Part 6

"Segundiño, my life," she stammered, beside herself with happiness, "it isn't worth mentioning. Just as I give you that--as I hope for salvation--I would give you the blood from my veins!"

And what would Aunt Gáspara have said had she known that several of the ounces from the stocking, the savings-bank, the sack, and the bag would return immediately, loyal and well-trained, to sleep, if not under the rafters of the cellar, at least under the roof of Don Justo?

IX.

The grapevine of Las Vides which has such pleasant recollections for Don Victoriano Andres de la Comba, bears those large, substantial grapes of the light red and pale green hues which predominate in Flemish vineyards, which are known in the neighborhood by the name of _náparo_ or _Jaen_ grapes. Its clusters hang in long corymbs of a gracefully irregular shape, half hiding themselves among the thick foliage. The vine casts a cool shade, and the murmur of a slender stream of water that falls into a rough stone basin in which vegetables lie soaking, adds to the air of peacefulness of the scene.

The massive building looks almost like a fortress; the main building is flanked by two square towers, low-roofed and pierced by deep-set windows; in the middle of the central building, above a long iron balcony, stands out the large escutcheon with the armorial bearings of the Mendez--five vine-leaves and a wolf's head dripping blood. This balcony commands a view of the mountain slope and of the river that winds below; at the side of one of the towers is a wooden gallery, open to the sun, which projects over the garden, and where, thanks to the southern exposure, fine carnations grow luxuriantly in old pots filled with mold, and wooden boxes overflow with sweet basil, Santa Teresa's feathers, cactus, asclepias, and mallows--a sun-loving, rich, Arabian flora of intoxicating sweetness. The interior of the house is merely a series of whitewashed rooms with the rafters exposed and almost without furniture, excepting the central room, called the balcony-room, which is furnished with chairs with straw seats and wooden, lyre-shaped backs, of the style of the Empire. A mirror from which the quicksilver has almost disappeared, with a broad ebony frame ornamented with allegorical figures of gilded brass representing Phoebus driving his chariot, hangs above the sofa. The pride of Las Vides is not the rooms, but the cellar, the immense wine-vault, dark, and echoing, and cool as the aisle of a cathedral, with its large vats ranged in a line on either side. This apartment, unrivaled in the Border, is the one which Señor de las Vides shows with most pride--this and his bedroom, which has the peculiarity of being impregnable, as it is built in the body of the wall and can be entered only through a narrow passage which scarcely affords room for a man to turn around.

Mendez de las Vides resembled in no way the traditional type of the ignorant lord of the manor who makes a cross for his signature, a type very common in that inland country. On the contrary, Mendez prided himself on being learned and cultured. He wrote a good hand--the small, close handwriting characteristic of obstinate old age; he read well, settling his spectacles on his nose, holding the newspaper or the book at a distance, emphasizing the words in a measured voice. Only his culture was confined to a single epoch--that of the Encyclopedists, with whom his father became acquainted late in life, and he himself a century after their time. He read Holbach, Rousseau, Voltaire, and the fourteen volumes of Feijóo. He bore the stamp and seal of this epoch even in his person. In religion he was a deist, never neglecting, however, to go to mass and to eat fish in Holy Week; in politics he was inclined to uphold the prerogatives of the crown against the church. Since the arrival of Don Victoriano, however, some movement had taken place in the stratified ideas of the hidalgo of Las Vides. He admired English independence, the regard paid to the right of the individual combined with a respect for tradition and the civilizing influence of the aristocratic classes--a series of Saxon importations more or less felicitous but to which Don Victoriano owed his political success. Uncle and nephew spent hour after hour discussing these abstruse problems of social science, while Nieves worked, listening with the hope of hearing the trot of some horse sound on the stones of the path announcing some visitor, some distraction in her idle existence.

