THE SOIRÉE AT THE ELORZA MANSION.
"What a shame, Isidorito, that you did not study for a doctor! I don't
know why it is I imagine you must have a keen eye for diseases."
The young man turned red with pleasure.
"Doña Gertrudis, you flatter me; I have no other desert than that of
sticking fast to whatever I undertake, and this seems to me absolutely
necessary in whatever career one devotes himself to."
"You are quite right. The main thing is to apply one's self to what lies
before him, and not go wool-gathering. Now, for example, take Don
Maximo. It cannot be denied that he has great knowledge, and I wish him
well, but he has the misfortune of not applying himself to anything that
is said to him, and therefore he scarcely ever hits the mark. Please
tell me, Isidorito, how is it possible for man to succeed in curing one,
if when the invalid is telling him her sufferings, he sets himself to
work sharpening lead-pencils or drumming with his fingers. You don't
know how I have suffered on account of him. I pray God may not set down
against him the harm he has done me. My husband is very fond of him--and
so am I too, you must believe me. In spite of all, he is a good man, and
it's twenty-four years since he first entered this house; but I must
tell the truth though it is hard: the poor man has the misfortune of not
applying himself--of not applying himself little or much."
"Just so, just so. Don Maximo, in my opinion, lacks those gifts of
observation indispensable to the profession to which he belongs. Perhaps
it may surprise you to know what qualifications are needed for the
practice of medicine from a scientific point of view; it is my own
private opinion, which I am ready to sustain anywhere, either in public
or in private. Medicine, in my judgment, is nothing else whatever than
an empirical profession, purely empirical. I repeat that it is my
private opinion, and that I expound it as such, but I harbor the belief
that very soon it will be a truth universally accepted."
"The truth is, Isidorito, that he has simply not understood me. Day
before yesterday I spent the whole day with a roaring in my head as
though a lot of drums were beating behind it. At the same time this left
knee was so swollen that I could not even walk from my room to the
dining-room. I sent a message to Don Maximo, and he did not appear till
it was dark. I assure you I passed a wretched day, and if it had not
been for some tallow plasters which my daughter Marta put on my temples
at midnight, I should certainly have died, for Don Maximo did not think
it necessary even to have a lamp lighted to see me."
"What you point out still more confirms my assertion. You see how
domestic remedies, administered without other judgment than that
suggested by experience, by the results obtained in a long series of
cases, sometimes operate on the organism in a more successful way than
scientific medicine. Such a thing could not happen in our profession,
señora, where all the chances that may occur are foreseen in advance by
the laws, or by jurisprudence raised into the category of the law. There
is not a single litigation which does not find its adequate solution in
the civil codes, nor can any crime or misdeed whatsoever be committed,
without provision being made for it in some article of the penal code.
And in order that nothing may even be wanting the free will of the
tribunals (I except the usual interpretation), we have as a supplement
the canonical law, which is an abundant source of rules for conduct,
though these all are based principally on equity."
"Certainly, certainly, Isidorito. Doctors absolutely do not understand a
single thing. If I could measure out into bottles, once for all, the
medicine that I have taken, I could very easily open an apothecary shop.
And yet here you see me just as I was at the very beginning,--at the
very beginning,--without having made a single step in advance. God
grants me great resignation, otherwise--Just consider! yesterday I was
as usual, but to-day, my fête-day too, what I suffer I'm sure will be
the death of me, the death of me;--an uneasiness throughout my body,--a
crawling up and down my legs like ants,--a rumbling in my ears. You who
have so much talent, don't you know what it is to have a rumbling in the
ears?"
"Señora, I think--ahem--that a purely nervous state is answerable for this
infirmity,--nervous alterations are so varied and extraordinary--ahem--that
it is not possible to reduce them to fixed principles, and so it is much
better not to lay down any rule, but to study them in detail, or let
each one stand separately."
It was hard work, but at last he extricated himself from the difficulty.
Isidorito was a lean, bashful young man, with deep precocious wrinkles
in his cheeks, with thin hair and goggle eyes. He was regarded as one of
the most serious-minded youths, or perhaps the most serious-minded
youth of the town, and always served as a mirror for the fathers of
families, to hold up before their rattlebrain sons. "Don't you see how
well Isidorito behaves in society, and with what aplomb he talks on all
sorts of subjects?" "Ah, if you were like Isidorito, what a happy old
age you would make me spend!" "Shame on you for letting Isidorito be
made doctor of laws these four years, while you have not succeeded in
graduating as a licentiate yet, you blockhead!"
Doña Gertrudis, wife of Don Mariano Elorza, the master of the house in
which we find ourselves, is seated, or, to speak more correctly, is
reclining, in an easy-chair at Isidorito's side. Although she had not
yet passed her forty-fifth year, she appeared to be as old as her
husband, who was now approaching his sixtieth. Not entirely lacking in
her cadaverous and faded face were the lines of an exceptional beauty,
which had given much to talk about there from 1846 to 1848, and which
had redounded to her in a multitude of ballads, sonnets, and acrostics,
by the most distinguished poets of the town, inserted in a weekly
journal entitled _El Judio Errante_, which was published at that time in
Nieva. Doña Gertrudis preserved with great care a gorgeously bound
collection of _Judios Errantes_, and was in the habit of assuring her
friends that if the young man who signed his acrostics with a V and
three stars had not faded away with quick consumption, he would have
been by this time the fashionable poet; and that if another lad, named
Ulpiano Menéndez, who disguised himself under the pseudonym of _The Moor
of Venice_, had not gone off to America to make his fortune in business,
he would have been, at least, as great as Ayola, Campoamor, or Nuño de
Arce. Don Mariano, her husband, shared the same conviction, although at
another epoch the lyric poet, as well as the merchant, had caused him
great anxieties, and not a few times had disturbed the peaceful course
of his love; but he was a just man and fond of giving every one his due.
