CHAPTER VII.
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
Dona Maria, notwithstanding the fresh and bitter insult she had justreceived from Don Tadeo, did not yet renounce the hope of softeninghim. When she recalled to her mind the early years, already so distant,of her love for Don Tadeo, his devotion to her smallest caprices, whenshe could bring him trembling and prostrate to her feet by a glance ora smile, and the entire abnegation he had made of his will, in orderto live for her and by her; notwithstanding all that had since takenplace between them, she could not persuade herself that the violentand deeply-seated passion he had entertained for her, the species ofworship he had vowed to her, could have entirely disappeared withoutleaving some slight traces behind. Her pride revolted at the idea ofhaving lost all her empire over the lofty nature which she so long hadmoulded at her pleasure like soft wax, under the burning impression ofwild caprices. She fancied that, like most other men, Don Tadeo, deeplywounded in his pride, loved her still without being willing to admit it,and that the virulent reproaches he had addressed to her, were flashesof that ill-extinguished fire which still smouldered in his heart, andwhose flame she should succeed in reviving.
Unfortunately Dona Maria had never given herself the trouble to studythe man she had married, and whom her beauty had so long held insubjection. Don Tadeo had been nothing in her eyes but an attentive,submissive slave, and, under the apparent weakness of the loving man,she had not discovered the powerful energy which formed the foundationof his character. And yet the history itself of their love had been aproof of that energy, and of a will which nothing could control. DonaMaria, then fifteen years of age, dwelt with her father in a _hacienda_,in the neighbourhood of Santiago. Deprived of her mother, who had diedin giving her birth, she was brought up under the care of an old aunt,an incorruptible Argus, who allowed no lover to come near her niece.The young girl, ignorant as all girls brought up in the country are,but whose warm aspirations led her to desire to know the world, and tolaunch into that whirlwind of pleasures the sound of which died withoutan echo in her ears, waited impatiently the arrival of the man whoshould introduce her to these delights, of which, although unknown, shehad formed seducing ideas. Don Tadeo had only been the guide chargedwith initiating her into the pleasures for which she thirsted. Shehad never loved him; she had only said to herself, on seeing him andlearning he was of a noble family, "That is the man I have been lookingfor."
This hideous and selfish calculation is made by more girls thanwe may fancy. Don Tadeo was handsome. Dona Maria's self-love wasflattered by the conquest; but if he had been ugly and disagreeable,it would not have altered her course. In her extraordinary character,a strange conjunction of the most abject passions, among which shonehere and there, like diamonds gleaming in the mire, a few feelingswhich attached her to humanity, there was the spirit of two womenof ancient Rome; Locusta and Messalina were united in her: ardent,passionate and ambitious, covetous and prodigal, this demon, concealedunder the outward form of an angel, acknowledged no other laws but herown caprices; and all means, by which she could satisfy them, to herappeared good.
For a long time, Don Tadeo, blinded by passion, had submitted withoutcomplaining to the iron yoke of this infernal genius; but when the dayarrived that the scales fell from his eyes, he measured with terror thedepth of the abyss into which this woman had cast him. The frightfuldisorders to which, under the sanction of his name, she had abandonedherself, imprinted on his blushing brow a stigma of infamy: the worldbelieved him to be her accomplice.
Don Tadeo had by Maria an only daughter, a fair girl of angelic beauty,at the period of our history fifteen years of age, whom he loved inproportion to the sufferings her mother had inflicted upon him. Hetrembled to think of the frightful future which lay before this innocentcreature. For four years he had been separated from his wife; andduring that time she had set no bounds on her irregularities. One day,Don Tadeo presented himself unexpectedly at the house of his wife, andwithout saying a word as to his ulterior intentions, took away hisdaughter. From that time--nearly ten years--Dona Maria had never seenher child.
A strange revolution was effected by this step in the mother's feelings;a new sentiment, so to say, germinated in her soul. A thing, till thattime unknown to her, happened; she felt the pulses of her heart beatfor another--she grieved at the remembrance of the little angel who hadbeen ravished from her. What was the sentiment? She, herself, knew not;she only ardently wished to see her child again. During six years shecontended, publicly and privately, with Don Tadeo, to have her daughterrestored to her. The father was deaf and dumb; she could never learnwhat had become of her. Don Tadeo, who, since he ceased to love her, hadstudied the character of the woman of whom he had made an implacableenemy, had taken his precautions so prudently that all Dona Maria'sresearches proved fruitless, and all her attempts to obtain an interviewremained without a result. She imagined that he was afraid of yielding,if face to face with her; and she resolved, cost what it might, to forcehim to grant her the interview to which nothing had been able to makehim consent.
Such was, at the moment we bring them on the scene, the position ofthe two personages who now doubtless met for the last time. It was anextraordinary position for both; an unequal contest between a woundedand proscribed man, and an ardent, insulted woman, who, like a lionessdeprived of her whelps, was resolved to succeed, whatever might happen,and compel the man whom she had forced to hear her, to restore herdaughter to her.
Don Tadeo turned towards her.
"I am waiting," he said.
