Part 4

“Afterward,” cried Rita impetuously, unable to keep silent any longer, “papa had the greatest difficulty to pacify Señor Cuesta, the Cardinal Archbishop. As the Archbishop himself was so virtuous he maintained strict discipline and permitted no misconduct. If it were not for all papa’s efforts with his eminence, to-day one entreaty and to-morrow another, Lamas Tarrío would have been deprived of his license and would have been left to rot in the ecclesiastical prison. For it is one thing for a priest to commit a fault that no one knows anything about, and another to scandalize his parishioners, bringing up the child in his own house, outraging public opinion, petting and indulging her----”

“My father,” said Gabriel, interrupting his sister, “with one hand smoothed down the Archbishop and with the other hammered away at the sinner. By dint of exhortations he succeeded in having the siren sent away from the rectory; but Lamas continued to see her. At last papa took a firm stand and prevailed on him to allow the mother to be sent to Montevideo, on condition that he was permitted to keep the child.”

“Yes,” again interposed Rita, “a fine remedy that was, worse than the disease. The man became wilder and more reckless than he had been before. He spent night after night without closing an eye, crying and screaming. He had a rush of blood to the head--he was in our house at the time--so that they were obliged to apply more than forty leeches to him at once, and the blood that came was as black as pitch. We thought he would go mad; he would go about the corridors tearing his hair, calling on the woman’s name with maudlin expressions of endearment.”

As Rita said this her brother observed that the curtains of the adjoining room moved as if they had been stirred by a breath of hoydenish curiosity, and the outlines of an inquisitive little nose were vaguely defined against them.

“See,” he said, “now it is you who are getting beyond your depth. All that has nothing whatever to do with the case. Let us end the story at once, and let me tell it in my own way. Poor Lamas became so ill that the Archbishop himself was sorry for him, and sent for him to cheer him and inspire him with thoughts of penitence. And in effect, in process of time he grew calmer and even behaved himself very well afterward. The only fault to be found with him was that he brought up the child with extraordinary indulgence; but as the feelings of a father, even when they contravene both human and divine laws, have something sacred, people shut their eyes to this. He introduced the girl as his niece. As such children do not inherit, the priest saved up money, ounce upon ounce, which he put into Esclavita’s own hand; but the girl, who had turned out very discreet and very devout, and, in addition to that, very unselfish, when Lamas died, gave all this money, in gold as she had received it, for masses and prayers for the soul of the sinner. This act alone will give you an idea of the girl’s character. There are not many girls who would do so much even if they had been born in a better station and in a more orthodox manner.”

“As my brother is of a romantic turn he sees things in that way,” interposed Rita.

“Señora de Pardiñas, I give you my word as a gentleman that I neither add nor diminish. That girl, in my opinion, would be capable of going bare-footed on a pilgrimage to any part of the world in order to get the soul of the rector of Vimieiro out of purgatory.”

“And well he would need it,” said Rita, “and her mother too, who, by all accounts, does not lead the life of a saint over there in America.”

“Good Heavens! How merciless you women can be, who have never had to suffer for the want of consideration or of bread,” exclaimed Pardo, now really angry. “I do not err on the side of philanthropy, but there are certain things that I cannot understand in people who make a boast of being good Christians and who go to mass and say their prayers. Fine prayers those are! Is that what you understand by charity? Well, my dear, I declare that Esclavita is worth more than----”

Fortunately he restrained himself in time and ended:

“Than some other people. How is she to blame for her parents’ faults? Tell me that! And she is expiating them as if she had committed them. She even left her native place, it seems, so as not to be where people know and remember and discuss----”

“I would swear the same thing,” asserted Doña Aurora warmly. “Now I know why it was that she became so confused when she was asked certain questions. I am of the same opinion as you, Pardo, that she is good, that she has noble sentiments, and that those traits do her honor.”

“Yes, be guided by my brother, admit her into your house,” exclaimed Rita, with a spiteful and insolent laugh. “For giving advice, Gabriel has a special gift. I tremble when he and my husband get together. If Eugenio were to be led by him we should be living on charity. Take that girl on your hands, and you will see how it will end. Then you will say, ‘Rita Pardo was right after all.’”

