JEW AND GENTILE
Pablo Valls was known throughout all Palma. When he seated himself on
the terrace of a cafe on the Paseo del Borne a compact circle of
listeners would form around him, smiling at his forceful gestures and at
his loud voice, which was ever incapable of discreet tones.
"I am a Chueta, and what of that? A Jew of the Jews! All of my family
come from 'the street.' When I was in command of the Roger de Lauria,
being one day in Algiers, I stopped before the door of the Synagogue,
and an old man, after looking me over, said: 'You may enter; you are one
of us!' I gave him my hand and answered: 'Thanks, fellow-believer.'"
His hearers laughed, and Captain Valls, proclaiming in a loud voice his
Chuetan ancestry, glanced in every direction, as if defying the houses,
the people, and the soul of the island, hostile to his race through the
fanatical hatred of centuries.
His physiognomy revealed his origin. His gray-tinged ruddy side whiskers
denoted the retired sea-faring man, but between these shaggy adornments
projected his Semitic profile, the heavy, aquiline nose, the prominent
chin, the eyes with elongated lids, and pupil of amber and gold
according to the play of light, and in which here and there floated
tobacco-colored spots.
He had been much on the sea; he had lived for long periods in England
and in the United States; and as a result of his contact with those
lands of liberty, free from religious tolerance, he had brought back a
belligerent frankness which impelled him to defy the traditional
prejudices of the island, socially and politically, unprogressive and
stagnant. The other Chuetas, cowed by centuries of persecution and
scorn, concealed their origin, or tried to make it forgotten through
their humble demeanor. Captain Valls took advantage of every occasion to
discuss the matter, parading the name of Chueta as a title of nobility,
as a challenge which he hurled at the popular bias.
"I am a Jew, and what of that?" he shouted again. "A co-religionist of
Jesus, of Saint Paul, of the other saints who are venerated on the
altars. The butifarras boast of their ancestors, but they date scarcely
further back than yesterday. I am more noble, more ancient! My
forefathers were the patriarchs of the Bible!"
Then, waxing indignant over the antipathy to his race, he again became
aggressive.
"In all Spain," he announced gravely, "there is not a Christian who can
lift a finger. We are all descendants of Jews or of Moors. And he who is
not--he who is not----"
Here he stopped, and after a brief pause affirmed resolutely, "He who is
not, is the descendant of a priest!"
On the Peninsula the traditional odium for the Jew which still separates
the population of Majorca into two antagonistic races, does not exist.
Pablo Valls became furious discussing his fatherland. Openly orthodox
Jews did not exist there. The last synagogue had been dissolved
centuries ago. The Jews had all been "converted" en masse, and the
recalcitrant were burned by the Inquisition. The Chuetas of the present
day were the most fervent Catholics of Majorca, bringing to their
profession of faith a Semitic zealotry. They prayed aloud, they made
priests of their sons, they sought influence to place their daughters in
the convents, they figured as moneyed people among the partisans of the
most conservative ideas, and yet, against them lay the same antipathy as
in former centuries, and they lived ostracized, with no allies in any
social class.
"For four hundred and fifty years we have had the water of baptism on
our pates," Captain Valls continued in loud tones, "and yet we are still
the accursed, the reprobates, as before the conversion. Isn't that
queer? The Chuetas! Look out for them! Bad people! In Majorca there are
two Catholicisms--one for our people, and another for the rest."
Then with the concentrated odium gathered from centuries of persecution,
the sailor said, referring to his racial brethren, "They are doing their
best through cowardice, through too great love for the island, for this
little rock, this Roqueta on which we were born; to not forsake it, they
became Christians, and now, when they are really Christians at heart
they are paid for it with kicks. Had they continued to be Jews,
dispersing throughout the world as others have done, perhaps at this
moment they would be great personages, bankers to kings, instead of
sticking in their little shops on 'the street,' making silver hand
bags."
Himself a skeptic, he scorned or attacked them all--the Jews faithful to
their old beliefs, the converts, the Catholics, the Mussulmans, with
whom he had lived on his journeys to the coasts of Africa and in the
ports of Asia Minor. Again he would be dominated by an atavistic
tenderness, displaying a certain religious respect toward his race.
He was a Semite; he declared it with pride, beating his chest: "The
greatest people in the world!"
"We were a lousy, starving crowd when we were in Asia, because there was
no one in that land with whom to traffic, nor to whom we could loan our
money. But no race has given the human flock more actual shepherds than
has ours, which shall yet be for centuries and centuries masters of men.
Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed are from my country. Three strong champions,
eh, caballeros? And now we have given the world a fourth prophet, also
of our race and of our blood, only that this one has two faces and two
names. On the obverse he is called Rothschild, and is the captain of all
who lay up money; on the reverse he is Carl Marx--the apostle of those
who wish to wrest it from the rich!"
The history of the race on the island Valls condensed after his fashion
into brief words. The Jews were many, very many in former times. Nearly
all the commerce was in their hands; most of the ships were theirs. The
Febrers, and other Christian potentates, had no objection to being their
associates. The ancient times might be called the times of liberty;
persecution and cruelty were relatively modern. Jews were the treasurers
of kings, doctors, the courtiers of the courts of the Peninsula. When
religious feuds broke out, the richest and most astute Hebrews of the
island were wise enough to become converted in time, voluntarily, mixing
with the native families, and sinking their origin into oblivion. These
new Catholics were the very ones who, later on, with the fervor of the
neophyte, had instigated the persecution against their former brethren.
