THE SENORITAS DE MERE
So Emilita Mateo had really won the heart of a captain of the battalion
of Pontevedra. But it had not been done without several days' hard work,
in the way of coy glances, aimless laughter, childish pranks, mincing
ways and numberless little tricks. She had, in short, called all her
forces into play, being by turns straightforward and malicious, kind and
rude, reserved and teasing, grave and frolicsome, like a wild thing,
like a silly irresponsible child, but none the less adorable.
Finally Nunez, Captain Nunez could not resist such a provoking mixture
of innocence and guile; he was first taken with her, and ended by
falling in love. He was a man with a wide face, lean, grave, and bilious
looking, having a moustache and imperial, and languid, dull looking
eyes, very conscientious in his duties, and very fond of taking long
walks. This type of silent, conventional man is most susceptible to the
charm of cheerfulness and vivacity. Emilita won his heart by calling him
grumpy, giving him pinches by way of teasing him, saying that his words
had to be drawn out with a corkscrew, and letting him have the full
benefit of her chaff.
The family of Mateos was quite upset by this wonderful success. Jovita,
Micaela and Socorro, being elder sisters of the happy maiden, were both
jealous and flattered. They felt that the preference of such a gallant
infantry officer was an honour which was reflected over the whole
family, and placed them in a superior position in the eyes of their
friends and acquaintances. But at the same time, considering that
Emilita was the youngest, they did not like her having a lover, or being
married before themselves. It was decidedly premature for her to be
engaged, as she was not more than twenty-four, and a smile of scorn and
surprise contracted the lips of the three elder sisters at the idea of
such an innocent, unconventional creature being married. So that
although they sang the captain's praises to their friends, speaking
highly of his personal attractions, crediting him with a brave and
generous heart, testifying to his riches, as if they managed his
exchequer, and vaguely referring to certain influential patronage which
would put him, sooner or later, in the way of the distinctions of a
general, they certainly never forgave him his chronological error.
On the other side Don Cristobal, the father of that perverse, coquettish
angel, found himself suddenly in such an awkward position that it nearly
drove him mad. He was ashamed at having to give his consent to a
daughter of his being courted by a soldier after having so often called
the military idle and bloodthirsty, and having clamoured for the
reduction of the army. How would he be able to face all his friends in
the future? Many dreadful days of doubt ensued. His hatred against the
army and the marines was so deeply rooted in his heart that it could not
be eradicated in a moment. Nevertheless, he was obliged to confess that
the very noble behaviour of Captain Nunez had influenced him to a great
extent. The wish of seeing his daughters married was quite as strong as
his dislike of the armed force. In his worry he deplored Nunez having a
commission in the infantry. If he could only have been a sailor the
gravity of the situation would have been so much lessened. He
recollected that in his diatribes against the army, he had admitted that
a few ships contributed to the safety of the colonies. The same thing
applied to the civil guard, but as to the rest of the land forces there
was no excuse, there was no means of getting out of the dilemma.
Under such awkward circumstances he elected to shut himself up at home.
The engagement of his daughter got spread abroad and became a settled
affair, and he was afraid of practical jokes. Fear made him take the
false step of playing fast and loose, which was unworthy of his
character and antecedents. That is to say, that whilst continuing
publicly to affect a scorn of the land forces, when talking with his
daughter's bridegroom or other military men, he was quite suave and
showed as much interest in the questions he asked them about their
profession, as if they served in some civil office of the State. Nobody
would have thought, to hear him enter into the details of the active,
reserve, and militia forces, that the man entertained an eternal,
undying hate against them. But the Pensioner attained a greater
perfection in his role than anybody could have dared to expect. He did
not pretend to get on with them as soldiers, when he considered them a
social plague, but as men they might, according to their qualities, be
worthy of esteem.
The love affair of Emilita, like that of many others, had begun and gone
on in the house of the Meres. These were two senoritas past eighty years
of age, and not yet a hundred. From all accounts, they were already
grown up at the beginning of the nineteenth century. They had no
relations in Lancia, and nobody recollected their father, who died when
they were little girls. He had held some appointment in the Exchequer
department. It is possible, from its remote date, that he was a
collector of the excise or some other taxes now extinct.
In the first place the dress of these interesting senoritas savoured of
the eighteenth century, to which they belonged. They could not put up
with the fashions of the present day. They wore straight black gowns
with lead sewn at the bottom to prevent their turning up, very long
waisted bodies, tight sleeves with puffs, low cashmere shoes, and a
coiffure too funny for anything. The mantilla they adopted was not of
net, but of serge with a velvet fringe, such as is only worn by the
working classes; and they carried a stick as a support.
