CHAPTER VIII.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

The spring came. The northeast winds, like a gigantic besom swung by the hand of some god with a passion for cleanliness, constantly swept away the dust and ashes of the firmament. The sailors who put out at daybreak after fish, as they set foot on the quay often saw above the distant houses of El Moral a wide strip of azure sky, which went on slowly spreading to the four points of the compass, leaving a few tenuous shreds of violet cloud like great eyebrows overhanging the horizon. The vast sheet of the river now gave forth lovely blue sparkles in place of the melancholy, metallic reflections of the winter; and the wooden hulks called _barcos_ by a misnomer, pitched in the dock like colts impatient to be off. But in the afternoon winter still clung to its rights; now spreading over town and river a thick mantle of fog which quickly changed into storm; now furiously driving across the sky colossal black clouds which discharged their freight as they flew inland. Some days, however, at sunset a breath of genial air came from the land, and brought the delightful tidings to the peaceful inhabitants of Nieva that the most lovely and coquettish of the seasons was present in that jurisdiction; and this breath of air laden with perfumes, reaching by the medium of the nostrils to the brains of those inhabitants who were most inclined to poesy and sweet expansions of the heart, manifested itself as the avowed enemy of tranquillity in feminine minds, and as the infamous disturber of peace in families. The town slept placidly like a sultana, receiving the adulatory caresses of this breeze. Nevertheless, the calm underneath the roofs was more apparent than real; a large part of the inhabitants slept the sleep of the righteous as before, but another no less numerous and estimable, without knowing any reason for it, awoke more than once in the course of the night, and occasionally spent an hour unsuccessfully wooing sleep by lighting the lamp, and reading the articles in _The Times_.[39] They drank great goblets of water; they dreamed fifty thousand absurd dreams, which, when they remembered them in the morning, made the worthy natives smile, and more than one, and more than two, caught colds on their lungs by getting uncovered at night. In the two apothecary shops of the town a prodigious quantity of pearl barley was disposed of; some banished wine from the table to the astonishment of their wives; and the behavior of young men toward the girls became extremely dulcified. The Market Street[40] bookseller sent to Madrid for a quantity of novels by Paul de Kock and Adolphe Belot on commission for his customers, and the professor of the piano made a similar demand on the music publishers, for various sentimental romanzas with erotic titles, such as _Vorrei morir_, _Tutto per te_, _Non posso vivere_, and others of like quality, at the request of his pupils. The swallows began to take possession of the corridors, and after making love for a few days, chasing each other through the air with obstreperous chirpings and then retiring couple by couple to the most remote corners of the gardens, without any thought of Mrs. Grundy or of due formality; they celebrated their nuptials with the same freedom, without consulting the desires of papas or asking for a special dispensation, or by publishing the banns through the office of the parochial priest, or by ordering a trousseau from Paris, or by receiving a miserable coffee service from relatives, or sending cards to friends and acquaintances, announcing their indissoluble union; or even by having a notice inserted in the _Correspondencía de España_, saying: "Yesterday, before a numerous and select assemblage, in which were included the most illustrious members of the nobility and the world of politics and literature, were celebrated in the house of the bride the long announced nuptials of the most beautiful and distinguished dame swallow, Lady Such an One, to the wealthy sir swallow, Lord Somebody or Other.[41] After enjoying a splendid collation, the newly married couple departed to their noble domain of Robledales in Aragon." And whoever speaks of the swallows may clearly say the same thing of the whole throng of birds which had encamped both in the gardens of Nieva and in the immense pine groves which lined the banks of its river.

