THE DUKE OF TORNOS APPEARS
The wide-awake, practical Don Rosendo found out through his agents in
Madrid that the Duke of Tornos, Count of Buena Vista, related to the
Royal family, former Ambassador in France, head major domo of the
palace, etc., a person of much consequence in court and political
circles, had decided to spend the summer in Sarrio for the benefit of
the sea air, which was considered better for him than that of San
Sebastian or Biarritz. When Belinchon heard of it he immediately wrote
the duke a letter, placing his house at his disposal.
The duke naturally refused with many graceful expressions of gratitude,
but Don Rosendo, who saw the great importance of the triumph of having
such a personage under his roof, with whose assistance he counted on
routing his adversaries, pressed the matter so much that the duke ended
by accepting the invitation.
The Cabin party, having scented the impressive news, made Don Pedro
Miranda also offer his house, promising to reimburse him for all the
expense which he would thereby incur. But the duke was already engaged,
and so was unable to accede to their request, pressing as it was, which
fact filled them with rage, as we shall see. We must mention that the
Duke of Tornos belonged to the Moderate party, and although in Sarrio
neither the Club nor the Cabin party was very conversant with politics,
as the local strifes absorbed all their attention, and their sympathies
were always for the party in power, there was no doubt that liberal
views prevailed at the Club, beginning with its enterprising chief,
while at the Cabin they were more conservative. Therefore the favor
conferred on the first was the more trying.
Don Rosendo had had an extra story built to his house the previous year.
The birth of another grandchild had induced him to have it done. If the
marriage continued to be so fruitful the house would soon be too small
for the family. Gonzalo had talked of taking one for himself, as he
wanted to be more independent, and to prevent this his father-in-law
adopted this plan, and the new floor was built for the young family so
that it should be independent. The staircase did not pass through the
parents' quarters, although there was a little inner iron stairway,
which facilitated communication between the two parts of the house.
Gonzalo could enter and leave his dwelling without having to pass
through his father-in-law's house, but they still had their meals
together.
But when the Duke of Tornos accepted the invitation it was decided that
he was to have the quarters of the young married couple, and they were
to return to their old rooms. This was easily managed, for Venturita had
furnished her domain with such luxury that it was speedily and easily
converted into an abode worthy of the personage who was to be the
honored guest. The telegram from his secretary announcing his departure
from Madrid was anxiously awaited at the Club, and the faces of all the
members glowed with joy and triumph, and shone with the hope that they
would soon be able to give some decisive blows to their adversaries, who
went about with black, angry looks, although they tried to hide their
vexation under a feigned ignorance of the magnitude of the event of the
duke's arrival. It was not long before somebody came to tell Belinchon
of the mayor's cross-grained conduct about the music. He was at dinner
when the news arrived, but with an admirable serenity that his enemies
might have envied he finished the plate of soup before him, wiped his
mouth, drank a glass of wine, wiped his mouth again, and quietly rose
from the table without saying a word.
Like all the great leaders we read of in history, Don Rosendo never lost
his dignity, and it was in critical moments like the present that he
was inspired with the grandest ideas and the most helpful resolutions.
He went at once to the telegraph office, and wired to the conductor of
the orchestra at Lancia to come immediately to Sarrio and he would be
well paid.
The conductor replied that they would be there that evening. "All
right," he then said to himself; "if the music be not there to receive
him, at least he shall have a serenade, and these wretches can rage as
much as they like."
The arrival of the Duke of Tornos was, as we have seen, coincident with
the fair of St. Anthony. The afternoon was like the morning, bright and
clear, without the least heat, for the northeast wind of Sarrio and all
Biscayan ports tempers the heat of the summer sun most delightfully.
These fairs are frequented by all classes of society, more especially
the artisans, so that they have retained their primitive, festive,
cheerful character. From early morning numerous groups of girls leave
the suburbs and cross the town to take the road to Lancia, clad in the
classic black or colored merino skirt, with the flowered cotton
handkerchief crossed in front and behind, low shoes, pearl earrings, and
smooth, well-brushed, uncovered hair. Their merry talk and bright
laughter awaken the quieter townsfolk, still in bed, and make them smile
at pleasant recollections of the St. Anthony days of their youth, when
merriment had also shone in their eyes, and no drop of gall had yet
fallen into their cup of life. What girl in Sarrio would not recollect
some one of these journeyings to the hermitage on a soft, pleasant
morning, when the feet seemed winged and the heart beat quickly at the
thought of soon seeing and spending the day with the adored swain!
