AS YOU LIKE IT.
The spring came. The northeast winds, like a gigantic besom swung by the
hand of some god with a passion for cleanliness, constantly swept away
the dust and ashes of the firmament. The sailors who put out at daybreak
after fish, as they set foot on the quay often saw above the distant
houses of El Moral a wide strip of azure sky, which went on slowly
spreading to the four points of the compass, leaving a few tenuous
shreds of violet cloud like great eyebrows overhanging the horizon. The
vast sheet of the river now gave forth lovely blue sparkles in place of
the melancholy, metallic reflections of the winter; and the wooden hulks
called _barcos_ by a misnomer, pitched in the dock like colts impatient
to be off. But in the afternoon winter still clung to its rights; now
spreading over town and river a thick mantle of fog which quickly
changed into storm; now furiously driving across the sky colossal black
clouds which discharged their freight as they flew inland. Some days,
however, at sunset a breath of genial air came from the land, and
brought the delightful tidings to the peaceful inhabitants of Nieva that
the most lovely and coquettish of the seasons was present in that
jurisdiction; and this breath of air laden with perfumes, reaching by
the medium of the nostrils to the brains of those inhabitants who were
most inclined to poesy and sweet expansions of the heart, manifested
itself as the avowed enemy of tranquillity in feminine minds, and as
the infamous disturber of peace in families. The town slept placidly
like a sultana, receiving the adulatory caresses of this breeze.
Nevertheless, the calm underneath the roofs was more apparent than real;
a large part of the inhabitants slept the sleep of the righteous as
before, but another no less numerous and estimable, without knowing any
reason for it, awoke more than once in the course of the night, and
occasionally spent an hour unsuccessfully wooing sleep by lighting the
lamp, and reading the articles in _The Times_.[39] They drank great
goblets of water; they dreamed fifty thousand absurd dreams, which, when
they remembered them in the morning, made the worthy natives smile, and
more than one, and more than two, caught colds on their lungs by getting
uncovered at night. In the two apothecary shops of the town a prodigious
quantity of pearl barley was disposed of; some banished wine from the
table to the astonishment of their wives; and the behavior of young men
toward the girls became extremely dulcified. The Market Street[40]
bookseller sent to Madrid for a quantity of novels by Paul de Kock and
Adolphe Belot on commission for his customers, and the professor of the
piano made a similar demand on the music publishers, for various
sentimental romanzas with erotic titles, such as _Vorrei morir_, _Tutto
per te_, _Non posso vivere_, and others of like quality, at the request
of his pupils. The swallows began to take possession of the corridors,
and after making love for a few days, chasing each other through the air
with obstreperous chirpings and then retiring couple by couple to the
most remote corners of the gardens, without any thought of Mrs. Grundy
or of due formality; they celebrated their nuptials with the same
freedom, without consulting the desires of papas or asking for a special
dispensation, or by publishing the banns through the office of the
parochial priest, or by ordering a trousseau from Paris, or by receiving
a miserable coffee service from relatives, or sending cards to friends
and acquaintances, announcing their indissoluble union; or even by
having a notice inserted in the _Correspondencía de España_, saying:
"Yesterday, before a numerous and select assemblage, in which were
included the most illustrious members of the nobility and the world of
politics and literature, were celebrated in the house of the bride the
long announced nuptials of the most beautiful and distinguished dame
swallow, Lady Such an One, to the wealthy sir swallow, Lord Somebody or
Other.[41] After enjoying a splendid collation, the newly married couple
departed to their noble domain of Robledales in Aragon." And whoever
speaks of the swallows may clearly say the same thing of the whole
throng of birds which had encamped both in the gardens of Nieva and in
the immense pine groves which lined the banks of its river.
