He returned to Nieves, but she had now risen and the child was drawing her by the hands to the window; this was the solemn and critical moment; the monster balloon had just been attached to the pole for the purpose of inflating it; and from the plaza came a loud buzz, a buzz of eager expectation. A phalanx of Combist artisans, among whom figured Ramon, the confectioner, were clearing a space around it sufficiently large to allow of the fuse burning freely, so that the difficult operation might be accomplished. The silhouettes of the workmen, illuminated by the light of the fuse, could be seen moving about, bending down, rising up, dancing a sort of mad dance. The darkness was no longer illuminated by the glare of the rockets, and the human sea looked black as a lake of pitch.
Still folded in innumerable folds, its sides clingingtogether, the balloon swayed feebly, kissing the ground with its lips of wire, between which the ill-smelling fuse was beginning to burn brightly. The manufacturers of the colossal balloon proceeded to unfold it gently and affectionately, lighting below it other fuses to aid the principal one and hasten the rarification of air in its paper body. This began to distend itself, the folds opening out with a gentle, rustling sound, and the balloon, losing its former limp and lank appearance, began to be inflated in places. As yet the figures on its sides appeared of unnatural length, like figures reflected from the polished, convex surface of a coffee urn; but already several borders and mottoes began to make their appearance here and there, acquiring their natural proportions and positions and showing clearly the coarse red and blue daubs.
The difficulty was that the mouth of the balloon was too large, allowing the rarefied air to escape through it; and if the fuses were made to burn with greater force there was danger of setting the paper on fire and instantly reducing the superb machine to ashes—a terrible calamity which must be prevented at all costs. Therefore many arms were eagerly stretched out to support it, and when the balloon leaned to one side many hands made haste to sustainit—all this to the accompaniment of cries, oaths, and maledictions.
In the plaza the surging crowd continued to increase, and the eager expectancy became momentarily greater. Carmen Agonde, with her mellow laugh, recounted to Nieves the plots that went on behind the scenes. Those who were trying to push their way to the front in order to overturn the fuses and prevent the ascent of the balloon belonged to the Romerist party; a good watch the maker of the fireworks had been obliged to keep to prevent them from wetting his powder trees; but the greatest hatred was to the balloon, on account of its bearing Don Victoriano's likeness; they had vowed and determined that so ridiculous and grotesque an object should not ascend into the air while they had life to prevent it; and that they themselves would construct another balloon, better than that of the townhall, and that this should be the only one to ascend. For this reason they applauded and uttered shouts of derision every time the gigantic balloon, unable to rise from the earth, fell down feebly to the right or to the left, while Don Victoriano's partisans directed their efforts on the one hand to protect from all injury the enormous bulk of the balloon, on the other to inflate it with warm air to make it rise.
Nieves' eyes were fixed attentively on the monster, but her thoughts were far away. Segundo had succeeded in pushing his way through the crowd in front of the window and was now sitting beside her, on her right. No one was observing them now, and the poet, without preface, passed his arm around Nieves' waist, placing his hand boldly on the spot where, anatomically speaking, the heart is situated. Instead of the elastic and yielding curve of the form and the quickened pulsation of the organ, Segundo felt under his hand the hard surface of one of those long corset-breastplates full of whalebones, and furnished with steel springs, which fashion prescribes at the present day—an apparatus to which Nieves' form owed much of its slender grace. Infernal corset! Segundo could have wished that his fingers were pincers to pierce through the fabric of her gown, through the steel whalebones, through her inner garments, through the flesh and through the very ribs and fasten themselves in her heart, and seize it red-hot and bleeding and crush, tear, annihilate it! Why could he not feel the throbbings of that heart? Leocadia's heart, or even Victorina's, bounded like a bird's when he touched it. And Segundo, enraged, pressed his hand with greaterforce, undeterred by the fear of hurting Nieves, desiring, on the contrary, to strangle her.
Surprised at Segundo's audacity, Nieves remained silent, not daring to make the slightest movement, lest by doing so she should attract attention, and protesting only by straightening her form and raising her eyes to his with a look of anguish, soon lowering them, however, unable to resist the expression in the eyes of the poet. The latter continued to search for the absent heart without succeeding in feeling anything more than the throbbing of his own arteries, of his pulse compressed against the unyielding surface of the corset. But fatigue finally conquered, his fingers relaxed their pressure, his arm fell down powerless, and rested without strength or illusion on the form, at once flexible and unyielding, the form of whalebone and steel.
Meanwhile the balloon, in defiance of the Romerist intriguers, continued to expand, as its enormous body was filled with gas and light, illuminating the plaza like a gigantic lantern. It swayed from side to side majestically, and on its immense surface could be read plainly all the inscriptions and laudatory phrases invented by the enthusiastic Combists. The effigy, or rather the colossal figure of Don Victoriano,which filled one of its sides completely, followed the curve of the balloon and stood out, so ugly and disproportioned that it was a pleasure to see it; it had two frying-pans for eyes, the pupils being two eggs fried in them, no doubt; for mouth a species of fish or lizard and for beard a tangled forest or map of blots of sienna and lampblack. Giant branches of green laurel crossed each other above the head of the colossus, matching the golden palms of his court dress, represented by daubs of ocher. And the balloon swelled and swelled, its distended sides grew ever tenser and tenser, and it pulled impatiently at the cord that held it, eager to break away and soar among the clouds. The Combists yelled with delight. Suddenly a murmur was heard, a low murmur of expectation.
The cord had been dexterously cut and the balloon, majestic, magnificent, rose a few yards above the ground, bearing with it the apotheosis of Don Victoriano, the glory of his laurels, mottoes and emblems. In the balcony and in the plaza below resounded a salvo of applause and triumphal acclamations. Oh, vanity of human joys! It was not one Romerist stone only but three at least that at this instant, directed with unerring aim, pierced the sides of the paper monster, allowing the hot air, thevital current, to escape through the wounds. The balloon contracted, shriveled up like a worm when it is trodden upon, and finally, doubling over in the middle, gave itself up a prey to the devouring flames lighted by the fuse which in a second's space enveloped it in a fiery mantle.
