Froth: A Novel

by Armando Palacio Valdés

Doña Esperanza was very unlike her daughter; by nature she was active, vigilant, and at least as avaricious as her son-in-law; she could never sit a quarter of an hour without something to occupy her hands. In the affairs of the house, indeed, she played no important part, because Calderón took a pleasure in managing and ordering everything himself. And this indicated a contradictory characteristic which must here be mentioned for a full comprehension of his character. He complained that his wife did not undertake the care of the house, and that he consequently was compelled to manage it, but at the same time, though he knew that his mother-in-law was both capable and willing, he would not leave it to her. This gave rise to a suspicion that, even if Mariana had been a prodigy of energy and method, he would no more have entrusted her with the management of domestic affairs than with his business. His suspicious and sordid nature made him prefer toil to rest; he would have liked to possess a hundred eyes to watch over everything that belonged to him. Doña Esperanza also lamented her daughter's incapacity, and eagerly seconded her son-in-law's stinginess, helping him very materially in his close vigilance. But while she herself found fault with Mariana's apathy, she was her mother after all; she hated that Calderón should blame her, and acutely felt their matrimonial differences. Consequently, whenever she could avert one she did so, even at the cost of some sacrifice, concealing Mariana's faults and voluntarily taking them on herself. It was for this reason that she had so precipitately handed to her the cushion she was embroidering.

Don Julian came into the room reading the feuilleton of La Correspondencia, which he carefully preserved and stitched together. Don Julian, strange as it may seem, was very fond of novels; but he only read those which came out in the Correspondencia, or the religious tales he gave his daughter who was at school. He had never been known to go into a bookseller's of his own accord to buy one. And not only did he read them, but he was very prone to weep over them. He was deeply sentimental at the bottom of his heart; it was a weakness of his constitution, like rheumatism or asthma. The misfortunes or poverty of others touched him greatly; if he could have remedied them by any means not involving any loss of money he would no doubt have done so at once. Generous deeds made him shed tears of enthusiasm; but he thought himself incapable of doing them—and he was right. And he made great efforts to do violence to his instincts; he was by no means the least ready to give of the rich men of Madrid. He set aside a fixed sum for the poor, and entered it in his accounts as though they were his creditors. But when once the monthly allowance was spent, he might, perhaps, have left a poor wretch to die of hunger in the street and not have given him a penny; not for want of feeling, but by reason of the strong hold figures had over his mind. The idea of depriving himself of a peseta for any other form of outlay than buying to sell was beyond his ken. Thus far his almsgiving had superior merits to that of other men.

As he now entered the little morning-room his face betrayed traces of emotion. After greeting his visitors, he said, as he seated himself in an arm-chair:

"I have just read an exquisite chapter in this novel—quite exquisite! I could not resist the temptation of bringing it in to read to these ladies."

He paused, not daring to propose it to Castro and Maldonado, though he would have liked to do so. He was very fond of reading aloud, because he did it fairly well, and Mariana took pleasure in hearing him; so far they were well matched.

"Read it, by all means, my dear; I do not think that Pepe and Ramon will object," said his wife.

Pepe bowed slightly; Ramoncito hastened to express enthusiastic pleasure: he was devoted to fine passages, &c. From the father of his inamorata he would have listened to the reading of a table of logarithms.

Don Julian wiped his spectacles, and, in a mild throat-voice which he kept for such occasions, began to read the episode describing the sufferings of a child lost in the streets of Paris. But his eyes instantly grew dim and his voice began to break, till at length he was so choked by emotion that he could scarcely be heard, and Ramon took the paper and read on to the end. Castro, looking on at this absurdity, hid a superior smile behind volumes of tobacco-smoke.

The chapter being ended, every one praised it in the most flattering terms. Mariana looked at her work, and observed that she would need a piece of silk for the lining, since the cushion was nearly finished. Doña Esperanza, to whom she made the remark, was of the same opinion.

"Ramoncito," said she, "be so good as to ring that bell."