To be reckoned among the people most manifestly influenced by this
spring breeze (leaving aside, of course, the Señorita de Delgado, with
whom no one would dare to maintain any rivalry in the matter of
sensations, sentiments, emotions, and all that refers to the life of the
heart), was our acquaintance, Manolito Lopez. His worthy family noticed
with grateful surprise, not only that the lad's character was manifestly
softening, but likewise that the habits of orderliness and an
inclination toward sedateness had sprung up, and were growing in him
with unusual rapidity. This praiseworthy inclination was manifested in
everything that pertained to the adornment of his person, but most
particularly to that of his feet; a box of superior blacking every
fortnight was not sufficient for the demands of his shoes, and he spent
a large part of the morning and of his physical powers in making them
shine like a looking-glass, and even thus he was not content: Manolito
would not have been satisfied if anything less than the brilliancy of a
Brazilian diamond, of all the jewels of the royal crowns of Europe, of
the seas and the stars had been put into them. After giving the last
finishing touch to his hair, Manolito always sallied forth in the
amiable company of his glistening boots to promenade in front of the
house of Elorza, and up the street and down the street he went all the
time allowed him by his occupations, and also a good part of the time
when he had no business to be there. The balconies of the house, as a
rule, remained hermetically sealed; but Manolito, judging by the
graceful gait which he affected as he passed, must have suspected that a
pair of steady, love-stricken eyes were always observing him through the
cracks. Once in a while the balconies were thrown open, giving a glimpse
of Carmen, of Genoveva, of Adela, or some other servant, who looked at
him without sufficient respect considering our young lad's age (fifteen
years and three months) and his character. Very, very rarely likewise
appeared Marta's pretty head. She looked out for an instant with an
expression of indifference which, be it said for the sake of the truth,
did not change into one of affection and tenderness at sight of
Manolito, but certainly remained exactly as calm and serene as though
our youth had no more personality than a column of the arcade, or the
clock on the town-house, or the sign of the Café de la Estrella, or any
other of the inanimate objects whereon the girl's eyes rested.
Manolito, for a few moments, felt as much disturbed as one who, sailing
through the Arctic Ocean, should suddenly see an enormous iceberg coming
down upon him; but soon he recovered his spirits, saying, for the
encouragement of his heart, "What a sly one she is!" And though the
balconies were immediately shut with a scornful screak, and remained
closed all the day, yet Manolito did not cease to promenade back and
promenade forth, fortified always in his conviction that through the
interstices of the curtains a pair of ecstatic, love-softened eyes were
launching at him a thousand passionate darts.
But where the spring held a more absolute and even despotic sway (always
excepting, of course, the Señorita de Delgado's poetical soul) was the
Elorza garden. There, without consulting in the slightest degree the
will of the flexible mimosas or of the round acacias or of the dignified
catalpas or of any other tree or shrub, flower or plant, however
respectable, she began to clothe them all in green, carefully
variegating their garments, making this one deep and dark, that one
bright and dazzling, and the other pale and yellow, playing with them a
sort of gay, original masquerade delightful for those to see who still
persist in feeling affection for the works of nature. Above this
habiliment there shone like decorations of honor many flowers, yellow,
white, blue, or pink, quick to fill the ambient air with the sweet
perfumes stored up in their hearts. The garden was unusually extensive,
stretching out from the plaza where Don Mariano's mansion was built to
the quay on one side, and on the other to the farthest houses of the
town. And whether because it was not very easy to take the most perfect
care of such a large piece of ground, or because Don Mariano as a man
of taste did not wish to impose upon Nature his own law, by establishing
in her demesne a tyrannical system of geometrical crosses and lines, at
any rate it offered all the lawless vigor, the exuberance, and the
spontaneity, which it is not customary to find any longer except in
provincial gardens managed according to a broad and tolerant Spanish
fashion. The paths, though originally laid out in straight lines
according to the style in vogue at the time when they were first
designed, were now fluctuating, thanks to the growing up or
disappearance of quince-tree, boxwood, or rose hedges. The trees in many