At the same moment that the balloon of the official candidate expired thus miserably, the little Romerist balloon, its swelling sides daubed with coarse designs, rose promptly and swiftly from a corner of the plaza, resolved not to pause in its ascent until it had reached the clouds.
Nieves spent a restless night and when she awoke in the morning the incidents of the preceding evening presented themselves to her mind vaguely and confusedly as if she had dreamed them; she could not believe in the reality of Segundo's singular hardihood, that taking possession of her, that audacious outrage, that she had not known how to resent. How compromising the position in which the daring of the poet had placed her! And what if anyone had noticed it? When she bade good-night to the girls who had been sitting with her at the window, they had smiled in a way that was—well, odd; Carmen Agonde, the fat girl with the sleepy eyes and placid temper, gave evidence at times of a strain of malice. But, no; how could they have observed anything? The shawl she had worn was large and had covered her whole figure. And Nieves took the shawl, put it on and looked at herself in the mirror, using a handglass to obtain a complete view of her person, in order to assure herself that, enveloped in this garment, it was impossible foran arm passed around her waist to be seen. She was engaged in this occupation when the door opened and someone entered. She started and dropped the glass.
It was her husband, looking more sallow than ever, and bearing the traces of suffering stamped on his countenance. Nieves' heart seemed to turn within her. Could it be possible that Don Victoriano suspected anything? Her apprehensions were soon relieved, however, when she heard him speak, with ill-disguised pique, of the insulting behavior of the Romerists and the destruction of the balloon. The Minister sought an outlet for his mortification by complaining of the pain of the pin-prick.
"But did you ever see the like, child? What do you think of it?" he said.
He then went on to complain of the noise of the fair, which had lasted all night and had not allowed him to close his eyes. Nieves agreed that it was extremely annoying; she, too, had been unable to sleep. The Minister opened the window and the noise reached them louder and more distinct. It resembled a grand chorale, or symphony, composed of human voices, the neighing of horses and mules, the grunting of pigs, the lowing of cows, calves, and oxen, hucksters' criers, noises of quarreling, songs,blasphemies, and sounds of musical instruments. The flood-tide of the fair had submerged Vilamorta.
From the window could be seen its waves, a surging sea of men and animals crowded together in inextricable confusion. Suddenly among the throng of peasants a drove of six or eight calves would rush with helpless terror; a led mule had cleared a space around him, dealing kicks to right and left, screams and groans of pain were heard on all sides, but those behind continued pushing those in front and the space was filled up again. The venders of felt hats were a curious sight as they walked about with their merchandise on their heads, towers of twenty or thirty hats piled one above another, like Chinese pagodas. Other venders carried for sale, on a portable counter slung from their necks by ribbons, balls of thread, tape, thimbles, and scissors; the venders of distaffs and spindles carried their wares suspended around their waists, from their breast, everywhere, as unskillful swimmers carry bladders, and the venders of frying-pans glittered in the sun like feudal warriors.
The confused din, the ceaseless movement of the multitude, and the mingling together of human beings and animals, made the brain dizzy, and theear was wearied by the plaintive lowing of the cows under the drivers' lash, the terrified cries of women, the brutal hilarity of drunken men who issued from the taverns with hats pushed far back on their heads, seeking an outlet for their superabundant energy by assaulting the men or pinching the girls. The latter, screaming with terror, escaped from the drunkards to fall, perhaps, on the horns of some ox or to receive a blow from the snout of some mule that bathed their foreheads and temples in its frothy saliva. But most terrifying of all was it to see infants carried high above their mothers' heads, braving, like frail skiffs, the dangers of this stormy sea.
Nieves remained for half an hour or so looking out of the window, and then, sight and hearing both weary, she withdrew. In the afternoon she watched the scene again for a while. The buying and selling was less brisk, and the better classes of the Border began to make their appearance at the fair. Agonde, who, absorbed in the desperate gambling that went on in the back shop, had kept himself invisible during the day, now went upstairs and, while he wiped the perspiration from his brow, pointed out to Nieves the notabilities of the place, as they passed by, naming to her in turn the archpriests,the parish priests, the physicians, and the gentry.
"That very thin man, riding that horse that looks as if it had been strained through a colander, with silver trimmings in his saddle and silver spurs, is Señorito de Limioso, a scion of the house of the Cid—God save the mark! The Pazo of Limioso is situated in the neighborhood of Cebre. As for money, they have not anochavo; they own a few barley-fields, and a couple of grapevines past yielding, that bring them in a trifle. But do you suppose that Señorito de Limioso would go into an inn to dine? No, Señora; he carries his bread and cheese in his pocket, and he will sleep—Heaven knows where. As he is a Carlist they may let him stretch himself on the floor of Doña Eufrasia's back shop, with the saddle of his nag for a pillow, for on a day like this there are no mattresses to spare. And you may be sure that his servant's belt bulges out in the way it does, because he carries the nag's feed in it."
"You exaggerate, Agonde."
"Exaggerate? No, indeed. You have no idea what those gentlemen are. Here they are calledSeven on a horse, because they have one horse for all seven which they ride in pairs, in turn, and whenthey are near the town they stop to ride in, one by one, armed with whip and spur, and the nag comes in seven different times, each time with a different rider. Why, see those ladies coming there, the one on a donkey, the other on a mule—the Señoritas de Loiro. They are friends of the Molendes. Look at the bundles they carry before them; they are the dresses for to-night's ball."
"But are you really in earnest?"
"In earnest? Yes, indeed, Señora. They have them all here, every article—the bustle, or whatever it may be called, that sticks out behind, the shoes, the petticoats, and even the rouge. And those are very refined, they come to the town to dress themselves; most of the young ladies, a few years ago, used to dress themselves in the pine wood near the echo of Santa Margarita. As they had no house in the town to stay at, and they were not going to lose the ball, at half-past ten or eleven they were among the pines, hooking their low-necked dresses, fastening on their bows and their gewgaws, and as fine as you please. All the gentry together, Nieves, if you will believe me, could not make up a dollar among them. They are people that, to avoid buying lard, or making broth, breakfast on wine and water. They hang up the loaf of wheaten bread among therafters so that it may be out of reach and may last forever. I know them well—vanity, and nothing more."