Señora Pardiñas thought within herself:

“I will take her if only to spite you, hypocrite, impostor. I have taken your measure, now.”

When Gabriel was going out, he found his eldest niece waiting for him in the reception room. He caught her by the waist, and lifting her up to a level with his mouth, whispered in her ear:

“Good little girls, if they want Uncle Gabriel to love them, must not go peeping and spying and hiding themselves behind portières. They must obey mamma because she is mamma, and she will not tell them to do anything wrong. Take care and don’t bite, little lizard. Good little girls--are good. Ah-h-h! my cravat!”

“Uncle Gabriel, will you take me with you?” coaxed the little madcap. “With you, yes; with you, no; with you, yes, I will go. Come, take me with you!”

“To Leganes it is that I will take you. Be good now! Study your French lesson! Comb that mane of yours! Run into the kitchen to see what the girl is about there! Papa likes his roast beef well done! See to papa’s roast beef!”

As he crossed the threshold the commandant threw a kiss to the girl, which she promptly returned.

VIII.

Doña Aurora was in the habit of taking her son his chocolate every morning before he was out of bed, for, old-fashioned in many other respects, the household was old-fashioned also in the matter of early rising. Those were delightful moments for the doting mother.

The boy, as she called him, felt on awakening that causeless joy peculiar to the springtime of life, that season when each new day seems to come fresh from the hands of time, golden and beautiful, and embellished with delights, before painful memories have begun to weigh down the fluttering wings of hope. Rogelio, who in the afternoon suffered from occasional fits of nervous depression, in the morning was as gay and sprightly as a bird. Even his chatter resembled the chirping of birds or the cooing of infants when they open their eyes in the morning. His mother, after removing the articles of clothing and the books lying about, would seat herself at his bed-side and hold the tray, so that the chocolate might not spill as the boy dipped the golden biscuits into it, while a glass of pure fresh milk stood beside it waiting its turn.

And what anxiety and trouble this glass of milk cost Doña Aurora! She knew more on the subject than the entire municipal board of chemists; without analysis or instruments or other nonsense of the kind, she could distinguish, simply by looking at it, by its color and its odor, every grade and quality of milk that is consumed in Madrid. For her hopes of seeing Rogelio grow robust were all centered in that glass of milk drank before going to college, and in the beefsteak eaten after returning from it.

While he was taking his chocolate, it was that all the events of the preceding day were discussed, the amusing skirmishes between Nuño Rasura and Lain Calvo, the college jokes, the latest crime, last night’s fire, together with all the trifling incidents of that home so truly peaceful like many another in the capital, notwithstanding the provincial superstition that Madrid is a perpetual whirlpool or vortex, Rogelio’s first words on the morning following the day of the Galician’s application were to ask his mother with ill-disguised interest:

“Well, what did they tell you about the fair maid--of all work?”

There was nothing strange or out of the way in his asking this question, and yet Doña Aurora was somewhat embarrassed by it, and hesitated whether she should tell him what she had heard or keep it to herself. No, it would be more prudent to say nothing about it. It was a serious matter, and if Rogelio should be wanting in discretion--it was necessary to proceed with caution.

“See, little mouse, in the first place I must tell you that I have dismissed Pepa.”

“Hello! Is a change of ministry to take place here without my being consulted in the matter?”

“You shall hear! She was getting to be very conceited, very fond of answering back. So I handed her her wages. I will bear anything from them but answering back. I suppose there was a lover in the business or she would not----. To tell the truth I am tired of these Madrid servants, they are so upsetting and unbearable with their airs and assurance. I prefer a modest, docile girl. With a civil word you can conquer me, I can’t help it. If you were to see that Pepa, as stubborn as a mule and as wild as a mountain rabbit. Ah, I can’t believe that she is gone!”

“_Mater_, enough of _prolegomena_,” exclaimed the boy, dipping the end of his biscuit into the milk. “All this means that you are going to take the black-robed Unknown. She found her way straight into your heart through your eyes. We all have our weaknesses.”

