THE INCREASE OF THE CONTINGENT
The terrible difficulties that were to arise with the marriage of
Emilita, on account of the anti-bellicose opinions of her father, were
got over with more facility than could have been expected.
History will not speak (although it could with more reason than it does
of many events) of that solemn day when Nunez had to go in proper form
and ask Don Cristobal for the hand of his daughter, of the memorable
embrace with which the latter received him, clasping him warmly to his
civil breast with that incredible fusion of two heterogeneous elements
created to repel each other, and the artless graces of the sweet coy
angel are taken for granted and understood. If this particular page were
the subject for any historian, he could not abstain from drawing
attention to the extreme importance of such concord, which until then
had been considered impossible, and at the same time he would
impartially show the reverse side of the picture, laying before future
generations the way the maligned patrician, Don Cristobal Mateo, was the
victim of a social injustice, and of the persecution of his brother
citizens.
It must be said that all the world in Lancia thought themselves entitled
to joke this respectable and ancient functionary on the marriage of his
daughter, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, but whenever the
matter was referred to, allusion was made to the antagonistic opinions
he had hitherto held on the abolition of the land forces. The marriage
was called the increase of the contingent, and some were impertinent
enough to give it that name before his future son-in-law.
One can easily conceive what it cost him to give up a tiresome and
ill-judged fad.
But in spite of all the diatribes and murmurs of the neighbours, that
hurt Mateo's feelings more than they affected his good humour, and in
spite of the envy that burned in the majority of hearts, the increase of
the contingent was to be consummated.
The time fixed for the auspicious occasion was the month of August. By
that time it had acquired such importance that, as generally happens in
little places, hardly anything else was talked of. The relations of the
Pensioner, and his four daughters were numberless, and they all expected
to be invited on the day of the marriage. And then, on the other side,
some of the worthy and punctilious officers of the battalion of
Pontevedra, friends of the bridegroom, were filled with the same desire.
As it was not possible to entertain so many people in the poetic
dwelling of the Pensioner, they thought of celebrating the marriage in
the country. The house most fitting for the occasion, by reason of its
proximity to the town, was the Grange.
Don Cristobal made the request to the count, with whom he and his
daughters were on very friendly terms, and he immediately placed it at
his disposal. The happy union, the safe pledge of peace between the
civil and military elements, was celebrated early in the day at the
church of San Rafael. Fray Diego performed the ceremony, as he enjoyed
great prestige among the officers for being the strangest priest and the
most inveterate toper of the capital. More than twenty ladies, and
almost as many gentlemen, assisted at the service. That over, they all
resorted to the Grange to spend the day there. Carriages were not
required to go to a place so near the town. But they had the Count of
Onis and the Quinones' to convey the bride and bridegroom, and a few
elderly people like the two Senoritas de Mere. The guests included
almost all the Grandee's party, several of that of the de Meres, and a
good number of officers.
The count had the old house arranged as well as possible. It was as well
known to almost everybody as their own homes, for being so near the
town, and having such a beautiful wood, it was the best place for _fetes
champetres_, and the counts had never refused permission for these
occasions. When they had arrived and enjoyed the chocolate, which was
waiting for them in the large room, paved with brick on the ground
floor, which served as dining-room, they dispersed without ceremony over
the house and about the estate, prepared to kill the time as well as
they could until the bell rang for dinner.
The bride, with Amalia, who had been her bridesmaid, and two other
ladies sat quietly in one of the rooms. Her eyes were shining, her
cheeks red, and it was in vain that she tried to conceal the deep
emotion she was feeling under a dignified and serious demeanour.
Those in her company, who were all married, caressed her incessantly,
passed their hands over her hair, gave her little pats on the cheeks,
and sometimes took her by the hands and impressed a kiss on her
forehead, with the half tender, half ironical condescension evinced by
the long experienced to the novices in matrimony. There is not one who
does not feel at the sight of a bride the echo of certain distant music
in her heart, the taste of the honey of the remote moon comes to her
lips; but it comes, alas! with the bitter taste of several years of
matrimonial prose. In every married woman there is a poet disillusioned
of his muse. Hence the Byronic smile on her face at the sight of the
happiness shining in the eyes of a bride.
