the opening of hostilities could not long be delayed. when the hour of dinner arrived, after coming to an agreement with pinzon regarding the plan to be pursued, the first condition of which was that the friends should pretend not to know each other, pepe rey went to the dining-room. there he found his aunt, who had just returned from the cathedral where she had spent the morning as was her habit. she was alone, and appeared to be greatly preoccupied. the engineer observed that on that pale and marble-like countenance, not without a certain beauty, there rested a mysterious shadow. when she looked up it recovered its sinister calmness, but she looked up seldom, and after a rapid examination of her nephew’s countenance, that of the amiable lady would again take on its studied gloom.
they awaited dinner in silence. they did not wait for don cayetano, for he had gone to mundogrande. when they sat down to table doña perfecta said:
“and that fine soldier whom the government has sent us, is he not coming to dinner?”
“he seems to be more sleepy than hungry,” answered the engineer, without looking at his aunt.
“do you know him?”
“i have never seen him in all my life before.”
“we are nicely off with the guests whom the government sends us. we have beds and provisions in order to keep them ready for those vagabonds of madrid, whenever they may choose to dispose of them.”
“there are fears of an insurrection,” said pepe rey, with sudden heat, “and the government is determined to crush the orbajosans—to crush them, to grind them to powder.”
“stop, man, stop, for heaven’s sake; don’t crush us!” cried doña perfecta sarcastically. “poor we! be merciful, man, and allow us unhappy creatures to live. and would you, then, be one of those who would aid the army in the grand work of crushing us?”
“i am not a soldier. i will do nothing but applaud when i see the germs of civil war; of insubordination, of discord, of disorder, of robbery, and of barbarism that exist here, to the shame of our times and of our country, forever extirpated.”
“all will be as god wills.”
“orbajosa, my dear aunt, has little else than garlic and bandits; for those who in the name of some political or religious idea set out in search of adventures every four or five years are nothing but bandits.”
“thanks, thanks, my dear nephew!” said doña perfecta, turning pale. “so orbajosa has nothing more than that? yet there must be something else here—something that you do not possess, since you have come to look for it among us.”
rey felt the cut. his soul was on fire. he found it very difficult to show his aunt the consideration to which her sex, her rank, and her relation to himself entitled her. he was on the verge of a violent outbreak, and a force that he could not resist was impelling him against his interlocutor.
“i came to orbajosa,” he said, “because you sent for me; you arranged with my father—”
“yes, yes; it is true,” she answered, interrupting him quickly and making an effort to recover her habitual serenity. “i do not deny it. i am the one who is really to blame. i am to blame for your ill-humor, for the slights you put upon us, for every thing disagreeable that has been happening in my house since you entered it.”
“i am glad that you are conscious of it.”
“in exchange, you are a saint. must i also go down on my knees to your grace and ask your pardon?”
“señora,” said pepe rey gravely, laying down his knife and fork, “i entreat you not to mock me in so pitiless a manner. i cannot meet you on equal ground. all i have said is that i came to orbajosa at your invitation.”
“and it is true. your father and i arranged that you should marry rosario. you came in order to become acquainted with her. i accepted you at once as a son. you pretended to love rosario—”
“pardon me,” objected pepe; “i loved and i love rosario; you pretended to accept me as a son; receiving me with deceitful cordiality, you employed from the very beginning all the arts of cunning to thwart me and to prevent the fulfilment of the proposals made to my father; you determined from the first day to drive me to desperation, to tire me out; and with smiles and affectionate words on your lips you have been killing me, roasting me at the slow fire; you have let loose upon me in the dark and from behind an ambush a swarm of lawsuits; you have deprived me of the official commission which i brought to orbajosa; you have brought me into disrepute in the town; you have had me turned out of the cathedral; you have kept me constantly separated from the chosen of my heart; you have tortured your daughter with an inquisitorial imprisonment which will cause her death, unless god interposes to prevent it.”
doña perfecta turned scarlet. but the flush of offended pride passed away quickly, leaving her face of a greenish pallor. her lips trembled. throwing down the knife and fork with which she had been eating, she rose swiftly to her feet. her nephew rose also.
