The Devil's Mother-in-Law/El Numero Trece
EL NUMERO TRECE
José Selgas
Simon Campallano was born on the 13th of December, 1813. He was the thirteenth son, and all his brothers died one after, the other, the last one expiring on Simon's thirteenth birthday.
When he arrived at the age of discretion and pondered on these arithmetical problems in connection with his family, he conceived an aversion toward the number thirteen, although afterward, with the carelessness of youth, he succeeded in dispelling that gloomy superstition from his mind.
His parents did not leave him richly endowed with worldly goods. Therefore he determined to seek his fortune in Madrid and leave his native place forever. His education had been very commonplace, but he was quite prepossessing, though not very handsome. However, he knew enough to make his way in the world. He was lively, frank, and enterprising, and endowed with that energetic, audacious spirit which is a sure aid to success. He was determined to become a rich man, and his glowing imagination made him fancy that he would grasp the prize as soon as he stepped his foot in Madrid.
As he had some money he quickly made friends on his arrival at the capital, and commenced a new life which suited him well. In fact, Madrid even seemed small compared to his glowing aspirations, but he felt quite satisfied with his lot. Three roads to fortune were open before him: literature, politics and commerce.
He considered that it was too late to venture into a literary calling, and that a _ political career suited him better. As for a commercial position, his naturally impatient disposition could not brook the thought of commencing life as a simple clerk. But after due reflection he came to the conclusion that there was nothing so desirable in life as to be rich, so he made up his mind to take the commercial chance.
All his castles in the air, however, came, tumbling to the ground like a lot of houses built of cards. Notwithstanding, he could not believe that his star of good fortune was eclipsed, though everything he undertook failed, and fate really seemed to be against him.
Suddenly it occurred to him that the number the house where he was living was 13, and that fatal number brought to his mind all that had happened to him in connection with it, so he attributed all his bad luck to the unlucky figures which had so overshadowed his destiny. Therefore he changed his residence. But he bought a lottery ticket in which that number did not enter, as though defying his enemy and to try whether his ill-luck was really due to that cause.
At last the day of the drawing arrived, and nervous and trembling with anxiety, he looked at his ticket and discovered that fate had proved propitious to him. It was not a very large sum, yet it made him feel that he had conquered his dreaded antagonist.
However, that did not seem sufficient proof, so he bought another ticket, No. 12, but this time the largest prize was) drawn by No. 13. For some time he was completely prostrated by this blow, and did not dare to undertake any new schemes. At every turn No. 13 appeared like a ghost before him, defeating his hopes and frustrating his plans.
His friends noticed that he was taciturn and morose and that he often talked to himself. But after a while, with the elasticity of youth, he finally recovered his spirits. There is always some ray of light which sheds its beneficent beam on the young, dissipating the fantastic shadows which sometimes cloud their minds.
What had happened to Simon? He had seen a pair of black eyes, audacious and beaming with fun, capable of dispelling any sorrow; smiling-red lips, two cheeks like roses, and a beautiful slender figure, as straight as a reed. This beautiful creature was the personification of joy and was full of mirth and mischievous as a sprite. Simon could not help noticing that she gave him sweet glances and smiled on him with favor. Therefore he began to grow animated, like a flickering wick newly fed with oil. He became a new man and more hopeful as a new horizon opened to his view, while he said to himself:
"Yes, Mariana is really a treasure, for she has youth, beauty, talent, and is good-natured. She belongs to a good family, and she has an uncle in America who is a millionaire and an old bachelor as well. He will doubtess make Mariana his heiress, which will make her as sweet and toothsome as honey on rose-leaves."
While he summed up all her attractions, he rubbed his hands gleefully, with the satisfaction of a man who had found the road to fortune.
"Very well," he said to himself, winking one eye. "I shall have a fine residence, a good table, a carriage, everything that is nice, and—an adorable wife. It will be wonderful good luck for me, but I shall live through it. As I am not ambitious I can get on with that."
So he began to make eyes at Mariana, which pleased her so much that she laughed whenever she found herself alone, enjoying the thought that Simon was in love with her. There was no obstacle to hinder their happiness; but as they were expecting their uncle from America, Simon insisted that they should await his arrival in order to obtain his approval, and get married then, as the millionaire was virtually the head of the family. Mariana laughed at Simon's earnestness and desire to please her uncle.