These maidens seemed to emit a waft of brightness which rose from the
street to the houses, entered the windows, and invited the inmates to
leave for a few hours the heavy weight of business, ambition, envy, and
all the low passions which make up the sum of human misery, and follow
them in the enjoyment of the fresh morning air, the green fields, the
incomparable rich milk sold at the hermitage, in the games of puss in
the corner and blind man's buff, in the languid Spanish dances, Morana's
sweet caramels and cakes, and, what was better still, the kisses of
somebody, when the face was not ugly and the hairs of the _mostacho_ not
too obtrusive.
Pablito sallied forth in the early morning, accompanied by his faithful
Piscis, both mounted on fine spirited horses, which of course pirouetted
from side to side. A weighty reason added to his equestrian propensity
made him use this mode of transport. Young Belinchon had not frequented
any fairs for the past year, and avoided going on foot. He seldom left
the house, especially at night, and only traversed the most frequented
streets, and then very rarely alone. He had hidden and bitter enemies.
Valentina, the fair, vivacious seamstress, had sworn by all the saints
of heaven to plant a dagger in his back.
It is needless to give the reason why. After having ruined her he had
abandoned her and gone elsewhere, like a careless, gaudy butterfly which
flies from flower to flower. It had cost him some trouble, or rather
some alarm. When he heard of his lover's oath, which did not surprise
him, as he knew her character so well, he tried to avoid an early,
wretched death by sending different emissaries to her with offers of
sums of money, her maintenance without work, and suggesting to take and
bring up the child. The angry seamstress indignantly rejected all these
offers, repeating her horrible, bloodthirsty oath each time an
ambassador came to see her.
Naturally our handsome youth felt rather qualmish under the
circumstances, and he would have given his carriage and horses to have
had eyes at the back of his head. He made the best of those he had, and
whenever he went out on foot he exhausted himself in looking about him.
But confidence came with time, for as Valentina scarcely ever left home,
and never frequented balls and fairs since her trouble, nobody had seen
her. So Pablito, never meeting her on the street, felt emboldened by
the suggestion of Piscis to go to the festival of St. Anthony.
Thus they mounted early, and took the wide, dusty Lancian road, shaded
for some distance from the town by majestic giant elms. The road
inclined, without being very steep, and on both sides was the smiling
district of Sarrio, bordered by two or three lines of undulating hills,
with the mountains of Narcin in the distance rising above the valley of
Lancia still lying in mist.
Looking back after going some distance, the beautiful town was seen
bathed in the sunlight, which brightened the white fronts of the houses,
while the vast expanse of the sea, touched by the oblique rays of the
rising sun, presented a milky-white appearance.
The horses of our equestrians, in the pride of their beautiful breed and
their bright, shining backs, caracoled incessantly, which ostentatious
display of their muscular power in the morning light raised clouds of
dust. The work-girls who were making their way to the hermitage grew
impatient, and chaffed the riders more from vexation at the dust than
from fear of the horses; and taunts in somewhat bad taste were cast at
the severe Piscis, who turned a deaf ear to them, so absorbed was he in
the contemplation of the hoofs of the horses, as their right elevation
had been entrusted to his training.
"Bah! the road is too narrow for him!"
"I say, parson, don't kick up such a dust! On horseback you think
yourself somebody, but you look like a puppy-dog. You fancy yourself a
duke, and you look like a monkey."
They did not interfere with Pablito. The bizarre youth exercised the
same fascination over the work-girls as he did over the young ladies.
Not only were they attracted by his fine figure, his gallantry and his
riches, but also, and perhaps chiefly, by his conquests. The number of
adorers he had had in all classes made an aureole of glory round his
head. There had been much talk against him among the artisans on account
of the affair with Valentina; they called him false, traitor, rogue; but
all of them, even the friends of the victim, admired him in secret, and
would have required little persuasion to fall into his arms, much as
they swore and declared that she had been very foolish to think anything
of that flirt.