They affected a perfect courtesy, a versatility of character, and an
insatiable passion for society and gaiety perfectly astonishing at their
age. They certainly had not retained in the present century the licence
of manners and wickedness which, according to historians, characterised
the society of the past. It would be impossible to imagine creatures
more simple. They seemed quite ignorant of life, everything surprised
them, and they could not believe in evil. Thus they were frequently the
victims of practical jokes at the hands of their friends and guests,
without either of them expressing any great surprise at it. From time
immemorial they had been accustomed to open their house of an evening to
the young people of Lancia, who were attracted by the liberty prevalent
there.
The custom of _tutoyant_ everybody was tacitly allowed, and it was
curious to hear young men of eighteen years of age talking so familiarly
to old ladies who might have been their great-grandmothers. It was
Carmelita here, and Nuncita there, because the eldest was named Dona
Carmen, and the youngest Dona Anunciacion. Three or four generations had
passed through that little drawing-room of the Calle del Carpo, so
modest and neat, with its polished wood floors, straw-bottomed chairs,
red damask sofa, mahogany sideboard with branch candlesticks, its
tortoiseshell framed mirror, and several little pictures in pastels
representing the story of Romeo and Juliet. The reception of the de
Meres was the oldest institution of Lancia, and, contrary to the usual
course of things, these old ladies who had not been able to marry
themselves, had a perfect mania for helping everybody else to marry.
Innumerable were the marriages due to that little drawing-room.
Directly they heard that a young man was more attracted to one young
lady than another, our senoritas set to work preparing the noose which
was to unite them with an indissoluble bond. Indeed, they would allow no
one to have the chair by a certain lady's side, so that when a certain
gentleman should come it should be all ready for him, and he would only
have to take it. Then they were loud in their praises of a certain
gentleman to a certain lady, and would go to a certain gentleman full of
the wonders of a certain lady's cleverness, economy, handiness, piety,
and beauty. Then they repaired to the house of a certain young lady's
mamma, where they had long private, important conversations, and they
bearded a certain young gentleman's papa, when all their diplomatic arts
were brought into play to soften his heart. And the reward of all these
efforts was a little box of sweets on the day of the marriage! So all
the mothers of marriageable girls adored the old ladies, and blessings
and praises were showered upon them. They were hailed half a mile off,
and on coming out of church, matrons hastened to offer them an arm as a
support.
But, on the other side, those who had any son of a marriageable age,
regarded them with distrust and dislike, and dubbed them as interfering
intermediaries.
When the first touch of love was felt in the heart of some susceptible
youth, he repaired immediately to the abode of the Las Meres.
"Carmelita, I am in love!"
"With whom, my heart, with whom?" asked the elder with the greatest
interest.
"With Rosario Calvo."
"Aha! The rogue has good taste. There isn't a prettier or better
educated girl. You were born for one another."
And then the young fellow had the pleasure of hearing for some time
panegyrics on his adored one.
"I hope that you will help me."
"As much as you like, dear heart."
So at the end of a few days Rosario Calvo, who had never before set foot
in the house of the de Meres, became a regular _habituee_ of the evening
gatherings. However did they manage to get the girl there? It is
difficult to say, but they had brought so many affairs to a successful
issue that they certainly must have had some simple, sure recipe. They
were as affectionate to their friends as if they were all near
relations. Stories of self-abnegation were told of them which did them
great honour. During the dreadful revolution of 1823, one of their
guests, a cavalry lieutenant, took refuge in their house. The senoritas
received him, and hid him for some days, and finally he escaped in the
clothes of the servant. But hearing that the police were going to search
the house, they were terror-struck at the thought of the lieutenant's
uniform being found. Where could it be hidden so as not to betray him?
Carmelita at this critical moment hit upon a brilliant, brave idea. She
put on the uniform herself underneath her female attire. And yet this
lieutenant treated them with such ingratitude that he never all his life
found ten minutes to write them a letter of thanks.
But this was not the only act of ingratitude on the part of their
guests, who made as much use of their kindness as they could, enjoyed
the company and conversation of the prettiest girls in Lancia, arranged
matrimonial alliances, and directly all this business was concluded,
they found that their affairs or their position precluded their
frequenting the parties any more, and they scarcely greeted them when
they met their old hostesses in the street. The same can be said of the
mammas, who made so much of the senoritas before marrying their
daughters, and dropped them when that was done. But this neglectful
conduct neither damped the kindness of the good ladies nor quelled their
optimistic spirit. They kept up an incessant stream of new-comers to
their house, and whilst forgetting the ingratitude of the old ones, they
set their minds on the worthiness that they attributed to the new.
Besides, they harboured no rancour or ill-feeling in their hearts, and
they were not even offended at practical jokes, although some of them
were really very serious. Paco Gomez arranged one that was so startling
that it is still told in Lancia with gusto.