Emilita had changed her character in a quarter of an hour. All the
playfulness and sprightliness she had hitherto displayed was now changed
to gravity and sedateness. She talked wisely with the matrons, her
companions, about starting the larder, about domestic servants, who were
considered by all to be dreadfully going down, and the price of meat.
She seemed to have grown so old in this quarter of an hour that it was
surprising not to see some silver threads in her golden hair. To turn to
her sisters, they, in strange contrast, seemed to have lost some years
since the investiture of the younger one. They had gone back to
childhood. Like creatures longing to disport themselves in the light and
air, the three rushed into the wood, making the silence that reigned
there ring with their voices and innocent shouts of laughter. _Virgen
del Amporo_! how they jumped! how they laughed! What impish tricks those
little mad things were up to! For the greater enjoyment of the innocent
games that their youthful retrogression demanded, they threw off their
mantillas, let their hair loose, took off their gloves, cast aside fan
and parasol, did all that youth could suggest, and were as pranksome as
any children. Not only was their angelic hair allowed to float upon
their shoulders, but they took off watches, rings, and bracelets and
handed them to papa, taking him by the collar to give him a thousand
caresses, like bright and affectionate children as they were. Then,
seeing that some of the officers of the battalion were looking at them,
they turned red and confused, pinned up their skirts until the foot and
part of the leg was visible, and then ran through the wood, avoiding,
like the nymphs of Diana, the ardent glances of the officers.
And when they reached a distant solitary spot, where the shadows
deepened, and they were beyond the reach of mundane noises and malicious
eyes of men, they shouted with delight like God's little birds to their
companions to come and enjoy the delightful quiet where they could
display their charms and enjoy themselves without fear of being
surprised. Then one proposed to play at skipping and the rest acceded,
clapping their hands. Jovita was the first. Jump, jump, until she fell
on the grass in a state of exhaustion, pressing her hand to her heart
that palpitated with fatigue, not with the insane agitation of youthful
passions. Then another jumped, and then another, until they were all
exhausted but merry, their rosy cheeks and bright eyes showing the
pleasant happiness accruing to an innocent mind. When tired of this they
proposed the game of "Let them give unto the kite a little onion with
the mite." What laughter and merriment ensued! How the quiet wood echoed
with the silvery voices of those beautiful, delicate creatures! Wearied
of this game they dispersed for a little. A few formed a group seated at
the foot of the trunk of an oak, and went in for the pleasant enjoyment
of recounting in a low voice a thousand puerilities; others went in with
enthusiasm for the search of little blue flowers, with which they made
chains to deck themselves with; others ran after each other like
swallows in the air uttering piercing screams the while. The steadier
ones devoted their efforts to catching grasshoppers and other timid
insects. But they soon reassembled, for a very daring girl proposed
climbing a tree if they helped her; and another one said Yes, she would
help her. So bear a hand! the spirited girl, who was named Consuelo, set
about putting her little feet in the most accessible branches. The
wayward companion, who was no other than Socorro, the third of the
Pensioner's sirens, helped her. Consuelo finally climbed to where two
branches crossed, from thence she got on to another, and all the nymphs
applauded, and shouted with enthusiasm.
But lo and behold! Rubio, the lieutenant of the Third, a man known among
his companions in arms as a genius in the art of enslaving the opposite
sex, suddenly raised his bold head above the bushes. The nymphs, on
seeing him, uttered a piercing cry, and stood petrified in the act in
which he had surprised them. Consuelo, from the top of the tree,
apostrophised him violently. If it had been in her power she would have
immediately transformed that new Actaeon into a stag. But there, _entre
nous_, it is possible that she would have preferred first to transform
him into a husband, regardless of a more exact rendering of the
classical metamorphosis.