Pablito pursued his way in a serious mood, also busy with his skittish
quadruped. Nevertheless, he occasionally deigned to smile slightly, and
this suspicion of a smile so excited the girls that they threw
additional fire and wit into their attacks on the invulnerable Piscis.
About two miles on there was a beautiful open green space crossed by the
road, which was to be the scene of the festivities in the afternoon,
when the people came from the town and the others returned from the
hermitage. To go to the hermitage one had to leave the highroad and take
the narrow, steep paths bound by little stone walls covered with briers.
A mile further on one came on to another open space on the top of the
little hill where the shrine stood. The view from thence was beautiful
and unequaled. There was an immense expanse of seacoast, not flat, but
hilly, planted in some places with maize, in others with corn, and in
most places only with grass, and intersected by the long, dusty road of
Lancia, with its dark, level line of gigantic elms terminating in the
pink and white line of the town.
By the shrine young women from the neighborhood, with more than one
satin-cheeked, ruddy-lipped peasant girl, were selling milk in little
earthenware mugs. There were also tables covered with cloths spread with
_bizcochos_ (milk biscuits flavored with cinnamon) and other sugar
pastry of ancient renown. The chief feature of the festival was to drink
milk in the morning at the hermitage, play with the mugs, and then break
them by rolling them down the hill. At twelve o'clock they ate the
provisions brought with them, and then repaired to the walnut grove, the
usual scene of the gathering. Pablito did not omit a single item of the
program. He bought more than a dozen mugs of milk and a great quantity
of biscuits, with which he laid siege to his friends, and then played
with them so roughly that they often lost their footing and he fell with
them onto the ground, to the great delight of the onlookers. He was most
assiduous in his attentions to a very pretty, dark young girl, daughter
of Maroto the policeman, who sold fish in the market-place, to whom the
reader will recollect Periquito said, in the pit of the theatre,
"Ramona, I love you," to the great amusement of Piscis and Pablo.
When the hour came for repairing to the walnut grove he tried to put her
upon his horse in front of him. The girl resisted a little, but at last
she gave in, for there was no help for it. So the youth arrived with her
in the midst of the feast, to the applause and hurrahs of his friends,
while the other girls expressed disapproval, and looked scandalized,
although they were the first to succumb to the charms of the handsome
sultan when they were the objects of his attentions.
By three o'clock the walnut grove was full of visitors. The vast green
formed an emerald ground upon which the kerchiefs of the women, white,
red, and yellow, in continual motion, formed a movable design in
brilliant colors. Fresh arrivals came by the high road from Sarrio, and
dispersed on the green on both sides. The roar of conversation, like
the waves of the sea, was audible a little distance off, and the sharp
twang of the guitar could be heard above the dull, monotonous sound and
ring of the tambourine. There were some tents with rough plank tables
loaded with swollen goatskins of wine, like victims prepared for
sacrifice, surrounded by numerous groups of men. Then on the green there
was a large crowd of both sexes, in the centre of which the dance of the
country was going on to the sound of the castanets and with the motions
peculiar to the district.
The dance continued five or six hours without any pause whatsoever. They
perspired freely, but they were never fatigued. The men might be so
sometimes, the women never. Those who danced so much were country girls
from the neighboring villages, who returned home by the cross-roads
without passing through the town.
The artisans of Sarrio made up parties for the _giraldilla_ (a
Moro-Spanish country-dance), in which they sang in loud voices as they
opened and closed the lines, leaving in the middle now a group of women,
now a group of men. The young gentlemen knowing the girls through the
dances at the schools, and accustomed to the pleasure, did not wish to
relinquish their right of monopoly in the open air, and so they joined
them, although they danced without grace with loose arms and stiff
legs. Then a little further off the artisan lads danced with the girls
who were either neglected by the gentlemen or, being of a superior
calibre, cast scornful looks in their direction and preferred their own
class.
It must not be thought that fashionable dances were omitted that
afternoon. Don Mateo having sought for a substitute for the orchestra,
had come upon an Italian harpist and violinist, and had paid them to
play out of his own pocket. So there, in a corner of the green, under an
immense walnut tree, within a rope barrier, were a dozen closely clasped
couples giving occasional turns to the measure of the charming national
_habanera_, surrounded by a large crowd of spectators.
