Dona Perfecta Read online

  CHAPTER II

  A JOURNEY IN THE HEART OF SPAIN

  When they had proceeded some distance on their way and had left behindthem the hovels of Villahorrenda, the traveller, who was young andhandsome spoke thus:

  "Tell me, Senor Solon--"

  "Licurgo, at your service."

  "Senor Licurgo, I mean. But I was right in giving you the name of a wiselegislator of antiquity. Excuse the mistake. But to come to the point.Tell me, how is my aunt?"

  "As handsome as ever," answered the peasant, pushing his beast forwarda little. "Time seems to stand still with Senora Dona Perfecta. They saythat God gives long life to the good, and if that is so that angel ofthe Lord ought to live a thousand years. If all the blessings that areshowered on her in this world were feathers, the senora would need noother wings to go up to heaven with."

  "And my cousin, Senorita Rosario?"

  "The senora over again!" said the peasant. "What more can I tell you ofDona Rosarito but that that she is the living image of her mother? Youwill have a treasure, Senor Don Jose, if it is true, as I hear, that youhave come to be married to her. She will be a worthy mate for you, andthe young lady will have nothing to complain of, either. Between Pedroand Pedro the difference is not very great."

  "And Senor Don Cayetano?"

  "Buried in his books as usual. He has a library bigger than thecathedral; and he roots up the earth, besides, searching for stonescovered with fantastical scrawls, that were written, they say, by theMoors."

  "How soon shall we reach Orbajosa?"

  "By nine o'clock, God willing. How delighted the senora will be when shesees her nephew! And yesterday, Senorita Rosario was putting the roomyou are to have in order. As they have never seen you, both mother anddaughter think of nothing else but what Senor Don Jose is like, or isnot like. The time has now come for letters to be silent and tonguesto talk. The young lady will see her cousin and all will be joy andmerry-making. If God wills, all will end happily, as the saying is."

  "As neither my aunt nor my cousin has yet seen me," said the travellersmiling, "it is not wise to make plans."

  "That's true; for that reason it was said that the bay horse is of onemind and he who saddles him of another," answered the peasant. "Butthe face does not lie. What a jewel you are getting! and she, what ahandsome man!"

  The young man did not hear Uncle Licurgo's last words, for he waspreoccupied with his own thoughts. Arrived at a bend in the road, thepeasant turned his horse's head in another direction, saying:

  "We must follow this path now. The bridge is broken, and the river canonly be forded at the Hill of the Lilies."

  "The Hill of the Lilies," repeated the cavalier, emerging from hisrevery. "How abundant beautiful names are in these unattractivelocalities! Since I have been travelling in this part of the countrythe terrible irony of the names is a constant surprise to me. Some placethat is remarkable for its barren aspect and the desolate sadness ofthe landscape is called Valleameno (Pleasant Valley). Some wretchedmud-walled village stretched on a barren plain and proclaiming itspoverty in diverse ways has the insolence to call itself Villarica (RichTown); and some arid and stony ravine, where not even the thistlescan find nourishment, calls itself, nevertheless, Valdeflores (Vale ofFlowers). That hill in front of us is the Hill of the Lilies? But where,in Heaven's name, are the lilies? I see nothing but stones and witheredgrass. Call it Hill of Desolation, and you will be right. With theexception of Villahorrenda, whose appearance corresponds with its name,all is irony here. Beautiful words, a prosaic and mean reality. Theblind would be happy in this country, which for the tongue is a Paradiseand for the eyes a hell."

  Senor Licurgo either did not hear the young man's words, or, hearing, hepaid no attention to them. When they had forded the river, which, turbidand impetuous, hurried on with impatient haste, as if fleeing from itsown hands, the peasant pointed with outstretched arm to some barren andextensive fields that were to be seen on the left, and said:

  "Those are the Poplars of Bustamante."