The Chuetas of the present time, the only Majorcans of recognized
Jewish origin, were the descendants of the last to be converted, the
offspring of the families persecuted by the Inquisition.
To be a Chueta, to spring from the street of the Silversmiths, which by
antonomasia is called "the street," is the greatest disgrace which can
happen to a Majorcan. In vain had revolutions been made in Spain, in
vain had liberal laws been passed which recognized the equality of all
Spaniards; the Chueta when he passed on to the Peninsula was a citizen
like other people, but in Majorca he was a reprobate, a kind of pest who
could marry none but his own kindred.
Valls commented ironically upon the social order, resembling the steps
of a stairway, in which the different classes of the island had dwelt
for centuries and where many steps still remained intact. Aloft, on the
vortex, the proud butifarras; then the nobles, the caballeros; afterward
the mossons; trailing along behind these came the merchants, the
artisans, and finally the cultivators of the soil. Here opened an
enormous gap in the order established by God in creating the classes; a
vast open space which each one could people according to his caprice.
Undoubtedly after the Majorcan nobles and plebeians came hogs, dogs,
asses, cats, rats, and, at the tail of all these beasts of the Lord, the
despised citizen of "the street," the Chueta, the pariah of the island.
It mattered nothing if he were rich, like the brother of Captain Valls,
or intellectual, like others. Many Chuetas who attained the dignity of
state functionaries, army officers, magistrates, landed proprietors on
the Peninsula, found on returning to Majorca that the meanest beggar
considered himself superior to them, and on the slightest excuse poured
insults upon their persons and their families. The isolation of this bit
of Spain, surrounded by the sea, served to keep intact the spirit of
earlier epochs.
In vain the Chuetas, fleeing from this odium which flourished despite
the new era of progress, exaggerated their devotion to Catholicism with
a blind and vehement faith, largely influenced by the fear absorbed into
their souls and into their flesh during centuries of persecution. In
vain they continued in imitation of their forefathers to recite their
prayers in loud voices in their houses so that passersby might hear, and
they cooked their food in their windows so that all should see that they
ate pork. The traditional barriers could not be overcome. The Catholic
Church, which entitles itself universal, was cruel and harsh with the
Jews on the island, repaying their adherence with disdainful repulsion.
The sons of the Chuetas who desired to become priests found no room in
the seminary. The convents closed their doors against every novice
proceeding from "the street." On the Peninsula the daughters of Chuetas
married men of distinction and men of great fortune, but on the island
they scarcely ever found one who would accept their hand and their
riches.
"Bad people!" continued Valls sarcastically. "They are industrious, they
lay up money, they live at peace in the bosoms of their families, they
are more fervent Catholics even than the rest, but they are Chuetas;
there must be something the matter with them to be so despised!
Something there must be about them, do you understand? Something! He who
wishes to know more let him find out for himself."
The seaman laughingly told of the poor peasants from the country who
until a few years ago declared in good faith that the Chuetas were
covered with grease and had tails, taking advantage of an occasion when
they found a lonely child from "the street" to disrobe him and convince
themselves whether the story of the caudal appendage were true.
"And how about what happened to my brother?" continued Valls. "To my
sainted brother Benito, who prays aloud, and who is so devout that one
might think he were going to actually devour the images?"
They all remembered the case of Don Benito Valls, and they laughed
heartily, since his brother was ever the first to jest about the matter.
The rich Chueta had found himself owner, on settling some accounts, of a
house and valuable lands in a town in the interior of the island. On
taking possession of the new property the most prudent citizens had
given him good advice. He would be allowed to visit his property during
the day, but as for spending the night in the house, never! There was no
record of a Chueta having slept in the pueblo. Don Benito paid no
attention to this counsel and he spent a night on his property, but
scarcely had he gotten into bed than the domestics fled. When the master
of the house had slept long enough he sprang from his couch. Not even
the faintest ray of light entered through the crevices. He thought he
must have slept at least twelve hours, yet it was still dark. He opened
a window and his head bumped cruelly; he tried to open the door, but he
could not. While he had been asleep the neighbors had walled up all the
windows and doors, and the Chueta had to make his escape by way of the
roof, to the accompaniment of shouts of laughter from the people who
thus rejoiced over their work. This joke was merely by way of warning;
if he persisted in going counter to the customs of the town, some night
he would awake to find the house in flames.
"Very amusing, but very barbarous!" added the captain. "My brother! A
good soul! A saint!"
They all laughed at this. He maintained friendly relations with his
brother, although with some frigidity, and he made no secret of the
grievances he had against him. Captain Valls was the bohemian of the
family, ever on the high seas or in distant lands, leading the life of a
gay bachelor. He had enough money on which to live. On the death of his
father his brother had taken charge of the business of the house,
defrauding him of many thousands of dollars.
"The same as the Christians of olden times!" Pablo hastened to add. "In
matters of inheritance there is neither race nor creed. Money recognizes
no religion."
The interminable persecutions suffered by his ancestors infuriated
Valls. Advantage was taken of every circumstance for trampling under
foot the people of "the street." When the peasants had grievances
against the nobles or when foreigners descended in armed bands upon the
citizens of Palma, the difficulty was always settled by a joint attack
upon the ward of the Chuetas, killing those who did not flee, and
looting their shops. If a Majorcan batallion received orders to march to
Spain in case of war, the soldiers mutinied, broke out of their barracks
and sacked "the street." When the reaction followed the revolutions in
Spain, the royalists, to celebrate their triumph, assaulted the
silversmiths' shops of the Chuetas, took possession of their riches, and
made bonfires of their furniture, hurling even their crucifixes into the
flames. Crucifixes belonging to old Jews, that, of course, must be
false!
