The Marquis Of Penalta Part 13

Ricardo nodded a.s.sent; and while the girl was gone, he went to one of the balconied windows and began to drum with his fingers on the gla.s.s, casting a vacant, absent look at the neighboring houses.

Marta came hurrying in again.

"Come, go with me; I am going to put the linen away."

Ricardo followed the girl like a lamb into a bright room full of clothes-presses. It looked into the garden. In the centre of it was a table on which stood a great basket heaped up with white clothes just from the wash.

"Will you help me take down this basket and put it there, near that clothes-press?"

"Why didn't you put it a little further off?"

The basket was a huge one, and it was a tug to carry it to the place designated: while they were carrying it, they got into such a frolic that more than once they had to set it down. Ricardo with his efforts grew very red in the face, and this made the girl laugh until she had no strength left. She rarely laughed; but when the floodgates were opened, n.o.body could stop it. Ricardo, with his inclination to make fun, puffed out his cheeks and grew redder yet. All ill humor had completely disappeared. The basket made very little progress, and both stood bending over it and struggling with it, being unable to lift it an inch from the ground, the one splitting with laughter, and the other affecting a comic desperation.

"What a valiant soldier, to be vanquished by a basket of clothes!"

exclaimed the girl, in the height of glee.

"I should like to see Prim or Espartero or even Napoleon himself here!

This isn't a basket at all! There is linen enough here for an army!"

"Let go, then! If you didn't make me laugh, I could lift it by myself."

After much laughter, and no little bantering, the basket reached its destination. Marta opened the clothes-press, from which came the distinctive, fresh, penetrating odor of fresh linen. The girl for several moments breathed it in with delight, while she was transferring the pieces from one shelf to another in order to make room for the clean clothes that she was going to put away. Then she started to call Carmen--one of the maids--to help her, but Ricardo asked timidly,--

"Listen, child, couldn't I help to do it?"

"Oh! if you would like--"

"But it isn't for me to like. Pure gold though I were, _preciosa_, it is for you to command me, as queen and mistress."

"It won't do at all."

"It's no condescension on my part; you can put me to the test."

"Well, then, this time I command you to take the two corners of this sheet and stretch them out in that direction hard--not so hard, man, how you pull me! That's the way! that's the way! Now double it as I do--so--one corner over the other--good!--now stretch it out again--more, ever so much more--that's it! Now fold it again; pull it out once more! There, that'll do. Now come towards me,--let me have it; I can manage it now. Here's another. Take the two corners--shake it well and stretch it out. Be careful, for this one has a ruffle--don't tear it! These are mamma's and Maria's sheets."

"How it would shock Maria if she knew I were folding her sheets!" cried Ricardo, laughing.

"Why, yes; the sheets themselves are. Mamma and she like very fine ones, and have theirs made of batiste; but papa and I like them coa.r.s.er. I can't bear fine sheets; I slip about in them and can't get settled. We are careful not to put any kind of ruffles on papa's, for the touch of starch tries his nerves, and the rustling keeps him awake. It's a hobby of his. Just imagine when he is travelling, and at some house they put on sheets with tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, he takes the trouble to pull the bed to pieces and put the ruffling under the mattress at his feet. I don't like them either, but if I find them on, I put up with them. Papa has a good many hobbies. Every night he has to go asleep with a cigar in his mouth. I walk up and down near his room until I see that he is asleep, and then I go in very gently and take the cigar from his mouth and put out the light.--Don't pull so hard, for my arms ache already. The truth is, I make you do very improper things for a military man; isn't that so?"

"Don't you believe it! At college, and even after we left, at boarding-houses we had to do much worse things. How many b.u.t.tons have I sewed on in my life! And how many times I have patched my trowsers when they were worn through!"

"Really?"

"Certainly!"