places enclosed these paths with a thicket, giving them an air of long
mystery, which, according to amateurs, is the greatest charm of gardens,
and I appeal to the testimony of all ardent and elevated souls,
particularly to the Señorita de Delgado. Back of the trees, through the
hedges, could be seen a stone faun or satyr, discolored by great green
spots on the muscular shoulders, spurting water from mouth and nostrils;
in this agreeable occupation its whole life had been spent. Flowers in
the Elorza garden did not possess those inordinate privileges which they
are wont to obtain in flashy parks of modern times, but a number of
succulent vegetables had established themselves on a footing of equality
with them. At the side of a group or clump of dahlias grew an
asparagus-bed, and within sight of a splendid bunch of canna indica and
calladium flourished a thicket of artichokes and a bed of Alsatian
cabbages. And why not? However indisputable the superiority of flowers
may be, we must not deny to vegetables æsthetic qualities worthy of the
consideration and respect of French gardeners, who at the present time
have declared a merciless war upon them. Perhaps they consider that if
vegetables are banished from parks, they bury prose forever and have
poetry only left, according to the example of those ancient novelists
who did not dare to show their heroes and heroines in the act of eating
for fear of soiling or tarnishing them. In one of the angles there was a
great storehouse where were piled old furniture from the house, a number
of broken-down carriages, the gardening utensils, and other things. The
whole garden was surrounded by a wall of considerable thickness and
elevation, over which climbed ivy and honeysuckle cautiously letting
their leaves peer over the top, like two rogues coming in to rob fruit
and get away before they should be discovered by the gardener. Over one
of the faces of the wall arose the masts of the vessels at the quay,
which with their multitudinous cordage enlacing and crossing in every
direction, looked from a distance like monstrous spiders. A great gate
barred with iron led from the garden to the quay.
The younger daughter of the proprietor of this garden found herself in
it one morning culling flowers with a pair of shears suspended from her
belt, and afterwards placing them very daintily in a small osier basket.
She went about taking them now from this side and now from that, seeming
at times to ponder before some, leaving them untouched to go straightway
to others, and then coming back to them, thus endlessly meandering in
every direction with hesitating step. She was so immersed in the depths
of some combination for her bouquet that she allowed herself to be
pitilessly burned by the sun, more splendid in his anger and pride than
was his wont. Since we last saw her, a slight change not easy to define
had taken place in her figure. She had just finished her fourteenth
year. Her physical development, always exuberant and vigorous, had taken
a sudden start during the last three months, not causing her to grow at
once tall and thin, as is apt to be the case with girls at this age, but
bringing her beauty to a more ideal perfection. Marta was destined to be
rather stout: nature had been giving the last touches to her figure,
strengthening the line of her hips, rounding her arms, filling out her
virginal bosom, and perfecting the oval of her face, without being
willing, on any consideration, to grant her three inches more of
stature, though she really needed them. On this account an Andalusian
cavalry lieutenant, while saying something in her praise and dispraise
in a game of forfeits, recently declared, "You are very charming, but
your roundness is alarming."[42] And this had given occasion for the
friends of the house to call her in fun _la redondita_ (the round), and
to plague her continually with the Andalusian rhyme. The expression of
her face was as placid, grave, and as gentle as before. Nevertheless,
her great black eyes, calm and liquid, which, as we have said, used to
present a certain strange immobility, such as is seen in those suffering
from gutta serena, acquired a movement so gentle and sweet that one of
the De Ciudad girls, the very one who had pointed her out to the
engineer Suárez, could not help exclaiming the other night,--
"Don't you see how sweet Martita is looking!"
"Certainly," replied the engineer, "that girl seems to caress you with
her eyes when she looks."
At the same time they inclined to grow liquid, which still more
increased their brilliancy and gentleness. At this particular moment she
wore a dark violet dress, extremely snug and well fitted to her body,
and, although at her earnest request it had been made a little longer
than before, still, as she stooped over to cut the flowers, it allowed
more than a glimpse to be seen of a pair of beautiful, well rounded
ankles, comparable with the arms which Ricardo had admired.