Ladies could not go to the parties every evening in the winter, they
generally went on Saturdays and Wednesdays. But there were a few young
men who hardly ever missed going at an early hour, even if they went on
to other houses afterwards. On these quiet evenings a game of _brisca_
was generally got up. Paco took Nuncita as a partner, and Captain Nunez,
or some other young fellow, Carmelita. But one evening they were
regretting that the signs made during the game were so common and
hackneyed, that it was impossible to make them unnoticed by the
opponents. So both sides agreed to change them. Paco taught some to
Nuncita, and the opponent several more to Carmelita. But these new signs
were all so improper that they are only seen in taverns and bad houses.
Yet those innocent women took them as a matter of course in perfect
unconcern. Some days went by and they were quite accustomed to their
use, when Paco suggested a game to several of the guests. Then ensued a
scene of comic surprise. Every time one of the two senoritas made a
sign, there was an explosion of merriment. And instead of showing the
door to the cruel shameless author of the joke, and forbidding his ever
returning, the kind senoritas only crossed themselves in surprise, and
laughed with the others when they found it out.
"Blessed Santo Cristo of Rodillero! Whoever would have thought it! So we
have committed all these sins in ignorance!"
"I shall not confess them, then," exclaimed Nuncita, with
determination.
"You will confess them, child," returned the elder, severely.
"But I won't."
"Child!"
"But I don't want to."
"Silence, child, you will confess them three times. To-morrow I shall
take you myself to Fray Diego."
Nuncita still protested under her breath like a wilful child, until the
severe glances of her elder sister made her be silent, but she was still
in a pet. Sometimes without any reason she had these exhibitions of
ill-temper and rebellion, and Carmelita had to call all her authority
into play to bring her to reason, but this was a rare occurrence.
Although only three or four years older than herself, Nuncita, from long
custom, weakness of character, or maybe from liking to appear young
before people, recognised her sister's authority and accorded her an
obedience and submission that many mothers of daughters would envy. It
was seldom necessary to call her to order, but when it was so, Nuncita
bowed her head, and was soon seen to put her handkerchief to her eyes
and leave the room, whilst Carmelita followed her movements with a fixed
look and shook her head severely. A little more, and she would have
chastised her in public and sent her to bed without any supper. For such
reasons, and because Dona Carmelita frequently called her so, Dona
Nuncita, who was over eighty years of age, went by the name of "the
child" in Lancia.
Both sisters worked heroically in the love affair of Emilita Mateo, and
Captain Nunez was besieged in the regular way. For a month at least,
until they saw he was well under weigh, no chair was left vacant for him
excepting by the side of Don Cristobal's youngest girl. In the game of
lottery, which was a perfect passion in that society, Nuncita took care
that papers should be found with their names combined. When reference
was made to the officer and Emilita they were mentioned as one person,
already united and inseparable. Services of such great importance were
repaid by the Pensioner by a gratitude which beamed from his eyes, and
he would gladly have prostrated himself at their feet and kissed the
edge of their square gowns. But his dignity and his long series of
diatribes against the army chained his feet and forbade these, and all
other manifestations of delight. He was deprived even of the consolation
of exhibiting pleasure at the sight of the soldier at the promenade with
his daughter. But we know that the senoritas cared little for the
gratitude of their guests. They married them from their irresistible
propensity in this direction, which was as much a necessity of their
constitution as web-spinning is to the spider, or singing in the woods
is to the birds. Once launched in matrimony, the men and women guests
lost all attraction for the Senoritas de Mere. Their attention was
immediately turned to the fresh young people who came and took refuge
under their protecting wings. But there was one who caused them such
bitter disappointment that a little more would have brought them to the
grave. Never in their lives had they come across such an
incomprehensible man as the count. What the poor things went through to
put him in the right path, in the flowery path of Hymen! But the devil
slipped through their fingers like an eel.
For some evenings he appeared tender and devoted to Fernanda, never
leaving her side for an instant. The glances of the two sisters were
then fixed upon them with visible interest; by dint of signs they kept
them from interruption, a little more and they would have requested the
others to lower their voices, so that the noise should not disturb them.
And then suddenly when least expected the count was absurd enough to
leave his seat in an absent-minded way with a yawn, and walk off by
himself and sit at a corner of the table; whilst Fernanda, on her side,
was also very whimsical, for she would take the opportunity to start an
animated conversation with the son of the Chief Magistrate of the Court
without vouchsafing a look at her _fiance_. Carmelita and Nuncita were
taken aback when this occurred, and they retired to rest full of
consternation. After the final break, and when they were quite certain
that the chance of bringing such a magnificent marriage to pass was not
reserved for them, they lowered their ambition and turned their
attention to Garnet who had been pressing for their help for some time.
