During the first few days she was like a hen in a strange yard. In
truth, whether it were owing to sad recollections, or to the strange
malady of homesickness from which she had suffered ever since her
arrival in Madrid, the girl began to decline visibly in looks and she
fell into a state of dejection which, though it did not prevent her from
working with diligence and even with ardor, deprived her of the
elasticity which lightens toil. It was plain to be seen that she had
grown thinner, and although from the slenderness of her form and from
the expression of her face it was evident she was younger, from her
serious turn of mind, and the gravity of her demeanor, she might be
thought twenty-eight or thirty.
It is to be adverted that this species of melancholy or dejection did
not interfere with the strict performance of her duties. On the contrary
Esclavita was a model servant. She rose very early, almost with the sun,
indeed, and before the cook had thought of lighting the fire she was
already arranging everything for the breakfast of the mistress and the
young master. From the very first day she took charge of the preparation
of the chocolate, a duty which she performed with scrupulous care. The
secret, which is fast becoming lost, of making chocolate--of the number
of times necessary for it to boil up, and of the amount of beating
required in order that a solution of cocoa should be aromatic, smooth,
and nutritious--Esclavita knew so well that Doña Aurora declared she had
never in her life tasted chocolate like hers. In the sweeping, too, she
was no less skillful. With her handkerchief knotted at the back of her
head and her skirt turned up around her and fastened behind, she would
sweep quietly, not making a great disturbance and upsetting everything
in the room, yet doing the work thoroughly. That she did not brush and
beat too vigorously, annoying everybody in the house, under pretense of
cleaning, was an additional merit in the eyes of Doña Aurora, who could
not bear rough or noisy people. But what the new maid excelled most in
was the mending. It was evident that she was less accustomed to cooking,
ironing, or housework than to sedentary tasks. Seated in a low chair by
the window, in a couple of hours she would empty the basket of linen,
and her invisible darns, her skillful patches, her firmly sewed strings
and her well-fastened buttons were Doña Aurora’s admiration. She would
say to her friends:
“I am not afraid now of wearing my best linen every day. This Esclavita
does not leave a bit of torn lace or embroidery unmended. It is a
pleasure to see her with the needle in her hand.”
But at the same time Doña Aurora’s expansive disposition was little in
accord with the reserved melancholy of the girl. The more pleased she
was with her service the more she desired to see her go about with that
lightheartedness that shows a cheerful conformity with one’s lot in life
and the occupation in which one is engaged. All the consideration she
had for that blessed girl, and yet she looked always dissatisfied and
gloomy! In the kindness of the Señora de Pardiñas there was an element
of selfishness, the natural outgrowth of that kindness; if she conferred
a benefit on any one, she wished to enjoy in return the spectacle of
that person’s felicity; and so strong was this feeling that in order to
live tranquil and happy she needed to be persuaded that everybody around
her was tranquil and happy too. In deciding to take Esclavita she had
been influenced by two motives; the first was to spite “that hateful
Rita Pardo”; the second to make a girl of so engaging an appearance as
Esclavita happy, playing in a certain sense the rôle of Providence, and
reconciling her with destiny, for her fatal and implacable from the very
hour of her birth. And in the latter generous desire she could not
succeed because the girl would not respond to her efforts and allow
herself to be cheerful.
One day Doña Aurora noticed that Esclavita ate scarcely anything,
persisting at the same time in going on with her work, saying in answer
to her mistress’s questions that there was nothing the matter with her.
Señora de Pardiñas was of a frank, impetuous, and straightforward
character, such as is rarely to be met with among the Galicians; the
moment a thought came into her mind she gave expression to it, and when
anything prevented her doing this she felt as if she had something
sticking in her throat. Without further delay, then, she brought the
girl close to a window where the shade of her black silk handkerchief
would not conceal the expression of her eyes or the working of her
features.