"And who are the people of 'the street'?" shouted the captain.
"Everybody knows; those who have noses and eyes like mine; and there are
many who are flat-nosed and present nothing of the common type. On the
other hand, how many are there who pretend to be caballeros of
antiquity, of proud nobility, with faces like Abraham and Jacob?"
There existed a list of suspicious surnames for identifying the genuine
Chuetas, but these same surnames were borne by long-time Christians, and
it was additional caprice which separated one from the other. Only the
descendants of those families beaten or burned by the Inquisition had
remained permanently marked by popular odium. The famous catalogue of
surnames was made up undoubtedly from the autos of the Holy Offices.
"A joy indeed to become a Christian! The ancestors frizzled in the
bonfire, and the descendants singled out and cursed for centuries upon
centuries!"
The captain dropped his sarcastic tone upon recalling the harrowing
story of the Chuetas of Majorca. His cheeks flamed and his eyes flashed
with the effulgence of hatred. That they might dwell in tranquillity
they had been converted en masse in the Fifteenth Century. There was not
a Jew left on the island, but the Inquisition must do something to
justify its existence, so there were burnings of persons suspected of
Judaism in the Paseo del Borne, spectacles organized, as said the
chroniclers of the epoch, "in accordance with the most brilliant
functions celebrated by the triumph of the Faith in Madrid, Palermo, and
Lima." Some Chuetas were burned, others were beaten, others went out to
their shame wearing nothing but hoods painted as devils and with green
candles in their hands; but all of them had their goods confiscated and
the Holy Tribunal was enriched. After that, those suspected of Judaism,
those who had no clerical protector, were forced to go to mass in the
Cathedral with their families every Sunday under the command and custody
of an alguacil, who herded them as if they were a flock of sheep, put
mantles on them so that no one could mistake them, and thus he took
them to the temple amidst catcalls, insults, and stonings from the
devout populace. This happened every Sunday, and in this unceasing
weekly torment fathers died, sons grew into manhood, begetting new
Chuetas destined to public contumely.
A few families gathered together to flee from this degrading slavery.
They met in an orchard near the sea wall, and were counselled and guided
by one Rafael Valls, a valorous man of great culture.
"I don't know for sure that he was a relative of mine," said the
captain. "It was more than two centuries ago; but if he were not, I wish
he had been. It would be an honor to have him for an ancestor.
Adelante!"
Pablo Valls had collected papers and books of the epoch of persecutions,
and he talked of them as if they had occurred but yesterday.
"Men, women and children took passage on an English ship, but a storm
drove them back on the coast of Majorca, and the fugitives were taken
prisoners. This was during the reign of Charles II, the Bewitched. To
wish to flee from Majorca where they were so well treated, and more than
that, on a ship manned by Protestants! They were held three years in
prison, and the confiscations of their property, yielded a million
duros. Besides this, the Sacred Tribunal counted upon more millions
wrested from former victims, and constructed a palace in Palma, the
finest and most luxurious possessed by the Inquisition in any land. The
prisoners were subjected to torment until they confessed what their
judges desired, and on the seventh of March, 1691, the executions began.
That event has as its historian such a one as no other part of the world
has ever known, Father Garau, a pious Jesuit, a fount of theological
science, rector of the Seminary of Mount Sion, where the Institute now
stands, author of the book 'The Faith Triumphant,' a literary monument
which I would not sell for all the money in the world. Here it is; it
accompanies me everywhere."
Out of his pocket he drew "The Faith Triumphant," a small book bound in
parchment, of antique and reddish print, which he fondled with a
ferocious grip.
"Blessed Father Garau! Placed in charge of exhorting and encouraging the
criminals, he had seen it all at close range, and he told of the
thousands and thousands of spectators who flocked from many towns on the
island to witness the festival, of the solemn masses attended by the
thirty-eight criminals destined for the burning, of the luxurious
trappings of caballeros and alguaciles mounted on prancing chargers at
the head of the procession, and of the 'piety of the multitude, which
burst into cries of pity when a highwayman was led to the gallows, but
which remained dumb in the presence of these God-forgotten reprobates.'
On that day, according to the learned Jesuit, the temper of soul of
those who believe in God and of those who do not was displayed. The
priests marched courageously, uttering shouts of exhortation
unceasingly, while the miserable criminals were pale, exhausted and
fainting. It was easy enough to see on which side lay celestial aid!
"The condemned were conducted to the foot of the Castle of Bellver for
the final burning. The Marquis of Leganes, Governor of the Milanesado,
chancing to be in Majorca with his fleet, took pity on the youth and
beauty of a girl sentenced to the flames, and sued for her pardon. The
tribunal praised the marquis for his Christian sentiments, but would not
grant his petition.
"Father Garau was the one in charge of the conversion of Rafael Valls,
'a man of some letters, but one in whom the devil inspired an
immeasurable pride, impelling him to curse those who condemned him to
death, and refusing to reconcile himself with the Church.' But, as the
Jesuit said, such boastfulness, the work of the Evil One, fails in the
presence of danger, and cannot compare to the serenity of the priest who
exhorts the criminal.
"The Jesuit father was a hero far from the flames! Now you shall hear
with what evangelical pity he relates the details of the death of my
ancestor."