"Very well," she said. "It is very good in you to show him such consideration, but he will feel surprised at your asking him for what is not his to give away."
"You are beside yourself," replied Simon, "to think of getting married without paying any regard to your uncle; but I do not feel so well acquainted with him to treat him such discourtesy."
On the eve of the day that Mariana's uncle was expected Simon went to Mariana's house, and as soon as he entered he became aware of a great commotion in the family. He felt anxious, but Mariana's merry laugh reassured him, while she exclaimed:
"We have a letter from my uncle!:"
So saying, she placed this document in his hand:
"My Dear Sister:—I hasten to write to because bad news travels fast, and I pear to set your mind at rest. We were shipwrecked off Teneriffe and the sea has swallowed up our vessel and all the cargo. We have been saved, though some of the other passengers were drowned. All my wealth has disappeared in the bottom of the ocean. I do not regret it for myself as much as for your dauguter, for those millions were intended for her dowry. But we must be resigned. God gives and He taketh away. I know that you will feel consoled for this loss when you know that my life has been spared. We can live on what property I still have left. All that I care for now is to see you once again.
"Your Affectionate Brother."
Simon read the letter with a trembling voice, but when he found that it was dated the 13th of the month he became deathly pale, and sank into a chair, entirely overcome.
Mariana's laughter froze on her lips as she saw Simon turn as pale as a corpse.
That fatal number again came forward to injure him. It left its dark fastnesses at the most unexpected moment, in order to snatch from his grasp the happiness he longed for in the possession of Mariana's dowry and of her hand as well. A million which was just about to fall through the chimney, as it were, melted away like smoke—lost at the bottom of the sea. Farewell to a fine establishment, a good table, carriages, and all that made life enjoyable. No. 13 was on hand to defeat his hopes!
And Mariana? Well, her eyes were as bright as ever, her cheeks were as fresh and rosy with the beauty of youth; the joy of her heart was stamped on her smiling lips, and her graceful form still bore itself proudly, undaunted by the vicissitudes of fortune. She lost nothing of her beauty on losing her uncle's millions. She was the same as ever, and laughed as merrily as though nothing had happened, while her appetite continued to be good and she slept as peacefully as a child.
However, Simon thought that the wreck was a bad omen, and determined to renounce her love, for they were both poor. He might live comfortably alone, but if they were married they would have to endure a life of privation.
"She is beautiful, and can find a man who will give her wealth. But I must give her up, though she is so precious to me,” he said.
He began to avoid her and seldom went to see her, but he could find no pretext for breaking off with her, because she always received him with smiles. Sometimes she would chaff him, calling him the Knight of the Rueful Countenance and laughing merrily at his taciturnity. She tried to cheer him up by her caresses and the perpetual joyousness of her spirits, but it was a thankless task, for he remained unmoved, as though turned to stone.
It was necessary to come to a final understanding, but it was difficult to bring it about. Any other woman would have elicited one by complaining of his neglect, and as one word brings on another, that would have caused a total rupture. However, Mariana was always kind and affectionate.
Finally Simon determined to end it all by writing to her and after several attempts he composed the following letter:
"Mariana:—There are some impenetrable secrets on earth. Everybody has a destiny of his own. Mine is fatal to me. I am pursued by misfortune. Wherever I go, I carry bad luck and disaster. Let us forget each other, for it cannot be otherwise. Any further explanation would be useless."Your unfortunate
"Simon."
He sent off the letter, and received this answer:
"I have read your letter and felt inclined to cry. Yes, the tears came to my eyes. But afterward I reflected deeply, for your letter seemed like an enigma, and I was resolved to decipher it. But how stupid! It is evident that we ought to forget each other, for it could not be otherwise. Therefore I wiped away my tears and burst out laughing. I had read your mind. Well, let us forget each other. There is no need for further explanations. Very well. Our love is shipwrecked, like my uncle's treasures. Let us have patience to bear it all. I found out today that he was bringing me a fabulous amount—the sum of three millions!
"Affectionately,
"Mariana."
When Simon finished reading this letter he was beside himself with rage. He threw it into the fire, and while the flames consumed it, in the ashes he saw the fantastic shape—13. He started back with fear, for it seemed to dart out in every direction, from the wall, from the carpet, and dance all over the room. Finally he closed his eyes and fell back crying: "That fatal number will be the death of me!"