Doña Gertrudis was wrapt up in a magnificent plush comforter, and her
head was covered with a net, underneath which appeared her hair turning
from auburn to white. Her features were delicate and regular, and of a
singularly faded pallor. Her eyes were blue and extremely melancholy.
The marks of close confinement rather than of illness were to be seen in
that face.
"This roaring in my ears is killing me, killing me. I cannot eat, I
cannot sleep, I cannot get any rest anywhere."
"I think that you ought to stay in your room."
"That is worse, Isidorito, that is worse. In my room I cannot distract
my thoughts. My mind begins to grind like a mill, and it ends by giving
me a fever. I am much sicker than people give me credit for. They'll see
how this will end. To-day I am so nervous, so nervous.--Feel my pulse,
Isidorito, and tell me if I am not feverish."
As she drew out her thin hand and gave it to the young man, Don Mariano
and Don Maximo, who were engaged in lively discussion in the recess of a
balconied window, turned their faces in her direction and smiled. Doña
Gertrudis blushed a little and hastened to hide her hand under her
comforter.
"Your wife already has a new physician!" added Don Maximo, in a tone of
irony.
"Bah, bah, bah! What cat or dog is there in town that my wife won't have
taken into consultation? These days she is furious with you, and says
that she is going to die without your paying any attention to her. I
find her better than ever. But we shall see, Don Maximo. Do you really
believe that we can accept the line from Miramar?"
"And why not?"
"Don't you comprehend that it would swamp us forever?"
"Don Mariano, it seems to me that you are blinded. What is of importance
for Nieva is to have a railroad right away, right away, I say!"
"What is of importance for Nieva is to have a decent road, a decent
road, I say. The line from Miramar would be our ruin, for it ties us to
Sarrió, which, as you know very well, has far greater importance as a
commercial town and a seaport town than we have. In a few years it would
swallow us like a cherry-stone. Moreover, you must take into account
that as it is fifteen kilometers from the junction to Nieva, and only
twelve to Sarrió; trade would not fail to select the latter point for
exportation, on account of the saving in the rate, for those three
kilometers of difference. On the other hand, the line from Sotolongo
offers the great advantage of uniting us to Pinarrubio, which can never
enter into rivalry with us; and at the same time it decidedly shortens
the distance to the junction, bringing it down to thirteen kilometers.
The difference in the rates, therefore, is a mere trifle, not sufficient
to induce trade to go to Sarrió. If you add to this the fact that sooner
or later--"
A violent coughing fit cut short Don Mariano's discourse. He was a
large, tall man, with white beard and hair, the beard very abundant. His
black eyes gleamed like those of a boy, and in his ruddy cheeks time had
not succeeded in ploughing deep furrows. Doubtless he had been one of
the most gallant young men of his day, and even as we find him now, he
still attracted attention by his genial and venerable countenance, and
by his noble athletic figure. The violence of his cough had a powerful
effect on his sanguine complexion, and he grew exceedingly red in the
face. After he had stopped coughing, he resumed the thread of his
discourse.
"If you add to the fact that sooner or later we shall have a good port,
either in El Moral or in Nieva itself,--for the war isn't going to last
forever, nor is the government going to leave us always in the condition
of pariahs,--you will see at once what an impulse will be instantly
given to the trade of the town and how soon we shall put Sarrió into the
shade."
"Well, well, I agree that the line from Sotolongo offers certain
advantages; but you very well know that neither at the present time, nor
for many days to come, can we do anything but dream about that one,
while the road from Miramar is in our very hands. The government is
deeply interested in it because there is no other means of protecting
our gun-factory. You certainly realize that if the Carlists succeeded in
breaking the line of Somosierra, they would overrun us and make
themselves at home; they would take the arms on hand, dismantle the
factory, and without the slightest risk they could set out for the
valley of Cañedo. At present there is no danger of their breaking the
line; I grant that, but who can guarantee what the future may bring
forth? Moreover, may not the day come when the Carlist element which we
have here will raise its head? Then if there were a railroad, no matter
from what point, nothing would be more easy than to set down here in a
couple of hours four or five thousand men--"
"In the first place, Don Maximo, a military railroad, as you yourself
confess that the one from Miramar is to be, is not such as we have the
right to ask of the nation. We need a genuine railroad, suitable for the
promotion of our interests, and not to serve merely for the protection
of a factory. Just consider that it is a work to last for all time, and
that if from its very inception it suffers from a gross mistake, this
mistake will hang forever over our town. In the second place, the
Carlists will never get beyond Somosierra. As to their raising their
heads here, you understand perfectly well that it is impossible because
they have very few elements to rely on--and, as to their doing this--"
"I have reason to believe that they are! We must be on the watch, and
not be found napping. And, as a final reason, a sparrow in the hand is
worth more than a hundred flying.--But tell me, Don Mariano, to change
the subject, have the stables been put in order yet?"