Marta was sincerely astonished. She could not understand that a man should have to descend to such duties when there are so many women in the world, and she asked particularly about his college life,--how they were treated, what they ate, at what time they went to bed, who attended to their rooms, who did their washing and ironing, were their mattresses hard or soft, did they drink wine, how many times a week they gave them clean towels, etc., etc. Ricardo answered all her questions, giving a circ.u.mstantial account of his college habits with the fulness of one who has very fresh recollections, and is not bored in recounting them. From college customs he pa.s.sed to his adventures, relating those which might be told to a young girl, and amusing himself above all in painting in the darkest colors the tribulations of freshman year[28] and the cruelties practised upon them by the seniors,[29] who compelled them to spend whole nights making cigarettes of sand so as to learn to make better ones of tobacco; in the street they would make them sit down on the stone seats and not let them get up till they gave them permission; they seated them at table, even though they had dined, just for the fun of the thing; those who were weakest would vomit or faint; one fellow who ventured to rebel against a _galonista_ they kept for six months face to face with a stone wall, during all play hours, until he was taken ill with jaundice and almost died. One Sunday afternoon, while he was in the hall with five other freshmen[30] reading a novel, two seniors came in and beat them furiously with cudgels until they were tired out, and gave him a painful cut near his eye.

Marta listened with profound attention, showing in her face all the phases of indignation. She pulled with greater and greater force on the sheets, and folded them any way, without taking her eyes from the narrator's. From time to time she exclaimed, "But, good Heavens,[31]

that is abominable! Those men are crazy; why didn't you tell the president about such cruelties?" Ricardo could not persuade her that it would have been useless to rebel or tell the colonel, since hazing[32]

was a traditional custom in the college which the officers did not care to root out. To all his reasonings she replied, "Well, I would have gone to the colonel, and if he had not made it right for me, I would have run away from college."

"Come, don't be excited, Marta, over what I went through. The men who suffer this way do the same thing. Now I am going to tell you something that took place between me and the colonel. After I became lieutenant--"

And changing his tack, he began to tell amusing adventures and jolly incidents, which smoothed out the frowns on the girl's face, and finally made her laugh heartily. Gradually the basket was emptied, and its contents were transferred to the clothes-press, which still exhaled its fresh and somewhat pungent odor of newly washed clothes. This odor filled the whole room, and gave it a refreshing perfume of health and cleanliness pleasanter than any perfumery or pomade. It was the perfume which always clung about Marta, as her father said, and seemed especially created for her. When she went alone to open the cloth-presses, she took a great delight in putting her head into them, and burying it in the clothes, enjoying the coolness of the linen against her face, and breathing with keen pleasure its healthful aroma.

The light pouring through the white tulle of the curtains, the ceaseless chatter and the merry laughter of the young people filled the room with joy and animation; it was called the "ironing-room," for all the linen of the house was ironed there. The walls not occupied by the clothes-presses were painted a plain white.

Carmen burst into the room like a hurricane, crying,--

"Senorita Marta, Senorita Marta!"

"What's the trouble?" asked Marta, in alarm.

"Menino has got out, senorita!"

Marta dropped the sheet which she had in her hands, and exclaimed in astonishment,--

"Has got out?"

"Yes, senorita; as I was just going through the gallery, I looked at the cage and found the door open and the bird gone!"

"Come along, come along!"