Opening the book at a marked page, he read impressively: "'As long as
nothing but the smoke reached him, he stood like a statue; when the
flames came, he defended himself, he tried to shield himself, he
resisted until he could bear no more. He was as fat as a sucking pig,
and, being on fire inside in such a way that even before the flames
reached him, his flesh was becoming consumed like half-burnt wood, and
bursting in his middle, his entrails fell out like a Judas. _Crepuit
medius difusa sunt oninia viscera ejus_.'"
This barbaric description always produced an effect. The laughter
ceased, countenances darkened, and Captain Valls looked around with his
amber-colored eyes, breathing satisfaction, as if he had achieved a
triumph, while the small volume slipped back into his pocket.
Once when Febrer figured among his hearers, the sailor said to him
rancorously, "You were there, too; that is, not yourself, but one of
your ancestors, one of the Febrers, who carried the green flag as the
chief ensign of the Tribunal; and the ladies of your family were in a
carriage at the foot of the castle to witness the burning."
Jaime, annoyed by this reminder, shrugged his shoulders.
"Things of the past! Who ever remembers what is dead and gone? No one
but some crazy fellow like you! Come, Pablo, tell us something about
your travels--about your conquests of women."
The captain growled. Things of the past! The soul of the Roqueta was
still the same as in those olden times. Odium of the Jewish religion and
race still endured. For a good reason they dwelt apart, on this bit of
ground isolated by the sea.
But Valls soon recovered his good humor, and, like all men who have
knocked about the world, he could not resist the invitation to relate
his past.
Febrer, another vagabond like himself, enjoyed listening to him. They
both had led a turbulent, cosmopolitan existence, different from the
monotonous life of the islanders; they both had squandered money
prodigally, but Valls, with the active genius of his race, had known how
to earn as much as he had spent, and now, ten years older than Jaime, he
had enough to amply supply his modest bachelor needs. He still engaged
in commerce occasionally, and he carried out commissions for friends who
wrote to him from distant ports.
Of his eventful history as a mariner, Febrer disregarded the stories of
hunger and storms, and only felt curiosity over his escapades in the
great cosmopolitan ports where congregated the exotic vices and the
women of all races. Valls, in his youth, when he was in command of his
father's ships, had known women of every class and color, often finding
himself involved in sailors' orgies, which ended in floods of whisky and
stabbing affrays.
"Pablo, tell us of your love affairs in Jaffa, when the Moors came near
killing you."
Listening to him Febrer laughed loudly, while the sailor said that
Jaime was a good boy, worthy of a better fate, with no defect other than
that of being a butifarra somewhat given to the family prejudices.
When he stepped into Febrer's carriage on the road to Valldemosa,
ordering his own to return to Palma, he pushed back the soft felt hat
which he wore on all occasions, the crown crushed in, and the brim
tilted up in front and down in the back.
"Here we are! Really, didn't you expect me? I heard the news. I've been
told all about it, and since there is to be a family gathering, let it
be complete."
Febrer pretended not to understand. The carriage entered Valldemosa,
stopping in the vicinity of La Cartuja before a dwelling of modern
construction. When the two friends opened the garden gate they saw
approaching them a gentleman with white whiskers, leaning on a cane. It
was Don Benito Valls. He greeted Febrer with a weak, hollow voice,
cutting short his words at intervals to gasp for air. He spoke humbly,
laying great stress upon the honor which Febrer showed him by accepting
his invitation.
"And how about me?" asked the captain, with a malicious smile. "Am I
nobody? Aren't you glad to see me?"
Don Benito was glad to see him. He said so several times, but his eyes
revealed uneasiness. His brother inspired him with a certain fear. What
a tongue he had! It were better that they should not meet.
"We came together," continued the mariner. "Hearing that Jaime was
breakfasting here, I invited myself, sure of giving you a great joy.
These family reunions are delightful."
They had entered the house. It was simply decorated. The furniture was
modern and vulgar. Some chromos and a few hideous paintings
representing scenes in Valldemosa and Miramar hung on the walls.
Catalina, Don Benito's daughter, came down hurriedly. Her bosom was
besprinkled with rice powder, revealing the haste with which she had
given the last touch to her toilette on seeing the carriage arrive.
Jaime had opportunity to study her appearance for the first time. He had
not been mistaken in his conjecture. She was tall, with pale brown
coloring, black eyebrows, eyes like drops of ink, and a light down on
her lip and on her temples. Her youthful figure was full and firm,
announcing a greater expansion for the future, as in all the women of
her race. She seemed of a sweet and gentle disposition, a good
companion, not likely to be in the way during the journey of a common
life. She kept her eyes lowered, and her face flushed as she greeted
Jaime. Her manner, her furtive glances, revealed the respect, the
adoration of one who is abashed in the presence of a being whom she
considers her superior.
The captain caressed his niece with a certain familiar-it, adopting that
air of a gay old man with which he spoke to the common girls of Palma in
the small hours of the night in some restaurant on the Paseo del Borne.
Ah! A smart girl! And how pretty she was! It seemed incredible that she
came of a family of homely people!
Don Benito directed them all into the dining-room. Breakfast had been
waiting for some time; in this house old customs were kept up; twelve
o'clock sharp! They took their seats around the table, and Febrer, who
sat next to the host, was annoyed by his heaving respiration, by the
sharp gasps which interrupted his words.