Don Mariano, instead of replying, felt in all the pockets of his coat
with a distracted air, and not finding what he was looking for, turned
towards a corner of the room.
"Martita, come here!"
A young girl who was seated at one end of a sofa, not talking to
anybody, came running to him. She might have been thirteen or fourteen
years old, but the proportions of a woman grown were very distinctly
observable in her. Nevertheless, she wore short dresses. She had a light
complexion, with black hair and eyes, but her countenance did not offer
the exasperating expression so commonly met with in faces of that kind.
The features could not have been more regular and their _tout ensemble_
could not have been more harmonious; nevertheless, her beauty lacked
animation. It was what is commonly called a cold face.
"Listen, daughter: go to my room, open the second drawer on the
left-hand side of my writing-table, and bring me the cigar-case which
you'll find there."
The girl went off on the run, and quickly returned with the article.
"Let us go and have a smoke in the dining-room," said Don Mariano,
taking Don Maximo by the arm.
And the two left the parlor by one of the side doors.
Marta sat down again in the same place. The ladies on one side were
engaged in lively conversation, but she took no share in it. She kept
her seat, casting her eyes indifferently from one part of the parlor to
the other, now resting them on one group of bystanders, now on another,
and more particularly dwelling on the pianist, who at that moment was
executing an arrangement of _Semiramide_.
Scarcely ever had the parlors of the Elorza mansion presented a more
brilliant appearance; all the sofas of flowered damask were occupied by
richly dressed ladies with bare arms and bosoms. The chandelier
suspended from the middle, reflected the light in beautiful hues which
fell upon smooth skins, making them look like milk and roses. Those fair
bosoms were infinitely multiplied by the mirrors on both sides: the
severe bottle-green paper of the parlor brought out all their whiteness.
Marta turned to look at the Señoras de Delgado; three sisters: one, a
widow, the other two, old maids. All were upwards of forty; the old
maids did not trust to their youthfulness, but they had absolute
confidence in the power of their shining shoulders and their fat and
unctuous arms. Near them was the Señorita de Morí, round-faced,
sprightly, with mischievous eyes, an orphan and rich. At a little
distance was the Señora de Ciudad, napping peacefully until the hour
should come for her to collect the six daughters whom she had scattered
about in different parts of the parlor. Yonder in a corner her sister
Maria was holding a confidential talk with a young man. The girl's eyes
wandered slowly from one point to another. The music interested her very
slightly. She seemed to be sure of not being noticed by any one, and her
face kept the icy expression of indifference of one alone in a room.
The gentlemen in black dress-coats properly buttoned, languidly
clustered about the doors of the library and dining-room, staring
persistently at the arms and bosoms occupying the sofas. Others stood
behind the piano, waiting till a period of silence gave them time to
express by subdued exclamations the admiration with which their souls
were overflowing. Only a very few, well beloved by fortune, had received
the flattering compliment of having some lady calm with her hand the
exuberant inclinations of her silken skirts and make a bit of room for
them beside her. Puffed up with such a privilege, they gesticulated
without ceasing, and spread their talents for the sake of entertaining
the magnanimous señora, and the three or four other ladies who took part
in the conversation. The torrent of demisemiquavers and double
demisemiquavers pouring from the piano which was situated in one corner
of the parlor, filled its neighborhood and entirely quenched the buzzing
of the conversation. At times, however, when in some passage the
pianist's fingers struck the keys softly, the distressing clatter of the
opening and shutting of fans was heard, and above the dull, confused
murmur of the thoughtless chatterers some word or entire sentence would
suddenly become perceptible, making those who were drawn up behind the
piano shake their heads in disgust. The heat was intense, although the
balconied windows were thrown open. The atmosphere was stifling and
heavy with an indistinct and disagreeable odor, compounded of the
perfume of pomades and colognes and the effluvia of perspiring bodies.
In this confusion of smells pre-eminent was the sharp scent of
rice-powder.
Doña Gertrudis according to her daily habit had gone sound asleep in her
easy-chair. She asserted an invalid's right, and no one took it amiss.
Isidorito, getting up noiselessly, went and stood by the library door.
From that impregnable coigne of vantage he began to shoot long, deep,
and passionate glances upon the Señorita de Morí, who received the fires
of the battery with heroic calmness. Isidorito had been in love with the
Señorita de Morí ever since he knew what dowry and paraphernalia[2]
meant, rousing the admiration of the whole town by his loyalty. This
passion had taken such possession of his soul that never had he been
known to exchange a word with or speed an incendiary look towards any
other woman except the señorita aforesaid. But Isidorito, contrary to
what might have been believed, considering his vast legal attainments
and his gravity no less vast, met with a slight contrariety in his
love-making. Señorita de Morí was in the habit of lavishing fascinating
smiles on everybody, of squandering warm and languishing glances on all
the young men of the community; all--except Isidorito. This
incomprehensible conduct did not fail to cause him some disquietude,
compelling him to meditate often on the shrewdness of the Roman
legislators who were always unwilling to grant women legal capacity. He
had lately been appointed municipal attorney of the district, and this,
by the authority conferred upon him, gave him great prestige among his
fellow-citizens. But, indeed, the Señorita de Morí, far from allowing
herself to be fascinated by her suitor's new position, seemed to regard
his appointment as ridiculous, judging by the pains she took from that
time forth to avoid all visual communication with him. Still our young
friend was not going to be cast down by these clouds, which are so
common among lovers, and he continued to lay siege to the restless
damsel's chubby face and three thousand duros income, sometimes by means
of learned discourses, and sometimes by languishing and romantic
actions.
