Part 9

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, the vital 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.

XIV.

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 for an 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 the ear 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 an _ochavo_; 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 called _Seven on a horse_, because they have one horse for all seven which they ride in pairs, in turn, and when they 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 the rafters 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.

XV.

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. On the 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, the indefatigable 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 a _habanera_ to keep from dying by asphyxiation.

When Nieves entered the ballroom, the other women looked at her, first with curiosity, then with surprise. 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 in _La 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 the young 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."

XVI.

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 he must 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 heavy _coleiro_, 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 or brief 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 plaintive _a-laá-laá_. The pagan sensation of well-being, the exhilaration produced by the pure air of 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.