But Rubio, the lieutenant of the Third, knew perfectly well what these
shrieks and apostrophisings were worth. He was not put out, he smiled
maliciously, and called with a rough voice to his brothers in arms. What
confusion! What terror among those merry daughters of the wood as the
sons of Mars approached in a closed line! Without picking up their
mantillas, gloves or parasols, nothing, in short, that belonged to them,
they fled through the plantation uttering cries of terror. But the
satyrs in red trousers willingly followed them, caught them up, and took
them captive with hateful laughter. In the meanwhile poor Consuelo,
besieged by three of these bold satyrs, simply declined to come down
until they went fifty yards off. But they, the cruel creatures, they
refused. The nymph entreated, got angry, and was on the point of crying,
but neither her anger nor her tears could soften the stony hearts of the
infamous satyrs. At last she resigned herself to coming down, and
although she took many modest precautions, they managed to see a foot
charmingly shod, and a suspicion of leg, which made them roar with
delight. But where was Rubio? Where was the most terrible and fiercest
of all? They did not know, but at the end of some time he appeared from
the glade, bringing with him Socorro, the most sentimental of Don
Cristobal's undines. His cruel features bore an expression of triumph,
and hers evinced the shame and submission of a captive. Many hours
later, near midnight, seated at a table of the Cafe Maranon, and
surrounded by eight or ten of his companions, the lieutenant of the
Third related with a malevolent smile his conquest of the nymph,
calculating that he had managed to imprint at least twenty-five or
thirty kisses on different parts of her bewitching face, and all the
sons of Mars applauded and celebrated this fresh triumph of their heroic
companion with Homeric shouts of laughter.
Finally the conquerors modified their tyranny, and order was
re-established, thanks to the opportune arrival of the Senoritas de
Mere, who appeared with Maria Josefa and Paco Gomez. The little ladies,
the only ones, in fact, to whom the matrimonial event was due, had
turned over their boxes for a befitting toilette for the occasion, and
Carmelita wore a dress of black bombazin, which only came out on state
occasions, whilst Nuncita, being younger and less sedate, was able to
wear a clear dress bordered with flowers, such as are only seen in
pictures of the past century. They were very cheerful, satisfaction
shone in their eyes, but their legs were not equal to the eternal youth
of their hearts; they supported themselves on sticks, and leant with
their free hands on the arms of their companions. They were received
with cheers and hurrahs. Many rude jokes were levelled at them, to which
nobody assented more willingly nor laughed more heartily than the little
saints of Mere, so there was little merit in quizzing them. They were
never seen to be cross with their friends, and so fun was pushed so far
with them that it sometimes bordered on coarseness; but they were very
prone to intestine warfare, and to get cross with each other; however,
we know the leading feature of these performances.
The bold spirit of Lieutenant Rubio, sharpened, by the circumstances,
conceived a most happy idea; he thought the best way of passing the time
until the dinner-hour would be to construct a swing in which the ladies
could be pulled backwards and forwards for some minutes by the
gentlemen, who would have the pleasure of managing the apparatus. No
sooner said than done. Ropes were found, a board was cut, in less than a
quarter of an hour everything was in order. Whilst the arrangements were
being completed, Rubio kept on giving expressive winks to his
companions, who understood, smiled, held their tongues, and greatly
admired the audacity and penetration of the lieutenant of the Third. The
swing was now fixed. Who is to be the first? They all evinced the same
shame, and the same colour suffused their cheeks. One mischievously
thought of suggesting Nuncita. The rest applauded the idea. Nuncita held
back in dismay. Carmelita neither conceded, nor withheld her permission.
The entreaties were repeated on all sides.
The young men seemed each minute to be more taken with the idea. At
last, almost by force, and amid the frantic applause of the party,
Cuervo, the herculean cornet of the First, took the "child" up in his
arms and seated her on the board.
"Hold tight, Nuncia!" cried Paco Gomez, whilst the aforesaid cornet and
some other friends began to swing her.
"Gently! gently!" exclaimed Carmelita.
