Maximina Part 19

So that Marroquin, in spite of his depraved ideas, served as a powerful temptation for his friend to go into El Levante and have a gla.s.s of water, for example. Don Leandro, no matter what opprobriums the heretical professor heaped upon his born enemy, acquiesced with a smile; and even, from time to time, he himself would let slip some spiteful word, promising before the tribunal of his conscience to confess it immediately.

But the trouble was, Don Leandro's confessor was the very same chaplain, who, like his glorious predecessor, Gregory VII., aspired to possess the key to the consciences of his subjects, and would not hear to any alumnus or dependent of the college confiding his load of sins to any other bosom than his.

This, according to all logic, caused poor Don Leandro great tribulation, who, as he went often to confession, found himself obliged to tell the chaplain all the evil thoughts that he had about him; but the torment that the latter inflicted was much greater and more cruel. Oftentimes, while Don Leandro was unbosoming himself, the confessor heaved deep sighs and made the confessional creak as though his chair pinched him.

He was tempted to dismiss him from the college, but he felt that such a thing would be an attack on the sacred character of the confessional, since Don Leandro did his duty conscientiously, and to turn him off required that he should make use of his knowledge acquired in the tribunal of penance.

Afterwards it occurred to him to send him to some one else to make his confession; but the demon of curiosity had firm possession of him, and, though every day he promised himself to give him notice, he never reached the point of doing so, and continued to hear his own deeds criticised without the power to defend himself.

"_Barajoles!_ what a penance G.o.d has put upon me," he would say afterwards, as he strode up and down his room. "How I should like to give this idiot a couple of raps!"

Don Leandro, when he entered El Levante, had no idea that he was going to meet so many gentlemen, and still less that there were among them a number of impious revolutionists, enemies of "all religious restraint."

Accordingly, when he began to hear them speak of the government in the terms which they were wont to use, he flushed deeply and began to cast surrept.i.tious glances in all directions, and especially at Marroquin.

"See here, Senor Marroquin!" he said in an undertone, "let us talk about something else."

Marroquin, smiling in a superior manner, replied:--

"Don't have any fears, my friend Don Leandro; the police have come in here already several times; but they did not see fit to lay their hands on any one: if they should, the affair is now so well matured it would be the signal for the eruption to break out."

"What eruption?"

"The revolution, man alive!"

"_Santo Cristo!_ Do you know, Senor Marroquin, these things are very serious, very serious! If you will not take it in bad part, I should like to be going.... Anyway, I have something that I must be doing...."

Marroquin took him by the arm, and compelled him to sit down again.

"Don't you have any apprehension, my dear friend! Nothing can happen to you, at any rate, because you do not, like me, figure in all the lists which the police have been sending to the authorities."

"No matter; if it does not make any difference to you, we will change the subject."

The subject was changed, indeed, but the topic which followed was still more terrible and demoniacal.

They talked of nothing else than the queen, and any one can imagine what could have been said of that august lady,--that she was going to lose her crown and go into exile.

The moment the professor heard these atrocious remarks, he grew livid, and it was impossible to keep him longer; he left without saying good by, and directed his steps toward his college, which he reached in a breathless condition....

The poor man had the innocence to relate this episode to the mayordomo, who lost no time in reporting it to the director.

Unlucky Don Leandro! For many days he had to endure the chaplain's grievous and coa.r.s.e mockery.... What troubled him most was, that before the scholars he called him conspirator, in that sarcastic tone affected by the cure in such cases. At other times he nicknamed him the "Venetian conspirator," which made the boys laugh, and as Don Leandro said, very truly, "The dignity of the professors.h.i.+p was undermined."

The labors of our friend Mendoza, otherwise Brutandor, in behalf of the revolutionary cause, were employed in a higher circle than those of Marroquin, Merelo, and the other small fry of the liberal school. He had disappeared for the time being, as we already know, and in Spain the fact of a person disappearing is something that gives infinite importance, and often imperishable glory. For, indeed, when a man disappears, the public rightly presume that it must be for working out in secret great and noteworthy undertakings. Those of Mendoza, although we know not what they were, must have been portentous, if what was said was true, since they obliged him to remain concealed in Madrid more than three months, changing his concealment and his disguise any number of times. Miguel had known something of his life and perils, but at last he lost track of him.

This was the state of affairs, when one evening, after dinner, while Rivera was sitting in the library with Maximina on his knee, there was a tremendous ring at the door-bell.

The young woman was on her feet in a second.

"Who can that be at this time o' day?" queried Miguel. "Has either of the girls gone out?"

"I think not."

Just then Juana came in.

"Senorito, it is a waiter from the cafe wants to speak with you."

"A waiter from the cafe? I don't remember that I have any account anywhere.... Tell him to come in."

"Wait! wait!" exclaimed Maximina; "let me get out by this door!"

And she ran out by the parlor door, as was always her custom, when any of Rivera's visitors came.

At that instant the waiter appeared, and Miguel could scarcely recognize under his disguise his friend Mendoza.

"Perico!"

"Shhhhhhhhh!" exclaimed Mendoza, putting on an expression of terrible fear.

And he hastened to bolt the door.

"What is up?" asked Miguel, affecting great anxiety.

Mendoza sat down, heaved a sigh, and answered frankly:--

"Nothing."

"I thought so."

Brutandor, without heeding the irony of those words, began to whisper, bringing his mouth close to his friend's ear:--

"I have been for the last fortnight at La Florida, hiding in the house of the laundrymen...."

"Man! if I had known it, I should have made you a visit."

"Don't say anything about visits! They might follow you, and get their hands on me."

"And how have you enjoyed your visit in the country?"

"I had a pretty fair sort of time. There was only one bed in the house; in the night while the laundrymen were asleep, I would go out, and take a walk along the river bank, and at sunrise, when the men were up, I used to go to bed."

"How cool and delightful it must have been!"

"Well, sometimes it would nauseate me a little; do you wonder? The Countess de Rios used to send me my meals with great precautions, changing the servant every time.... But day before yesterday the laundryman did not sleep in the house, and this, as you can easily imagine, worried me...."

"That's clear; when laundrymen don't sleep at home, it's a very bad sign."

"This morning I saw him with two bad-looking men ... suspicious characters, and so, fearing that they might hand me over to the police, I decided to leave the place. The waiter in a wretched cafe there sold me this disguise, and after it got to be dark, I made my escape without saying a word. I thought of going to Las Ventas del Espiritu Santo, but the police keep track of all such places. Then a brilliant idea struck me,--that of coming to your house. How the deuce would they ever think of my being here! A lady-love of mine years ago used to hide her letters among her father's papers, and he would go hunting for them all over the house."