To be reckoned among the people most manifestly influenced by this spring breeze (leaving aside, of course, the Señorita de Delgado, with whom no one would dare to maintain any rivalry in the matter of sensations, sentiments, emotions, and all that refers to the life of the heart), was our acquaintance, Manolito Lopez. His worthy family noticed with grateful surprise, not only that the lad's character was manifestly softening, but likewise that the habits of orderliness and an inclination toward sedateness had sprung up, and were growing in him with unusual rapidity. This praiseworthy inclination was manifested in everything that pertained to the adornment of his person, but most particularly to that of his feet; a box of superior blacking every fortnight was not sufficient for the demands of his shoes, and he spent a large part of the morning and of his physical powers in making them shine like a looking-glass, and even thus he was not content: Manolito would not have been satisfied if anything less than the brilliancy of a Brazilian diamond, of all the jewels of the royal crowns of Europe, of the seas and the stars had been put into them. After giving the last finishing touch to his hair, Manolito always sallied forth in the amiable company of his glistening boots to promenade in front of the house of Elorza, and up the street and down the street he went all the time allowed him by his occupations, and also a good part of the time when he had no business to be there. The balconies of the house, as a rule, remained hermetically sealed; but Manolito, judging by the graceful gait which he affected as he passed, must have suspected that a pair of steady, love-stricken eyes were always observing him through the cracks. Once in a while the balconies were thrown open, giving a glimpse of Carmen, of Genoveva, of Adela, or some other servant, who looked at him without sufficient respect considering our young lad's age (fifteen years and three months) and his character. Very, very rarely likewise appeared Marta's pretty head. She looked out for an instant with an expression of indifference which, be it said for the sake of the truth, did not change into one of affection and tenderness at sight of Manolito, but certainly remained exactly as calm and serene as though our youth had no more personality than a column of the arcade, or the clock on the town-house, or the sign of the Café de la Estrella, or any other of the inanimate objects whereon the girl's eyes rested. Manolito, for a few moments, felt as much disturbed as one who, sailing through the Arctic Ocean, should suddenly see an enormous iceberg coming down upon him; but soon he recovered his spirits, saying, for the encouragement of his heart, "What a sly one she is!" And though the balconies were immediately shut with a scornful screak, and remained closed all the day, yet Manolito did not cease to promenade back and promenade forth, fortified always in his conviction that through the interstices of the curtains a pair of ecstatic, love-softened eyes were launching at him a thousand passionate darts.

But where the spring held a more absolute and even despotic sway (always excepting, of course, the Señorita de Delgado's poetical soul) was the Elorza garden. There, without consulting in the slightest degree the will of the flexible mimosas or of the round acacias or of the dignified catalpas or of any other tree or shrub, flower or plant, however respectable, she began to clothe them all in green, carefully variegating their garments, making this one deep and dark, that one bright and dazzling, and the other pale and yellow, playing with them a sort of gay, original masquerade delightful for those to see who still persist in feeling affection for the works of nature. Above this habiliment there shone like decorations of honor many flowers, yellow, white, blue, or pink, quick to fill the ambient air with the sweet perfumes stored up in their hearts. The garden was unusually extensive, stretching out from the plaza where Don Mariano's mansion was built to the quay on one side, and on the other to the farthest houses of the town. And whether because it was not very easy to take the most perfect care of such a large piece of ground, or because Don Mariano as a man of taste did not wish to impose upon Nature his own law, by establishing in her demesne a tyrannical system of geometrical crosses and lines, at any rate it offered all the lawless vigor, the exuberance, and the spontaneity, which it is not customary to find any longer except in provincial gardens managed according to a broad and tolerant Spanish fashion. The paths, though originally laid out in straight lines according to the style in vogue at the time when they were first designed, were now fluctuating, thanks to the growing up or disappearance of quince-tree, boxwood, or rose hedges. The trees in many places enclosed these paths with a thicket, giving them an air of long mystery, which, according to amateurs, is the greatest charm of gardens, and I appeal to the testimony of all ardent and elevated souls, particularly to the Señorita de Delgado. Back of the trees, through the hedges, could be seen a stone faun or satyr, discolored by great green spots on the muscular shoulders, spurting water from mouth and nostrils; in this agreeable occupation its whole life had been spent. Flowers in the Elorza garden did not possess those inordinate privileges which they are wont to obtain in flashy parks of modern times, but a number of succulent vegetables had established themselves on a footing of equality with them. At the side of a group or clump of dahlias grew an asparagus-bed, and within sight of a splendid bunch of canna indica and calladium flourished a thicket of artichokes and a bed of Alsatian cabbages. And why not? However indisputable the superiority of flowers may be, we must not deny to vegetables æsthetic qualities worthy of the consideration and respect of French gardeners, who at the present time have declared a merciless war upon them. Perhaps they consider that if vegetables are banished from parks, they bury prose forever and have poetry only left, according to the example of those ancient novelists who did not dare to show their heroes and heroines in the act of eating for fear of soiling or tarnishing them. In one of the angles there was a great storehouse where were piled old furniture from the house, a number of broken-down carriages, the gardening utensils, and other things. The whole garden was surrounded by a wall of considerable thickness and elevation, over which climbed ivy and honeysuckle cautiously letting their leaves peer over the top, like two rogues coming in to rob fruit and get away before they should be discovered by the gardener. Over one of the faces of the wall arose the masts of the vessels at the quay, which with their multitudinous cordage enlacing and crossing in every direction, looked from a distance like monstrous spiders. A great gate barred with iron led from the garden to the quay.