“my god! holy virgin of succor!” she cried, raising both her hands to her head and pressing it between them with the gesture indicative of desperation, “is it possible that i deserve such atrocious insults? pepe, my son, is it you who speak to me in this way? if i have done what you say, i am indeed very wicked.”
she sank on the sofa and covered her face with her hands. pepe, approaching her slowly, saw that his aunt was sobbing bitterly and shedding abundant tears. in spite of his conviction he could not altogether conquer the feeling of compassion which took possession of him; and while he condemned himself for his cowardice he felt something of remorse for the severity and the frankness with which he had spoken.
“my dear aunt,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, “if you answer me with tears and sighs, you will not convince me. proofs, not emotions, are what i require. speak to me, tell me that i am mistaken in thinking what i think; then prove it to me, and i will acknowledge my error.”
“leave me, you are not my brother’s son! if you were, you would not insult me as you have insulted me. so, then, i am an intriguer, an actress, a hypocritical harpy, a domestic plotter?”
as she spoke, doña perfecta uncovered her face and looked at her nephew with a martyr-like expression. pepe was perplexed. the tears as well as the gentle voice of his father’s sister could not be insignificant phenomena for the mathematician’s soul. words crowded to his lips to ask her pardon. a man of great firmness generally, any appeal to his emotions, any thing which touched his heart, converted him at once into a child. weaknesses of a mathematician! it is said that newton was the same.
“i will give you the proofs you ask,” said doña perfecta, motioning him to a seat beside her. “i will give you satisfaction. you shall see whether i am kind, whether i am indulgent, whether i am humble. do you think that i am going to contradict you; to deny absolutely the acts of which you have accused me? well, then, no; i do not deny them.”
the engineer was astounded.
“i do not deny them,” continued doña perfecta. “what i deny is the evil intention which you attribute to them. by what right do you undertake to judge of what you know only from appearances and by conjecture? have you the supreme intelligence which is necessary to judge justly the actions of others and pronounce sentence upon them? are you god, to know the intentions?”
pepe was every moment more amazed.
“is it not allowable at times to employ indirect means to attain a good and honorable end? by what right do you judge actions of mine that you do not clearly understand? i, my dear nephew, manifesting a sincerity which you do not deserve, confess to you that i have indeed employed subterfuges to attain a good end, to attain what was at the same time beneficial to you and to my daughter. you do not comprehend? you look bewildered. ah! your great mathematician’s and german philosopher’s intellect is not capable of comprehending these artifices of a prudent mother.”
“i am more and more astounded every moment,” said the engineer.
“be as astounded as you choose, but confess your barbarity,” said the lady, with increasing spirit; “acknowledge your hastiness and your brutal conduct toward me in accusing me as you have done. you are a young man without any experience or any other knowledge than that which is derived from books, which teach nothing about the world or the human heart. all you know is how to make roads and docks. ah, my young gentleman! one does not enter into the human heart through the tunnel of a railroad, or descend into its depths through the shaft of a mine. you cannot read in the conscience of another with the microscope of a naturalist, nor decide the question of another’s culpability measuring ideas with a theodolite.”
“for god’s sake, dear aunt!”
“why do you pronounce the name of god when you do not believe in him?” said doña perfecta, in solemn accents. “if you believed in him, if you were a good christian, you would not dare to form evil judgments about my conduct. i am a devout woman, do you understand? i have a tranquil conscience, do you understand? i know what i am doing and why i do it, do you understand?”
“i understand, i understand, i understand!”
“god in whom you do not believe, sees what you do not see and what you cannot see—the intention. i will say no more; i do not wish to enter into minute explanations, for i do not need to do so. nor would you understand me if i should tell you that i desired to attain my object without scandal, without offending your father, without offending you, without giving cause for people to talk by an explicit refusal—i will say nothing of all this to you, for you would not understand it, either, pepe. you are a mathematician. you see what is before your eyes, and nothing more; brute matter and nothing more. you see the effect, and not the cause. god is the supreme intention of the world. he who does not know this must necessarily judge things as you judge them—foolishly. in the tempest, for instance, he sees only destruction; in the conflagration, ruin; in the drought, famine; in the earthquake, desolation; and yet, arrogant young man, in all those apparent calamities we are to seek the good intentions—yes, señor, the intention, always good, of him who can do nothing evil.”
this confused, subtle, and mystic logic did not convince pepe rey; but he did not wish to follow his aunt in the tortuous path of such a method of reasoning, and he said simply:
“well, i respect intentions.”
