Maximina Part 11

Our hero enjoyed one of the purest satisfactions of his life in becoming acquainted with a personage of so great importance in politics, and he made up his mind to go on and gradually know them all in the same way.

He used to go round from group to group, listening attentively to the discussions that were taking place among the most distinguished leaders of men. It was his duty to acquaint himself with their opinions and plans, so as to conduct his journal dexterously. He was surprised by some of these private debates, but especially at one which he overheard a few days after he entered the _salon de conferencias_.

In the centre of a large and crowded group there was a lively discussion going on between a minister and one of the leaders of the opposition concerning a certain article in the const.i.tution of 1845, in which punishment by property confiscation is prohibited.

The minister held that this prohibition was not absolute; that in the article were shown the causes for which a citizen could be deprived of his property. The leader of the opposition screamed like one possessed, arguing that such was not the case; that there were no such causes, and no such things. Both grew very red in the face, and almost reached the point of getting actually angry with each other. Finally the minister asked energetically:--

"Now we will see, Senor M----; have you ever read the const.i.tution of 1845?"

"No, sir, I have not read it, nor have I any desire to!" said Senor M----, in fury.... "Have you read it yourself?"

"No; but though I have not read it," replied the minister, putting on a bold face, "I know that in the first section are indicated the causes which permit confiscation.... And if I have not, here is Senor R----, who was a minister at that time, and can tell us."

Senor R---- was an old gentleman, smoothly shaven; and when he heard his name called, and perceived that all eyes were turned upon him, with a smile that was half malicious and half abashed, he said:--

"The truth of the matter is that I myself cannot remember having read it through!"

At first these discussions and his constantly growing acquaintance with the great engine of politics entranced him; but afterwards, when he came to know by sight, and even have the honor of a personal acquaintance with almost all of the grandees of the kingdom, and had learned from their lips not a few of the secrets of governing nations, he had the sentiment to comprehend that he was beginning to weary of it all; most evenings he preferred to take a book of Shakspere, Goethe, Hegel, or Spinoza, and sit down by his wife's side, and read while she sewed or did her embroidery, rather than wander up and down the corridors of Congress, and listen to the dissertations of Senor Tarabilla and other distinguished men.

And I say that it was sentiment that taught him this; because an inner voice whispered to him that this was not the way to attain fortune and celebrity, nay, he should try to imitate step by step the career of Senor Tarabilla; but though that was the better course, he nevertheless determined to follow the worse, because human nature is weak, and often hurled to destruction by its pa.s.sions. Even on those afternoons when he deigned to go up to the Congress, instead of joining the groups, taking up with the deputies, flattering the ministers, and offering his opinions in regard to whatever question might arise, letting himself be carried away by melancholy (perhaps by the longing for his wife's company, his armchair, or his Shakspere), he would go and sit down alone on some sofa, and there give himself up to his thoughts or his dreams, and try to delude himself into the idea that he was fulfilling his duty.

He would look with distracted eyes at the throng of deputies, journalists and politicians tagging at their heels, and their feverish activity, their agitation, and their eagerness had not the slightest power to inspire the lazy fellow with the n.o.ble desire of laboring for his country, and contributing in some way to its happiness.

At times, not having anything to think about, he would amuse himself in seeking for resemblances between the men whom he saw and those whom he had known before. His attention was particularly attracted by a deputy, a custom-house director, who bore the closest resemblance to a certain fisherman of Rodillero, named Talin. He had known Talin under particularly sad circ.u.mstances. One of his sons had died of measles, and he had not a shilling in the house with which to bury him; the poor man had to carry him in his arms to the cemetery, and dig the grave himself.

A few months afterward Talin was lost in a famous gale which has figured in more than one novel. And how closely this deputy resembled Talin!

They were as like as two eggs.

There was another whose face was decorated with big scars and cicatrices, and whose eyebrows and eyelashes had been lost by reason of some secret malady which obliged him to go every year to Archena; this man struck him as particularly like a poor miner whom he had known at Langreo. The latter worked in the galleries of the mines, spending the livelong day in a narrow hole which he himself had laboriously to excavate. One day the gas took fire and burned his face and hands horribly. After that he was obliged to beg.

When he was weary of these exercises of imagination, he would call Merelo y Garcia, and make him sit by his side, and delight in hearing him relate with characteristic vehemence all the gossip from behind the scenes, if it is not irreverent to compare the lobbies of Congress with the flies of a theatre.

Merelo was at that time the phoenix of Madrid _noticieros_ and the envy of the other newspaper proprietors, who had more than once made him overtures of increased salary to get him away from the Conde de Rios; but Merelo, with fidelity that could not be too highly praised (and therefore he did not cease to praise it), had remained firm in his resistance to all temptations.

There was no one his equal in covering in a moment a dozen groups, in finding out what they were talking about, what they had been talking about, and what they were going to talk about, in gliding between the deputies' feet and discovering the most inviolate and carefully guarded secrets of politics, in worrying foreign envoys with questions; audaciously approaching the ministers, in tormenting the subordinates, and in "cutting out of every one whatever he had in his body," sometimes by suavity, at others by force.