The younger daughter of the proprietor of this garden found herself in it one morning culling flowers with a pair of shears suspended from her belt, and afterwards placing them very daintily in a small osier basket. She went about taking them now from this side and now from that, seeming at times to ponder before some, leaving them untouched to go straightway to others, and then coming back to them, thus endlessly meandering in every direction with hesitating step. She was so immersed in the depths of some combination for her bouquet that she allowed herself to be pitilessly burned by the sun, more splendid in his anger and pride than was his wont. Since we last saw her, a slight change not easy to define had taken place in her figure. She had just finished her fourteenth year. Her physical development, always exuberant and vigorous, had taken a sudden start during the last three months, not causing her to grow at once tall and thin, as is apt to be the case with girls at this age, but bringing her beauty to a more ideal perfection. Marta was destined to be rather stout: nature had been giving the last touches to her figure, strengthening the line of her hips, rounding her arms, filling out her virginal bosom, and perfecting the oval of her face, without being willing, on any consideration, to grant her three inches more of stature, though she really needed them. On this account an Andalusian cavalry lieutenant, while saying something in her praise and dispraise in a game of forfeits, recently declared, "You are very charming, but your roundness is alarming."[42] And this had given occasion for the friends of the house to call her in fun _la redondita_ (the round), and to plague her continually with the Andalusian rhyme. The expression of her face was as placid, grave, and as gentle as before. Nevertheless, her great black eyes, calm and liquid, which, as we have said, used to present a certain strange immobility, such as is seen in those suffering from gutta serena, acquired a movement so gentle and sweet that one of the De Ciudad girls, the very one who had pointed her out to the engineer Suárez, could not help exclaiming the other night,--

"Don't you see how sweet Martita is looking!"

"Certainly," replied the engineer, "that girl seems to caress you with her eyes when she looks."

At the same time they inclined to grow liquid, which still more increased their brilliancy and gentleness. At this particular moment she wore a dark violet dress, extremely snug and well fitted to her body, and, although at her earnest request it had been made a little longer than before, still, as she stooped over to cut the flowers, it allowed more than a glimpse to be seen of a pair of beautiful, well rounded ankles, comparable with the arms which Ricardo had admired.

After she had cut as many flowers as she wanted, she sat on a stone bench in the shade, and placing the basket by her side and taking out a ball of thread, proceeded, with great calmness, to make a nosegay. First she took a magnificent white tea-rose, and pulled off all its thorns, tying around it instead some leaves of althea. As she reached this stage in her operation, Ricardo made his appearance. Marta raised her head, hearing his steps, and quickly dropped it again, continuing her work.

"I have been hunting for you, Martita."

"What for?"

"Nothing ... only to see you.... Is that a little thing?"

"If that's all, it seems to me a very little thing; yes!"

"Perhaps you don't want me to see you?"

"I didn't say so ... but as it hasn't been twenty-four hours since you got home...."

"Well, at any rate I wanted to see you."

Marta said nothing, and kept on with her task, placing around the rose and in the althea three pansies. Ricardo also had changed a little since the last time that we saw him. His face had grown somewhat thinner, and in place of its ordinary expression of contentment had come another as of fatigue sometimes approximating to gloom and bitterness. Unquestionably he had not been very happy during the last months, and we know very well that he had no good reason for being. The perpetual struggle which he had to sustain with Maria's scruples, and the sincere or simulated coldness which he saw in her, caused a steady, dull discomfort which embittered his existence. The brief moments when he succeeded in talking with his beloved, instead of being brightened by the sweet expressions of love, were generally spent in bickerings and recriminations, or at least in long exhortations on one side and the other,--Ricardo trying to prove to Maria that her pious practices were an exaggeration incompatible with human nature; Maria urging Ricardo to abandon the frivolities of the world and enter upon the road of virtue, which is that of salvation.

After he had silently watched Marta's work a moment, he asked her,--

"Whom is that bouquet for?"

"For Maria, who wants to begin her flowers for the Virgin this evening. She asked me to make two, and I keep one in the house."

A flash of joy passed through the young man's eyes at the mention of his sweetheart's name, and he began to take an interest in the formation of the nosegay. Marta noticed particularly her future brother's joy and interest. Between the three pansies she placed three pinks,--one red, one rose-colored, and the other white. Then she took a number of leaves of sweet marjoram and rose, and tied up with them the growing bouquet; thereupon she placed all around it a row of marguerites, alternating the colors,--purple, white, blue, and mottled.

"Now, you ought to put in some pinks," added Ricardo, with the boldness of ignorance.