"You are waiting?" she replied, with a friendly smile. "What do youexpect, then?"
"The assassins whom you doubtless have at hand, in case I should beunwilling to reply to your questions concerning your daughter."
"Oh!" she said, with an air of repulsion, "how can you, Don Tadeo, haveso bad an opinion of me? How can you pretend to believe that, afterhaving saved you, I should deliver you up to those who have proscribedyou?"
"Who knows?" he replied, in a strongly ironical tone. "The heart ofwomen of your class, Linda, is an abyss which no man can pretend tosound. You, who are incessantly seeking eccentric pleasures, perhapswould find an unknown enjoyment and a charm in this second execution,which, besides, would not at all compromise you, as I am already legallydead to the world."
"Don Tadeo, I know how unworthy my conduct towards you has been, andhow little I deserve your pity; but you are a gentleman, and, as such,do you think it does you honour to load with insults, however merited,a woman who is your wife, and who, after saving your life, with nointention of reinstating herself in your favour, merely makes a claim,at least upon your pity, if not on your esteem?"
"Very well, madam; nothing can be more just than your observations, andI subscribe to them with all my heart. I beg you to pardon me for havingallowed myself to utter certain words; but, at the first movement, Iwas not master of myself, and I could not keep down in the depths of myheart the feelings which were stifling me. Now, accept my sincere thanksfor the immense service you have rendered me, and permit me to retire.A longer sojourn, on my part, in this house, is a robbery of which Irender myself guilty towards your numerous adorers."
And, bowing with ironical courtesy to his infuriated wife, he made amovement towards one of the doors of the room.
"One word more," she said.
"Speak, madam."
"Are you resolved to leave me ignorant of the fate of my daughter?"
"She is dead."
"Dead!" she cried, in a voice of terror.
"For you--yes," he replied, with a cold smile.
"Oh, you are implacable!" she shrieked, stamping her foot with rage.
He bowed, without making any reply.
"Well, then," she resumed, "it is now no longer a favour I implore--itis a bargain I propose to you."
"A bargain?"
"Yes, a bargain."
"The idea strikes me as original."
"Perhaps it is; you shall judge for yourself."
"I
listen, but time presses, and I--"
"Oh, I will be brief," she interrupted.
"I am at your service," and he reseated himself, smiling, exactly like afriend on a visit. The Linda followed his motions with her eye, withoutappearing to attach any importance to them.
"Don Tadeo," she said, "during the many years we have been separated agreat number of events has taken place."
"Quite correct," said he, with a gesture of polite assent.
"I will say nothing to you of myself--my life is known to you."
"Very little of it, madam."
She cast a savage look at him.
"Let that pass," she said, "it is of you I would speak."
"Of me?"
"Yes, of you, whose moments are not so completely absorbed by patriotismand the effervescence of political ideas as not to leave you a few formore intimate joys and emotions."
"What do you mean?"
"Why do you feign ignorance?" she said, with a perfidious smile; "I amsure you understand me."
"Madam!"
"Do not deny it, Tadeo! Tired of the ephemeral love of women of myclass, as you have just now so well said, you seek in the pure heart ofa young girl emotions more in accordance with your tastes; in a word,I know you are in love with a charming young creature, worthy in allrespects of being the wife of your choice, if I, unfortunately, did notexist."
Don Tadeo fixed upon his wife a scrutinizing look while she waspronouncing these words. As she finished, a sigh escaped him.
"What, are you aware?" he exclaimed, with well-feigned surprise. "Youknow--"
"I know that her name is Dona Rosario del Valle," she replied, satisfiedof the effect she thought she had produced upon her husband; "why, it isthe freshest news in Santiago! all the world is talking of it. How wasit likely it should escape me, when I take such an interest in you?"
The Linda interrupted herself, and laid her hand on his arm.
"It is of very little consequence," she added; "restore me my daughter,Don Tadeo, and this new love of yours shall be sacred to me--if not--"
"You are mistaken, madam, I tell you."
"Beware, Don Tadeo!" she remarked, with a glance at the clock; "by thistime the woman we were speaking of is in the hands of my agents."
"What do you mean?" he cried, in great agitation.
"Yes," she replied, in a husky tone, "I have had her carried off. In afew minutes she will be here. Beware! I repeat, Don Tadeo! if you do nottell me where my daughter is, and if you continue to refuse to restoreher to me--"
"Well," he said, haughtily, looking her full in the face, and crossinghis arms, "what then will you do?"
"I will kill this woman!" she replied, in a gloomy but firm tone.
Don Tadeo looked at her for a moment with an undefinable expression, andthen burst into a dry, nervous laugh, which chilled the woman with fear.
"You will kill her!" he cried, "unhappy woman! Well!--kill that innocentcreature!--Call in your executioners--I will be mute."
The Linda sprang up like a lioness, and rushed towards the door, whichshe opened violently.
"This is too much!--Come in!" she called out, loudly.
The two men who had brought in Don Tadeo appeared, poniard in hand.
"Ah!" the gentleman said, with a contemptuous smile, "I know you againat last."
At a motion from the Linda the assassins advanced towards him.
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