“What is the matter with you, child?” she asked her without preface,
with motherly solicitude. “Is there anything troubling you? Do you want
for anything?”
The girl turned red, as was habitual with her when she was affected by
any emotion, and answered in a low voice:
“No, Señora. How could I want for anything? May God reward you for your
kindness.”
“But what is the matter, then? Are you not happy here, either? Do we
treat you badly? Does the other girl not behave as she ought? Do you
want more covering?”
As the girl remained silent, answering these questions in the negative
by a shake of the head, Señora de Pardiñas went on:
“You will do very wrong, I warn you, if you lock up your trouble in your
own heart. It is worse for yourself if you are foolish. When you might
be happy, I don’t understand the reason of this reserve and this
nonsense. For my part I like to see pleasant faces around me. A gloomy
countenance, especially when there is no cause for it, disgusts me.”
The last words she pronounced in a tone of annoyance, seeing that
Esclavita persisted in her obstinate silence. At the same time she said
in her own mind, “The girl has the good qualities of our country, but
she has its defects as well. She is modest, respectful, and quiet, but
she is a little foxy, too, and there is no way of knowing what she is
thinking about, or what are her feelings. The jades here are barefaced
and impudent, but at least they are not deceitful; they call bread bread
and wine wine; it is either yes or no. For a disposition like mine----”
While these thoughts were passing through her mind, the bell rang, and
the voice of Rogelio, who had just returned from college, was heard in
the hall. Esclavita’s cheeks grew redder than they were before, and she
made an involuntary movement as if to run away and hide herself. “Ta,
ta!” said Señora Pardiñas to herself, a sudden thought flashing across
her mind, “I noticed that the lad seemed to have something against this
girl. He speaks to her so coldly, which is unusual with him. That must
be it. The poor girl is dejected because she sees that she has not
fallen into the boy’s good graces. I must set this matter right. It is
plain that Esclavita is too sensitive and when she fancies that she is
not liked----” She resumed aloud, “Well, child, if you are
dissatisfied----”
“I am not dissatisfied; no, Señora,” answered Esclavita, respectfully
and not without firmness, “unless others are dissatisfied with me. I am
perfectly contented; it would be a pity if I was not. But others----”
“What has put that idea into your head?” said her mistress, looking at
her fixedly. “Have I ever found fault with you since you came into the
house?”
“No, Señora, you are very kind. I am not complaining of anybody,”
responded the girl. “I am only afraid--well, that I may not give
satisfaction. If I did not give satisfaction I would rather not stay.
Unless people were satisfied with me I would rather be in purgatory--or
worse.”
“Hold your tongue, silly girl, hold your tongue,” said her mistress
reprovingly. “Of course you give satisfaction. Go to your mending. If I
hear any more of this nonsense, you shall see.”
As soon as a favorable opportunity presented itself Doña Aurora took her
son to task. “I am convinced,” she said, “that the secret cause of all
Esclavita’s dejection is your manner toward her. You speak to Fausta in
a different way; you may not be aware of it, but with Fausta you are
always jesting or disputing, and with the other one you are always
serious and formal; she fancies you do not like her, that she does not
give satisfaction, as she says. I assure you that the poor girl is
greatly distressed and that she is capable of worrying herself into a
sickness about it. These nervous girls are ticklish creatures to deal
with. And apart from that, on account of her--the rector, eh?--the girl
gets more and more sensitive every day. On my word I pity her. If I were
you I would speak to her--well--with more kindness.”
The student listened to his mother’s words with his face turned toward a
picture, that seemed to possess a great attraction for him. When he was
at last obliged to answer, he did so jestingly. “Don’t say another word.
I shall get a mandolin and give the young lady a serenade this very
night. I will bring her another bouquet and see if I can’t write her
some sentimental verses, like those of my friend Anastasio Cardona. You
shall see! you shall see! We will sign a treaty of peace, the
illustrious kitchen-maid and I.”