"Hush, Ricardo, you don't know what you are talking about.... Now you want a filling of sweet marjoram and althea, so that the marguerites may have a background.... Flowers must be loose and not touch each other, so that each may preserve its form in the bunch.... Do you see?... Now a row of roses can be added without fear of crushing the marguerites ... a white one, then a red one ... a white one ... another red one ... there! that'll do!"

The thread unrolled between her fingers, gently binding the flowers together; the nosegay went on assuming a pyramidal form very well proportioned. Ricardo, looking into the basket, saw some extremely bright-colored geraniums, and cried out,--

"Oh, how lovely those geraniums are!... Such a bright color ought to become you, Martita; put one in your hair."

The girl, without more ado, took the one that he offered her, and stuck it in her dark locks above her ear. This combination of red and black, which is vulgar, as all girls know, appeared more harmonious than ordinarily, through the exceptional intensity not only of the black, but of the red. The geranium, on being translated to that position, seemed to have fulfilled its destiny on earth, or to have realized its essence, as my friend Homobono Pereda, shining with more beauty and satisfaction than ever, would say. Ricardo contemplated Marta's head with genuine admiration, while an innocent smile of triumph hovered over her lips and in her eyes.

Around the roses she placed, instead of the green setting of sweet marjoram and althea, another of white and blue violets, and next a row of geraniums of all colors, combining them exquisitely. The bouquet was finished. To add a crowning grace she put in a few handfuls of thyme, arranging them in such a way that they might serve as a support. The flowers, all artistically combined, appeared loose, each one showing its own individuality, or, as my friend Homobono would add, perfectly united in the whole.

Marta lifted the nosegay up, saying, with childish delight,--

"Isn't that fine!... isn't that fine!

"Admirable!... admirable!" cried Ricardo, and in the height of his enthusiasm he took the nosegay, waved it several times, and then laying it down in the basket, seized the girl's hand and lifted it to his lips.

Marta grew as scarlet as the geranium that she wore in her hair, and snatched her hand away. Ricardo looked at her with a mischievous smile, and said:--

"What's does this mean, señorita, what does this mean? You are ashamed to have any one kiss your hand, when it isn't four months since we all kissed you on the cheek? That won't do ... that won't do at all...."

And forcibly seizing her two hands he began to shower kisses on them without stopping, until he thought he felt something strange on his head, and lifted it. Marta was in tears. The young man's surprise was so great that he dropped her hands without saying a word. The girl hid her face in them, and began to sob with keen pain.

"Martita, what is it? What is the matter with you?" he asked, thoroughly terrified, stooping down to look into her face.

"Nothing! nothing!... Leave me...."

"But what are you crying about?... Have I hurt you? Have I offended you?"

"No, no!... Leave me, Ricardo ... leave me, for Heaven's sake!"

And jumping from the bench, she started to run toward the house, wiping her eyes. Ricardo grew more and more surprised, as he saw her disappearing, and he stayed some time at the bench, trying in vain to explain the girl's behavior. Then he got up, and began to promenade in the garden. In a short time he had entirely forgotten Marta's tears; more painful memories came to disturb his mind and absorb his attention. An hour, at least, he spent in walking up and down the park, thinking about them, until at last, as he passed in front of the bench where he had been sitting with the girl, he noticed that her bouquet still remained in the basket, as she had left it, and thinking that it was not good for it to be there, he started with it to the house. He asked the first servant whom he met where the señorita was to be found.

"I think she is in the señora's room."

He turned his steps thither. At Doña Gertrudis's room he met Marta, who was doubtless bound on some errand for her mother. The girl, who still wore the red geranium in her hair, as soon as she saw him, gave him a sweet smile, and showed signs of being somewhat confused.

"Are you still vexed, Martita?" asked Ricardo, in a whisper.

"I wasn't vexed at all, Ricardo."

"But those tears?"

"I myself don't know what made me.... I have not been quite well for a few days, ... and I cry without any reason."

"Then I am relieved in my heart, preciosa. You can't imagine how I felt at having caused you any pain!"

"Bah!"

"And how violently you wept! I believed that something really serious had occurred.... Has anything happened to grieve you to-day?"

"No, no; nothing at all.... I shall be right back. Good by."

