Froth: A Novel

by Armando Palacio Valdés

This was the moment for discussing literature; a stage which always supervenes in every afternoon or evening party in Madrid. General Patiño mentioned a new play which had just been brought out with great success, and raised some objections to it, chiefly on the ground of certain scenes being too highly coloured. Mariana declared that on no account, then, would she go to see it; and all agreed in anathematising the immorality which nowadays is the delight of play-writers. Naturalism was becoming a curse. Cobo Ramirez, who had taken tea and then more tea, and had eaten a fabulous quantity of sandwiches and biscuits, told the company that he had lately read a novel entitled "Le Journal d'une Dame"—in French of course—which was precious, charming, the most delightful thing he had ever read. For in literature Cobo—strange to say—was all for refinement, spirituality and delicacy. It was of no use to talk to him of those dreary books which dwell on the number of times a bricklayer stretches himself when he gets out of bed—or of biscuits and cakes a young gentleman can eat at afternoon tea—or describe the birth of a child and other such horrors. Novels ought to deal with pleasant things since they are written to give pleasure. And all this he pronounced with decision, snorting like a war-horse as he talked. All the audience agreed with him.

But this literary lecture was prematurely cut short by the arrival of another visitor, a man, neither tall nor short, nor stout nor thin, square shouldered and dapper, sallow, and wearing a black beard so thick and curly that it looked like a false one. This was no less a personage than the Minister of Public Works, a member of the Cabinet. He carried his head so high that the back of it was almost lost between his shoulders, and his half-closed eyes flashed self-confident and patronising gleams from between his long black lashes. Till the age of two-and-twenty he had carried his head as nature intended; but from the day when he had been made vice-president of the section of Civil and Canon Law in the Academy of Jurisprudence, he had begun to hold it higher and higher, by slow and majestic degrees, as the moon rises over the sea on the stage at the opera-house, that is to say by slight and frequent jerks with a rope. He was elected a provincial member—a little jerk; then deputy to the Cortes—another little jerk; Governor of a district, and another little jerk; Director General of a department—another; President of the Committee of Ways and Means—another; Member of the Cabinet—yet another. But now the rope was at an end. If they had made him heir to the throne, Jimenez Arbos could not have held his large head a tenth of an inch higher.

His entrance on the scene produced some little sensation, but not such as that of the Duke of Requena. He, whose puffy, sensual face could not conceal the scorn he felt for the Assembly, nevertheless hurried to greet him with a deference and servility which amazed every one, all the more by comparison with the rough discourtesy he usually displayed in social intercourse. The Minister, on his part, distributed hand-shakings with an air of abstraction which was positively offensive. It was only when he greeted Pepa Frias that he showed any signs of animation. The widow asked him in a familiar tone:

"How is it that you are in evening dress?"

"I am on my way to dine at the French Embassy."

"And then home?"

"Yes."

This dialogue, carried on very rapidly in a low voice, was noticed by the Duke, who went up to Pinedo and asked him mysteriously, with an expressive sign: "I say—Arbos and Pepa Frias?"

"These two months past, at least."

The gaze which the banker now bestowed on the widow was widely different from his former glances. He was more attentive, more respectful, keener, and presently somewhat meditative. Calderón had approached the Minister and was talking to him with polite attention; Salabert joined them. But the great man was not inclined to talk of business, or perhaps he was afraid of the financier; the press had thrown out some malevolent hints as to Requena's transactions with the Government. So in a few minutes the Duke attached himself, instead, to Pepa Frias, and stood chatting with her in a corner of the room.