But impious fate was again against them. Fernanda snubbed any
conciliatory remark that they made to her in favour of the Indian. If
she noticed that the senoritas arranged the chairs, so that he would
have to sit by her side, she instantly upset their manoeuvres and
skilfully managed for a contrary effect. When sides were arranged for
_brisca_ or _tute_ she would not accept him as a partner and preferred
to give up the game than do so. In short she was so quick and wide awake
that she was invincible on every side. Nevertheless, the de Meres
persisted in their project, and worked for its accomplishment with the
patience which is the surest means for the success of great
undertakings.
Some days after the practical joke of Paco Gomez on Don Santos, there
assembled at the famous party, besides three or four youths, the same
Paco, Manuel Antonio, Don Santos, Captain Nunez, Don Cristobal, Maria
Josefa Hevia, and two of the Mateo girls.
They were not yet thinking of playing. They were all seated excepting
Paco, who was walking up and down the drawing-room, telling them the
joke he had the other night at the theatre with Manin the majordomo of
Quinones. Since the latter had been paralysed, his well-known companion
had to go about the town without his shadow. But in consideration of the
regard shown him by his master, the guests of Don Pedro took a good deal
of notice of him, and in spite of the rusticity of his manners and the
countrified aspect of his attire, they greeted him familiarly when they
met him in the street, invited him into a cafe, and sometimes took him
to the theatre. It was Manin here, and Manin there, the great peasant
had made himself famous, not only in Lancia, but in the whole of the
province. Those short breeches, those white woollen stockings with
coloured stripes, that green cloth jacket and wide brimmed hat, gave him
an original aspect in the town, where it would be difficult to find a
man in such attire.
He was an unfailing source of astonishment to strangers, especially as
they saw him associate on an equal footing with the senores of the
place; for they seemed to seek his society not only out of respect for
the Grandee, but because they found pleasure in Manin's uncouth manners.
Besides, Manin was a celebrated bear-hunter, and it was reported that he
had occasionally had deadly struggles with the beasts. Those who were
partial to that kind of sport professed great regard and respect for
him. Nevertheless, the enemies that the majordomo had in his village
laughed sarcastically, and said that the bears were all a farce, and he
had never seen one in his life, much less struggled with them. They
added that Manin had never been anything more than a country clown,
until Don Pedro took it into his head to raise him from his obscure
position.
Impartiality obliges us to give this evidence, but we can take it for
what it is worth. It must, however, be confessed that the conduct of
Manin gave it a semblance of truth, for although he often offered to
take his friends bear-hunting, he never kept his promise. But perhaps
this was due to his respect for the well-being and safety of the bears
of his country. Is it sufficient evidence for dubbing a man a mere
country clown? Nobody could say so. It would be more logical to assume
that the celebrated Manin, like everybody who rises above the common
herd, was a victim of the insinuations of the envious.
So Paco, with his usual freedom, quite regardless of the presence of
ladies, told how he and some other friends who had a theatre ticket took
Manin to the stage box. The majordomo had never before seen women
dancers. When they first appeared on the scene, Manin, thinking that
they had bare legs, was perfectly scandalised and fixed his eyes,
glowing with anger and indignation, upon them. "But you have not seen
the best," Paco said, "wait a bit." When the orchestra began to play,
the dancers shook their castanettes, and with a turn they raised their
legs as high as their heads. "Shame!" exclaimed the poor fellow,
clapping his hands to his face. "What will happen next?"
Paco told the story quite naturally, as he walked up and down the
drawing-room, with his head down, and his hands in his trousers-pockets.
The young ladies felt inclined to blush, and everybody laughed excepting
Garnet, who was still smarting from the joke of the other day.
From his corner, where he sat like a sulky bear, he cast grim and angry
glances at Paco. What had happened in Estrada-Rosa's house, when the
Indian went to ask for the hand of the senorita? Not a word could be got
out of Don Juan nor his daughter; but a certain little servant-maid
informed the world that Don Juan refused him with the deepest scorn,
that Garnet made mention of his millions and maintained that Fernanda
would never have a chance of a better marriage. Then Don Juan got in a
rage, called him a sponger, and sent him off with offensive epithets.
Every time Paco caught one of the angry glances, he smiled and winked at
Manuel Antonio.
"I say, Carmela," he said, coming to a stand before a little picture
painted in oils, "where did you buy this San Juan?"
"Jesus! senor," exclaimed Carmelita; "it is not a San Juan, but a
Salvador! See how the poor little fellow is laughing!"
"Ah! so it is a Salvador. What is the difference?"
The Senoritas de Mere, hearing such a question, went nearly wild with
amusement. They laughed till the tears came.