The Marquis of Peñalta went into Doña Gertrudis's room, where at that time Don Mariano and Don Maximo were conversing together, neither of them showing in their faces any of the painful anguish, the pallor, and the fear of those who are witnessing the last agony of the dying; and this irritated Doña Gertrudis to such a degree that she would almost have taken delight in dying at that moment, for the sake of giving them a scare. She was reclining, as usual, in her easy-chair, her feet and legs wrapt up in a magnificent mountain goat-skin, casting looks of bitter desolation, now at the ceiling, and now at a cup of milk which she held in her hand. From time to time she carried it to her lips, and swallowed a portion of its contents, thereupon lifting her eyes, and exclaiming inwardly, "My God, may this cup pass from me!" Again and again she looked at her persecutors with ineffable serenity, saying, in a touching manner, that if God forgave their cruelty, she, for her part, did not find it hard to grant them a full and generous pardon, though she greatly doubted whether the Supreme Creator would grant it.

Ricardo sat down near the persecutors, without any ceremony, for that very morning he had had the opportunity of spending a good hour over Doña Gertrudis's nerves. She, considering that whoever has to do with sinners is prone to fall into sin, included him in advance in the universal and liberal amnesty which she had declared in favor of those who offended her.

"I would never permit either traitorous periodicals, like _El Tradición_, or magistrates who would not obey the government punctually and unconditionally, Don Maximo."

"I agree with you up to a certain point; yet we find ourselves in a time of conflict, and it is necessary to proceed by exceptional measures. But you will not deny that, in a normal state of things, liberty--"

"Liberty and not license!... Liberty to work ... that's the only kind that we need. Roads, bridges, factories, land improvements, railways, and ports, that is all that our unfortunate nation asks for.... The liberty that you progressists are ambitious to get is liberty to starve to death.... When I consider that, if it had not been for _la gloriosa_, our railway would have been at point of completion, such desperation seizes me that--"

"This is only a passing conclusion, Don Maximo.... You will see how very soon the rainbow of peace will shine!"

"Yes, yes ... it is certainly raining now.... Have you read the leading article in _La Tradición_? [_La Tradición_ was a Carlist journal, published in Nieva every Thursday.] Then, when you read it, you will see what rainbows the partisans of the Church and the throne are getting ready for us...."

"Is it very strong?"

"It's a trifling thing!... It says that all good Catholics ought to take arms to exterminate the horde of the impious and ruffianly who govern us to-day...."

At this moment Marta entered the room. As she passed in front of Ricardo, he took her by the hand, and obliged her to sit on his knees, giving her a speechless look of tenderness with his eyes, without losing any of the conversation. The girl sat down without resistance, and likewise listened in silence.

"But does it really say that?" asked Don Maximo.

"It certainly does.... Read it for yourself, and you will be edified.... In my opinion the Carlists are meditating and even plotting some _coup de main_. The general commander is taking too little care of this region, and is carrying off all the forces to drive the guerillas from the highlands.... The factory always requires a strong garrison for what might happen.... It is a prize coveted by them."

"I don't believe that they would ever dare to make any attempt in that direction. And except that the señor marqués says...."

Ricardo did not catch Don Maximo's last words, for, with an affectionate smile, he was saluting Maria, who at that moment came in. After she had sat down near Doña Gertrudis, and exchanged a look or two with him, he remembered the remark that had been directed to him.

"What did you say Don Maximo?"

"That I don't believe the Carlists have any intentions against the factory.... It would be a ridiculous undertaking."

"Oh, no indeed! Not so ridiculous as you imagine, Don Maximo.... This very day, with the small garrison which we have there, it would not be impossible or very difficult to take it by surprise.... How many times I have thought, when on guard at night, that thirty decided men might get the better of me! If they succeeded in procuring a foothold inside, the thirty would be settled, you may believe...."

"Do you hear what he says, you stubborn man? do you hear him? Now you shall see how we must look out for our powder magazine, now that thunderbolts and meteors are falling. But listen to one thing, Ricardo, why don't you utilize for the defence of the factory the last advances made in electric lighting?"

"How?"

"I should suggest that if a number of electric lamps were put in different parts of it, which the officer on guard could set going by simply pressing a button, all danger of a surprise could easily be avoided; and if at the same time a goodly number of heavy bells were set up, likewise worked by electricity, which would give an instant alarm in the city and wake the workmen, who for the most part live near.... Martita! what's the matter?" he exclaimed, suddenly breaking off the thread of his discourse.

All hastened to her assistance. The girl, who was still seated on Ricardo's knees, had grown pale without any one noticing it. When Don Mariano casually glanced at her, she was white as a sheet of paper.

"What is it, my daughter?"

"What is the matter, Martita?"

"I don't feel quite well. Give me a glass of water." Maria ran to get it for her. Don Maximo felt of her pulse and said,--

"It's only a little giddiness, which water will cure."

In point of fact, as soon as she drank the water, and had sat down on the sofa, she began to feel better, and in a few moments was perfectly well. The conversation went on.