The apothecary spoke angrily, multiplying instances, and exaggerating them in the telling, with the rage of the plebeian who eagerly seizes an opportunity to ridicule the poor aristocracy, relating anecdotes of everyone of the ladies and gentlemen—stories of poverty more or less skillfully disguised. Don Victoriano laughed, remembering some of the stories, now become proverbial in the country, while Nieves, her anxiety set at rest by her husband's laughter, began to think without terror, with a certain secret complacency, rather, of the episodes of the fireworks. She had feared to see Segundo among the crowd, but, as the night advanced and the brilliant colors of the booths faded into the surrounding darkness, and lights began to appear, and the singing of the drunkards grew hoarser, her mind became tranquil, and the danger seemed very remote, almost to have disappeared. In her inexperience she had fancied at first that the poet's arm would leave its trace, as it were, on her waist, and that the poet would seize the first opportunity to present himself before her, exacting and impassioned, betraying himself and compromising her. But the day passed by,serene and without incident, and Nieves experienced the inevitable impatience of the woman who waits in vain for the appearance of the man who occupies her thoughts. At last she remembered the ball. Segundo would certainly be there.
And she adorned herself for the town ball with a certain illusion, with the same care as if she were dressing for a soirée at the palace of Puenteancha.
Naturally the gown and the ornaments were very different from what they would have been in the latter case, but they were selected with no less care and consideration—a gown of white China crêpe, high-necked, and without a train, trimmed with Valenciennes lace, that fell in clinging folds, whose simplicity was completed by long dark Suède gloves wrinkled at the wrist, reaching to the elbow. A black velvet ribbon, fastened by a diamond and sapphire horseshoe, encircled her neck. Her beautiful fair hair, arranged in the English fashion, curled slightly over the forehead.
She was almost ashamed of having selected this toilette when she crossed the muddy plaza, leaning on Agonde's arm, and heard the poor music, and found the entrance of the townhall crowded with country-people sitting on the floor, whom it was necessary to step over to reach the staircase. Onthe landings ran the lees of the fair—a dark wine-colored rivulet. Agonde drew her aside.
"Don't step there, Nieves; take care," he said.
She felt repelled by this unsightly entrance, calling to mind the marble vestibule and staircase of the palace of Puenteancha, carpeted down the center, with plants arranged on either side. At the door of the apartment which she was now entering was a counter laden with cakes and confectionery, at which the wife of Ramon, the confectioner, holding in her arms the inevitable baby, presided, casting angry glances at the young ladies who had come to amuse themselves.
Nieves was given a seat in the most conspicuous part of the room, in front of the door. The whitewashed walls were not very clean, nor was the red cloth which covered the benches very fresh, nor did the badly snuffed candles in the tin chandelier produce a brilliant illumination. Owing to the large number of people present the heat was almost insupportable. In the center of the apartment the men stood grouped together—the youth of Vilamorta, visitors to the springs, strangers, gamblers, and the gentry from the neighboring country, mingling in one black mass. Every time the band struck up anew, deafening the ear with its sonorous strains, theindefatigable dancers would leave the group and hurry off in search of their partners.
Nieves watched the scene with amazement. The young ladies, with their large chignons and their clusters of curls, their faces daubed with coarse rice-powder, their bodices cut low around the throat, their long trains of cheap materials, continually trodden upon and torn by the heavy boots of the gallants, their clumsy, tastelessly arranged flowers, and their short-wristed gloves of thick kid, too small for their hands, all seemed to her strange and laughable. She remembered Agonde's descriptions, the toilet made in the pine grove, and fanned herself with her large black fan as if to drive off the pestilent air in which the whirl of the dance enveloped her. The dancers pursued their task earnestly, diligently, as if they were contending for a prize to be awarded to the one who should first get out of breath, moving, not with their own motion only, but impelled by the jostling, pushing, and crowding of those around them. And Nieves, accustomed to the elegant and measured dancing of the soirées, wondered at the courage and resolution displayed by the dancers of Vilamorta. Some of the girls, whose flounces had been torn by some gallant's boot-heel, turned up their skirts, quickly tore off the whole trimming,rolled it into a ball, which they threw into a corner, and then returned, smiling and contented, to the arms of their partners. In vain the men wiped the perspiration from their faces; their collars and shirt-fronts grew limp, their hair clung to their foreheads; the silk bodices of the ladies began to show stains of perspiration, and the marks of their partners' hands. And the gymnastics continued, and the dust and the particles of perspiration vitiated the atmosphere, and the floor of the room trembled. There were handsome couples, blooming girls and gallant young men, who danced with the healthy gayety of youth, with sparkling eyes, overflowing with animation; and there were ridiculous couples, short men and tall women, stout women and beardless boys, a baldheaded old man and a stout, middle-aged woman. There were brothers who danced with their sisters through shyness, because they had not the courage to invite other young ladies to dance, and the secretary of the town council, married for many years to a rich Orensen who was old and very jealous, danced all the evening with his wife, dancing polkas and waltzes in the time of ahabanerato keep from dying by asphyxiation.
When Nieves entered the ballroom, the other women looked at her, first with curiosity, then withsurprise. How strange to come so simply dressed! Not to wear a train a yard and a half long, nor a flower in her hair, nor bracelets nor satin shoes. Two or three ladies from Orense, who had cherished the expectation of making a sensation in the ball of Vilamorta, began to whisper among themselves, criticising the artistic negligence of her attire, the modesty of the white, high-necked bodice, and the grace of the small head, with its elegantly arranged hair, vaporous as the engravings inLa Illustracion. The Orensens determined to copy the fashion-plate, the Vilamortans and the women of the Border, on the contrary, criticised the Minister's lady bitterly.
"She is dressed almost as if she would dress at home."
"She does it because she doesn't want to wear her good clothes here. Of course for a ball here——She thinks probably that we know nothing. But she might at least have dressed her hair a little better. And how easy it is to see that she is bored; look, why, she seems to be asleep."
"And a little while ago she seemed as if she couldn't sit still a moment—she kept tapping the floor with her foot as if she were impatient to be gone."
And it was true; Nieves was bored. And if theyoung ladies who censured her could only have known the cause!