"Ay, what, Paquito! Ay, what, my heart! You don't know the difference
between a San Juan and a Salvador?"
And they laughed and laughed again. They had not heard anything so funny
for many years. When they were a little more composed, they dried their
tears and used their handkerchiefs vigorously. Paco, who liked to see
them so merry, went on to inquire:
"But come, when did you buy this Salvador, that I never saw till now?"
"It was in Nuncia's room, my dear; but it did not do there, because it
came in the way of the bed, and so we put it here."
"It was given to Carmela when papa was alive," said Nuncita, "by a
painter from Madrid who spent a few days here."
"Were you young then?" asked Paco, gravely, turning to Carmelita.
"Yes, very young."
"Was the painter famous?"
"Very."
"Then I know who it was. It was Murillo."
"No; I don't think that was his name."
"Then it was Velasquez."
"That name sounds more like it. He was a young man, very short, and very
gallant. Was he not, Nuncia?"
"Did he not address some soft words to you?"
Nuncita lowered her eyes and blushed.
"Who would recollect these things now?"
"He was very much in love," continued Carmelita; "and at the same time
he was most well-bred and clever."
"Of an amorous disposition, did you say? It can be no other than
Velasquez."
"He was not named Velasquez, he was called Gonzalez," interposed
Nuncita, timidly.
And after this remark she blushed again.
"That's it! Gonzalez!" exclaimed her sister, recollecting.
"Well, it is all the same; he would be a contemporary of his--of the
great race of painters of the seventeenth century," remarked Paco, not
the least put out by the laughter of the guests, who were astonished at
the innocence of the poor women.
"How did he make love to thee?" he continued, with a caressing touch of
Nuncita's cheek. "It seems to me you were very coquettish, eh, Carmela?"
This remark was provocative of a smile from the company.
"Carmela, _por Dios_! and are these gentlemen going to make believe I
was a coquette?" exclaimed the "child" in real concern.
"They would only believe the truth, girl," said Paco. "Now, don't you
recollect you lent a willing ear to the ecclesiastical attorney, called
Don Maximo, and no sooner had he left the house than you were talking on
the balcony with Lieutenant Paniagua?"
Nuncita smiled with pleasure at the recollection of those times, and
replied as she lowered her eyes with gracious timidity:
"Don Maximo came to the house every day, but it was never a question of
love."
"Neither a courtship nor a refusal?" asked Paco. "Then confess that the
one you really liked was the lieutenant, and done with it."
"What! you were in love with a soldier?" asked Emilita, with pleasant
volubility, as she cast a teasing glance at Nunez. "Then you must have
had bad taste."
The Pensioner became suddenly serious and his moustache went up in
horror at his daughter's sally, but he was immediately calmed at seeing
that the captain, instead of being offended, only returned a loving
smile, and like all the rest treated it as a joke.
"She is not the only one who has had such bad taste," said Carmelita,
with marked insinuation, delighted at the chance of making such a clever
hit.
"And who was this lieutenant? Some useless puppy, like we have here?"
continued Emilia, with the same taking levity.
"Gently, gently, Emilia!" returned Paco. "Paniagua was lieutenant of the
third regiment of infantry of Flanders, and a very brave man."
"No, dear, no," interposed Nuncita, "to put the matter right, he was of
the Royal Guard."
"Was he not an archer?"
"No, dear heart, I say he was of the Royal Guard."
Don Cristobal hid his amusement under a fit of coughing, and Manuel
Antonio and the young people laughed heartily.
"Paniagua was a very remarkable man," continued Paco. "He was endowed
with a decision of character befitting soldiers. The day that he
arrived, he saw Nuncia at the window in the morning, and in the evening
he managed to give her, in the portico of San Rafael after _nones_, a
letter of declaration which ran thus:
"'Senorita, in confusion and fear and doubting if in your kind
condescension you will pardon my boldness, I confess that my only joy is
in loving you.'"
"Oh! you rogue! what a memory you have!" exclaimed Nuncita, now fairly
overcome.
The fact was, Paco, to whom, after many entreaties, "the child" had
shown the letters she had kept of Paniagua's, learnt the original
document by heart and recited it everywhere to the great delight of his
friends.
"He was what may be called a resolute man. The character of a person is
shown like that. How different to the soldiers of the present day, who
before proposing to a girl, dangle about for a whole year and then delay
saying: 'Child, when shall we go to church?'"
These words were uttered with a look at the corner, where Emilita and
the captain were sitting. The latter took the remark and became serious,
and the girl tried to look unconscious although grateful in her heart to
Paco for giving the hint; whilst the Pensioner twisted his moustache
with a trembling hand, fearing that Nunez would take offence, but glad
with the hope that these opportune allusions would bring him to the
point.