  "My lands!" exclaimed the traveller joyfully, gazing at the melancholyfields illumined by the early morning light. "For the first time, I seethe patrimony which I inherited from my mother. The poor woman used topraise this country so extravagantly, and tell me so many marvellousthings about it when I was a child, that I thought that to be here wasto be in heaven. Fruits, flowers, game, large and small; mountains,lakes, rivers, romantic streams, pastoral hills, all were to be foundin the Poplars of Bustamante; in this favored land, the best and mostbeautiful on the earth. But what is to be said? The people of this placelive in their imaginations. If I had been brought here in my youth, whenI shared the ideas and the enthusiasm of my dear mother, I suppose thatI, too, would have been enchanted with these bare hills, these arid ormarshy plains, these dilapidated farmhouses, these rickety norias,whose buckets drip water enough to sprinkle half a dozen cabbages, thiswretched and barren desolation that surrounds me."

  "It is the best land in the country," said Senor Licurgo; "and for thechick-pea, there is no other like it."

  "I am delighted to hear it, for since they came into my possession thesefamous lands have never brought me a penny."

  The wise legislator of Sparta scratched his ear and gave a sigh.

  "But I have been told," continued the young man, "that some of theneighboring proprietors have put their ploughs in these estates of mine,and that, little by little, they are filching them from me. Herethere are neither landmarks nor boundaries, nor real ownership, SenorLicurgo."

  The peasant, after a pause, during which his subtle intellect seemed tobe occupied in profound disquisitions, expressed himself as follows:

  "Uncle Paso Largo, whom, for his great foresight, we call thePhilosopher, set his plough in the Poplars, above the hermitage, and bitby bit, he has gobbled up six fanegas."

  "What an incomparable school!" exclaimed the young man, smiling. "Iwager that he has not been the only--philosopher?"

  "It is a true saying that one should talk only about what one knows, andthat if there is food in the dove-cote, doves won't be wanting. But you,Senor Don Jose, can apply to your own cause the saying that the eye ofthe master fattens the ox, and now that you are here, try and recoveryour property."

  "Perhaps that would not be so easy, Senor Licurgo," returned the youngman, just as they were entering a path bordered on either side bywheat-fields, whose luxuriance and early ripeness gladdened the eye."This field appears to be better cultivated. I see that all is notdreariness and misery in the Poplars."

  The peasant assumed a melancholy look, and, affecting something ofdisdain for the fields that had been praised by the traveller, said inthe humblest of tones:

  "Senor, this is mine."

  "I beg your pardon," replied the gentleman quickly; "now I was going toput my sickle in your field. Apparently the philosophy of this place iscontagious."

  They now descended into a canebrake, which formed the bed of a shallowand stagnant brook, and, crossing it, they entered a field full ofstones and without the slightest trace of vegetation.

  "This ground is very bad," said the young man, turning round to lookat his companion and guide, who had remained a little behind. "Youwill hardly be able to derive any profit from it, for it is all mud andsand."

  Licurgo, full of humility, answered:

  "This is yours."

  "I see that all the poor land is mine," declared the young man, laughinggood-humoredly.

  As they were thus conversing, they turned again into the high-road. Themorning sunshine, pouring joyously through all the gates and balconiesof the Spanish horizon, had now inundated the fields with brilliantlight. The wide sky, undimmed by a single cloud, seemed to grow widerand to recede further from the earth, in order to contemplate it, andrejoice in the contemplation, from a greater height. The desolate,treeless land, straw-colored at intervals, at intervals of the colorof chalk, and all cut up into triangles and quadrilaterals, yellow orblack, gray or pale green, bore a fanciful resem
blance to a beggar'scloak spread out in the sun. On that miserable cloak Christianity andIslamism had fought with each other epic battles. Glorious fields, intruth, but the combats of the past had left them hideous!

  "I think we shall have a scorching day, Senor Licurgo," said the youngman, loosening his cloak a little. "What a dreary road! Not a singletree to be seen, as far as the eye can reach. Here everything is incontradiction. The irony does not cease. Why, when there are no poplarshere, either large or small, should this be called The Poplars?"

  Uncle Licurgo did not answer this question because he was listeningwith his whole soul to certain sounds which were suddenly heard in thedistance, and with an uneasy air he stopped his beast, while he exploredthe road and the distant hills with a gloomy look.

  "What is the matter?" asked the traveller, stopping his horse also.

  "Do you carry arms, Don Jose?"

  "A revolver--ah! now I understand. Are there robbers about?"

  "Perhaps," answered the peasant, with visible apprehension. "I think Iheard a shot."