Really Merelo y Garcia was in Spain the pioneer of that pleiad of young reporters who, at the present day, make our press so ill.u.s.trious; he it was who draughted the first lineaments of bills in the forms of questions and answers, though they afterward appeared so much changed.

Still, in Merelo's time, they were as yet, as it were, in swaddling clothes, and Chinese and Moorish amba.s.sadors did not answer in such a precise and categorical manner as they do now, when the reporters ask them, for example "How long were you on your journey? Were you able to get any sleep?" etc., etc.

Merelo was thus better known than the postman in all official centres and more feared than the cholera. When he made up his mind to find out about anything, neither sour faces nor rude replies could daunt him; he was proof against all rebuffs. It was told of him that one time when the Minister of State had just come out from a very important diplomatic meeting, Merelo met him with the question:--

"How now, Senor F----? is the matter of the treaty settled or not?"

The minister looked at him with curiosity, and asked:--

"What journal are you editor of?"

"Of _La Independencia_," replied Merelo, with a genial smile.

"I might have known it by the impudence which you show," retorted the minister coolly, turning on his heel.

The General Count de Rios used to tell at his receptions, with the tears of delight, of one famous exploit which Merelo's especial gifts had allowed him to accomplish.

He was at his favorite post of observation, like a watch-dog, at one of the doors of the _salon de conferencias_; he had been for some time on the scent for news, when he happened to see a page carry a telegram to the President of the Council of Ministers. The President opened it, read it carefully, and crumpled it in his hands with a frown, and then walked along with slow step to the lobby. Merelo was all alive, and followed him with ears alert, with eager eyes, and quivering nostrils. The President went to the wash-room. Merelo waited patiently. The President came out. Then Merelo's brain underwent a sudden and terrible revolution; he hesitated a moment whether or not to follow him back; but at that instant he was inspired by one of those thoughts that illuminate the records of journalism; instead of following his quarry, he darted like a flash into the wash-room, looked, and hunted, and hunted.... At last, in an obscure spot, he found a bit of crumpled blue paper. He had no hesitation in pulling it out.

That evening _La Independencia_ printed the following:--

"It seems that the preconization of the bishop-elect of Malaga, Senor N----, first cousin of the President of the Council of Ministers, meets with opposition in Rome."

The President read this notice as he was going to bed, and he was greatly surprised, as he afterwards confessed to his friends, because the report of the Pope's opposition to his cousin's confirmation had been telegraphed to him by the amba.s.sador. Racking his memory, he recalled the fact that that afternoon, after reading the telegram, he had been followed along the lobby of Congress by a shadow, and that the shadow was waiting when he had come out of the wash-room. The President instantly guessed how the cat was let out of the bag, and burst into a roar of laughter. "That was a good joke," he exclaimed, as he put out the light.

V.

Utrilla had gone to bed, feverish and nervous. And it was with very good reason. For the second time he had failed to pa.s.s his examination; he was as good as expelled from the Military Academy.[14]

His prescient heart had told him before the examination: "Jacobo, they will certainly ask you about the pendulum, and that is the very thing in which you are weakest!"

And indeed he had scarcely taken his seat before the tribunal, when, _zas_! the professor of physics said to him in a wheedling accent:--

"Senor Utrilla, have the goodness to explain for us the theory of the pendulum."

The cadet, rather pale, arose and looked with wild eyes at the professor's desk.... The algebra professor smiled ironically, as though he divined his confusion. Why had that old man taken such a dislike to him? Utrilla could not explain it otherwise than by envy; the professor had seen him at the theatre with Julita under his protection. He arose, and with uncertain steps went to the slaughter; that is, to the blackboard. With trembling hand he made a few ciphers, and at the end of fifteen minutes drew a deep sigh of relief, and returned to his seat.

The professor of physics shook his head several times:--

"That is wrong, Senor Utrilla; that is wrong."

The cadet sponged out the figures that he made, and began the operation a second time. A second quarter of an hour, a second sigh of relief; more negative signs on the part of the professor.

"That is just as wrong, Senor Utrilla."

And Utrilla rubbed out his work again, and for the third time began to cipher; but now he was weak, confused, livid, persuaded that death was at hand.

"Still entirely wrong, Senor Utrilla," exclaimed the professor, in a tone of compa.s.sion.

The algebra man smiled mephistopheleanly, and said, with an affected accent in pure Andalusian:--

"There be three ways of spellin' proctor ... _pa_roctor, _pe_roctor, _po_roctor!"[15]

The gentlemen of the tribunal covered their eyes with their hands to hide their amus.e.m.e.nt. This sneer cut our cadet to the heart; he changed color several times in the course of a few moments.

"That will do; you are dismissed," said the professor of physics, trying in vain to put on a sober face.

The son of Mars retired, stumbling over everything in his way, as though he were blind; his neck was swollen, his Adam's apple preternaturally prominent, his heart boiling over with indignation and wrath.

As soon as he reached home, by the advice of the housekeeper he fainted away. His father, on learning the cause, instead of helping him, was furious, and exclaimed:--