After she had cut as many flowers as she wanted, she sat on a stone
bench in the shade, and placing the basket by her side and taking out a
ball of thread, proceeded, with great calmness, to make a nosegay. First
she took a magnificent white tea-rose, and pulled off all its thorns,
tying around it instead some leaves of althea. As she reached this stage
in her operation, Ricardo made his appearance. Marta raised her head,
hearing his steps, and quickly dropped it again, continuing her work.
"I have been hunting for you, Martita."
"What for?"
"Nothing ... only to see you.... Is that a little thing?"
"If that's all, it seems to me a very little thing; yes!"
"Perhaps you don't want me to see you?"
"I didn't say so ... but as it hasn't been twenty-four hours since you
got home...."
"Well, at any rate I wanted to see you."
Marta said nothing, and kept on with her task, placing around the rose
and in the althea three pansies. Ricardo also had changed a little since
the last time that we saw him. His face had grown somewhat thinner, and
in place of its ordinary expression of contentment had come another as
of fatigue sometimes approximating to gloom and bitterness.
Unquestionably he had not been very happy during the last months, and we
know very well that he had no good reason for being. The perpetual
struggle which he had to sustain with Maria's scruples, and the sincere
or simulated coldness which he saw in her, caused a steady, dull
discomfort which embittered his existence. The brief moments when he
succeeded in talking with his beloved, instead of being brightened by
the sweet expressions of love, were generally spent in bickerings and
recriminations, or at least in long exhortations on one side and the
other,--Ricardo trying to prove to Maria that her pious practices were
an exaggeration incompatible with human nature; Maria urging Ricardo to
abandon the frivolities of the world and enter upon the road of virtue,
which is that of salvation.
After he had silently watched Marta's work a moment, he asked her,--
"Whom is that bouquet for?"
"For Maria, who wants to begin her flowers for the Virgin this evening.
She asked me to make two, and I keep one in the house."
A flash of joy passed through the young man's eyes at the mention of his
sweetheart's name, and he began to take an interest in the formation of
the nosegay. Marta noticed particularly her future brother's joy and
interest. Between the three pansies she placed three pinks,--one red,
one rose-colored, and the other white. Then she took a number of leaves
of sweet marjoram and rose, and tied up with them the growing bouquet;
thereupon she placed all around it a row of marguerites, alternating the
colors,--purple, white, blue, and mottled.
"Now, you ought to put in some pinks," added Ricardo, with the boldness
of ignorance.
"Hush, Ricardo, you don't know what you are talking about.... Now you
want a filling of sweet marjoram and althea, so that the marguerites may
have a background.... Flowers must be loose and not touch each other, so
that each may preserve its form in the bunch.... Do you see?... Now a
row of roses can be added without fear of crushing the marguerites ...
a white one, then a red one ... a white one ... another red one ...
there! that'll do!"
The thread unrolled between her fingers, gently binding the flowers
together; the nosegay went on assuming a pyramidal form very well
proportioned. Ricardo, looking into the basket, saw some extremely
bright-colored geraniums, and cried out,--
"Oh, how lovely those geraniums are!... Such a bright color ought to
become you, Martita; put one in your hair."
The girl, without more ado, took the one that he offered her, and stuck
it in her dark locks above her ear. This combination of red and black,
which is vulgar, as all girls know, appeared more harmonious than
ordinarily, through the exceptional intensity not only of the black, but
of the red. The geranium, on being translated to that position, seemed
to have fulfilled its destiny on earth, or to have realized its essence,
as my friend Homobono Pereda, shining with more beauty and satisfaction
than ever, would say. Ricardo contemplated Marta's head with genuine
admiration, while an innocent smile of triumph hovered over her lips and
in her eyes.
Around the roses she placed, instead of the green setting of sweet
marjoram and althea, another of white and blue violets, and next a row
of geraniums of all colors, combining them exquisitely. The bouquet was
finished. To add a crowning grace she put in a few handfuls of thyme,
arranging them in such a way that they might serve as a support. The
flowers, all artistically combined, appeared loose, each one showing its
own individuality, or, as my friend Homobono would add, perfectly united
in the whole.