  "We shall soon see. Forward!" said the young man, putting spurs to hisnag. "They are not very terrible, I dare say."

  "Keep quiet, Senor Don Jose," exclaimed the peasant, stopping him."Those people are worse than Satan himself. The other day they murderedtwo gentlemen who were on their way to take the train. Let us leave offjesting. Gasparon el Fuerte, Pepito Chispillas, Merengue, and AhorcaSuegras shall not see my face while I live. Let us turn into the path."

  "Forward, Senor Licurgo!"

  "Back, Senor Don Jose," replied the peasant, in distressed accents."You don't know what kind of people those are. They are the same menwho stole the chalice, the Virgin's crown, and two candlesticks from thechurch of the Carmen last month; they are the men who robbed the Madridtrain two years ago."

  Don Jose, hearing these alarming antecedents, felt his courage begin togive way.

  "Do you see that great high hill in the distance? Well, that is wherethose rascals hide themselves; there in some caves which they call theRetreat of the Cavaliers."

  "Of the Cavaliers?"

  "Yes, senor. They come down to the high-road when the Civil Guards arenot watching, and rob all they can. Do you see a cross beyond the bendof the road? Well, that was erected in remembrance of the death of theAlcalde of Villahorrenda, whom they murdered there at the time of theelections."

  "Yes, I see the cross."

  "There is an old house there, in which they hide themselves to wait forthe carriers. They call that place The Pleasaunce."

  "The Pleasaunce?"

  "If all the people who have been murdered and robbed there were to berestored they would form an army."

  While they were thus talking shots were again heard, this time nearerthan before, which made the valiant hearts of the travellers quake alittle, but not that of the country lad, who, jumping about for joy,asked Senor Licurgo's permission to go forward to watch the conflictwhich was taking place so near them. Observing the courage of the boyDon Jose felt a little ashamed of having been frightened, or at leasta little disturbed, by the proximity of the robbers, and cried, puttingspurs to his nag:

  "We will go forward, then. Perhaps we may be able to lend assistance tothe unlucky travellers who find themselves in so perilous a situation,and give a lesson besides to those cavaliers."

  The peasant endeavored to convince the young man of the rashness of hispurpose, as well as of the profitlessness of his generous design, sincethose who had been robbed were robbed and perhaps dead also, and not ina condition to need the assistance of any one.

  The gentleman insisted, in spite of these sage counsels; the peasantreiterated his objections more strongly than before; when the appearanceof two or three carters, coming quietly down the road driving a wagon,put an end to the controversy. The danger could not be very great whenthese men were coming along so unconcernedly, singing merry songs; andsuch was in fact the case, for the shots, according to what the carterssaid, had not been fired by the robbers, but by the Civil Guards, whodesired in this way to prevent the escape of half a dozen thieves whomthey were taking, bound together, to the town jail.

  "Yes, I know now what it was," said Licurgo, pointing to a light cloudof smoke which was to be seen some distance off, to the right of theroad. "They have peppered them there. That happens every other day."

  The young man did not understand.

  "I assure you, Senor Don Jose," added the Lacedaemonian legislator, withenergy, "that it was very well done; for it is of no use to try thoserascals. The judge cross-questions them a little and then lets them go.If at the end of a trial dragged out for half a dozen years one of themis sent to jail, at the moment least expected he escapes, and returns tothe Retreat of the Cavaliers. That is the best thing to do--shoot them!Take them to prison, and when you are passing a suitable place--Ah, dog,so you want to escape, do you? pum! pum! The indictment is drawn up, thewitnesses summoned, the trial ended, the sentence pronounced--all ina minute. It is a true saying that the fox is very cunning, but he whocatches him is more cunning still."

  "Forward, then, and let us ride faster, for this road, besides being along one, is not at all a pleasant one," said Rey.

