to you? Does my presence rouse no feeling in you,
no echo of the past even? Has fanaticism crushed every faintest
thrill of human feeling in your soul--even pity and charity? Has it
extinguished every glimmer of duty and fitness?”
María covered her eyes with her hands as though in contemplation of
some mental vision. “Answer me this last question: do you not love
me?” María looked up; her eyes were red but not moist, and she gave
him a cold grudging glance, as we bestow a penny on a beggar to be
rid of him. Then she said in a dull dry voice:
“Wretched infidel, my God commands me to say: No.”
Leon turned away without a word and went to his room. He remained
up all night arranging his things and packing books, clothes and
papers. The next morning he left the house, not without looking back
at it for the last time; it was not merely a home closed against
him; it was hope deceived, an ideal life blasted and wrecked, like a
cathedral that has been destroyed by an earthquake. There was still a
fibre in his heart that attached him to that cherished ruin, but he
wrenched it out and flung it from him.