To make the journey to Las Vides, Segundo borrowed the vicious nag of the alguazil. From the cross onward the road grew precipitous and difficult. Smooth, slippery rocks obstructed the way at times, so that the rider was obliged to hold a tight rein to keep the animal, whose hoofs slipped continually, drawing sparks from the stone, from falling headlong down the descent. The ground, parched by the heat, was rugged and uneven. The houses seemed to cling to the mountain-side, threatening to lose their hold at every moment and topple over into the river, and the indispensable pot of carnations, whose flowers peeped through the rails of the wooden balconies, reminded one of the flower with which a gypsy carelessly adorns her hair. Sometimes Segundo's way led through a pine grove, and he inhaled the balsamic odor of the resin and rode over a carpet of dry leaves which deadened the sound of his horse's hoofs; suddenly, between two fences, a narrow path, bordered by blackberry bushes, foxglove and honeysuckle would open before him, and not unfrequently he experienced the delightful sense of well-being produced by the coolness cast by umbrageous foliage during the heat of the day, as he rode through some verdant tunnel--under some lofty grape arbor supported on wooden posts, beholding above his head the bunches already ripening, and listening to the noisy twittering of the sparrows and the shrill whistle of the blackbird. Lizards ran along the moss-covered walls. When two or more paths met Segundo would rein in his horse, to inquire the way to Las Vides of the women who toiled wearily up the steep path, bending under their load of pine wood, or the children playing at the doors of the houses.

Far below ran the Avieiro, that, from the height at which Segundo regarded it, looked like a steel blade flashing and quivering in the sunshine. Before him was the mountain where, like the steps of a colossal amphitheater, rose one above another massive walls of whitish stone, erected for the support of the grapevines, the white stripes showing against the green background, forming an odd combination in which stood out here and there the red roof of some dovecote or some old homestead, the whole surmounted by the darker green of the pine woods. Segundo at last saw below him the tiles of Las Vides. He descended a steep slope and found himself before the portico.

Under the grapevine were Victorina and Nieves. The child was amusing herself jumping the rope, which she did with extraordinary agility, the feet close together, without moving from one spot, the rope turning so rapidly that the graceful form of the jumper seemed to be enveloped in a sort of mist. Through the interstices in the foliage of the grapevine came large splashes of sunshine suddenly flooding the girl's form with light, in which her hair, her arms and her bare legs gleamed, for she wore only a loose navy blue blouse without sleeves. When she caught sight of Segundo she gave a little cry, dropped the rope and disappeared. Nieves, to make amends, rose from the bench where she had been working, with a smile on her lips and a slight flush of surprise on her cheeks, and extended her hand to the newcomer, who made haste to dismount from his horse.

"And Señor Don Victoriano, how is he?" he asked.

"Oh, he is somewhere in the neighborhood; he is very well, and very much interested in the labors of the country--very contented." Nieves said these words with the abstracted air with which we speak of things that possess only a slight interest for us. Segundo observed that the glance of the Minister's wife rested on his fine suit, which he had just received from Orense; and the idea that she might think it pretentious or ridiculous disturbed him so greatly for a time that he regretted not having worn his ordinary clothes.

"You frightened away Victorina," continued Nieves, smiling. "Where can the silly child have disappeared to? No doubt she ran away because she had on only a blouse. You treat her like a woman, and she is growing unbearable. Come."

Nieves gathered up the skirt of her morning gown of white cretonne spotted with rosebuds, and made her way intrepidly into the kitchen, which was on a level with the yard. Following the little Louis XV. heels covered by the Breton lace of her petticoat, Segundo passed through several rooms--the kitchen, the dining-room, the Rosary room, so called because in it Primo Genday said prayers with the servants, and finally the balcony room. Here Nieves stopped, saying:

"I will call to them if they chance to be in the vineyard."

And leaning out of the window, she cried:

"Uncle! Victoriano! Uncle!"

Two voices responded.

"What is it? We are coming."

Finding nothing opportune to say, Segundo was silent. Her conscience at rest, now that she had called the elders, Nieves turned toward him and said, with the graciousness of a hostess who knows what are the duties of her position:

"How good this is of you! We had not thought you would care to come before the vintage. And now that the holidays are approaching--indeed I supposed we should see you in Vilamorta before seeing you here, as Victoriano has determined to take a fortnight's course of the waters."