The young ladies smiled derisively at this rough imitation of their own
dances, and felt sorry that such handsome young men should dance with
such awkwardness. But when any of the party ventured to ask one for a
turn, she, after a little demurring, laughing and blushing, and such
like, to show that the act was purely one of condescension, took the arm
of the swain and joined in the dance.
Gonzalo came to the feast on foot with Cecilia, the eldest child, and
the nurse. And as the road was long and steep, he carried his little
girl almost all the way to prevent her getting tired. Ventura hated
festivals; besides, her father had taken the carriage to meet the Duke
of Tornos, and to think of going nearly two miles on foot was a
monstrous idea. Dona Paula could not go either, for she had been
delicate for some time, and the doctors thought that weakness and her
want of health were due to a defect of circulation, a cardiacal
affection which might turn serious at any time, although not so at
present. Cecilia had wanted to release Gonzalo from his burden during
the walk, but he had laughingly said:
"You, you little skeleton," for so he called her jokingly; "be quiet,
and don't let me have to carry you, too."
And so they arrived like husband and wife, and proceeded to wander over
the green, stopping every instant to greet friends they met. They bought
sweets for the child, they stood looking at the dancing to the guitar,
then they stopped by the _giraldilla_, and finally they went to where
the harp and the violin were being played, and there they saw Pablo
among the dancing couples, with his arm encircling the form of the
beautiful Ramona. Certainly the fantastic youth seemed a little confused
when he saw them, and, turning to his sister, he asked:
"Is mama here?"
Cecilia made a negative gesture, and he was reassured.
The child being soon tired of watching the dancing, asked to return to
the peasants' dance. So recrossing the highroad, they went back to the
gaieties on the other side, which was very fortunate for them, for just
at that moment a fearful blood-curdling scene befitting a romantic
tragedy was enacted on the spot they had quitted.
Pablito was dancing with his dark young lady, serene in his enjoyment of
cutting a good figure. His face, always fresh-looking, was now extremely
bright, not so much from physical exercise as from emotional excitement
under the sensuous strains of the dance music. Ramona also, as scarlet
as a poppy, leaned her chin, embellished with two ravishing dimples, on
his shoulder, when she was suddenly horror-struck at the sight of a
livid face with two flaming eyes, and Pablito heard a discordant cry
behind him:
"Take that, villain!" and at the same time he felt a sharp dig in his
back. He turned quickly round, and saw the fury-fraught, distorted face
of Valentina, brandishing a weapon in her hand. The youth thought he was
mortally wounded and fell to the ground with deathly signs upon his
countenance. A crowd of people immediately hastened to raise him, while
others caught hold of the seamstress. As he was being carried to a
neighboring cottage, Pablito thought he heard the cries of Valentina,
who was trying to free herself from her captives, doubtless still
anxious to kill him.
The news spread through the place. Many people ran to the scene. Cecilia
and Gonzalo, seeing the excitement, asked what it was about; and a
friend, who knew the truth, told them that there was only a dispute
among the peasants, and so managed to get them away.
In the meanwhile the doctor from a neighboring village, who was there,
was asked to go and dress the wound. He was a young man fresh from the
lecture hall. The first thing he did was to take off the youth's coat by
cutting it down the back, and doing the same with his waistcoat and
shirt, and when the flesh was bared he could not help laughing:
"What a wound! There is nothing to be seen."
In fact, the little penknife with which the seamstress had attempted his
murder had pierced his coat, his waistcoat, and his shirt; but as to the
flesh, it had been left intact. Pablo was greatly relieved to find
himself still in the land of the living. Then the woman of the house
temporarily stitched up his shirt and he put on the doctor's coat while
Piscis went to fetch the horses. Pablo left the house by the back way,
and struck across the fields so as not to be seen, for he was not only
ashamed of being seen in that dreadful garb, but he was filled with
horror at the recollection of the baneful words of Valentina, for if he
remembered rightly (and his faint condition had not been conducive to a
great feat of memory), the seamstress had cried, when he was carried
away by the four men:
"Get along, brute; and if I have not killed you now, somebody will soon
do so."