In 1833 the press had not yet acquired great power, and public opinion stumbled at every step like a child beginning to walk. At that time family events took place unchronicled and the daily journals did not enjoy the privilege of proclaiming them to the world. People were allowed to be born, get married, and die unnoticed.
Thus it occurred that an approaching marriage of a beautiful girl was kept quiet, and was only known to her immediate circle of friends. Yes, Ernestina Albamonte was going to get married. She was tall, fair, pale, with a melancholy countenance; had blue eyes and a sad smile; and her brow was crowned with long flaxen curls, while she was the beau-idéal of a heroine of that romantic poetic school, almost ghostly, which like a pall was just commencing to darken the rich, untrammeled, and exuberant genius of the Spanish muse. In the midst of the great tumult produced by our political regeneration, poetry seemed only to find its inspiration within the tomb. It seemed as though the first breath of freedom had awakened the poetic genius of that day, making it gloomy and dreadful, so that it sought for inspiration in everything that was gloomy and dull.
Ernestina was the very personification of romanticism, and perchance deemed it to be her duty to typify the visions of that dreadful literature. Her languid air, her sweet, faint voice made it appear as though she only deigned to walk on the earth, for she belonged to a higher sphere.
However, she possessed all the adyantages of wealth, and everything to make her life cheerful. She was an only daughter, and her father idolized her.
She had many suitors. Some sought to win her love by inditing melancholy sonnets to her, while others threatened to shoot themselves or me, poison themselves on account of her cruelty in repulsing them. However, Ernestina remained unmoved. All her suitors appeared commonplace and prosaic, and none came up to her ideal.
Her father was not sorry, for he was in no hurry to have her get married, Therefore he was willing she should continue to dream of the enchanted prince who would come some day to awaken her heart. He did not know that Ernestina had already found a lover, and deemed that his only mission in this vale of woes was to adore her.
He was pale, with long hair and sad eyes, which gazed adoringly at her. They soon interchanged loving vows and letters full of ardent protestations and loving promises, in which love and death were jumbled together promiscuously. They met secretly, either at her latticed window, or in the garden in the moonlight, or in the deserted walks of some park, under the rustling leaves and amid the first shade of night. Their passion even carried them so far as to meet several afternoons in the quiet cemetery. Ernestina's equippage awaited outside while she entered the graveyard, followed by her duenna, who kept making he sign of the cross in amazement at her folly. Leaning against a willow-tree, her melancholy lover was waiting for her. Ah, that was the very height of romanticism!
Señor Albamonte was unaware of the existence of such a troubadour, or that he had laid siege to his daughter, but her rejected suitors all vowed vengeance on their more fortunate rival, who was Simon Campallano himself!
They all determined to challenge him to fight a duel with each in turn. So they said to him one day: "We have come to let you choose either to renounce Ernestina's hand or to fight with us all."
"All of you?" exclaimed Simon. "And who are you, pray?"
"We are thirteen," they replied.
"Thirteen of you!" he cried, full of fear. "Thirteen!—alas! that fatal number still pursues me!" Turning toward them with resignation, he replied:
"Very well; I will fight with you—one and all."
That same day the duel took place, and Simon was brought home with his arm pierced by a sword-thrust, while he kept murmuring all the time: "Alas! alas! thirteen!" That was all that was lacking to render Ernestina's love more romantic and devoted. She seemed to feel Simon's wound in her own arm while it enhanced his value in her heart.
Her first impulse was to rush to his bedside and minister to his wants herself, and repeat her vows of eternal love, and swear to end her existence at his side if he were to die, so that their corpses might be united in death. But she was obliged to observe the conventionalities of a society too commonplace to appreciate the sublimity of her sacrifice; therefore she had to remain at home.
However, he was rapidly getting healed so she decided to live for him, as it was no longer necessary for her to die for him, and avenge herself on his cowardly enemies by marrying him at once. Matrimony did not seem to her to be a romantic finale. However, the circumstances which attended it made it somewhat more interesting; therefore she determined to take this final step. So she attired herself in a fitting garb, arranged her tresses carelessly, and proceeded to her father's room.
"You are not tyrannical, father," said Ernestina.
"What makes you say that?" he asked, greatly astonished. "You Know that your will is my law since your mother died. You are rich and can satify all your whims, and I shall not oppose you. Are you dissatisfied with your dressmaker? Do you want a new dress? Tell me, my dear."