No fear; they were careful because they were afraid she would fall. But,
carefully as they moved the swing, the air gradually began gently to
raise her skirts. The officers laughed and went on with the swing until
there was quite an exhibition.
"Go it! go it!"
The girls, with mingled amusement and shame, hid their faces, fell into
each other's arms, and whispered into each other's ears.
"Stop! stop, gentlemen!" cried Carmelita.
Nobody took any notice. The "child's" clothes went higher and higher.
One did not know where they would stop.
"Stop! stop! por Dios, senor cadet!"
"Go it with her!" cried the soldiers.
And the swing went quicker and quicker, and Nuncita was so frightened
that she had no time to think of modesty.
"Senor cadet! senor captain!" cried Carmelita all trembling, waving her
arms, with her lower jaw distended, beating against the upper one, which
was also distended, with a strange trembling. "Senor captain, stop, por
Dios! For the love of the Holy Virgin! Stop! stop! stop!"
"So-o-o!" exclaimed Paco.
But the captain was obdurate and would not leave off. The skirts of
Nuncita were now as high as they could go. The young girls turned their
backs, and some ran laughing to hide themselves among the trees. It was
only when the officers had completed their shameless act that they gave
in and allowed Nuncita to get down. Her sister, instead of being angry
with the guilty ones, flew upon "the child" full of fury, with her eyes
flaming with rage.
"Get down, you bad girl! you shameless creature! Is this the education
you learnt from your parents? Is this what the confessor tells you to
do?"
Nuncita, quite upset, puckered up her face and began to cry.
The young men and women tried to calm the infuriated Carmelita. The
captain and the cadet took all the blame. It was in vain. The anger was
not appeased until it had vented itself in many violent and offensive
remarks. The poor "child," seated sobbing on the ground with her face
hid in her hands, excited the compassion of all present, who interceded
for her incessantly.
It was then a question as to who was to get up into the swing next?
Nobody wished to, which was very natural. How could one be swung by such
bold, shameless men? It was in vain that soldiers and civilians
explained their conduct in the past event, and solemnly swore not to do
it again, but to be orderly and prudent and always under the ladies'
orders. But they were not to be trusted. The lieutenant Rubio especially
inspired them with a great terror as they considered him, and not
without reason, as the instigator of all the shameless tricks.
But when they were quite at their wits' end, lo! and behold Consuelo,
the brave, determined child, who shortly before had climbed the tree,
whispered to one of her companions, came forward and said, to the horror
of the other girls:
"I will do it. Help me, gentlemen."
A cry of enthusiasm greeted these spirited words. For some instants
nothing was heard but "Viva Consuelo! viva Consuelo!" from the delighted
company. There was not one that did not wish to help her and load her
with flowers and presents. The athletic cadet, with a knightly air,
knelt on one knee and asked her to place her foot on the other. The
intrepid girl, nothing loth, consented, and with one spring she was on
the seat. Both soldiers and civilians thought they were in luck's way.
They exchanged looks of intelligence, they had no intention of keeping
their word, and they were determined to repay the girl's confidence with
the blackest treason. But when they were getting the apparatus ready and
preparing to execute their malicious design, Consuela made a sign to her
friend, who immediately came forward with a handful of pins and fastened
her skirts together in such a way that even when the swing moved the
point of her foot could not be seen.
The weaker sex applauded with mad enthusiasm.
"Good, Consuelo! good!"
The men, vexed and defeated as they were, dared not protest too much,
but they complained of her want of confidence, whilst the maiden
herself, proud of the feat, looked at them with a smile of derision. The
pins were such a success that no girl got up into the swing without
prudently having her skirts pinned together.
Whilst such memorable scenes were being enacted in the wood Jaime Moro,
scorning rural pleasures, tried to get Fray Diego and Don Juan
Estrada-Rosa to make up a party for a game of _tresillo_.
