Part 22 (2/2)

”How is that?”

”You are one of these eloquent writers, and I am not.”

This remark gave great offence.

Another reason for Alejandro's enmity was an opinion expressed by my brother, Ricardo.

Ricardo wished to paint the portrait of Manuel Sawa in oils, as Manuel had marked personality at that time, when he still wore a beard.

”But here am I,” said Alejandro. ”Am I not a more interesting subject to be painted?”

”No, no, not at all,” we all shouted together--this took place in the Cafe de Lisboa--”Manuel has more character.”

Alejandro said nothing, but, a few moments later, he rose, looked at himself in the gla.s.s, arranged his flowing locks, and then, glaring at us from top to toe, while he p.r.o.nounced the letter with the utmost distinctness, he said simply:

”M....” and walked out of the cafe.

Some time pa.s.sed before Alejandro heard that I had put him into one of my novels and he conceived a certain dislike for me, in spite of which we saw each other now and then, always conversing affectionately.

One day he sent for me to come and see him. He was living in the Calle del Conde Duque. He was in bed, already blind. His spirit was as high as before, while his interest in literary matters remained the same. His brother, Miguel, who was present, happened to say during the conversation that the hat I wore, which I had purchased in Paris a few days previously, had a flatter brim than was usual. Alejandro asked to examine it, and busied himself feeling of the brim.

”This is a hat,” he exclaimed enthusiastically, ”that a man can wear with long hair.” Some months subsequent to his death a book of his, _Light Among the Shadows_, was published, in which Alejandro spoke ill of me, although he had a good word for _Sombre Lives_.

He called me a country-man, said that my bones were misshapen, and then stated that glory does not go hand in hand with tuberculosis. Poor Alejandro! He was sound at heart, an eloquent child of the Mediterranean, born to orate in the lands of the sun, but he took it into his head that it was his duty to make himself over into the likeness of one of the putrid products of the North.

SEMI-HATRED ON THE PART OF SILVERIO LANZA

A mutual friend, Antonio Gil Campos, introduced me to Silverio Lanza.

Silverio Lanza was a man of great originality, endowed with an enormous fund of thwarted ambition and pride, which was only natural, as he was a notably fine writer who had not yet met with success, nor even with the recognition which other younger writers enjoyed.

The first time that I saw Lanza, I remember how his eyes sparkled when I told him that I liked his books. n.o.body ever paid any attention to him in those days.

Silverio Lanza was a singular character. At times he seemed benevolent, and then again there were times when he would appear malignant in the extreme.

His ideas upon the subject of literature were positively absurd. When I sent him _Sombre Lives_, he wrote me an unending letter in which he attempted to convince me that I ought to append a lesson or moral, to every tale. If I did not wish to write them, he offered to do it himself.

Silverio thought that literature was not to be composed like history, according to Quintilian's definition, _ad narrandum_, but _ad probandum_.

When I gave him _The House of Aizgorri_, he was outraged by the optimistic conclusion of the book, and advised me to change it.

According to his theory, if the son of the Aizgorri family came to a bad end, the daughter ought to come to a bad end also.

Being of a somewhat fantastical turn of mind, Silverio Lanza was full of political projects that were extraordinary.

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