Pablito was in such deadly fear of being killed by an unknown hand that
he would not stay a minute longer at the fair, and when he reached the
road, where Piscis was waiting for him, he mounted his horse and lost no
time in regaining the town. The sun was sinking. Some of the people
began leaving the fair, when there was a great excitement at the sight
of six or eight carriages coming along the road from Lancia. It was the
Duke of Tornos and his suite. In an open carriage he was seated with his
secretary and the great patrician, Don Rosendo. In the next carriage
came Don Rufo, Alvaro Pena, and two gentlemen from Lancia; and in the
others were Don Rudesindo, Navarro, Don Jeronimo de la Fuente, and
several other partizans of the illustrious Belinchon followed in the
other vehicles.
On arriving at the walnut grove the duke was astonished at the sight of
the motley crowd assembled on the green. He was a man forty-six years of
age, with flaccid cheeks of a sickly hue, a drooping lower lip,
expressive of boredom and disdain; his cold, glassy, squinting eyes had
a vacant expression, and in one of them he had an eyeglass fixed which
gave an excessively impertinent look to his repulsive face. He had no
beard, but a long mustache with waxed ends. He dressed in a style never
seen in the country; that is to say, with the capricious originality of
those who do not follow, but set the fashions. He wore a white American
hat with a wide brim. He had a yellow shirt, lilac-colored gloves, and
instead of a cravat a white handkerchief tied in the scarf form, with a
great pearl pin.
"Delightful! delightful!" he exclaimed at the sight of the picturesque
scene, languidly raising his eyelids. His voice was weak, and his
enunciation low and labored, as if he were applauding from his box the
trills of some prima donna at the Royal Theatre.
Don Rosendo gave him an explanation of the festival; he pointed to the
steep hill leading to the shrine, which was visible in the distance;
then he directed his attention to the different groups of dancers.
"There, Senor Duke, they are dancing to the strains of the guitar and
tambourine; it is the characteristic dance of the country. Over there is
the _giraldilla_, in which the town girls dance as they sing. There they
drink; those are the tables where sweetmeats are sold. Under that walnut
tree they are dancing the _habanera_. See, see, Senor Duke, it is the
classic dance of our country--the men on one side, the women on the
other; they go on quietly for hours and hours, singing the old ballads.
It is a chaste dance, as you acknowledge."
"Delightful! delightful!" repeated the duke in his drawling tone,
directing his eyeglass chiefly at the _giraldilla_. The Duke of Tornos
was right. Few more cheerful, beautiful sights could be seen in any
other spot on earth.
The feast waxed frenzied at its close. The guitar accentuated its sharp,
strident tones, which vibrated in the far distance, accompanied by the
persistent, dull sound of the tambourine; the young girls, excited and
hot, with their cheeks on fire and their hair in disorder, not only
sang, but shouted as they revolved in the _giraldilla_, and waxed
desperate at the cessation of the enjoyment so seldom at their command.
Those who had been indulging in wine also joined in the cries, with
nasal sounds, as they tried to maintain their equilibrium upon the
grass. And the lads and lasses of the _danza-prima_ (first figure), in
increasing excitement, raised the tone of the long, monotonous songs.
Even the Italian harpist and violinist dashed into a mazurka, of which
the couples showed their appreciation by kicking out wildly on the
grass.
Light was leaving the picture, and as it faded a mysterious poetic charm
pervaded the scene and reminded one of the happy retreats of old
Arcadia.
It seemed as if the people ought to live and die thus in perpetual
happiness and youth. Why leave the spot, why withdraw from that happy
retreat to return to the fatigues of daily life, the anxieties and cares
of business? To enjoy, in innocence of heart and feeling, health and the
sublime harmonies of life and sound; to enjoy the delights of love, the
root of all things; to enjoy the force that maintains the cohesion of
the universe; to enjoy the plumage of the birds, the murmur of the
streams, the scent of the flowers, the dew of the fields, the foam of
the sea, the eternal blue of the skies: for this it is to be created a
man, not to fill the brief days of one's ephemeral existence with bitter
vengeance, pale jealousy, and gnawing depression. The tradition of
Paradise is the most ancient and logical of human traditions.