“Don’t be foolish. What I want is that things should run smoothly in the house. That is a deserving girl. When I say so----”

Ah! those resolutions to be reticent, those determinations to be discreet, shun them as you would fire, for they open wide the door to unrestrained confidences. Señora de Pardiñas meant to be silent, but who is silent after letting out the first hint. Nor would Rogelio have given her any peace. Besides, Doña Aurora in her heart was eager to recount her triumph and tell how she had got the best of that hypocritical humbug, Rita Pardo. This sweet satisfaction was the reward of her victory. There is a pleasure whose origin cannot be defined but whose attraction we almost all feel, in relating these tragic episodes of human life which by their reaction on society affect us all, which interest us, because they appeal to our sentiments of compassion and justice, and at the same time present to us grave problems, not for our solution, but only for our consideration, as we consider the argument of a tragedy which we see represented on the stage and which arouses our horror and pity. Rogelio, leaning with his elbow on his pillow and with wide open eyes, waited eagerly for his mother’s romantic story.

“You see,” said the latter, when she had finished her story, “that we must treat the poor girl with some consideration. In the circumstances she could not have behaved better than she has done. She has shown herself to be remarkably unselfish, and along with that, religious and discreet. As far as I understand she believes herself to be under a ban, and that she must bear the sins of her parents, and it makes her ashamed that in her native place they should see her and remember what has happened. We must be very careful how we speak to her. Her father we must not even mention; still less her mother--for the wretched woman is still living and wandering about the world, leading Heaven knows what sort of a life.”

“Well,” responded Rogelio, recovering his good humor, “it seems then that we are to regard the girl as if she were a mushroom. If the question ever turns on fathers or mothers I will say to her--“Of course I know you never had any. Will that do?”

“Child, don’t be absurd. Eat that other biscuit. What I mean is that you must not tease her. People who have suffered great misfortunes are very sensitive; the least thing is apt to upset them. I should like her to be contented. In this Madrid, where there are so few good servants, to find a virtuous girl of so attractive an appearance is a great piece of good luck, I can tell you. They are either like sergeant-majors or like rushes.”

“Shall I buy a bunch of flowers to present to her gallantly when she enters our mansion?” asked the student. His mother gave him an affectionate little tap, saying:

“What I am going to buy is a washstand and a few other necessary articles, for that untidy Pepa has left the room like a den of lions; otherwise this girl, who is so neat, will not find a place to wash her hands. A washstand, some soap, a little table, and new mat so that she may not have to step on the tiles, that are as cold as ice, when she gets out of bed in the morning. Or better than a mat would be a piece of moquette carpet, and it can be had so cheap. I am going to buy her some warm cloth, too, to make a little jacket. I don’t believe she has a wrap; she came without any yesterday. I don’t know how she may be off for clothing. I am sorry now for the three beautiful garments I gave to Pepa less than a fortnight ago.”

“Bah! All you have to do is to order a trousseau from Paris, like that of the Señora de Cánovas, for instance. Ten dozen elegant wrappers and four thousand pairs of silk stockings. Would that be enough?”

Doña Aurora went out early and returned home before twelve with her new acquisitions. It was a pleasure to her to see the room swept and the washstand and the piece of carpet in their places. She put out clean towels and had a white quilt put on the bed to make the iron bedstead look more attractive. She left the room for a moment, and on returning she could not help bursting out laughing. In a blue glass was a cheap bunch of flowers and Rogelio was hidden behind the door, watching.

“What do you think of that idea, eh? Now we have a bouquet. _Caray_, _carapuche_, as Lain Calvo says. They are gardenias; ten dollars they cost me. Shall I go get a begonia? It would look very well beside the washstand. We will write a description of it afterward: ‘The alcove was transformed at the touch of a fairy’s wand into a leafy winter garden.’”

Esclavita was engaged when she presented herself at about one o’clock. But she wished to go to say good-by to the Señoritas de Romera. She did not install herself in her new home until the afternoon, when she brought a boy with her to carry her trunk--one of those Galician trunks covered with leather, with tin clamps. It was so light that at the foot of the staircase the girl took it on her shoulders and carried it upstairs herself. In this trunk, which was almost empty, she carried all the wealth she had inherited from the rector of Vimieiro.

IX.

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.”