"Oh," said she, lifting her eyes to heaven, "prose, nothing but prose all the time, which may satisfy commonplace minds, but not me."
"What is the matter, then?" asked her father.
"Just fancy what it may be," said Ernestina.
"Ut is not easy, my child, to imagine what the whims of a petted daughter may be. Ah, don't get angry if I call them whims. What else are they?"
Finally Ernestina said with a deep sigh:
"It ought to be called a strong passion."
"Passion!" repeated Señor Albamonte, looking at her attentively. "What do you mean by a passion?"
She raised her eyes in surprise. She could not understand that there could be anyone in the world who did not know what a passion is. But she did not know how to explain herself clearly, so she said:
"Passion is something which is felt but cannot be explained. It is two minds in one; it is the very existence of our souls. Alas! to love is to die!"
"Heigh-ho! I am as much in the dark as ever," remarked her father.
"Ah," she said, "have you never loved?"
"Certainly," answered her father. "I loved your mother as the apple of my eye, and we were very fond of each other, but her mind and mine were never alike. We rarely agreed, and if I said nay she said yea. Consequently I don't know what you mean."
Ernestina shrugged her shoulders with disdain, for her own father did not understand her.
"Come," said he, "explain yourself."
"I am in love," said she, resolutely.
"Are you sure of it?" inquired her father.
"Oh yes! If you take me away from him I shall die."
Her father rubbed his forehead and pushed back his smoking-cap, looking quite perplexed.
"So you are in love; does he love you also?"
"Madly," she replied.
"How long since, my child?"
"For a very long time, a very long time. Yes, we loved each other. before we ever met."
"Who is he?"
"A young man," replied Ernestina.
"I presume that you have not fallen in love with an old man. What is his name?"
"What difference does it make?" exclaimed Ernestina. "We love each other and only death can separate us. Shut me up in a convent, take me to the farthest end of the world, and I shall still love him. My soul will fly away to seek his, and the breeze will bring his sighs to me; the light of day his glances; and I shall read his vows in the stars at nightfall. I shall never belong to any other man, You are my father, but you ought not to prove a tyrant."
"No, my young lady," replied Señor Albamonte, "and there is no need of so many words to tell me that you want to get married and chosen the one you wish to marry. I knew it would happen sooner or later. But why should you shut yourself up in a convent or bury yourself alive? I have always intended to allow you to marry when you chose to, but we must observe the conventionalities of society. Let that happy mortal come forward to ask for your hand, and we will then talk over the subject."
"Promise me that you will not refuse him; for it would be his death-blow and I would quickly follow him to the grave."
"Well, I give you my word not to do so," said her father.
A few days after Simon came to the house, and the affair was happily settled, so Simon left the house with his head erect, feeling proud and happy.
Señor Albamonte did not appear to feel dissatisfied, either, as he paced up and down his room.
"It is true that he is not well known and is not as rich as Crœsus," he reflected, "but he seems to be a sensible young man, and may make a good husband. I was not very wealthy when I married, but nevertheless my poor Cecilia, who was very rich, fell in love with me, we were married, and were very happy. He may dispel Ernestina's romantic notions, and may make her happy."
So the preparations for the wedding went on.
Simon considered that he had foiled No. 13 at last, although it had cost him a duel. However, by that he had won Ernestina's hand. Her hand would be a shield against fate, and protect him from the fantastic power which pursued him. Oh joy! he would be rich at last, for Ernestina was very wealthy, while her fortune was so secure it would never suffer shipwreck.
Ernestina desired a quiet wedding, and Simon agreed with her, for he did not yet feel quite sure of his prize. They were married quietly, and only the priest, their witnesses and the notary were present when they signed the marriage contract. Ernestina wrote her name with a languid air, and then heaved a sigh; while Simon, with a firm step, went up to the table, signed his name, and then breathed freely, as though now he were sure of his happiness. As they had no Gothic chapel, the marriage ceremony was performed in the boudoir, which was richly adorned with white Satin draperies.
Ernestina was so pale that she looked more like a corpse than a bride, though a beautiful corpse, it is only fair to add.
After the wedding Señor Albamonte issued invitations for a dinner-party of twelve covers, in order to present his son-in-law to some of his friends. He was well received by all, who congratulated him on his good fortune. When Ernestina entered the room radiant with beauty, they all crowded around her, to praise her loveliness. Her father was impatient for his dinner, so they all filed into the dining-room. While Ernestina was eating her soup her maid came and whispered to her.