She could see Segundo nowhere, anxiously as she looked for him, at first with furtive glances, then openly and without disguise. At last García came to salute her, and then she could restrain herself no longer, and making an effort to speak in a natural and easy tone, she asked:
"And the boy? It is a wonder he is not here."
"Who? Segundo? Segundo is—so eccentric. If you could only guess what he is doing now. Reading verses or composing them. We must leave him to his whims."
And the lawyer waved his hands with a gesture that seemed to say that the eccentricities of genius must be respected, while in his own mind he said:
"He is most likely with that damned old woman."
The truth is that nothing in the world would have induced the poet, under the circumstances, to come to a ball like the present one, to be obliged to dance with the young country girls of his acquaintance, to perspire and to be pulled about like the other young men. And his absence, the result of his æsthetic feeling, produced a marvelous effect on Nieves, effacing the last remnant of fear, stimulating her coquettish instincts, and piquing her curiosity.
At the same time, in the radical circle that surrounded Don Victoriano and his wife, the approaching departure of the Minister and Nieves for Las Vides to be present at the vintage was discussed—a project that delighted the Minister as an unexpected holiday delights a schoolboy. The persons whom the hidalgo had invited or intended to invite for the festive occasion were named, and when Agonde uttered Segundo's name Nieves raised her eyes, and a look of animation lighted up her face, while she said to herself:
"He is fully capable of not going."
A great day for Las Vides is the day appointed by the town council for the inauguration of the vintage. The whole year is passed in looking forward to and preparing for the beautiful harvest time. The vine is still clothed in purple and gold, but it has already begun to drop a part of its rich garniture as a bride drops her veil, the wasps settle in clusters on the grapes, announcing to man that they are now ripe. The last days of September, serene and peaceful, are at hand. To the vintage without delay!
Neither Primo Genday nor Mendez takes a moment's rest. The bands of vintagers who come from distant parishes to hire themselves out must be attended to, must have their tasks assigned them; the work of gathering in the grapes must be organized so that it may be advantageously and harmoniously conducted. For the labors of the vintage resemble, somewhat, a great battle in which an extraordinary expenditure of energy is required from the soldier, a waste of muscle and of blood, but in which hemust be supplied, in return, with everything necessary to recruit his strength during his moments of repose. In order that the vintagers might engage in their arduous labors with cheerfulness and alacrity, it was necessary to have at hand in the cellar the cask of must from which the carters might drink at discretion when they returned exhausted from the task of carrying the heavycoleiro, or basket, filled with grapes up the steep ascents; it was necessary that they should have an abundant supply of the thick wine flavored with mutton suet, the sardines and the barley-bread, when the voracious appetite of the bands demanded them; to which end the fire was always kept burning on the hearth at Las Vides and the enormous kettles in which the mess was cooked were always kept filled.
When in addition to this the presence of numerous and distinguished guests be considered, some idea may be formed of the bustle of the manor-house during these incomparable days. Its walls sheltered, besides the Comba family, Saturnino and Carmen Agonde, the young and amiable curate of Naya, the portly arch-priest of Loiro, Tropiezo, Clodio Genday, Señorita de Limioso and the two Señoritas de Molende. Every class was here represented, so that Las Vides was a sort of microcosm orbrief compendium of the world of the province—the priests attracted by Primo Genday, the radicals by the head of the house of Mendez. And all these people of conditions so diverse, finding themselves associated together, gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the occasion in the greatest possible harmony and concord.
To the merriment of the vintagers the merriment of the guests responded like an echo. It was impossible to resist the influence of the Bacchic joyousness, the delirious gayety which seemed to float in the atmosphere. Among all the delightful spectacles which Nature has to offer, there is none more delightful than that of her fruitfulness in the vintage time, the baskets heaped full of clusters of ruddy or dark red grapes, which robust men, almost naked, like fauns, carry and empty into the vat or wine-press; the laughter of the vintagers hidden among the foliage, disputing, challenging each other from vine to vine to sing, a gayety which is followed by a reaction at nightfall—as is usually the case with all violent expressions of feeling in which there is a great expenditure of muscular strength; the merry challenges ending in some prolonged Celtic wail, some plaintivea-laá-laá. The pagan sensation of well-being, the exhilaration produced by the pure airof the country, the mere joy of existence, communicated themselves to the spectators of these delightful scenes, and at night, while the chorus of fauns and Bacchantes danced to the sound of the flute and the timbrel, the gentry diverted themselves with childish frolics in the great house.
The young ladies slept all together in a large, bare apartment, the Rosary-room, the male guests being lodged by Mendez in another spacious room called the screen-room, because in it was a screen, as ugly as it was antique; the arch-priest only being excluded from this community of lodging, his obesity and his habit of snoring making it impossible for any person of even average sensibility to tolerate him as a roommate; and the gay and mischievous party being thus divided into two sections, there came to be established between them a sort of merry warfare, so that the occupants of the Rosary-room thought of nothing but playing tricks on the occupants of the screen-room, from which resulted innumerable witty inventions and amusing skirmishes. Between the two camps there was a neutral one—that of the Comba family, whose slumbers were respected and who were exempt in the matter of practical jokes, although the feminine band often took Nieves as their confidante and counselor.
"Nieves, come here, Nieves; see, how foolish Carmen Agonde is; she says she likes the arch-priest, that barrel, better than Don Eugeniño, the parish priest of Naya, because it makes her laugh, she says, to see him perspiring and to look at the rolls of fat in the back of his neck. And say, Nieves, what trick shall we play to-night on Don Eugeniño? And on Ramon Limioso, who has been daring us all day?"
It was Teresa Molende, a masculine-looking black-eyed brunette, a good specimen of the mountaineer, who spoke thus.
"They must pay for the trick they played on us yesterday," added her sister Elvira, the sentimental poetess.
"What was that?"
"You must know that they locked Carmen up. They are the very mischief! They shut her up in Mendez's room. What is there that they won't think of! They tied her hands behind her back with a silk handkerchief, tied another handkerchief over her mouth, so that she couldn't scream, and left her there like a mouse in a mouse-trap. And we, hunting and hunting for Carmen, and no Carmen to be seen. And there we were thinking all sorts of things until Mendez went up to his room to go to bed andfound her there. Of course they had that silly creature to deal with, for if it had been I——"
"They would shut you up too," declared Carmen.