“now that you seem to recognize your error,” continued the pious lady, with ever-increasing confidence, “i will make another confession to you, and that is that i see now that i did wrong in adopting the course i did, although my object was excellent. in view of your impetuous disposition, in view of your incapacity to comprehend me, i should have faced the situation boldly and said to you, ‘nephew, i do not wish that you should be my daughter’s husband.’”
“that is the language you should have used to me from the beginning,” said the engineer, drawing a deep breath, as if his mind had been relieved from an enormous weight. “i am greatly obliged to you for those words. after having been stabbed in the dark, this blow on the face in the light of day is a great satisfaction to me.”
“well, i will repeat the blow, nephew,” declared doña perfecta, with as much energy as displeasure. “you know it now—i do not wish you to marry rosario!”
pepe was silent. there was a long pause, during which the two regarded each other attentively, as if the face of each was for the other the most perfect work of art.
“don’t you understand what i have said to you?” she repeated. “that every thing is at an end, that there is to be no marriage.”
“permit me, dear aunt,” said the young man, with composure, “not to be terrified by the intimation. in the state at which things have arrived your refusal has little importance for me.”
“what are you saying?” cried doña perfecta violently.
“what you hear. i will marry rosario!”
doña perfecta rose to her feet, indignant, majestic, terrible. her attitude was that of anathema incarnated in a woman. rey remained seated, serene, courageous, with the passive courage of a profound conviction and an immovable resolve. the whole weight of his aunt’s wrath, threatening to overwhelm him, did not make him move an eyelash. this was his character.
“you are mad. marry my daughter, you! marry her against my will!”
doña perfecta’s trembling lips articulated these words in a truly tragic tone.
“against your will! she is of a different way of thinking.”
“against my will!” repeated doña perfecta. “yes, and i repeat it again and again. i do not wish it, i do not wish it!”
“she and i wish it.”
“fool! is nothing else in the world to be considered but her and you? are there not parents; is there not society; is there not a conscience; is there not a god?”
“because there is society, because there is a conscience, because there is a god,” affirmed rey gravely, rising to his feet, and pointing with outstretched arm to the heavens, “i say and i repeat that i will marry her.”
“wretch! arrogant man! and if you would dare to trample every thing under your feet, do you think there are not laws to prevent your violence?”
“because there are laws, i say and i repeat that i will marry her.”
“you respect nothing!”
“nothing that is unworthy of respect.”
“and my authority, my will, i—am i nothing?”
“for me your daughter is every thing—the rest is nothing.”
pepe rey’s composure was, so to say, the arrogant display of invincible and conscious strength. the blows he gave were hard and crushing in their force, without any thing to mitigate their severity. his words, if the comparison may be allowed, were like a pitiless discharge of artillery.
doña perfecta sank again on the sofa; but she shed no tears, and a convulsive tremor agitated her frame.
“so that for this infamous atheist,” she exclaimed, with frank rage, “there are no social conventionalities, there is nothing but caprice. this is base avarice. my daughter is rich!”
“if you think to wound me with that treacherous weapon, evading the question and giving a distorted meaning to my sentiments in order to offend my dignity, you are mistaken, dear aunt. call me mercenary, if you choose. god knows what i am.”
“you have no dignity!”
“that is an opinion, like any other. the world may hold you to be infallible. i do not. i am far from believing that from your judgments there is no appeal to god.”
“but is what you say true? but do you persist in your purpose, after my refusal? you respect nothing, you are a monster, a bandit.”
“i am a man.”
“a wretch! let us end this at once. i refuse to give my daughter to you; i refuse her to you!”