And all three rushed to the gallery. Indeed, Menino had flown away. By an incredible piece of carelessness Marta, when she fed him, and hung him up to enjoy the view of the garden and the singing of the other birds, had left the cage door open. For three years Menino had been under the young maiden's care, and during all this time he had showed no sign of cherishing plans of escape; on the contrary, hitherto the little hypocrite had always shown, as far as possible, that he did not care a straw for liberty, and that he had renounced it willingly for the sake of his dearly beloved mistress. For a long time he had been in the habit of coming out of his cage to eat chocolate with her; he would perch on her shoulder, peck softly at her hand to show his affection, hop about here and there over the furniture, and when it was time to retire, he would go back into the cage, meek as a lamb. By every presumption he was a happy canary, who regarded the loss of liberty as compensated by the care and attention of such a lovely girl, and by the permission to peck her rosy cheeks whenever he pleased. And aside from these more or less spiritual enjoyments, for which more than one lad in the town would have made stupendous sacrifices, and looking only at the material aspect of existence or bodily comforts, it must be laid down as a fact that Menino lived in his cage like an archbishop, with every want satisfied, supplied with hemp-seed on one side, with canary-seed on the other, at one time treated to lettuce, at others to lumps of chocolate, at others to crumbs soaked in milk; indeed, to ask more was to offend G.o.d. And as for neatness and cleanliness of habitation, he had just as little cause for envying any one; every morning Marta herself cleaned it out, leaving the cage like a mirror. But contrary to the general belief that he found himself perfectly satisfied, and would not change places even with the director of the mint, Menino was certainly waiting impatiently for a chance to escape; he had allowed himself to be overwhelmed with melancholy, his character had been soured, and his bile excited by lack of exercise. If he had not gone out to breathe the fresh air on the day least expected, he would have dashed the top of his head against the bars of his cage.

As our young people stood under the cage, they deliberated briefly what to do. Marta was heart-broken. It was decided that Carmen, with the laundress and the gardener should scour the garden, for they thought that from lack of practice he would not fly very far at first; meanwhile Marta and Ricardo should make a thorough search through the house in case he had remained inside, flying through the halls as he had done once before. Marta acted as guide, and they immediately began to look through the suite of rooms next the corridor, a great square chamber with two sleeping-rooms leading from it, in which she and Maria, when they were children, had slept with their respective nurses. The paper on the room represented hunting-scenes, which used to make a great impression on Marta when she was small, especially one ill.u.s.trating a dying stag, conquered by half a dozen ferocious hounds. Then they pa.s.sed through several rooms designed for the guests who visited the house; they inspected the girls' rooms, they went down into the kitchen, which was in an entresol, and returned up stairs without any success. Then they visited Don Mariano's library, which was a magnificent room with two balconied windows facing the plaza, decorated in severe cla.s.sic taste; great leather armchairs, rich tapestries, an ebony writing-desk, and bookcases of the same wood; on the walls hung a few family portraits, painted in oil. Marta always felt in this library a sensation of happiness and well-being which she did not enjoy in the other parts of the house; in this sensation there was a delicious union of reverence and tenderness wherein were blended all her childish recollections, which overflowed with this exclusive, eager, and absorbing love, such as cause the unreasonable anger of children when the nurse tears them from the paternal arms, and the yearning to go to them when they are held out to invite them. As soon as she had strength and skill enough to put his room in order, she never allowed any one else to do it. In the morning she always spent half an hour of delicious ease and comfort, dusting the huge chairs, which cost her a great effort to move from their places, and making Don Mariano's huge bed. She felt happy in that solemn patriarchal chamber. The colossal bookcases, the table, the chairs, the pictures, and the dignified figures of the tapestries fixed on her a silent, benevolent gaze in which she felt as it were alive, her father's great, protecting shadow.

Ricardo halted lazily before a portrait:--

"Is that your aunt? How much you resemble her! What a pity she died so young! She was a very fascinating woman."

"I should like to resemble her. She was very tall, and I am short."

"What difference does that make? You are like her, very much like her.

And that is natural, after all, for you are like your father, and you are an Elorza from head to foot. What huge bookcases Don Mariano has!

there's enough here to keep one busy a good while."

"Still, Maria has read the most of them."

"And you?"

"Oh, I don't read very much. I am very lazy. Papa says I don't like the black," replied the girl, with her frank smile, and looking a little ashamed; then she added: "But look, Ricardo, it isn't absolutely true, what papa says; though I don't care much for books, some of them please me; but one doesn't get time to take them up. I don't know how I manage not to have an hour for myself. Sometimes it's one thing, sometimes another."

"Confess, little one,[33] that you don't like them, and I won't say any more!"

"If you like, I will confess it; but it isn't true. I like some of them."

"How about Menino?"

"Ay! yes! come, come!"