"Me!" exclaimed the Amazon, drawing up her portly figure. "They would be the ones to get shut up!"
"But they entrapped me into it," affirmed Carmen, looking as if she were just ready to cry. "See, Nieves, they said to me: 'Put your hands behind you, Carmiña, and we'll put a five-dollar piece in them,' and I put them behind me, and they were so treacherous as to tie them together."
Nieves joined in the laughter of the two sisters. It could not be denied that this simplicity was very amusing. Nieves seemed to be in a new world in which routine, the worn-out conventionalities of Madrid society, did not exist. True, such noisy and ingenuous diversions might at times verge on impropriety or coarseness, but sometimes they were really entertaining. From the moment the guests rose from table in the afternoon nothing was thought of but frolic and fun. Teresa had proposed to herself not to allow Tropiezo to eat a meal in peace, and with the utmost dexterity she would catch flies on the wing, which she would throw slyly into his soup, or she would pour vinegar into his glass instead of wine,or rub pitch on his napkin so that it might stick to his mouth. For the arch-priest they had another trick—they would draw him on to talk of ceremonies, a subject on which he loved to expatiate, and when his attention was engaged, take away his plate slyly, which was like tearing a piece of his heart out of his breast.
At night, in the parlor of the turbid mirrors, in which were the piano and the rocking-chairs, a gay company assembled; they sang fragments ofEl Juramento, andEl Grumete; they played at hide-and-seek, and, without hiding, playedbriseawithmalillacounters; when they grew tired of cards, they had recourse to forfeits, to mind-reading, and other amusements. And the frolicsome rustic nature once aroused, they passed on to romping games—fool in the middle, hoodman-blind, and others which have the zest imparted by physical exercise—shouts, pushes and slaps.
Then they would retire to their rooms, still excited by their sports, and this was the hour when their merriment was at its height, when they played the wildest pranks; when they fastened lighted tapers to the bodies of crickets and sent them under the bedroom doors; when they took the slats out of Tropiezo's bedstead so that when he lay down hemight fall to the ground and bruise his ribs. In the halls could be heard smothered bursts of laughter and stealthy footsteps, white forms would be seen scurrying away, and doors would be hastily locked and barricaded with articles of furniture, while from behind them a mellow voice could be heard crying:
"They are coming!"
"Fasten the door well, girls! Don't open, not if the king himself were to knock!"
Segundo was the last of the guests to arrive at Las Vides. As he cared but little for games and as Nieves did not take any very active part in them either, they would often have found themselves thrown for society upon each other had it not been for Victorina, who, from the moment Segundo appeared, never left her mother's side, and Elvira Molende who, from the very instant of his arrival, clung to the poet like the ivy to the wall, directing on him a battery of sighs and glances, and treating him to sentimental confidences and rhapsodies sweet enough to surfeit a confectioner's boy. From the moment in which Segundo set foot in Las Vides, Elvira lost all her animation, and assumed a languishing and romantic air, which made her cheeks appear hollower and the circles under her eyes deeper than ever. Her form acquired the melancholy droop of the willow and, giving up sports and pranks, she devoted herself exclusively to the Swan.
As it was moonlight, and the evenings were enjoyable out of doors, as soon as the sun had set, andthe labors of the day were ended, and the vintagers assembled for a dance, some of the guests would assemble together also in the garden, generally at the foot of a high wall bordered with leafy camellias, or they would stop and sit down for a chat at some inviting spot on their way home from a walk. Elvira knew by heart a great many verses, both good and bad, generally of a melancholy kind—sentimental and elegiac; she was familiar with all the flowers of poetry, all the tender verses which constituted the poetic wealth of the locality, and uttered by her thin lips, in the silvery tones of her gentle voice, with the soft accents of her native land, the Galician verses, like an Andalusian moral maxim in the sensual mouth of a gypsy, had a peculiar and impressive beauty—the sensibility of a race crystallized in a poetic gem, in a tear of love. These plaintive verses were interrupted at times by mocking bursts of laughter, as the gay sounds of the castanets strike in on the melancholy notes of the bagpipes. The poems in dialect acquired a new beauty, their freshness and sylvan aroma seemed to augment by being recited by the soft tones of a woman's voice, on the edge of a pine wood and under the shadow of a grapevine, on a serene moonlight night; and the rhyme became a vague and dreamy melopœia, like that of certainGerman ballads; a labial music interspersed with soft diphthongs, tenderñ's,x's of a more melodious sound than the hissing Castilianch. Generally, after the recitations came singing. Don Eugenio, who was a Borderer, knew some Portuguesefados, and Elvira was unrivaled in her rendering of the popular and melancholy song of Curros, which seems made for Druidical nights, for nights illuminated by the solemn light of the moon.
Segundo's heart thrilled with gratified vanity when Elvira recited shyly, in alternation with the verses of the popular and admired poets of the country, songs of the Swan, which had appeared in periodicals of Vigo or Orense. Segundo had never written in dialect, and yet Elvira had a book in which she pasted all the productions of the unknown Swan; Teresa, joining in the animated conversation with the best intentions in the word, betrayed her sister:
"She writes verses too. Come, child, recite something of your own. She has a copy-book full of things invented, composed by herself."
The poetess, after the indispensable excuses and denials, recited two or three little things, almost without poetic form, weak, sincere in the midst of their sentimental falseness—verses of the kind whichreveal no artistic faculty, but which are the sure indication that the author or authoress feels an unsatisfied desire, longs for fame or for love, as the inarticulate cry of the infant expresses its hunger. Segundo twisted his mustache, Nieves lowered her eyes and played with the tassels of her fan, impatient and somewhat bored and nervous. This occurred two or three days after the arrival of Segundo who, in spite of all his attempts, had not yet been able to succeed in saying a word in private to Nieves.
"How uncultured these young ladies are!" said Señora de Comba to herself, while aloud she said, "How lovely, how tender! It sounds like some of Grilo's verses."
It was something different from poetry that formed the theme of conversation of the head of the house of Las Vides, the Gendays, and the arch-priest, installed on the balcony under the pretext of enjoying the moonlight, but in reality to discuss the important question of the vintage.