“i will take her then! i shall take only what is mine.”
“leave my presence!” exclaimed doña perfecta, rising suddenly to her feet. “coxcomb, do you suppose that my daughter thinks of you?”
“she loves me, as i love her.”
“it is a lie! it is a lie!”
“she herself has told me so. excuse me if, on this point, i put more faith in her words than in her mother’s.”
“how could she have told you so, when you have not seen her for several days?”
“i saw her last night, and she swore to me before the crucifix in the chapel that she would be my wife.”
“oh, scandal; oh, libertinism! but what is this? my god, what a disgrace!” exclaimed doña perfecta, pressing her head again between her hands and walking up and down the room. “rosario left her room last night?”
“she left it to see me. it was time.”
“what vile conduct is yours! you have acted like a thief; you have acted like a vulgar seducer!”
“i have acted in accordance with the teachings of your school. my intention was good.”
“and she came down stairs! ah, i suspected it! this morning at daybreak i surprised her, dressed, in her room. she told me she had gone out, i don’t know for what. you were the real criminal, then. this is a disgrace! pepe, i expected any thing from you rather than an outrage like this. every thing is at an end! go away! you are dead to me. i forgive you, provided you go away. i will not say a word about this to your father. what horrible selfishness! no, there is no love in you. you do not love my daughter!”
“god knows that i love her, and that is sufficient for me.”
“be silent, blasphemer! and don’t take the name of god upon your lips!” exclaimed doña perfecta. “in the name of god, whom i can invoke, for i believe in him, i tell you that my daughter will never be your wife. my daughter will be saved, pepe; my daughter shall not be condemned to a living hell, for a union with you would be a hell!”
“rosario will be my wife,” repeated the mathematician, with pathetic calmness.
the pious lady was still more exasperated by her nephew’s calm energy. in a broken voice she said:
“don’t suppose that your threats terrify me. i know what i am saying. what! are a home and a family to be outraged like this? are human and divine authority to be trampled under foot in this way?”
“i will trample every thing under foot,” said the engineer, beginning to lose his composure and speaking with some agitation.
“you will trample every thing under foot! ah! it is easy to see that you are a barbarian, a savage, a man who lives by violence.”
“no, dear aunt; i am mild, upright, honorable, and an enemy to violence; but between you and me—between you who are the law and i who am to honor it—is a poor tormented creature, one of god’s angels, subjected to iniquitous tortures. the spectacle of this injustice, this unheard-of violence, is what has converted my rectitude into barbarity; my reason into brute force; my honor into violence, like an assassin’s or a thief’s; this spectacle, señora, is what impels me to disregard your law, what impels me to trample it under foot, braving every thing. this which appears to you lawlessness is obedience to an unescapable law. i do what society does when a brutal power, as illogical as irritating, opposes its progress. it tramples it under foot and destroys it in an outburst of frenzy. such am i at this moment—i do not recognize myself. i was reasonable, and now i am a brute; i was respectful, and now i am insolent; i was civilized, and now i am a savage. you have brought me to this horrible extremity; infuriating me and driving me from the path of rectitude which i was tranquilly pursuing. who is to blame—i or you?”
“you, you!”
“neither you nor i can decide the question. i think we are both to blame: you for your violence and injustice, i for my injustice and violence. we have both become equally barbarous, and we struggle with and wound each other without compassion. god has permitted that it should be so; my blood will be upon your conscience, yours will be upon mine. enough now, señora. i do not wish to trouble you with useless words. we will now proceed to acts.”
“to acts, very well!” said doña perfecta, roaring rather than speaking. “don’t suppose that in orbajosa there is no civil guard!”
“good-by, señora. i will now leave this house. i think we shall meet again.”
“go, go! go now!” she cried, pointing with an energetic gesture to the door.
pepe rey left the room. doña perfecta, after pronouncing a few incoherent words, which were the clearest expression of her anger, sank into a chair, with indications of fatigue, or of a coming attack of nerves. the maids came running in.
“go for señor don inocencio!” she cried. “instantly—hurry! ask him to come here!”
then she tore her handkerchief with her teeth.