Tired of conversation, the young people proposed a game of forfeits. It
is a game which wide-awake men always turn to their own advantage.
Fernanda let Garnet sit by her side. She was vexed at the winks and
signs of Paco that she had noticed. She was a very proud creature, but
she prided herself on her sense of justice. She could not bear anybody
to be made fun of in her presence, even if it were the lowest, most
insignificant being. Maybe the sense of pride, which was one of her
tenderest and most touchy points, made her alive to the wounds inflicted
on that of others. Although she hated Garnet, she was sorry to see him
made an object of derision, particularly as she was the cause; but this
did not prevent her treating him with overbearing airs herself; but it
is thought, and not without reason, that although the rebuffs of the
lady one loves may inflict misery, they do not sting like practical
jokes. The Indian, seeing himself so honoured, was beside himself with
delight, and set to overwhelming her as usual with a thousand
attentions. Fernanda accepted them with a grave demeanour, but not with
repugnance. Then came as usual that game of "three times yes, and three
times no," the favourite of all present. Thus Society amused itself with
what had entertained its fathers and grandfathers, and with what they
thought would amuse their children. Innocent people! There was one
spirit there to whom this attribute did not apply. Paco played with the
peevish condescension, of a man in advance of his time, making many
stupid mistakes, which showed the inattention characteristic of superior
beings. Nunez, on the contrary, was all there. Never was a man more at
home in such matters, nor one who entered into them more thoroughly. His
bright intelligence had penetrated all the secrets of the game of
forfeits, and he knew how to get the best out of everybody according to
the circumstances in question. For example, when a young lady had to
whisper to him, he instantly became deaf, and the girl was obliged to
bend more and more until her ruddy lips brushed the ear of the captain.
If he were condemned to represent the paper corner of the Puerta del Sol
and consequently had to have pieces of paper stuck on his face, &c. &c.,
the wily Nunez did not guess who it was doing it until he had passed his
hands over the girl.
But he gave the clearest demonstration of his portentous talent and the
vast knowledge he had acquired in this department of science, when he
proposed that the senorita, to whom he would tell what she had in her
pocket, would have to kiss him. The young ladies were all so sure that
he would not be successful that they willingly accepted the condition.
He was certainly wrong in his attempt at guessing the contents of the
pocket of Carmelita, wrong again with Fernanda, with Maria Josefa, with
Micaela, but see, what a sly rogue! he knew exactly what was in
Emilita's: some scissors, a handkerchief, a thimble, and three caramels.
The girl began to groan and clasp her hands in a state of nervous
collapse. "It was a trap! a trap!" The captain serene, unperturbed, and
dignified as some hero of antiquity, refuted the imputation, and proved
to satiety that there was no question of a trap. "I do not say," he
added with a Mephistophelian smile, "but what it was an understood
thing between us, as I was allowed to see beforehand what her pocket
contained."
The girl then became still more emphatic in her protestations against
this statement, and she became agitated to an incomprehensible degree,
and ran to the opposite end of the room, as far as possible from the
captain, as if he were going to take by force what he had a right to.
Those on her side were the women, whilst the men took the part of the
captain. The drawing-room was then transformed into a perfect
pandemonium. They all talked, laughed, and screamed without coming to
any understanding. But, as is easily supposed, the one who screamed and
gesticulated the most, was the girl concerned. Nevertheless, Don
Cristobal, seeing there were no signs of coming to an understanding and
wishing to countenance his daughter's course of action, intervened in
the dispute like a majestic god extending his right hand to calm the
waves of the stormy sea.
"Emilita," he said in a tone of command, "play is play; give a kiss to
this gentleman."
It is noticeable that he did not say to "the captain," nor "to this
senor officer." His lips still revolted at using a term exclusively
military.
"But papa!" exclaimed the younger daughter, red as a poppy.
"It must be done!" he returned, with his extended right hand in the most
commanding attitude that could be assumed by such a godlike pensioner.
There was no help for it. Emilita, confused and ashamed, with her cheeks
like two fires, advanced with a hesitating step to the brave captain of
Pontevedra, who was sharp enough to bring his lips to play upon the
brilliant colouring of her face.
But lo and behold! hardly was this effected than up jumps a basilisk of
a Micaela, who was indeed the most irascible of the four nereids who
inhabited the depths of the dwelling of the Pensioner.
"How shameless! These are not decent games, but low tricks. I am not
astonished at Nunez, for men are what they are. But I am astonished at
you, Emilita. It seems to me that a little more modesty and shame would
not become you badly. But what is to be done, when those, whose duty it
is to inspire you with it are the first to abet what is wrong?"