A fine crop! Yes, indeed, a fine crop! The grape had not a trace of oïdium; it was clean, full, and so ripe that it was as sticky to the touch as if it had been dipped in honey. There was not a doubt but that the new wine of this year was better than the old wine of last year. Last year's vintage was an absolute failure! Hail to-day, rain to-morrow! The grape with so much rain had burst before it was time to gather it, and had not an atom of pulp; the result was a wine that scarcely left a stain on the shirt-sleeves of the muleteers.
At the recollection of so great a calamity, Mendez pressed his thin lips together, and the arch-priest breathed hard. And the conversation continued, sustained by Primo Genday, who, with much verbosity,spitting and laughter, recounted details of harvests of twenty years before, declaring:
"This year's crop is exactly like the crop of '61."
"Exactly," assented Mendez. "As for the Rebeco, it will not give a load less this year, and the Grilloa—I don't know but that it will give us six or seven more. It is a great vine, the Grilloa!"
After these cheerful prognostications of a rich harvest, Mendez described with satisfaction to his attentive audience some improvements which he had introduced into the cultivation of the vine. He had most of his casks secured with iron hoops; they were more expensive than wooden ones, but they lasted longer and they saved the troublesome labor of making new hoops for each harvest; he was thinking too, by way of experiment, of setting up a wine-press, doing away with the repulsive spectacle of the trampling of the grapes by human feet, and in order that the pressed skins and the pulp of the grapes might not go to waste, he would distill from them a refined alcohol which Agonde would buy from him at its weight in gold.
Lulled by the grave voices discussing important agricultural questions on the balcony, Don Victoriano, somewhat fatigued by his expedition to the vineyards, sat smoking in the rocking-chair, buriedin painful meditations. Since his return from the springs he had been growing weaker day by day; the temporary improvement had vanished; the debility, the unnatural appetite, the thirst, and the desiccation of the body had increased. He remembered that Sanchez del Abrojo had told him that a slight perspiration would be of the greatest benefit to him, and when he observed, after he had been drinking the waters for a few days, the re-establishment of this function, his joy knew no bounds. But what was his terror when he found that his shirt, stiff and hard, adhered to his skin as if it had been soaked in syrup. He touched a fold of the sleeve with his lips and perceived a sweetish taste. It was plain! He perspired sugar! The glucose secretion was, then, uncontrollable, and by a tremendous irony of fate all the bitterness of his existence had come to end in this strange elaboration of sweet substances.
For some days past he had noticed another alarming symptom. His sight was becoming affected. As the aqueous humor of the eye dried up the crystalline lens became clouded, producing the cataract of diabetes. Don Victoriano had chills. He regretted now having put himself into the homicidal hands of Tropiezo and drunk the waters. Therewas not a doubt but that he was being wrongly treated. From this day forth a strict regimen, a diet of fruits, fecula, and milk. To live, to live, but for a year, and to be able to hide his malady! If the electors saw their candidate blind and dying, they would desert to Romero. The humiliation of losing the coming election seemed to him intolerable.
Bursts of silvery laughter, and youthful exclamations proceeding from the garden, changed the current of his thoughts. Why was it that Nieves did not perceive the serious condition of her husband's health? He wished to dissemble before the whole world, but before his wife——Ah, if his wife belonged to him she ought to be beside him now, consoling and soothing him by her caresses instead of diverting herself and frolicking among the camellias, like a child. If she was beautiful and fresh and her husband sickly, so much the worse for her. Let her put up with it, as was her duty. Bah! What nonsense! Nieves did not love him, had never loved him!
The noise and laughter below increased. Victorina and Teresa, the verses being exhausted, had proposed a game of hide-and-seek. Victorina was crying at every moment, "Teresa's it!" "Segundo's it!"
The garden was very well adapted for this exercise because of its almost labyrinthine intricacy, owing to the fact of its being laid out in sloping terraces supported on walls and separated by rows of umbrageous trees, communicating with each other by uneven steps, as is the case with all the estates in this hilly country. Thus it was that the play was very noisy, as the seeker had great difficulty in finding those who were hiding.
Nieves endeavored to hide herself securely, through laziness so as not to have to run after the others. Chance provided her with a superb hiding-place, a large lemon tree situated at one end of a terrace, near some steps which afforded an easy means of escape. She hid herself here in the densest part of the foliage, drawing her light gown closely around her so that it might not betray her. She had been only a few moments in her hiding-place when a shadow passed before her and a voice murmured softly:
"Nieves!"
"Oh!" she cried, startled. "Who has found me out here?"
"No one has found you; there is no one looking for you but me," cried Segundo vehemently, penetrating into Nieves' hiding-place with such impetuositythat the late blossoms which whitened the branches of the giant tree showered their petals over their heads, and the branches swayed rhythmically.
"For Heaven's sake, García!" she cried, "for Heaven's sake, don't be imprudent—go away, or let me go. If the others should come and find us here what would they say? For Heaven's sake, go!"
"You wish me to go?" said the poet. "But, Señora, even if they should find me here, there would be nothing strange in that; a little while ago I was with Teresa Molende behind the camellias there; either we are playing or we are not playing. But if you desire it—to please you——But before I go I wish to ask you a question——"
"Somewhere else—in the parlor," stammered Nieves, lending an anxious ear to the distant noises and cries of the game.
"In the parlor! Surrounded by everybody! No, that cannot be. No, now, do you hear me?"
"Yes, I hear you," she returned in a voice rendered almost inaudible by terror.
"Well, then, I adore you, Nieves; I adore you, and you love me."
"Hist! Silence, silence! They are coming. I think I hear steps."
"No, it is the leaves. Tell me that you love me and I will go."
"They are coming! For Heaven's sake! I shall die of terror! Enough of jesting, García, I entreat you——"
"You know perfectly well that I am not jesting. Have you forgotten the night of the fireworks? If you did not love me you would have released yourself from my arm on that night, or you would have cried out. You look at me sometimes—you return my glances. You cannot deny it!"