He was bored in church, he was bored in the woods, in the town, and in
the country. He only recovered his serenity of mind, and regained his
equanimity and cheerfulness of spirits, when he took the cards into his
hand. Fate was against him. There were no cards in the house. But he did
not give in. He went down into the kitchen, called a servant aside who
looked sharp and active, and giving him a _pourboire_, he told him to
run to the town and get a couple of packets of cards. In the meanwhile
he was strenuous in his efforts to entertain his companions, chatting
away on subjects most interesting to them, and, above all, trying to
conciliate Don Juan, who showed a decided tendency to go off and take a
turn in the grounds and pay a visit to the mill like the other guests.
Moro was at his wits' end, fearing he would not hold out till the
servant's return, but happily he arrived in time. Directly he held in
his hands the much-desired cards he was another man. Secure now of
victory, he dragged off his friends to one of the quiet rooms of the
house, had a square table brought, candles, beer, cigars, and there they
were!
After such a narrow shave of losing it, Jaime Moro enjoyed his pleasure
with a gusto that was enviable. A large number of shallower people,
without sufficient imagination to understand or enjoy the delights of
_tresillo_, had gone off, with the Pensioner as their guide, to take a
turn round the place, and afterwards to visit the new-fashioned mill
which the count had had erected a short time ago.
Captain Nunez, the bridegroom, with a few of his friends who were less
partial to the feminine sex, such as Garnet, Don Enrique, Saleta, Manin,
and a few others, were of the party. They could not get the count to go
because he was not to be found. It was said he was giving orders to the
men and surveying some works a little way off, but he was not anywhere
about. However, a capable sort of half majordomo volunteered to act as
guide.
The property was situated on the decline of the same hill as that on
which Lancia is built. At the back of the house there was a wood that
shut out the view of the town, so that although it was so near it seemed
as if it were a hundred miles away; at the same time it protected it
against the north and west winds, only leaving it exposed to the gentle
breezes from the south and east. The noises of the town did not
penetrate as far as there; only the bells of the cathedral muffled by
the distance sounded sweetly at certain hours of the day. The high road
goes behind the wood. Another little one branching from it brought it
into communication with the estate. As we know, there was no park _a
l'Anglais_ here, or _au Francais_, no little gardens, or cascades, or
artificial grottoes. It was a property half for amusement, half for
work. First came the wood, then the house with its courtyard, then a
large deserted garden, and then immense meadows extending along the
skirt of the hill as far as the river and even to the opposite bank.
Sheep graze in these meadows, and the tinkling of their bells with the
barking of the dogs are heard. It is easy to imagine that you are in the
bosom of solitary nature, so profound is the peace, only broken by the
song of a bird or the moo of a cow.
The excursionists went through the stables that were in good order, for
the count was much interested in the cattle. Nevertheless, Saleta
affirmed that he had seen much better in Holland, and one or two coarse
incidents were here given to show the care of the Dutch in this respect.
When they had been over the stables, they took the road across the
fields and went down to the river, adorned on either side with alder
trees and poplars, which formed at intervals a thick coppice, under
which the river made its dark and gloomy way. The Loro is one of the
smallest, and yet one of the most original rivers in Spain. Before
arriving at the sea, "to die" as the poet says, it makes as many twists
and turns as any crafty old fellow, who tries to evade the law to which
all created beings are subject. It is impossible to imagine a more
capricious stream. It sallies forth, brave and buoyant, as if it were
going on for miles straight away to the ocean. But after a quarter of a
mile it stops, turns, and meanders back nearly to where it started from,
which gives some cause for thinking that it is going to take a higher
course. It then starts afresh, not willingly, but by force of
circumstances; this time it is lost to view, and everybody thinks it
will never reappear, but it is not so. When the sly fox knows that he
cannot be seen from the town, he sets about returning to it, but for
shame's sake he makes a little detour, and stays a short while at some
village near the same district. It never takes a frank and open course.
Like all depraved characters it abhors the light, and takes every
opportunity of avoiding trouble, by hiding under bushes, where it stops
and grows corrupt in degrading idleness. Nobody can trust it. Many fine
young men have been deceived by it seeming like an old rheumatic
invalid, incapable of taking a step, and following its invitation to
bathe where they were made to think it was only about a foot and a half
deep, they were miserably drowned in its slimy depths.