At one side of Marta a certain young engineer who had just arrived from
Madrid, turned the listening circle (_tertulia_) gathered around him
into an Eden by his wheedling and graceful conversation. It was a
tertulia, or _petit comité_, as the engineer called it, consisting
exclusively of ladies, the nucleus of which was made up by three of the
De Ciudad girls.
"That's only one of your gallant speeches, Suárez," said one lady.
"Of course it is," echoed several.
"It is absolute truth, and whoever has lived here any length of time
will say so. In Madrid there's no halfway about it; the women are either
perfectly beautiful or perfectly hideous. That union of charming and
attractive faces which I see here is not to be found there; and so don't
let it surprise you when I tell you that the hideous are much more
numerous than the beautiful."
"Oh, pshaw! Madrid is where the prettiest women are to be seen, and
especially the most elegant."
"Ah! that is quite a different matter; elegant, certainly; but pretty, I
don't agree with you!"
"It is so, though you don't agree with us!"
"Ladies, there is one reason why you are more beautiful than the
Madrileñas; it is a reason which can be better appreciated by those who,
like myself, have devoted themselves to the fine arts: here there is
color and form, and there they do not exist. By good fortune, this very
evening, I have the opportunity of noticing it and of making
comparisons, which show most favorably for you. Now that we are allowed
to contemplate what is ordinarily draped with great care, I can take my
oath that you have those beautiful forms which we admire so much in
Grecian statues and Flemish paintings, soft, white, transparent; while
if you enter a Madrid drawing-room, you don't stumble upon anything else
than skeletons in ball dresses--"
The ladies broke into laughter, hiding their faces behind their fans.
"What a tongue, what a tongue you have, Suárez!"
"It only serves me to tell the truth. The Madrid girls have the effect
upon me of shadow-pantomimes. In you I find visible, palpable, and even
delectable beings--"
Marta noticed that the wax of a candelabrum was burning out, and that
the glass socket was in danger of cracking. She got up and went to puff
it out. Then when she sat down again, she took a different position.
The pianist ended his fantasy without stumbling. The conversations
stopped abruptly; some clapped their hands, and others said, "Very good,
very good." No one had been listening to him, but the pianist felt
himself rewarded for his fatigues, and raising his blushing face above
the piano, he acknowledged his thanks to the company with a triumphant
smile. A young fellow who wore his hair banged like the dandies of
Madrid, profited by this blissful moment to beg him to play a
waltz-polka.
At the very first chords an extraordinary commotion was observable among
the young men near the doors, who were evidently suffering from lack of
exercise. A few began to draw on their gloves hastily; others smoothed
back their hair with their hands, and straightened their cravats. One
asked, with constrained voice,--
"It's a mazurka, isn't it?"
"No, a waltz-polka."
"What! a waltz-polka?"
"Can't you tell by your ears?"
"Ah, yes. You're right. But then, señor, this wretched fellow at the
piano will prevent me from dancing with Rosario this evening."
All seemed restless and nervous as though they were about to pass
through the fire. The boldest crossed the drawing-room with rapid steps,
and joined the young ladies, hiding their trepidation behind a
supercilious smile. As soon as the señorita who had been invited stood
up and took the proffered arm, they began to feel that they were masters
of themselves. Others, less courageous, gave three or four long pulls to
their cigars, puffing the smoke out toward the entry, and having keyed
themselves up to the right pitch, slowly directed their steps to some
young lady less fascinating than the others, receiving for their
attention a smile full of tender promises. The more cowardly struggled a
long while with their gloves, and finally had to ask some grave señor to
fasten the buttons for them. When this operation was finished, and they
were ready to dance, they discovered that there were no girls sitting
down. Thereupon they resigned themselves to dance with some mamma.
One after another all the couples took the floor. Marta remained
sitting. Two or three very complaisant and patronizing young fellows
came to invite her, but she replied that she did not know how to dance.
The real motive of her refusal was that her father did not like to have
her take part in society while she was so young. She sat, therefore,
attentively watching how the others went round. Her great black eyes
rested with placid expression on each one of the couples who went up and
down before her. Some interested her more than others, and she followed
them with her glance. Their ways, their movements, and their looks were
so different, that they made a curious study. A tall, lean youth was
bending his back as near double as possible, so as to put his arm around
the waist of a diminutive señorita who was endeavoring to keep on her
very tip-toes. An elderly and portly lady was leaning languidly over a
boy's shoulder, besmearing his coat with Matilde Díez's wax-white. Some,
like Isidorito, did not succeed in steering, and frequently stepped on
their partners, who soon declared that they were weary and asked to be
excused. Others put down their heels with such force that they scratched
the floor. Marta looked at these with considerable severity, like a true
housewife. After a while the faces began to show signs of weariness,
some becoming flushed, others pallid, according to the temperament of
each. With mouths open, cheeks aglow, and brows bathed in perspiration,
they gave evidence of no other expression than that of absolute
stupidity. At first they smiled and even dropped from their lips a
compliment or two; but very soon gallantries ceased, and the smile faded
away; all ended by skipping about silent and solemn, as if some unseen
hand were laying on the lash in order to make them do so. Marta from
time to time shut her eyes, and thus she avoided the dizziness which
began to attack her.