Segundo was close to Nieves, speaking with fiery impetuosity, but without touching her, although the fragrant, rustling branches of their shelter closed around them, inviting them to closer proximity. But Segundo remembered the cold hard whalebones, and Nieves drew back, trembling. Yes, trembling with fear. She might cry out, indeed, but if Segundo persisted in remaining how annoying it would be! What a mortification! What gossip it would give rise to! After all the poet was right—the night of the fireworks she had been culpably weak and she was paying for it now. And what would Segundo do if she gave him theyeshe asked for? He repeated his proud and vehement assertion:
"You love me, Nieves. You love me. Tell me that you love me, only once, and I will go."
Not far off could be heard the contralto voice of Teresa Molende calling to her companions:
"Nieves—where is she? Victorina, Carmen, come in, the dew is falling!"
And another shrill voice, that of Elvira, woke the echoes:
"Segundo! Segundo! We are going in!"
In fact that almost imperceptible mizzle, which refreshes the sultry nights of Galicia, was falling; the lustrous leaves of the lemon tree in which Nieves sat, shrinking back from Segundo, were wet with the night dew. The poet leaned toward her and his hands touched her hands chilled with cold and terror. He crushed them between both his own.
"Tell me that you love me, or——"
"But, good Heavens, they are calling me! They are noticing my absence. I am cold!"
"Tell me the truth then. Otherwise there is no human power that can tear me from here—come what will. Is it so hard to say a single word?"
"And what do you want me to say, tell me?"
"Do you love me, yes or no?"
"And you will let me go—go to the house?"
"Anything you wish—but first tell me, do you love me?"
Theyeswas almost inaudible. It was an aspiration, a prolongeds. Segundo crushed her wrists in his grasp.
"Do you love me as I love you? Answer plainly."
This time Nieves, making an effort, pronounced an unequivocalyes. Segundo released her hands, raised his own to his lips with a passionate gesture of gratitude, and springing down the stairs, disappeared among the trees.
Nieves drew a long breath. She felt dazed. She shook her wrists, hurt by the pressure of Segundo's fingers, and arranged her hair, wet with the night dew, and disordered by the contact of the branches. What had she said after all? Anything, no matter what, to escape from so compromising a situation. She was to blame for having withdrawn from the others and hidden herself in so retired a spot. And with that desire to give publicity to unimportant actions which seizes people when they have something to conceal she called out:
"Teresa! Elvira! Carmen! Carmen!"
"Nieves! where are you, Nieves?" came in answer from various quarters.
"Here, beside the big lemon tree. Wait for me, I am coming!"
When they entered the house, Nieves, who had to some extent recovered her composure, began to reflect on what had passed and could not but wonder at herself. To sayyesto Segundo. She had uttered the word partly under compulsion, but shehad uttered it. How daring the poet had been. It seemed impossible that the son of the lawyer of Vilamorta should be so determined. She was a lady of distinction, highly respected, her husband had just been Minister. And García's family, what were they—nobodies; the father wore collars frayed at the edges that were a sight to see; they kept no servant; the sisters ran about barefooted half the time. Even Segundo himself—he had an unmistakable provincial air and a strong Galician accent. He could not indeed be called ugly; there was something remarkable in his face and in his manner. He spoke with so much passion! As if he commanded instead of entreating! What a masterful air he had! And there was something flattering to one's vanity in having a suitor of this kind, so ardent and so daring. Who had ever fallen in love with Nieves before? There were three or four who had made gallant speeches to her—one who had watched her through his opera-glass. Everyone in Madrid treated her with that indifference and consideration which respectable ladies inspire.
For the rest, this persistency of Segundo's was to a certain extent compromising. Would people notice it? Would her husband notice it? Bah! Her husband thought only of his ailments, of the elections.He scarcely ever spoke to her of anything else. But what if he should notice it? How horrible, good Heavens! And the girls who had been playing hide and seek, might they not suspect something? Elvira seemed more languishing and sighed more frequently than usual. Elvira admired Segundo. He—no, he did not pay the slightest attention to her. And Segundo's verses sounded well, they were beautiful; they were worthy of a place inLa Ilustracion. In short, as they would be obliged to return to Madrid before the elections, there was hardly any real danger. She would always preserve a pleasant recollection of the summer. The thing was to avoid—to avoid——
Nieves did not venture to tell herself what it was necessary to avoid, nor had she settled this point when she entered the parlor, where the game of tresillo was already going on. Señora de Comba seated herself at the piano and played several quick airs—polkas and rigadoons, for the girls to dance. When she stopped they cried out for another air.
"Nieves, themuñeira!"
"Theriveirana, please!"
"Do you know the whole of it, Nieves?"
"The whole of it—why, did I not hear it in the feasts?"
"Let us have it then, come."
"Who will dance it?"
"Who knows how to dance it?"
Several voices answered immediately:
"Teresa Molende; ah! it is a pleasure to see her dance it."
"And who will be her partner?"
"Ramonciñe Limioso here, he dances it to perfection."
Teresa laughed in the deep, sonorous tones of a man, declaring solemnly that she had forgotten the muñeira—that she never knew it well. From the tresillo table came a protest—from the master of the house, Mendez: Teresina danced it to perfection. Let her not try to excuse herself; no excuse would avail her; there was not in all the Border a girl who danced the riveirana with more grace; it was true indeed that the taste and the skill for these old customs of the country were fast disappearing.
Teresa yielded, not without once more affirming her incompetence. And after fastening up her skirt with pins, so that it might not impede her movements she stopped laughing and assumed a modest and ingenuous air, veiling her large lustrous eyes under her thick lashes, dropping her head on her breast, letting her arms fall by her sides, swayingthem slightly, rubbing the balls of the thumbs and the forefingers together, and thus, moving with very short steps, her feet close together, keeping time to the music, she made the tour of the room, with perfect decorum, her eyes fixed on the floor, stopping finally at the head of the room. While this was taking place, Señorito de Limioso took off his short jacket, remaining in his shirt-sleeves, put on his hat, and asked for an indispensable article.
"Victorina, the castanets."