"Oh, certainly, let her come in," said the bride aloud. Then turning to one of the servants she said "Place another cover here."
The maid went off, and a merry peal of laughter was heard in the next room.
"I recognize that voice, and we are indeed fortunate," said Señor Albamonte. "Joy itself comes to surprise us. We had forgotten to invite her, and she with a smile on her lips comes to ask for an explanation of our neglect."
Ernestina then stood up and warmly welcomed Mariana, who had just entered the dining-room. As she kissed her Mariana exclaimed:
"That is not right. We have been life-long friends, and you have gotten married, and now your friend has to beg for a place at your table. However, we have never understood each other thoroughly, for your fancy is always roving, while I never go beyond my depth."
Ernestina smiled, while Mariana continued:
"I hope that you will be seated. I shall do the same, for I see you have a place ready for me."
"Yes, yes, the joy of Madrid shall sit at my side," exclaimed Señor Albamonte. "We have committed an oversight, but you have kindly forgiven us."
Mariana looked at Simon. Her expression changed a little and she lowered her eyes while she said:
"Ernestina, I wished to surprise you, and as you did not invite me, I invited myself. I do hope that you will overlook it, though your friends must be astonished at my coolness."
"How charming she is!" exclaimed Albamonte. "She makes excuses when we are the ones to blame."
Then the conversation became general, and Mariana's merry laugh resounded above all the rest. Simon had not known that she was his wife's friend, and the appearance of the millionaire's niece seemd to freeze the blood in his veins; but he overcame his feelings, though he avoided meeting Mariana's eye. Suddenly Señor Albamonte exclaimed:
"My dear Simon, I must present you to this young lady as a member of our family. My son-in-law, Mariana."
Simon trembled from head to foot; the fork fell from his hand, while he made a deep bow. Mariana returned his salutation, but could not repress a peal of laughter.
The dinner passed off very gayly, until a lady happened to whisper something into her neighbor's ear very mysteriously.
"What is the matter?" inquired Señor Albamonte. "No secrets are allowable here, so I insist on knowing what it is and having my share in the fun."
"We were only talking about a superstitious notion," replied the lady.
"Very well, it comes just in time. Let us hear what it is."
"It is all nonsense," exclaimed the other lady. "I am sure it is, though there are people who believe in such things. However, I don't think that they ought to interfere with our appetites or gayety."
Her words only piqued their curiosity still more.
"Well," she resumed, "I have counted the guests and found out"
"What?" they all asked,
"That there are thirteen people at the table."
Her words were received with shouts of laughter, while all expressed their different opinions on the subject. Soon after Ernestina made a motion, and all left the table. Simon had to make a great effort to leave his seat; his body felt heavy, the lights danced before his eyes, while a cold chill penetrated his veins. No. 13 filled his mind with gloomy forebodings.
Time went on, as it always does, with the careless indifference of one who has seen everything and is never astonished at any occurrence whatsoever. The married couple's life was very monotonous. Ernestina devoted the most of her time to her toilet, to the theaters, or society. She was always pale, languid and romantic, for romanticism, which was very fashionable in those days,‘seemingly the outward garb of her soul, was indispensable to her.
Simon had disappointed Señor Albamonte's expectations. Instead of dispelling Ernestina's romantic notions, he seemed to share them. He seldom spoke, loved to be alone, and lived within himself, while his friends remarked:
"Oh yes, now that he is rich he looks over our heads. Just set a beggar on horseback, and you know the result."
It was a very cold winter, and pneumonia was very fatal. Ernestina caught that dreadful disease as she was coming out of the theater, and in spite of the prompt attendance of the most skilful physicians in the city, she quickly succumbed in the flower of her youth and beauty.
"Pneumonia!" cried Simon with his face distorted with grief. "No, science is at fault. An implacable hand, a fatal number has killed her. We had thirteen people at the table at our wedding-feast!"
All who heard him say this thought that grief had driven him wild. Señor Albamonte was inconsolable.
Simon was left a widower, and poor, for alll his wife's property reverted to her father. He fled from the house and disappeared from society forever.
"Did he die?"
"No!"
"Is he still alive?"
"Yes. He has been confined in an insane asylum for some years past, where he is known as No. 13."