At last the piano suddenly ceased to sound. The couples, in virtue of
the momentum which they had acquired, gave three or four hops
unaccompanied by the music, and this made Marta smile. Before they took
their seats the girls walked around the drawing-room for a few moments
arm in arm with their partners, engaged in lively and interesting
discourse. The pianist accepted the effusive thanks of the smart young
man with the bangs. At length the ladies were all seated in their
respective places, and the gentlemen fell back once again to the doors,
mopping their brows with their handkerchiefs. Those who had danced with
the beauties of the drawing-room showed faces shining with beatitude,
and smilingly received the jests of their friends, while those who had
pressed the less favored to their bosoms, praised to the skies their
partners' Terpsichorean skill.
The youth with the hair over his forehead conceived the idea of Don
Serapio singing a song, and he went from group to group around the room,
making an instantaneous and satisfactory propaganda with his happy
thought.
"Yes, yes, Don Serapio must sing!"
"Don Serapio must sing! Don Serapio must sing!"
"Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake--I have a very bad cold!"
"No matter; you will sing well enough, Don Serapio."
"A thousand thanks, ladies, a thousand thanks. I should wish at this
moment that I had the voice of an angel, for angels only ought to sing
to angels."
This compliment produced an excellent impression upon the feminine
element of the company. The masculine element received it with derisive
smiles.
"We always enjoy great pleasure in listening to you; you know it very
well."
"Because generosity ever goes in company with beauty. The face is the
mirror of the soul, they say, and if that is true, how could you help
being benevolent toward me?"
The second compliment was likewise received with a laugh of complacency
by the ladies. The men continued to smile scornfully.
"Sing, sing, Don Serapio!"
"But supposing I am not in practice--I don't know how I can repay such
kindness. Besides, I have lost my voice entirely."
Don Serapio let himself be urged for some time. At last he went toward
the piano, escorted by a circle of ladies, to whom he addressed smiles
and words full of honeyed sweetness, and managed to extract
clandestinely a roll of music which he carried in the inner pocket of
his coat. The pianist instantly saw through this manoeuvre, and came
to his assistance by quietly taking the music from his hand.
"Don Serapio is going to sing--you are going to sing the romance
_Lontano a te_," he said as he spread it out on the rack.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake! it is too sentimental, and these ladies are not
now in favor of romanticism--"
"On the contrary, Don Serapio!" exclaimed one of the Delgado girls; "we
women in this age of selfishness and calculation are the very ones who
ought to worship sentiment and heart."
"Always as graceful as you are felicitous!" declared the vocalist,
bowing to the floor.
The pianoforte introduction began. Don Serapio, before he uttered a
note, kept arching his eyebrows, and he stretched his neck as much as
possible, as a token of his feeling. He was upwards of fifty, although
pomades, dyes, and cosmetics gave him from a distance the appearance of
a young man. Near at hand, his mustachios, though waxed to perfection,
were not sufficient to make up for the crows'-feet and wrinkles of every
sort which lined his face. He was a manufacturer of canned goods, and a
confirmed old bachelor; not because he failed to honor the fair sex and
hold it in esteem, but because he thought that marriage was death to
love and its illusions. Never was there a man more soft and honeyed in
his conversation with ladies, and never was there a gallant who had a
more abundant assortment of flatteries to lavish upon them. He made
great use of such expressions as _the fire of passion_, _the loss of
will power_, _perfumed breath_, _palpitations of the heart_, and other
like elegancies, all sure of hitting the mark. This was as regards
society women. As for work-girls and serving-maids, Don Serapio's
gallantries did not stop with compliments. He was regarded as one of the
most formidable and successful of seducers among such, and it was a
matter of common knowledge in Nieva that more than one, and more than
two, had had seriously to complain of his behavior, so that it brought
about his head a tremendous scandal which he had hastened to hush with
the fulness of his locker. As a general thing he led a regular life,
rising very early, going to his factory to attend to his accounts and to
inspect the spicing of his fish and oysters, and coming home about five
o'clock in the afternoon to wash himself and dress for his promenade or
his calls, which were not few, and which always ended at eleven o'clock
in the evening. The only reading for which he cared was that of
detective stories.
Don Serapio's voice was a trifle disagreeable. As one of the young wags
among those clustering about the door said, no one could tell for a
certainty if it were tenor, baritone, or bass. In compensation, he sang
with sentiment fit to melt the rocks, as could be judged by the infinite
movements of his eyebrows, and by the expression of disconsolateness
which came over his face as soon as he stood in front of the piano; no
one ever saw a face so wrinkled, so long drawn, so full of compunction.
The romanza _Lontano a te_, better than any other, had the power of
exciting his sensibility and giving his eyes an exceedingly hopeless
expression.