In reality, Rogelio was extraordinarily flattered and pleased by
Esclavita’s complaint. If his coldness and indifference touched her so
profoundly, it was because the girl did not regard him as a child, or,
as she said, a boy. Is any one vexed or troubled by what a child does or
says? There was not a doubt but that she looked on him as a man, and a
man on whose conduct her peace of mind depended; she took it so much to
heart that her spirits and even her health were affected by it. Rogelio
allowed his mind to dwell with pleasure on this thought. During
breakfast, however, notwithstanding his mother’s repeated signals, he
made no change in his manner toward the girl. Without knowing why, he
felt ashamed of making this alteration in Doña Aurora’s presence.
However, he glanced furtively from time to time at Esclavita, who--no
doubt from the excited state of his imagination--seemed to him thin and
pale and drooping like a willow. As this idea took possession of him his
noble youthful heart overflowed with compassion, but his vanity,
youthful also, thrilled with sweet satisfaction. “And it is on my
account that she suffers thus,” he thought. “To judge by the respectful
attention with which she serves me one might almost think her afraid of
me.”
Rogelio was washing his hands in his room when he heard a light tap at
the door, and in answer to his summons, “Come in,” Esclavita entered
carrying a shallow willow basket containing half a dozen ironed shirts.
Holding her burden in her uplifted hands, the girl’s fine figure and her
graceful and rhythmic gait were displayed to advantage. She was going to
lay the shirts upon the bed and leave the room again without speaking,
when Rogelio, going up to her and shaking his hand threateningly at her,
cried:
“Let us see how these cuffs are ironed. If I find a single scorch on
them, woe be to you!”
On hearing the young man’s voice,
[Illustration: “Holding her burden in her uplifted hands.”]
Esclavita started, imagining at first that he was scolding her in
earnest; but when she raised her eyes and noticed the expression on his
countenance, she saw that he was jesting. Her glance revealed such
sincere joy, she was so visibly relieved, so delighted, in a word, that
the young man’s kind heart was once more pleasurably thrilled, and in
order to conceal his emotion he went on with the jest.
“Is it right that I should go about like a half-pay government official
with my shirts looking like the face of the worthy Señor Don Prudencio
Rojas? Let me see; lift up that snowy gauze and show me those inner
garments. If my _togæ pretextæ_ display the wrinkles of old age, fly, I
warn you, beyond the reach of my avenging wrath.”
Esclavita’s face, that had been gradually clearing up, brightened as she
lifted up the cloth with a look of affectionate mischievousness.
“Let us see, Señorito,” she said, “let us see what fault you have to
find with these bosoms. Not even the king himself wears finer ones.”
“What the king wears is bibs; let us not get things mixed up. Let me see
those prodigies.”
And indeed they were beautifully ironed, so smooth and lustrous that it
would have been an unreasonable exaction to require them to be better
done.
“Well, for this time I grant you your life. But woe to you if you should
ever grow negligent in the performance of so sacred a duty.”
“No, Señor; no, Señor. They shall be whiter and whiter every day. As
white as doves.”
“Deign to tell me that in Galician; I intend to begin the study of that
language, as I am so perfect now in Greek and in Sanscrit that I cast
the professors in the shade. What is dove in Galician?”
“And you are from there and you don’t know that. Well, what a being! It
is called _pomba_, and also _suriña_.”
“Ah! _suriña_, how sweet that sounds! I shall begin to-morrow to study
the classic tongues; you shall be my teacher. ‘Mademoiselle Suriña;
professor of languages; lessons given at the house.’ We will put a card
on the window and an advertisement in _El Imparcial_. Suriña, take those
shirts off the bed; they are in the way there. Put them in the wardrobe.
So!”
“Oh, Señorito, how upset your wardrobe is!” exclaimed the girl when she
opened it.
[Illustration: Esclavita.]
“Put it in order, then, Suriña. The putting in order of wardrobes is a
part of the lesson in Galician.”