In the silence which often reigns at the beginning of a dinner the
wheezing of his unsound lungs was painfully noticeable. The rich Chueta
pursed his lips, rounding them like the mouth of a trumpet, and drew in
the air with a disagreeable rattle. Like all sick people he was eager to
talk, and his sentences were long drawn out from a combination of
stammering and pauses which left him with palpitating chest and eyes
aloft, as if he were about to die of asphyxia. An atmosphere of
uneasiness pervaded the dining-room. Febrer glanced at Don Benito in
alarm, as if expecting to see him fall dead from his chair. His daughter
and the captain, more accustomed to the spectacle, displayed
indifference.
"It is asthma--Don Jaime," laboriously explained the sick man. "In
Valldemosa--I am better--In Palma--I would die."
The daughter took advantage of the opportunity to put in her voice,
which was like that of a timid little nun, contrasting strangely with
her ardent, oriental eyes.
"Yes, papa is better here."
"You are more quiet in Valldemosa," added the captain, "and you commit
fewer sins."
Febrer pictured to himself the torment of spending his life near that
broken bellows. By good luck he might die soon. An annoyance of some
months, but it did not alter his resolution of becoming one of the
family. Courage!
The asthmatic, in his verbose mania, spoke of Jaime's ancestors, of the
illustrious Febrers, the finest and noblest caballeros of the island.
"I had the honor--of being a great friend--of your--grandfather, Don
Horacio."
Febrer looked at him in astonishment. It was a lie! Everyone in the
island knew his grandfather, and he exchanged a few words with them all,
but ever maintaining a gravity which imposed respect in others without
alienating them; but as for being his friend! Don Horacio may have had
business relations with the Chueta relating to loans needed for propping
up his fortune in its decline.
"I also knew--your father--very well," continued Don Benito, encouraged
by Febrer's silence. "I worked for him--when he was running--for deputy.
Those were--different times--from these! I was young--and had not--the
fortune which I have now. Then I figured--among the 'reds.'"
Captain Vails interrupted him with a laugh. His brother was a
conservative now and a member of all the societies in Palma.
"Yes, I am," shouted the sick man, choking. "I like order--I like the
old customs--and I think it right--for those who have--something to lose
to be--in command. As for religion? Ah, religion! For that I would--give
my life."
He pressed a hand against his breast, breathing painfully, as if choking
with enthusiasm. He fixed aloft his pain-clouded eyes, adoring with a
respect inspired by fear the sacred institution which had burned his
forefathers alive.
"Pay no attention--to Pablo," he gasped, turning to Febrer when he had
recovered breath. "You know him--a wild-headed fellow--a republican; a
man who might be rich--but he won't have two pesetas--in his pocket--in
his old age."
"Why not? Because you'll get them away from me?"
After this rude interruption by the sailor silence fell. Catalina looked
alarmed, as if she feared that the noisy scenes which she had often
witnessed when the two brothers fell into an argument would be
reproduced in Febrer's presence.
Don Benito shrugged his shoulders and addressed his conversation to
Jaime. His brother was crazy; he had a good head, a heart of gold, but
he was mad, stark mad! With his exalted ideas, and his loud talk in the
cafes, it was largely his fault that decent people felt a certain
prejudice against--that they spoke ill of----
The old man accompanied his mutilated expressions with gestures of
humility, avoiding the word Chueta and refusing to name the famous
street.
The captain, flushing with contrition for his violence, desired his
hasty words to be forgotten, and he ate voraciously, keeping his head
lowered.
His niece smiled at his good appetite. Whenever he ate at their table he
amazed them with the capacity of his stomach.
"It is because I know what hunger is," said the sailor with a kind of
pride. "I have suffered real hunger, the kind of hunger that makes men
think of the flesh of their companions."
This reminiscence spurred him on to a vivid relation of his maritime
adventures, telling of his younger days when he had been a supernumerary
aboard a frigate which sailed to the coasts of the Pacific. When he
insisted upon being a sailor, his father, the elder Valls, originator of
the fortune of the house, had shipped him in a galley of his own which
freighted sugar from Havana, but that was not a sailor's life because
the cook reserved the best dishes for him; the captain dared not give
him an order, seeing in him the son of the ship-owner. At this rate he
would never have become a real sailor, rugged and expert. With the
tenacious energy of his race he had taken passage unknown to his father
on a frigate bound for the Chinchas Islands for a cargo of guano, manned
by a crew of many races--deserters from the English navy, bargemen from
Valparaiso, Peruvian Indians, black sheep of every family, all under
command of a Catalonian, a niggardly ruffian, more prodigal with blows
than with the mess. The outbound trip was uneventful, but on the return
voyage, after passing the Straits of Magellan, they ran into the calms,
and the frigate lay motionless in the Atlantic almost a month, and the
store of provisions soon ran low. The miser of a ship-owner had
victualled the vessel with scandalous parsimony, and the captain, in his
turn, had sailed with a scanty supply, appropriating to his own uses
part of the money intended for stores.
"He gave us two sea biscuits a day, and those were full of worms. At
first I used to busy myself scrupulously, like a well brought up boy,
carefully picking out the little beasts, but after the housecleaning,
there was nothing left except bits of crust as thin as wafers, and I was
starving. Then----"
"Oh, uncle!" protested Catalina, guessing what he was going to say, and
pushing away her plate and fork with a gesture of repugnance.
"Then," continued the impassive sailor, "I gave up cleaning them out,
and I swallowed them whole. It is true I ate at night--I've eaten lots
of them, girl! Finally he only gave us one a day, and when I got back to
Cadiz I had to go on a broth diet to get my stomach straightened out
again."