In this river there were no naiads of celestial beauty ready to cleave
the crystal waters with their alabaster arms, and no gracious undines
with fair hair to come forth at night and play upon the surface.
The river Loro is gloomy, inimical to all poetic fancy, no fantastic
figures hover there. The only thing it seems to take pleasure in
harbouring is a vast quantity of frogs, so large that it makes one giddy
to think that a number of them can live together, and the banks resound
with the cheerful sound of their harmonious voices, which thundering
sound prevented Saleta declaring, as he did when a little distance off,
that when on the banks of the Yumuri on a certain evening, he was lucky
enough to kill a crocodile with a stone. 'Tis true that under the
piercing glance of his colleague Valero, he hastily added that the
crocodile was quite young and only had one row of teeth.
They went for some distance along the gloomy bank of the Loro and
crossed it by a rustic bridge, where the count had had it turned from
its course by means of an aqueduct to work a mill. But just then a
sudden desire seized the friends of the bridegroom, who were genuine
representatives of the most vigorous and masculine element of the
battalion, to show off the strength and muscular power of their legs. A
lieutenant jumped the aqueduct. A captain, to be in no way behind the
subaltern, did the same, but he got his feet wet. His _amour propre_
being excited, he took off his coat and jumped it again easily. The
others did the same. The scene then assumed the appearance of the
Olympian games, or still more those of the famous American display. But
Nunez was a great jumper. He was well known in all the army, especially
in the infantry, as an adept in this art. He jumped three or four times
with the greatest ease; but naturally wishing to surpass his companions,
and give a striking proof of his skill, he affirmed in a scornful tone
that that was nothing, and that he was capable of jumping the aqueduct
backwards. These words were received with respect by his colleagues, but
also with a silence which the captain took for sceptical. He did not
divest himself of a particle of his uniform, such courses were only for
neophytes, but took a leap, and arriving at the edge of the water,
turned and jumped, but unfortunately his feet were caught in some rushes
and he fell flat into the stream. He was hidden for a moment from the
sight of his friends, and came up puffing and blowing like a regular
triton, saying that it was nothing, and that he was going to jump again
to show them how it could be done. But his father-in-law would not allow
it. He passed his hands over his body to see if he were wet, as of
course he was, and then a prey to the wildest agitation, he, who a short
while since would have exterminated the whole army completely, set to
bawling:
"He must change his things! Now, at once!--Inflammation of the
lungs!--Change his things!--Shivers!--Rheumatic fever!"
And other exclamations more or less coherent that gave proof of his
profound interest in the officer's health.
In spite of his martial calling, Nunez acceded to the entreaties, and
turned back to the house with his face frowning and furious, fully
resolved to undress as far as his underthings, and go to bed whilst they
sent to Lancia for a change of clothes. All his friends crowded round
him, and so they arrived at the house.
Emilita, who was at the window, seeing them come along like this, asked
in surprise:
"What is this?"
"Nothing," cried Papa, "but Nunez fell into the aqueduct."
On hearing these words, Emilita naturally uttered a shriek of horror,
and fell senseless into the arms of several ladies. Nunez, transformed
into a hero, forgetting his own health, ran to her assistance. In a few
moments the place was filled with glasses of water, and two or three
bottles of anti-spasmodic appeared upon the scene. When she began to
recover consciousness and the critical moment of tears arrived, her
sister Micaela, no longer able to control herself, attacked her father
violently:
"This has been an act of cruelty! Do you think your daughter has a heart
of bronze? You must indeed be deficient in tact to hurt a poor creature
like this!"
The poor creature repaid the defence with an affectionate look as she
gave her her hand. The Pensioner, being then reduced to the last stage
of humility, scarcely dared to murmur, that seeing that Nunez was at her
side, there was no cause for so much concern.
The ladies thought that Micaela had been disrespectful to her father,
but they could not do less than admit that it had been a blunder, and
they were full of sympathy for the unhappy bride.