Marta lifted the nosegay up, saying, with childish delight,--
"Isn't that fine!... isn't that fine!
"Admirable!... admirable!" cried Ricardo, and in the height of his
enthusiasm he took the nosegay, waved it several times, and then laying
it down in the basket, seized the girl's hand and lifted it to his lips.
Marta grew as scarlet as the geranium that she wore in her hair, and
snatched her hand away. Ricardo looked at her with a mischievous smile,
and said:--
"What's does this mean, señorita, what does this mean? You are ashamed
to have any one kiss your hand, when it isn't four months since we all
kissed you on the cheek? That won't do ... that won't do at all...."
And forcibly seizing her two hands he began to shower kisses on them
without stopping, until he thought he felt something strange on his
head, and lifted it. Marta was in tears. The young man's surprise was so
great that he dropped her hands without saying a word. The girl hid her
face in them, and began to sob with keen pain.
"Martita, what is it? What is the matter with you?" he asked, thoroughly
terrified, stooping down to look into her face.
"Nothing! nothing!... Leave me...."
"But what are you crying about?... Have I hurt you? Have I offended
you?"
"No, no!... Leave me, Ricardo ... leave me, for Heaven's sake!"
And jumping from the bench, she started to run toward the house, wiping
her eyes. Ricardo grew more and more surprised, as he saw her
disappearing, and he stayed some time at the bench, trying in vain to
explain the girl's behavior. Then he got up, and began to promenade in
the garden. In a short time he had entirely forgotten Marta's tears;
more painful memories came to disturb his mind and absorb his
attention. An hour, at least, he spent in walking up and down the park,
thinking about them, until at last, as he passed in front of the bench
where he had been sitting with the girl, he noticed that her bouquet
still remained in the basket, as she had left it, and thinking that it
was not good for it to be there, he started with it to the house. He
asked the first servant whom he met where the señorita was to be found.
"I think she is in the señora's room."
He turned his steps thither. At Doña Gertrudis's room he met Marta, who
was doubtless bound on some errand for her mother. The girl, who still
wore the red geranium in her hair, as soon as she saw him, gave him a
sweet smile, and showed signs of being somewhat confused.
"Are you still vexed, Martita?" asked Ricardo, in a whisper.
"I wasn't vexed at all, Ricardo."
"But those tears?"
"I myself don't know what made me.... I have not been quite well for a
few days, ... and I cry without any reason."
"Then I am relieved in my heart, preciosa. You can't imagine how I felt
at having caused you any pain!"
"Bah!"
"And how violently you wept! I believed that something really serious
had occurred.... Has anything happened to grieve you to-day?"
"No, no; nothing at all.... I shall be right back. Good by."
The Marquis of Peñalta went into Doña Gertrudis's room, where at that
time Don Mariano and Don Maximo were conversing together, neither of
them showing in their faces any of the painful anguish, the pallor, and
the fear of those who are witnessing the last agony of the dying; and
this irritated Doña Gertrudis to such a degree that she would almost
have taken delight in dying at that moment, for the sake of giving them
a scare. She was reclining, as usual, in her easy-chair, her feet and
legs wrapt up in a magnificent mountain goat-skin, casting looks of
bitter desolation, now at the ceiling, and now at a cup of milk which
she held in her hand. From time to time she carried it to her lips, and
swallowed a portion of its contents, thereupon lifting her eyes, and
exclaiming inwardly, "My God, may this cup pass from me!" Again and
again she looked at her persecutors with ineffable serenity, saying, in
a touching manner, that if God forgave their cruelty, she, for her part,
did not find it hard to grant them a full and generous pardon, though
she greatly doubted whether the Supreme Creator would grant it.
Ricardo sat down near the persecutors, without any ceremony, for that
very morning he had had the opportunity of spending a good hour over
Doña Gertrudis's nerves. She, considering that whoever has to do with
sinners is prone to fall into sin, included him in advance in the
universal and liberal amnesty which she had declared in favor of those
who offended her.