Breakfast being over, Catalina and Jaime strolled out to the garden. Don
Benito, with the air of a kindly patriarch, told his daughter to take
Senor Febrer and show him some exotic rose bushes which he had recently
planted. The two brothers remained in the room, which served as an
office, watching the couple as they sauntered through the garden and
finally seated themselves in the shade of a tree on two willow seats.
Catalina replied to her companion's questions with the timidity of a
Christian maiden, piously educated, guessing the purpose concealed in
his brusque gallantry. This man had come on her account, and her father
was the first to welcome the suggestion. A settled affair! He was a
Febrer, and she was going to tell him "yes." She thought of her youthful
days in the college surrounded by poorer girls who took advantage of
every opportunity to tease her, through envy of her wealth and hatred
learned from their parents. She was a Chueta. She could only mingle with
those of her own race, and even they, eager to ingratiate themselves
with the enemy, played false to their own kind, lacking energy and
cohesion for a common defense. When school let out the Chuetas marched
in advance, by order of the nuns, to avoid insults and attacks from the
other pupils out on the street. Even the servants who accompanied the
girls quarreled among themselves, assuming the odium and prejudices of
their masters. In the boys' school also the Chuetas were dismissed first
to escape the stonings and whippings of those who had longer been
Christians.
The daughter of Valls had suffered the torments of the treacherous
pin-prick, of the stealthy scratching, of the scissors in her braids,
and then, on becoming a woman, the odium and scorn of her old-time
companions had followed her, embittering the pleasures of the young
woman despite her riches. What was the use of being elegant? On the
avenues none but her father's friends bowed to her; in the theater her
box was visited only by people proceeding from "the street." At last she
must marry one of them, as her mother and her grandmothers had done.
The despondency and mysticism of adolescence had urged her toward a
monastic life. Her father almost choked with sorrow at the idea, but it
was the call of religion, that religion to which she longed to devote
her life! Don Benito consented to her entering a monastery in Majorca,
where he could see his daughter every day, but not a convent would open
its doors to her. The Superiors, tempted by the father's fortune, which
would in the end revert to the order, showed themselves favorably
disposed, but the monastic flock rebelled at receiving into its bosom a
girl from "the street," and especially one who was not meek and resigned
enough to submit to the superciliousness of the others, but rich and
proud.
When she was left thus in the world by the resistance of the nuns, she
did not know how to plan her future, and she spent her life near her
father, like a nurse, ignorant of what was to be her fate, turning her
back upon the young Chuetas who fluttered about her, attracted by Don
Benito's millions, until the noble Febrer presented himself, like a
fairy prince, to make her his wife. How good God is! She fancied herself
in that palace near the Cathedral, in the ward of the nobles, along
whose silent, narrow, blue-paved streets grave canons passed during the
dreamy afternoon hours, summoned by the chime of bells.
She imagined herself in a luxurious carriage among the pines on the
mountain of Bellver, or along the jetty, with Jaime at her side, and she
revelled in the thought of the envious glances of her former companions,
who would envy her, not only her wealth and her new position, but her
possession of that man whom far-away adventures and a turbulent life had
endowed with a certain halo of terrible seduction, dazzling and fatal to
the quiet island senoritas. Jaime Febrer! Catalina had always seen him
at a distance, but when she whiled away her monotonous hours with
incessant novel reading, certain characters, the most interesting on
account of their adventures and daring, always reminded her of that
noble from the ward of the Cathedral who dashed about the world with
elegant women dissipating his fortune. Then, suddenly, her father had
spoken of this remarkable personage, giving her to understand that he
was going to offer her his name, and with it the glory of his ancestors,
who had been friends of kings! She did not know whether it were love or
gratitude, but a wave of tenderness which dimmed her eyes drew her to
the man. Ah! How she would love him! She listened to his words as to a
sweet melody, not knowing what to say, intoxicated by its music,
thinking at the same time of the future which he had suddenly opened to
her, a rising sun bursting through the clouds.
Then, making an effort, she concentrated her mind and listened to
Febrer, who was telling her about great foreign cities, of rows of
luxurious carriages filled with women arrayed in the latest fashions, of
broad stone steps in front of theaters down which came cascades of
diamonds, ostrich plumes and nude shoulders, trying to place himself on
a level of thought with the girl to allure her with these descriptions
of feminine glory.
Jaime said no more, but Catalina guessed the purpose which had inspired
these words. She, the unhappy girl from "the street," the Chueta,
accustomed to seeing her people cringing and trembling beneath the
weight of traditional odium, would visit these cities, would figure in
the procession of riches, would have opened to her doors which she had
always found closed, and she would pass through them leaning on the arm
of a man who had ever seemed to her the personification of all
terrestrial grandeur.
"When shall I see all that?" murmured Catalina with hypocritical
humility. "I am condemned to live on the island, I am a poor girl who
has never harmed anybody, and yet I have suffered great annoyances--I
must be repulsive!"
Febrer rushed down the pathway which this feminine cleverness had opened
for him. "Repulsive! No, Catalina." He had come to Valldemosa solely to
see her, to speak to her. He offered her a new life. All these things at
which she marveled she could experience and taste with but a word. Would
she marry him?
Catalina, who had been waiting for an hour for this proposal, turned
pale, tremulous with emotion. To hear it from his lips! She sat still
for some time without answering, and at last stammered out a few words.
It was a joy, the greatest she had ever known, but a well-educated girl
like herself must not answer at once.
"I? Oh, I must have time! This is such a surprise!"