The child ran and brought two pairs of castanets. The Señorito secured the cord between his fingers and after a haughty flourish, began his rôle. Teresita's partner was as lean and shriveled as Don Quixote himself, and, like the Manchego hidalgo, it was undeniable that he had a distinguished and stately air, scrupulously as he imitated the awkward movements of a rustic. He took his place before Teresa and danced a quick measure, courteously but urgently wooing her to listen to his suit. At times he touched the floor with the sole of his foot, at others with his heel or toe only, almost twisting his ankles out of joint with the rapidity of his movements, while he played the castanets energetically, the castanets in Teresa's hands responding with a faint and timid tinkle.Pushing his hat back on his head the gallant looked boldly at his partner, approached his face to hers; pursued her, urged his suit in a thousand different ways, Teresa never altering her humble and submissive attitude nor he his conquering air, his gymnastics, and his resolute movements of attack.
It was primitive love, the wooing of the heroic ages, represented in this expressive Cantabrian dance, warlike and rude; the woman dominated by the strength of the man and, better than enamored, afraid; all which was more piquant in view of the Amazon-like type of Teresa and the habitual shyness and circumspection of the Señorito. There was an instant, however, in which the gallant peeped through the barbarous conqueror, and in the midst of a most complicated and rapid measure he bent his knee before the beauty, describing the figure known aspunto del sacramento. It was only for a moment however; springing to his feet he gave his partner a tender push and they stood back to back, touching each other, caressing each other, and amorously rubbing shoulder against shoulder and spine against spine. In two minutes they suddenly drew apart and with a few complicated movements of the ankles and a few rapid turns, during which Teresa's skirts whirled around her, the riveirana came to anend and a storm of applause burst from the spectators.
While the Señorito wiped the perspiration from his brow and Teresa unpinned her skirt, Nieves, who had risen from the piano, looked around and noticed Segundo's absence. Elvira made the same observation but aloud. Agonde gave them the clew to the mystery.
"No doubt he is at this moment in the pine grove or on the river-bank. There is scarcely a night in which he does not make eccentric expeditions of the kind; in Vilamorta he does the same thing."
"And how is the door to be closed if he does not come? That boy is crazy," declared Primo Genday. "We are not all going to do without our sleep, we who have to get up early to our work, for that featherhead. Hey, do you understand me? I will shut up the house and let him manage in the best way he can. Ave Maria!"
Mendez and Don Victoriano protested in the name of courtesy and hospitality, and until midnight the door of Las Vides remained open, awaiting Segundo's return. As he had not come by that time, however, Genday went himself to bar the door muttering between his teeth:
"Ave Mar— Let him sleep out of doors if he has a fancy for doing so."
Segundo, in fact, was at this time on his way to the pine grove. He was in a state of intense excitement, and he felt that it would be impossible for him in his present mood to meet anyone or to take part in any conversation. Nieves, so reserved, so beautiful, had said yes to him. The dreams of an ideal love which had tormented his spirit were not, then, destined never to be realized, nor would fame be unattainable when love was already within his ardent and eager grasp. With these thoughts passing through his mind he ascended the steep path and walked enraptured through the pine grove. At times he would lean against the dark trunk of some pine, his brow bared to the breeze, drinking in the cool night air, and listening, as in a dream, to the mysterious voices of the trees and the murmur of the river that ran below. Ah, what moments of happiness, what supreme joys, were promised him by this love, which flattered his pride, excited his imagination and satisfied his egotism, the delicate egotism of a poet, avid of love, of enjoyments which the imagination idealizes and the muse may sing without degradation! All that he had pictured in his verses was to be realized in his life; and his song wouldring forth more clearly and inspiration would flow more freely, and he would write, in blood, verses that would cause his readers' hearts to thrill with emotion.
In defiance of duty and reason Nieves loved him—she had told him so. The poet smiled scornfully when he thought of Don Victoriano, with the profound contempt of the idealist for the practical man inept in spiritual things. Then he looked around him. The pine grove had a gloomy air at this hour. And it was cold. Besides it must be late. They would be wondering at his absence in Las Vides. Had Nieves retired? With these thoughts passing through his mind he descended the rugged path and reached the door ten minutes after the careful hand of Genday had secured the bolt. Thecontretempsdid not alarm Segundo; he would have to scale some wall; and the romance of the incident almost pleased him. How should he effect an entrance?
Undoubtedly the easiest way would be by the garden, into which he could lower himself from the brow of the hill—a question of a few scratches, but he would be in his own room in ten minutes' time, without encountering the dogs that were keeping watch in the yard, or any member of the household, as that side of the house, the side where the dining-roomwas situated, was uninhabited. And upon this course he decided. He turned back and ascended the top of the hill, not without some difficulty. From thence he could command a view of the gallery and a good part of the garden. He studied the nature of the declivity, so as to avoid falling on the wall and perhaps breaking his leg. The hill was bare and without vegetation and the figure of the Swan stood out boldly against the background of the sky.
When Segundo fixed his eyes on the gallery for the purpose of deciding on the safest place for a descent, he saw something that troubled his senses with a sweet intoxication, something that gave him one of those delightful surprises which make the blood rush to the heart to send it coursing back joyful and ardent through the veins. In the semi-obscurity of the gallery, standing among the flower-pots, his keen gaze descried, without the possibility of a doubt as to the reality of the vision, a white figure, the silhouette of a woman, whose attitude seemed to indicate that she too had seen him, had observed him, that she was waiting for him.
Fancy swiftly sketched out and filled in the details of the scene—a colloquy, a divine colloquy of love with Nieves, among the carnations and the vines,alone, without any other witnesses than the moon, already setting, and the flowers, envious of so much happiness. And with a swift movement he rolled down the steep declivity, landing on the hard wall. The fruit trees hid the path from him, and two or three times he lost his way; at last he found himself at the foot of the staircase leading to the gallery, and he raised his eyes to satisfy himself as to the reality of the lovely apparition. A woman dressed in white was indeed waiting there, leaning over the wooden balustrade of the balcony; but the distance did not now admit of any optical illusion; it was Elvira Molende, in a percale wrapper, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders, as if she were an actress rehearsing the rôle ofSonnambula. How eagerly the poor girl was leaning over the balustrade! The poet would swear that she even called his name softly, with a tender lisp.
And he passed on. He made the tour of the garden, entered the courtyard by the inner door, which was not closed at night, and knocked loudly at the door of the kitchen. The servant opened it for him, cursing to himself the young gentlemen who stayed up late at night because they were not obliged to rise early in the morning to open the cellar for the grape-tramplers.