This heated diatribe against the author of her days turned him pale and
paralysed him. There was a moment of embarrassed silence; then they were
all eager to defend Emilita, and maintain the purity and perfect
innocence of such games. The argument repeated most often was that as
there was no _malice prepense_ it was of no account, because the
important thing in these matters was the intention.
"Was the kiss given with intention?" asked one of the most dialectical
youths. "No? Then it was as if it had not been given."
Nunez assented gravely, being a little irritated, and eyeing his future
sister-in-law with some misgiving.
But she declined to surrender to such self-evident demonstrations, and
continued to request, each time more violently and in a higher key, that
her younger sister might have a little shame, and her senor father a
little feeling. But as nobody appeared with these requisites in their
hands, to comply with these requests, there was nothing for it but to go
on lowering her diapason until her angry protestations were gradually
transformed into a far-away mutter like the sounds of distant thunder,
and the party returned to its normal state of calm.
But the game of forfeits was over for that night. Nuncita, who was
generally the one for bright ideas, suggested that they should play at
_la boba_ (the fool). I do not know why, but this game had a particular
attraction for the youngest of the Senoritas de Mere. It is impossible
to say what it was that pleased the ex-fiancee of the Lieutenant
Paniagua, when she managed to get the fool on to any of her girl
guests, and what anxiety and concern she evinced when she had it herself
and could not get rid of it. Paco Gomez took the pack of cards and took
out the three knaves, then knowing Nuncita's weakness, and wishing,
according to his temperament, to put her out a little, he made a sign to
the others that she had the knave, and all the guests soon became a
party to her keeping it. The result was that the "fool" was nearly
always in the hands of "the child," and try as she would, no efforts
could relieve her of it. This, in spite of her natural gentleness,
finally enraged her. The party laughed, and so did she, but more with
her lips than her heart. At last, in a moment of anger, she dashed down
the cards and declared she would not play any more. Carmelita, seeing
such an act of discourtesy, intervened severely as was her custom in any
case of insubordination.
"What temper is this? Wherefore this madness? What will these gentlemen
think? They will say, and rightly, that you have no education, and that
our family has not known how to bring you up. Now, take the cards at
once."
"I don't want to."
"What! what do you say, stupid? You--you are mad. Was there ever such a
wayward creature? Ta--take up the cards at once."
Anger made her stutter so much that only incoherent sounds proceeded
from her toothless mouth.
"Hum!" muttered Nuncita as she twisted her lips into a sulky pout.
"Child, don't enrage me!" cried her elder sister.
"I don't want to, I don't want to," repeated the obstinate creature with
decision.
And at the same time she dragged her reluctant feet into the other room.
But her sister immediately followed with the severest and most
authoritative demeanour imaginable, prepared to correct that beginning
of rebellion which in time might lead to most fatal consequences. A
sound of dispute was heard, the sharp angry voice of Carmelita was
raised, then it toned down, became more persuasive and reasoning, until
it regained its normal suavity, as the echo of a sob reached the ears of
the guests. Finally, at the end of some time, Carmelita reappeared with
a slower step than her sister, with her eyes blazing with authority, and
the majestic attitude befitting those who dictate laws to the beings
Providence has confided to their care. "The child" came behind ashamed
and submissive, with inflamed cheeks and tearful eyes. She reseated
herself at the table without daring to raise her eyes to her elder
sister, who still regarded her with a certain severity, humbly took up
the cards, and began to play again. But instead of this touching example
of respect and submission making a grave impression on the onlookers, it
provoked a smile of amusement on almost all their faces, and there
emanated from some of them inopportune bursts of laughter that were only
repressed with difficulty.
Nevertheless the game did not last long. The hour approached for the
select party to disperse.
"Maria Josefa, I saw your godchild at the promenade to-day," said Paco
Gomez, as he absently shuffled the cards. "I gave it a kiss. She gets
prettier every day. How old is it now?"
"You can calculate. We had it baptised in February. Two and a half
months."
"Was it with its mother?" asked Manuel Antonio, smiling in a peculiar
way.
"No! I met the mother afterwards in Altavilla and exchanged a remark
with her," he gravely returned with assumed naturalness.
The greater part of the guests looked at him with a smile, and with an
expression of reserved malice that surprised Fernanda. Only the two
Senoritas de Mere and Garnet remained unconcerned without taking any
notice of the conversation.
"But what godchild of yours are they talking about--of the baby adopted
by the Quinones?" asked the heiress of Estrada-Rosa of Maria Josefa.
"Yes."
"Well, then, how are they speaking of its mother?"
"Because these two have an evil tongue. God keep us from that!" returned
the old maid, also smiling with malicious pleasure, and at the same time
looking at the young girl with the pitiful kindness accorded to innocent
creatures.