Jaime wished to insist, but at that very instant Captain Valls appeared
in the garden, calling him vociferously. They must return to Palma; he
had already given the driver orders to hitch up. Febrer protested
stubbornly. But by what right did that busybody mix into his affairs?
Don Benito's presence cut off his protest. He was puffing painfully,
with his face congested. The captain stirred about with nervous
hostility, protesting at the coachman's delay. It was evident the
brothers had been having a violent discussion. The elder one looked at
his daughter, he looked at Jaime, and he seemed content in the belief
that the two had reached an understanding.
Don Benito and Catalina accompanied them as far as the carriage. The
asthmatic clasped Febrer's hand between his own with a vehement
pressure. This was his house, and he himself a true friend desirous of
serving him. If he needed his assistance he could dispose of him as he
wished, just as if he were one of the family! He mentioned Don Horacio
once again, recalling their former friendship. Then he invited Febrer to
breakfast with them two days afterward, without remembering to include
his brother.
"Yes, I will be here," said Jaime, giving Catalina a look which made her
redden.
When the garden gate, behind which stood the father and daughter waving
their hands, was lost to view, Captain Valls burst into a noisy laugh.
"So it seems that you would like to have me for an uncle of yours?" he
questioned, ironically.
Febrer, who was furious at the intervention of his friend and the
rudeness with which he had forced him to leave the house, gave
expression to his choler. What business was it of his? By what right did
he venture to meddle in his affairs? He was old enough not to need
advisers.
"Halt!" said the sailor, leaning back in his seat and extending his
hands near the musketeer's hat thrust on the back of his head. "Halt! my
young gallant! I meddle in the affair because I am one of the family. I
believe this concerns my niece; at least, so it looks to me."
"And what if I wished to marry her? Perhaps Catalina would think well of
it; perhaps her father would consent."
"I don't say that he would not, but I am her uncle, and her uncle
protests, and he says that this marriage is an absurdity."
Jaime looked at him in astonishment. An absurdity to marry a Febrer!
Possibly he aspired to more for his niece?
"An absurdity for them and an absurdity for you," declared Valls. "Have
you forgotten where you live? You can be my friend, the friend of the
Chueta, Pablo Valls, he whom you see in the cafe, in the Casino, and
whom folks consider half crazy, but as for marrying a woman of my
family!"
The sailor laughed as he thought of this union. Jaime's relatives would
be furious with him, and would never speak to him again. They would be
more tolerant with him if he were to commit a murder. His aunt, the
Popess Juana, would scream as if she had witnessed a sacrilege. He would
lose everything, and his niece, forgotten and tranquil until then, would
give up the tediousness of her home, monotonous and sad, for an infernal
life of misery, humiliation, and scorn.
"No, I say again; her uncle opposes it."
Even the people of the lower classes who declared themselves enemies of
the rich would be indignant at seeing a butifarra marry a Chueta. The
traditional atmosphere of the island must be respected, under penalty of
death, as his brother Benito would die, for lack of air. It was
dangerous to try to change all at once the work of centuries. Even those
who came from outside, free of prejudices, after a short time suffered
this repulsion of race, which seemed to permeate the very atmosphere.
"Once," continued Valls, "a Belgian couple came and established
themselves on the island, bearing letters to me from a friend in
Antwerp. I was attentive to them. I did all manner of favors for them.
'Be careful,' I told them; 'remember that I am a Chueta, and the Chuetas
are very bad people.' The woman laughed. What barbarity! What
out-of-date notions prevail here on the island! There were Jews
everywhere and they were people like any other. After a while we met
less frequently, they saw more of other people; at the end of a year
they met me on the street and they glanced about in every direction
before bowing to me; and now when they see me they always turn away
their faces if they can, just the same as if they were Majorcans!"
Marriage! That was for a whole lifetime. In the first few months Jaime
would try to face the murmurings and the scorn, but time runs on, and an
odium dating from centuries does not wear out in the course of a few
years, and finally Febrer would regret his ostracism, he would realize
his mistake in running counter to the traditions of the grand majority,
and the one to suffer the consequences would be Catalina, looked upon in
her own house as a type of ignominy. No; in matrimony no chances must be
taken. In Spain it is indissoluble, there is no divorce, and making
experiments results dear. That was why he had remained a bachelor.
Febrer, irritated at these words, reminded Pablo of his vigorous
propagandas against the enemies of the Chuetas.
"But don't you desire the elevation of your people? Doesn't it make you
furious to have the people from 'the street' looked upon as different
from ordinary human beings? What could there be better than this
marriage to combat the prejudice?"
The captain waved his hands in sign of doubt. Ta! Ta! Such a marriage
would accomplish nothing. During several epochs of tolerance and
momentary forgetfulness some of the old-time Christians had married into
the families of the people from "the street." There were many on the
island who revealed this mixture by their surnames. And what was the
result? Odium and separation continued the same. No, not the same; a
little more tempered than in other days, but latent still. The things
which would end this situation were the culture of the people, new
customs, and this would be the work of years, and would not be
accomplished by a marriage. Besides, experiments were dangerous and
caused victims. If Jaime were eager to make the test let him choose
someone besides his niece.
Valls smiled sarcastically on seeing Jaime's negative gestures.
"Are you enamored of Catalina?" he asked.
The captain's amber-colored eyes, malicious and focused steadily on
Jaime, would not permit him to lie. Enamored?... No, not enamored; but
love was not indispensable to marriage. Catalina was agreeable, she
would make an excellent wife, a pleasant companion.
Pablo grinned even more widely.