The sun now gilded the tops of the walnut trees which surrounded the
green and cast long shadows upon the ground. A slight shudder of cold
and melancholy ran through the company, which those who were heated with
dancing or wine vainly strove to resist. It soon permeated the whole
assembly. Voices were heard of mothers calling to their children, and of
brothers to their sisters; groups were formed that waited for a moment
to see if their party was complete before starting off. The first to
break up was the _giraldilla_; the singing and dancing went on, for as
the peasant folk had not so far to go in returning to their homes, they
had no fear of nightfall.
The people collected by the carriages in the middle of the road. The
duke turned his eyeglass in all directions, looking at the preparations
of departure with the eye of a connoisseur in painting. At last, seeing
the great crowd assemble from all sides, he gave orders to go on slowly
in the wake of the crowd, as he wished to see everything, not because it
was beautiful, but because it was new to him.
The carriages then proceeded in the midst of the crowd, surrounded by
affectionate couples in intimate converse; old men leading children by
one hand and carrying handkerchiefs full of sweetmeats in the other;
groups of girls interchanging their experiences in loud voices, with
much laughter. As soon as they had gone a little distance from the
walnut grove, the canticles, which were the chief features of the
festivals of the neighborhood, commenced.
The artisans have good reason to be proud of their voices. They
generally sing some sentimental song to a drawn-out, melancholy tune, a
harmonious accompaniment being given by the seconds in thirds; at other
times, when the party is larger, they use the traditional street
ditties, which are various and delightful. That they did on this
occasion. The duke was surprised at hearing the chorus of fresh voices
incessantly repeating simple couplets like the following:
"I was high above
In the tower of love;
The foundations rumbled,
But I never tumbled.
"Why should the poor
Call at your door,
When your palm never itches
To give of your riches?"
But the puerile ideas of the lines acquired in their mouths an undue
importance. They seemed solemn phrases, mysterious and wondrous formulas
that no outsider could enter into without sacrilege. The air seemed
filled with those sweet, drawn-out sounds; an indescribable feeling
pervaded the singers from whose mouths they fell; each time they
repeated them with more tenderness, with more unction, as they colored
them with those poetic sentiments which always fill their hearts, and
are transmitted from mothers to daughters in the romantic Biscayan town.
It was the melancholy of those who apprehend the world of beauty, love
it, and are forced by circumstances to live and die far from it. Between
the couplets there was a silent pause, filled with the tramp of feet.
The choir seemed to be in a waking dream, only alive to the vague
feelings which the song aroused in the depths of their hearts.
Night fell suddenly. The branches of the high elms stood out clearly in
the diaphanous atmosphere, but the shadows cast upon the road became
darker. The landscape had lost its color, and the bluish hue of the
tracts planted with corn were hardly distinguishable in the shades of
evening. The great sweep of the ocean in the distance was now
indistinct. The brilliant blue of midday had changed into a metallic
greenish gray. The choir soon shook off its melancholy. A young girl
started a bright, merry air, and the others willingly joined in, as if
glad to awake from a sad dream:
"Do not bewail
That you must fail
To go to Anthony Fair,
There to tread on air;
For lo! it is raining,
And you'll be complaining
That no more you will get
The dress now so wet."
This was sung with the eager shout of enthusiasm usual with such songs,
and a few minutes after its conclusion an improvised couplet,
illustrating the present situation, followed:
"Come to St. Anthony Fair;
There you will stare;
A duke to see
As polite as can be.
The girls laughed and ran
To see such a great man."
And thenceforth the magnate was introduced into the songs; and he,
turning his eyeglass from right to left, and shaking his head with a
benevolent smile, repeated in a low voice:
"Delightful! delightful! A Teniers picture! a Lorena's landscape!"
By the time they reached the town night had closed in. The duke with his
secretary withdrew to the rooms prepared for him by Don Rosendo. The
secretary was a young man of six-and-twenty, pale, and red-haired, whose
undeveloped brain contained no idea beyond that of the colossal
importance of the duke, and the imperious necessity of becoming a
personage, if not of so much consequence, yet important enough to also
have a secretary. Beyond these ideas the world had no other meaning for
Cosio, for such was his name.