While the proprietor of the canning factory was expressing in Italian
his grief at finding himself far from his lady love, the elder daughter
of the family was in the most retired part of the room still engaged in
conversation with a youth of a pleasant, open countenance, with swarthy
complexion, black eyes, and a young mustache.
"Enrique misunderstood my commission," said the youth. "I asked him to
send me some jewelry worth something, but what he sent me is just about
as commonplace as could be; so much so that I am thinking of sending it
back to-morrow without showing it to you."
"Don't trouble about it any more; it's all the same one way or the
other."
"What do you mean, 'all the same'? Since when, señorita, have you grown
so indifferent to matters of the toilet? I am certain that if I were to
bring you this jewelry, you would laugh me to scorn."
"Don't imagine such a thing."
"Perhaps you think I don't remember how you made fun of that hat that
your aunt Carmen presented you a few days ago!"
"It was very wrong of me to make fun of it; but you are just as bad when
you throw it in my face. The truth is that in the end one hat or one set
of jewelry is as good as another."
"Be it so! Keep it up! I know you well, and you can't cheat me. The
jewelry shall be sent back, and in its place we'll have another set to
my taste and yours. But let's drop the subject. I had something to tell
you, and I can't remember what it was. Oh, yes! we must write to your
uncle Rodrigo, for judging by the note I have just received from him, he
doesn't know yet the day on which we are to be married. I think we ought
to write him both of us in the same letter; doesn't it seem so to you?"
"Just as you like."
"All right; I'll come round to-morrow before dinner, and we'll write
it."
Both remained silent a few moments and listened to the singing of Don
Serapio, who was lamenting always with a more and more pathetic accent
the solitude and sadness in which his mistress kept him. One of the
Delgado señoritas lifted her handkerchief to her eyes, declaring in a
low voice to those standing near that hitherto there had been few things
that ever brought the tears into her eyes.
"What a bore that wretched Don Serapio is! he wrinkles up his forehead
so that his wig is almost lifted off behind."
"Don't be so unkind. Have a little charity, and let the poor man enjoy
himself without harming God or his neighbor."
"As far as I am concerned he may sing till doomsday. But I notice,
lassie, that for some time you have been becoming a great preacher. Are
you thinking of entering into competition with the curé of the parish?"
"What I am anxious for is that you shouldn't be a backbiter. If you love
me as you say you do, my good advice ought not to make you vexed."
"It doesn't make me vexed, loveliest; quite the contrary. I always
listen to it with pleasure and follow it--when I can. You surely are
acquainted with my ways, and know that I can't help making fun. However,
you'll have time enough to preach to me all you want, won't you? Not
only time enough but space enough. You can go on giving me sermons from
Nieva to Madrid, then from Madrid to Paris, and from Paris to Milan, and
from Milan to Venice, and thence to Rome and Naples, and back by Geneva,
Brussels, Paris, and Madrid, home again. With what delight I shall
travel through all these foreign countries listening to a preacher so
devoted! How do you like the itinerary of our journey?"
"Well enough."
"Well enough! That isn't saying anything. One would think the subject
didn't interest you as much as it did me. I won't fix it definitely till
you have made such changes as you like in it, or vary it entirely, if it
seem good to you. I am just as much interested in going to Berlin or
London as to Paris and Rome. You can imagine how much difference it
makes to me, if I go with you, which way we travel!"
"Whatever you decide upon will be well."
"Let us have it decided. Do you like the plan I propose? Yes or no?"
"I have told you yes already."
"But, lassie, what is the matter with you? You have scarcely allowed
yourself to smile this whole evening, and you haven't said a word more
than was strictly necessary. What is the reason of such solemnity? Are
you put out with me?"
"What reason should I have to be?"
"Then I'll ask you _why_ you are. You must be, since there's no other
way of explaining the curt way in which you have been answering me this
long time."
"That's your own imagination. I answer you just as I always do."
Ricardo, without speaking, looked at his betrothed, who turned away her
eyes, fixing them on Don Serapio.
"It must be so, but I don't understand it. If you are really angry with
me, it would be very unkind of you not to tell me why, so that I could
repair my mistake, if perchance I had committed any. My conscience does
not accuse me of anything--"
"I tell you that I am not angry; don't be so tiresome!"
Maria said these words with evident asperity, not turning her face from
the singer. Ricardo again looked at her for a long time.
"Very good--it is better so--still I thought--"
Both kept silence for some moments. Ricardo broke it, saying,--
"When Don Serapio has finished, they are going to make you sing; I am
sure--all get good out of it except me."
"Why?"
"For two reasons: the first is, because much as I enjoy hearing you when
we are alone, I don't like it when you sing before people; the second
is, because they will take you away from me."
"I don't see why you should dislike it because I sing before people. I
am the one not to like it--and I don't at all. As to the separation,
that's nonsense, because we are together much more than we ought to be."
"It would be a long and difficult task for me to explain why I don't
like you to sing in public. As to the separation which you call
nonsense, it's the solemn truth. In spite of our being together several
hours a day it seems to me very little. I could wish that we were
together all the time. For a man who is going to be married inside of a
month and a half, I don't think that such a wish is very extraordinary."