"Let us talk like good friends, like men who know life. My brother is
even more agreeable to you. No doubt he will set himself to arranging
your business affairs. He will shed tears when he sees how much money
you will cost him, but he has a mania for name; he respects and adores
the past, and he will put up with anything. But don't trust him, Jaime.
He is the type of those Jews represented in plays, with a fat
pocketbook, helping people out in an hour of stress, but squeezing them
afterward. They are the ones that discredit us; I am different. When he
gets you into his power you will regret the business deal you have
made."
Febrer looked at his friend with hostile eyes. The best thing he could
do was to have no more to say about this matter. Pablo was a crazy
fellow accustomed to saying whatever he thought, but he was not going
to put up with it forever. If they were to continue friends, he must
keep still.
"Well, we'll keep still," said Valls. "But understand once and for all
that the girl's uncle opposes you, and that he does it for your sake and
for hers."
They rode in silence the rest of the way. They separated on the Paseo
del Borne with a frigid bow, without a handclasp.
Jaime returned to his house at dusk. Mammy Antonia had placed upon a
table in the reception hall an oil lamp whose flame seemed to make the
darkness of the vast room even more dense.
The Ivizans had just left. After breakfasting with her, and wandering
about the city, they had waited until nightfall for the senor. They must
spend the night on the boat; the master of the vessel wished to set sail
before sunrise. Mammy spoke with kindly interest of these people who
seemed to her to have come from another side of the world. "How they
marveled at everything! They went about the island as if frightened; and
Margalida! What a beautiful girl!"
Good old Mammy Antonia gave expression to one idea, but another
persisted in her mind, and while she followed her master to his
dormitory she looked him over with unconcealed curiosity, eager to read
something in his face. What had taken place in Valldemosa, Virgin del
Lluch? What had become of that absurd plan of which the senor had told
her during breakfast?
But her master was in an ill humor, and he responded to her questions
with brief words. He was not going to remain in the house; he would dine
at the Casino. By the light of a lamp which but dimly illuminated his
vast apartment, he changed his suit and brushed himself up a bit, taking
an enormous key from Mammy's hands in order to open the door when he
returned late at night.
At nine o'clock, on his way to the Casino, he saw his friend Toni
Clapes, the smuggler, standing in the doorway of an inn. He was a large
man with a round, shaven face, in peasant garb. He looked like a country
curate dressed as a farmer to spend the night in Palma. With his white
hempen sandals, his collar minus a cravat, and his hat thrust back, he
entered the cafes and clubs, being received with profuse manifestations
of friendship. In the Casino the men respected him for the calm way in
which he drew handfuls of bank notes from his pockets. A native of a
town in the interior, he had, by force of courage and dangers, become
chief of a mysterious industry of which everyone had heard, but whose
secret operations remained in shadow. He had hundreds of accomplices
ready to die for him, and an unseen fleet which sailed by night,
unafraid of storms, putting into port at inaccessible places. The worry
and risk of these enterprises were never reflected in his jovial
countenance nor in his generous impulses. He only seemed downcast when
several weeks passed without news of some vessel which had sailed from
Algiers in stormy weather.
"Lost!" he would say to his friends. "The bark and the cargo don't
matter so much, but there were seven men in her; I've sailed that way
myself--I must see to it that their families don't lack bread."
On other occasions his gloom was only pretended, with an ironic
wrinkling of his lips. A government craft had just seized one of his
vessels; and everyone laughed, knowing that nearly every month Toni
allowed some old boat carrying a few bales of tobacco to be captured, to
satisfy his pursuers by letting them boast of a triumph. When there was
an epidemic in African ports the authorities of the island, powerless to
guard so extensive a coastline, sent for Toni, appealing to his
patriotism as a Majorcan, and the contrabandist promised to cease his
navigation for the time, or he loaded at another point to avoid
spreading the contagion.
Febrer had in this rough man, lighthearted and generous, a fraternal
confidence. He had often told him his troubles, seeking the advice of
his rustic astuteness. He, who would never dream of soliciting a loan
from his friends in the Casino, in moments of stress accepted money from
Toni which the contrabandist seemed to think no more about.
They shook hands when they met. Had Febrer been at Valldemosa? Toni had
already heard about his trip, thanks to the facility with which the most
insignificant news circulates through the calm, monotonous atmosphere of
a Biscayan city open-mouthed for gossip.
"They are saying something more," said Toni in his provincial Majorcan
dialect, "something that I can't believe. They say you're going to marry
the atlota of Don Benito Valls!"
Febrer, surprised that the news had circulated so quickly, dared not
deny it. Yes, it was true. He would acknowledge it to no one but Toni.
The smuggler made a gesture of repulsion, while his eyes, accustomed to
the greatest surprises, revealed astonishment.
"You are making a mistake, Jaime, a serious mistake."
He spoke gravely, as if dealing with a solemn matter.
The butifarra maintained with this friend a confidence which he would
not have risked with any one else. But he was ruined, dear Toni! Nothing
that remained in his house was his! His creditors only respected him in
the expectation of this marriage!
Toni shook his head with a negative expression. The rude native, the
contrabandist who mocked at laws seemed stupefied by the news.
"Any way you look at it, you are making a mistake. You should get out of
your money troubles any way you can, but not this way. We, your friends,
will help you. _You_ marry a Chueta?"
He took leave of Febrer with a vigorous handclasp, as if he imagined him
in danger of death.
"You are making a mistake, think it over," he said with a reproachful
expression. "You are making a mistake, Jaime!"