"But who do they suppose is its mother?"
"Who could it be?--Amalia!--Silence!" she added hastily, lowering her
voice.
Fernanda was stupefied. The news was so new and surprising to her that
she kept her eyes fixed on her friend as if she had not heard. In the
excitement of the moment she had not heard the first words of Paco, but
only thought it was a question of his being warm in his praise of the
beauty of the child.
"It belongs to those it likens," murmured the Magpie of Sierra, with the
same intentional malignity. "Yes, it is like its mother--and its father.
Its father was a fine boy."
Fernanda, a sudden prey to overwhelming curiosity, insane curiosity that
urged her on, agitated and breathless without her knowing why, bent
again towards Maria Josefa, and putting her mouth to her ear, she asked
in an agitated voice:
"But who is its father?"
The old maid turned towards her, and fixed her eyes upon her with an
expression of surprise mingled with the aforesaid indulgent compassion.
"But don't you really know?"
The girl made a sign in the negative, and at the same time she felt
overwhelmed by terrible emotion. A cold chill swept suddenly through her
inner being. Pale as death, she hung on the lips of Maria Josefa as if
her sentence of life or death depended on them. Her excitement was quite
evident to the lady, and after looking at her fixedly for a minute she
said:
"No! I won't tell you. What is the good? Perhaps it is all a calumny."
Fernanda instantly regained her self-possession.
"All right!" she returned, with a gesture of displeasure; "be silent,
for after all what has all this to do with me?"
This gesture wounded the old maid, who quickly returned with a malicious
smile:
"But it is precisely because it does concern you that I am afraid to
tell you."
"I don't understand."
Maria Josefa bent towards her and said:
"Because they say that the father of the creature is Luis."
As she had anticipated the blow, Fernanda remained unmoved, and asked
her with indifference:
"What Luis?"
"The count, girl."
"And why should it concern me that Luis is the father?"
Maria Josefa was somewhat disconcerted at this question.
"Because he was your betrothed."
"But as he is not so now," she returned, with a scornful shrug of the
shoulders.
And then she begun talking to Garnet, who was on her other side, but the
indifference was only put on from pride. An inexplicable penetrating
sadness fell upon her soul, and took complete possession of her without
leaving her power to think or do anything.
If Garnet had not been such a mere animal he would have seen directly
that the smile with which she listened to his uncultured, rough
conversation was only a stereotyped one without any expression
whatever, and that the monosyllables and incoherent replies that fell
from her lips showed very clearly that she was not listening to him, but
to Paco Gomez, Manuel Antonio, and the others, as they went on
chattering about the foundling child.
With what interest did she catch every word that these busybodies
interchanged. And as they went on making the fact clear with increasing
details, intermixing joking remarks and funny inuendos, there was a
tightening at her heart, and it gradually contracted as if they were all
compressing it in their hands one after the other to hurt her, but her
face remained calm, and not the slightest contraction showed the pain
she was suffering.
The party broke up at twelve as usual, and it was a great comfort to
Fernanda to breathe the cool, damp, night air. She longed to be alone
with her thoughts and think over what she had just heard.
It had rained a good deal. The streets, paved with flat stones, shone in
the light of the lanterns. On leaving the house some took the lower
road, and others, amongst whom was Fernanda, went off in the direction
of the plaza. They had only gone a few steps when they heard the loud
trotting of some horses that had that instant come round the corner, and
were bearing down upon them.
"Ah! here is the Baron and his servant," said Manuel Antonio.
It was, in fact, the hour in which the eccentric Baron took his habitual
ride through the streets of Lancia. His famous horse was pirouetting as
usual, and making such a noise that although his servant's steed was
much more quiet, it seemed as if a squadron were going through the town.
As they passed the party Manuel Antonio, with his usual forwardness,
cried out, "Good night, Baron." But he only turned his awful face
towards them, looked at them fixedly with his blood-shot eyes, and then
proceeded without a remark.
The Chatterbox abashed said:
"Go on, drunk as usual!"
They all pretended to look upon it as a joke, but at the bottom they all
more or less felt the same alarm on seeing that sinister figure.
Fernanda, as a woman, and in her particular state of mind, was visibly
affected, and after they had passed she followed the two horses with
eyes of terror until they were lost in the darkness.
On retiring to bed, with her wounded heart, she wished to analyse the
emotion which swayed her, and to trace it back to the cause. She felt
ashamed of herself. Her pride made her cry out with rage in a loud
voice:
"What have these bad goings on to do with me? What have I to do with him
or her?"
But hardly had she uttered these words than she felt the scalding tears
upon her cheeks, and the heiress of Estrada-Rosa quickly turned and hid
her face, suffused with blushes, in the pillows.