And lowering his voice, he added in a passionate tone:--
"I am never satisfied, and never shall be satisfied, however much I am
with thee, my own life. In all the years since I have adored thee, never
for a single instant have I felt the shadow of satiety. When I am near
thee, I think that I could not be more content, even in heaven; when I
am away, I think how much happier I should be if I were with thee. This
is a guaranty that we should never get tired of each other's society;
isn't it so? For my part, I give thee my word that if we reach old age,
I shall enjoy more by thy side than sitting in the sunshine! What a
happy life is waiting for us, and how long it is that I have dreamed
about it! Do you remember how one day in the big garden, when you were
eight years old, and I was ten, my dear mamma made us take each other's
hands, saying to us in a serious tone: 'Would you like to be husband and
wife? Then kiss each other, and look out that you don't quarrel any
more.' From that time forth I have never dreamed of the possibility of
marrying any other woman than you."
Maria made no reply to this fervid declaration. She kept looking at the
proprietor of the canning factory, with a strange expression, as though
her thoughts were far away.
"Do you know one thing?"
"What?"
"That the chests have come with thy clothes, but I have not opened them
yet. Both of them have on the lid thy cipher with the coronet of
marchioness above. You may laugh at me, but I shall tell thee, all the
same, that it made my heart leap to see the coronet. I imagined that we
were already married, and that I hadn't to wait these everlasting
forty-five days. I don't know what I wouldn't give if to-day were the
last day of December. Tell me, don't you feel any inclination to call
yourself the _Marquesa de Peñalta_? to be mine, mine for ever?"
Maria arose from the sofa, and with a scornful gesture, nor deigning to
look once at her lover, replied,--
"Well enough."
And she went and sat down beside one of the numberless De Ciudad girls.
Ricardo remained for a few moments glued to his seat, without stirring a
finger. Then he got up abruptly and hastened from the room.
Don Serapio at last ceased mourning his lady's absence, declaring in a
finale that if such a state of things existed longer, he should die
without delay. The pianist added force to this wail of woe by performing
a noisy run in octaves. A great clapping of hands was heard, and
affectionate smiles of approbation were lavished by the ladies upon the
vocalist. The young fellows near the doors, always ready for fun, did
their best to bring about a repetition of the romanza, but Don Serapio
was shrewd enough to perceive that the plaudits of these boys were not
in good faith, and he refused to grant the favor.
Then the stripling with the banged hair made the following little speech
to the assembled audience:--
"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe that now is the time for us to listen
to the great artiste. We are all waiting impatiently for Maria to
delight us--one of those happy moments--with which she has in days gone
by delighted us. Isn't it a good idea?"
"That's it; Maria must sing!"
"Of course she will sing; she is very accommodating."
The spokesman offered his arm to the young señorita, and led her to the
piano.
When Maria was left standing alone, facing the audience, a thrill of
admiration was excited as usual. "How lovely, how lovely she is!" "That
girl grows prettier every day!" "What exquisite taste she shows in her
dress!" "She looks like a queen!" These and many other flattering
phrases were whispered among the friends of the Elorza family.
Without being very tall she was of stately stature and presence. She was
slender, lithe, and graceful as those beautiful dames of the
Renaissance, which the Italian painters chose as their models. The line
of her soft lustrous neck reminded one of Grecian statues. This neck
supported a shapely head; the face fair, the cheeks slightly
rose-tinted, delicate, regular, transparent, with ruby lips and blue
eyes. She bore a notable resemblance to Doña Gertrudis, but she had an
attractive and fascinating expression which that celebrated lady never
had, whatever may have been the persuasion of the lyric poet of the
acrostics. Around her clear and brilliant eyes showed a slight violet
circle, which gave her face a decided poetical tinge.
"Now Suárez, you will see what kind of a singer this girl is," said one
lady.
"I shall appreciate her, for this Señor Don Serapio has spoiled my ears
for the time being."
"Oh! Maria is an artist."
"What I perceive just now is, that she has a stunning figure."
"You just wait till you hear her."
"That girl does everything well! If you could see how she draws!"
"Haven't the Elorzas any other daughters than this?"
"Yes, that other girl, who is sitting down over there; her name is
Marta. She is going to be very handsome, too."
"Indeed, she is pretty; but she hasn't any expression at all. It's a
common kind of beauty, while her sister--"
"Hush! she's going to begin." Then ensued a silence in the company such
as had always been Don Serapio's ideal--unrealizable like all ideals.
Maria sang various operatic pieces which were asked for, and needed no
urging. When she finished, the plaudits were so eager and long that it
made her blush.
Suárez assured his circle[3] of ladies that she had a voice which
resembled Nantier Didier's, and that a short time at the conservatory
would put her on an equality with the leading contraltos.
When the congratulations had ceased, and the looks of all had ceased to
be fastened upon her, a shade of sadness came over Maria's lovely face.
She went to Doña Gertrudis and whispered in her ear,--
"Mamma, I have a very severe headache."
"Ay! daughter of my heart, I sympathize with you. I, too, am having my
share of pain."
"I should like to go to bed."
"Then go, my daughter, go. I will say that you are feeling a trifle
indisposed."
"Adios, mamaita! Good night, and sleep well."
Maria kissed her mother's brow, and gradually, taking care not to be
noticed, she left the parlor by the dining-room door. She stopped to get
a drink of _eau sucré_, and stood a moment motionless, with her eyes
fixed on vacancy. The shade of melancholy had greatly dulled the
brilliancy of her face.