  As they passed The Pleasaunce, they saw, a little in from the road, theguards who a few minutes before had executed the strange sentencewith which the reader has been made acquainted. The country boy wasinconsolable because they rode on and he was not allowed to get anearer view of the palpitating bodies of the robbers, which could bedistinguished forming a horrible group in the distance. But they had notproceeded twenty paces when they heard the sound of a horse gallopingafter them at so rapid a pace that he gained upon them every moment. Ourtraveller turned round and saw a man, or rather a Centaur, for the mostperfect harmony imaginable existed between horse and rider. The latterwas of a robust and plethoric constitution, with large fiery eyes,rugged features, and a black mustache. He was of middle age and had ageneral air of rudeness and aggressiveness, with indications of strengthin his whole person. He was mounted on a superb horse with a muscularchest, like the horses of the Parthenon, caparisoned in the picturesquefashion of the country, and carrying on the crupper a great leather bagon the cover of which was to be seen, in large letters, the word Mail.

  "Hello! Good-day, Senor Caballuco," said Licurgo, saluting the horsemanwhen the latter had come up with them. "How is it that we got so farahead of you? But you will arrive before us, if you set your mind toit."

  "I will rest a little," answered Senor Caballuco, adapting his horse'space to that of our travellers' beasts, and attentively observing themost distinguished of the three, "since there is such good company."

  "This gentleman," said Licurgo, smiling, "is the nephew of DonaPerfecta."

  "Ah! At your service, senor."

  The two men saluted each other, it being noticeable that Caballucoperformed his civilities with an expression of haughtiness andsuperiority that revealed, at the very least, a consciousness of greatimportance, and of a high standing in the district. When the arroganthorseman rode aside to stop and talk for a moment with two Civil Guardswho passed them on the road, the traveller asked his guide:

  "Who is that odd character?"

  "Who should it be? Caballuco."

  "And who is Caballuco?"

  "What! Have you never heard of Caballuco?" said the countryman, amazedat the crass ignorance of Dona Perfecta's nephew. "He is a very braveman, a fine rider, and the best connoisseur of horses in all thesurrounding country. We think a great deal of him in Orbajosa; and he iswell worthy of it. Just as you see him, he is a power in the place, andthe governor of the province takes off his hat to him."

  "When there is an election!"

  "And the Governor of Madrid writes official letters to him with agreat many titles in the superscription. He throws the bar like a St.Christopher, and he can manage every kind of weapon as easily as wemanage our fingers. When there was market inspection here, they couldnever get the best of him, and shots were to b
e heard every night atthe city gates. He has a following that is worth any money, for they areready for anything. He is good to the poor, and any stranger who shouldcome here and attempt to touch so much as a hair of the head of anynative of Orbajosa would have him to settle with. It is very seldom thatsoldiers come here from Madrid, but whenever they do come, not a daypasses without blood being shed, for Caballuco would pick a quarrel withthem, if not for one thing for another. At present it seems that heis fallen into poverty and he is employed to carry the mail. But he istrying hard to persuade the Town Council to have a market-inspector'soffice here again and to put him in charge of it. I don't know how it isthat you have never heard him mentioned in Madrid, for he is the son ofa famous Caballuco who was in the last rebellion, and who was himselfthe son of another Caballuco, who was also in the rebellion of thatday. And as there is a rumor now that there is going to be anotherinsurrection--for the whole country is in a ferment--we are afraid thatCaballuco will join that also, following in the illustrious footsteps ofhis father and his grandfather, who, to our glory be it said, were bornin our city."

  Our traveller was surprised to see the species of knight-errantry thatstill existed in the regions which he had come to visit, but he had noopportunity to put further questions, for the man who was the object ofthem now joined them, saying with an expression of ill-humor:

  "The Civil Guard despatched three. I have already told the commander tobe careful what he is about. To-morrow we will speak to the governor ofthe province, and I----"

  "Are you going to X.?"

  "No; but the governor is coming here, Senor Licurgo; do you know thatthey are going to send us a couple of regiments to Orbajosa?"

  "Yes," said the traveller quickly, with a smile. "I heard it said inMadrid that there was some fear of a rising in this place. It is well tobe prepared for what may happen."

  "They talk nothing but nonsense in Madrid," exclaimed theCentaur violently, accompanying his affirmation with a string oftongue-blistering vocables. "In Madrid there is nothing but rascality.What do they send us soldiers for? To squeeze more contributions out ofus and a couple of conscriptions afterward. By all that's holy! if thereisn't a rising there ought to be. So you"--he ended, looking banteringlyat the young man--"so you are Dona Perfecta's nephew?"