She leaned against the wall as she spoke, and Segundo tapped the toe of his boot with his whip. From the garden came the voice of Mendez:

"Nieves! Nieves! Come down, if it is all the same to you."

"Excuse me, I am going for a parasol."

She soon returned, and Segundo offered her his arm. They descended into the garden through the gallery, and after the customary greetings were over Mendez protested against Segundo's returning that afternoon to Vilamorta.

"The idea! A pretty thing that would be! To expose yourself to the heat twice in the same day!"

And Señor de las Vides, availing himself of an opportunity which no rural proprietor ever lets slip, took possession of the poet and gave himself up to the task of showing him over the estate. He explained to him at the same time his viticultural enterprises. He had been among the first to employ sulphur fumigation with success, and he was now using new manures which would perhaps solve the problem of grape cultivation. He was making experiments with the common wine of the Border, trying to make with it an imitation of the rich Bordeaux; to impart to it, with powdered lily-root, the bouquet, the fragrance, of the French wines. But he had to contend against the spirit of routine, fanaticism, as he said, confidentially lowering his voice and laying his hand on Segundo's shoulder. The other vine-growers accused him of disregarding the wholesome traditions of the country, of adulterating and making up wine. As if they themselves did not make it up. Only that they did so, using common drugs for the purpose--logwood and nightshade. He contented himself with employing rational methods, scientific discoveries, the improvements of modern chemistry, condemning the absurd custom of using pitch in the skins, for although the people of the Border approved of the taste of pitch in the wine, saying that the pitch excited thirst, the exporters disliked, and with reason, the stickiness imparted by it. In short, if Segundo would like to see the wine vaults and the presses----

There was no help for it. Nieves remained at the door, fearing to soil her dress. When they came out they proceeded to inspect the garden in detail. The garden, too, was a series of walls built one above another, like the steps of a stairs, sustaining narrow belts of earth, and this arrangement of the ground gave the vegetation an exuberance that was almost tropical. Camellias, peach trees, and lemon trees grew in wild luxuriance, laden at once with leaves, fruits, and blossoms. Bees and butterflies circled and hummed around them, sipping their sweets, wild with the joy of mere existence and drunken with the sunshine. They ascended by steep steps from wall to wall. Segundo gave his arm to Nieves and at the last step they paused to look at the river flowing below.

"Look there," said Segundo, pointing to a distant hill on his left. "There is the pine grove. I wager you have forgotten."

"I have not forgotten," responded Nieves, winking her blue eyes dazzled by the sun; "the pine grove that sings. You see that I have not forgotten. And tell me, do you know if it will sing to-day? For I should greatly like to hear it sing this afternoon."

"If a breeze rises. With the air as still as it is now, the pines will be almost motionless and almost silent. And I say _almost_, for they are never quite silent. The friction of their tops is sufficient to cause a peculiar vibration, to produce a murmur----"

"And does that happen," asked Nieves jestingly, "only with the pines here or is it the same with all pines?"

"I cannot say," answered Segundo, looking at her fixedly. "Perhaps the only pine grove that will ever sing for me will be that of Las Vides."

Nieves lowered her eyes, and then glanced round, as if in search of Don Victoriano and Mendez, who were on one of the steps above them. Segundo observed the movement and with rude imperiousness said to Nieves:

"Let us join them."

They rejoined their companions and did not again separate from them until they entered the dining-room, where Genday and Tropiezo were awaiting them. The last to arrive was the child, now modestly attired in a piqué frock and long stockings.

The table at which they dined was placed, not in the center, but at one side of the dining-room; it was square and at the sides, instead of chairs, stood two oaken benches, dark with age, as seats for the guests. The head and foot of the table were left free for the service. Sober by nature, Segundo noticed with surprise the extraordinary quantity of food consumed by Don Victoriano, observing at the same time that his face was thinner than before. Now and then the statesman paused remorsefully, saying:

"I am eating ravenously."