She passed out of the dining-room and crossed a long and pretty dark
entry. At the end there was a door which led to a back stairway. She had
mounted only four or five steps when she felt herself seized roughly by
the arm, and uttered a cry of terror. Turning round, she saw with
embarrassment the pale and troubled face of her betrothed.
"Ricardo! what are you doing here?"
"I saw that you left the dining-room, and I followed you."
"What for?"
"To hear for a second time from your lips the infamous words you said to
me in the drawing-room. Do you think, perhaps, it isn't worth while to
repeat them? Do you think, perhaps, that I can give up a whole past of
love, a whole future of happiness, all the sweet dreams of my life,
without calling you infamous, a hundred times infamous, a thousand times
infamous, now right here, while we are together alone, afterwards in
open society, and then before the whole world? Come, come back, you
miserable girl--come back, and let me call you so before everybody!"
And Ricardo, pale and trembling like a gambler who has staked his last
remaining money on a card, firmly grasped his sweetheart by the wrist
and tried to drag her back to the parlor.
Maria hung her head and said not a word. Without offering any resistance
she allowed him to pull her down the four or five steps of the
staircase. But on reaching the passage-way, Ricardo felt on his cheek a
warm kiss, which caused him to loose his captive and fall back with
horror; instantly Maria's arms were wound around his neck, and on his
lips he felt the imprint of other lips.
"Ricardo mio, for heaven's sake, don't put me to shame!"
These words, whispered in his ear with a passionate accent, were
accompanied by a cloud of caresses. The young man pressed her close to
his heart without answering a word; his emotion choked his utterance.
When he became a little calmer, he asked her with trembling voice,--
"Do you love me?"
"With all my soul!"
"Was that nothing else but a moment of ill humor?"
"That was all."
"Oh, what a wretched time you have made me have! Not for all the gold in
the world would I go through it again!"
"Tell me, haven't I made up for it now?"
"Yes, loveliest."
"Let me loose. I am going to lie down. I have such a headache!"
"Wait a minute. Let me kiss thee on thy forehead,--now another on thy
eyes,--now another on thy lips,--now on thy hands!"
"Adios!"
"Adios!"
"Let me go, Ricardo, let me go!"
The young fellow, laughing with happiness, still held her by the hand.
Maria struggled to escape, though she also was laughing.
"Come, let me go, don't be foolish."
"It shows I'm not foolish because I don't let you go!"
"Think how my head aches!"
"All right, then, I'll let you go."
"Till to-morrow! Be careful whom you dance with now."
"Don't you worry. I am going immediately. Till to-morrow!"
Maria tore herself away. Ricardo tried to catch her again, leaping up
the dark staircase, but he did not succeed. The girl said good night[4]
with a merry laugh from the top of the stairs.
When Ricardo returned to the parlor he was smiling like a happy man. The
light of the chandelier somewhat dazzled him, and he hastened to sit
down.
Maria's room, when she entered it, was plunged in darkness. She groped
about for the matches and lighted a lamp of burnished iron. The room was
furnished with a luxury and good taste rarely to be found in provincial
towns. The furniture was upholstered in blue satin; the curtains and
paper were of the same color. In the recess between the windows was a
mahogany wardrobe with a full-length mirror. The dressing-table loaded
down under the weight of its bottles stood against the opposite wall;
the carpet was white, with blue flowers. The exquisite niceness with
which all these objects were put in place, the elegance and coquetry of
the furniture, and the delicate fragrance perceptible on entering,
clearly declared the sex and the station of the person who dwelt there.
When Maria lighted her lamp, her eyes met the eyes of an image of the
Saviour which stood on the centre of the table where the light burned.
It was on wood, beautifully carved and painted, with a decidedly sad and
meek expression of the face, and it was this which had led the young
woman to buy it. When she caught sight of the sweet but icy face of the
image, the happy smile which still hovered over her lips died away,
leaving her motionless and deeply thoughtful. Little by little,
doubtless under the influence of the ideas which came into her mind, her
face lost its usual expression and assumed one as melancholy and humble
as that of a Magdalene. At that moment the sound of the piano came
vibrating through the dark stairway, telling of the first movement of a
fascinating rigadoon. She fell on her knees and bent her head. Every now
and then she sobbed. Her lips were pressed convulsively against the
naked feet of the Saviour, and muttered unintelligible words.
After a long time she raised her face bathed in tears, and exclaimed in
a tone of woe:--
"My Jesus! what treachery! what treachery! How illy do I repay the love
which thou hast bestowed on me. Punish me, Lord, so that I may again
have peace of mind!"
Arising from the floor, she took the lamp in her hand and went into her
bed-room. It was tiny and warm as a nest, and it was ornamented with a
profusion of engravings of Jesus and the Virgin. The bed, covered with
satin curtains, was white and delightful as a baptismal altar. She
placed the lamp on her dressing-table and with more tranquil face
quickly undressed.
Then she took a travelling-mantle from the wardrobe, wrapped herself in
it, blew out the lamp, made the sign of the cross time and again on her
forehead, her mouth, and her breast, and lay down on the floor. The
white bed, covered with satin and lawn, warm and perfumed, and full of
sensuous delights, awaited her in vain all night. Thus she remained
stretched on the floor till daylight dawned.