"I would never permit either traitorous periodicals, like _El
Tradición_, or magistrates who would not obey the government punctually
and unconditionally, Don Maximo."
"I agree with you up to a certain point; yet we find ourselves in a time
of conflict, and it is necessary to proceed by exceptional measures. But
you will not deny that, in a normal state of things, liberty--"
"Liberty and not license!... Liberty to work ... that's the only kind
that we need. Roads, bridges, factories, land improvements, railways,
and ports, that is all that our unfortunate nation asks for.... The
liberty that you progressists are ambitious to get is liberty to starve
to death.... When I consider that, if it had not been for _la gloriosa_,
our railway would have been at point of completion, such desperation
seizes me that--"
"This is only a passing conclusion, Don Maximo.... You will see how very
soon the rainbow of peace will shine!"
"Yes, yes ... it is certainly raining now.... Have you read the leading
article in _La Tradición_? [_La Tradición_ was a Carlist journal,
published in Nieva every Thursday.] Then, when you read it, you will see
what rainbows the partisans of the Church and the throne are getting
ready for us...."
"Is it very strong?"
"It's a trifling thing!... It says that all good Catholics ought to take
arms to exterminate the horde of the impious and ruffianly who govern us
to-day...."
At this moment Marta entered the room. As she passed in front of
Ricardo, he took her by the hand, and obliged her to sit on his knees,
giving her a speechless look of tenderness with his eyes, without losing
any of the conversation. The girl sat down without resistance, and
likewise listened in silence.
"But does it really say that?" asked Don Maximo.
"It certainly does.... Read it for yourself, and you will be edified....
In my opinion the Carlists are meditating and even plotting some _coup
de main_. The general commander is taking too little care of this
region, and is carrying off all the forces to drive the guerillas from
the highlands.... The factory always requires a strong garrison for
what might happen.... It is a prize coveted by them."
"I don't believe that they would ever dare to make any attempt in that
direction. And except that the señor marqués says...."
Ricardo did not catch Don Maximo's last words, for, with an affectionate
smile, he was saluting Maria, who at that moment came in. After she had
sat down near Doña Gertrudis, and exchanged a look or two with him, he
remembered the remark that had been directed to him.
"What did you say Don Maximo?"
"That I don't believe the Carlists have any intentions against the
factory.... It would be a ridiculous undertaking."
"Oh, no indeed! Not so ridiculous as you imagine, Don Maximo.... This
very day, with the small garrison which we have there, it would not be
impossible or very difficult to take it by surprise.... How many times I
have thought, when on guard at night, that thirty decided men might get
the better of me! If they succeeded in procuring a foothold inside, the
thirty would be settled, you may believe...."
"Do you hear what he says, you stubborn man? do you hear him? Now you
shall see how we must look out for our powder magazine, now that
thunderbolts and meteors are falling. But listen to one thing, Ricardo,
why don't you utilize for the defence of the factory the last advances
made in electric lighting?"
"How?"
"I should suggest that if a number of electric lamps were put in
different parts of it, which the officer on guard could set going by
simply pressing a button, all danger of a surprise could easily be
avoided; and if at the same time a goodly number of heavy bells were
set up, likewise worked by electricity, which would give an instant
alarm in the city and wake the workmen, who for the most part live
near.... Martita! what's the matter?" he exclaimed, suddenly breaking
off the thread of his discourse.
All hastened to her assistance. The girl, who was still seated on
Ricardo's knees, had grown pale without any one noticing it. When Don
Mariano casually glanced at her, she was white as a sheet of paper.
"What is it, my daughter?"
"What is the matter, Martita?"
"I don't feel quite well. Give me a glass of water." Maria ran to get it
for her. Don Maximo felt of her pulse and said,--
"It's only a little giddiness, which water will cure."
In point of fact, as soon as she drank the water, and had sat down on
the sofa, she began to feel better, and in a few moments was perfectly
well. The conversation went on.