The Amphitryon protested, and Tropiezo and Genday expounded in turn liberal and consoling doctrines. "Nature is very wise," said Señor de las Vides, who had not forgotten Rousseau, "and he who obeys her cannot go astray." Primo Genday, fond of eating, like all plethoric people, added with a certain theological unction: "In order that the soul may be disposed to serve God the reasonable requirements of the body must first be attended to." Tropiezo, on his side, pushed out his lower lip, denying the existence of certain new-fangled diseases. Since the world began there had been people who suffered as Don Victoriano was suffering and no one had ever thought of depriving them of eating and drinking, quite the contrary. For the very reason that the disease was a wasting one it was necessary to eat well. Don Victoriano allowed himself to be easily persuaded. Those dishes of former times, those antiquated, miraculous cruet-stands in which the oil and the vinegar came from the same tube without ever mingling, that immense loaf placed on the table as a center-piece, were for him so many delightful relics of the past, which reminded him of happy hours, the irresponsible years of existence. At the dessert, when Primo Genday, still heated with a political discussion in which he had characterized the liberals as uncircumcised, suddenly grew very serious and proceeded to recite the Lord's Prayer, the Minister, a confirmed rationalist, was surprised at the devoutness with which he murmured--"Our daily bread." _Caramba_, those memories of the days when one was young! Don Victoriano grew young again in going over those recollections of his boyish days. He even called to mind ephemeral engagements, flirtations of a fortnight with young ladies of the Border who, at the present time, must be withered old maids or respectable mothers of families. A pretty fool he was! The ex-Minister laid down his napkin and rose to his feet.

"Do you sleep the siesta?" he asked Segundo.

"No, Señor."

"Nor I either; let us go and smoke a cigar together."

X.

They seated themselves near the window in the pa rlor in a couple of rocking-chairs brought from Orense. The garden and the vineyard breathed a lazy tranquillity, a silence so profound that the dull sound of the ripe peaches breaking from the branch and falling on the dry ground could be plainly heard. Through the open window came odors of fruit and honey. In the house unbroken silence reigned.

"Will you have a cigar?"

"Thanks."

The cigars were lighted and Segundo, following Don Victoriano's example, began to rock himself. The rhythmical movement of the rocking-chairs, the drowsy quiet of the place, invited to a serious and confidential conversation.

"And you, what do you do in Vilamorta? You are a lawyer, are you not. I think I have heard that it is your intention to succeed your father in his practice--a very intelligent man."

Segundo felt that the occasion was propitious. The smoke of the cigars, diffusing itself through the atmosphere, softened the light, disposing him to confidence and dispelling his habitual reserve.

"The thought of beginning now the career my father is just ending horrifies me," he said, in answer to the ex-Minister's question. "That sordid struggle to gain a little money, more or less, those village intrigues, that miserable plotting and planning, that drawing-up of documents--I was made for none of those things, Señor Don Victoriano. It is not that I could not practice. I have been a fair student and my good memory always brought me safely through in the examinations. But for what does the profession of law serve? For a foundation, nothing more. It is a passport, a card of admission to some office."

"Well----" said Don Victoriano, shaking the ashes from his cigar, "what you say is true, very true. What is learned at the University is of scarcely any use afterward. As for me, if it had not been for my apprenticeship with Don Juan Antonio Prado, who taught me to make a practical use of my legal knowledge and to know how many teeth there are in a comb, I should not have distinguished myself greatly by my Compostelan learning. My friend, what makes a man of one, what really profits one is this terrible apprenticeship, the position in which a boy finds himself when a pile of papers is set before him, and a pompous gentleman says to him, 'Study this question to-day and have ready for me by to-morrow a formulated opinion on it.' There is the rub! That is what makes you sweat and bite your nails! There neither laziness nor ignorance will avail you. The thing must be done, and as it cannot be done by magic----"

"Even in Madrid and on a large scale the practice of the law has no attractions for me. I have other aspirations."