  This abrupt question and the insolent glance of the bravo annoyed theyoung man.

  "Yes, senor, at your service."

  "I am a friend of the senora's, and I love her as I do the apple of myeye," said Caballuco. "As you are going to Orbajosa we shall see eachother there."

  And without another word he put spurs to his horse, which, setting offat a gallop, soon disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  After half an hour's ride, during which neither Senor Don Jose nor SenorLicurgo manifested much disposition to talk, the travellers came insight of an ancient-looking town seated on the slope of a hill, from themidst of whose closely clustered houses arose many dark towers, and,on a height above it, the ruins of a dilapidated castle. Its base wasformed by a mass of shapeless walls, of mud hovels, gray and dustylooking as the soil, together with some fragments of turreted walls, inwhose shelter about a thousand humble huts raised their miserableadobe fronts, like anaemic and hungry faces demanding an alms from thepasser-by. A shallow river surrounded the town, like a girdle of tin,refreshing, in its course, several gardens, the only vegetation thatcheered the eye. People were going into and coming out of the town, onhorseback and on foot, and the human movement, although not great, gavesome appearance of life to that great dwelling place whose architecturalaspect was rather that of ruin and death than of progress and life.The innumerable and repulsive-looking beggars who dragged themselves oneither side of the road, asking the obolus from the passer-by, presenteda pitiful spectacle. It would be impossible to see beings more inharmony with, or better suited to the fissures of that sepulchre inwhich a city was not only buried but gone to decay. As our travellersapproached the town, a discordant peal of bells gave token, with theirexpressive sound, that that mummy had still a soul.

  It was called Orbajosa, a city that figures, not in the Chaldeanor Coptic geography, but in that of Spain, with 7324 inhabitants, atown-hall, an episcopal seat, a court-house, a seminary, a stock farm, ahigh school, and other official prerogatives.

  "The bells are ringing for high mass in the cathedral," said UncleLicurgo. "We have arrived sooner than I expected."

  "The appearance of your native city," said the young man, examining thepanorama spread out before him, "could not be more disagreeable. Thehistoric city of Orbajosa, whose name is no doubt a corruption of UrbsAugusta, looks like a great dunghill."

  "All that can be seen from here is the suburbs," said the guide, inan offended tone. "When you enter the Calle Real and the Calle deCondestable, you will see handsome buildings, like the cathedral."

  "I don't want to speak ill of Orbajosa before seeing it," said the youngman. "And you must not take what I have said as a mark of contempt, forwhether humble and mean, or stately and handsome, that city will alwaysbe very dear to me, not only is it my mother's native place, but becausethere are persons living in it whom I love without seeing them. Let usenter the august city, then."

  They were now ascending a road on the outskirts of the town, and passingclose to the walls of the gardens.

  "Do you see that great house at the end of this large garden whosewall we are now passing?" said Uncle Licurgo, pointing to a massive,whitewashed wall belonging to the only dwelling in view which had theappearance of a cheerful and comfortable habitation.

  "Yes; that is my aunt's house?"

  "Exactly so! What we are looking at is the rear of the house. The frontfaces the Calle del Condestable, and it has five iron balconies thatlook like five castles. The fine garden behind the wall belongs to thehouse, and if you rise up in your stirrups you will be able to see itall from here."

  "Why, we are at the house, then!" cried the young man. "Can we not enterfrom here?"

  "There is a little door, but the senora had it condemned."

  The young man raised himself in his stirrups and, stretching his neck asfar as he could, looked over the wall.

  "I can see the whole of the garden," he said. "There, under the trees,there is a woman, a girl, a young lady."

  "That is Senorita Rosario," answered Licurgo.

  And at the same time he also raised himself in his stirrups to look overthe wall.

  "Eh! Senorita Rosario!" he cried, making energetic signs with his righthand. "Here we are; I have brought your cousin with me."

  "She has seen us," said the young man, stretching out his neck as far aswas possible. "But if I am not mistaken, there is an ecclesiastic withher--a priest."

  "That is the Penitentiary," answered the countryman, with naturalness.

  "My cousin has seen us--she has left the priest, and is running towardthe house. She is beautiful."

  "As the sun!"

  "She has turned redder than a cherry. Come, come, Senor Licurgo."