"Let us hear what they are."

Segundo hesitated, restrained by a feeling of shyness, as if he had been going to narrate a dream or to descant on the delights of love. He followed with his eyes for a few moments the blue smoke curling upward and finally, the semi-obscurity of the room, secluded as a confessional, dissipated his reserve.

"I wish to follow the profession of literature," he returned.

The statesman stopped rocking himself and took his cigar from his mouth.

"But my boy, literature is not a profession!" he said. "There is no such thing as the profession of literature! Let us understand each other--have you ever been out of Vilamorta? I mean beyond Santiago and the neighboring towns?"

"No, Señor."

"Then I can understand those illusions and those childish notions. They still believe here that a writer or a poet, from the mere fact of his being such, may aspire to--and what do you write?"

"Poetry."

"You don't write prose at all?"

"An occasional essay or newspaper article. Very little."

"Bravo! Well, if you trust to poetry to make your way in the world--I have remarked something curious in this place and I am going to tell you what it is. Verses are still read here with interest, and it seems the girls learn them by heart. But in the capital I assure you there is scarcely anyone who cares for poetry. You are twenty or thirty years behind the age here--at the height of the romantic period."

Segundo, annoyed, said with some vehemence:

"And Campoamor? And Nuñez de Arce? And Grilo? Are they not famous poets? Are they not popular?"

"Campoamor? They read him because he is very witty, and he sets the girls thinking and he makes the men laugh. He has his merit, and he amuses while he philosophizes. But remember that neither he nor Nuñez de Arce lives by writing verses. Much prosperity that would bring them! As to Grilo--well, he has his admirers among ladies of rank, and the Queen Mother publishes his poems, and as far as we can judge he has plenty of money. But convince yourself that no one will ever grow rich by following the road that leads to Parnassus. And this is when masters are in question, for of poets of a secondary rank, young men who string rhymes together with more or less facility, there are probably now in Madrid some two or three hundred. Have you ever heard of any of them? No; nor I either. A few friends praise them when they publish anything in some insignificant review. But there is no need to go on. In plain words, it is time lost."

Segundo silently vented his anger on his cigar.

"Don't take what I say as an offense," continued Don Victoriano. "I know little about literature, although in my youthful days I wrote _quintillas_, like everybody else. Besides, I have seen nothing of what you have written, so that my opinion is impartial and my advice sincere."

"My ambition," began Segundo at last, "is not confined exclusively to lyric poetry. Perhaps later I might prefer the drama--or prose. Who knows? I only want to try my fortune."

Don Victoriano rose and stepped out into the balcony. Suddenly he returned, placed both hands on Segundo's shoulders, and putting his clean-shaven face close to the face of the poet, said with a pity which was not feigned:

"Poor boy! How many, many disappointments are in store for you!"

And as Segundo, astonished at this sudden effusion, remained silent, he continued:

"Novice as you are, you have no means of knowing what you are doing. I am sorry for you. You are deluding yourself. In the present state of society, in order to attain eminence in anything, you must sweat blood like Christ in the garden of Gethsemane. If it is lyric poetry that is in question, God help you! If you write comedies or farces, you have an enviable fate before you--to flatter the actors, to have your manuscript lie neglected in the corner of a drawer, to have half an act cut out at a stroke; and then the dread of the first night, and of what comes after it--which may be the worst of all. If you become a journalist, you will not have ten minutes in the day to yourself, you will make the reputation of others, and you will never see even so much as the shadow of your own. If you write books--but who reads in Spain? And if you throw yourself into politics--ah, then indeed!"

Segundo, his eyes cast down, his gaze wandering over the pine knots in the boarded floor, listened without opening his lips to those convincing accents that seemed to tear away one by one the rose-leaves of his illusions, with the same strident sound with which the nail of the speaker flicked away the ash of his cigar. At last he raised his contracted face and looking at the statesman said, not without a touch of sarcasm in his voice: