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 SWAN OF VlLAMORTA^l- 
 
 BY 
 
 EMILIA PARDO BAZAN 
 
 DDING TRIP, " A ( 
 "MORRINA," ETC. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "A WEDDING TRIP," "A CHRISTIAN WOMAN,' 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 MARY J. SERRANO 
 
 TRANSLATOR OF " MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF : THE JOURNAL 
 OF A YOUNG ARTIST," ETC. 
 
 U^ 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CASSELT. PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 104 (S: 106 Fourth Avenue 
 
\(c^^U^ 
 
 Copyright, i8gi, 
 
 BY ' 
 
 CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
 
 A// rights reserved. 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, 
 RAHWAY, N. J, 
 
THE 
 
 SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 I. 
 
 Behind the pine grove the setting sun had left 
 a zone of fire against which the trunks of the pine 
 trees stood out Hke bronze columns. The path was 
 rugged and uneven, giving evidence of the ravages 
 wrought by the winter rains ; at intervals loose stones, 
 looking like teeth detached from the gum, rendered 
 it still more impracticable. The melancholy shades 
 of twilight were beginning to envelop the landscape ; 
 little by little the sunset glow faded away and the 
 moon, round and silvery, mounted in the heavens, 
 where the evening star was already shining. The 
 dismal croaking of the frogs fell sharply on the ear; 
 a fresh breeze stirred the dry plants and the dusty 
 brambles that grew by the roadside; and the trunks 
 of the pine trees grew momentarily blacker, stand- 
 ing out like inky bars against the pale green of the 
 horizon. 
 
2 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 A man was descending the path slowly, bent, ap- 
 parently, on enjoying the poetiy and the peace of 
 the scene and the hour. He carried a stout walking- 
 stick, and as far as one could judge in the fading light, 
 he was young and not ill-looking. 
 
 He paused frequently, casting glances to the right 
 and to the left as if in search of some familiar land- 
 mark. Finally he stood still and looked around him. 
 At his back was a hill crowned with chestnut trees; 
 on his left was the pine grove ; on his right a small 
 church with a mean belfry ; before him the outlying 
 houses of the town. He turned, walked back some 
 ten steps, stopped, fronting the portico of the 
 church, examined its wails, and, satisfied at last that 
 he had found the right place, raised his hands to his 
 mouth and forming with them a sort of speaking 
 trumpet, cried, in a clear youthful voice: 
 
 "Echo, let us talk together!" 
 
 From the angle formed by the walls, there came 
 back instantly another voice, deeper and less distinct, 
 strangely grave and sonorous, which repeated with 
 emphasis, linking the answer to the question and 
 dwelling upon the final syllable : 
 
 "Let us talk togethe-e-e-e-r !" 
 
 "Arc you happy?" 
 
 " Happy-y-y-y !" responded the echo. 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. % 
 
 "Who am I?" 
 
 "I-I-I-I!" 
 
 To these interrogations, framed so that the answer 
 should make sense with them, succeeded phrases 
 uttered without any other object than that of hear- 
 ing them reverberated with strange intensity by the 
 wall. "It is a lovely night."—" The moon is shin- 
 ing." — "The sun has set." — '*Do you hear me, 
 echo?" — "Have you dreams, echo, of glory, ambi- 
 tion, love?" The traveler, enchanted with his oc- 
 cupation, continued the conversation, varying the 
 words, combining them into sentences, and, in the 
 short intervals of silence, he listened to the faint 
 murmur of the pines stirred by the evening breeze, 
 and to the melancholy concert of the frogs. The 
 crimson and rose-colored clouds had become ashen 
 and had begun to invade the broad region of the 
 firmament over which the unclouded moon shed her 
 silvery light. The honeysuckles and elder-flowers 
 on the outskirts of the pine grove embalmed the air 
 with subtle and intoxicating fragrance. And the 
 interlocutor of the echo, yielding to the poetic influ- 
 ences of the scene, ceased his questions and exclama- 
 tions and began to recite, in a slow, chanting voice, 
 verses of Becquer, paying no heed now to the 
 voice from the wall, which, in its haste to repeat 
 
4 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 his words, returned them to him broken and 
 confused. 
 
 Absorbed in his occupation, pleased with the har- 
 monious sounds of the verse, he did not notice 
 the approach of three men of odd and grotesque 
 appearance, wearing enormous broad-brimmed felt 
 hats. One of the men was leading a mule laden 
 with a leathern sack filled, doubtless, with the juice 
 of the grape ; and as they walked slowly, and the 
 soft clayey soil deadened the noise of their footsteps, 
 they passed close by the young man, unperceived 
 by him. They exchanged some whispered words 
 with one another. "Who is he, man?" — "Segundo." 
 — "The lawyer's son?" — "The same." — "What is he 
 doingj* Is he talking to himself?" — "No, he is talk- 
 ing to the wall of Santa Margarita." — "Well, we have 
 as good a right to do that as he has." — "Begin 
 you " — "One — two — here goes " 
 
 And from those profane lips fell a shower of vile 
 words and coarse and vulgar phrases, interrupting 
 the Osciiras Golondriiias which the young man was 
 reciting with a great deal of expression, and produc- 
 ing, in the peaceful and harmonious nocturnal 
 silence, the effect of the clatter of brass pans and 
 kettles in a piece of German music. The most 
 refined expressions were in the following style: 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 5 
 
 "D (here an oath). Hurrah for the wine of the 
 
 Border! Hurrah for the red wine that gives cour- 
 age to man ! D " (the reader's imagination may 
 
 supply what followed, it being premised that the 
 disturbers of the Becquerian dreamer were three 
 lawless muleteers who were carrying with them an 
 abundant provision of the blood of the grape). 
 
 The nymph who dwelt in the wall opposed no 
 resistance to the profanation and repeated the round 
 oaths as faithfully as she had repeated the poet's 
 verses. Hearing the vociferations and bursts of 
 laughter which the wall sent back to him mockingly, 
 Segundo, the lawyer's son, aware that the barbarians 
 were turning his sentimental amusement into ridi- 
 cule, became enraged. Mortified and ashamed, he 
 tightened his grasp on his stick, strongly tempted to 
 break it on the ribs of some one of them ; and, mut- 
 tering between his teeth, ''Kaffirs! brutes! beasts!" 
 and other offensive epithets, he turned to the left, 
 plunged into the pine grove and walked toward the 
 town, avoiding the path in order to escape meeting 
 the profane trio. 
 
 The town was but a step away. The walls of its 
 nearest houses shone white in the moonlight, and the 
 stones of some buildings in course of erection, gar- 
 den walls, orchards, and vegetable beds, filled up the 
 
o ' THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 space between the town and the pine grove. The 
 path grew gradually broader, until it reached the high- 
 road, on either side of which leafy chestnut trees cast 
 broad patches of shade. The town was already 
 asleep, seemingly, for not a light was to be seen, nor 
 were any of those noises to be heard which reveal 
 the proximity of those human beehives called cities. 
 Vilamorta is in reality a very small beehive, a mod- 
 est town, the capital of a district. Bathed in the 
 splendor of the romantic satellite, however, it was 
 not without a certain air of importance imparted to 
 it by the new buildings, of a style of architecture 
 peculiar to prison cells, which an Americanized 
 Galician, recently returned to his native land with a 
 plentiful supply of cash, was erecting with all possi- 
 ble expedition. 
 
 Segundo turned into an out-of-the-way street — if 
 there be any such in towns like Vilamorta. Only 
 the sidewalks were paved ; the gutter was a gutter in 
 reality ; it was full of muddy pools and heaps of 
 kitchen garbage, thrown there without scruple by 
 the inhabitants. Segundo avoided two things — step- 
 ping into the gutter and walking in the moonlight. 
 A man passed so close by him as almost to touch 
 him, enveloped, notwithstanding the heat, in an am- 
 ple cloak, and holding open above his head an enor- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 7 
 
 mous umbrella, although there was no sign of rain; 
 doubtless he was some convalescent, some visitor to 
 the springs, who was breathing the pleasant night 
 air with hygienic precautions. Segundo, when he 
 saw him, walked closer to the houses, turning his 
 face aside as if afraid of being recognized. With 
 no less caution he crossed the Plaza del Consistorio, 
 the pride of Vilamorta, and then, instead of joining 
 one of the groups who were enjoying the fresh air, 
 seated on the stone benches round the public foun- 
 tain, he slipped into a narrow side street, and cross- 
 ing a retired little square shaded by a gigantic pop- 
 lar turned his steps in the direction of a small house 
 half hidden in the shadow of the tree. Between the 
 house and Segundo there stood a lumbering bulk — 
 the body of a stage-coach, a large box on wheels, its 
 shafts raised in air, waiting, lance in rest, as it were, 
 to renew the attack. Segundo skirted the obstacle, 
 and as he turned the corner of the square, absorbed 
 in his meditations, two immense hogs, monstrously 
 fat, rushed out of the half-open gate of a neighbor- 
 ing yard, and at a short trot that made their 
 enormous sides shake like jelly, made straight for 
 the admirer of Becquer, entangling themselves sti> 
 pidly and blindly between his legs. By a special 
 interposition of Providence the young man did not 
 
^ THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 measure his length upon the ground, but, his pa- 
 tience now exhausted, he gave each of the swine a 
 couple of angry kicks, which drew from them sharp 
 and ferocious grunts, as he ejaculated almost audi- 
 bly: "What a town is this, good Heavens! Even, 
 the hogs must run against one in the streets. Ah, 
 what a miserable place ! Hell itself could not be 
 worse !" 
 
 By the time he had reached the door of the house, 
 he had, to some extent, regained his composure. 
 The house was small and pretty and had a cheerful 
 air. There was no railing outside the windows, only 
 the stone ledges, which were covered with plants in 
 pots and boxes ; through the windows shaded by 
 muslin curtains a light could be seen burning, and in 
 the silent facade there was something peaceful and 
 attractive that invited one to enter. Segundo 
 pushed open the door and almost at the same in- 
 stant there was heard in the dark hall the rustling of 
 skirts, a woman's arms were opened and the admirer 
 of Becquer, throwing himself into them, allowed him- 
 self to be led, dragged, carried bodily, almost, up 
 the stairs, and into the little parlor where, on a table 
 covered with a white crochet cover, burned a care- 
 fully trimmed lamp. There, on the sofa, the lover 
 and the lady seated themselves. 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 9 
 
 Truth before all things. The lady was not far from 
 thirty-six or thirty-seven, and what is worse, could 
 never have been prett}^, or even passably good- 
 looking. The smallpox had pitted and hardened 
 her coarse skin, giving it the appearance of the 
 leather bottom of a sieve. Her small black eyes, 
 hard and bright like two fleas, matched wxll her 
 nose, which was thick and ill-shaped, like the noses of 
 the figures of lay monks stamped on chocolate. 
 True, the mouth was fresh-colored, the teeth white 
 and sound like those of a dog; but everything else 
 pertaining to her — dress, manner, accent, the want 
 of grace of the whole — was calculated rather to put 
 tender thoughts to flight than to awaken them. 
 With the lamp shining as brightly as it does, it is 
 preferable to contemplate the lover. The latter is 
 of medium height, has a graceful, well-proportioned 
 figure, and in the turn of his head and in his youth- 
 ful features there is something that irresistibly at- 
 tracts and holds the gaze. His forehead, which is 
 high and straight, is shaded and set off by luxuriant 
 hair, worn somewhat longer than is allowed by our 
 present severe fashion. His face, thin and delicately 
 outlined, casts a shadow on the walls which is made 
 up of acute angles. A mustache, curling with the 
 grace which is peculiar to a first mustache, and to 
 
to THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 the wavy locks of a young girl, shades but does not 
 cover his upper lip. The beard has not yet attained 
 its full growth; the muscles of the throat have not 
 yet become prominent ; the Adam's apple does not 
 yet force itself on the attention. The complexion is 
 dark, pale, and of a slightly bilious hue. 
 
 Seeing this handsome youth leaning his head on 
 the shoulder of this woman of mature age and un- 
 disguised ugliness, it would have been natural to 
 take them for mother and son, but anyone coming 
 to this conclusion, after a single moment's observa- 
 tion, would have shown scant penetration, for 
 in the manifestations of maternal affection, how- 
 ever passionate and tender they may be, there 
 is always a something of dignity and repose 
 which is wanting in those of every other 
 affection. 
 
 Doubtless Segundo felt a longing to see the moon 
 again, for he rose almost immediately from his seat 
 on the sofa and crossed over to the window, his com- 
 panion following him. He threw open the sash, and 
 they sat down side by side in two low chairs whose 
 seats were on a level with the flower-pots. A fine 
 carnation regaled the sense with its intoxicating 
 perfume ; the moon lighted up with her silvery rays 
 the foliage of the poplar that cast broad shadow 
 
THE S I VA iV OF VILA MOR TA. 1 1 
 
 over the little square, Segundo opened the con- 
 versation this wise : 
 
 "Have you made any cigars for me?" 
 "Here are some," she answered, putting her hand 
 into her pocket and drawing from it a bundle of 
 cigars. "I was able to make only a dozen and a half 
 for you. I will complete the two dozen to-night 
 before I go to bed." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, broken by the 
 sharp sound made by the striking of the match and 
 then, in a voice muffled by the first puff of smoke, 
 Segundo went on : 
 
 "Why, has anything new happened?" 
 ''New? No. The children — putting the house 
 in order — and then — Minguitos. He made my head 
 ache with his complaining — he complained the whole 
 blessed evening. He said his bones ached. And 
 you? Very busy, killing yourself reading, studying, 
 writing, eh? Of course !" 
 
 "No, I have been taking a delightful walk. I 
 went to Pefias-albas and returned by way of Santa 
 Margarita. I have seldom spent a pleasanter even- 
 ing." 
 
 "I warrant you were making verses." 
 "No, my dear. The verses I made I made last 
 night after leaving you." 
 
12 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "Ah ! And you weren't going to repeat them to 
 me. Come, for the love of the saints, come, recite 
 them for me, you must know them by heart. Come, 
 darhng." 
 
 To this vehement entreaty succeeded a passionate 
 kiss, pressed on the hair and forehead of the poet. 
 The latter raised his eyes, drew back a little and, 
 holding his cigar between his fingers after knocking 
 off the ashes with his nail, proceeded to recite. 
 
 The offspring of his muse was a poem in imitation 
 of Becquer. His auditor, who listened to it with 
 religious attention, thought it superior to anything 
 inspired by the muse of the great Gustave. And 
 she asked for another and then another, and then a 
 bit of Espronceda and then a fragment or two of 
 Zorrilla. By this time the cigar had gone out ; the 
 poet threv/ away the stump and lighted a fresh one. 
 Then they resumed their conversation. 
 
 "Shall we have supper soon?" 
 
 "Directly. What do you think I have for you?" 
 
 "I haven't the least idea." 
 
 'Think of what you like best. What you like 
 best, better than anything else." 
 
 "Bah! You know that so far as I am concerned, 
 provided you don't give me anything smoked or 
 greasy " 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 13 
 
 "A French omelet! You couldn't guess, eh? 
 Let me tell you — I found the receipt in a book. As 
 I had heard that it was something good I vv^anted to 
 try it. I had always made omelets as they make 
 them here, so stiff, that you might throw one against 
 the wall without breaking it. But this — I think it 
 will be to your taste. As for me, I don't like it 
 much, I prefer the old style. I showed Flores how 
 to make it. What was in the one you ate at the 
 inn at Orense? Chopped parsley, eh?" 
 
 "No, ham. But what difference does it make 
 what was in it?" 
 
 "I'll run and take it out of the pantry ! I thought 
 — the book says parsley ! Wait, wait." 
 
 She overturned her chair in her haste. An instant 
 later the jingling of her keys and the opening and 
 closing of a couple of doors were heard in the dis- 
 tance. A husky voice muttered some unintelligible 
 words in the kitchen. In two minutes she was back 
 again. 
 
 "Tell me, and those verses, are you not going to 
 publish them? Am I not going to see them in 
 print?" 
 
 "Yes," responded the poet, slowly turning his 
 head to one side and sending a puff of smoke 
 through his lips. "I am going to send them to Vigo, 
 
14 THE SWAN OF VILAMOKTA. 
 
 to Roberto Blanquez, to insert them in the 
 AmanecerT 
 
 ''I am delighted! You will become famous, 
 sweetheart! How many periodicals have spoken of 
 you? 
 
 Segundo laughed ironically and shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Not many." And with a somewhat preoccupied 
 air he let his gaze wander over the plants and far 
 away over the top of the poplar whose leaves rustled 
 gently in the breeze. The poet pressed his com- 
 panion's hand mechanically, and the latter returned 
 the pressure with passionate ardor. 
 
 "Of course. How do you expect them to speak 
 of you when you don't put your name to your 
 verses?" she said. "They don't know whose they 
 are. They are wondering, likely " 
 
 "What difference does the name make? They 
 could say the same things of the pseudonym I have 
 adopted as of Segundo Garcia. The few people 
 who will trouble themselves to read my verses will 
 call me the Swan of Vilamorta." 
 
II. 
 
 Segundo Garcia, the lawyer's son, and Leocadia 
 Otero, the schoohnistress of Vilamorta, had met each 
 other for the first time in the spring at a pilgrimage. 
 Leocadia had gone with some girls to whom she had 
 taught their letters and plain sewing. Before the 
 chorus of nymphs Segundo had recited verses for 
 rrfbre than two hours in an oak grove far from the 
 noise of the drum and the bagpipes, where the 
 strains of the music and the voices of the crowd 
 came softened by distance. The audience was as 
 silent as if they were hearing mass, although certain 
 passages of a tender or passionate nature were the 
 occasion, among the children, of nudges, pinches, 
 laughter instantaneously suppressed ; but from the 
 black eyes of the schoolmistress, down her cheeks, 
 pitted by the smallpox and pale with emotion, 
 flowed two large, warm tears, followed so quickly 
 and in such abundance by others that she was 
 obliged to take out her handkerchief to wipe them 
 away. And returning by starlight, descending the 
 mountain on whose summit stood the sanctuary, by 
 
1 6 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 sylvan footpaths carpeted with grass and bordered 
 with heather and briars, the order of march was as 
 follows: first the children, running, jumping, push- 
 ing one another among the heather and greeting 
 every fall with shouts of laughter; Leocadia and 
 Segundo behind, arm-in-arm, pausing from time to 
 time to talk in subdued tones, almost in whispers. 
 
 A sad and ugly story was told about Leocadia 
 Otero. Although, without actually saying so, she 
 had given it to be understood that she was a widow, 
 it was whispered that she had never been married ; 
 that the puny Dominguito, the little cripple \A\o 
 was always sick, was born while she lived in the 
 house of her uncle and guardian at Orense, after the 
 death of her parents. What was certain was that 
 her uncle had died shortly after the birth of the 
 child, bequeathing to his niece a couple of fields 
 and a house in Vilamorta, and Leocadia, after pass- 
 ing the necessary examinations, had obtained the 
 village school and gone to settle in that town. She 
 had lived in it now for more than thirteen years, 
 observing the most exemplary conduct, watching day 
 and night over Minguitos, and living with the utmost 
 frugality in order to rebuild the dilapidated house, 
 which she had finally succeeded in doing shortly 
 before her meeting with Segundo. Leocadia was a 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 1 7 
 
 woman of notably industrious habits; in her ward- 
 robe she had always a good supply of linen, in her 
 parlor bamboo furniture with a rug before the sofa, 
 grapes, rice, and ham in her pantry, and carnations 
 and sweet basil in her windows. Minguitos was 
 always as neat as a new pin ; she herself, when she 
 raised the skirt of her habit of Dolores, of good 
 merino, displayed underneath voluminous embroid- 
 ered petticoats, stiff with starch. For all which 
 reasons, notwithstanding her ugliness and her former 
 history, the schoolmistress was not without suitors — 
 a wealthy retired muleteer, and Cansin, the clothier. 
 She rejected the suitors and continued living alone 
 with Minguitos and Flores, her old servant, who 
 now enjoyed in the house all the privileges of a 
 grandmother. 
 
 The iniquitous wrong suffered by her in early 
 youth had produced in Leocadia, absorbed as she 
 was in her bitter recollections, a profound horror of 
 marriage and an insatiable thirst for the romantic, 
 the ideal, which is as a refreshing dew to the imagina- 
 tion and which satisfies the emotions. She had the 
 superficial knowledge of a village schoolmistress — 
 rudimentary, but sufficient to introduce exotic tastes 
 into Vilamorta ; that is to say, a taste for literature in 
 its most accessible forms — novels and poetry. She 
 
1 8 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 devoted to reading the leisure hours of her monoto- 
 nous and upright Hfe. She read with faith, with 
 enthusiasm, uncritically ; she read believing and ac- 
 cepting everything, identifying herself with each one 
 of the heroines, in turn, her heart echoing back the 
 poet's sighs, the troubadour's songs, and the laments 
 of the bard. Reading was her one vice, her secret 
 happiness. When she requested her friends at 
 Orense to renew her subscription to the library for 
 her they laughed at her and nicknamed her the 
 "Authoress." She an authoress! She only wished 
 she were. If she could only give form to what she 
 felt, to the world of fancy she carried in her mind ! 
 But this was impossible. Never would her brain 
 succeed in producing, however hard she might 
 squeeze it, even so much as a poor seguidilla. 
 Poetry and sensibility were stored up in the folds 
 and convolutions of her brain, as solar heat is stored 
 up in the coal. What came to the surface was pure 
 prose — housekeeping, economy, stews. 
 
 When she met Segundo, chance applied the lighted 
 torch to the formidable train of feelings and dreams 
 shut up in the soul of the schoolmistress. She had 
 at last found a worthy employment for her amorous 
 faculties, an outlet for her affections. Segundo was 
 poetry incarnate. He represented for her all the 
 
THE SWAN OF VlLAMORTA. 19 
 
 graces, all the divine attributes of poetry — the flow- 
 ers, the breeze, the nightingale, the dying light of 
 day, the moon, the dark wood. 
 
 The fire burned with astounding rapidity. In its 
 flames were consumed, first her honorable resolution 
 to efface by the blamelessness of her conduct the 
 stigma of the past, then her strong and deep maternal 
 affection. Not for an instant did the thought pre- 
 sent itself to Leocadia's mind that Segundo could 
 ever be her husband ; although both were free the 
 difference in their ages and the intellectual superior- 
 ity of the young poet placed an insurmountable bar- 
 rier in the way of the aspirations of the schoolmis- 
 tress. She fell in love as into an abyss, and looked 
 neither before nor behind. 
 
 Segundo had had in Santiago, during his college 
 days, youthful intrigues, adventures of a not very 
 serious nature, such as few men escape between the 
 ages of fifteen and twenty-five, occasionally taking 
 part, also, in what in that romantic epoch were 
 called orgies. Notwithstanding all this, however, 
 he was not vicious. The son of a hysterical mother, 
 whose strength was exhausted by repeated lacta- 
 tions, and who at last succumbed to the debility in- 
 duced by them, Segundo's spirit was much more 
 exacting and insatiable than his body. He had in- 
 
20 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 herited from his mother a melancholy temperament 
 and innumerable prejudices, innumerable instinctive 
 antipathies, innumerable superstitious practices. He 
 had loved her, and he cherished her memory with 
 veneration. And more tenacious even than his lov- 
 ing remembrance of his mother was the invincible 
 antipathy he cherished for his father. It would not 
 be true to say that the lawyer had been the mur- 
 derer of his wife, and yet Segundo clearly divined the 
 slow martyrdom endured by that fine nervous organ- 
 ization, and had always before his eyes, in his hours 
 of orloom, the mean coffin in which the dead woman 
 was interred, shrouded in the oldest sheet that was to 
 be found. 
 
 Segundo's family consisted of his father, an aunt, 
 advanced in years, two brothers, and three sisters. 
 The lawyer Garcia enjoyed the reputation of being 
 wealthy — in reality this fortune was insignificant — a 
 village fortune accumulated penny by penny, by 
 usurious loans and innumerable sordid privations. 
 His practice brought him in something, but ten 
 mouths to feed and the professional education of 
 three sons swallowed up not a little. The eldest of 
 the boys, an officer in an infantry regiment, was sta- 
 tioned in the Philippine Islands, and, far from expect- 
 ing any money from him, they were thankful if he 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 21 
 
 did not ask for any. Segundo, the second in age as 
 well as in name, had just been graduated — one law- 
 yer more in Spain, where this fruit grows so abun- 
 dantly. The youngest was studying at the Insti- 
 tute at Orense, with the intention of becoming an 
 apothecary. The girls spent the days running about 
 in the gardens and cornfields, half the time bare- 
 footed, not even attending Leocadia's school to save 
 the slight expense that would be incurred in procur- 
 ing the decent clothing which this would necessitate. 
 As for the aunt — Misia Gaspara — she was the soul 
 of the house, a narrow and sapless soul, a withered 
 old woman, silent and ghost-like in appearance, still 
 active, in spite of her sixty years, who, without ceas- 
 ing to knit her stockings with fingers as yellow as 
 the keys of an old harpsichord, sold barley in the 
 gran:iry, wine in the cellar, lent a dollar at fifty per 
 cent, interest to the fruit-women and hucksters of 
 the market, receiving their wares in payment, meas- 
 ured out the food, the light, and their clothing to her 
 nieces, fattened a pig with affectionate solicitude, 
 and was respected in Vilamorta for her ant-like 
 abilities. 
 
 It was the lawyer's aspiration to transmit his prac- 
 tice and his office to Segundo. Only the boy gave 
 no indication of an aptitude for stirring up law-suits ^ 
 
2 2 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 and prosecutions. How had he achieved the miracle 
 of passing with honor in the examinations without 
 eve^ having opened a law-book during the whole 
 term, and failing in attendance at the college when- 
 ever it rained or whenever the sun shone? Well, by 
 y/ means of an excellent memory and a good natural 
 intelligence ; learning by heart, when it was necesi- 
 sary, whole pages from the text-books, and remem- 
 bering and reciting them with the same ease, if not 
 with as much taste, as he recited the "Doloras" of 
 Campoamor. 
 
 On Segundo's table lay, side by side, the works of 
 Zorrilla and Espronceda, bad translations of Heine, 
 books of verse of local poets, the "Lamas-Varela," or, 
 Antidote to Idleness, and other volumes of a no less 
 heterogeneous kind. Segundo was not an insatiable 
 reader; he chose his reading according to the whim 
 of the moment, and he read only what was in con- 
 formity with his tastes, thus aquiring a superficial 
 culture of an imperfect and varied nature. Quick of 
 apprehension, rather than thoughtful or studious, he 
 had learned French without a teacher and almost by 
 intuition, in order to read in the original the works 
 of Musset, Lamartine, Proudhon, and Victor Hugo. 
 His mind was like an uncultivated field in which 
 grew here and there some rare and beautiful flower, 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 23 
 
 some exotic plant ; of the abstruse and positive 
 sciences, of solid and serious learning, which is the 
 nurse of mental vigor — the classics, the best litera- 
 ture, the severe teachings of history — he knew noth- 
 ing ; and in exchange, by a singular phenomenon of ' 
 intellectual relationship, he identified himself with 
 the romantic movement of the second third of the 
 century, and in a remote corner of Galicia lived 
 again the psychological life of dead and gone gener- 
 ations. So does some venerable academician, over- 
 leaping the nineteen centuries of our era, de- 
 light himself now with what delighted Horace and 
 live platonically enamored of Lydia. 
 
 Segundo composed his first verses, cynical and 
 pessimistic in intention, ingenuous in reality, before .^ 
 he had reached the age of seventeen. His class- 
 mates applauded him to the echo. He acquired in 
 their eyes a certain prestige, and when the first fruits 
 of his muse appeared in a periodical he had, without 
 going beyond the narrow circle of the college, admir- 
 ers and detractors. Thenceforth he acquired the right 
 to induge in solitary walks, to laugh rarely, to sur- 
 round his adventures with mystery, and not to play 
 or take a drink for good-fellowship's sake except 
 when he felt in the humor. 
 
 And he seldom felt in the humor. Excitation of 
 
24 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 the senses, of a purely physical nature, possessed no 
 attraction for him; if he drank at times through 
 bravado, the spectacle of drunkenness, the winding- 
 up of student orgies — the soiled tablecloth, the^ 
 maudlin disputes, his companions lying under the 
 table or stretched on the sofa, the shamelessness 
 and heartlessness of venal women — repelled him and 
 he came away from such scenes filled with disgust 
 and contempt, and at times a reaction proper to his 
 complex character sent him, a sincere admirer of 
 Proudhon, Quinet, and Renan, to the precincts of 
 some solitary church, where he drew in with delight 
 long breaths of the incense-laden air. 
 
 The lawyer Garcia made no protest against his 
 son's literary inclinations because he regarded them 
 as a passing amusement proper to his age, a youth- 
 ful folly, like dancing at a village feast. He began 
 to grow uneasy when he saw that Segundo, after 
 graduation, showed no inclination to help him in the 
 conduct of. his tortuous law-suits. Was the boy, 
 then, going to turn out good for nothing but to 
 string rhymes together? It was no crime to do this, 
 but — when there was not a pile of law-papers to go 
 through and stratagems to think of to circumvent 
 the opposing party. Since the lawyer had observed 
 this inclination of his son he had treated him with 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 25 
 
 more persistent harshness and coldness than before. 
 Every day at table or whenever the occasion offered, 
 he made cutting speeches to him about the neces- 
 sity of earning one's own bread by assiduous labor, 
 instead of depending upon others for it. These con- 
 tinual sermons, in which he displayed the same cap- y 
 tious and harassing obstinacy as in the conduct of 
 his law-suits, frightened Segundo from the house. In 
 Leocadia's house he found a place of refuge, and he 
 submitted passively to be adored ; flattered in the 
 first place by the triumph his verses had obtained, 
 awakening admiration so evidently sincere and ar- 
 dent, and in the second place attracted by the moral 
 well-being engendered by unquestioning approval 
 and unmeasured complacency. His idle, dreamy 
 brain reposed on the soft cushions which affection 
 smoothes for the beloved head ; Leocadia sympa- 
 thized with all his plans for the future, developing 
 and enlarging them ; she encouraged him to write 
 and to publish his verses ; she praised him without 
 reserve and without hypocrisy, for, for her, whose 
 critical faculty was situated in her cardiac cavities, 
 Segundo was the most melodious singer in the uni- 
 verse. 
 
 Gradually the loving prevision of the schoolmis- 
 tress extended to other departments of Segundo's 
 
26 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 existence. Neither the lawyer Garcia nor Aunt 
 Gaspara supposed that a young man, once his educa- 
 tion was finished, needed a penny for any extraor- 
 dinary expense. Aunt Gaspara, in particular, pro- 
 tested loudly at every fresh outlay — after fiUing her 
 nephew's trunk one year she thought he was pro- 
 vided with shirts for at least ten years to come : 
 clothes had no right to tear or to wear out, without 
 any consideration, in that way. Leocadia took note 
 of the wants of her idol ; one day she observed that 
 he was not well supplied with handkerchiefs and she 
 hemmed and marked a dozen for him ; the next day 
 she noticed that he was expected to keep himself in 
 cigars for a year on half a dollar, and she took upon 
 herself the task of making them for him, furnishing 
 the material herself gratis. She heard the fruit- 
 women criticising Aunt Gaspara's stinginess; she 
 inferred from this that Segundo had a poor table, 
 and she set herself to the task of devising appetizing 
 and nutritious dishes for him ; in addition to all 
 which she ordered bot)ks from Orense, mended his 
 clothes, and sewed on his buttons. 
 
 All this she did with inexpressible delight, going 
 about the house with a light, almost youthful step, 
 reju\ enated by the sweet maternity of love, and so 
 happy that she forgot to scold the school-children, 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 27 
 
 thinking only of shortening their tasks that she 
 might be all the sooner with Segundo. There was 
 in her affection much that was generous and spiritual, 
 and her happiest moments were those in which, as 
 they sat side by side at the window, his head resting 
 on her shoulder, she listened, while her imagination 
 transformed the pots of carnations and sweet basil 
 into a virgin forest, to the verses which he recited 
 in a well-modulated voice, verses that seemed to 
 Leocadia celestial music. 
 
 The medal had its obverse side, however. The 
 mornings were full of bitterness when Flores would 
 come with an angry and frowning face, her woolen 
 shawl twisted and wrinkled and falling over her eyes, 
 to say in short, abrupt phrases : 
 
 "The eggs are all used; shall I get more? There 
 is no sugar; which kind shall I buy — that dear loaf 
 sugar that we bought last week? To-day I got cof- 
 fee, two pounds of coffee, as if we had a gold mine. 
 I won't buy any more cordial — you can go for it 
 yourself — I won't." 
 
 "What are you talking about, Flores? What is 
 the matter with you?" 
 
 *T say that if you like to give Ramon, the confec- 
 tioner, twenty-four reals a bottle for anisette, when 
 it is to be had for eight at the apothecary's, you can 
 
28 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 do SO, but that I am not going to put the money in 
 that thief's hand ; he will be asking you five dollars 
 a bottle for it next." 
 
 Leocadia would come out of her reverie with a 
 sigh, and go to the bureau drawer for the money, 
 not without thinking'that Flores was only too right ; 
 her savings, her couple of thousand reals laid by for 
 an emergency, must be almost gone ; it was better 
 not to examine into the condition of the purse; bet- 
 ter put off annoyances as long as possible. God 
 would provide. And she would scold the old 
 woman with feigned anger. 
 
 "Go for the bottle; go — and don't make me 
 angry. At eight the children Avill be here and I have 
 my petticoat to iron yet. Make Minguitos his choc- 
 olate ; you would be better employed in seeing that 
 he has something to eat. And give him some cake." 
 
 "Yes. I'll give him some, I'll give him some. If 
 
 I didn't give the poor child something " grumbled 
 
 the servant, who at Minguitos' name felt her anger 
 increase. In the kitchen could be heard the furious 
 knock given to the chocolate-pot to settle it on the 
 fire and the angry sound of the mill, afterward, beat- 
 ing the chocolate into froth. Flores would enter 
 the room of the deformed boy, who had not yet left 
 his bed, and taking his hand in hers, say : 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 29 
 
 "Are you warm, child? I have brought you your 
 chocolate; do you hear?" 
 
 "Will mamma give it to me?" 
 
 "I will give it to you." 
 
 "And mamma — what is she doing?" 
 
 "Ironing some petticoats." 
 
 The little humpback would fix his eyes on Flores, 
 raising his head with difificulty from between the 
 double arch of the breast and back. His eyes were 
 deep set, with large pupils ; on his mouth, with its 
 prominent jaws, rested a melancholy and distorted 
 smile. Throwing his arms around the neck of Flores, 
 and putting his lips close to her ear: 
 
 "Did the otJier one come yesterday?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, child, yes." 
 
 "Will he come again to-day?" 
 
 "He'll come. Of course he'll come! Stop talk- 
 ing, fillino, stop talking and take your chocolate. 
 It's as you like it — thin and with froth." 
 
 "I don't think I have any appetite for it. Put it 
 there beside me." 
 
III. 
 
 In Vilamorta there was a Casino, a real Casino, 
 small indeed, and shabby, besides, but with its 
 billiard-table, bought at second-hand, and its boy, an 
 old man of seventy, who once a year dusted and 
 brushed the green cover. For the only reunions in 
 the Casino of Vilamorta were those of the rats and 
 the moths who assembled daily, to amuse them, 
 selves by eating away the woodwork. The chief 
 centers of reunion were the two apothecaries' shops, 
 that of Dona Eufrasia, fronting the Plaza and that 
 of Agonde in the high street. Dona Eufrasia's 
 shop, nestling in the shadowy corner of an archway, 
 was dark ; in the hours of meeting it was lighted by 
 a smoky kerosene lamp; its furniture consisted of 
 four grimy chairs and a bench. 
 
 From the street all that was to be seen were dark 
 mass-cloaks, overcoats, broad-brimmed hats, two or 
 three clerical tonsures that shone at a distance like 
 metal clasps against the dark background of the shop. 
 Agonde's shop, on the contrary, was brightly illumi- 
 nated and gloried in the possession of six glass globes 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 31 
 
 of brilliant coloring and fantastic effect, three rows 
 of shelves laden with imposing and scientific-looking 
 white porcelain jars bearing Latin inscriptions in 
 black letters, a divan, and two leather-covered arm- 
 chairs. The two contrasting shops were also antag- 
 onistic ; they had declared war to the knife against 
 each other. 
 
 Agonde's shop, liberal and enlightened in its opin- 
 ions, said of the reactionary shop that it was a cen- 
 ter of unending conspiracies, where El Cuartel Real 
 and all the rebel proclamations had been read during 
 the civil war, and where for the past five years am- 
 munition-belts were being diligently prepared for a 
 Carlist party that never took the field ; and accord- 
 ing to the reactionary shop, that of Agonde was the 
 headquarters of the Freemasons ; where lampoons 
 were printed on a little handpress and where gam- 
 bling was shamelessly carried on. The meetings in 
 the reactionary shop broke up with religious punctu- 
 ality at ten, in winter, and eleven in summer, while 
 the liberal shop continued to cast on the sidewalk 
 until midnight the light of its two bright lamps and 
 the blue, red, and emerald-green reflections of its glass 
 globes ; for which reasons the members of the liberal 
 reunion called those of the other party owls, while 
 those of the reactionary clique gave their opponents 
 
32 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 the name of members of the Casino of the Gaming 
 Table. 
 
 Segundo never put his foot over the threshold of 
 the reactionary shop and, since the beginning of his 
 acquaintance with Leocadia Otero, he had shunned 
 that of Agonde also, for his vanity was wounded by 
 the jests and gibes of the apothecary, who was noted 
 for his waggish humor. One evening as Saturnino 
 Agonde was crossing the Plaza of the Alamo at an 
 unusually late hour — on his way the devil only knew 
 whither — he had caught sight of Leocadia and 
 Segundo seated at the window, and had heard the 
 psalmody of the verses which the poet was declaim- 
 ing. From that time Segundo had seen depicted on 
 the countenance of Agonde, a practical man of a 
 sanguine temperament, such contempt for senti- 
 mental trifling and for poetry that he instinctively 
 avoided him as far as it was possible to do so. Oc- 
 casionally, however, whenever he desired to read El 
 Iniparcial, to know what was going on, he would 
 stop in at the shop for a few moments. He did so 
 on the day after his conversation with the echo. 
 
 The meeting was very animated. Segundo's 
 father was leaning back on the sofa with a news- 
 paper resting on his knees ; his brother-in-law, the 
 notary Genday, Ramon, the confectioner, and 
 
THE SIVAX OF V/LAMORTA. ZS 
 
 Agonde were hotly disputini^ with him. At the 
 further end of the shop Carmelo, the tobacconist, 
 Don Fermin, ahas Tropiezo,^ the physician, the secre- 
 tary of the Municipality and the Alcalde sat playing 
 tresillo at a small table. When Segundo entered, he 
 remarked something unusual in the air of his father 
 and of the group that surrounded him, but certain 
 that he would presently be told the cause, he 
 silently dropped into an armchair, lighted a cigar, 
 and took up the copy of El Imparcial that was 
 lying on the counter. 
 
 "Well, the papers here say nothing, absolutely 
 nothing, about it," exclaimed the confectioner. 
 
 From the tresillo table came the voice of the doc- 
 tor confirming Ramon's doubts ; the doctor, too, was 
 of the opinion that the event in question could not 
 happen without due notice of it being given in the 
 papers. 
 
 **You would die rather than believe anything," 
 replied Agonde. "I am certain of it, I tell you, and 
 it seems to me that when I am certain of it " 
 
 "And I too," affirmed Genday. "If it is necessary 
 to call witnesses to prove it, they are there. I know 
 it from my own brother, who heard it from Mendez 
 de las Vides; you can judge whether I have the 
 
 ' Trip. 
 
34 THE SWAy OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 news on good authority or not. Do you want fur- 
 ther proof? Well, two armchairs, a handsome gilt 
 bedstead, a great deal of china and a piano have 
 been ordered from Orense for Las Vides. Are you 
 convinced?" 
 
 "In any case they will not come as soon as you 
 say," objected Tropiezo. 
 
 "They will come at the time I have said. Don 
 Victoriano wants to spend the holidays and the vin- 
 tage season here ; they say he longs to see his na- 
 tive place again, and that he has spoken of nothing 
 all the winter but the journey." 
 
 "He is coming to die here," said Tropiezo; "I 
 heard that he was in a very bad state of health. 
 You are going to be left without a leader." 
 
 . "Go to What a devil of a man, what an owl, 
 
 always predicting misfortunes I Either hold your 
 tongue, or talk sense. Attend to the game, as you 
 ought to." 
 
 Segundo was gazing abstractedly at the glass 
 globes of the shop, his attention seemingly occupied 
 with the blue, green, and red points of light that 
 sparkled in their center. He understood now the 
 subject of their conversation — the expected arrival 
 of Don Victoriano Andres de la Comba, the minis- 
 ter, the great political leader of the country, the 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 35 
 
 radical representative of the district. What mat- 
 tered to Segundo the arrival of this pretentious 
 coxcomb ! And giving himself up to the enjoyment 
 of his cigar, he allowed the noisy dispute to .go on 
 unheeded. Afterward he became absorbed in the^ 
 reading of an article in El Imparcial, in which a new 
 poet was warmly eulogized. 
 
 Meanwhile at the tresillo table matters were be- 
 coming complicated. The apothecary, who sat 
 behind the Alcalde, was giving him advice — a deli- 
 cate and difficult task. 
 
 The tobacconist and Don Fermin held all the 
 good cards ; they had the man between them — a 
 ticklish position. The Alcalde was a thin shriveled- 
 up old man, of a very timid disposition, who, be- 
 fore he ventured to play a card, would think a hun- 
 dred years about it, calculating all the contingencies 
 and all the possible combinations of which cards are 
 capable. He did not want now to play that solo. It 
 would be a great mistake! But the impetuous 
 Agonde encouraged him, saying : "Come ! I buy it." 
 Thus urged, the Alcalde came to a decision, but not 
 without having first entered a protest : 
 
 ''Very well, I'll play it, but it is a piece of folly, 
 gentlemen — so that you may not say I am afraid." 
 
 And all that he had foreseen happened ; he found 
 
36 TFJE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 himself between two fires : on the one side his king 
 of hearts is trumped, on the other his opponent 
 takes his knave of trumps with his queen. Don 
 Fermin wins the trick without knowing how, while 
 the tobacconist, who is smiling maliciously, keeps all 
 his good cards. The Alcalde lifts his eyes appeal- 
 ingly to Agonde. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you so? A nice fix we have got 
 ourselves into ! We shall lose the hand ; it is lost 
 already." 
 
 "No, man, no. What a coward you are — always 
 afraid of everything. There you are hesitating as 
 long about throwing a card as if your life depended 
 on it. Play a trump! play a trump I That is the 
 way cowards always lose — they are afraid to play 
 their trumps." 
 
 The opponents winked at each other maliciously. 
 
 "De posita non tihi^' exclaimed the tobacconist. 
 
 ''Si codillum non resiiltabit^' assented Don 
 Fermin. 
 
 The Alcalde, quaking with fear, proceeded, by 
 Agonde's advice, to look through the tricks his 
 partners had taken, in order to see how many trumps 
 had been already played. Tropiezo and the tobac- 
 conist protested : 
 
 What a mania he had for examining the cards ! 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 37 
 
 The Alcalde, somewhat tranquillized, resolved at 
 last to put an end to his uncertainty, and with a few 
 bold and decisive plays the hand ended, each player 
 winning three tricks. 
 
 "A tie !" exclaimed the tobacconist and the 
 apothecary almost simultaneously. 
 
 "You see ! Playing as badly as you could you 
 haven't lost the hand," said Agonde. ''They needed 
 all their cards to win what they did." 
 
 They were all absorbed in the game — whose inter- 
 est was now at its height — with the exception of 
 Segundo, who had abandoned himself to one of those 
 idle reveries in which* the activity of the imagination 
 is stimulated by bodily ease. The voices of the 
 players reached his ears like a distant murmur; he 
 was a hundred leagues away ; he was thinking of the 
 article he had just been reading, of which certain 
 expressions particularly encomiastic — mellifluous 
 phrases in which the critic artfully glossed over the 
 faults of the poet — had remained stamped on his 
 memory. When would his turn come to be judged 
 by the Madrid press? God alone knew. He lent 
 his attention once more to the conversation. 
 
 "We must at least give him a serenade," declared 
 Genday. 
 
 "A serenade, indeed!" responded Agonde. "A 
 
3^ THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 great thing that ! Something more than a serenade 
 — we must have some sort of a procession — a demon- 
 stration which will show that the people here are 
 with him. We must appoint a committee to 
 receive him with rockets and bands of music. Let 
 those plotters at Dona Eufrasia's have something to 
 rage about." 
 
 The name of the other shop produced a storm of 
 exclamations, jests, and stamping of feet. 
 
 "Have you heard the news?" asked the waggish 
 Tropiezo. "It seems that Nocedal has written a 
 very flattering letter to Dona Eufrasia, saying that as 
 he represents Don Carlos in Madrid so she, by rea- 
 son of her merits, ought to represent him in Vila- 
 morta." 
 
 Homeric bursts of laughter and a general huzza 
 greeted this remark. 
 
 "Well, that may be an invention ; but it is true, 
 true as gospel, that Dona Eufrasia sent Don Carlos 
 her likeness with a complimentary inscription." 
 
 "And the regiment? Have they fixed on the day 
 on which it is to take the field?" 
 
 "Of course. They say that the Abbot of Lubrego 
 is to command it." 
 
 The hilarity of the assembly was redoubled, for 
 the Abbot of Lubrego was nearing his seventieth 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 39 
 
 year, and was so feeble that he could scarcely hold 
 himself on his mule. A boy at this moment entered 
 the shop, swinging in his hand a glass bottle. 
 
 "Don Saturnino!" he cried, in a shrill voice. 
 
 "What is it you want?" answered the druggist, 
 mimicking his tones. 
 
 "Give me some of what this smells like." 
 
 "All right," said Agonde, putting the bottle to 
 his nose. "What does this smell like, Don Fermin?" 
 
 "Let me see — it smells something like — laudanum, 
 eh? — or arnica?" 
 
 "Arnica let it be, it is less dangerous. I hope it 
 will have a good effect." 
 
 "It is time to retire, gentlemen," said the Lawyer 
 Garcia, consulting his silver timepiece. 
 
 Genday stood up and Segundo followed his exam- 
 ple. 
 
 The tresillo party proceeded to settle accounts ; cal- 
 culating winnings and losses, centavo by centavo. by 
 means of white counters and yellow counters. After 
 the close atmosphere of the shop the cool air of the 
 street was grateful; the night was mild and clear; 
 the stars shone with a friendly light and Segundo, 
 who was quick to perceive the poetic aspect of 
 things, felt tempted to leave his father and his uncle 
 without ceremony and walk along the road, alone, 
 
46 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 according to his custom, to enjoy the beauty of the 
 night. But his Uncle Genday linked his arm 
 through his, saying : 
 
 '*You are to be congratulated, my boy." 
 
 "Congratulated, uncle?" 
 
 "Weren't you crazy to get away from here? 
 Didn't you want to take your flight to some other 
 place? Haven't you a hatred for office work?" 
 
 "Good man," interposed the lawyer; "he is crazy 
 enough as it is, and. you want to unsettle his mind 
 still more " 
 
 "Hold your tongue, you fool! Don Victoriano is 
 coming here, we will present the boy to him and ask 
 him to give him a place. And he will give him one, 
 and a good one too ; for whether he thinks so or not, 
 if he does not do what we ask him, the pancake will 
 cost him a loaf. The district is not what he imag- 
 ines it to be, and if his adherents do not keep their 
 eyes open the clergy will play a trick upon them." 
 
 "And Primo? And Mendez de las Vides?" 
 
 "They are no match for the priest. The day 
 least expected they will be made a show of; they 
 will hang their heads for shame. But you, my boy — 
 think well about it. You are not in love with the 
 law?" 
 
 Segundo shrugged his shoulders with a smile. 
 
THE SWAM OF VILAMORTA. 41 
 
 "Well, turn the matter over in your mind ; think 
 what would suit you best. For you must be some- 
 thing; you must stick your head in somewhere. 
 Would you like a justiceship? a place in the post- 
 office? in one of the departments?" 
 
 They had turned the corner of the Plaza on their 
 way to Garcia's house and were passing under Leo- 
 cadia's window when the fragrance of the carnations 
 penetrated to Segundo's brain. He felt a poetic 
 revulsion of feeling and, dilating his nostrils to inhale 
 the perfume, he exclaimed : 
 
 "Neither justice nor post-office employee. Say 
 no more on that point, uncle." 
 
 "Don't insist, Clodio," said the lawyer bitterly. 
 "He wants to be nothing, nothing but a downright 
 idler, to spend his life scribbling rhymes. Neither 
 more nor less. The money must be handed out for 
 the Institute, the University, the shirt-front, the 
 frock coat, the polished boots, and then, when one 
 thinks they are ready to do for themselves, back 
 they come, to be a burden to one, to smoke and to 
 eat at one's expense. I have three sons to spend my 
 money, to squeeze me dry, and not one to give me 
 any help. That is all these young gentlemen are 
 good for." 
 
 Segundo stopped, twisting the end of his mus- 
 
42 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 tache, with a frown on his face. They all stood still 
 at the corner of the little plaza, as people are wont 
 to do when a conversation changes to a dispute. 
 
 "I don't know what puts that into your head, 
 father," declared the poet. "Do you suppose that I 
 propose to myself never to be anything more than 
 Segundo Garcia, the lawyer's son? If you do, you 
 are greatly mistaken. You may be very anxious to 
 be rid of the burden of supporting me, but you are 
 not half as anxious as I am to relieve you of it." 
 
 "Well, then, what are you waiting for? Your 
 uncle is proposing a variety of things to you and 
 none of them suits you. Do you want to begin by 
 being Minister?" 
 
 The poet began to twist his mustache anew. 
 
 "There is no use in being impatient, father. I 
 would make a very bad post-office clerk and a still 
 worse justice. I don't want to tie myself down to 
 any fixed career, in which everything is arranged 
 beforehand and moves by routine. In that case I 
 should be a lawyer like you or a notary like Uncle 
 Genday. If we really find Don Victoriano disposed 
 to do anything for me, ask some position — no mat- 
 ter what — without fixed duties, that will enable me 
 to reside in Madrid. I will take care of the rest." 
 
 "You will take care of the rest. Yes, ves, vou sav 
 
THE SWAN' OF VILAMORTA. 43 
 
 well. You will draw upon me for little sums, eh? 
 like your brother in the Philippine Islands. Let 
 me tell you for your guidance, then, that you needn't 
 do so. I didn't steal what I have, and I don't coin 
 money." 
 
 "I am not asking anything from you !" cried 
 Segundo, in a burst of savage anger. "Am I in 
 your way? I will get out of it, then; I will go to 
 America. That ends it." 
 
 "No," said the lawyer, calming down. "Provided 
 you exact no more sacrifices from me." 
 
 "Not one! not if I were starving!" 
 
 The lawyer's door opened ; old Aunt Gaspara in 
 her petticoat, looking like a fright, had come to let 
 them in. Tied around her head w^as a cotton hand- 
 kerchief which came so far over her face as almost to 
 conceal her sour features. Segundo drew back at 
 this picture of domestic life. 
 
 "Aren't you coming in?" asked his father. 
 
 "I am going with Uncle Genday." 
 
 "Are you coming back soon?" 
 
 "Directly." 
 
 Walking down the square he communicated his 
 plans to Genday. The latter, a short man, with a 
 fiery temper, signified his approbation by movements 
 quick and restless as those of a lizard. His nephew's 
 
44 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 ideas were not displeasing to him. His active, 
 scheming mind, the mind of an electoral agent and a 
 clever notary, accepted vast projects more readily 
 than the methodical mind of the lawyer Garcia. 
 Uncle and nephew were much of the same way of 
 thinking as to the best manner of profiting by Don 
 Victoriano's influence ; conversing in this way they 
 reached Genday's house, and the servant of the lat- 
 ter — a fresh-looking girl — opened the door for her 
 master with all the flattering obsequiousness of a 
 confirmed old bachelor's maid-servant. Instead of 
 returning home Segundo, preoccupied and excited, 
 walked down the plaza to the highroad, stopped at 
 the first clump of chestnut trees he came to, and seat- 
 ing himself on the step of a wooden cross which the 
 Jesuits had erected there during the last mission, 
 gave himself up to the harmless diversion of contem- 
 plating the evening star, the constellations, and all 
 the splendors of the heavenly bodies. 
 
IV. 
 
 During the tiresome siestas of Vilamorta, while 
 the visitors to the springs digested their glasses of 
 mineral water and compensated themselves for the 
 loss of their morning sleep by a restorative nap, the 
 amateur musicians of the popular band practiced 
 by themselves the pieces they were shortly to exe- 
 cute together. From the shoemaker's shop came 
 the melancholy notes of a flute ; in the baker's re- 
 sounded the lively and martial strains of the horn ; 
 in the tobacconist's moaned a clarionet ; in the cloth- 
 shop, the suppressed sighs of an ophicleide filled the 
 air. Those who thus devoted themselves to the 
 worship of Euterpe were clerks in shops, younger 
 sons, the youthful element of Vilamorta. These 
 snatches of melody rose with piercing sonorousness 
 on the drowsy warm atmosphere. When the news 
 spread that Don Victoriano Andres de la Comba and 
 his family were expected to arrive within twenty- 
 four hours in the town, to leave it again immedi- 
 ately for Las Vides, the brass band was tuned to the 
 highest pitch and ready to deafen, with any number 
 
46 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 of waltzes, dances, and quicksteps, the ears of the 
 illustrious statesman. 
 
 In the town an unusual animation was noticeable. 
 Agonde's house was opened, ventilated, and swept, 
 clouds of dust issuing through the windows, at one 
 of which, later on, appeared Agonde's sister, with a 
 fringe of hair over her forehead and wearing a pearl- 
 shell necklace. The housekeeper of the parish priest 
 of Cebre, a famous cook, w^ent busily about the 
 kitchen, and the pounding of the mortar and the 
 sizzling of oil could be heard. Two hours before 
 the time of the arrival of the stage-coach from 
 Orense, that is to say at three o'clock in the after- 
 noon, the committee of the notabilities of the Com- 
 bista-radical party were already crossing the plaza, 
 and Agonde stood waiting on the threshold of his 
 shop, having sacrificed to the solemnity of the occa- 
 sion his classic cap and velvet slippers, and wearing 
 patent-leather boots and a frock coat which made 
 him look more bull-necked and pot-bellied than ever. 
 The coach from Orense was entering the town from 
 the side next the wood, and, at the tinkling of the 
 bells, the clatter of the hoofs of its eight mules and 
 ponies, the creaking of its unwieldy bulk, the inhab- 
 itants of Vilamorta looked out of their windows and 
 came to their doors; the reactionary shop only re- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 47 
 
 mained closed and hostile. When the cumbrous 
 vehicle turned into the square the excitement in- 
 creased ; barefooted children climbed on the coach 
 steps, begging an ockavo in whining accents ; the 
 fruit-women sitting in the arches straightened them- 
 selves up to obtain a better view, and only Cansin, 
 the clothier, his hands in his trousers' pockets, his 
 feet thrust into slippers, continued walking up and 
 down his shop with an Olympic air of indifference. 
 The overseer reined in the team, saying in soothing 
 accents to a rebellious mule: 
 
 **E-e-e-e-e-e-h ! There, there, Canoniga." 
 The brass band, drawn up before the town-hall, 
 burst into a deafening prelude, and the first rocket 
 whizzed into the air sending forth a shower of sparks. 
 The crowd rushed en masse toward the door of the 
 coach, to offer their hands, their arms, anything, and 
 a stout lady and a priest, vvith a cotton checked 
 handkerchief tied around his temples, alighted from 
 it. Agonde, more ainused than angry, made signs 
 to the musicians and the rocket-throwers to desist 
 from their task. 
 
 "He is not coming yet ! he is not coming yet !" he 
 shouted. In effect, there were no other passengers 
 in the omnibus. The overseer hastened to 
 explain: 
 
48 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "They are just behind, not two steps off, as one 
 might say. In Count de Vilar's carriage, in the 
 barouche. On the Senora's account. The luggage 
 is here. And they paid for the seats as if they had 
 occupied them." 
 
 It was not long before the measured trot of Count 
 de Vilar's pair of .horses was heard and the open 
 carriage, of an old-fashioned style, rolled majestically 
 into the plaza. Reclining on the back seat was a 
 man enveloped, notwithstanding the heat, in a cloth 
 cloak; at his side sat a lady in a gray linen duster, 
 the fanciful brim of her traveling-hat standing out 
 sharply against the pure blue of the sky. In the 
 front seat sat a little girl of some ten years and a 
 mademoiselle^ a sort of transpyrenean nursery gover- 
 ness. Segundo, who had kept in the background at 
 the arrival of the diligence, this time was less stub- 
 born and the hand which, covered with a long Suede 
 glove, was stretched out in quest of a support, met 
 with the energetic and nervous pressure of another 
 hand. The Minister's lady looked with surprise at 
 the gallant, gave him a reserved salutation and, tak- 
 ing the arm Agonde offered her, walked quickly into 
 the apothecary's. 
 
 The statesman was slower in alighting. His ad- 
 herents looked at him with surprise. He had 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 49 
 
 changed greatly since his last visit to Vilamorta — 
 then in the midst of the revolution — some eight or 
 ten years before. His iron-gray hair, whiter on the 
 temples, heightened the yellow hue of his complex- 
 ion ; the whites of his eyes, too, were yellow and 
 streaked with little red veins ; and his furrowed and 
 withered countenance bore unmistakable traces of 
 the anxieties of the struggle for social position, the 
 vicissitudes of the political bench, and the sedentary 
 labors of the forum. His frame hung loosely to- 
 gether, being wanting in the erectness which is the 
 sign of physical vigor. When the handshakings 
 
 began, however, and the "Delighted to see you " 
 
 "At last " "After an age " resounded around 
 
 him, the dying gladiator revived, straightened himself 
 up, and an amiable smile parted his thin lips, lending 
 a pleasing expression to the now stern mouth. He 
 even opened his arms to Genday, who squirmed m 
 them like an eel, and he clapped the Alcalde on the 
 back. Garcia, the lawyer, tried to attract attention 
 to himself, to distinguish himself among the others, 
 saying in the serious tone of one who expresses an 
 opinion in a very delicate matter : 
 
 "There, upstairs, upstairs now, to rest and to take 
 some refreshment." 
 
 At last the commotion calmed down, the great 
 
50 /■///'; SIVAN OJ' VJLAMORTA. 
 
 man entering the apothecary's, followed by Garcia, 
 Genday, the Alcalde, and Segundo. 
 
 They seated themselves in Agonde's little parlor, 
 respectfully leaving to Don Victoriano the red rep 
 sofa, around which they drew their chairs in a semi- 
 circle. Shortly afterward fhe ladies made their ap- 
 pearance, and, now without her hat, it could be seen 
 that Seilora de Comba was young and beautiful, 
 seeming rather the elder sister than the mother of the 
 little girl. The latter, with her luxuriant hair falling 
 down her back and her precocious womanly serious- 
 ness, had the aspect of a sickly plant, while her 
 mother, a smiling blonde, seemed overflowing with 
 health. They spoke of the journey, of the fertile 
 borders of the Avieiro, of the weather, of the road; 
 the conversation \vas beginning to languish, when 
 Agonde's sister entered opportunely, preceded by 
 the housekeeper of the j^riest, carrying two enormous 
 trays filled with smoking cups of chocolate, for sup- 
 per was a meal unknown to the hosts. When the 
 trays were set on the table and the chocolate handed 
 around, the com[)any grew more animated. The 
 Vilamortans, finding a congenial subject on which to 
 exercise their oratorical powers, began to press the 
 strangers, to eulogize the excellence of the viands, 
 and calling Senora de la Comba by her bai)tismal 
 
Tl/h: Sir.LV ()/' IILAMORTA. 5 I 
 
 name, and adding an affectionate diminutive to that 
 of the Httlc girl, they launched forth into exclama- 
 tions and questions. 
 
 "Is the chocolate to your taste, Nieves?" 
 
 "Do you like it thin or thick?" 
 
 "Nieves, take that morsel of cake for my sake ; you 
 will find it excellent ; only we have the secret of 
 making it." 
 
 "Come, Victorinina, don't be bashful; that fresh 
 butter goes very well with the hot bread." 
 
 "A morsel of toasted sponge-cake. Ah-ha I You 
 don't have cake like that in Madrid, eh?" 
 
 "No," answered the girl, in a clear and affected 
 voice. "In Madrid we eat crullers and doughnuts 
 with our chocolate." 
 
 "It is the fashion here to take sponge-cake with it, 
 not crullers. Take that one on the top, that brown 
 one. That's nothing, a bird could cat it." 
 
 Don Victoriano joined in the conversation, prais- 
 ing the bread, saying he could not eat it, as it had 
 been absolutely prohibited to him, for his malady 
 required that he should abstain from starch and 
 gluten in every form — indeed, he had bread sent 
 him from France, bread prepared ad hoc without 
 those elements — and as he spoke, he turned toward 
 Agonde, who nodded with an air of intelligence. 
 
52 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 showing that he understood the Latin phrase. And 
 Don Victoriano regretted doubly the prohibition 
 now, for there was no bread to be compared to the 
 Vilamorta bread — which was better of its kind than 
 cake, yes indeed. The Vilamortans smiled, highly 
 flattered, but Garcia, with an eloquent shake of the 
 head, said that the bread was deteriorating, that it 
 was not now what it had formerly been, and that 
 only Pellejo, the baker of the plaza, made it consci- 
 entiously, having the patience to select the wheat, 
 grain by grain, not letting a single wormeaten one 
 pass. It was for this reason that his loaves turned 
 out so sweet and substantial. Then a discussion 
 arose as to whether bread should be porous or the 
 contrary, and as to whether hot bread was whole- 
 some. 
 
 Don Victoriano, reanimated by these homely de- 
 tails, talked of his childhood, of the slices of bread 
 spread with butter or molasses which he used to 
 eat between meals, and when he added that his 
 uncle, the priest, occasionally administered a sound 
 drubbing to him, a smile once more softened the 
 deep lines of his face. This expansion of feeling 
 gave a sweeter expression to his countenance, effac- 
 ing from it the traces left by years of strife, the scars 
 of the wounds received in the battle of life, illumi- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. S3 
 
 nating it with a reflection from his vanished youth. 
 How he longed to see again a grapevine in Las 
 Vides from which he had robbed grapes a hundred 
 times when he was a child. 
 
 "And you will rob them again now," exclaimed 
 Clodio Genday gayly. "We must tell the master of 
 Las Vides to put a guard over the vine of Jaen." 
 
 The jest was received with demonstrations of 
 hilarity, and the girl laughed with her shrill laugh at 
 the idea of her papa robbing a grapevine. Segundo 
 only smiled. His eyes were fixed on Don Victoriano, 
 and he was thinking of what his life had been. He 
 went over in his mind the history of the great man : 
 At Segundo's age Don Victoriano, too, was an 
 obscure lawyer, buried in Vilamorta, eager to break 
 from the shell. He had gone to Madrid, where a 
 celebrated jurisconsult had taken him as his assistant. 
 The jurisconsult was a politician, and Victoriano fol- 
 lowed in his footsteps. How did he begin to pros- 
 per? This period was shrouded in obscurity. Some 
 said one thing, some another. Vilamorta found him, 
 when it least expected, its candidate and represent- 
 ative. Once in Congress Don Victoriano's impor- 
 tance grew steadily, and when the Revolution of Sep- 
 tember came it found him in a sufficiently exalted 
 position to be improvised a minister. The brief min- 
 
54 77/ A' SIVAN OF VILA MO A' TA. 
 
 istiy gave him neither time to wear out his popu- 
 larity nor to give proof of special gifts, and, with his 
 prestige almost intact, the Restoration admitted him 
 as a member of a fusionist cabinet. He had just 
 
 j^laid down the portfolio and come to re-establish his 
 shattered health in his native place, where his influ- 
 
 I ence was strong and incontestible, thanks to his alli- 
 ance with the illustrious house of Mendez de las 
 Vides. Segundo asked himself if a lot like Don Vic- 
 toriano's would satisfy his aspirations. Don Vic- 
 toriano had wealth — stocks in banks and shares in 
 railways among whose directors the name of the able 
 jurisconsult figured. Our versifier raised his eye- 
 brows disdainfully and glanced at the Minister's 
 wife; that graceful beauty certainh^ did not love her 
 lord. She was the daughter of a younger son of the 
 house of Las Vides — a magistrate ; she had probably 
 married her husband, allured by his position. No ; 
 most assuredly the poet did not envy the politician. 
 Why had this man risen to the eminent position he 
 occupied? What extraordinary gifts did he possess? 
 A diffuse parliamentary orator, a passive minister, 
 with some forensic ability — sum total, a mediocrity. 
 While these reflections were passing through 
 Segundo's mind, Senora de Comba amused herself 
 by examining minutely the dress and the appear- 
 
THE SWAN OF VlF^AMORTA. 55 
 
 ance of everyone present. She took in every detail, 
 under her half-closed lids, of the toilet of Carmen 
 Agonde, who was arrayed in a tight-fitting deep blue 
 bodice that sent the blood to her plethoric cheeks. 
 She next lowered her mocking glance to the patent- 
 leather boots of the pharmacist, and then raised them 
 again to Clodio Genday's fingers, stained by the 
 cigar, and the purple and white checked velvet waist- 
 coat of the lawyer Garcia. Finally, her glance fell 
 on Segundo, in critical examination of his attire. 
 But another glance, steady and ardent, cast it back 
 like a shield. 
 
V. 
 
 Agonde rose early on the following morning, and 
 descended shortly afterward to his shop, leaving his 
 guests wrapped in their slumbers, and Carmen 
 charged, the moment they should stir, to pour the 
 chocolate into their mouths. The apothecary de- 
 sired to enjoy the effect produced in the town by 
 Don Victoriano's sojourn in his house. He was 
 reclining in his leather-covered easy-chair when he 
 saw Tropiezo riding past on his gray mule, and 
 called out to him : 
 
 "Hello! Hello! Where are you bound for so 
 early?" 
 
 "For Doas, man. I have not a minute to spare." 
 And saying this the doctor alighted from his mule, 
 which he tied to an iron ring fastened in the wall. 
 
 "Is the case so urgent?" 
 
 "Urgent? That it is. The old woman, the grand- 
 mother of Ramon, the confectioner. It appears she 
 has already received the last sacrament." 
 
 "And it is only now they have sent for you?" 
 
 "No; I went to see her yesterday, and I applied 
 
 56 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 57 
 
 two dozen leeches, that drew their fill of blood from 
 her. She looked like a dying kid ; she was very 
 weak, and as thin as a wafer. Perhaps if I had given 
 her something that I thought of, instead of applying 
 leeches " 
 
 "Ah! a trip," interrupted Agonde maliciously. 
 
 "Life is a series of trips," responded the doctor, 
 shrugging his shoulders. "And upstairs?" headded, 
 raising his eyes interrogatively to the ceiling. 
 
 "Snoring like princes." 
 
 "And he — how does he look?" asked Don Fermin, 
 lowering his voice and dwelling on every word. 
 
 "He?" repeated Agonde, following his example. 
 "So-so. Oldish. And very gray." 
 
 "But what is the matter with him? Let us hear. 
 For as to being sick, he is that." 
 
 "He has — a new disease — a very strange one, one 
 of the latest fashion." And Agonde smiled mali- 
 ciously. 
 
 "New?" 
 
 Agonde half-closed his eyes, bent toward Tropiezo, 
 and whispered something in his ear. 
 
 Tropiezo burst into a laugh ; suddenly he looked 
 very serious, and tapping his nose repeatedly with 
 his forefinger: 
 
 'T know, I know," he said emphatically. "And the 
 
5^ THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 waters here, and some others in France, are the only 
 cure for that disease. If he drinks a few glasses 
 from the spring, he will be himself again." 
 
 Tropiezo emitted his dictamen leaning on the 
 counter, forgetful of the mule that was stamping im- 
 patiently at the door. 
 
 "And the Senora — what does she say of her hus- 
 band's state of health?" he suddenly asked, with a 
 wink. 
 
 "What should she say of it, man? Probably she 
 does not know that it is serious." 
 
 A look of derision lighted up the inexpressive 
 features of the physician ; he glanced at Agonde and 
 smothering another burst of laughter, began : 
 
 "The Senora " 
 
 "Chut!" interrupted the apothecary furiously. 
 The whole Comba family were making an irruption 
 into the shop through the small door of the porch. 
 Mother and daughter formed a charming group, 
 both wearing wide-brimmed hats of coarse straw 
 adorned with enormous bows of flame-colored bunt- 
 ing. Their ecru cotton gowns embroidered with red 
 braid completed the rustic character of their cos- 
 tumes, reminding one of a bunch of poppies and 
 straw. The girl's luxuriant dark hair hung loose over 
 her shoulders, and the fair locks of the mother curled 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 59 
 
 in a tangled mass under the shade of her broad- 
 brimmed hat. Nieves did not wear gloves nor was 
 there visible on her face a trace of powder, or of any 
 other of the cosmetics whose use is imputed unjustly 
 by the women of the provinces to the Madridleni- 
 ans ; on the contrary, her rosy ears and neck showed 
 signs of energetic friction with the towel and cold 
 water. As for Don Victoriano, the ravages made in 
 his countenance by care and sickness were still more 
 •apparent in the morning light; it was not, as 
 Agonde had said, age that was visible there ; it was 
 virility, but tortured, exhausted, wounded to death. 
 
 ''Why ! Have you had chocolate already?" asked 
 Agonde, in confusion. 
 
 "No, friend Saturnino, nor shall we take it, with 
 your permission, until we return. Don't trouble 
 yourself on our account. Victoriniiia has ransacked 
 your pantry — your closets " 
 
 The child half opened a handkerchief which she 
 held by the four corners, disclosing a provision of 
 bread, cake, and the cheese of the country. 
 
 "At least let me bring you a whole cheese. I will 
 go see if there is not some fresh bread, just out of 
 the oven " 
 
 Don Victoriano objected — let him not be deprived 
 of the pleasure of going to breakfast in the poplar- 
 
6o THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 grove near the spring, just as he had done when a 
 boy. Agonde remarked that those articles of food 
 were not wholesome for him, to which Tropiezo, 
 scratching the tip of his ear, responded sceptically: 
 
 '*Bah ! bah ! bah ! Those are new-fangled notions. 
 What is wholesome for the body — can't they un- 
 derstand that — is what the body craves. If the 
 gentleman likes bread — and for your malady, Sefior 
 Don Victoriano, there is nothing like the waters 
 here. I don't know why people go to give their 
 money to those French when we have better things 
 at home than any they can give us." 
 
 The Minister looked at Tropiezo with keen inter- 
 est depicted on his countenance. He called to mind 
 his last visit to Sanchez del Abrojo and the contrac- 
 tion of the lips with which the learned practitioner 
 had said to him : 
 
 'T would send you to Carlsbad or to Vichy, but 
 those waters are not always beneficial. At times 
 they hasten the natural course of a disease. Rest 
 for a time, and diet yourself — we will see how you 
 are when you return in the autumn." And what a 
 look Sanchez del Abrojo put on when he said this! 
 An impenetrable, sphinx-like expression. The posi- 
 tive assertion of Tropiezo awoke tumultuous hopes 
 in Don Victoriano's breast, This village practitioner 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMOKTA. 6i 
 
 must know a great deal from experience, more per- 
 haps than the pompous doctors of the capital. 
 • ''Come, papa," said the child impatiently, pulling 
 him by the sleeve. 
 
 They took the path toward the grove. Vilamorta, 
 naturally given to early rising, was more full of 
 activity at this hour than in the afternoon. The 
 shops were open, the baskets of the fruit-venders 
 were already filled with fruit. Cansin walked up 
 'and down his establishment with his hands in his 
 pockets, affecting to have noticed nothing, so as not 
 to be obliged to bid good-morning to Agonde and 
 acknowledge his triumph. Pellejo, covered with 
 flour, was haggling with three shopkeepers from 
 Cebre, who wanted to buy some of his best wheat. 
 Ramon, the confectioner, was dividing chocolate into 
 squares on a large board placed on the counter and 
 rapidly stamping them with a hot iron before they 
 should have time to cool. 
 
 The morning was cloudless and the sun was 
 already unusually hot. The party, augmented by 
 Garcia and Genday, walked through orchards and 
 cornfields until they reached the entrance to the 
 walk. Don Victoriano uttered an exclamation of 
 joy. It was the same double row of elms bordering 
 the river, the foaming and joyous Avieiro, that ran 
 
62 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 on sparkling in gentle cascades, washing with a pleas- 
 ant murmur the rocks, worn smooth by the action 
 of the current. He recognized the thick osier plan- 
 tations ; he remembered all his longings of the day 
 before and leaned, full of emotion, on the parapet of 
 the walk. The scene was almost deserted ; half a 
 dozen melancholy and bilious-looking individuals, 
 visitors to the springs, were walking slowly up and 
 down, discussing their ailments in low tones, and 
 eructating the bicarbonate of the waters. Nieves, 
 leaning back on a stone bench, gazed at the river. 
 The child touched her on the shoulder, saying : 
 
 "Mamma, the young man we saw yesterday." 
 
 On the opposite bank Segundo Garcia was stand- 
 ing on a rock, absorbed in meditation, his straw hat 
 pushed far back on his head, his hand resting on his 
 hip, doubtless with the purpose of preserving his 
 equilibrium in so dangerous a position. Nieves re- 
 proved the little girl, saying: 
 
 "Don't be silly, child. You startled me. Salute 
 the gentleman." 
 
 "He is not looking this way. Ah I now he is look- 
 ing. Salute him, you, mamma. He is taking off 
 his hat, he is going to fall ! There ! now he is safe." 
 
 Don Victoriano descended the stone steps leading 
 to the spring. The abode of the naiad was a humble 
 
TkE SWAX OF VILAMORTA. 6 
 
 o 
 
 grotto — a shed supported on rough posts, a small 
 basin overflowing with the water from the spring, 
 some wretched hovels for the bathers, and a strong 
 and sickening odor of rotten eggs, caused by the 
 stagnation of the sulphur water, were all that the 
 fastidious tourist found there. Notwithstanding 
 this, Don Victoriano's soul was filled with the purest 
 joy. In this naiad he beheld his youth, his lost 
 youth — the age of illusions, of hopes blooming as the 
 banks of the Avieiro. How many mornings had he 
 come to drink from the fountain, for a jest, to wash 
 his face with the water, which enjoyed throughout 
 the country the reputation of possessing extraor- 
 dinary curative virtue for the eyes. Don Victoriano 
 stretched out his hands, plunged them into the 
 warm current, feeling it slip through his fingers with 
 delight, and playing with it and caressing it as one 
 caresses a loved being. But the undulating form of 
 the naiad escaped from him as youth escapes from 
 us — without the possibility of detaining it. Then 
 the ex-Minister felt a thirst awaken in him to drink 
 the waters. Beside him on the edge of the basin 
 was a glass; and the keeper, a poor old man in his 
 dotage, presented it to him with an idiotic smile. 
 Don Victoriano drank, closing his eyes, with inde- 
 scribable pleasure, enjoying the mysterious water, 
 
64 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 charmed by the magic arts of memory. When he 
 had drained the glass he drew himself up and 
 ascended the stairs with a firm and elastic step. 
 Victorinina, who was breakfasting on bread and 
 cheese in the avenue, was astonished when her father 
 took a piece of bread from her lap, saying gayly : 
 *'We are all God's creatures." 
 
VI. 
 
 Almost as much as by Don Victoriano's arrival 
 was Vilamorta excited by the arrival of Senor de las 
 Vides, accompanied by his steward, Primo Genday. 
 This event happened on the afternoon of the mem- 
 orable day on which Don Victoriano had infringed 
 the commands of science by eating half a pound of 
 fresh bread. At three o'clock, under a blazing sun, 
 Genday the elder and Mendez entered the plaza, 
 the latter mounted on a powerful mule, the former 
 on an ordinary nag. 
 
 Senor de las Vides was a little old man as dry as 
 a vine branch. His carefully shaven cheeks, his thin 
 lips and aristocratically pointed nose and chin, his 
 shrewd, kind eyes, surrounded by innumerable crows' 
 fe^t, his intellectual profile, his beardless face, called 
 loudly for the curled wig, the embroidered coat and 
 the gold snuff-box of the Campomanes and Arandas. 
 With his delicate and expressive countenance the 
 countenance of Primo Genday contrasted strongly. 
 The steward's complexion was white and red, he had 
 the fine and transparent skin, showing the full veins 
 
 6s 
 
^(> THE SU'AX OF VILAMOKTA. 
 
 underneath, of those who are predisposed to hemi- 
 plegy. His eyes were of a greenish color, one of 
 them being attached, as it were, to the lax and 
 drooping Hd, while the other rolled around with mis- 
 chievous vivacity. His silvery curls gave him a dis- 
 tant resemblance to Louis Philippe, as he is repre- 
 sented on the coins which bear his effigy. 
 
 By a combination not unusual in small towns 
 Primo Genday and his brother Clodio served under 
 opposite political banners, both being in reality of 
 one mind and both pursuing the same end ; Clodio 
 ranged himself on the side of the radicals, Primo was 
 the support of the Carlist party, and in cases of 
 emergency, in the electoral contests, they clasped 
 hands over the fence. When the hoofs of Primo 
 Genday's nag resounded on the paving-stones, the 
 windows of the reactionary shop were opened and 
 two or three hands were waved in friendly welcome. 
 Primo paused, and Mendez continued on his way to 
 Agonde's door, where he dismounted. 
 
 He was received in Don Victoriano's arms, and 
 then disappeared among the shadows of the stair- 
 case. The mule remained fastened to the ring, 
 stamping impatiently, while the onlookers on the 
 plaza contemplated with respect the nobleman's old- 
 fashioned harness of embossed leather, ornamented 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 67 
 
 with silver, bright with use. One after another 
 other mules and horses were brought to join the 
 first comer. And the crowd assigned them their 
 riders with considerable judgment. The chestnut 
 nag of the alguazil, a fine animal, with a saddle and 
 a silk headstall, was no doubt for the Minister. The 
 black donkey with the side-saddle — who co.uld doubt 
 that it was for the Senora? The other gentle white 
 donkey they would give to the little girl. The 
 Alcalde's ass was for the maid. Agonde would ride 
 the mare he always rode, the Morena, that had 
 more malanders on her head than hairs in her tail. 
 During this time the radicals, Garcia, Clodio, Gen- 
 day, and Ramon, were discussing the respective 
 merits of the animals and the condition of their trap- 
 pings and calculating the probabilities of their being 
 able to reach Las Vides before nightfall. The law- 
 yer shook his head, saying emphatically and senten- 
 tiously : 
 
 "They are taking their time about it if they ex- 
 pect to do that." 
 
 "And they are bringing the alguazil's horse for 
 Don Victoriano !" exclaimed the tobacconist. 
 "Tricky as the very devil ! There will be a scene. 
 When you rode him, Segundo, did he play you no 
 trick?" 
 
68 THE SWAh' OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "Me, no. But he is lively." 
 
 "You shall see, you shall see." 
 
 The travelers were now coming out of the house, 
 and the cavalcade began to form. The ladies seated 
 themselves in their side-saddles and the men settled 
 their feet in their stirrups. Then the scene predicted 
 by the tobacconist took place, to the great scandal 
 and the further delay of the party. As soon as the 
 alguazil's nag became aware of the presence of a 
 female of his race he began to snuff the air excitedly, 
 neighing fiercely. Don Victoriano gathered up the 
 reins, but, before the animal had felt the iron in his 
 mouth, he became so unmanageable, first rearing, 
 then kicking violently, and finally turning his 
 head around to try to bite his rider's legs, 
 that Don Victoriano, somewhat pale, thought 
 it prudent to dismount. Agonde. furious, dis- 
 mounted also. 
 
 "What an infernal animal!" he cried. "Here, 
 brutes — who told you to bring the alguazil's horse? 
 One would suppose you didn't know it was a wild 
 beast, You — Alcalde, or you, Garcia — quick, go for 
 Requinto's mule ; it is only two steps from here. 
 Sefior Don Victoriano, take my mule. And that 
 tiger, to the stable with him !" 
 
 "No," interrupted Segundo, "I will ride him as he 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 69 
 
 is already saddled. T will go with you as far as the 
 cross." 
 
 And Segundo, providing himself with a strong 
 switch, caught the nag by the mane and at a bound 
 was in the saddle. Instead of leaning his weight on 
 the stirrup he pressed the animal's sides between his 
 legs, raining a shower of blows at the same time on 
 his head. The animal, which was already beginning 
 to curvet and prance again, gave a snort of pain, 
 and now, quivering and subdued, obeyed his rider's 
 touch. The cavalcade put itself in motion as soon 
 as Requinto's mule was brought, after handshakings, 
 waving of hats, and even a timid viva^ from what 
 quarter no one knew. The cortege proceeded along 
 the highway, the mare and the mules heading the 
 procession, the donkeys following behind, and at 
 their side the nag, kept in order by dint of switch- 
 ing. The sun was sinking in the west, turning the 
 dust of the road into gold ; the chestnut trees cast 
 lengthened shadows on the ground, and from the 
 osier-brake came a pleasant breeze laden with mois- 
 ture from the river. 
 
 Segundo rode along in silence ; Victorinina, de- 
 lighted to be riding on a donkey, smiled, making 
 fruitless efforts to hide with her frock her sharp 
 knee-bones, which the shape of the saddle compelled 
 
70 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 her to raise and uncover. Nieves, leaning back in 
 her saddle, opened her rose-lined ecru lace parasol, 
 and, as they started, drew from her bosom a diminu- 
 tive watch, which she consulted for the hour. A few 
 moments of embarrassed silence followed. At last 
 Segundo felt that it was necessary to say something: 
 
 "How are you doing, Victoriniiia?" he said to the 
 child. "Are you comfortable?" 
 
 "Yes, quite comfortable." 
 
 "I warrant you would rather ride on my horse. 
 If you are not afraid I will take you before 
 me. 
 
 The girl, whose embarrassment had now reached 
 its height, lowered her eyes without answering; her 
 mother, smiling graciously, however, now joined in 
 the conversation. 
 
 "And tell me, Garcia, why don't you address the 
 child as tho^l? You treat her with so much cere- 
 mony! You will make her fancy she is a young 
 lady already." 
 
 "I should not dare to do so without her permis- 
 sion." 
 
 "Come, Victorinina, tell this gentleman he has 
 your permission." 
 
 The child took refuge in that invincible muteness 
 of growing girls whom an exquisite and precocious 
 
THE SI! 'A A' OF }'ILAMORTA. ^ 7^ 
 
 sensibility renders painfully shy. A smile parted 
 her lips, and at the same time her eyes filled with 
 tears. Mademoiselle said something gently to her 
 in French; meanwhile Nieves and Segundo, laugh- 
 ing confidentially at the incident, found the way 
 smoothed for them to begin a conversation. 
 
 **When do you think we shall arrive at Las Vides? 
 Is it a pretty place? Shall we be comfortable there? 
 How will it agree with Victoriano? What sort of a 
 life shall we lead? Shall we have many visitors? 
 Is there a garden?" 
 
 "Las Vides is a beautiful place," said Segundo. 
 "It has an air of antiquity — a lordly air, as it were. 
 I like the escutcheon, and a magnificent grapevine 
 that covers the courtyard, and the camellias and 
 lemon trees in the orchards, that look like good- 
 sized chestnut trees, and the view of the river, and, 
 above all, a pine grove that talks and even sings — 
 don't laugh — that sings ; yes, Sefiora, and better 
 than most professional singers. Don't you believe 
 it? Well, you shall see for yourself presently." 
 
 Nieves looked with lively curiosity at the young 
 man and then hastily turned her glance aside, re- 
 membering the quick and nervous hand-pressure of 
 the day before, when she was alighting from the 
 carriage. For the second time in the space of a few 
 
72 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 hours this young man had surprised her. Nieves led 
 an extremely regular life in Madrid — the life of the 
 middle classes, in which all the incidents are com- 
 monplace. She went to mass and shopped in the 
 morning; in the afternoon she went to the Retiro, 
 or made visits ; in the evening she went to her par- 
 ents' house or to the theater with her husband ; on 
 rare occasions to some ball or banquet at the house 
 of the Duke of Puenteanchas, a client of Don Vic- 
 toriano's. When the latter received the portfolio it 
 made little change in Nieves' way of life. She re- 
 cived a few more salutations than before in the 
 Retiro ; the clerks in the shops were more attentive 
 to her; the Duchess of Puenteanchas said some flat- 
 tering things to her, calling her " pet," and here ended 
 for Nieves the pleasure of the ministry. The trip 
 to Vilamorta, the picturesque country of which she 
 had so often heard her father speak, was a novel 
 incident in her monotonous life. Segundo seemed 
 to her a curious detail of the journey. He looked 
 at her and spoke to her in so odd a way. Bah, fan- 
 cies ! Between this young man and herself there was 
 nothing in common. A passing acquaintance, like so 
 many others to be met here at every step. So the 
 pines sang, did they? A misfortune for Gayarre! 
 And Nieves smiled graciously, dissembling her 
 
THE SWAX OF ]' 1 1. AMORT A. ^ 73 
 
 strange thoughts and went on asking questions, to 
 which Segundo responded in expressive phrases. 
 Night was beginning to fall. Suddenly, the caval- 
 cade, leaving the highroad, turned into a path that 
 led among pine groves and woods. At a turn of the 
 path could be seen the picturesque dark stone cross, 
 whose steps invited to prayer or to sentimental rev- 
 erie. Agonde stopped here and took his leave of 
 the party, and Segundo followed his example. 
 
 As the tinkling of the donkeys' bells grew fainter 
 in the distance Segundo felt an inexplicable sensa- 
 tion of loneliness and abandonment steal over him, 
 as if he had just parted forever from persons who 
 were dear to him or who played an important part in 
 his life. "A pretty fool I am !" said the poet to him- 
 self. "What have I to do with these people or they 
 with me? Nieves has invited me to spend a few 
 days at Las Vides, eii familie. When Nieves re- 
 turns to Madrid this winter she will speak of me as 
 'That lawyer's son, that we met at Vilamorta.' 
 Who am I? What position should I occupy in her 
 house? An altogether secondary one. That of a 
 boy who is treated with consideration because his 
 father disposes of votes." 
 
 While Segundo was thus caviling, the apothecary 
 overtook him, and horse and mule pursued their way 
 
74 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 side by side. In the twilight the poet could distin- 
 guish the placid smile of Agonde, his red cheeks, 
 looking redder in contrast to the lustrous black mus- 
 tache, his expression of sensual amiability and epi- 
 curean beatitude. An enviable lot was the apothe- 
 cary's. This man was happy in his comfortable and 
 well-ordered shop, with his circle of friends, his cap 
 and his embroidered slippers, taking life as one takes 
 a glass of cordial, sipping it wMth enjoyment, in 
 peace and harmony, along with the other guests at 
 the banquet of life. Why should not Segundo be 
 satisfied with what satisfied Agonde perfectly? - 
 Whence came this longing for something that was 
 not precisely money, nor pleasure, nor fame, nor 
 love — which partook of all these, which embraced 
 them all and which perhaps nothing would satisfy? 
 
 "Segundo." 
 
 "Eh?" he answered, turning his head toward 
 Agonde. 
 
 "How silent you are, my boy I What do you 
 think of the Minister?" 
 
 "What would you have me think of him?" 
 
 "And the Sefiora? Come, you have noticed 
 her, I warrant. She wears black silk stockings, 
 like the priests. When she was mounting the 
 donkey " 
 
THE^ S IV A y OF VILA MOR TA . 75 
 
 "I am going to take a gallop as far as Vilamorta. 
 Do you care to join me, Saturnino?" 
 
 "Gallop with this mule? I should arrive there 
 with my stomach in my mouth. Gallop you, if you 
 have a fancy for doing so." 
 
 The nag galloped for half a league or so, urged by 
 his rider's whip. As they drew near the canebrake 
 by the river, Segundo slackened his horse's gallop to 
 a very slow walk. It was now almost dark and the 
 cool mists rose, moist and clinging, from the bosom 
 of the Avieiro. Segundo remembered that it was 
 two or three days since he had put his foot in Leo- 
 cadia's house. No doubt the schoolmistress was 
 now fretting herself to death, weeping and watching 
 for him. This thought brought sudden balm to 
 Segundo's wounded spirit. How tenderly Leocadia 
 loved him I With what joy did she welcome him ! 
 How deeply his poetry, his words, moved her ! And 
 he — why was it that he did not share her ardor? 
 Of this exclusive, this absolute, boundless love, 
 Segundo had never deigned to accept even the half; 
 and of all the tender terms of endearment invented 
 by the muse he chose for Leo(;adia the least poet- 
 ical, the least romantic ; as we separate the gold and 
 silver \\\ our purse from the baser coin, setting aside 
 for the beggar the meanest copper, so did Segundo 
 
76 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 dispense with niggard hand the treasures ot his love. 
 A hundred times had it happened to him, in his 
 walks through the country, to fill his hat with vio- 
 lets, with hyacinths and branches of blackberry blos- 
 soms, only to throw them all into the river on reach- 
 ing the village, in order not to carry them to 
 Leocadia. 
 
VII. 
 
 While she distributed their tasks among the 
 children, saying to one, "Take care to make this 
 hem straight," to another, "Make this seam even, the 
 stitch smaller," to a third, "Use your handkerchief 
 instead of your dress," and to still another, "Sit 
 still, child, don't move your feet," Leocadia cast a 
 glance from time to time toward the plaza in the 
 hope of seeing Segundo pass by. But no Segundo 
 was to be seen. The flies settled themselves to 
 sleep, buzzing, on the ceiling; the heat abated; the 
 afternoon came, and the children went away. Leo- 
 cadia felt a profound sadness take possession of her 
 and, without waiting to put the house in order, she 
 went to her room and threw herself on the bed. 
 
 The glass door was pushed gently open, and some 
 one entered softly. 
 
 "Mamma," said the intruder, in a low voice. 
 
 The schoolmistress did not answer. 
 
 "Mamma, mamma," repeated the hunchback, in a 
 louder voice. * 'Mamma!" he shouted at last. 
 
 "Is that you? What do you want?" 
 
 77 
 
78 J' HE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "Are you ill?" 
 
 "No, child." 
 
 "As you went to bed — —' 
 
 "I have a slight headache. There, leave me in 
 peace." 
 
 Minguitos turged round and walked in silence 
 toward the door. As her eyes fell on the protuber- 
 ance of his back, a sharp pang pierced the heart of 
 the schoolmistress. How many tears that hump had 
 cost her in other days. She raised herself on her 
 elbow. 
 
 "Minguitos I" she called. 
 
 "What is it, mamma ?" 
 
 ''Don't go away. How do you feel to-day? 
 Have you any pain?" 
 
 ''I feel pretty well, mamma. Only my chest 
 hurts me." 
 
 ''Let me see; come here." 
 
 Leocadia sat up in the bed and, taking the child's 
 head between her hands, looked at him with a 
 mother's hungry look. Minguito^' face was long 
 and of a melancholy cast; the prominent lower jaw 
 was in keeping with the twisted and misshapen body 
 that reminded one of a building shaken out of shape 
 by an earthquake or a tree twisted by a hurricane. 
 Minguitos' deformity was not congenital. He had 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMOR FA. ^ 79 
 
 always been sickly, indeed, and it had always been 
 remarked that his head seemed too heavy for his 
 body, and that his legs seemed too frail to support 
 him. Leocadia recalled one by one the incidents of 
 his childhood. At five years old the boy had met 
 with an accident — a fall down the- stairs; from that 
 day he lost all his liveliness ; he walked little and 
 never ran. He contracted a habit of sitting Turkish 
 fashion, playing marbles for hours at a time. If he 
 rose his legs soon warned him to sit down again. 
 When he stood, his movements were vacillating and 
 awkward. When he was quiet he felt no pain, but 
 when he turned any part of his body, he experienced 
 slight pains in the spinal column. The trouble in- 
 creased with time ; the boy complained of a feeling 
 as if an iron band were compressing his chest. Then 
 his mother, now thoroughly alarmed, consulted a 
 famous physician, the best in Orense. He pre- 
 scribed frictions with iodine, large doses of phos- 
 phates of lime, and sea-bathing. Leocadia hastened 
 with the boy to a little sea-port. After taking two 
 or three baths, the trouble increased ; he could not 
 bend his body; his spinal column was rigid and it 
 was only when he was in a horizontal position that 
 he felt any relief from his now severe pains. Sores 
 appeared on his skin, and one morning when Leo- 
 
8o THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 cadia begged him with tears to straighten himself, 
 and tried to Hft him up by the arms, he uttered a 
 horrible cry. 
 
 **I am broken in two, mamma — I am broken in 
 two," he repeated with anguish, while, his mother, 
 with trembling fingers sought to find what had 
 caused his cry. 
 
 It was true! The backbone had bent outward, 
 forming an angle on a level with his shoulderblades, 
 the softened vertebrae had sunk and cifosis, the 
 hump, the indelible mark of irremediable calamity, 
 was to deform henceforth this child who was dearer 
 to her than her life. The schoolmistress had had a 
 moment of animal and sublime anguish, the anguish 
 of the wild beast that sees its young mutilated. She 
 had uttered shriek after shriek, cursing the doctor, 
 cursing herself, tearing her hair and digging her nails 
 into her flesh. Afterward tears had come and she 
 had showered kisses, delirious, but soothing and 
 sweet, on the boy, and her grief took a resigned 
 form. During nine years Leocadia had had no other 
 thought than to watch over her little cripple by night 
 and by day, sheltering him in her love, amusing with 
 ingenious inventions the idle hours of his sedentary 
 childhood. A thousand incidents of this time re- 
 curred to Leocadia's memory. The bo}' suffered 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 8 1 
 
 from obstinate dyspnoea, due to the pressure of the 
 sunken vertebrae on the respiratory organs, and his 
 mother would get up in the middle of the night and 
 go in her bare feet to listen to his breathing and to 
 raise his pillows. As these recollections came to her 
 mind Leocadia felt her heart melt and something 
 stir within her like the remains of a great love, the 
 warm ashes of an immense fire, and she experienced 
 the unconscious reaction of maternity, the irresistible 
 impulse which makes a mother see in her grown-up 
 son only the infant she has nursed and protected, to 
 whom she would have given her blood, if it had been 
 necessary, instead of milk. And uttering a cry of 
 love, pressing her feverish lips passionately to the 
 pallid temples of the hunchback, she said, falling 
 back naturally into the caressing expressions of the 
 dialect : 
 
 '' Malpocadiito. Who loves you? say, who loves 
 you dearly? Who?" 
 
 "You don't love me, mamma. You don't love 
 me," the boy returned, half-smiling, leaning his head 
 with delight on the bosom that had sheltered his sad 
 childhood. The mother, meantime, wildly kissed 
 his hair, his neck, his eyes — as if to make up for lost 
 time — lavishing upon him the honeyed words with 
 which infants arc beguiled, words profaned in hours 
 
Sz THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 of passion, which overflowed in the pure channel of 
 maternal love. 
 
 "My treasure — my king — my glory." 
 
 At last the hunchback felt a tear fall on his cheek. 
 Delicious assuagement! At first, the tears were 
 large and round, scorching almost, but soon they 
 came in a gentle shower and then ceased altogether, 
 and there remained where they had fallen only a 
 grateful sense of coolness. Passionate phrases 
 rushed simultaneously from the lips of mother and 
 son. 
 
 "Do you love me dearly, dearly, dearly? As 
 much as your whole life?" 
 
 "As much, my life, my treasure." 
 
 "Will you always love me?" 
 
 "Always, always, my joy." 
 
 "Will you do something to please me, mamma? 
 I want to ask you " 
 
 "Wliat?" 
 
 "A favor. Don't turn your face away!" 
 
 The hunchback observed that his mother's form 
 suddenly grew stiff and rigid as a bar of iron. He 
 no longer felt the sweet warmth of her moist eyelids, 
 and the gentle contact of her wet lashes on his 
 cheek. In a voice that had a metallic sound Leo- 
 cadia asked her son , 
 
THE SWAN OF VlLAMORT.i. S3 
 
 **And what is the favor you want? Let me hear 
 it." 
 
 Minguitos murmured without bitterness, with 
 resignation : 
 
 "Nothing, mamma, nothing. I was only in 
 jest." 
 
 "But what was the fav^or you were going to ask 
 me?" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing, indeed." 
 
 "No, you wanted to ask something," persisted the 
 schoohnistress, seizing the pretext to give vent to her 
 anger. "Otherwise you are very deceitful and very 
 sly. You keep everything hidden in your breast. 
 Those are the lessons Flores teaches you ; do you 
 think I don't notice it?" 
 
 Saying this, she pushed the boy away from her, 
 and sprang from the bed. In the hall outside 
 almost at the same moment was heard a firm and 
 youthful step. Leocadia trembled, and turning to 
 Minguitos, stammered: 
 
 "Go, go to Flores. Leave me alone. I do not feel 
 well, and you make me worse," 
 
 Segundo's brow was clouded, and as soon as the 
 joy of seeing him had subsided Leocadia was seized 
 with the desire to restore him to good humor. She 
 waited patiently for a fitting opportunity, however, 
 
^4 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 and when this came, throwing her arms around his 
 neck, she began with the complaint : Where had he 
 kept himself? Why had he stayed away so long? 
 I'he poet unburdened himself of his grievances. It 
 was intolerable to follow in the train of a great man. 
 And allowing himself to be carried away by the 
 pleasure of speaking of what occupied his mind he 
 decribed Don Victoriano and the radicals, he sati- 
 rized Agonde's reception of his guests, his manner of 
 entertaining them, spoke of the hopes he founded in 
 the protection of the ex-Minister, giving them as a 
 reason for the necessity of paying court to Don Vic- 
 toriano. Leocadia fixed her dog-like look on Segun- 
 do's countenance. 
 
 "And the Senora and the girl — what are they 
 like?" 
 
 Segundo half-closed his eyes the better to con- 
 template an attractive and charming image that pre- 
 sented itself to his mental vision, and to reflect that 
 in the existence of Nieves he played no part what- 
 soever, it being manifest folly for him to think of 
 Senora de Comba, who did not think of him. This 
 reflection, natural and simple enough, aroused his 
 anger. There was awakened within him a keen 
 longing for the unattainable, that insensate and un- 
 bridled desire with which the likeness of a beautiful 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 85 
 
 woman dead for centuries may inspire some dreamer 
 in a museum. 
 
 "But answer me — are those ladies handsome?" 
 the schoolmistress asked again. 
 
 "The mother, yes" — answered Segundo, speaking 
 with the careless frankness of one who is secure of 
 his auditor. **Her hair is fair, and her eyes are blue 
 — a light blue that makes one think of the verses of 
 Becquer." And he began to recite: 
 
 " *Tu pupila es azul, y cuando ries 
 Su claridad suave me recuerda 
 
 Leocadia listened to him at first with eyes cast 
 down ; afterward with her face turned away from 
 him. When he had finished the poem she said in an 
 altered voice, with feigned calmness. 
 
 ''They will invite you to go there." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "To Las Vides, of course. I hear they intend to 
 have a great deal of company." 
 
 "Yes; they have given me a pressing invitation, 
 but I shall not go. Uncle Clodio insists upon it that 
 I ought to cultivate the friendship of Don Victoriano 
 so that he may be of use to me in Madrid and help 
 me to get a position there. But, child, to go and 
 
S6 ; THE S JVA iV OF J 'II. A J/( Vv' TA . 
 
 play a sorry part is not to my liking. This suit is 
 the best I have, and it is in last year's fashion. If 
 they play tresillo or give tips to the servants — and 
 it is impossible to make m\' father understand this — 
 and I shall not try to do so; God forbid. So that 
 they shall not catch a sight of me in Las Vides." 
 
 When she heard wliat his intentions were, Leo- 
 cadia's countenance cleared up, and rising, radiant 
 with happiness, she ran to the kitchen. Flores was 
 washing plates and cups and saucers by the light of 
 a lamp, knocking them angrily together and rubbing 
 savagely. 
 
 "The coffee-pot — did you clean it?" 
 
 "Presently, presently," responded the old woman. 
 "Anyone would think that one was made of wood, 
 that one is never to get tired — that one can do things 
 flying." 
 
 "Give it to me, I will clean it. Put more wood 
 on the fire ; it is going out and the beefsteak will be 
 spoiled." And so saying Leocadia washed the cof- 
 fee-pot, cleaning the filter with a knitting-needle, 
 and put some fresh water down to boil in a new 
 saucepan, throwing more wood on the fire. 
 
 "Yes, heap on wood," growled Flores, "as we get 
 it for nothing !" 
 
 Leocadia, w^ho was slicing some potatoes for the 
 
THE SWAM OF VILAMORTA. S7 
 
 beefsteak, paid no attention to her. When she had 
 cut up as many as she judged necessary, she washed 
 her hands hastily in the jar of the drain, full of dirty 
 water, on whose surface floated large patches of 
 grease. She then hurried to the parlor where Se- 
 gundo was waiting for her, and soon afterward Flores 
 brought in the supper, which they ate, seated at a 
 small side-table. By the time they had got to the 
 coffee Segundo began to be more communicative. 
 This coffee was what Leocadia most prided herself 
 on. She had bought a set of English china, an imi- 
 tation lacquer-box, a vermeil sugar-tongs and two 
 small silver spoons, and she always placed on the 
 table with the coffee a liquor-stand, supplied with 
 cumin, rum, and anisette. At the third glass, of 
 cumin, seeing the poet amiable and propitious, 
 Leocadia put her arm around his neck. He drew 
 back brusquely, noticing with strong repulsion the 
 odor of cooking and of parsley with which the gar- 
 ments of the schoolmistress were impregnated. " 
 
 At this moment precisely Minguitos, after letting 
 his shoes drop on the floor, was drawing the coverlet 
 around him with a sigh. Flores, seated on a \o\\ 
 chair, began to recite the rosary. The sick child re- 
 quired, to put him to sleep, the monotonous mur- 
 mur of the husky voice which had lulled him to rest. 
 
88 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 ever since his mother had ceased to keep him com- 
 pany at bedtime. The Ave Marias and Gloria Pa- 
 tris, mumbled rather than pronounced, little by little 
 dulled thought and, by the time the litany was 
 reached, sleep had stolen over him, and, half-uncon- 
 scious, it was with difficulty he made the responses 
 to the barbarous phrases of the old woman: "Juana 
 celi — Ora pro nobis — Sal-es-enfermorun — nobis — 
 Refajos pecadorum — bis — Consolate flitorum — 
 
 sss 
 
 The only response was the labored, restless, un- 
 even breathing that came through the sleeping boy's 
 half-closed lips. Flores softly put out the tallow 
 candle, took off her shoes, in order to make no noise, 
 and stole out gently, feeling her way along the din- 
 ingf-room wall. From the momicnt in which Mingui- 
 tos fell asleep there was no more rattling of dishes 
 in the kitchen. 
 
VIII. 
 
 It was late before the Swan blew out the tallow 
 candle which Aunt Gaspara placed every day, always 
 with much grumbling, in his brass candlestick. 
 Seated at the little table littered with books, he had 
 before him a sheet of paper half covered with lines 
 of unequal length, variegated with blots and correc- 
 tions, little heaps of sand, and here and there a flour- 
 ish. Segundo would not have slept all night if he 
 had not first written down the poem which, from the 
 moment he had left the cross, had been running 
 through his brain. Only that, before taking up the 
 pen, he seemed to have the poem already composed 
 in his head, so that all he had to do was to turn the 
 spigot and it would flow out in a stream, and when 
 he took the pen in his hand the verses, instead of 
 rushing forth, hid themselves or vanished. A few 
 strophes fell on the paper, rounded, fluent, finished, 
 with harmonious and opportune rhymes, with a 
 certain sweetness and sonorousness extremely de- 
 lightful to the author himself, who scribbled them 
 
 down hastily before they should take flight. Of 
 
 89 
 
90 THE SPVAjV of VILAMORTA. 
 
 others, however, only the first two Hnes occurred 
 to him, and, perhaps, the fourth — this last rounded, 
 effective; but the third line was wanting and he 
 must hunt for it, fill up the space, graft on the 
 syllables to eke out the meter. The poet paused 
 and looked up at the ceiling, biting the ends of his 
 mustache, and then the idle pen traced, obeying the 
 mechanical impulse of the hand, a cocked hat, a 
 comet, or some other equally irrelevant design. 
 Sometimes after rejecting seven or eight rhymes he 
 would content himself with the ninth, which was 
 neither better nor worse than the others. When a 
 superfluous syllable would cause a line to halt, he 
 must look for another adverb, another adjective. 
 And the accents! If the poet could only enjoy the 
 privilege, of saying, eternel, for instance, instead of 
 eternel, it would be so easy to write verses I 
 
 Confounded technical difficulties! The divine 
 fire of inspiration glowed and burned in Segundo's 
 mind, but as soon as he tried to transfer it to the 
 paper, to give expression to what he felt — to con- 
 dense, in words, a world of dreams, a psychic nebula 
 — his mind became a blank. To unite the form with 
 the idea, to imprison feeling in the golden Hnks of 
 rhyme ! Ah, what a light and flowery chain in ap- 
 pearance, and how hard to weave in reality ! How 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 91 
 
 deceptive the natural grace, the facile harmony of 
 the master ! How easy it seems to express simple, 
 familiar images, to utter the chimeras of the imagi- 
 nation and the heart in easy and flowing meter, and 
 yet how impossible it is, for him who is not called 
 Becquer, to give his verse those palpitating, diapha- 
 nous, azure wings on which the Becquerian butterfly 
 soars ! 
 
 While the Swan continues his task of effacing and 
 correcting, Leocadia is in her bedroom, preparing to 
 retire. On other nights she went to her room with 
 a smile on her lips, her face glowing, her eyes humid 
 and half-closed, with deep circles under them, her 
 hair in disorder. And on those nights she was in no 
 hurry to retire ; she would busy herself arranging the 
 articles on her bureau, she would even look at her- 
 self in the glass of her cheap toilet table. To-night 
 her lips were dry, her cheeks pale, she went at once 
 to bed, loosened her clothing, and let it fall on the 
 floor, put out the light and buried her face in the 
 cool, thick cotton sheets. She did not wish to think, 
 all she wished was to forget and to sleep. She tried 
 to lie still. A thousand needles seemed to pierce her 
 flesh ; she turned around, in search of a cool spot,^ 
 then turned again in search of another, and presently 
 she threw off the sheets. She felt a horrible rest- 
 
92 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 lessness, a savor of bitterness in her mouth. In the 
 silence of the night she could hear the tumultuous 
 beating of her heart ; if she lay on her left side its 
 noise almost deafened her. She tried to fix her 
 thoughts on indifferent subjects, and repeated to her- 
 self with monotonous and persistent regularity — 
 "To-morrow is Sunday, the children will not come." 
 In vain; her brain boiled, her blood burned as 
 before. Leocadia was jealous. 
 
 Measureless, nameless torture ! Hitherto the poor 
 schoolmistress had not known the accompaniment of 
 love, jealousy, whose barbed sting pierces the soul, 
 whose consuming fire dries up the blood, whose 
 chill freezes the heart, whose restless anguish makes 
 the nerves quiver. Segundo scarcely noticed the 
 young girls of Yilamorta ; as for the peasant girls, 
 they did not exist for him, he did not even regard 
 them as women ; so that Leocadia had attributed 
 the poet's hours of coldness to the bad offices of the 
 muses. But now ! She recalled the poem, "A los 
 ojos azules," and his manner of reciting it. Those 
 honeyed verses were to her gall and wormwood. 
 Tears sprang to her eyes, and she broke into convul- 
 sive sobs which shook her frame and made the bed- 
 stead creak and the cornhusks of the mattress rustle. 
 Still her overwrought brain did not suspend its 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 93 
 
 activity. There was not a doubt but that Segundo 
 was in love with Senora de Comba; but she was a 
 married woman. Bah ! in Madrid and in novels all 
 the married women have lovers. And then, who 
 could resist Segundo, a poet who was the rival of 
 Becquer, who was young, handsome, ardent, when 
 he wished to be so? 
 
 What could Leocadia do to avert this great calam- 
 ity? Was it not better to resign herself to it? Ah, 
 resignation, that is easily said ! Why had God de- 
 nied her the power to express her feelings? Why 
 had she not knelt before Segundo, begging him for a 
 little love, describing to him and communicating to 
 him the flame that consumed the marrow of her 
 bones? Why had she remained mute when she had 
 so many things to say? Segundo would not go to 
 Las Vides; so much the better. He had no money; 
 better still. He would accept no position, he would 
 not leave Vilamorta, better and better. But what 
 did it matter if after all Segundo did not love her; 
 if he had turned away from her with a gesture which 
 she could still see in the darkness, or rather in the 
 lurid light of jealousy. 
 
 How warm the night was ! How restless she felt ! 
 She got out of bed and threw herself on the floor, 
 thinking to find some relief in the coolness of the 
 
94 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 boards. Instead of feeling any alleviation she was 
 seized with a fit of trembling. A lump seemed to 
 rise in her throat that prevented her from breath- 
 ing. She made an effort to stand up but found that 
 she was not able ; she felt a hysterical attack com- 
 ing on, but she tried to restrain her cries, her sobs, 
 her contortions, in order not to awaken Flores. For 
 a time she succeeded ; but at last the nervous crisis 
 conquered ; her rigid limbs writhed, she dug her nails 
 into her throat, she rolled about and beat her tem- 
 ples against the floor. Then a cold perspiration 
 broke out over her body, and for a moment she lost 
 consciousness. When she returned to herself she 
 was calm but exhausted. She rose to her feet, went 
 back to bed, drew the clothing over her and sank 
 into a sort of stupor, in which there was neither 
 thought nor feeling. The beneficent sleep of early 
 morning had wrapped her senses in oblivion. 
 
 She woke late, unrested, exhausted, and, as it 
 were, stupefied. She could scarcely manage to dress 
 herself ; it seemed to her as if a year had passed 
 since the night before, and as for her jealous rage, 
 her projects of resistance — how could she have 
 thought of such things? All that mattered to her, 
 all she desired, was that Segundo should be happy, 
 that he should achieve his high destiny, that he 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 95 
 
 should be famous. The rest was madness, a con- 
 vulsion, an attack of the nerves to which she 
 had given way, overcome by the sense of her 
 loneliness. 
 
 The schoolmistress opened the bureau-drawer in 
 which she kept her savings and the money for the 
 household expenses. Beside a pile of stockings was 
 a slim and flabby purse. A short time ago it had 
 contained a few thousand reals, all she possessed in 
 money. Scarcely thirty dollars remained, and out 
 of these she must pay Cansin for a black merino 
 dress, the confectioner for liqueurs, and some friends 
 at Orense for purchases made on her account. And 
 she would not receive her little income until Novem- 
 ber. A brilliant prospect truly ! 
 
 After a moment of anguish caused by the struggle 
 between her economical principles and her resolu- 
 tion, Leocadia washed her face, smoothed her hair, 
 put on her dress and her silk manto and left the 
 house. Being Sunday, the streets were full of peo- 
 ple, and the cracked bell of the chapel kept up an 
 incessant ringing. The plaza was full of bustle and 
 animation. Before Doiia Eufrasia's door, three or 
 four mules, whose clerical riders were in the shop, were 
 impatiently trying to protect themselves from the 
 persistent attacks of the flies and hornets, shaking 
 
g6 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 their heads, stamping their hoofs, and switching their 
 flanks with their rough tails. And the fruit-venders, 
 too, in the intervals between selling their wares and 
 chatting and laughing with one another, were watch- 
 ful to chase away the troublesome insects that set- 
 tled on the cherries and tomatoes wherever the skin 
 was broken, leaving uncovered the sweet pulp or the 
 red flesh. But the grand conclave of the flies was 
 held in the confectionery of Ramon. It was nause- 
 ating to see the insects buzzing blindly in the hot 
 atmosphere, entangling their legs in the caramels, 
 and then making desperate efforts to free themselves 
 from their sweet captivity. A swarm of flies were 
 buzzing around a meringue pie which adorned the 
 center of the shelf, and Ramon having grown tired 
 of defending it against their attacks, the invading 
 army rifled it at their pleasure ; around the plate lay 
 the bodies of the flies which had perished in the 
 attack ; some dry and shriveled, others swollen and 
 with white and livid abdomens. 
 
 Leocadia entered the back shop. Ramon was 
 there, with his shirt-sleeves rolled up, exposing his 
 brawny arms, shaking a saucepan gently to cool the 
 egg-paste which it contained ; then he proceeded to 
 cut the paste with a hot knife, the sugar fizzing and 
 sending forth a pleasant odor as it carne in contact 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 97 
 
 with the hot metal. The confectioner passed the 
 back of his hand across his perspiring brow. 
 
 What did Leocadia want? Brizar anisette, eh? 
 Well, it was all sold. "You, Rosa, isn't it true that 
 the anisette is all sold?" 
 
 The confectioner's wife was seated in a corner of 
 the kitchen, feeding a sickly-looking infant. She 
 fixed her gloomy, morbidly jealous gaze on the 
 schoolmistress and cried in a harsh voice : 
 
 "If you come for more anisette, remember the 
 three bottles that are still unpaid for." 
 
 "I will pay them now," answered the schoolmis- 
 tress, taking a handful of dollars from her pocket. 
 
 "Never mind that now, there is no hurry," stam- 
 mered the confectioner, ashamed of his wife's rude- 
 ness. 
 
 "Take it, Ramon. Why, it was to give it to you 
 that I came." 
 
 "If you insist; but the deuce a hurry I was in." 
 
 Leocadia hastened away. Not to have remem- 
 bered the confectioner's wife ! Who would ask any- 
 thing from Ramon before that jealous tigress, who, 
 small as she was, and sickly as she looked, ruled her 
 burly husband with a rod of iron. Perhaps Can- 
 sin 
 
 The clothier was displaying his goods to a group 
 
9^ THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 of countrywomen, one of whom persisted in declar- 
 ing the bunting she was looking at to be cotton, 
 rubbing it between her fingers to prove herself in the 
 right. Cansin, on his side, was rubbing the cloth 
 with exactly opposite views. 
 
 "How should it be cotton, woman, how should it 
 be cotton?" he cried in his shrill voice, putting the 
 cloth close to the buyer's face. Cansin appeared so 
 angry that Leocadia did not venture to address him ; 
 she passed on, quickening her steps. She thought 
 of her other suitor, the tavern-keeper. But she sud- 
 denly remembered, with a feeling of repulsion, his 
 thick lips, his cheeks that seemed to drip blood. 
 Turning over in her mind every possible means by 
 which she might obtain the money she needed, a 
 thought occurred to her. She rejected it, she 
 weighed it, she accepted it. Quickening her pace, 
 she walked toward the abode of the lawyer Garcia. 
 
 At her first knock Aunt Gaspara opened the door. 
 What a meaning contraction of the brow and lips, 
 what a sour face greeted her! Leocadia, abashed 
 and covered Avith confusion, stood still on the 
 threshold. The old woman, like a vigilant watch- 
 dog, barred the entrance, ready to bark or bite at 
 the first sign of danger. 
 
 "What did you want?" she growled. 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 99 
 
 "To speak to Don Justo. May I?" said the 
 schoolmistress humbly. 
 
 "I don't know. I'll see." 
 
 And the dragon without further ceremony shut 
 the door in Leocadia's face. Leocadia waited. At 
 the end of ten minutes a harsh voice called to her : 
 
 "Come on !" 
 
 The heart of the schoolmistress bounded within 
 her. To go through the house in which Segundo 
 was born ! It was dark and shabby, cold and bare, 
 like the abode of a miser, in which the furniture is 
 made to do service until it falls to pieces with old 
 age. Crossing a hall, Leocadia saw through a half- 
 open door some garments belonging to Segundo 
 hanging on a peg, and recognized them with a secret 
 thrill. At the end of the hall was the lawyer's 
 office, an ill-kept, untidy room, full of papers and 
 dusty and uninteresting-looking books. Aunt Gas- 
 para withdrew, and Leocadia remained standing 
 before the lawyer, who, without inviting her to be 
 seated, said to her with a suspicious and hostile air, 
 and in the severe tones of a judge : 
 
 "And what can I do for you, Sefiora Dona Leo- 
 cadia?" 
 
 A formula accompanied inwardly by the observa- 
 tion: 
 
lOO THE SWAN OF VTLAMORTA. 
 
 "I wager that the scheming schoolmistress has 
 come to tell me that she is going to marry that crazy 
 boy and that I shall have to support them both." 
 
 Leocadia fixed her dejected gaze on Garcia's face, 
 trying to discover in his dry and withered features 
 some resemblance to the features of a beloved coun- 
 tenance. His face, indeed, resembled Segundo's in 
 all but the expression, which was very different; 
 that of the father's being as cautious and suspicious 
 as the son's was dreamy and abstracted. 
 
 "Seiior Don Justo " stammered the schoolmis- 
 tress. "I am sorry to trouble you. I hope you will 
 
 not take this visit amiss — they told me that you 
 
 Senor — I need a loan " 
 
 "Money!" roared the lawyer, clenching his fists. 
 "You ask me for money!" 
 
 "Yes, Senor, on some property " 
 
 "Ah!" (sudden transition in the lawyer, who be- 
 came all softness and amiability). "But how stupid 
 I am! Come in, come in and sit down, Doiia Leo- 
 cadia. I hope you are quite well. Why, anyone 
 might find himself in a difficulty. And what prop- 
 erty is it? Talking together people come to an un- 
 derstanding, Senora. Perhaps the vineyard of La 
 Junqueira, or the other little one, El Adro? Of late 
 years they have yielded little " 
 
THE SWAN OF ViLAMOkTA. tol 
 
 The business was discussed and the promissory 
 note was signed. Aunt Gaspara meanwhile walked 
 uneasily and with ghost-like tread, up and down the 
 hall outside. When her brother issued from the 
 room and gave her some orders she crossed herself 
 hastily several times on the forehead and the breast. 
 She then descended stealthily to the cellar, and, after 
 some little delay, returned and emptied on the law- 
 yer's table the contents of her apron, whence rolled 
 four objects covered with dust and cobwebs, from 
 which proceeded, as they struck the table, the pecu- 
 liar sound produced by coin. These objects were 
 an earthern savings-bank, a stocking, a leathern sack, 
 and a little muslin bag. 
 
 That afternoon Leocadia said to Segundo : 
 
 "Do you know what, sweetheart? It is a pity that 
 for the sake of a new suit or some such trifle you 
 should lose the chance of establishing yourself and 
 obtaining what you wish. See, I have a little money 
 here that I have no particular use for. Do you want 
 it, eh? I will give it to you now and you can return 
 it to me by and by." 
 
 Segundo drew himself up and, with a genuine out- 
 burst of offended dignity, exclaimed : 
 
 "Never propose anything like that to me again. I 
 accept your attentions at times so as not to see you 
 
I02 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 breaking your heart at my refusal, but that you should 
 clothe me and support me — no, that is too much." 
 
 Half an hour later the schoolmistress renewed 
 her entreaties affectionately, availing herself of the 
 opportunity, seeing the Swan somewhat pensive. 
 Between him and her there ought to be no mine or 
 thine. Why should he hesitate to accept what it 
 afforded her so great a pleasure to give? Did her 
 future by chance depend upon those few paltry dol- 
 lars? With them he could present himself decently 
 at Las Vides, publish his verses, go to Madrid. It 
 would make her so happy to see him triumph, eclipse 
 Campoamor, Nunez de Arce, and all the rest ! And 
 what was there to prevent Segundo from returning 
 her the money, and with interest, too? Talking 
 thus, Leocadia filled a handkerchief tied at the four 
 corners with ounces and doblillos and centenes and 
 handed it to the poet, saying in a voice rendered 
 husky by her emotion : 
 
 **Will you slight me?" 
 
 Segundino took the unbeautiful, ungraceful head 
 of the schoolmistress between his hands, and looking 
 fixedly in the eyes that looked at him humid with 
 happiness he said : 
 
 "Leocadia, I know that you are the one human 
 being in this world who loves me truly." 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 103 
 
 "Segundino, my life," she stammered, beside her- 
 self with happiness, 'Mt 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 Gaspara 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 pleas- 
 ant 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 neighbor- 
 hood by the name of ndparo or Jaen grapes. Its 
 clusters hang in long corymbs of a gracefully irregu- 
 lar shape, half hiding themselves among the thick foli- 
 age. 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 
 
 104 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. ioS 
 
 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 over- 
 flow 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 merel}^ 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 dis- 
 appeared, 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, un- 
 rivaled in the Border, is the one which Senor 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. 
 
io6 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 Mendez de las Vides resembled in no way the tra- 
 ditional type ot tiieignorant lord of the manor who 
 makes a cross for his signature, a type very common 
 in that inland country. On the countrary, 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, set- 
 tling his spectacles on his nose, holding the news- 
 paper 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 Encyclope- 
 dists, with whom his father became acquainted late 
 in life, and he himself a century after their time. 
 He read Holbach, Rousseau, Voltaire, and the four- 
 teen volumes of Feijoo. 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 Victor- 
 iano, 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 aris- 
 tocratic classes — a series of Saxon importations more 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 107 
 
 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 bor- 
 rowed 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 bal- 
 conies, reminded one of the flower with which a 
 gypsy carelessly adorns her hair. Sometimes Se- 
 gundo's way led through a pine grove, and he in- 
 haled 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 
 
Io8 7'HE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 narrow path, bordered by blackberry bushes, fox- 
 glove and honeysuckle would open before him, and 
 not unfrequently he experienced the delightful sense 
 of well-being produced by the coolness cast by um- 
 brageous foliage during the heat of the day, as he 
 rode through some verdant tunnel — under some 
 lofty grape arbor supported on wooden posts, be- 
 holding 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 grape- 
 vines, the white stripes showing against the green 
 background, forming an odd combination in which 
 stood out here and there the red roof of some dove- 
 cote or some old homestead, the whole surmounted 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 109 
 
 by the darker green of the pine woods. Segundo at 
 last saw below him the tiles of Las Vides. He de- 
 scended 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 grape- 
 vine came large splashes of sunshine suddenly flood- 
 ing 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 Seftor 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 
 
no THE SIVAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 the country — very contented." Nieves said these 
 words with the abstracted air with which we speak 
 of things that possess only a sHght interest for us. 
 Segundo observed that the glance of the Minister's 
 wife rested on his fine suit, which he had just re- 
 ceived 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." 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. ^ m 
 
 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 see- 
 ing 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. 
 
112 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 **The idea! A pretty thing that would be! To 
 expose yourself to the heat twice in the same day !" 
 
 And Senor 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 ex- 
 plained to him at the same time his viticultural 
 enterprises. He had been among the first to em- 
 ploy 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 Bor- 
 deaux; 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 adulter- 
 ating 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 night- 
 shade. He contented himself with employing 
 rational methods, scientific discoveries, the improve- 
 ments of modern chemistry, condemning the absurd 
 
THE S IV A N OF VILA MOR TA. 113 
 
 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 an- 
 other, 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." 
 
114 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 ''I have not forgotten," responded Nieves, wink- 
 ing 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?" 
 
 'T 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 imperious- 
 ness 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 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 1 15 
 
 them. The last to arrive was the child, now mod- 
 estly attired in a pique 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 : 
 
 'T am eating ravenously." 
 
 The Amphitryon protested, and Tropiezo and 
 Genday expounded in turn liberal and consoling doc- 
 trines. "Nature is very wise," said Senor de las Vides, 
 who had not forgotten Rousseau, "and he who obeys 
 her cannot go astray." Primo Genday, fond of eat- 
 ing, 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 exist- 
 ence of certain new-fangled diseases. Since the 
 
ri6 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 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 polit- 
 ical discussion in which he had characterized the 
 liberals as uncircumcised, suddenly grew very serious 
 and proceeded to recite the Lord's Prayer, the Min- 
 ister, 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, flir- 
 tations of a fortnight with young ladies of the Border 
 who, at the present time, must be withered old 
 
THE SWAN OF VILA MOR TA. n 7 
 
 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, Senor." 
 
 "Nor I either; let us go and smoke a cigar 
 together." 
 
X. 
 
 They seated themselves near the window in the 
 parlor 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. 
 
 ii8 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. ti9 
 
 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 strug- 
 gle 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, Senor 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 profes- 
 sion 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 
 
120 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 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 read}^ 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 can- 
 not be done by magic '* 
 
 "Even in Madrid and on a large scale the prac- 
 tice of the law has no attractions for me. I have 
 other aspirations." 
 
 'T^et us hear what they are." 
 
 Segundo hesitated, restrained by a feeling of shy- 
 ness, 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 re- 
 serve. 
 
 " 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 
 
THE SWAN- OF VILAMOR TA. 121 
 
 you ever been out of Vilamorta? I mean beyond 
 Santiago and the neighboring towns? " 
 J\o, benor. 
 
 "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 Nunez 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 
 
1 2 2 THE SWAN OF VILA MOR TA . . 
 
 the men laugh. He has his merit, and he amuses 
 while he philosophizes. But remember that neither 
 he nor Nunez 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 hun- 
 dred. 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 quhitillas^ 
 like everybody else. Besides, I have seen noth- 
 ing of what you have written, so that my opinion is 
 impartial and my advice sincere." 
 
 "My ambition," began Segundo at last, "is not 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 123 
 
 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 bal- 
 cony. Suddenly he returned, placed both hands on 
 Segurdo'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 know- 
 ing what you are doing. I am sorry for you. You 
 are deluding yourself. In the present state of so- 
 ciety, in order to attain eminence in anything, you 
 must sweat blood like Christ in the garden of Geth- 
 semane. 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 
 
124 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 reputation of others, and you will never see even so 
 much as the shadow of your own. If j^ou 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 : 
 
 "As for politics, Senor Don Victoriano, it seems 
 to me that you ought not to speak ill of that. It 
 has treated you well ; you have no cause of com- 
 plaint against it. For you politics has not been a 
 stepmother." 
 
 Don Victoriano's countenance changed, showing 
 plainly the ravages disease had made in his organ- 
 ism ; and rising to his feet a second time, he threw 
 away his cigar and, walking up and down the room 
 with hasty steps, he burst forth passionately, in 
 words that rushed from his lips in a sudden flood, in 
 an impetuous and unequal stream, like the stream of 
 blood gushing from a severed artery : 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 125 
 
 "Don't touch that point. Be silent about that, 
 boy. How do you, how does anybody know what 
 those things are until he has thrown himself head- 
 long into them and is caught fast and cannot escape ! 
 If I were to tell you — but it is impossible to tell 
 one's whole life, day by day, to describe a battle 
 which has lasted for ye*irs, without rest or respite. 
 To struggle in order to make one's self known, to 
 go on struggling to keep one's self from being for- 
 gotten, to pass from law to politics, from a wheel 
 set with knives to a bed of live coals, to fight in 
 Congress without faith, without conviction, because 
 one must fight to keep the place one has won ; and 
 with all this not to have a free hour, not a tranquil 
 moment, not have time for anything. One achieves 
 fortune when one no longer has the inclination to 
 enjoy it ; one marries and has a family and — one has 
 hardly liberty to accompany one's wife to the 
 theater. Don't talk to me. A hell, a hell upon 
 earth is what politics is. Would you believe" (and 
 here he uttered a round oath) "that when my little 
 girl was beginning to walk, I proposed to myself one 
 day to have the pleasure of taking her out walk- 
 ing — a caprice, a whim. Well, I was going down- 
 stairs with the child in my arms, very contented, 
 when lo, I found myself face to face with the Mar- 
 
126 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 quis of Cameros, a candidate for representative from 
 Galicia, who had come to ask me for fifteen or 
 twenty letters — written in my own hand so that they 
 might prove more efficacious. And I was such a 
 fool, man, I was such a fool, that instead of throw- 
 ing the Marquis down the stairs, as I ought to have 
 done, I walked back my two flights, gave the child 
 to her nurse, and shut myself up in my office 
 to prepare the election. And it was the 
 same thing always ; tell me, then, have I reason 
 or not to abominate such folly, such humbug? 
 Ah, what pains we are at to make ourselves 
 miserable ! " 
 
 There could be no doubt of it ; in the voice of the 
 statesman there was the sound of repressed tears; 
 in his throat smothered curses and blasphemies 
 struggled for utterance. Segundo, to do something, 
 threw open the window leading to the balcony. 
 The sun was low in the heavens; the heat had grown 
 less intense. 
 
 "And worst of all — the consequences I" continued 
 Don Victoriano, pausing in his walk. "You strive 
 and struggle without pausing to reflect what will be 
 the effect upon your health. You fight, like the 
 knights of old, with visor down. But as vou are not 
 made of iron, but only of flesh and blood, when you 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 127 
 
 least expect it, you find yourself sick, sick, wounded, 
 without knowing where. You do not lose blood, 
 but you lose the sap of life, like a lemon that is 
 squeezed," And the ex-Minister laughed bitterly. 
 "And you want to stop, to rest, to get back health at 
 any cost, and you find that it is too late ; you have 
 not a drop of moisture left in your body. Well, 
 keep on until there is an end to you. Much your 
 labors and your triumphs have profited you ! You 
 have drawn down on yourself a doom from which 
 there is no escape I" 
 
 He spoke with gesticulations, thrusting his hands 
 into his trousers pockets in an outbrust of confi- 
 dence, expressing himself with as little reserve as if 
 he had been alone. And in reality he was talking 
 to himself. His words were a monologue, the spoken 
 utterance of the gloomy thoughts which Don Vic- 
 toriano, thanks to heroic efforts, had hitherto been 
 able to conceal in his own breast. The strange 
 malady from which he suffered gave rise to horrible 
 nightmares ; he dreamed that he was turning into a 
 loaf of sugar and that his intellect, his blood, his life, 
 were flowing away from him, through a deep, deep 
 channel, converted into syrup. In his waking mo- 
 ments his mind refused to accept, as one refused to 
 accept a humiliation, so strange a malady. Sanchez 
 
128 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 del Abrojo must be mistaken ; his was some func- 
 tional, transitory disorder, an ordinary ailment, the 
 result of his sedentary life, and Tropiezo's old-fash- 
 ioned remedies would perhaps after all prove more 
 efficacious than those of science. And if they did 
 not? The statesman felt a cold chill run through 
 him that made his hair stand on end and constricted 
 his heart. To die when he was scarcely past forty, 
 with his mental powers unimpaired, with so many 
 things begun, so many accomplished ! And no 
 doubt this consuming thirst, this insatiable voracity, 
 this debilitating sensation of melting away, of fu- 
 sion, of dissolving, were all fatal symptoms. 
 
 Suddenly Don Victoriano remembered the pres- 
 ence of Segundo, which he had almost forgotten. 
 And laying both hands on his shoulders a second 
 time, and fixing on the poet's eyes, his dry eyes, 
 scorched by repressed tears, he cried : 
 
 "Do you wish to hear the truth, and to receive 
 good advice? Have you ambitions, aspirations, 
 hopes? Well, I have had disappointments, and I 
 desire to do you a service by recounting them to 
 you now. Don't be a fool; stay here all your life; 
 . help your father, take up his practice when he lays 
 it down, and marry that blooming daughter of 
 Agonde. Never leave this land of fruits, of vines, 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 129 
 
 \^hose climate is so delightful. What would I not 
 give now never to have left it ! No, my boy, remain 
 quietly here ; end a long life here surrounded by 
 a numerous progeny. Have you observed how 
 healthy your father is? it is a pleasure to see him, 
 with his teeth so sound and perfect. I have not a 
 single tooth that is not decayed ; they say that it is 
 one of the symptoms of my malady. Why, if your 
 mother were living now you would be having little 
 brothers and sisters." 
 
 Segundo smiled. 
 
 "But, Sefior Don Victoriano," he said, *'to act out 
 your ideas would be to vegetate, not to live." 
 
 "And what greater happiness than to vegetate," 
 responded the statesman, looking out of the win- 
 dow. "Do you think those trees there are not to 
 be envied?" 
 
 The garden, indeed, seen in the light of the set- 
 ting sun, had a certain air of volputuous bliss, as if it 
 were enjoying a happy dream. 
 
 The lustrous leaves of the lemon trees and the 
 camellias, the gummy trunks of the fruit trees, 
 seemed to drink in with delight the fresh evening 
 breeze, precursor of the vivifying dews of night. 
 The golden atmosphere took on in the dista-nce faint 
 lilac tints. Innumerable noises began to make them- 
 
Tjo THE SWAN OF VI LA M OR f A. 
 
 selves heard, preludes to songs of insects, to the con- 
 certs of the frogs and toads. 
 
 The pensive tranquillity of the scene was broken 
 in upon by the quick trot of a mule, and Clodio Gen- 
 day, out of breath, flung himself out of his saddle, 
 and reeled into the garden. Gesticulatng with his 
 hands, with his head, with his whole body, he called, 
 screamed, vociferated : 
 
 "Oh, I have a nice piece of news for you, a nice 
 piece of news ! I will be there directly, I will be 
 there directly!" 
 
 They went to the head of the stairs leading to 
 the garden, to meet him, and when he rushed upon 
 them, like an arrow shot from a bow, they saw that 
 he wore neither collar nor cravat, and that his dress 
 was in the utmost disorder. 
 
 "A mere bagatelle, Senor Don Victoriano — that 
 they are playing a trick upon us ; that they have 
 played it already, that unless we take prompt meas- 
 ures we shall lose the district. You would not be- 
 lieve it, if I were to tell you of all the plans they 
 have been laying, for a long time past, at Dona Eu- 
 frasia's shop. And we simpletons suspecting noth- 
 ing. And all the priests are in the plot ; the parish 
 priests of Lubrego, of Boan, of Naya, and of Cebre. 
 They have set up as a candidate Senorito de Romero 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. . 131 
 
 of Orense, who is willing to loosen his purse-strings. 
 But where is Primo, that good-for-nothing, that scare- 
 crow, who never found out a word of all this?" 
 
 "We will look for him, man. What do you tell 
 me, what do you tell me? I never thought they 
 would have dared — ^ — " 
 
 And Don Victoriano, animated and excited, fol- 
 lowed Clodio, who went shouting through the parlor : 
 
 'Trimo ! Primo!" 
 
 A little later Segundo saw the two brothers and 
 the ex-Minister going through the garden disputing 
 and gesticulating violently. Clodio was making 
 charges against Primo, who tried to defend himself, 
 while Don Victoriano acted as peacemaker. In his 
 fury Clodio shook his clenched fist in Primo's face, 
 almost laying violent hands upon him, while the cul- 
 prit stammered, crossing himself hastily : 
 
 "Mercy, mercy, mercy! Ave Maria!" 
 
 The poet watched them as they passed by, remark- 
 ing the transformation that had taken place in Don 
 Victoriano. As he turned away from the window 
 he saw Nieves standing before him. 
 
 "And those gentlemen," she said to him gra- 
 ciously, "have they left you all alone? The pines 
 must at this time be singing. There is a breeze stir- 
 ring." 
 
132 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "Undoubtedly they will be singing now/' returned 
 the poet. "I shall hear them as I ride back to Vila- 
 morta." 
 
 Nieves' movement of surprise did not pass un- 
 noticed by Segundo, who, looking her steadily in the 
 face, added coldly and proudly: "Unless you should 
 command me to remain." 
 
 Nieves was silent. She felt that courtesy required 
 that she should make some effort to detain her*^ 
 guest, while at the same time to ask him to remain, 
 they two being alone, seemed to her inexpedient 
 and liable to misconstruction. At last she took a 
 middle course, saying with a forced smile: 
 
 "But why are you in such a hurry? And will you 
 make us another visit?" 
 
 "We shall see each other later in Vilamorta. 
 Good-by, Nieves, I will not disturb Don Victori- 
 ano. Say good-by to him fcr me and tell him he 
 may count upon my father's services and upon 
 mine." 
 
 Without taking Nieves' outstretched hand or look- 
 ing at her he descended into the courtyard. He 
 was settling his feet in the stirrups when he saw a 
 little figure appear close beside him. It was Vic- 
 torina, with her hands full of lumps of sugar, which 
 she offered the nag. The animal eagerly pushed 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA, 133 
 
 out its under lip, which moved with the intelligent 
 undulations of an elephant's trunk. 
 
 Segundo interposed : 
 
 "Child, he will bite you; he bites." 
 
 Then he added gayly : 
 
 **Do you want me to lift you up here? You 
 don't? I wager I can lift you!" 
 
 He lifted her up and seated her on the saddle- 
 cloth, before him. She struggled to free herself and 
 in her struggles her beautiful hair fell over the face 
 and shoulders of Segundo, who was holding her 
 tightly around the waist. He observed with some 
 surprise that the girl's heart was beating tumultu- 
 ously. Turning very pale Victorina cried: 
 
 "Mamma, mamma!" 
 
 At last she succeeded in releasing herself and ran 
 toward Nieves, who was laughing merrily at the in- 
 cident. Half-way she stopped, retraced her steps, 
 threw her arms around the horse's neck and pressed 
 on his nose a warm kiss. 
 
XI. 
 
 Eight or ten days intervened between Segundo's 
 visit to Las Vides and the return of Don Victoriano 
 and his family to Vilamorta. Don Victoriano de- 
 sired to drink the waters and at the same time to 
 take measures to frustrate the dark machinations of 
 Romero's partisans. His plan was a simple one — to 
 offer Romero some other district, where he would 
 not have to spend a penny, and thus removing the 
 only rival who had any prestige in the country he 
 would avoid the mortification of a defeat through 
 Vilamorta. It was important to do this before Octo- 
 ber, the period at which the electoral contest was to 
 take place. And while Genday, Garcia, the Alcalde 
 and the other Combistas managed the negotiation, 
 Don Victoriano, installed in Agonde's house, drank 
 two or three glasses of the salubrious waters every 
 morning, after which he read his correspondence, and 
 in the afternoon, when the sultry heat invited to a 
 siesta, he read or wrote in the cool parlor of the 
 apothecary. 
 
 Segundo frequently accompanied him in these 
 
 134 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA-. 135 
 
 hours of retirement. They talked together like two 
 friends, and the statesman, far from insisting on the 
 ideas he had expressed in Las Vides, encouraged the 
 poet, offering him to endeavor to obtain a position 
 for him in Madrid which should enable him to carry 
 out his plans. 
 
 **A position that will not take up much of your 
 time, nor require much mental labor — I will see, I 
 will see. I will be on the lookout for something." 
 
 Segundo observed unmistakable signs of improved 
 health in the wrinkled face of the Minister. Don 
 Victoriano was experiencing the transitory benefit 
 which mineral waters produce at first, stimulating 
 the organism only to waste it all the more rapidly, 
 perhaps, afterward. Both digestion and circulation 
 had become more active, and perspiration, even, 
 entirely suppressed by the disease, had become re- 
 established, dilating the pores with grateful warmth 
 and comimunicating to the dry fibers the elasticity 
 of healthy flesh. As a candle flares up brightly be- 
 fore going out, so Don Victoriano seemed to be 
 recovering strength when in reality he was wasting 
 away. Fancying health was returning to him, he 
 breathed with delight the narrow atmosphere of 
 party intrigues, taking pleasure in disputing his dis- 
 trict inch bv inch, in winning; over adherents and re- 
 
136 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 ceiving demonstrations of sympathy, and secretly 
 flattered by the absurd proposal made by his parish- 
 ioners to the parish priest of Vilamorta, that incense 
 should be burned before him. In the evening he 
 amused himself patriarchally among Agonde's visi- 
 tors, listening to the comical stories told of the 
 clique at Doiia Eufrasia's shop and enjoying the rip- 
 ple of excitement occasioned by the proximity of 
 the feasts. Little by little the innocent tresillo 
 table of Agonde had become transformed into some- 
 thing much more wicked. Now, instead of four 
 persons being seated at it, there was only one, 
 around whom, their eyes fixed on his hands, the 
 others stood grouped. The banker's left hand 
 grasped the cards tightly while with the ball of his 
 thumb he pushed up the last card until first the spot 
 could be descried, then the number, then the knob of 
 a club, the point of a diamond, the blue tail of a 
 horse, the turreted crown of a king, and other hands 
 took up stakes or took money from the pocket and 
 laid it down on the fateful pieces of cardboard with 
 the words : 
 
 "On the seven! On the four! The ace is in 
 sight !" 
 
 Through respect for Don Victoriano, Agonde re- 
 frained from dealing the cards when the latter was 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA.^ 137 
 
 present, bridling with difficulty the only passion that 
 could warm his blood and excite his placid nature, 
 giving up his place to Jacinto Ruedas, a famous 
 strolling gambler, known everywhere, who followed 
 the scent of the gaming-table as others follow the 
 scent of a banquet, a rare type, something between 
 a swindler and a spy, who made low jests in a hoarse 
 voice. The chroniclers do not state whether the 
 civil authorities, that is to say, the judge of Vila- 
 morta, made any attempt to interfere with the un- 
 lawful diversion in which the visitors to the phar- 
 macy indulged, but it is an ascertained fact that, the 
 judge having one leg shorter than the other, tlic 
 pounding of his crutch on the sidewalk gave timely 
 warning of his approach to the players. And as for 
 the municipal authority, it is known to a certainty 
 that one day, or to speak with more exactness, one 
 night, he entered the apothecary's back shop like 
 a bomb, holding in his hand money which he threw 
 on a card, crying: 
 
 "Gentlemen, I am queen!" 
 
 "Be an ass, if you like !" responded Agonde, push- 
 ing him away with marked disrespect. 
 
 This year Don Victoriano's presence and the open 
 hostilities waged between his partisans and those of 
 Romero gave a martial character to the feasts. The 
 
13^ THE SWAN OF VlLAMOkTA. 
 
 Combists desired to render them more splendid and 
 brilliant than ever before and the Romerists to ren- 
 der them a failure, as far as it was possible. In the 
 main room of the townhall the monster balloon, 
 which occupied the whole length of the apartment, 
 was being repaired ; its white sides were being cov- 
 ered with inscriptions, figures, emblems, and symbols, 
 and around the floor were scattered tin kettles filled 
 with paste, pots of vermilion. Sienna, and ochre, 
 balls of packthread and cut paper figures. From 
 the giant balloon sprung daily broods of smaller bal- 
 loons, miniature balloons, made with remnants and 
 fancifully decorated in pink and blue. At the meet- 
 ings at Dona Eufrasia's they spoke contemptuously 
 of these preparations and commented on the au- 
 dacity of the inn-keeper's son, a mere dauber, who 
 undertook to paint Don Victoriano's likeness on one 
 of the divisions of the large balloon. The Romerist 
 young ladies, compressing their lips and shrugging 
 their shoulders, declared that they would attend 
 neither the fire-works nor the ball, not if their adver- 
 saries were to offer novenas with that purpose to 
 every saint in heaven. 
 
 On the other hand, the young ladies of the Com- 
 bist party formed a sort of court around Nieves. 
 Ever}'- afternoon they called for her to take her out 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 139 
 
 walking; chief among these were Carmen Agonde, 
 Florentina, the daughter of the Alcalde, Rosa, a 
 niece of Tropiezo, and Clara, the eldest of Gareia's 
 daughters. This latter was running about bare- 
 footed, spending her time gathering blackberries in 
 her apron, when she received the astounding news 
 that her father had ordered a gown for her from 
 Orense, that she might visit the Minister's lady. 
 And the gown came with its fresh bows and its stiff 
 linings and the girl, her face and hands washed, her 
 hair combed, her feet covered with new kid boots, 
 her eyes cast down and her hands crossed stiffly be- 
 fore her, went to swell Nieves' train. Victorina 
 took Clara. Garcia under her especial protection, ar- 
 ranged her dress and hair and made her a present of 
 a bracelet, and they became inseparable companions. 
 
 They generally walked on the highroad, but as 
 soon as Clara grew more intimate with Victorina she 
 protested against this, declaring that the paths and 
 the by-ways were much more amusing and that 
 much prettier things were to be met with in them. 
 And she pressed Victorina's arm saying: 
 
 "Segundo knows lovely walks!" 
 
 As chance would have it, that same afternoon, re- 
 turning to the town, they caught sight of a man 
 stealing along in the shadow of the houses, and 
 
I40 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA, 
 
 ♦ 
 
 Clara, who was on the other side of the way, ran over 
 to him, and threw her arm around his waist, crying : 
 
 "Hey, Segundp; you can't escape from us now, 
 we have caught you." 
 
 The poet gave a brotherly push to Clara, and cere- 
 moniously saluting Nieves, who returned his saluta- 
 tion with extreme cordiality, he said to her: 
 
 "The idea of this girl — I am sure she has been 
 making herself troublesome to you. You must ex- 
 cuse her." 
 
 They sat down on one of the benches of the 
 Plaza, to enjoy the fresh air, and when, on the fol- 
 lowing day the party walked out after the siesta, Sc- 
 gundo joined them, studiously avoiding Nieves as if 
 some secret understanding, some mysterious com- 
 plicity existed between them. He mingled among 
 the girls and, laying aside his habitual reserve, he 
 laughed and jested with Victorina, for whom he 
 gathered, as they walked along the hedges, ripe 
 blackberries, acorns, early chestnut burrs, and in- 
 numerable wild flowers, which the girl put into a 
 little Russian leather satchel. 
 
 Sometimes Segundo led them along precipitous 
 paths cut in the living rock, bordered by walls, sup- 
 porting grapevines through which the expiring rays 
 of the sun could scarcely penetrate. Again he 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 141 
 
 would take them through bare and arid woods until 
 they reached some old oak grove, some chestnut 
 tree, inside whose trunk, decayed and split with age, 
 Segundo would hide himself while the girls hand in 
 hand danced around it. 
 
 One day he took them to the stone bridge that 
 crossed the Avieiro, under whose arches the black 
 water, cold and motionless, seems to be dreaming a 
 sinister dream. And he told them how in this spot, 
 where, owing to the water being deeper there and 
 less exposed to the sun's rays, the largest trout gath- 
 ered, a corpse had been found floating last month 
 near the arch. He took them to hear the echo also, 
 and all the girls were wild with delight, talking all 
 together, without waiting for the wall to repeat their 
 cries and shouts of laughter. On another afternoon 
 he showed them a curious lake regarding which 
 innumerable fables were told in the country — that 
 it had no bottom, that it reached to the center of 
 the earth, that submerged cities could be seen under 
 its surface, that strange woods floated and unknown 
 flowers grew in its waters. The so-called lake was 
 in reality a large excavation, probably a Roman 
 mine that had been flooded with water, which, im- 
 prisoned within the chain of hillocks of argillaceous 
 tophus heaped up around it by the miners' shovels, 
 
142 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 presented a sepulchral and fantastic aspect, the 
 weird effect of tlie scene being heightened by the 
 somber character of the marsh v^egetation which 
 covered the surface of the immense pool. When it 
 began to grow dark the children declared that this 
 lugubrious scene made them horribly afraid ; the 
 girls confessed to the same feeling, and started for 
 the highroad running at the top of their speed, leav- 
 ing Segundo and Nieves behind. This was the first 
 time they had found themselves alone together, for 
 the poet avoided such occasions. Nieves looked 
 around uneasily and then, meeting Segundo's eyes 
 fixed, ardent and questioning upon hers, lowered 
 her gaze. Then the gloom of the landscape and the 
 solemnity of the hour gave her a contraction of the 
 heart, and without knowing what she was doing she 
 began to run as the girls had done. She heard Se- 
 gundo's footsteps behind her, and when she at last 
 stopped, at a little distance from the highroad, she 
 saw him smile and could not help smiling herself at 
 her own folly. 
 
 *'Heavens ! What a silly fright !" she cried, 'T have 
 made myself ridiculous. I am as bad as the chil- 
 dren ! But that blessed pool is enough to make one 
 afraid. Tell me, how is it that they have not taken 
 views of it? It is very curious and picturesque," 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA.^ 143 
 
 They returned by the highroad; it was now quite 
 dark and Nieves, as if wishing to efface the impres- 
 sion made by her childish terror, showed herself 
 ga)^ and friendly with Segundo ; two or three times 
 her eyes encountered his and, doubtless through 
 absent-mindedness, she did not turn them aside. 
 They spoke of the walk of the following day ; it 
 must be along the banks of the river, which was more 
 cheerful than the pond ; the scenery there was beau- 
 tiful, not gloomy like that of the pool. 
 
 In effect the road they followed on the next day 
 was beautiful, although it was obstructed by the 
 osier plantations and canebrakes and the intricate 
 growth of the birches and the young poplars, which 
 at times impeded their progress. Every now and 
 then Segundo had to give his hand to Nieves and 
 put aside the flexible young branches that struck 
 against her face. Notwithstanding all his care, he 
 was unable to save her from wetting her feet and 
 leaving some fragments of the lace of her hat among 
 the branches of a poplar. They stopped at a spot 
 where the river, dividing, formed a sort of islet cov- 
 ered with cats-tails and gladioli. A rivulet running 
 down the mountain-side mingled its waters silently 
 and meekly with the waters of Avieiro. At the 
 river's edge grew plants with dentated leaves and a 
 
144 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 variety of ferns and graceful aquatic plants. Se- 
 gundo knelt down on the wet ground and began to 
 gather some flowers. 
 
 "Take them, Nieves," he said. 
 
 She approached and, kneeling on one knee, he 
 handed her a bunch of flowers of a pale turquoise 
 blue, with slender stems, flowers of which she had 
 hitherto seen only imitations, as adornments for 
 hats, and that she had fancied had only a mythical 
 existence ; flowers of romance, that she had thought 
 grew only on the banks of the Rhine, which is the 
 home of everything romantic ; flowers that have so 
 beautiful a name — Forget-me-not, 
 
XII. 
 
 NiEVES was what is called an exemplary wife, 
 without a dark page in her history, without a thought 
 of disloyalty to her husband, a coquette only in her 
 dress and in the adornment of her person, and even 
 in these practicing no alluring arts, content to obey 
 slavishly the dictates of fashion. 
 
 Her ideal, if she had any, was to lead a comfort- 
 able, elegant existence, enjoying the consideration 
 of the world. She had married when she was very 
 young, Don Victoriano settling on her some thou- 
 sands of dollars, and on the wedding-day her father 
 had called her into his magisterial office and, keep- 
 ing her standing before him as if she were a criminal, 
 had charged her to respect and obey the husband 
 she had chosen. She obeyed and respected him. 
 
 And her obedience and respect were a torture to 
 Don Victoriano, who sought in marriage a compen- 
 sation for the long years he had spent in his law 
 office ; years of loneliness during which his arduous 
 labors and confinement to business had prevented 
 him from forming any tender tie or cultivating gentle 
 
 M5 
 
146 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 affections, permitting him at the most some hasty 
 pleasure, some reckless and exciting adventure, 
 which did not satisfy his heart. He fancied that the 
 beautiful daughter of the President of the Court 
 would requite him for all the tender joys he had 
 missed and he found with vain and bitter disappoint- 
 ment that Nieves saw in him only the grave hus- 
 band who is accepted with docility, without repug- 
 nance, nothing more. Respecting against his will 
 the peace of this superficial being, he neither could 
 nor dared disturb it, and he fretted his soul with 
 unavailing longings, hastening to the crisis of matu- 
 rity and multiplying the white patches that streaked 
 his black hair. 
 
 When the child was born Don Victoriano hoped 
 to repay himself with interest in new and holy 
 caresses, to take solace in a pure oasis of affection. 
 But the requirements of his position, the hurry of 
 business, the complex obligations and the implacable 
 cares of his existence, interposed themselves between 
 him and a father's joys. He saw his daughter only 
 from a distance, barely succeeding, when the coffee 
 was brought in, in having her for awhile on his 
 knee. And then came the first warnings of his 
 disease. 
 
 From the time in whicli his maladv declared itself 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. I47 
 
 with all its afflicting symptoms, Nieves had still less 
 of her husband's society than before; it seemed to 
 her as if she had returned to the rosy days of her 
 girlhood, when she flitted about like a butterfly and 
 played at lovers with her companions, who wrote 
 her fictitious love-letters of an innocent nature, which 
 they put under her pillow. 
 
 She never had had much amusement since that 
 time. A great deal of amusement was to be found 
 in the routine of a methodical Madrid life! Yes, 
 there was a period during which the Marquis de 
 Cameros, a rich young client of Don Victoriano's, 
 had come to the house with some frequency, and he 
 had even been asked to dine with them three or four 
 times, without ceremony. Nieves remembered that 
 the Marquis had cast many furtive glances at her, 
 and that they had always met him, by chance, at 
 whatever theater they went to. It did not go be- 
 yond this. 
 
 Nieves was now in the bloom of her second youth 
 — between twenty-nine and thirty — terrible epoch in 
 a woman's life ; and if it brought her no red passion 
 flowers, at least she wished to adorn herself with the 
 romantic forget-me-nots of the poet. It seemed to 
 Nieves that in the porcelain vase of her existence a 
 flower had been wanting, and the fragile blue spray 
 
14^ THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 came to complete the beauty of the drawing-room 
 toy. Bah! What harm was there in all this? It 
 was a childish adventure. Those flowers, preserved 
 between the leaves of a costly prayer-book, inspired 
 her only with thoughts as pallid and sapless as the 
 poor petals now pressed and dry. 
 
 She had fastened the blue spray in her bosom. 
 How well it looked among the folds of the ecru lace ! 
 
 "Tell me, mamma," Victorina had said to her that 
 night before going to bed, "did Segundo give you 
 those pretty flowers?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't remember — yes, I think that Garcia 
 picked them for me." 
 
 "Will you give them to me to keep in my little 
 satchel?" 
 
 "Go, child, go to bed quickly. Mademoiselle, see 
 that she says her prayers !" 
 
XIII. 
 
 The proximity of the feasts put an end to long 
 walks. The promenaders confined themselves to 
 walks on the highroad, returning soon to the town, 
 where the plaza was crowded with busy people. 
 The promenaders included the young ladies of the 
 Combist party, gayly attired, parish priests, ill- 
 shaven, of sickly aspect and dejected looking, gam- 
 blers of doubtful appearance and strangers from the 
 Border — all types which Agonde criticised with mor- 
 dacity, to Nieves* great amusement. 
 
 "Do you see those women there? They are the 
 Senoritas de Gondas, three old maids and a young 
 lady, whom they call their niece, but as they have 
 
 no brother Those other two are the Molendes, 
 
 from Cebre, very aristocratic people, God save the 
 mark ! The fat one thinks herself superior to Luci- 
 fer, and the other writes poetry, and what poetry! 
 I tell Segundo Garcia that he ought to propose to 
 her; they would make an excellent pair. They are 
 staying at Lamajosa's; there they are in their ele- 
 ment, for Doiia Mercedes Lamajosa, when any vis- 
 
 149 
 
ISO THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 itor comes, in order that it may be known that they 
 are noble, says to her daughters: 'Girls, let one of 
 you bring me my knitting ; it must be in the press, 
 where the letters-patent of nobility are.' Those two 
 handsome, well-dressed girls are the Caminos, daugh- 
 ters of the judge." 
 
 On the ev^e of the fair the musicians paraded the 
 streets morning and afternoon, deafening everybody 
 with the noise of their triumphal strains. The 
 plaza in front of the townhall was dotted with 
 booths, which made a gay confusion of brilliant 
 and discordant colors. Before the townhall were 
 erected some odd-looking objects which with equal 
 probability might be taken for instruments of torture, 
 children's to\\s, or scarecrows, but which were in real- 
 ity fireworks — trees and wheels which were to burn 
 that night, with magnificent pomp, favored by the 
 stillness of the atmosphere. From the window of 
 the building issued, like a Titanic arm, the pole on 
 which was to be hoisted the gigantic balloon, and 
 along the balustrade ran a series of colored glasses, 
 forming the letters V. A. D. L. C. — a delicate com- 
 pliment to the representative of the district. 
 
 It was already dark when Don Victoriano, accom- 
 panied by his wife and daughter, set out for the 
 townhall to see the fireworks. It was with difficulty 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. . I^l 
 
 they made their way through the crowd which filled 
 the plaza, where a thousand discordant noises filled 
 the air — now the timbrel and castanets in some 
 dance, now the buzz of the zanfona, now some slow 
 and melancholy popular copla, now the shout of some 
 aggressive and quarrelsome drunkard. Agonde gave 
 his arm to Nieves, made way for her among the 
 crowd, and explained to her the programme of the 
 night's entertainment. 
 
 "Never was there seen a balloon like this year's," 
 he said"; "it is the largest we have ever had here. 
 The Romerists are furious." 
 
 "And how has my likeness turned out?" asked 
 Don Victoriano with interest. 
 
 "Oh! It is superb. Better than the likeness in 
 La Illustracion.'' 
 
 At the door of the townhall the difficulties in- 
 creased, and it was necessary to trample down with- 
 out mercy the country-people — who had installed 
 themselves there, determined not to budge an inch 
 lest they should lose their places — before they were 
 able to pass in. 
 
 "See what asses they are," said Agonde. "It 
 makes no difference whether you step over them 
 or not, they won't rise. They have no place to 
 sleep and they intend to pass the night here ; 
 
152 THE SWAN OF VILA MO RT A. 
 
 to-morrow they will waken up and return to their 
 villages." 
 
 They made their way as best they could over this 
 motley heap in which men and women were crowded 
 together, intertwined, entangled in repulsive promis- 
 cuity. Even on the steps of the stairs suspicious- 
 looking groups were lying, or some drunken peasant 
 snored, surfeited with piilpo, or some old woman sat 
 counting her coppers in her lap. They entered the 
 hall, which was illuminated only by the dim light 
 shed by the colored glasses. Some young ladies 
 already occupied the space in front of the windows, 
 but the Alcalde, hat in hand, with innumerable apolo- 
 gies, made them draw their chairs closer together 
 to make room for Nieves, Victorina, and Carmen 
 Agonde, around whom an obsequious circle gathered ; 
 chairs were brought for the ladies, and the Alcalde 
 took Don Victoriano to the Secretary's ofiBce, where 
 a tray, with some bottles of Tostado and some atro- 
 cious cigars, awaited him. The young ladies and the 
 children placed themselves in front, leaning on the 
 railing of the balcony, running the risk of having 
 some rocket fall upon them. Nieves remained a 
 little behind, and drew her silver-woven Algerian 
 shawl closer around her, for in this empty, gloomy 
 hall the air was chill. At her side was an empty 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. • 153 
 
 chair, which was suddenly occupied by a figure 
 whose outhnes were dimly distinguishable in the 
 darkness. 
 
 "Why, Garcia," she cried, "it is a cure for sore 
 eyes. We haven't seen you for two days." 
 
 "You don't see me now, either, Nieves," said the 
 poet, leaning toward her and speaking in a low voice. 
 "It would be rather difficult to see one here." 
 
 "That is true," answered Nieves, confused by this 
 simple remark. "Why have they not brought 
 lights?" 
 
 "Because it would spoil the effect of the fireworks. 
 Don't you prefer this species of semi-obscurity?" he 
 added, smiling, before he uttered it, at the choice 
 phrase. 
 
 Nieves was silent. Unconsciously she was fasci- 
 nated by the situation, in which there was a delicate 
 blending of danger and security which w^s not with- 
 out a tinge of romance ; she felt a sense of security 
 in the proximity of the open window, the young 
 girls crowded around it, the plaza, where the multi- 
 tude swarmed like ants, and whence came noises like 
 the roaring of the sea, and songs and confused cries 
 full of tender melancholy; but at the same time the 
 solitude and the darkness of the hall and the species 
 of isolation in which she found herself with the Swan 
 
154 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 afforded one of those chance occasions which tempt 
 women of weak principles, who are neither so impru- 
 dent as to throw themselves headlong into danger, 
 nor so cautious as to fly from its shadow. 
 
 Nieves remained silent, feeling Segundo's breath 
 fanning her cheek. Suddenly both started. The 
 first rocket was streaking the sky with a long trail 
 of light, and the noise of the explosion, deadened 
 though it was by distance, drew a cheer from the 
 crowd in the plaza. After this adv^anced guard 
 came, one after another, at regular intervals, with 
 measured, hollow, deafening sound, eight bombs, the 
 signal announced in the programme of the feasts for 
 the beginning of the display. The window shook 
 with the report and Nieves did not venture to raise 
 her eyes to the sky, fearing, doubtless, to see it com- 
 ing down with the reverberation of the bombs. 
 After this .the noise of the flying fireworks, chasing 
 one another through the solitudes of space, seemed 
 to her soft and pleasant. 
 
 The first of these were ordinary rockets, without 
 any novelty whatever — a trail of light, a dull report, 
 and a shower of sparks. But soon came the sur- 
 prises, novelties, and marvels of art. There were 
 fireworks that exploded, separating into three or four 
 cascades of light that vanished with fantastic swift- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMCRTA. . 155 
 
 ness in the depths of space ; from others fell with 
 mysterioLPS slowness and noiselessness violet, green, 
 and red lights, as if the angels had overturned in the 
 skies a casket of amethysts, emeralds, and rubies. 
 The lights descended slowly, like tears, and before 
 they reached the ground suddenly went out. The 
 prettiest were the rockets which sent down a rain of 
 gold, a fantastic shower of sparks, a stream of drops 
 of light as quickly lighted as extinguished. The 
 delight of the crowd in the plaza, however, was 
 greatest at the fireworks of three explosions and a 
 snake. These were not without beauty ; they ex- 
 ploded like simple rockets, sending forth a fiery 
 lizard, a reptile which ran through the sky in serpen- 
 tine curves, and then plunged suddenly into dark- 
 ness. 
 
 The scene was now wrapped in darkness, now 
 flooded with light, when the plaza would seem to 
 rise to a level with the window, with its swarm of 
 people, the patches of color of the booths and the 
 hundreds of human faces turned upward, beaming 
 with delight at this favorite spectacle of the Galicians, 
 a race which has preserved the Celtic love and admira- 
 tion for pyrotechnic displays, for brilliantly illumi- 
 nated nights in which the}-" find a compensation for 
 the cloudy horizon of the day. 
 
156 THE SWAN OF VILAMOKTA. 
 
 Nieves, too, was pleased by the sudden alterna- 
 tions of light and darkness, a faithful ima^e of the 
 ambiguous condition of her soul. When the firma- 
 ment was lighted up she watched with admiration 
 the bright luminaries that gave a Venetian coloring 
 to these pleasant moments. When everything was 
 again enveloped in darkness she ventured to look at 
 the poet, without seeing him, however, for her eyes, 
 dazzled by the fireworks, were unable to distinguish 
 the outlines of his face. The poet, on his side, kept 
 his eyes fixed persistently on Nieves, and he saw her 
 flooded with light, with that rare and beautiful 
 moonlight glow produced by fireworks, and which 
 adds a hundredfold to the softness and freshness of 
 the features. He felt a keen impulse to condense in 
 one ardent phrase all that the time had now come 
 for saying, and he bent toward her — and at last he 
 pronounced her name ! 
 
 "Nieves !" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Had you ever seen fireworks like these before?" 
 
 "No; it is a specialty of this province. I like 
 them greatly. If I were a poet like you I would say 
 pretty things about them. Come, invent something, 
 you. 
 
 "Like them happiness brightens our existence, for 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 157 
 
 a few brief moments, Nieves — but while it brightens, 
 while we feel it " 
 
 Segundo inwardly cursed the high-sounding 
 phrase that he found himself unable to finish. What 
 nonsense he was talking! Would it not be better 
 to bend down a little lower and touch with his 
 
 lips But what if she should scream ? She would 
 
 not scream, he would venture to swear. Courage! 
 
 In the balcony a great commotion was heard. 
 Carmen Agonde called to Nieves : 
 
 '* Nieves, come, come! The first tree — awheel of 
 fire " 
 
 Nieves rose hastily and went and leaned over the 
 balustrade, thinking that it would not do to attract 
 attention sitting all the evening chatting with 
 Segundo. The tree began to burn at one end, not 
 without difficulty, apparently, spitting forth an 
 occasional red spark ; but suddenly the whole piece 
 took fire — a flaming wheel, an enormous wafer of red 
 and green light, which turned round and round, ex- 
 panding and shaking out its fiery locks and making 
 the air resound with a noise like the report of fire- 
 arms. It was silent for a few brief instants and 
 seemed on the point of going out, a cloud of rosy 
 smoke enveloped it, through which shone a point of 
 light, a golden sun, which soon began to turn with 
 
158 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 dizzying rapidity, opening and spreading out into an 
 aureole of rays. These went out one by one, and 
 the sun, diminishing in size until it was no larger 
 than a coal, lazily gave a few languid turns, and, 
 sighing, expired. 
 
 As Nieves was returning to her seat she felt a pair 
 of arms thrown around her neck. They were those 
 of Victorina who, intoxicated with delight at the 
 spectacle of the fireworks, cried in her thin voice : 
 
 "Mamma, mamma! How lovely I How beauti- 
 ful ! And Carmen says they are going to set off 
 more trees and a wheel " 
 
 She stopped, seeing Segundo standing beside 
 Nieves' chair. She hung her head, ashamed of her 
 childish enthusiasm, and, instead of returning to the 
 window, she remained beside her mother, lavishing 
 caresses upon her to disguise the shyness and timid- 
 ity which always took possession of her when 
 Segundo looked at her. Two other pieces were 
 burning at two of the corners of the plaza, a pin- 
 wheel and a vase, that sent forth showers of light, 
 first golden, then blue. The child, notwithstanding 
 her admiration for the fireworks, did not appear to 
 have any intention of going to the window to see 
 them, leaving Nieves and Segundo alone. The lat- 
 ter remained seated for some ten minutes longer, but 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 159 
 
 seeing that the child did not leave her mother's side, 
 he rose quickly, seized by a sudden frenzy, and 
 walked up and down the dimly-lighted hall with 
 hasty steps, conscious that for the moment he was 
 not sufficiently master of himself to maintain out- 
 ward calmness. 
 
 By Heaven, he was well employed I Why had 
 he been fool enough to let slip so favorable an op- 
 portunity I Nieves had encouraged him ; he had not 
 dreamed it ; no ; glances, smiles, slight but signifi- 
 cant indications of liking and good-will ; all these 
 there had been, and they all counseled him to end so 
 ambiguous and doubtful a situation. Ah! If this 
 woman only loved him ! And she should love him, 
 and not in jest and as a pastime, but madly ! Se- 
 gundo would not be satisfied with less. His ambi- 
 tious soul scorned easy and ephemeral triumphs — 
 all or nothing. If the Madridlenian thought of flirt- 
 ing with him she would find herself mistaken ; he 
 would seize her by her butterfly wings and, even at 
 the cost of breaking them, he would hold her fast ; 
 if one wished to retain a butterfly in his possession 
 he must pierce it through the heart or press it to 
 death. Segundo had done this a thousand times 
 when he was a boy ; he would do it now again ; he 
 was resolved upon it ; whenever a light or mocking 
 
i6o THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 laugh, a reserved attitude or a tranquil look, showed 
 Segundo that Senora de Comba maintained her self- 
 possession, his heart swelled with rage that threat- 
 ened to suffocate him ; and when he saw the child 
 beside her mother, who was keeping up an ani- 
 mated conversation with the little girl, as if she were 
 keeping her there as a protection, he determined 
 that he would not let the night pass without know- 
 ing what were her feelings toward him. 
 
 He returned to Nieves, but she had now risen and 
 the child was drawing her by the hands to the win- 
 dow; this was the solemn and critical moment; the 
 monster balloon had just been attached to the pole 
 for the purpose of inflating it; and from the plaza 
 came a loud buzz, a buzz of eager expectation. A 
 phalanx of Combist artisans, among w^hom figured 
 Ramon, the confectioner, were clearing a space 
 around it sufficiently large to allow of the fuse burn- 
 ing freely, so that the difficult operation might be 
 accomplished. The silhouettes of the workmen, 
 illuminated by the light of the fuse, could be seen 
 moving about, bending down, rising up, dancing a 
 sort of mad dance. The darkness was no longer 
 illuminated by the glare of the rockets, and the 
 human sea looked black as a lake of pitch. 
 
 Still folded in innumerable folds, its sides clinging 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. i6i 
 
 together, the balloon swayed feebly, kissing the 
 ground with its lips of wire, between which the ill- 
 smelling fuse was beginning to burn brightly. The 
 manufacturers of the colossal balloon proceeded to 
 unfold it gently and affectionately, lighting below it 
 other fuses to aid the principal one and hasten the 
 rarification of air in its paper body. This began to 
 distend itself, the folds opening out with a gentle, 
 rustling sound, and the balloon, losing its former 
 limp and lank appearance, began to be inflated in 
 places. As yet the figures on its sides appeared of 
 unnatural length, like figures reflected from the pol- 
 ished, convex surface of a coffee urn ; but already 
 several borders and mottoes began to make their 
 appearance here and there, acquiring their natural 
 proportions and positions and showing clearly the 
 coarse red and blue daubs. 
 
 The difficulty was that the mouth of the balloon 
 was too large, allowing the rarefied air to escape 
 through it ; and if the fuses were made to burn with 
 greater force there was danger of setting the paper 
 on fire and instantly reducing the superb machine to 
 ashes — a terrible calamity which must be prevented 
 at all costs. Therefore many arms were eagerly 
 stretched out to support it, and when the balloon 
 leaned to one side many hands made haste to sus- 
 
1 62 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 tain it — all this to the accompaniment of cries, 
 oaths, and maledictions. 
 
 In the plaza the surging crowd continued to in- 
 crease, and the eager expectancy became momentar- 
 ily greater. Carmen Agonde, with her mellow laugh, 
 recounted to Nieves the plots that went on behind 
 the scenes. Those who were trying to push their 
 way to the front in order to overturn the fuses 
 and prevent the ascent of the balloon belonged to 
 the Romerist party ; a good watch the maker of the 
 fireworks had been obliged to keep to prevent them 
 from wetting his powder trees; but the greatest 
 hatred was to the balloon, on account of its bearing 
 Don Victoriano's likeness ; they had vowed and de- 
 termined that so ridiculous and grotesque an object 
 should not ascend into the air while they had life to 
 prevent it ; and that they themselves would con- 
 struct another balloon, better than that of the town- 
 hall, and that this should be the only one to ascend. 
 For this reason they applauded and uttered shouts 
 of derision every time the gigantic balloon, unable 
 to rise from the earth, fell down feebly to the right 
 or to the left, while Don Victoriano's partisans di- 
 rected their efforts on the one hand to protect from 
 all injury the enormous bulk of the balloon, on the 
 other to inflate it with warm air to make it rise. 
 
THE SVVAAr OF VILAMORTA. 163 
 
 Nieves' eyes were fixed attentively on the mon- 
 ster, but her thoughts were far away. Segundo had 
 succeeded in pushing his way through the crowd in 
 front of the window and was now sitting beside her, 
 on her right. No one was observing them now, and 
 the poet, without preface, passed his arm around 
 .Nieves' waist, placing his hand boldly on the spot 
 where, anatomically speaking, the heart is situated. 
 Instead of the elastic and yielding curve of the form 
 and the quickened pulsation of the organ, Segundo 
 felt under his hand the hard surface of one of those 
 long corset-breastplates full of whalebones, and fur- 
 nished with steel springs, which fashion prescribes 
 at the present day — an apparatus to which Nieves* 
 form owed much of its slender grace. Infernal cor- 
 set ! Segundo could have wished that his fingers 
 were pincers to pierce through the fabric of her 
 gown, through the steel whalebones, through her 
 inner garments, through the flesh and through the 
 very ribs and fasten themselves in her heart, and 
 seize it red-hot and bleeding and crush, tear, anni- 
 hilate it ! Why could he not feel the throbbings of 
 that heart? Leocadia's heart, or even Victorina's, 
 bounded like a bird's when he touched it. And 
 Sggundo, enraged, pressed his hand with greater 
 
1 64 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 force, undeterred by the fear of hurting Nieves, de- 
 siring, on the contrary, to strangle her. 
 
 Surprised at Segundo's audacity, Nieves remained 
 silent, not daring to make the slightest movement, 
 lest by doing so she should attract attention, and 
 protesting only by straightening her form and rais- 
 ing her eyes to his with a look of anguish, soon low- 
 ering them, however, unable to resist the expression 
 in the eyes of the poet. The latter continued to 
 search for the absent heart without succeeding in 
 feeling anything more than the throbbing of his own 
 arteries, of his pulse compressed against the un- 
 yielding surface of the corset. But fatigue finally 
 conquered, his fingers relaxed their pressure, his arm 
 fell down powerless, and rested without strength or 
 illusion on the form, at once flexible and unyielding, 
 the form of whalebone and steel. 
 
 Meanwhile the balloon, in defiance of the Romer- 
 ist 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 Victori- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 165 
 
 ano, which filled one of its sides completely, fol- 
 lowed 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 dis- 
 tended 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 Com- 
 bists yelled with delight. Suddenly a murmur was 
 heard, a low murmur of expectation. 
 
 The cord had been dexterously cut and the bal- 
 loon, majestic, magnificent, rose a few yards above 
 the ground, bearing with it the apotheosis of Don 
 Victoriano, the glory of his laurels, mottoes and em- 
 blems. In the balcony and in the plaza below 
 resounded a salvo of applause and triumphal accla- 
 mations. 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 
 
1 66 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 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 envel- 
 oped 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 even- 
 ing 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 auda- 
 cious outrage, that she had not known how to re- 
 sent. 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 her- 
 self in the mirror, using a handglass to obtain a com- 
 plete view of her person, in order to assure herself 
 
 that, enveloped in this garment, it was impossible for 
 
 167 
 
1 68 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA, 
 
 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 sus- 
 pected anything? Her apprehensions were soon re- 
 lieved, 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. 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA, 169 
 
 blasphemies, and sounds of musical instruments. 
 The flood-tide of the fair had submerged Vila 
 morta. 
 
 From the window could be seen its waves, a surg- 
 ing sea of men and animals crowded together in in- 
 extricable 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 porta- 
 ble 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 ven- 
 ders 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 
 
lyo THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 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 lat- 
 ter, screaming with terror, escaped from the drunk- 
 ards 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 sell- 
 ing 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 in- 
 visible 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 arch- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. i?! 
 
 priests, 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 
 Senorito 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 yield- 
 ing, that bring them in a trifle. But do you suppose 
 that Senorito de Limioso would go into an inn to 
 dine? No, Senora; 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 Dona 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 
 
17^ THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 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 Seiioritas 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, Senora. 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 them- 
 selves; 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 toAvn 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, fasten- 
 ing 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 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 173 
 
 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 in- 
 stances, and exaggerating them in the telling, with 
 the rage of the plebeian who eagerly seizes an oppor- 
 tunity to ridicule the poor aristocracy, relating anec- 
 dotes 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 laugh- 
 ter, 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 dark- 
 ness, and lights began to appear, and the singing of 
 the drunkards grew hoarser, her mind became tran- 
 quil, 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 him- 
 self and compromising her. But the day passed by, 
 
174 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 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 soiree 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 crepe, 
 high-necked, and without a train, trimmed with 
 Valenciennes lace, that fell in clinging folds, whose 
 simplicity was completed by long dark Suede gloves 
 wrinkled at the wrist, reaching to the elbow. A 
 black velvet ribbon, fastened by a diamond and 
 sapphire horseshoe, encircled her neck. Her beau- 
 tiful 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 
 
 ^75 
 
176 J HE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 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, call- 
 ins 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 white- 
 washed 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 pro- 
 duce a brilliant illumination. Owing to the large 
 number of people present the heat was almost insup- 
 portable. 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 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 177 
 
 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 laugh- 
 able. 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 pesti- 
 lent air in which the whirl of the dance enveloped 
 her. The dancers pursued their task earnestly, dili- 
 gently, 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, pusliing, and crowdhig of 
 those around them. And Nieves, accustomed to the 
 elegant and measured dancing of the soir^es,wondered 
 at the courage and resolution displayed by the danc- 
 ers 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. 
 
178 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 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 beard- 
 less boys, a baldheaded old man and a stout, mid- 
 dle-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 Jiabanera to keep 
 from dying by asphyxiation. 
 
 When Nieves entered the ballroom, the other 
 Avomen looked at her, first with curiosity, then with 
 
thb: swan of vilamorta. 179 
 
 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 Ilhistracioii, 
 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 
 
l8o THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA, 
 
 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 Garcia 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. Read- 
 ing verses or composing them. We must lea\'e 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 aesthetic 
 feeling, produced a marvelous effect on Nieves, effac- 
 ing the last remnant of fear, stimulating her coquet- 
 tish instincts, and piquing her curiosity. 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. i8i 
 
 At the same time, in the radical circle that sur- 
 rounded Don Victoriano and his wife, the aproach- 
 ing 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 namiC 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 vin- 
 tage. 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 garni- 
 ture 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 mo- 
 ment's rest. The bands of vintagers who come from 
 distant parishes to hire themselves out must be at- 
 tended 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 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. i^3 
 
 must be supplied, in return, with ever3/tliing neces- 
 sary 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 discre- 
 tion 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 numer- 
 ous 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, Senorita de Limioso and the two 
 Senoritas de Molende, Every class was here repre- 
 sented, so that Las Vides was a sort of microcosm or 
 
184 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 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 en- 
 joyment of the occasion in the greatest possible har- 
 mony and concord. 
 
 To the merriment of the vintagers the merriment 
 of the guests responded like an echo. It was impos- 
 sible to resist the influence of the Bacchic joyous- 
 ness, the delirious gayety which seemed to float in 
 the atmosphere. Among all the delightful specta- 
 cles 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-lad-lad. The pagan sensation of 
 well-being, the exhilaration produced by the pure air 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 185 
 
 of the country, the mere joy of existence, communi- 
 cated themselves to the spectators of these deUghtful 
 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 child- 
 ish 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 per- 
 son of even average sensibility 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. 
 
1 86 THE SWAN OF I'lLAMORTA. 
 
 "Nieves, come here, Nieves; see, how foolish Car- 
 men Agonde is ; she says she likes the arch-priest, 
 that barrel, better than Don Eugenifio, the parish 
 priest of Naya, because it makes her laugh, she says, 
 to see him perspiring and to look at the rolls of fat 
 in the back of his neck. And say, Nieves, what 
 trick shall we play to-night on Don Eugenino? And 
 on Ramon Limioso, who has been daring us all 
 day?" 
 
 It was Teresa Molende, a masculine-looking black- 
 eyed brunette, a good specimen of the mountaineer, 
 who spoke thus. 
 
 "They must pay for the trick they played on 
 us yesterday," added her sister Elvira, the sentimen- 
 tal poetess. 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 "You must know that they locked Carmen up. 
 They are the very mischief! They shut her up in 
 Mendez's room. What is there that they won't 
 think of ! They tied her hands behind her back with 
 a silk handkerchief, tied another handkerchief over 
 her mouth, so that she couldn't scream, and left her 
 there like a mouse in a mouse-trap. And we, hunt- 
 ing and hunting for Carmen, and no Carmen to be 
 seen. And there we were thinking all sorts of things 
 until Mendez went up to his room to go to bed and 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 187 
 
 found her there. Of course they had that silly 
 creature to deal with, for if it had been I " 
 
 ''They would shut you up too," declared Carmen. 
 
 "Me!" exclaimed the Amazon, drawing up her 
 portly figure. "They would be the ones to get shut 
 up !" 
 
 "But they entrapped me into it," affirmed Car- 
 men, looking as if she were just ready to cry. "See, 
 Nieves, they said tome: 'Put your hands behind 
 you, Carmina, and we'll put a five-dollar piece in 
 them,' and I put them behind me, and they were so 
 treacherous as to tie them together." 
 
 Nieves joined in the laughter of the two sisters. 
 It could not be denied that this simplicity was very 
 amusing. Nieves seemed to be in a new world in 
 which routine, the worn-out conventionalities of Mad- 
 rid society, did not exist. True, such noisy and ingen- 
 uous diversions might at times verge on impropriety 
 or coarseness, but sometimes they were really enter- 
 taining. From the moment the guests rose from 
 table in the afternoon nothing was thought of but 
 frolic and fun. Teresa had proposed to herself not 
 to allow Tropiezo to eat a meal in peace, and with 
 the utmost dexterity she would catch flies on the 
 wing, which she would throw slyly into his soup, or 
 she would pour vinegar into his glass instead of wine, 
 
i88 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 or rub pitch on his napkin so that it might stick to 
 his mouth. For the arch-priest they had another 
 trick — they would draw him on to talk of ceremo- 
 nies, a subject on which he loved to expatiate, and 
 when his attention was engaged, take away his plate 
 slyly, which was like tearing a piece of his heart out 
 of his breast. 
 
 At night, in the parlor of the turbid mirrors, in 
 which were the piano and the rocking-chairs, a gay 
 company assembled ; they sang fragments of Eljura- 
 mento, and El Gnimete ; they played at hide-and- 
 seek, and, without hiding, played brisea with malilla 
 counters ; when they grew tired of cards, they had 
 recourse to forfeits, to mind-reading, and other 
 amusements. And the frolicsome rustic nature once 
 aroused, they passed on to romping games — fool in 
 the middle, hoodman-blind, and others which have 
 the zest imparted by physical exercise— shouts, 
 pushes and slaps. 
 
 Then they would retire to their rooms, still ex- 
 cited by their sports, and this was the hour when 
 their merriment was at its height, when they played 
 the wildest pranks; when they fastened lighted 
 tapers to the bodies of crickets and sent them under 
 the bedroom doors ; when they took the slats out of 
 Tropiezo's bedstead so that when he lay down he 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMOKTA. 189 
 
 might fall to the ground and bruise his ribs. In the 
 halls could be heard smothered bursts of laughter 
 and stealthy footsteps, white forms would be seen 
 scurrying away, and doors would be hastily locked 
 and barricaded with articles of furniture, while from 
 behind them a mellow voice could be heard crying: 
 
 "They are coming!" 
 
 "Fasten the door well, girls ! Don't open, not if 
 the king himself were to knock!" 
 
XVII. 
 
 Segundo was the last of the guests to arrive at 
 Las Vides. As he cared but little for games and as 
 Nieves did not take any very active part in them 
 either, they would often have found themselves 
 thrown for society upon each other had it not been 
 for Victorina, who, from the moment Segundo ap- 
 peared, never left her mother's side, and Elvira 
 Molende who, from the very instant of his arrival, 
 clung to the poet like the ivy to the wall, directing 
 on him a battery of sighs and glances, and treating 
 him to sentimental confidences and rhapsodies sweet 
 enough to surfeit a confectioner's boy. From the 
 moment in which Segundo set foot in Las Vides, 
 Elvira lost all her animation, and assumed a lan- 
 guishing and romantic air, w^hich made her cheeks 
 appear hollower and the circles under her eyes 
 deeper than ever. Her form acquired the melan- 
 choly droop of the willow and, giving up sports and 
 pranks, she devoted herself exclusively to the Swan. 
 
 As it was moonlight, and the evenings were en- 
 joyable out of doors, as soon as the sun had set, and 
 
 190 
 
THE SIVAN OF VILAMORTA. 191 
 
 the labors of the day were ended, and the vintagers 
 assembled for a dance, some of the guests would 
 assemble together also in the garden, generally at 
 the foot of a high wall bordered with leafy camellias, 
 or they would stop and sit down for a chat at some 
 inviting spot on their way home from a walk. Elvira 
 knew by heart a great many verses, both good and 
 bad, generally of a melancholy kind— sentimental 
 and elegiac; she was familiar with all the flowers of 
 poetry, all the tender verses which constituted the 
 poetic wealth of the locality, and uttered by her thin 
 lips, in the silvery tones of her gentle voice, with the 
 soft accents of her native land, the Galician verses, 
 like an Andalusian moral maxim in the sensual 
 mouth of a gypsy, had a peculiar and impressive 
 beauty — the sensibility of a race crystallized in a 
 poetic gem, in a tear of love. These plaintive verses 
 were interrupted at times by mocking bursts of laugh- 
 ter, as the gay sounds of the castanets strike in on 
 the melancholy notes of the bagpipes. The poems 
 in dialect acquired a new beauty, their freshness and 
 sylvan aroma seemed to augment by being recited 
 by the soft tones of a woman's voice, on the edge of 
 a pine wood and under the shadow of a grapevine, 
 on a serene moonlight night ; and the rhyme became 
 a vague and dreamy melopoeia, like that of certain 
 
192 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 German ballads ; a labial music interspersed with 
 soft diphthongs, tender ;/'s, x's of a more melodious 
 sound than the hissing Castilian cJi. Generally, after 
 the recitations came singing. Don Eugenio, who 
 was a Borderer, knew some Portuguese fados, and 
 Elvira was unrivaled in her rendering of the popular 
 and melancholy song of Curros, which seems made 
 for Druidical nights, for nights illuminated by the 
 solemn light of the moon. 
 
 Segundo's heart thrilled with gratified vanity 
 when Elvira recited shyly, in alternation with the 
 verses of the popular and admired poets of the 
 country, songs of the Swan, which had appeared in 
 periodicals of Vigo or Orense. Segundo had never 
 written in dialect, and yet Elvira had a book in 
 which she pasted all the productions of the un- 
 known Swan ; Teresa, joining in the animated con- 
 versation with the best intentions in the word, be- 
 trayed her sister : 
 
 "She writes verses too. Come, child, recite some- 
 thing of your own. She has a copy-book full of 
 things invented, composed by herself." 
 
 The poetess, after the indispensable excuses and 
 denials, recited two or three little things, almost 
 without poetic form, weak, sincere in the midst of 
 their sentimental falseness — verses of the kind which 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 193 
 
 reveal no artistic faculty, but which are the sure in- 
 dication that the author or authoress feels an unsat- 
 isfied desire, longs for fame or for love, as the inar- 
 ticulate cry of the infant expreses its hunger. Se- 
 gundo twisted his mustache, Nieves lowered her eyes 
 and played with the tassels of her fan, impatient and 
 somewhat bored and nervous. This occurred two or 
 three days after the arrival of Segundo who, in spite 
 of all his attempts, had not yet been able to succeed 
 in saying a word in private to Nieves. 
 
 "How uncultured these young ladies are!" said 
 Senora de Comba to herself, while aloud she said, 
 "How lovely, how tender! It sounds like some of 
 Grilo's verses." 
 
XVIII. 
 
 It was something different from poetry that 
 formed the theme of conversation of the head of 
 the house of Las Vides, the Gendays, and the arch- 
 priest, installed on the balcony under the pretext of 
 enjoying the moonlight, but in reality to discuss the 
 important question of the vintage. 
 
 A fine crop ! Yes, indeed, a fine crop ! The grape 
 had not a trace of oidium ; it was clean, full, and so 
 ripe that it was as sticky to the touch as if it had 
 been dipped in honey. There was not a doubt but 
 that the new wine of this year was better than the 
 old wine of last year. Last year's vintage was an 
 absolute failure ! Hail to-day, rain to-morrow ! The 
 grape with so much rain had burst before it was time 
 to gather it, and had not an atom of pulp ; the result 
 was a wine that scarcely left a stain on the shirt- 
 sleeves of the muleteers. 
 
 At the recollection of so great a calamity, Mendez 
 
 pressed his thin lips together, and the arch-priest 
 
 breathed hard. And the conversation continued, 
 
 sustained by Primo Genday, who, with much ver- 
 
 194 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 195 
 
 bosity, spitting and laughter, recounted details of 
 harvests of twenty years before, declaring: 
 
 "This year's crop is exactly like the crop of '61." 
 
 "Exactly," assented Mendez. "As for the Re- 
 beco, it will not give a load less this year, and the 
 Grilloa — I don't know but that it will give us six or 
 seven more. It is a great vine, the Grilloa !" 
 
 After these cheerful prognostications of a rich har- 
 vest, Mendez described with satisfaction to his at- 
 tentive audience some improvements which he had 
 introduced into the cultivation of the vine. He had 
 most of his casks secured with iron hoops ; they were 
 more expensive than wooden ones, but they lasted 
 longer and they saved the troublesome labor of mak- 
 ing new hoops for each harvest ; he was thinking 
 too, by way of experiment, of setting up a wine- 
 press, doing away with the repulsive spectacle of the 
 trampling of the grapes by human feet, and in order 
 that the pressed skins and the pulp of the grapes 
 might not go to waste, he would distill from them a 
 refined alcohol which Agonde would buy from him 
 at its weight in gold. 
 
 Lulled by the grave voices discussing important 
 agricultural questions on the balcony, Don Vic- 
 toriano, somewhat fatigued by his expedition to the 
 vineyards, sat smoking in the rocking-chair, buried 
 
196 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 in painful meditations. Since his return from the 
 springs he had been growing weaker day by day ; 
 the temporary improvement had vanished ; the 
 debihty, the unnatural appetite, the thirst, and the 
 desiccation of the body had increased. He remem-- 
 bered that Sanchez del Abrojo had told him that a 
 slight perspiration would be of the greatest benefit 
 to him, and when he observed, after he had been 
 drinking the waters for a few days, the re-establish- 
 ment of this function, his joy knew no bounds. But 
 what was his terror when he found that his shirt, 
 stiff and hard, adhered to his skin as if it had been 
 soaked in syrup. He touched a fold of the sleeve 
 with his lips and perceived a sweetish taste. It was 
 plain! He perspired sugar! The glucose secretion 
 was, then, uncontrollable, and by a tremendous irony 
 of fate all the bitterness of his existence had come 
 to end in this strange elaboration of sweet sub- 
 stances. 
 
 For some days past he had noticed another alarm- 
 ing symptom. His sight was becoming afTected. 
 As the aqueous humor of the eye dried up the crys- 
 talline lens became clouded, producing the cataract 
 of diabetes. Don Victorian© had chills. He re- 
 gretted now having put himself into the homicidal 
 hands of Tropiezo and drunk the waters. There 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 197 
 
 was not a doubt but that he was being wrongly 
 treated. From this day forth a strict regimen, a 
 diet of fruits, fecula, and milk. To live, to live, but 
 for a year, and to be able to hide his malady! If 
 the electors saw their candidate blind and dying, 
 they would desert to Romero. The humiliation of 
 losing the coming election seemed to him intolerable. 
 
 Bursts of silvery laughter, and youthful exclama- 
 tions proceeding from the garden, changed the cur- 
 rent of his thoughts. Why was it that Nieves did 
 not perceive the serious condition of her husband's 
 health? He wished to dissemble before the whole 
 world, but before his wife Ah, if his wife be- 
 longed to him she ought to be beside him now, con- 
 soling and soothing him by her caresses instead of 
 diverting herself and frolicking among the camellias, 
 like a child. If she was beautiful and fresh and 
 her husband sickly, so much the worse for her. 
 Let her put up with it, as was her duty. Bah! 
 What nonsense! Nieves did not love him, had 
 never loved him ! 
 
 The noise and laughter below increased. Vic- 
 torina and Teresa, the verses being exhausted, had 
 proposed a game of hide-and-seek. Victorina was 
 crying at every moment, "Teresa's it!" "Segundo's 
 it!" 
 
igS THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 The garden was very well adapted for this exer- 
 cise because of its almost labyrinthine intricacy, 
 owing to the fact of its being laid out in sloping ter- 
 races supported on walls and separated by rows of 
 umbrageous trees, communicating with each other 
 by uneven steps, as is the case with all the estates in 
 this hilly country. Thus it was that the play was 
 very noisy, as the seeker had great difficulty in find- 
 ing those who were hiding. 
 
 Nieves endeavored to hide herself securely, through 
 laziness so as not to have to run after the others. 
 Chance provided her with a superb hiding-place, a 
 large lemon tree situated at one end of a terrace, 
 near some steps which afforded an easy means of 
 escape. She hid herself here in the densest part of 
 the foliage, drawing her light gown closely around 
 her so that it might not betray her. She had been 
 only a few moments in her hiding-place when a 
 shadow passed before her and a voice murmured 
 softly : 
 
 "Nieves!" 
 
 "Oh!" she cried, startled. "Who has found me 
 out here?" 
 
 "No one has found you; there is -no one looking 
 for you but me," cried Segundo vehemently, penetra- 
 ting into Nieves' hiding-place with such impetuosity 
 
THE SWAX OF VILAMORTA. IQP 
 
 that the late blossoms which whitened the branches 
 of the giant tree showered their petals over their 
 heads, and the branches swayed rhythmically. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Garcia!" she cried, "for 
 Heaven's sake, don't be imprudent— go away, or 
 let me 90. If the others should come and find us 
 here what would they say? For Heaven's sake, 
 go! 
 
 "You wish me to go?" said the poet. "But, 
 Senora, even if they should find me here, there 
 would be nothing strange in that ; a little while ago 
 I was with Teresa Molende behind the camellias 
 there ; either we are playing or we are not playing. 
 But if you desire it — ^to please you— — But before 
 I go I wish to ask you a question " 
 
 "Somewhere else — in the parlor," stammered 
 Nieves, lending an anxious ear to the distant noises 
 and cries of the game. 
 
 "In the parlor! Surrounded by everybody ! No, 
 that cannot be. No, now, do you hear me?" 
 
 "Yes, I hear you," she returned in a voice rendered 
 almost inaudible by terror. 
 
 "Well, then, I adore you, Nieves ; I adore you, and 
 you love me." 
 
 "Hist! Silence, silence! They are coming. I 
 think I hear steps." 
 
200 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "No, it is the leaves. Tell me that you love me 
 and I will go.'" 
 
 "They are coming! For Heaven's sake! I shall 
 die of terror! Enough of jesting, Garcia, I entreat 
 you " 
 
 "You know perfectly well that I am not jesting. 
 Have you forgotten the night of the fireworks? If 
 you did not love me you would have released your- 
 self from my arm on that night, or you would have 
 cried out. You look at me sometimes — you return 
 my glances. You cannot deny it !" 
 
 Segundo was close to Nieves, speaking with fiery 
 impetuosity, but without touching her, although the 
 fragrant, rustling branches of their^shelter closed 
 around them, inviting them to closer proximity. 
 But Segundo remembered the cold hard whale- 
 bones, and Nieves drew back, trembling. Yes, 
 trembling with fear. She might cry out, indeed, but 
 if Segundo persisted in remaining how annoying it 
 would be ! What a mortification ! What gossip it 
 would ^v<i^ rise to ! After all the poet was right — 
 the night of the fireworks she had been culpably 
 weak and she was paying for it now. And what 
 would Segundo do if she gave him the yes he asked 
 for? He repeated his proud and vehement assertion : 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 201 
 
 "You love me, Nieves. You love me. Tell me 
 that you love me, only once, and I will go." 
 
 Not far off could be heard the contralto voice of 
 Teresa Molende calling to her companions : 
 
 "Nieves — where is she? Victorina, Carmen, come 
 in, the dew is falling!" 
 
 And another shrill voice, that of Elvira, woke the 
 echoes: 
 
 "Segundo! Segundo! We are going in !" 
 
 In fact that almost imperceptible mizzle, which re- 
 freshes the sultry nights of Galicia, was falling; the 
 lustrous leaves of the lemon tree in which Nieves sat, 
 shrinking back from Segundo, were wet with the 
 night dew. The poet leaned toward her and his 
 hands touched her hands chilled with cold and ter- 
 ror. He crushed them between both his own. 
 
 "Tell me that you love me, or " 
 
 **But, good Heavens, they are calling me! They 
 are noticing my absence. I am cold !" 
 
 "Tell me the truth then. Otherwise there is no 
 human power that can tear me from here — come 
 what will. Is it so hard to say a single word?" 
 
 "And what do you want me to say, tell me?" 
 
 "Do you love me, yes or no?" 
 
 "And you will let me go — go to the house?" 
 
202 THE SWAN OF VILAMOR7\4. 
 
 "Anything you wish — but first tell me, do you 
 love me?" 
 
 The yes was almost inaudible. It was an aspira- 
 tion, a prolonged s. Segundo crushed her wrists in 
 his grasp. 
 
 "Do you love me as I love you ? Answer plainly." 
 
 This time Nieves, making an effort, pronounced 
 an unequivocal yes. Segundo released her hands, 
 raised his own to his lips with a passionate gesture 
 of gratitude, and springing down the stairs, disap- 
 peared among the trees. 
 
XIX. 
 
 NlEVES drew a long breath. She felt dazed. She 
 shook her wrists, hurt by the pressure of Segundo's 
 fingers, and arranged her hair, wet with the night 
 dew, and disordered by the contact of the branches. 
 What had she said after all? Anything, no mat- 
 ter what, to escape from so compromising a situa- 
 tion. She was to blame for having withdrawn from 
 the others and hidden herself in so retired a spot. 
 And with that desire to give publicity to unimpor- 
 tant actions which seizes people when they have 
 something to conceal she called out : . 
 "Teresa! Elvira! Carmen! Carmen!" 
 "Nieves! where are you, Nieves?" came in answer 
 from various quarters. 
 
 "Here, beside the big lemon tree. Wait for me, 
 I am coming!" 
 
 When they entered the house, Nieves, who had 
 to some extent recovered her composure, began to 
 reflect on what had passed and could not but won- 
 der at herself. To say }'es to Segundo. She had 
 uttered the word partly under compulsion, but she 
 
 203 
 
204 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 had uttered it. How daring the poet had been. It 
 seemed impossible that the son of the lawyer of Vila- 
 morta should be so determined. She was a lady of 
 distinction, highly respected, her husband had just 
 been Minister. And Garcia's family, what were 
 they — nobodies ; the father wore collars frayed at 
 the edges that were a sight to see ; they kept no ser- 
 vant ; the sisters ran about barefooted half the time. 
 Even Segundo himself — he had an unmistakable 
 provincial air and a strong Galician accent. He 
 could not indeed be called ugly ; there was something 
 remarkable in his face and in his manner. He spoke 
 with so much passion ! As if he commanded instead 
 of entreating ! What a masterful air he had ! And 
 there was something flattering to one's vanity in hav- 
 ing a suitor of this kind, so ardent and so daring. 
 Who had ever fallen in love with Nieves before? 
 There were three or four who had made gallant 
 speeches to her — one who had watched her through 
 his opera-glass. Everyone in Madrid treated her 
 with that indifference and consideration which re- 
 spectable ladies inspire. 
 
 For the rest, this persistency of Segundo's was to 
 a certain extent compromising. Would people no- 
 tice it? Would her husband notice it? Bah! Her 
 husband thought only of his ailments, of the elec- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 205 
 
 tions. He scarcely ever spoke to her of anything 
 else. But what if he should notice it? How horri- 
 ble, good Heavens! And the girls who had been 
 playing hide and seek, might they not suspect some- 
 thing? Elvira seemed more languishing and sighed 
 more frequently than usual. Elvira admired Se- 
 gundo. He — no, he did not pay the slightest atten- 
 tion to her. And Segundo's verses sounded well, 
 they were beautiful; they were worthy of a place in 
 La Iliistracion. In short, as they would be obliged 
 to return to Madrid before the elections, there was 
 hardly any real danger. She would always preserve 
 a pleasant recollection of the summer. The thing 
 was to avoid — to avoid 
 
 Nieves did not venture to tell herself what it was 
 necessary to avoid, nor had she settled this point 
 when she entered the parlor, where the game of tre- 
 sillo was already going on. Sefiora de Comba 
 seated herself at the piano and played several quick 
 airs— polkas and rigadoons, for the girls to dance. 
 When she stopped they cried out for another air. 
 
 "Nieves, the inuiieira!'' 
 
 "The riveirana, please !" 
 
 "Do you know the whole of it, Nieves?" 
 
 "The whole of it — why, did I not hear it in the 
 feasts?" 
 
2o6 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "Let US have it then, come." 
 
 ''Who will dance it?" 
 
 "Who knows how to dance it?' 
 
 Several voices answered immediately : 
 
 "Teresa Molende ; ah ! it is a pleasure to see her 
 dance it." 
 
 "And who will be her partner?" 
 
 "Ramoncine Limioso here, he dances it to perfec- 
 ion. 
 
 Teresa laughed in the deep, sonorous tones of a 
 man, declaring solemnly that she had forgotten the 
 muneira — that she never knew it well. From the 
 tresillo table came a protest — from the master of the 
 house, Mendez : Teresina danced it to perfection. 
 Let her not try to excuse herself; no excuse would 
 avail her ; there was not in all the Border a girl who 
 danced the riveirana with more grace ; it was true 
 indeed that the taste and the skill for these old cus- 
 toms of the country were fast disappearing. 
 
 Teresa yielded, not without once more affirming 
 her incompetence. And after fastening up her skirt 
 with pins, so that it might not impede her move- 
 ments she stopped laughing and assumed a modest 
 and ingenuous air, veiling her large lustrous eyes 
 under her thick lashes, dropping her head on her 
 breast, letting her arms fall by her sides, swaying 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 207 
 
 them slightly, rubbing the balls of the thumbs and 
 the forefingers together, and thus, moving with very- 
 short steps, her feet close together, keeping time to 
 the music, she made the tour of the room, with per- 
 fect decorum, her eyes fixed on the floor, stopping 
 finally at the head of the room. While this was 
 taking place, Senorito de Limioso took off his short 
 jacket, remaining in his shirt-sleeves, put on his hat, 
 and asked for an indispensable article. 
 
 "Victorina, the castanets." 
 
 The child ran and brought two pairs of casta- 
 nets. The Senorito secured the cord between 
 his fingers and after a haughty flourish, began his 
 role. Teresita's partner was as lean and shriv- 
 eled as Don Quixote himself, and, like the Man- 
 chego hidalgo, it was undeniable that he had a 
 distinguished and stately air, scrupulously as he 
 imitated the awkward movements of a rustic. He 
 took his place before Teresa and danced a quick 
 measure, courteously but urgently wooing her to lis- 
 ten to his suit. At times he touched the floor with 
 the sole of his foot, at others with his heel or toe 
 only, almost twisting his ankles out of joint with 
 the rapidity of his movements, while he played the 
 castanets energetically, the castanets in Teresa's 
 hands responding with a faint and timid tinkle, 
 
2o8 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 Pushing his hat back on his head the gallant looked 
 boldly at his partner, approached his face to hers; 
 pursued her, urged his suit in a thousand different 
 ways, Teresa never altering her humble and sub- 
 missive attitude nor he his conquering air, his gym- 
 nastics, and his resolute movements of attack. 
 
 It was primitive love, the wooing of the heroic 
 ages, represented in this expressive Cantabrian dance, 
 warlike and rude ; the woman dominated by the 
 strength of the man and, better than enamored, 
 afraid ; all which was more piquant in view of the 
 Amazon-like type of Teresa and the habitual shy- 
 ness and circumspection of the Senorito. There 
 was an instant, however, in which the gallant peeped 
 through the barbarous conqueror, and in the midst 
 of a most complicated and rapid measure he bent his 
 knee before the beauty, describing the figure known 
 2iS ptiiito del Sacramento. It was only for a moment 
 however ; springing to his feet he gave his partner a 
 tender push and they stood back to back, touching 
 each other, caressing each other, and amorously rub- 
 bing shoulder against shoulder and spine against 
 spine. In two minutes they suddenly drew apart 
 and with a few complicated movements of the 
 ankles and a few rapid turns, during which Teresa's 
 skirts whirled around her, the riveirana came to an 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 209 
 
 end and a storm of applause burst from the spec- 
 tators. 
 
 While the Senorito wiped the perspiration from 
 his brow and Teresa unpinned her skirt, Nieves, who 
 had risen from the piano, looked around and noticed 
 Segundo's absence. Elvira made the same observa- 
 tion but aloud. Agonde gave them the clew to the 
 mystery. 
 
 "No doubt he is at this moment in the pine 
 grove or on the river-bank. There is scarcely a 
 night in which he does not make eccentric expe- 
 ditions of the kind; in Vilamorta he does the 
 same thing." 
 
 "And how is the door to be closed if he does not 
 come? That boy is crazy," declared Primo Genday. 
 "We are not all going to do without our sleep, we 
 who have to get up early to our work, for that 
 featherhead. Hey, do you understand me? I will 
 shut up the house and let him manage in the best 
 way he can. Ave Maria!" 
 
 Mendez and Don Victoriano protested in the 
 name of courtesy and hospitality, and until midnight 
 the door of Las Vides remained open, awaiting Se- 
 gundo's return. As he had not come by that time, 
 however, Genday went himself to bar the door mut- 
 tering between his teeth : 
 
2IO THE SWAN OF VJLAMORTA. 
 
 "Ave Mar — Let him sleep out of doors if he has 
 a fancy for doing so." 
 
 Segundo, in fact, was at this time on his way to 
 the pine grove. He was in a state of intense excite- 
 ment, and he felt that it would be impossible for him 
 in his present mood to meet anyone or to take part 
 in any conversation. Nieves, so reserved, so beau- 
 tiful, had said yes to him. The dreams of an ideal 
 love which had tormented his spirit were not, then, 
 destined never to be realized, nor would fame be un- 
 attainable when love was already within his ardent 
 and eager grasp. With these thoughts passing 
 through his mind he ascended the steep path and 
 walked enraptured through the pine grove. At 
 times he would lean against the dark trunk of some 
 pine, his brow bared to the breeze, drinking in the 
 cool night air, and listening, as in a dream, to the 
 mysterious voices of the trees and the murmur of the 
 river that ran below. Ah, what moments of happi- 
 ness, what supreme joys, were promised him by this 
 love, which flattered his pride, excited his imagina- 
 tion and satisfied his egotism, the delicate egotism 
 of a poet, avid of love, of enjoyments which the 
 imagination idealizes and the muse may sing without 
 degradation ! All that he had pictured in his verses 
 was to be realized in his life; and his song would 
 
THE S WA N- OF VILA MOR TA. 211 
 
 ring forth more clearly and inspiration would flow- 
 more freely, and he would write, in blood, verses that 
 would cause his readers' hearts to thrill with emo- 
 tion. 
 
 In defiance of duty and reason Nieves loved him 
 — she had told him so. The poet smiled scornfully 
 when he thought of Don Victoriano, with the pro- 
 found contempt of the idealist for the practical man 
 inept in spiritual things. Then he looked around 
 him. The pine grove had a gloomy air at this hour. 
 And it was cold. Besides it must be late. They 
 would be wondering at his absence in Las Vides. 
 Had Nieves retired? With these thoughts passing 
 through his mind he descended the rugged path and 
 reached the door ten minutes after the careful hand 
 of Genday had secured the bolt. T\\^ contretemps 
 did not alarm Segundo ; he would have to scale 
 some wall ; and the romance of the incident almost 
 pleased him. How should he effect an entrance? 
 
 Undoubtedly the easiest way would be by the gar- 
 den, into which he could lower himself from the 
 brow of the hill — a question of a few scratches, but 
 he would be in his own room in ten minutes' time, 
 without encountering the dogs that were keeping 
 watch in the yard, or any member of the household, 
 as that side of the house, the side where the dining- 
 
212 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 room was situated, was uninhabited. And upon 
 this course he decided. He turned back and 
 ascended the top of the hill, not without some diffi- 
 culty. From thence he could command a view of 
 the gallery and a good part of the garden. He 
 studied the nature of the declivity, so as to av9id 
 falling on the wall and perhaps breaking his leg. 
 The hill was bare and without vegetation and the 
 figure of the Swan stood out boldly against the 
 background of the sky. 
 
 When Segundo fixed his eyes on the gallery for 
 the purpose of deciding on the safest place for a 
 descent, he saw something that troubled his senses 
 with a sweet intoxication, something that gave him 
 one of those delightful surprises which make the 
 blood rush to the heart to send it coursing back 
 joyful and ardent through the veins. In the semi- 
 obscurity of the gallery, standing among the flower- 
 pots, his keen gaze descried, without the possibility 
 of a doubt as to the reality of the vision, a white 
 figure, the silhouette of a woman, whose attitude 
 seemed to indicate that she too had seen him, had 
 observed him, that she was waiting for him. 
 
 Fancy swiftly sketched out and filled in the details 
 of the scene — a colloquy, a divine colloquy of love 
 with Nieves, among the carnations and the vines, 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. ^13 
 
 alone, without any other witnesses than the moon, 
 already setting, and the flowers, envious of so much 
 happiness. And with a swift movement he rolled 
 down the steep declivity, landing on the hard wall. 
 The fruit trees hid the path from him, and two or 
 three times he lost his way; at last he found him- 
 self at the foot of the staircase leading to the gallery, 
 and he raised his eyes to satisfy himself as to the 
 reality of the lovely apparition. A woman dressed in 
 white was indeed waiting there, leaning over the 
 wooden balustrade of the balcony ; but the distance 
 did not now admit of any optical illusion ; it was El- 
 vira Molende, in a percale wrapper, her hair hanging 
 loose about her shoulders, as if she were an actress 
 rehearsing the role of Sonnambula. How eagerly 
 the poor girl was leaning over the balustrade ! The 
 poet would swear that she even called his name 
 softly, with a tender lisp. 
 
 And he passed on. He made the tour of the gar- 
 den, entered the courtyard by the inner door, which 
 was not closed at night, and knocked loudly at the 
 door of the kitchen. The servant opened it for him, 
 cursing to himself the young gentlemen who stayed 
 up late at night because they were not obliged to 
 rise early in the morning to open the cellar for the 
 grape-tramplers. 
 
XX. 
 
 As the time occupied in the gathering of the 
 grapes and the elaboration of the wine in the spa- 
 cious cellar of Mendez was so prolonged, and as in 
 that part of the country everyone has his own crop, 
 however small, to gather in, part of the guests went 
 away, desirous of attending to their own vineyards. 
 Senorito de Limioso needed to see for himself how, 
 between oi'dium, the blackbirds, the neighbors, and 
 the wasps, not a single bunch of grapes had been 
 left him ; the Senoritas de Molende had to hang up 
 with their own hands the grapes of their famous 
 Tostado, renowned throughout the country; and for 
 similar reasons Saturnino Agonde, the arch-priest, 
 and the curate of Naya took their leave one by one, 
 the court of Las Vides being reduced to Carmen 
 Agonde, maid of honor, Clodio Genday, Aulic coun- 
 cilor, Tropiezo, court physician, and Segundo, who 
 might well be the page or the troubadour charged 
 to divert the chatelaine with his ditties. 
 
 Segundo was consumed with a feverish impatience 
 hitherto unknown to him. Since the day of the in- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 21^ 
 
 terview in the lemon tree Nieves had shunned every 
 occasion of being alone with him ; and the feverish 
 dream that haunted his sleep, the intolerable anguish 
 which consumed him, was that he had advanced no 
 further than the fugitive yes^ which he sometimes 
 even doubted he had heard. He could not endure 
 this slow torture, this ceaseless martyrdom ; he 
 would have been less unhappy if instead of encour- 
 aging him Nieves had requited his love with open 
 scorn. It was not the brutal desire for positive vic- 
 tories which thus tormented him ; all he wished was 
 to convince himself that he was really loved, and 
 that under that steely corset a tender heart throbbed. 
 And so mad was his passion that when he found it 
 impossible to approach Nieves, he was seized by an 
 almost irresistible impulse to cry out, "Nieves, tell 
 me agam that you love me I" Always, always ob- 
 stacles between the two ; the child was always at 
 her mother's side. Of what avail was it to be rid of 
 Elvira Molende who, since the memorable night on 
 which she had kept guard in the gallery, had looked 
 at the poet with an expression that was half satirical, 
 half mournful? The departure of the poetess re- 
 moved an obstacle, indeed, but it did not put an 
 end to his difficulties. 
 
 Segundo suffered in his vanity, wounded by the 
 
2i6 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 systematic reserve of Nieves, as well as in his love, 
 his ardent longing for the impossible. It was already 
 October; the ex-Minister spoke of taking his depar- 
 ture immediately, and although Segundo counted 
 on establishing himself in Madrid later on through 
 his influence, and meeting Nieves again, an infallible 
 instinct told him that between Nieves and himself 
 there existed no other bond of union than their 
 temporary sojourn in Las Vides, the poetic influ- 
 ences of the season, the accident of living under the 
 same roof, and that if this dream did not take shape 
 before their separation it would be as ephemeral as 
 the vine leaves that were now falling around them, 
 withered and sapless. 
 
 Autumn was parting with its glories; the wrinkled 
 and knotted vine stalks, the dry and shrunken vjne 
 branches, lay bare to view, and the wind moaned 
 sadly, stripping their leaves from the boughs of the 
 fruit trees. One day Victorina asked Segundo: 
 
 "When are we going to the pine grove to hear it 
 smg?" 
 
 "Whenever 3'ou like, child. This afternoon if 
 5^our mother wishes it." 
 
 The child conveyed the proposition to Nieves. 
 For some time past Victorina had been more than 
 usually demonstrative toward her mother, leaning 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 217 
 
 her head upon Nieves' breast, hiding her cheek in 
 her neck, passing her hands over her hair and her 
 shoulders while she would repeat softly, in a voice 
 that seemed to ask for a caress : 
 
 "Mamma! mamma!" 
 
 But the eyes of the miniature woman, half-veiled 
 by their long lashes, were fixed with loving, longing 
 glance, not on her mother, but on the poet, whose 
 words the child drank in eagerly, turning very red if 
 he chanced to make some jesting remark to her or 
 gave any other indication of being aware of her 
 presence. 
 
 Nieves objected a little at first, not wishing to 
 appear credulous or superstitious. 
 
 ''But what has put such an idea into your head? " 
 
 "^Mai^ima, when Segundo says that the pines sing, 
 they sing, mamma, there is not a doubt of it." 
 
 "But you don't know," said Nieves, bestowing on 
 the poet a smile in which there was more sugar than 
 salt — "that Segundo writes poetry, and that people 
 who write poetry are permitted to — to invent — a 
 little?" 
 
 "No, Senora," cried Segundo. "Do not teach 
 your child what is not true. Do not deceive her. 
 In society it often happens that we utter with the 
 lips sentiments that are far from the heart, but in 
 
2i8 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 poetry we lay bare the feelings of the inmost soul, 
 feelings which in the world we are obliged to hide in 
 our own breasts, through respect — or through pru- 
 dence. Believe me." 
 
 "Say, mamma, are we going there to-day?" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "To the pine grove." 
 
 "If you are very anxious to go. What an obsti- 
 nate child I But indeed I too am curious to hear 
 this orchestra." 
 
 Only Nieves, Victorina, Carmen, Segundo, and 
 Tropiezo took part in the expedition. The elders 
 remained behind smoking and looking on at the 
 important operation of covering and closing some of 
 the vats which contained the must, now fermented. 
 As Mendez saw the party about to start, he called 
 out in a tone of paternal warning: 
 
 "Take care with the descent. The pine needles in 
 this hot weather are as slippery as if they had been 
 rubbed with soap. The ladies must be helped down. 
 You, Victorina, don't be crazy; don't go rushing 
 about there." 
 
 The famous pine grove was distant some quarter 
 of a league, but they spent fully three-quarters of an 
 hour in making the ascent, along a path as steep, 
 narrow, and rugged as the ascent to heaven is said to 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 2ig 
 
 be, and which long before reaching the wood was 
 carpeted with the polished, smooth, dry pine needles, 
 which, if they rendered the descent more easy than 
 was agreeable, compensated for it by making the 
 ascent extremely difficult, causing the foot to slip, 
 and fatiguing the ankles and the knees. Nieves 
 stopped from time to time to take breath, and was 
 at last fain to avail herself of the support of the 
 plump arm of Carmen Agonde. 
 
 ''Caramba, this is like practicing gymnastics! 
 Whoever escapes being killed when we are going 
 back will be very lucky." 
 
 "Lean well on me, lean well on me," said the 
 sturdy country girl. ''Many a limb has been broken 
 here already, no doubt. This ascent is terrible !" 
 
 They reached the summit at last. The prospect 
 was beautiful, with that species of beauty that bor- 
 ders on sublimity. The pine wood seemed to hang 
 over an abyss. Between the trunks of the trees 
 could be caught glimpses of the mountains, of an 
 ashen blue blending into violet in the distance; on 
 the other side of the pine wood, that which over- 
 looked the river, the ground fell abruptly in a steep, 
 almost perpendicular descent, while far below flowed 
 the Avieiro, not winding peacefully along, but noisy 
 and foaming, roused into rage by the barrier opposed 
 
2 20 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 to its progress by some sharp black rocks and sepa- 
 rating into numerous currents that curled around the 
 bowlders like angry green snakes covered with silver 
 scales. To the roaring and sobbing of the river the 
 pine wood kept accompaniment with its perpetual 
 plaint intoned by the summits of the trees, which 
 swayed and vibrated to the kisses of the breeze, 
 dolorous kisses that drew from them an incessant 
 moan. 
 
 The excursionists, impressed by the tragic aspect 
 of the scene, remained mute. Only the child broke 
 the silence, speaking in tones as hushed as if she 
 were in a church. 
 
 "Well, it is true, mamma! The pines sing. Do 
 you hear them? It sounds like the chorus of bishops 
 in * L'Africaine.' They even seem to speak — listen — 
 in bass voices — like that passage in the 'Hugue- 
 nots 
 
 Nieves agreed that the murmur of the pines was 
 in truth musical and solemn. Segundo, leaning 
 against a tree, looked down at the river foaming be- 
 low ; Victorina approached him, but he stopped her 
 and made her go back. 
 
 "No, my child," he said; "don't come near; it is a 
 little dangerous; if you should lose your footing and 
 roll down that declivity Go back, go back," 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 221 
 
 As nothing further occurred to them to say about 
 the pines, the excursionists began to think of return- 
 ing home; Nieves was a httle uneasy about the de- 
 scent, and she wished to undertake it before the sun 
 should set. 
 
 "Now, indeed, we shall break some of our bones, 
 Don Fermin," she said to the doctor. "Now, indeed, 
 you may begin to get your bandages and splints 
 ready." 
 
 "There is another road," said Segundo, emerging 
 from his abstraction. "And one which is much less 
 toilsome and much more level than this." 
 
 "Yes, talk to us now about the other road," cried 
 Tropiezo, true to his habit of voting with the oppo- 
 sition. "It is even worse than the one by which we 
 came." 
 
 "How should it be worse, man? It is a little 
 longer, but as it is not so steep it is the best in the 
 end. It skirts the pine wood." 
 
 "Do you want to tell me which is the best road — 
 me who know the whole country as well as I know 
 my own house? You cannot go by that road; I 
 know what I am saying." 
 
 "And I say that you can, and I will prove it to 
 you. For -once in your life don't be stubborn. I 
 came by it not many days ago. Do you remember, 
 
22 2 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 Nieves, the night we played hide-and-seek in the 
 garden, the night they barred me out and I got over 
 the wall?" 
 
 Had it not been for the thick shade cast by the 
 pine trees and the fading daylight, it would have 
 been seen that Nieves blushed. 
 
 "Let us take whichever road is easiest and most 
 level, "she said, evading an answer. "I am very awk- 
 ward about walking over rough roads." 
 
 Segundo offered his arm, saying jestingly: 
 
 "That blessed Tropiezo knows as much about 
 roads as he does about the art of healing. Come, 
 and you shall see that we will be the gainers by it." 
 
 Tropiezo, on his »side, was saying to Carmen 
 Agonde, shaking his head obstinately : 
 
 "Well, we will please ourselves and go by the cut, 
 and arrive before they do, safe and sound, with the 
 help of God." 
 
 Victorina, according to her custom, was going to 
 her mother's side, when the doctor called out to her : 
 
 "Here, take hold of the end of my stick or you 
 will slip. Your mamma will have enough to do to 
 keep herself from falling. And God save us from 
 a trip,'' he added, laughing loudly at his jest. 
 
 The voices and footsteps receded in the distance, 
 and Segundo and Nieves continued on their way in 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 223 
 
 silence. The precipitous character of the path along 
 which they walked inspired Nieves with something 
 like fear. It was a little path cut on the slope of 
 the pine wood, on the very edge of the precipice, 
 almost overhanging the river. Although Segundo 
 gave Nieves the least dangerous side, that next the 
 wood, leaving himself scarcely a foothold, so that he 
 was obliged to place one foot horizontally before the 
 other, in walking, this did not set her fears at rest or 
 make the adventure seem any the less dangerous to 
 her. Her terror was increased a hundredfold when 
 she saw that they were alone. 
 
 *'Are they not coming?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 "We will overtake them in less than ten minutes. 
 They are going by the other road," answered Se- 
 gundo, without adding a single word of endearment, 
 or even pressing the arm which trembled with terror 
 within his. 
 
 "Let us go on, then," said Nieves, in tones of 
 urgent entreaty. 'T am anxious to be home." 
 
 **Why?" asked the poet, suddenly standing still. 
 
 'T am tired — out of breath " 
 
 "Well, you shall rest and take a drink of water if 
 you desire it." 
 
 And with rash hardihood Segundo, without wait- 
 ing for an answer, drew Nieves down the slope and, 
 
224 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 skirting the rock, stopped on a narrow ledge which 
 projected over the river. By the fading sunset light 
 they discried a crystal thread of water trickling down 
 the black front of the rock. 
 
 "Drink, if you wish — in the palm of your hand, 
 for we have no glass," said Segundo. 
 
 Nieves mechanically released Segundo's arm, 
 scarcely conscious of what she was doing, and took 
 a step toward the stream ; but the ground at the 
 base of the rock, kept moist by the dripping of the 
 water, was overgrown with humid vegetation as slip- 
 pery as sea-weed, and as she set her foot upon it she 
 slipped and lost her balance. In her vertigo, she 
 saw the river roaring menacingly below, the sharp 
 rocks waiting to receive her and mangle her flesh, 
 and she already felt the chill air of the abyss. A 
 hand clutched her by her gown, by her flesh, per- 
 haps ; held her up and drew her back to safety. She 
 dropped her head on Segundo's shoulder and the 
 latter, for the first time, felt Nieves* heart beat under 
 his hand. And how quickly it beat ! It beat with 
 fear. The poet bent over her, and on her very lips 
 breathed this question : 
 
 "Do you love me? tell me, do you love me?" 
 
 The answer was inaudible, for even if the words 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 225 
 
 had been formed in her throat her sealed Hps were 
 unable to articulate them. During this short space 
 of time, which was for them an eternity, there 
 flashed across Segundo's brain a thought potent and 
 destructive as the electric spark. The poet stood 
 fronting the precipice, Nieves with her back toward 
 it, kept from falling over its edge only by the arm 
 of her savior. A movement forward, a stronger 
 pressure of his lips to hers, would be sufficient to 
 make them both lose their balance and precipitate 
 them into the abyss. It would be a beautiful end- 
 ing — worthy of the ambitious soul of a poet. Think- 
 ing of it Segundo found it alluring and desirable, and 
 yet the instinct of self-preservation, an animal im- 
 pulse, but one more powerful than the romantic idea, 
 placed between the thought and the action an in- 
 superable barrier. He pleased himself, in imagina- 
 tion, with the picture of the two bodies clasped in 
 each other's arms, borne along by the current of the 
 river. He even saw in fancy the scene of the dis- 
 covery of the corpses, the exclamations; the pro- 
 found impression that such an event would cause in 
 the district ; and something, some poetic feeling that 
 stirred and thrilled in his youthful soul, urged him 
 to take the leap ; but at the same time a cold fear 
 
2 26 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 congealed his blood, obliging him to proceed slowly, 
 not toward the abyss, but in an opposite direction, 
 toward the path. 
 
 All this, short enough in the telling, was instanta- 
 neous in the thinking. Segundo felt a cold chill 
 strike through him, putting to flight thoughts of 
 love as well as of death. It was the chill communi- 
 cated to him by the lips of Nieves, who had fainted 
 in his arms. 
 
 He dipped his handkerchief in the spring and 
 applied it to her temples and wrists. She half 
 opened • her eyes. They could hear Tropiezo talk- 
 ing, Carmen laughing; they were coming doubtless 
 in search of them, to triumph over them. Nieves, 
 when she came back to consciousness and found 
 herself still alone, did not make the slightest effort 
 to free herself from the poet's embrace. 
 
* XXI. 
 
 As if by tacit agreement the hero and heroine of 
 the adventure made light of the danger they had 
 run, to their companions in the excursion in the first 
 place, and afterward to the elders at Las Vides. 
 Segundo observed a certain reticence regarding the 
 particulars of the occurrence. Nieves, on the con- 
 trary, was more talkative than usual, speaking with 
 nervous loquacity, going over the most insignificant 
 details a hundred times. She had slipped ; Garcia 
 had reached out his hand to her; she had caught it, 
 and as she was — well — timid, she had been a little 
 frightened, although there was not the slightest 
 occasion for being so. But the obstinate Tropiezo, 
 with mild scorn, contradicted her. Good Heavens, 
 how mistaken she was! No danger? Why, it was 
 only by a miracle that Nieves was not now floating 
 in the Avieiro. The ground there was as slippery 
 as soap, and the stones below were as sharp as razors, 
 and the current was so strong that — • — Nieves 
 denied the danger, making an effort to laugh ; but the 
 
 terror of the accident had left unmistakable traces 
 
 227 
 
2 28 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 upon her countenance, changing its warm healthy pal- 
 lor to a sickly hue, producing dark circles under her 
 eyes, and making her features twitch convulsively, 
 
 Segundo longed to say a few -words to her, to ask 
 her to grant him an interview ; he comprehended 
 that he must avail himself of these first moments, 
 while her soul was still under the softening influence 
 of gratitude and fright which made her cold heart 
 palpitate beneath the whalebone of her stays. In 
 the brief scene of the precipice the arrival of Tro- 
 piezo had allowed Nieves no time to respond ex- 
 plicitly to the poet's ardor, and Segundo wished to 
 come to some agreement with her, to devise some 
 means of seeing each other and talking to each other 
 alone, to establish the fact at once that all these 
 anxieties, these vigils, these intrigues, were loye and 
 requited love — a mutual passion, in short. When 
 and how should he find the desired opportunity of 
 establishing an understanding with Nieves? 
 
 It may be said that in the history of every love 
 affair there exists a first period in which obstacles ac- 
 cumulate and difficulties, seemingly insurmountable, 
 arise, driving to despair the lover who has made up 
 his mind to conquer them, and that there comes, 
 too, a second period in which the mysterious force 
 of desire and the power of the will sweep away 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 229 
 
 these obstacles, and circumstances, for the moment 
 favorable, aid the lovers. So it happened on the 
 night of this memorable day. As Victorina had 
 been somewhat frightened, hearing of the danger 
 her mother had been in, she had been sent to bed 
 early, and Carmen Agonde had remained with her to 
 put her asleep by telling her stories. The principal 
 witnesses being thus removed and the elders plunged 
 in one of their interminable viticultural, agricultural, 
 and sociological discussions, Nieves, who had gone 
 out on the balcony for air — for she felt as if she had 
 a lump in her throat which prevented her from 
 breathing — had an opportunity to chat for ten min- 
 utes with Segundo, who was standing near the win- 
 dow, not far from the rocking-chairs. 
 
 Occasionally they would raise their voices and 
 speak on indifferent subjects — the afternoon's acci- 
 dent, the strange singing of the pines. And low, 
 very low, the diplomatic negotiation of the poet fol- 
 lowed its course. An interview, a conversation with 
 some degree of freedom. Why, of course it could 
 be ! Why could it not take place in the gallery that 
 very night? No one was going to think of going 
 there to spy out what was passing. He could let 
 
 himself down easily into the garden He could 
 
 not? She was very timid It would be wrong? 
 
230 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 Why ? — ^She was tired and not very well Yes, he 
 
 understood. She would prefer the daytime, per- 
 haps. Well, the other would be better, but 
 
 Without fail? At the hour of the siesta? In the 
 parlor? No; nobody ever went there; everyone 
 was asleep. On her word of honor? — Thanks. Yes, 
 it was necessary to dissemble so as not to attract 
 attention. 
 
 Meantime the gentlemen at the tresillo table 
 talked of the vintage and its consequences. The 
 poor country girls earned a good deal of money at 
 the work. Apropos of which Don Victoriano gave 
 expression to some of his favorite ideas, referring to 
 English legislature, and eulogizing the wisdom of 
 that great nation whose laws regulating labor give 
 evidence of a careful study of the problems it in- 
 volves, and of some regard for the welfare of wom- 
 en and children. With these serious disquisitions 
 the evening ended, every owl retiring to his olive 
 tree. 
 
 Nieves, seated at her toilet table, her open dress- 
 ing-case and a small silver-framed mirror before her, 
 was taking out, one by one, the tortoise-shell hair- 
 pins which fastened her hair. Mademoiselle gath- 
 ered them together and arranged them neatly in a 
 box and braided Nieves' hair, after which the latter 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. ^31 
 
 threw herself back in her seat and drew a deep 
 breath ; suddenly she looked up. 
 
 *'If you could make me a cup of lime tea," she 
 said, **in your own room, without troubling any- 
 body?" 
 
 The Frenchwoman left the room and Nieves 
 leaned her elbow thoughtfully on the table, resting 
 her cheek in the palm of her hand, without moving 
 her eyes from the mirror. Her face was deathly 
 pale. No, this life could not continue ; if it did it 
 would carry her to her grave. She was very nervous 
 — what terrors ! What anxiety, what moments of 
 anguish she had suffered ! She had seen death face 
 to face, and had had more frights, more fears, more 
 misery in a single day than in all the previous years 
 of her existence put together. If this were love in 
 truth there was little that was pleasing in it ; such 
 agitations were not suited to her. It was one thing 
 to like to be pretty, and to be told so, and even to 
 have a passionate adorer, and another to suffer these 
 incessant anxieties, these surprises that bring one's 
 heart to one's mouth and expose one to the risk of 
 disgrace and destroy one's health. And the poets 
 say that this is happiness. It may be so for them — 
 
 as for the poor women And why had she not the 
 
 courage to tell Segundo that there must be an end 
 
232 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 to this, to say to him: "I can endure these alarms 
 no longer. I am afraid. I am miserable !" Ah, she 
 was afraid of him, too. He was capable of killing 
 her; his handsome black eyes sent forth at times 
 electric sparks and phosphoric gleams. And then 
 he always took the lead, he dominated her, he mas- 
 tered her. Through him she had been on the point 
 of falling into the river, of being dashed to pieces on 
 the rocks. Holy Virgin ! Why, only half an hour 
 ago did he not almost force her to agree to a meet- 
 ing in the gallery? Which would be a great piece of 
 madness, since it would be impossible for her to go 
 to that part of the house without her absence being 
 noticed by Mademoiselle, or someone else, and its 
 cause being discovered. Good Heavens! All this 
 was terrible, terrible ! And to-morrow she must go 
 to the parlor at the hour of the siesta. Well, then, 
 she would take a bold resolution. She would go, 
 yes, but she would go to clear up this misunder- 
 standing, to give Segundo some plain talk that 
 would make him place some restraint upon himself; 
 that he should love her, very good ; she had no 
 objection to that, that was well enough ; but to 
 compromise her in this way, that was a thing un- 
 heard of; she would entreat him to return to Vila- 
 morta; they would soon go to Madrid. Ah, how 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 233 
 
 long that blessed Mademoiselle delayed with the 
 lime tea. 
 
 The door opened to admit, not Mademoiselle, but 
 Don Victoriano. There was nothing to surprise her 
 in his appearance ; he slept in a sort of cabinet near 
 his wife's room and separated from it by a passage- 
 way, and every night before retiring he gave a kiss to 
 the child, whose bed was beside her mother's ; never- 
 theless Nieves felt a chill creep over her, and she 
 instinctively turned her back to the light, coughing 
 to hide her agitation. 
 
 The truth was that Don Victoriano looked very 
 serious, even stern. He had not indeed been very 
 cheerful or communicative ever since his illness had 
 assumed a serious character; but in addition to his 
 air of dejection there was an indefinable something, 
 a darker gloom on his face than usual,- a cloud preg- 
 nant with storm. Nieves, observing that he did not 
 approach the child's bed, cast down her eyes and 
 affected to be occupied in smoothing her hair with 
 the ivory comb. 
 
 "How do you feel, child? Have you recovered 
 from your fright?" asked her husband. 
 
 "No; I am still a little I have asked for 
 
 some lime tea." 
 
 "You did well. See, Nieves " 
 
234 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 ''Well— well?" 
 
 "See, Nieves, we must go to Madrid at once." 
 
 "Whenever you wish. You know that I '* 
 
 "No, the thing is that it is necessary, indispensa- 
 ble. I must put myself seriously under treatment, 
 child ; for if things continue as they are now it will 
 soon be all over with me. I had the weakness to 
 put myself in the hands of that ass, Don Fermin. 
 God forgive me for it I and I fear," he added, smil- 
 ing bitterly, "that I have made a fatal mistake. Let 
 us see if Sanchez del Abrojo will get me out of the 
 scrape — I doubt it greatly." 
 
 "Heavens, how apprehensive you are!" exclaimed 
 Nieves, breathing freely once m.ore and availing her- 
 self of the resource offered to her by Don Vic- 
 toriano's illness. "Anyone would think you had an 
 incurable disease. When you are once in Madrid 
 and Sanchez has you under his care — in a couple of 
 months you will not even remember this trifling indis- 
 position." 
 
 "Bravo! child, bravo! I don't wish to hurt your 
 feelings or to seem unkind, but what you say proves 
 that you neither look at me, nor care a straw about 
 my health, nor pay any attention to me whatever, 
 which — forgive me — is not creditable to you. My 
 disease is a serious, a very serious one — it is a dis- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 235 
 
 ease that carries people off in fine style. I am being 
 converted into sugar, my sight is failing, my head 
 aches, I have no blood left, and you, serene and gay, 
 sporting about like a child. A wife who loved her 
 husband would not act in this way. You have 
 troubled yourself neither about the state of my body 
 nor the state of my mind. You are enjoying your- 
 self, having a fine time, and as for the rest — a great 
 deal it matters to you !" 
 
 Nieves rose to her feet, tremulous, almost weeping. 
 
 "What are you saying? I — I — — " 
 
 ''Don't distress yourself, child ; don't cry. You are 
 young and well ; I am wasted and sickly. So much 
 the worse for me. But listen to me. Although I 
 seem to you dry and serious, I loved you tenderly, 
 Nieves, I love you still, as much as I love that child 
 who is sleeping there, I swear it to you before God ! 
 And you rnight — you might love me a little — like a 
 daughter — and take some interest in me. The 
 trouble would not be for long now — I feel so sick." 
 
 Nieves drew near him with an affectionate move- 
 ment and he touched her forehead with his parched 
 lips, pressing her to him at the same time. Then he 
 added : 
 
 **I have still another observation to make, another 
 sermon to preach to you, child." 
 
236 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "What is it?" murmured his wife smiling, but ter- 
 rified. 
 
 ''That boy Garcia — don't be alarmed, child, there 
 is no need for that — that boy looks at you sometimes 
 in a very curious way, as if he were making love to 
 you. No, I am not doubting you. You are and 
 you have always been an irreproachable wife — I am 
 not accusing you, nor do I attach any importance 
 to such folLy. But, although you may not believe 
 it, the young men here are very daring; they are 
 shyer in appearance than those of the capital, but 
 they are bolder in reality. I spent my youthful 
 years here, and I know them. I am only putting 
 you on your guard so that you may keep that jacka- 
 napes within bounds. For the rest of the time we 
 are to remain in this place, avoid those long walks 
 and all those other rusticities which they indulge in 
 here. A lady like you among these people is a sort 
 of queen, and it is not proper that they should take 
 the same liberties with you as with the Senoritas de 
 Molende or others like them — but I have already 
 told you that such a thought has not even crossed 
 my mind. It is one thing that this village Swan 
 should have fallen in love with you, and have given 
 you his hand to help you over the rocks, and another 
 that I should insult you, child !" 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 237 
 
 Shortly afterward Mademoiselle entered with the 
 steaming cup of tea. And greatly Nieves needed 
 it. Her nerves were in a state of the utmost ten- 
 sion. She was on the verge of a hysterical attack. 
 She even felt nausea when she took the first few 
 spoonfuls. Mademoiselle offered her some anti- 
 hysterical drops. Nieves drank the remedy, and 
 with a few yawns and two or three tears the attack 
 passed off. She thought she would go ^to bed, and 
 went into her bedroom. There she saw something 
 which renewed her uneasiness — Victorina, instead 
 of being asleep, lay with eyes wide open. She had 
 probably heard every word of the conversation. 
 
XXII. 
 
 She had in fact heard it all, from beginning to 
 end. And the words of the conjugal dialogue were 
 whirling around in her brain, mingling confusedly to- 
 gether, stamping themselves in characters of fire on 
 her virgin memory. She repeated them to herself, 
 she tried to understand their meaning, she weighed 
 them, she drew conclusions from them. 
 
 No one can tell which is the precise moment that 
 divides dg-y from night, sleeping from waking, youth 
 from maturity, and innocence from knowledge. 
 Who can fix the moment in. which the child, passing 
 into adolescence, observes in herself that undefina- 
 ble something which may perhaps be called con- 
 siousness of sex, in which vague presentiment is 
 changed into s\A'ift intuition, in which, without an 
 exact notion of the realities of life, she divines all 
 that experience will corroborate and accentuate later 
 on, in which she understands the importance of a 
 sign, the significance of an act, the character of a re- 
 lationship, the value of a glance, and the meaning of 
 
 a reticence. The moment in which her eyes, hith- 
 
 238 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 239 
 
 erto open only to. external life, acquire power to 
 scrutinize the inner life also, and losing their super- 
 ficial brilliancy, the clear reflection of her ingenuous 
 purity, acquire the concentrated and undefinable ex- 
 pression which constitutes the glance of a grown 
 person. 
 
 This moment arrived for Victorina at the age of 
 eleven, on the night we have mentioned, overhear- 
 ing a dialogue between her father and mother. 
 Motionless, with bated breath, her feet cold, her 
 head burning, the child heard everything, and after- 
 ward, in the dim light of the bedroom, united broken 
 links, remembering certain incidents, and at last 
 understood without attaching much importance to 
 what she understood, reasoning, however, with singu- 
 lar precocity, owing, perhaps, to the painful activity 
 with which imagination works in the silence of night 
 and the repose of the bed. 
 
 It is certain that the child slept badly, tossing 
 about restlessly in her monastic little bed. Two 
 ideas, especially, seemed to pierce her brain like 
 nails. Her father was ill, very ill, and he was an- 
 noyed and displeased, besides, because Segundo had 
 fallen in love with her mamma. With her mamma. 
 Not with her ! With her who preserved all the 
 flowers he had given her like relics, 
 
240 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 The sorrows of childhood know neither Hmit nor 
 consolation. When we are older and more storms 
 have passed over us, and we have seen with astonish- 
 ment that man can survive griefs which we had 
 thought unsurvivable, and that the heavens do not 
 fall because we have lost what we love, it may almost 
 be said that absolute despair, which is the heritage 
 of childhood, does not exist. It Avas evident to Vic- 
 torina that her father was dying and that her mother 
 was wicked, and Segundo a villain, and that the 
 world had come to an end — and that she too, she 
 too, desired to die. If it were possible for the hair 
 to turn white at eleven, Victorina would have be- 
 come white on the night in which suffering changed 
 her from a bashful, timid, blushing child to a moral 
 being, capable of the greatest heroism. 
 
 Nor did Nieves enjoy the balmy sweets of slum- 
 ber. Her husband's words had made her thought 
 ful. Was Don Victoriano's illness a fatal one? It 
 might be so ! He looked greatly altered, poor fel- 
 low. And Nieves felt a touch of grief and appre- 
 hension. Why, who could doubt that she loved her 
 husband, or that she should regret his death? She 
 did not feel for him any passionate love, such as is 
 described in novels — but affection — yes. Heaven 
 grant the malady might be a trifling one. And if it 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 241 
 
 were not? And if she were to be left a wi She 
 
 did not dare to complete the word even in her 
 thoughts. To think of such a thing seemed like in- 
 dulging in wicked desires. No, but the fact was 
 that women, when their husbands die, were — Holy 
 Virgin! It must be a terrible grief. Well, but if it 
 happened? Segundo — Heavens, what folly! Most 
 assuredly such an absurdity had never entered his 
 head. The Garcias — nobodies. And here a vivid 
 picture of all Segundo's relations and their manner 
 of living presented itself to her mind. 
 
 She would willingly have absented herself from 
 the rendezvous on the following day, because her 
 husband had begun to suspect something and the 
 situation was a compromising one, although in the 
 place designated for the interview the meeting be- 
 tween them might always be attributed to chance. 
 On the other hand if she failed to meet him, Segundo, 
 who was so enamored, was fully capable of creat- 
 ing a scandal, of going to look for her in her 
 room, of forcing an entrance into it through the 
 window. 
 
 After all, thinking well over the matter, she 
 judged it most prudent to comply with her promise 
 and to entreat Segundo to — forget her — or at least 
 
242 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 not to compromise her. That was the best course 
 
 to pursue. 
 
 Nieves passed the morning in a state of complete 
 prostration ; she scarcely tasted a morsel at break- 
 fast and during the meal she kept her eyes turned 
 away from Segundo, fearing lest her husband should 
 surprise some furtive glance of intelligence between 
 them. To make matters worse, Segundo, desirous 
 of reminding her with his eyes of her promise, looked 
 at her on this day oftener than usual. Fortunately 
 Don Victoriano's attention seemed to be all given to 
 satisfying his voracious appetite for eating and drink- 
 ing. The meal being finished everyone retired as 
 usual to take the siesta. Nieves went to her room. 
 She found Victorina there, lying on the bed. For 
 greater precaution she asked her : 
 
 *'Are you going to sleep the siesta, my pet?" 
 **To sleep, no. But I am comfortable here." 
 Nieves looked at herself in the glass and saw that 
 she was pale. She washed her teeth, and after satis- 
 fying herself by a rapid glance that her husband was 
 resting in the other room, she stole softly into the 
 parlor. She was trembling. This atmosphere of 
 storm and danger, grateful to the sea-fowl, was fatal 
 to the domestic bird. It was no life to be always 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 243 
 
 shuddering with fear, her blood curdled by fright. 
 It was not to live. It was not to breathe. She 
 would end by becoming crazy. Had she not fancied 
 just now that she heard steps behind her, as if some- 
 one were following her? Two or three times she 
 had stopped and leaned, fainting, against the wall of 
 the corridor, vowing in her own mind that she would 
 never put herself in such a dilemma again. 
 
 When she reached the parlor she stopped, half 
 startled. It was so silent and drowsy in the semi- 
 obscurity, with the half-closed shutters through 
 which entered a single sunbeam full of dancing 
 golden motes, with its sleepy mirrors that were too 
 lazy to reflect anything from their turbid surfaces, 
 its drowsy asthmatic clock, whose face looked like a 
 human countenance watching her and coughing dis- 
 approvingly. Suddenly she heard quick, youthful 
 foot-steps and Segundo, audacious, impassioned, 
 threw himself at her feet and clasped his arms around 
 her. She tried to restrain him, to advise him, to ex- 
 plain to him. The poet refused to heed her, he con- 
 tinued pouring forth exclamations of gratitude and 
 love and then, rising to his feet, he drew her toward 
 him with the irresistible force of a passion which 
 does not stop to consider consequences. 
 
 When Don Victoriano saw the child enter his 
 
244 THE SU'AX OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 room, white as wax, livid, almost, darting fire from 
 her eyes, in one of those horror-inspired attitudes 
 which can neither be feigned nor imitated, he sprang 
 from the bed where he had been lying awake smok- 
 ing a cigar. The child said to him, in a choking 
 voice : 
 
 "Come, papa! come, papa!" 
 
 What were the thoughts that passed through her 
 father's mind? It was never known why he followed 
 his daughter without putting to her a single ques- 
 tion. On the threshold of the parlor father and 
 child paused. Nieves uttered a shrill scream and 
 Segundo, with an impassioned and manly gesture, 
 placed himself before her to shield her with his 
 body. An unnecessary defense. In the figure of 
 the man standing on the threshold there was noth- 
 ing of menace ; what there was in it to inspire terror 
 was precisely its air of stupor and helplessness ; it 
 seemed a corpse, a specter overwhelmed with impo- 
 tent despair — the face, green rather than sallow, the 
 eyes opened, dull and fixed, the hands and feet trem- 
 bling. The man was making fruitless efforts to 
 speak ; paralysis had begun with the tongue : he tried 
 in vain to move it in his mouth, to form sounds. 
 Horrible conflict ! The words struggled for utter- 
 ance but remained unuttered ; his face changed from 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 245 
 
 livid to red, the blood becoming congested in it, and 
 the child, clasping her father around the waist, see- 
 ing this combat between the spirit and the body, 
 cried : 
 
 "Help! help! Papa is dying!" 
 
 Nieves, not daring to approach her husband, but 
 comprehending that something very serious was the 
 matter, screamed too for help. And at the various 
 doors appeared one after another Primo Genday and 
 Tropiezo in their shirt-sleeves, and Mendez with a 
 cotton handkerchief tied over his ears. 
 
 Segundo stood silent in the middle of the room, 
 uncertain what course to pursue. To leave the room 
 
 would be cowardly, to remain Tropiezo shook 
 
 him. 
 
 "Go, flying, to Vilamorta, boy!" he said. "Tell 
 Doroteo, the cabman, to go to Orense and bring 
 back a doctor with him — the best he can find. I 
 don't want to make a trip this time," he added with 
 a wink. "Run, hurry off!" 
 
 The Swan approached Nieves, who had thrown 
 herself on the sofa and was w^eeping, her face cov- 
 ered with her dainty handkerchief. 
 
 "They want me to go for a doctor, Nieves. 
 What shall I do?" 
 
 *'Go!" 
 
24^ THE SWAM OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "Shall I return?" 
 
 "No-^for God's sake leave me. Go bring the 
 doctor! go bring the doctor!" And she sobbed 
 more violently than before. 
 
 In spite of all Segundo's haste, the physician did 
 not arrive in Las Vides until early on the morning 
 of the following day. He did not think the case an 
 unusual one. This disease often terminated in this 
 way, in paralysis; it was one of the most frequent 
 complications of the terrible malady. He added 
 that it would be well to remove the patient to 
 Orense, taking suitable precautions. The removal 
 was effected without much difficulty, and Don Vic- 
 toriano lived for a few days longer. Twentj^-four 
 hours after the interment Nieves and Victorina, 
 attired in the deepest mourning, departed for the 
 capital. 
 
xxin. 
 
 The black pall of winter has fallen over Vilamorta. 
 It is raining, and in the wet and muddy main street 
 and plaza no one is to be seen but occasionally some 
 countryman, riding enveloped in his grass cloth cloak, 
 his horse's hoofs clattering on the stone pavement, 
 raising showers of mud. There are now no fruit- 
 venders for the simple reason that there is no fruit ; 
 all is deserted, damp, muddy, and gloomy ; Cansin, in 
 listing slippers, a comforter around his neck, walks 
 up and down unceasingly before his door, to prevent 
 chilblains ; the Alcalde avails himself of a very nar- 
 row arch in front of his house to pass away the after- 
 noon, walking ten steps up and ten steps down, 
 stamping energetically to keep his feet warm — an 
 exercise which he afifirms to be indispensable to his 
 digestion. 
 
 Now indeed the little town seems lifeless ! There 
 are neither visitors to the springs nor strangers from 
 the surrounding country, neither fairs nor vintages. 
 Everywhere reigns the stillness and solitude of the 
 
 tomb, and a moisture so persistent that it covers 
 
 247 
 
248 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 with a minute green vegetation the stones of the 
 houses in course of construction. These Httle towns 
 in winter are enough to make the most cheerful per- 
 son low-spirited ; they are the very acme of tedium, 
 the quintessence of dullness — the disinclination to ar- 
 range one's hair, to change one's dress, the intermin- 
 able evenings, the persistent rain, the gloomy cold, 
 the ashen atmosphere, the leaden sky! 
 
 In the midst of this species of lethargy in which 
 Vilamorta is plunged there are, however, some happy 
 beings, beings who are now at the summit of felicity, 
 although soon destined to end their existence in the 
 most tragic manner; beings who, by their natural 
 instinct alone, have divined the philosophy of Epi- 
 curus and practice it, and eat, drink, and make merry, 
 and neither fear death nor think of the unexplored 
 region which opens its gates to the dying, beings 
 who receive the rain on their smooth skins with 
 rejoicing, beings for whom the mud is a luxurious 
 bath in which they roll and wallow with delight, 
 abandoning the discomfort and narrowness of their 
 lairs and sties. They are the indisputable lords and 
 masters of Vilamorta at this season of the year; 
 they who with their pomps and exploits supply the 
 reunions at the apothecary's with food for conversa- 
 tion, and entertainment for familiar gatherings in 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 249 
 
 which their respective sizes are discussed and they 
 are studied from the point of view of their personal 
 quahties, heated discussions taking place as to 
 whether the short or the long ear, the curly tail, the 
 hoof more or less curved upward, and the snout more 
 or less pointed, augur the more succulent flesh and 
 the more abundant fat. Comparisons are made. 
 Pellejo's hog is superb as far as size is concerned, but 
 its flesh, of an erysipelatous rosy hue, and its im- 
 mense flabby belly, betray the hog of relaxed mus- 
 cle, nourished on bakehouse refuse; a magnificent 
 swine, that of the Alcalde, which has been fed on 
 chestnuts, not so large as the other, but what hams 
 it will make ! What hams ! And what bacon ! 
 And what a back, broad enough to ride upon ! This 
 will be the swine of the season. There are not want- 
 ing those who affirm, however, that the queen of the 
 swine of Vilamorta is the pig of Aunt Gaspara, 
 Garcia's pig. The haunches of this magnificent 
 animal look like a highroad ; it once came near being 
 suffocated by its own fat ; its teats touch its hoofs and 
 kiss the mud of the road. Who can calculate how 
 many pounds of lard it will yield, and the black pud- 
 dings it will fill with its blood, and the sausages that 
 its intestines will make? 
 
 It stops raining for a week; the cold grows more 
 
250 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 intense, frost falls, whitening the grass of the paths 
 and hardening the ground. This is the signal for the 
 hecatomb, for which the auspices are now favorable, 
 for, in addition to the cold, the moon is in her last 
 quarter; if she were on the wane the flesh would 
 spoil. The hour has come for wielding the knife. 
 And through the long nights of Vilamorta resound 
 at the most unexpected moments desperate grunts 
 — first grunts of fury, that express the impotent rage 
 of the victim at finding himself bound to the bench, 
 and reveal in the degenerate domestic pig the de- 
 scendant of the wild mountain boar; then of pain, 
 when the knife penetrates the flesh, an almost human 
 cry when its blade pierces the heart, and at last a 
 series of despairing groans which grow fainter and 
 fainter as life and strength escape with the warm 
 stream of blood. 
 
 This bloodcurdling drama was being enacted in 
 the house of the lawyer Garcia at eleven o'clock on 
 a clear frosty December night. The girls, wild with 
 delight, and dying with curiosity, crowded around 
 the expiring pig, in whose heart and throat the 
 butcher, with rolled up sleeves and bare arms, was 
 about to plunge the knife. Segundo, shut up in his 
 bedroom, had before him some sheets of paper, more 
 or less covered with scrawls. He was writing verses. 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 251 
 
 But as the sounds of the tragedy reached him, he 
 dropped his pen with dismay. He had inherited 
 from his mother a profound horror of the spectacle 
 of the kilhng ; it usually cost his mother ten or twelve 
 days of suffering, during which she was unable to 
 eat food, sickened by the sight of the blood, the 
 intestines and the viscera, so like human intestines 
 and human viscera, the greasy flitches of bacon 
 hanging from the roof, and the strong and stimulat- 
 ing odor of the black pudding and spices. Segundo 
 abhorred even the name of pig, and in the morbid 
 condition of his mind, in the nervous excitement 
 which consumed him, it was an indescribable martyr- 
 dom to be unable to set his foot outside the door 
 without stumbling against and entangling himself 
 among the accursed and repulsive animals, or seeing, 
 through the half-open doors, portions of their bodies 
 hanging on hooks. All Vilamorta smelled of pig- 
 killing, of warm entrails ; Segundo did not know at 
 last where to hide himself, and intrenched himself in 
 his own room, closing the doors and windows tightly, 
 secluding himself from the external world in order 
 to live with his dreams and fancies in a realm where 
 there were no hogs, and where only pine groves, blue 
 flowers and precipices existed. Insufficient precau- 
 tion to free himself from the torture of that brutal 
 
252 THE SWAN OF J'lLAMORTA. 
 
 epoch of the year, since here in his own house he was 
 besieged by the drama of gluttony and realism. 
 The poet seized his hat and hurried out of the room. 
 He must flee where these grunts could not pene- 
 trate, where those smells should not surround him. 
 He walked along the hall, closing his eyes in order 
 not to see, b}^ the light of the candle which one of 
 the children was holding, Aunt Gaspara with her 
 skeleton-like arm, bare to the elbow, stirring a red 
 and frothing liquid in a large earthern pan. When 
 they saw Segundo leaving the house the sisters burst 
 into shouts of laughter, and called to him, offering 
 him grotesque delicacies, ignoble spoils of the dying. 
 
 Leocadia had not retired ; she felt ill and she was 
 dozing in a chair, wrapped in a shawl and shivering 
 with cold ; she opened the door quickly to Segundo, 
 asking him in alarm if anything had happened. Noth- 
 ing, indeed. They were killing the pig at home — a 
 Toledan night ; they would not let him sleep. Be- 
 sides, the night was so cold — he felt somewhat indis- 
 posed — as if he had a chill. Would she make him a 
 cup of coffee, or better still, a rum punch? 
 
 "Both, my heart, this very instant !" 
 
 Leocadia recovered her spirits and her energy as 
 if by enchantment. Soon there rose from the punch- 
 bowl the sapphire flame of the punch. In its glare 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 253 
 
 the schoolmistress's face seemed very thin. It had 
 lost its former healthy color, a warm brown like that 
 of the crust of a well-baked loaf. The pangs of dis- 
 appointed love were revealed in the pallor of her 
 cheeks, in the feverish brightness of her eyes, the 
 purplish hue of her lips. Grief had given her prosaic 
 features an almost poetic stamp; as she had grown 
 thinner her eyes looked larger ; she was not now the 
 robust woman, with firm flesh and fresh-colored lips, 
 who, pitted though she was by the smallpox, could 
 still draw a coarse compliment from the tavern- 
 keeper; the fire of an imperious, uncontrollable, and 
 exacting passion was consuming her inwardly — the 
 love which comes late in life, that devouring love 
 which reason cannot conquer, nor time uproot, nor 
 circumstances change, which fixes its talons in the 
 vitals and releases its prey only when it has de- 
 stroyed it. 
 
 And this love was of so singular a nature that, — 
 insatiable, volcanic, desperate, as it was, — far from 
 dictating acts of violence to Leocadia and drawing 
 from her furious reproaches, it inspired her with a 
 self-abnegation and a generosity without limits, ban- 
 ishing from her mind every thought of self. 
 
 The summer, the vintage season, the whole period 
 
254 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 during which she had scarcely seen Segundo, when 
 she kneu' he had not given her a passing thought, 
 that he was devoting himself to another woman, had 
 been horrible for her; and yet not a jealous word, 
 not a complaint had crossed her lips, nor did she 
 once regret having given Segundo the money; and 
 when she saw the poet, her joy was so genuine, so 
 profound, that it effaced, as if by magic, the remem- 
 brance of her sufferings and repaid her for them a 
 hundredfold. 
 
 Now there was an additional reason why she 
 should lavish her affection upon the poet. He too 
 was suffering, he was ill. What was the matter with 
 him? He himself did not know: hypochondria, the 
 grief of separation, spleen, the impatient disgust 
 produced by the contrast of his mean surroundings 
 with the dreams that filled his imagination. A con- 
 stant inappetency, depression of spirits, an uneasy 
 sensation in the stomach, nerves on the stretch, like 
 the strings of a guitar. And his love for Nieves was 
 not like Leocadia's love, one of those passions that ab- 
 sorb the whole being, affect the heart, attenuate the 
 flesh, and subjugate the soul. Nieves lived only in 
 his imagination, in his vanity, in his lyrics, in his 
 romantic reveries, those eternal inspirers of love. 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 255 
 
 Nieves was the visible incarnation, in beautiful and 
 alluring form, of his longings for fame, his literary 
 ambition. * 
 
 Leocadia had served the punch and was pouring 
 out the coffee when, her hand trembling with pleas- 
 ure and emotion, she spilled some of the hot liquid, 
 scalding herself slightly ; she took no notice of the 
 burn, however, but went on, with the same solicitude 
 as always, to minister to Segundo's comfort. Think- 
 ing to please and interest the poet she asked him for 
 news of the volume of poems which he had in hand, 
 and which was to spread his fame far beyond Vila- 
 morta, so soon ' as it should be published in Orense. 
 Segundo did not show much enthusiasm at this 
 prospect. 
 
 "In Orense," he said, "in Orense Do you 
 
 know that I have changed my mind? Either I shall 
 publish it in Madrid or I shall not publish it at all. 
 The loss to Spanish literature would not be so very 
 great." 
 
 "And why don't you want to publish it now in 
 Orense?" 
 
 'T will tell you. Roberto Blanquez is right in the 
 advice he gives me in a letter he has just written me 
 from Madrid. You know that Roberto is in a situa- 
 tion there. He says that no one reads books pub- 
 
256 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 lished in the provinces ; that he has noticed the con- 
 tempt with which books that do not bear the im- 
 print of some pubHshing house of the capital are 
 looked upon there. And besides, that they delay 
 a century here in printing a volume, and when it is 
 printed it is full of errors, and unattractive in ap- 
 pearance — in short, that they do not take. And 
 therefore " 
 
 "Well, then, let the book be published in Madrid. 
 How much would it cost?" 
 
 "Child, the prices Roberto tells me are enough to 
 frighten one. It seems that the affair would cost a 
 fortune. No publisher will buy verses or even 
 share with the author the expense of publishing 
 them." 
 
 Leocadia answered only by a smile. The little 
 parlor had a look of homelike comfort. Although 
 winter had despoiled the balcony of its charms, turn- 
 ing the sweet basil yellow and withering the carna- 
 tions, within, the hissing of the coffee-pot, the alco- 
 holic vapor of the punch, the quietude, the solicitous 
 affection of the schoolmistress, all seemed to temper 
 and soften the atmosphere. Segundo felt a pleasant 
 drowsiness stealing over him. 
 
 "Will you give me a blanket from your bed?" he 
 said to the schoolmistress. "There is not a spot at 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA, 257 
 
 home where I could rest to-night. I might sleep a 
 little on the sofa here." 
 
 "You will be cold." 
 
 "I shall be in heaven. Go." 
 
 Leocadia left the room, and returned dragging in 
 with her an unwieldy bulk — a mattress; then she 
 brought a blanket ; then, pillows. Total, a com- 
 plete bed. For all that was wanting — only the 
 sheets — she brought them also. 
 
XXIV. 
 
 Leocadia did not vacillate on the following day. 
 She knew the way and she went straight to the law- 
 yer's house. The latter received her with a frown- 
 ing brow. Did people think he was coining money? 
 Leocadia had now no land to sell ; what she brought 
 was of trifling value. If she made up her mind to 
 mortgage the house he would speak to his brother- 
 in-law Clodio, who had some money saved, and who 
 would like to have some such piece of property. 
 Leocadia breathed a sigh of regret, it was not with 
 her as v/ith the peasantry — she had no attach- 
 ment to land, but the house I So neat, so pretty, 
 so comfortable, arranged according to her own 
 taste ! 
 
 "Pshaw, by paying the amount of the mortgage 
 you can have it back the moment you wish." 
 
 So it was settled. Clodio handed out the money, 
 tempted by the hope of obtaining, at half its value, 
 so cozy a nest in which to end his bachelor exist- 
 ence. In the evening Leocadia asked Segundo to 
 show her the manuscript of his poems and to read 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 259 
 
 some of them to her. Frequent mention was made 
 in them, with reticences and transparent allusions, of 
 certain blue flowers, of the murmur of a pine wood, 
 of a precipice, and of various other things which 
 Leocadia knew well were not inventions, but had 
 their explanation in past, and to her unknown, 
 events. Th'e schoolmistress divined a love story 
 whose heroine could be no one but Nieves Mendez. 
 But what she could not understand, what she could 
 not explain, was how Senora de Comba, now a 
 widow, and free to reward Segundo's love, did not 
 do so immediately. The verses breathed profound 
 despondency, ardent passion, and intense bitterness. 
 Now Leocadia understood Segundo's sadness, his 
 dejection, his mental anguish. How much he must 
 suffer in secret ! Poets, by their nature, must suffer 
 more and cruder tortures than the rest of humanity. 
 There was not a doubt of it — this separation, these 
 memories were killing Segundo slowly. Leocadid 
 hesitated how to begin the conversation. 
 
 "See, listen. Those verses are beautiful and de- 
 serve to be printed in letters of gold. It just hap- 
 pens, child, that I received some money a few days 
 ago from Orense. Do you know what I was think- 
 ing of the other night while you were asleep in the 
 little bed I arranged for you? That it would be 
 
26o THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 better for you to go yourself to publish them — yon-^ 
 der — to Madrid." 
 
 To her great surprise she saw that Segundo's face 
 clouded. To go to Madrid now ! Impossible ; he 
 must first ' lea; n something of Nieves. The last 
 tragic scene of his love affair, the denouement of her 
 sudden widowhood, raised between them a barrier 
 difficult to pass. Nieves was rich, and if Segundo 
 should go to her now and throw himself at her feet, 
 he would not be the lover asking her to requite his 
 love, but the suitor to her hand, alleging anterior 
 rights and basing on them his aspirations to replace 
 her defunct husband. And Segundo, who had ac- 
 cepted money from Leocadia, felt his pride rebel at 
 the thought that Nieves might take him for a for- 
 tune-hunter, or might scorn him for his obscurity 
 and his poverty. But did not Nieves love him? 
 Had she not told him so? Why, then, did she not 
 send him some message. True, he had made no 
 attempt to communicate with the beautiful widow, 
 or to refresh her memory. He feared to do it awk- 
 wardly, inopportunely, and so reopen the wound 
 caused by the death of her husband. 
 
 The volume of verses — an excellent idea! The 
 volume of verses was the one means of recovering 
 his place in Nieves' recollection worthily, borne on 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 261 
 
 the wings of popular applause. If this volume were 
 read, admired, praised, it would win fame for its 
 author; the difference between his own and Nieves* 
 social position, which might now make his preten- 
 sions appear ridiculous, would disappear. "To 
 marry !" said Segundo to himself. Marriage seemed 
 to him a secondary matter. Let Nieves only love 
 him. It was love he asked, not marriage. Sitting 
 at Leocadia's very table he wrote to Blanquez, giving 
 him instructions, and prepared the manuscript to 
 post it, and made out the index and the title-page 
 with the impatient joy of one who, expecting to win a 
 fortune, buys a ticket in the lottery. When he was 
 gone Leocadia remained sunk in thought. Segundo 
 had no desire to go to Madrid. Then the gleam of 
 happiness that flashed across her mind at the thought 
 that Segundo should establish himself in Vilamorta 
 was quenched by two considerations — one was that 
 Segundo would die of tedium here ; the other that 
 she could not long continue to supply his wants. In 
 mortgaging the house she had burned her last car- 
 tridge. What should she mortgage now — herself? 
 And she smiled sadly. In the hall resounded the 
 steps of the neglected little cripple, on his way to 
 bed, where Flores would soon lull him to sleep with 
 her solecisms and barbarous litanies. The mother 
 
262 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 sighed. And this being, this being who had no sup- 
 port but her — what should he Hve on? When ruin 
 had overtaken her, and she could no longer give him 
 food or shelter, what a mute and continual reproach 
 would the presence of the unhappy child be to her! 
 And how could she set him to work? 
 
 To work! This word brought to her mind the 
 plans she had matured in those hours of sleepless- 
 ness and despair in which all the past is retraced in 
 thought and new plans are formed for the future 
 and every possible course of action is deliberated 
 upon. It was plain that Minguitos was unfitted for 
 the material labor of cultivating the ground, or for 
 making shoes, or grinding chocolate, like that good- 
 looking Ramon ; but he knew how to read and write 
 and in arithmetic, with a little help from Leocadia, 
 he would be a prodigy. To sit behind a counter 
 kills nobody ; to attend to a customer, tb answer his 
 questions, take the money, enter down what is sold, 
 are rather entertaining occupations that cheer the 
 mind than fatiguing labors. In this way the little 
 hunchback would be amused and would lose a little 
 of his terror of strangers, his morbid fear of being 
 laughed at. 
 
 A few years before if anyone had proposed to Le- 
 ocadia to separate her from her child, to deprive him 
 
7'HE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 26 
 
 o 
 
 of the shelter of her loving arms, she would have 
 insulted him. Now it seemed to her so easy and 
 natural a solution of the question to make him a 
 clerk in a shop. Something, nevertheless, still 
 thrilled in the depths of her mother's heart, some 
 fibers still closely attached to the soul, that bled, 
 that hurt. She must tear them away quickly. It 
 was all for the good of the child, to make a man of 
 
 him, so that to-day or to-morrow 
 
 Leocadia held two or three consultations with 
 Can sin, who had a cousin in Orense, the proprie- 
 tor of a cloth shop ; and Cansin, dilating upon his 
 influence with him, and the importance of the favor, 
 gave the schoolmistress a warm letter of recom- 
 mendation to him. Leocadia went to the city, saw 
 the shopkeeper, and the conditions on which he 
 agreed to receive Minguitos were agreed upon. The 
 boy would be fed and lodged, his clothes washed, 
 and he would receive an occasional suit, made from 
 the remnants of cloth left over in the shop. As to 
 pay, he would be paid nothing until he should have 
 acquired a thorough knowledge of the business — for 
 a couple of years or so. And was he very much 
 deformed? Because that would not be very pleas- 
 ant for the customers. And was he honest? He 
 
264 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 had never taken any money out of his mother's 
 drawer, had he? 
 
 Leocadia returned home with her soul steeped in 
 gall. How should she tell Minguitos and Flores? 
 Especially Flores! Impossible, impossible — she 
 would create a scandal that would alarm the neigh- 
 borhood. And she had promised to take Minguitos 
 without fail on the following Monday ! A stratagem 
 occurred to her. She said that a relative of hers 
 lived in Orense and that she wished to take the child 
 there to make his acquaintance. She depicted the 
 journey in glowing colors, so that Minguitos might 
 think he was going on a pleasure trip. Did he not 
 want to see Orense again? It was a magnificent 
 town. She would show him the hot springs, the 
 Cathedral. The child, with an instinctive horror of 
 public places, of coming in contact with strangers, 
 sorrowfully shook his head ; and as for the old ser- 
 vant, as if she divined what was going on, she raged 
 and stormed all the week. When Sunday came and 
 mother and son were about to take their departure 
 in the stage-coach Flores threw her arms around the 
 neck of the boy as he was mounting the step, and 
 embraced him with the tremulous and doting fond- 
 ness of a grandmother, covering his face with kisses, 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 265 
 
 and moistening it with the saliva on her withered 
 hps. She spent the rest of the day sitting in the 
 doorway, muttering words of rage, or of tender pity, 
 her forehead pressed between her hands in an atti- 
 tude of despair. 
 
 Leocadia, once they were in the diligence, tried to 
 convince the boy that the change was for his good ; 
 describing to him the pleasant life that awaited him 
 in that fine shop situated in the most central part of 
 Orense, which was so lively, where he would have 
 very little to do, and where he had the hope of earn- 
 ing, if not to-day, to-morrow, a little money for him- 
 self. At her first words the boy fixed on his mother 
 his astonished eyes, in which a look of intelligence 
 gradually began to dawn. Minguitos was quick 
 of comprehension. ' He drew up close to his 
 mother, and laid his head down on her lap without 
 speaking. 
 
 As he continued silent, Leocadia said to him : 
 
 "What is the matter with you? Does 5^our head 
 ache?" 
 
 "No ; let me sleep so — for a little — until we reach 
 Orense." 
 
 And thus he remained, quiet and silent, lulled to 
 sleep, apparently, by the creaking of the diligence 
 and the deafening noise of the windows rattling in 
 
^(id THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 their sashes. When they reached the city Leocadia 
 touched him on the shoulder, saying: 
 
 "We have arrived." 
 
 They aHghted from the stagecoach and then only 
 did Leocadia observe that her lap was moist and 
 that, on the spot where the boy had rested his fore- 
 head, sparkled two or three crystal drops. But on 
 finding himself among strangers, in the gloomy 
 shop crowded with rolls of dark cloth, the hunch- 
 back's attitude ceased to be resigned ; he caught 
 hold of his mother's skirt with a despairing impulse, 
 uttering a single cry in which were concentrated all 
 his reproaches, all his affection : 
 
 " M-a-a-a-m-m-a — m-a-a-a-m-m-a !" 
 
 This cry still resounded through Leocadia's heart 
 when, on her arrival at Vilamorta, she saw Flores 
 lying in wait for her in the doorway. Lying in wait 
 is the exact expression, for Flores threw herself upon 
 her, the moment she appeared, like a bulldog, like a 
 wild animal asking for and demanding her young. 
 And as a man in a fit of rage throws at his adver- 
 sary whatever he finds nearest his hand so Flores 
 heaped on Leocadia every species of insult, all 
 sorts of injurious and opprobrious epithets, crying, 
 in a voice that trembled with rage and hatred : 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 267 
 
 "Thief, thief, wretch ! What have you done with 
 your child, thief? Go, drunkard, vagabond, go drink 
 your liqueurs — and your child, perhaps, dying of 
 hunger! Reprobate, wolf, traitress, where is the 
 child? Where is the little angel? Where have you 
 hidden him, schemer? In such a hurry you were to 
 get rid of him so as to be left alone with your 
 trumpery young gentleman ! Wolf, wolf — if I had 
 a gun, as sure as I am standing here, I would send a 
 charge of shot into you !" 
 
 Leocadia, her face pale, her eyes red with weep- 
 ing, put out her hand to stop the mouth of the fren- 
 zied old woman ; but the latter caught her fingers 
 between her toothless gums, biting them and slav- 
 ering them with the foam of her fury, and when the 
 schoolmistress went upstairs, the old woman fol- 
 lowed her, crying after her in hoarse and sinister 
 accents : 
 
 "You will never have the grace of God, wolf — God 
 and the Holy Virgin will punish you ! Go, go, 
 rejoice now because you have carried out your evil 
 designs I May you be forever accursed, accursed, 
 accursed!" 
 
 The malediction made Leocadia shudder. The 
 house, with Minguitos away, seemed like a tomb. 
 
268 THE SWAN OF VJLAMORTA. 
 
 Flores had neither made the dinner nor lighted the 
 lamp. Leocadia, too sick at heart to do either, 
 threw herself on the bed, dressed as she was, and, 
 later on, undressed herself and went to bed without 
 tasting a morsel of food. 
 
XXV. 
 
 With what interest did Segundo read the letters 
 of Roberto Blanquez giving him news of his book. 
 Roberto was a few years older than the Swan ; the 
 difference in their ages was not so great as to prevent 
 their having been very good friends when they were at 
 college together, though it was great enough to have 
 given Blanquez so much more experience than the 
 poet as to enable him to serve as his guide and men- 
 tor. Blanquez, too, had had his poetic epoch, when he 
 had written Galician verses ; he now devoted himself 
 to the prose of a modest clerkship, and wrote official 
 articles. Madrid was enlightening him, and, with the 
 natural penetration of one in whose veins flowed Gali- 
 cian blood, he was gradually acquiring a knowledge of 
 practical life. He entertained for Segundo a fanatic 
 admiration and a sincere attachment, one qf those 
 college attachments which last a lifetime. Segundo 
 Avrote to him with entire confidence — some cousins of 
 Blanquez were acquainted with the mother of Nieves 
 Mendez, and through this channel Segundo occa- 
 sionally received tidings of his lady-love. Blanquez 
 
 269 
 
^70 THE SIVAN OF VILAMOKTA. 
 
 was not ignorant of the episodes of the summer. 
 And in the beginning his news was very satisfactory : 
 "Nieves lives in the greatest retirement — my cousins 
 have given me news of her. She scarcely ever leaves 
 the house except to go to mass. The child is not 
 well. The physicians say it is the age. They are 
 going to send her to a convent of the Sacred Heart 
 to be educated. They say the mother looks superb, 
 my boy. It seems they have been left very well off. 
 The book will soon appear now. Yesterday I chose 
 the paper for the edition and the linen paper for the 
 hundred copies de luxe. The type will be Elzevir, 
 which is at present the most fashionable. The title- 
 page — they make them beautiful now, in six colors 
 ■ — would you like it to represent something fanciful, 
 something allegorical?" In this style were Roberto's 
 letters, source of illusions for Segundo, sole food for 
 his imagination through all that long and gloomy 
 winter, in that out-of-the-way corner of the world, 
 in the midst of his prosaic domestic surroundings, 
 his mind filled with the recollections of his unhappy 
 passion. 
 
 March had arrived, that uncertain month of sun- 
 shine and showers which heralds in the spring with 
 affluence of violets and primiroses, when the cold 
 begins to lessen, and in the pale blue sky white 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 271 
 
 clouds float like streamers, when Segundo received 
 that most precious of all objects, that object the 
 sight of which makes the heart palpitate with joy 
 and longing, mingled with an undefinable fear 
 resembling, somewhat, the feeling with which the 
 new-made father regards his first-born — his first 
 printed book. It seemed to him a dream that the 
 book should be there, before his eyes, in his hands, 
 with the satin-smooth white cover on which the 
 artist had gracefully twined around a group of pine 
 trees a few sprays of forget-me-nots; with its pea- 
 green paper, that gave it an antique air, the compo- 
 sitions headed by three mysterious asterisks. Look- 
 ing at his verses thus, free from blots, finished and 
 correct, the thought standing out clearly in distinct 
 black characters on the delicately tinted page, he 
 almost felt as if they had issued from his brain just 
 as they were, smoothly flowing and with perfect 
 rhymes, without corrections or unmeaning syllables 
 put in to fill out the meter. 
 
 Leocadia was eveij more moved by the s^ht of 
 the book than its author had been. She shed tears 
 of joy. The fame of the poet was, in a sense, her 
 work ! For two or three days she was happy, for- 
 getting the bad news which Flores brought her 
 every Sunday from Orense ; from Orensc, where 
 
272 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 Leocadia did not dare to go herself, fearing to yield 
 to the entreaties and melt before the prayers of the 
 child, but where palpitated those fibers of her heart 
 which still bled, and which Flores wrung with tor- 
 ture by her account of the sufferings of Minguitos, 
 who declined visibly in health, and who always com- 
 plained that they made sport of him in the shop and 
 cast up his deformity to him. 
 
 Unsolvable mysteries of the human heart ! 
 Segundo, who despised his native place, who be- 
 lieved — nor was he mistaken — that there was not in 
 Vilamorta a single person capable of judging of the 
 merits of a poem, could not refrain from going one 
 evening to Saturnino Agonde's and drawing care- 
 lessly the volume from his pocket, throwing it on 
 the counter and saying with affe'cted indifference : 
 "What do you think of that book, my boy?" 
 On the instant he repented of his weakness, so 
 many were the nonsensical remarks and absurd jokes 
 with which the beautiful volume inspired the irrev- 
 erent assemblage. He wished. he had never shown 
 it. He had drawn all this upon himself. If the 
 public did not treat him better than his fellow-towns- 
 men ! Man can never isolate himself completely 
 from his surroundings — the circle in which he moves 
 must always have an interest for him. However 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 273 
 
 little importance Segundo might attach to the opin- 
 ions of the Vilamortans, and although their appro- 
 bation would assuredly not have raised him in his 
 own estimation, their stupid mockery wounded and 
 embittered his soul. He went home hurt and 
 pained. He spent a feverish night — one of those 
 nights in which great projects are conceived and 
 decisive resolutions adopted. 
 
 His resolutions and his plans he summed up in the 
 letter he wrote to Blanquez. The latter did not 
 answer by return of mail ; days passed, and Segundo 
 went every morning to the post-office, always meet- 
 ing with the same laconic answer. At last one day 
 he received a voluminous registered letter. 
 
XXVI. 
 
 As he opened it, several newspapers fell out, con- 
 taining notices marked by a cross of the volume of 
 poems just published, entitled "Songs of Absence," 
 this being the name chosen by Segundo for his vol- 
 ume of rhymes. 
 
 These were accompanied by a letter of four pages 
 from Roberto. What it might contain was of such 
 vital importance to Segundo, so great the influence 
 it might exercise over his future, that he laid it aside 
 fearing, he knew not why, to read it, wishing to de- 
 fer what he so eagerly desired. The letter lay open 
 before him and certain names, certain words fre- 
 quently repeated, caught his eye. The name of the 
 widowed Senora de Comba was often mentioned in 
 it. To calm his agitation, which was purely ner- 
 vous, he took up the newspapers, resolving to read 
 first the marked paragraphs. He traversed the via 
 c?'tLcis, in the fullest signification of the words. 
 
 El Imperial gave a noisy boom to Galicia and, as a 
 proof that the country produced poets in the same 
 
 abundance as it produced exquisite peaches and 
 
 274 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 275 
 
 beautiful flowers mentioned, without naming him, the 
 author of "Songs of Absence," a beautiful volume 
 just published. And not a line more, not a word of 
 criticism, nothing to indicate that anybody in the 
 office of the popular daily had taken the trouble 
 even to cut the leaves of the book. El Liberal, bet- 
 ter informed, declared, in three lines, that "Songs 
 of Absence" gave evidence of the author's great 
 facility in versification. LaEpoca.'m. the most obscure 
 corner of its department, "New Books," eulogized the 
 typographical elegance of the book ; disapproved of 
 the romantic savor of the title and of the title-page, 
 and deplored in trenchant phrases that the poet 
 should have sought inspiration in the barren theme 
 of absence when there were so many wholesome, 
 cheerful and fruitful subjects on which to write. 
 
 El Dia 
 
 Ah, as for El Dia, it gave Segundo a castigation 
 in style : not one of those angry, predetermined, ener- 
 getic castigations, in which the lash is taken up with 
 both hands to crush a powerful and dangerous adver- 
 sary, but a contemptuous cut of the whip, a flick 
 with the nail, as it were, as one might brush away a 
 troublesome insect ; one of those summary criticisms 
 in which the critic does not take the trouble to ad- 
 duce proof or argument in support of his criticisms, 
 
276 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 whose justice he deems so evident as not to require 
 demonstration; an execution by a few jests, but 
 jests of a kind that extinguish a new author, crush 
 him, relegate him forever to the Umbo of obscurity. 
 The critic said that now when verses of supreme 
 merit lacked readers it was greatly to be deplored 
 that the press should be made to groan with rhymes 
 of an inferior quality; that now when Becquer had 
 been placed in the pantheon of the immortals it was 
 a crime to treat him with the disrespect of stupidly 
 imitating him, mutilating and counterfeiting his best 
 thoughts; and finally, that it was to be regretted 
 that estimable young men, endowed, perhaps, with 
 admirable capabilities for trade, or for the career of 
 an apothecary or a notary, should spend their 
 parents' money in costly editions of verses which no 
 one would either buy or read. 
 
 Underneath this philippic Roberto Blanquez had 
 written: *Tay no attention to this ass. Read my 
 article." 
 
 And indeed in an obscure, insignificant sheet, one 
 of those innumerable periodicals that see the light 
 in Madrid without Madrid ever seeing them, Blan- 
 quez poured forth the gall of his wounded friendship 
 and patriotism — taking the critic to task, eulogizing 
 Segundo's book and declaring him the worthy com- 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 277 
 
 peer of Becquer, with the difference that the former 
 was a little sweeter, a Httle more dreamy, a little 
 more melancholy, as being the son of a land as beau- 
 tiful as it was unfortunate, and which was fairer than 
 Andalusia, than Switzerland, or than any other 
 country on the face of the globe ; ending by saying 
 that if Becquer had been born in Galicia he would 
 feel, think, and write like The Szvaii of Vilamorta. 
 
 Segundo seized the bundle of newspapers and, 
 after looking at them for a moment fixedly and with 
 a gloomy brow, tore them into pieces, large at first, 
 then small, then smaller still, which he threw out of 
 the window to hover for a moment in the air like 
 butterflies or like the silvery petals of the flower of 
 illusion, and then fall into the nearest pool. Segundo 
 smiled bitterly. "There goes fame," he said to him- 
 self. "Now I think I am calmer. Let us see what 
 the letter says." 
 
 Of this letter we need cite here only certain pass- 
 sages, supplementing them with the comments made 
 on them in his mind by the reader. 
 
 "According to your request I went to the house 
 of Senora de Comba to deliver to her the copy, so 
 carefully wrapped up and sealed, which you sent me 
 for that purpose." — Of course. It contained an in- 
 scription which I did not want her to think that you 
 
2 73 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 might have read. — "She has a beautiful house, hang- 
 ings and natural flowers everywhere." — Everything 
 pertaining to her is like that, beautiful and refined. — 
 "But I was obliged to return several times before 
 she would receive me, the moment was always inop- 
 portune." — She does not receive indiscriminately all 
 who may chance to present themselves. — "At last 
 she received me, after innumerable ceremonies and 
 formalities. She is very beautiful close by, more 
 beautiful, even, than at a distance, and it seems im- 
 possible that she should have a daughter twelve 
 years old ; she looks at most twenty-four or twenty- 
 five." — What news Roberto has to tell me. — "The 
 moment I told her I had come on your part" — Let 
 us hear — "she became — what shall I say?" — red — 
 "displeased and annoyed, my boy, and in addition so 
 serious, that I was quite taken aback, and did not 
 know what to do." — Infamous! Infamous! — "She 
 was afraid that I" — Let us hear; let us finish, let us 
 finish. — "She refused to receive the book, in spite 
 of my urgent entreaties" — but this is inconceivable. 
 Ah, what a woman ! — "because she says it would re- 
 mind her too forcibly of that place and of the death 
 of her husband, whom God keep in his glory; and 
 consequently she begs you to excuse her" — 
 wretch! — ''from opening the package and reading 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 279 
 
 your verse, for which she thanks you." — Ha! ha! 
 ha I — Bravo I What an actress ! 
 
 "Notwithstanding all this, as you had charged me 
 explicitly to deliver it to her, I determined not to 
 take the book back with me and, taking up my hat 
 and saluting her, I laid your package on a table. On 
 the following morning, however, it came back to me 
 unopened, with all its seals intact." — And I did not 
 throw her into the Avieiro that day when our 
 lips — the more fool I ! Well, let us finish. 
 
 "In view of the little widow's conduct I imagine 
 that you must have invented all that about the win- 
 dow and the precipice ; you must have told it to me 
 to fool me or, as you are so imaginative, you dreamed 
 that it happened and you took the dream for re- 
 ality." — He does well to mock me. — ''At all events, 
 my boy, if you were interested in the widow, think 
 no more about her. I know to a certainty, through 
 my cousins, who have it for a fact from their father, 
 that at the expiration of the period of her mourning 
 she is to marry a certain Marquis de Cameros who 
 represented at one time a district in Lugo." — Yes, 
 yes, I understand. — ''The thing is serious, for, accord- 
 ing to what my cousins say, the house linen is being 
 embroidered already with the coronet of a march- 
 ioness." 
 
28o THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 The letter was torn still more slowly and into 
 still smaller pieces than the newspapers. With 
 the fragments Segundo made a ball which he 
 threw far into the middle of the pool. "Such is 
 love," he said to himself, laughing bitterly. 
 
 He began to walk up and down the room, at first 
 with a certain monotonous regularity, then restlessly 
 and with fury. Clara, the eldest of his sisters, half 
 opened the door of the room, saying: 
 
 "Aunt Gaspara says you are to come." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Dinner is ready." 
 
 Segundo took his hat and rushing into the street 
 walked toward the river, filled with that species of 
 fury which one who has just received some mental 
 shock, some bitter disappointment, is apt to feel at 
 being called on to take part in any of the ordinary 
 concerns of life. 
 
XXVII. 
 
 What a walk was his along the marshy borders of 
 the Avieiro ! At times he hurried on without any 
 motive for accelerating his steps, and again, equally 
 without motive, stood still, his gaze riveted on some 
 object but in reality seeing nothing. One regret, 
 a gnawing grief, pierced his soul when he recalled 
 the past. As in a shipwreck there is for each of the 
 passengers some one particular object whose loss he 
 deplores more bitterly than that of all his other pos- 
 sessions, so Segundo, of all his past life, regretted 
 one instant above every other, an instant which he 
 would have given all he possessed to live over 
 again — that during which he had stood with Nieves 
 on the edge of the precipice, when he might have 
 obtained a worthy and glorious death, carrying with 
 him into the abyss the precious treasure of his illu- 
 sions, and the form of the woman who for that one 
 unforgettable instant only, had truly loved him. 
 
 **A coward then, and a coward now!" thought 
 the poet, calling all his resolution to his aid but find- 
 ing himself unable to summon the necessary courage 
 
 281 
 
282 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 to throw himself at once into the cold and muddy 
 waters of the river. What moments of anguish ! 
 Giddy with suffering he seated himself on a stone 
 on the river bank and watched with idiotic vacancy 
 of expression the circles formed on the bosom of the 
 river by the drops of rain that fell slantingly from 
 the gray sky, as they expanded and were lost in 
 other circles that pressed upon them on all sides, 
 while new circles took their place, to be lost in their 
 turn in yet other circles, co\'ering the surface of the 
 water with a wavy design resembling the silver work 
 called guilloche. The poet did not even notice that 
 these same rain-drops that fell thick and fast on the 
 surface of the Avieiro fell also on his hat and shoul- 
 ders, ran down his forehead and, making their way 
 between his collar and his skin, trickled down his 
 neck. He noticed it only when the chill they pro- 
 duced made him shiver and he rose and walked 
 slowly home, where dinner was already over and no 
 one thought of offering him even so much as a cup 
 of broth. 
 
 Two or three days later a fever declared itself, 
 w^hich was at first slight, but soon grew serious. 
 Tropiezo called it a gastric and catarrhal fever, 
 and truth compels us to say that he administered 
 remedies not altogether inappropriate ; gastric 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 283 
 
 and catarrhal fevers are, for physicians whose 
 knowledge is derived chiefly from experience, 
 a perfect boon from Heaven, a glorious field 
 in which they may count every battle a vic- 
 tory ; a beaten path in which they run no risk of 
 going astray. It will not lead them to the unknown 
 pole of science, but at least it will betray them into 
 no abyss. 
 
 As Tropiezo was leaving Garcia's house one even- 
 ing, after his customary visit to Segundo, muffled up 
 to the ears in his comforter, he saw, standing beside 
 the lawyer's door in the shadow cast by the con- 
 tiguous wall, a woman clad in an old morning gown 
 and with her head bare. The night was bright and 
 Don Fermin was able to distinguish her features, 
 but it was not without some difBculty that he recog- 
 nized her to be Leocadia, so altered and aged did 
 the poor schoolmistress look. Her countenance be- 
 trayed the keenest anxiety as she asked the doctor : 
 
 *'And what news, Don Fermin? How is Segundo 
 getting on?" 
 
 "Ah, good evening, Leocadia. Do you know that 
 at first I did not recognize you?— Well, very well; 
 there is no cause for uneasiness. To-day I ordered 
 him some of the piichero and some soup. It was 
 nothing — a cold caught by getting a wetting. But 
 
284 THE SWAN OF VJLAMORTA. 
 
 the boy seems a little preoccupied, and he was for a 
 time so sad and dejected that I thought he was 
 never going to get back his appetite. At this sea- 
 son it is necessary to go warmly clad ; we have a 
 fine day, and then, when you least expect it, back 
 come the rain and the cold again. And you — how 
 are you getting on? They tell me that you have 
 not been well, either. You must take care of your- 
 self." 
 
 "There is nothing the matter with me, Don Fer- 
 min." 
 
 '■*So much the better. Any news of the boy?" 
 
 **He is in Orense, poor child. He can't get used 
 to it." 
 
 "He will get used to it by and by. Of course — 
 accustomed to be petted. Well, Leocadia, good- 
 night. Go home, my dear woman, go home." 
 
 Don Fermin proceeded on his way, drawing his 
 comforter up closer around his ears. That woman 
 was mad; she had not taken the disease lightly, it 
 seemed. And how altered she was ! How old she 
 had grown in these last few months ! Old women 
 were worse than young girls when they fell in love. 
 He had done wisely, very wisely in telling her noth- 
 ing about Segundo's new plans. She was capable 
 of tearing down the house if he had told her. No, 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 285 
 
 silence, silence. A shut mouth catches no flies. Let 
 her find it out through someone else besides him. 
 And with these sensible ideas and worthy intentions 
 Tropiezo reached Agonde's, and before a quarter of 
 an hour had elapsed unbosomed himself of his news: 
 Segundo Garcia was going to America to seek his 
 fortune — as soon as he should be entirely well, of 
 course. He would take the steamer at Corunna. 
 
 The occasion was a favorable one for the company 
 to lament once more in concert the death of Don 
 Victoriano Andres de la Comba, protector and father 
 of all the Vilamortans in want of situations, a useful 
 representative and an untiring worker for the dis- 
 trict. If he were alive now most assuredly a young 
 man of so much ability — a poet — that night the party 
 all agreed that Segundo had abihty and was a poet — 
 would not be obliged to go across the raging seas in 
 quest of a decent situation. But since they had lost 
 Don Victoriano, Vilamorta was without a voice in 
 the regions of influence and favor, for Seiiorito de 
 Romero, the present representative of the district, 
 belonged to the class of docile representatives who 
 give no trouble to the Government, who vote when 
 their votes are wanted, and who hold themselves 
 cheap, valuing themselves at no more than a few 
 tobacco shops, and half a dozen or so of official 
 
286 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 appointments. Agonde took his revenge that night, 
 expatiating on his favorite theme, and abusing the 
 pernicious Eufrasian influence which was responsi- 
 ble for the decadence of Vilamorta, on account of 
 which its youth w^ere obHged to emigrate to the New 
 World. The apothecary expounded his theories — 
 he liked the representative of a district to show him- 
 self in it occasionally. Otherwise of what use was 
 he? In his eyes the ideal representative was that 
 famous politician from whom the barber of the town 
 he represented had asked a place, basing his request 
 on the fact that, owing to the distribution of ap- 
 pointments among the persons of his station in the 
 town, there were no customers left for him to shave 
 and he was starving. The Alcalde here interposed, 
 saying that he had it on very good authority that 
 Senorito de Romero intended to interest himself in 
 earnest for Vilamorta; the confectioner and some 
 others of those present confirmed this statement, and 
 then arose a discussion in which it was proved be- 
 yond a doubt that a dead representative has no 
 friends and that the new representative of the dis- 
 trict had already, in the very stronghold of the for- 
 mer Combista radicals, friends and adherents. 
 
XXVIII. 
 
 Tlfi-: Swan has left his native lake, or rather, his 
 pool ; lie has crossed the Atlantic on the wings of 
 steam. Will he ever return? Will he come back 
 with a sallow countenance, a disordered liver, and 
 some thousands of dollars, in bills of exchange, in 
 his pocketbook, to end his life where it began, as 
 the ship disabled by storms receives its last repairs 
 in the dockyard in which it was built? Will the 
 black vomit, that terrible malady of the Antilles, the 
 scourge of the Iberians who seek to emulate Colum- 
 bus conquering a new world, attack him on his 
 arrival on the young continent? Will he remain in 
 the tropics, riding in his carriage, united in the bonds 
 of matrimony to some Creole? W^ill he preside one 
 day over one of those diminutive republics, in which 
 the doctors are generals and the generals doctors? 
 Will his melancholy be cured by the salty kiss of 
 the ocean breeze, by the contact of virgin soil, the 
 sharp spur of necessity, that, pushing him into the 
 conflict, will say to him, "Work"? 
 
 History may perhaps at some future day relate 
 
 2S7 
 
288 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 the story of the metamorphosis of the Swan, of his 
 wanderings and his vicissitudes; but years must first 
 elapse, for it was only yesterday, as one might say, 
 that Segundq Garcia quitted Vilamorta, leaving the 
 schoolmistress behind him dissolved in tears. And 
 the story of the schoolmistress is the only episode 
 in the chronicle of the Swan which we can at present 
 bring to an end. 
 
 Leocadia was the theme of much gossip in Vila- 
 morta. She was seriously ill, according to some, ac- 
 cording to others, ruined, and according to many, 
 touched in her mind. She had been seen haunting the 
 neighborhood of Segundo's house on various nights 
 during the poet's illness ; it was affirmed that she had 
 sold her land and that her house was mortgaged to 
 Clodio Genday ; but the strangest thing of all, that 
 which was most bitterly censured, was her neglect of 
 her son after having cared for him and watched over 
 him from his infancy, never going to Orense to see 
 him, while old Flores went there constantly, bringing 
 back worse and worse news of the child every time she 
 went — that he was wasting away, that he spit blood, 
 that he was dying of grief, that he would not last a 
 month. ^Leocadia, as she listened, would let her 
 chin fall upon her breast, and at times her shoulders 
 would move convulsively, as if she w^ere weeping, 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 289 
 
 Otherwise she appeared calm, although she was very 
 silent and had lost her former activity. She helped 
 Flores in the kitchen, attended to the children of 
 the school, swept and dusted — all like an automa- 
 ton, while Flores, who pitilessly spied out every occa- 
 sion to find fault with her, took pleasure in crying: 
 
 ''Woman, you have left this side of the pan dirty — 
 woman, you haven't mended your skirt — woman, 
 what are you thinking about? I am going to Orense 
 to-day and you will have to take care of th.Qpuchero.'" 
 
 At the end of the summer Clodio demanded the 
 interest on his loan and Leocadia was unable to pay 
 it ; she was notified accordingly that, after the neces- 
 sary legal proceedings, the creditor would avail him- 
 self of his legal right to take possession of the house. 
 This was a terrible blow for Leocadia. 
 
 It will sometimes happen that a prisoner, a dis- 
 tinguished personage, a king, it may be, shut up 
 through an adverse fate within the walls of a dun- 
 geon, stripped of his grandeur, deprived of all t^at 
 once constituted his happiness, will bear his ills for 
 years with resignation, calm in appearance although 
 dejected, but if some day, by the cruel tyranny of 
 his jailors, this prisoner is deprived of some bauble, 
 some trifling object for which he had conceived an 
 affection, the grief pent up within his bosom will 
 
290 THE S]VAX OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 burst its bounds, and the wildest manifestations of 
 grief will follow. Something like this happened to 
 Leocadia when she learned that she must abandon 
 forever the beloved little house where she had spent 
 in Segundo's company hours unique in her existence ; 
 the little house in which she was mistress, which had 
 been rebuilt with her savings, the little house lately 
 so neat and so attractive, of which she was so proud. 
 
 Flores heard her on several nights sobbing loudly, 
 but when on one or two occasions, moved by an in- 
 voluntary feeling of pity, the old woman went into 
 her room to ask her what ailed her, if she could do 
 anything for her, Leocadia, covering her face with 
 the bedclothes, had answered in a dull voice : "There 
 is nothing the matter with me, woman ; let me sleep. 
 You will not even let me sleep !" 
 
 During those days her moods varied constantly 
 and she formed a thousand different plans. She 
 talked of going to live in Orense, of giving up the 
 school and taking sewing to do in the house ; she 
 talked, too, of accepting the proposal of Clodio Gen- 
 day, who, having dismissed his young servant, for 
 what reason no one knew, offered to take Leocadia 
 as his housekeeper, by which arrangement she would 
 remain in her house, Flores, of course, being dis- 
 missed. None of these plans lasted for more_than 
 
Tin-: SWAN OF VILAMORTA. ^9- 
 
 a very short time, but were all in tura rejected to 
 give place to others no less ephemeral; and while 
 the schoolmistress was thus engaged in forming and 
 rejecting plans the time was fast approaching 
 when she should find herself without a shelter. 
 
 One market day Leocadia went to purchase 
 various articles urgently needed by Flores, among 
 others a sieve and a new chocolate-pot, the old one 
 being no longer fit for use. The movement of the 
 crowd, the jostling of the hucksters, and the glare of 
 the autumnal sun made her head, weak from want 
 of sleep, from fasting, and from suffering — slightly 
 dizzy. She stopped before a stall where sieves 
 were sold, a sort of variety booth, where innumerable 
 indispensable trifles were for sale — chocolate-beaters, 
 frying-pans, saucepans, kerosene lamps. In a corner 
 were two articles of merchandise in great request in 
 the place — consisting of pink paper, soft, like brown 
 paper, and some whitish powder, resembling spoiled 
 flour. Leocadia's glance fell on these, and the ven- 
 der, thinking she wished to buy some, began to extol 
 their properties, explaining that the pink sheets 
 moistened and placed on a plate, would not leave 
 a fly alive in the neighborhood, and that the white 
 powder was scneca, for killing mice, the manner of 
 using it being to mix it well with cheese and place 
 
^9- THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 the mixture, made into little balls, in their haunts. 
 Leocadia asked the price and told the vender to 
 give her a small quantity, and the woman, to appear 
 generous, took up a good portion on the spatula, 
 wrapped it up in paper, and gave it to her for a 
 trifling sum. The drug indeed was of little value, 
 being very common in that part of the country, 
 where native arsenic abounds in the calcareous spar 
 forming one of the banks of the Avieiro, and arsenic, 
 acid — rat-poison — is sold openly in the fairs, rather 
 than in drug shops. The schoolmistress put away 
 the powder, bought, through complaisance, half a 
 dozen of the pink slips of paper, and on her return 
 home punctually delivered to Flores the articles she 
 had been commissioned to purchase. 
 
 Flores noticed that after dinner Leocadia shut 
 herself up in her bedroom, where the old woman 
 could hear her talking aloud as if she were praying. 
 Accustomed to her eccentricities the servant thought 
 nothing about the matter. When she had ended 
 her prayer, the schoolmistress stepped out on the 
 balcony, where she stood gazing for a long time at 
 the flower-pots; she then went into the parlor and 
 looked for a good while also at the sofa, the chairs, 
 the little table, the spots which reminded her of the 
 past. Then she went into the kitchen. Flores 
 
THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 293 
 
 declared afterward — but in such cases who Is there 
 that does not lay claim to a prophetic instinct — that 
 Leocadia's manner on entering had attracted her at- 
 tention. 
 
 "Have you any fresh water?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Give me a glass of it." 
 
 Flores affirmed that, as she took the glass, the 
 hand of the schoolmistress trembled, as if she had a 
 chill, and the strangest part of the matter was that, 
 although there was no sugar in the water, Leocadia 
 asked for a spoon, which she put into the glass. An 
 hour, or perhaps an hour and a half passed, when 
 Flores heard Leocadia groan. She hurried to her 
 room and saw her lying on the bed, her face fright- 
 fully pale, making desperate and fruitless efforts to 
 vomit. Then a cold perspiration broke out on the 
 forehead of the sick woman, and she remained mo- 
 tionless and speechless. Flores, terrified, ran for 
 Don Fermin, urging him to hurry, saying this was 
 no jesting matter. When Don Fermin arrived out 
 of breath, he asked : 
 
 **What is this, Leocadia? What is the matter 
 with you ; my dear woman, what is the matter with 
 you? 
 
 Opening her dilated eyes, she murmured : 
 
294 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 "Nothing, Don Fermin, nothing." 
 
 Standing on the table at the head of the bed was 
 the glass; it contained no water, but the bottom and 
 the sides of the vessel were coated with a white 
 powder which had remained undissolved and which 
 the schoolmistress, not wishing to leave it there, had 
 scraped off in places with the spoon. It is proper to 
 say, on this occasion also, that the illustrious Tro- 
 piezo made no mistake in the treatment of so simple 
 a case. Tropiezo had already fought some battles 
 with this common toxic substance and knew its 
 tricks; he had recourse, without a moment's delay, 
 to the use of powerful emetics and of oil. Only 
 the poison, having gained the start of him, had already 
 entered into the circulation and ran through the 
 veins of the schoolmistress, chilling her blood. 
 When the nausea and the vomiting ceased several 
 little red spots — an eruption similar to that of scar- 
 let-fever — made their appearance on Leocadia's 
 pallid face. This symptom lasted until death came 
 to set her sad spirit free and release it from its suf- 
 ferings, which was toward daybreak. Shortly before 
 her death, during an interval of freedom from pain, 
 Leocadia, making a sign to Flores to come nearer, 
 whispered in her ear: "Promise me — that the child 
 shall not know it — bv the soul of vour mother — • 
 
THE SIVAK OF VrLAMORTA. 295 
 
 don't tell him — don't tell him the manner of my 
 death." 
 
 A few days later Tropiezo was defending him- 
 self to the party at Agonde's who, for the pleas- 
 ure of making him angry, were accusing him of 
 being responsible for the death of the school- 
 mistress. 
 
 "For one thing, they called me too late, much too 
 late," he said ; *\vhen the woman was almost in her 
 death agony. For another, she had taken a quan- 
 tity of arsenic which was not large enough to pro- 
 duce vomiting, but which was too small to cause 
 merely a colic and be done with it. Where I made 
 the mistake was in waiting so long before sending 
 for the priest. I did it with the best intentions, so 
 as not to frighten her and hoping we might yet pull 
 her through. When extreme* unction was adminis- 
 tered she had no senses left to know what was going 
 on. 
 
 "So that," said Agonde maliciously, * 'where you 
 are called in, either the soul or the body is sure to 
 meet with a trip." 
 
 The company applauded the joke, and there fol- 
 lowed funereal jests mingled with expressions of 
 pity. Clodio Genday, the creditor of the deceased, 
 moved about uneasily in his chair. What stupid 
 
296 THE SWAN OF VILAMORTA. 
 
 conversation, canario I Let them talk of more cheer- 
 ful subjects! 
 
 And they talked of very cheerful and satisfactory 
 subjects indeed. • Sefiorito de Romero had prom- 
 ised to put a telegraph-office in Vilamorta; and the 
 newspapers were saying that, owing to the increas- 
 ing importance of the viticultural interests of the 
 Border, a branch railroad was needed for which the 
 engineers were soon coming to survey the ground. 
 
 THE END. 
 
THE ANGLOMANIACS. 
 
 A Sio7y of New York Society To-day, 
 By MRS. BURTON HARRISON. 
 
 A Volume, i2nio, on Extra Fine Laid Paper, Dainty Binding, 
 $1.00. Also in " Cassell's Sunshine Series," paper, 50c. 
 
 This is the story that has attracted such wide attention while 
 lunning through the Century Magazine. There has been no such 
 picture of New York social life painted within the memory of the 
 present generation. The satire is as keen as a rapier point, while the 
 story itself has its marked pathetic side. Never has the subject of 
 Anglomania been so cleverly treated as in these pages, and it is not 
 to be wondered at that society is deeply agitated as to the authorship 
 of a story which touches it in its most vulnerable part. 
 
 "This delicious satire from the pungent pen of an anonymous writer 
 must be read to be appreciated. From the introduction on board the 
 Etruria to the final, when the heroine waves adieu to her EngHsh Lord, it 
 Is life, real, true American life, and we blush at the truth of the picture. 
 There is no line not replete with scathing sarcasm, no character which we 
 have not seen and known. . . . Read this book and see human nature ; 
 ponder upon what is there written, and while it may not make you wise, it 
 certainly will make you think upon what is a great and growing social 
 evil. " — Norristoivn Daily Herald. 
 
 "The heroine is the daughter of an honest money-making old father 
 and an ignorant but ambitious mother, whose money has enabled the 
 mother and daughter to make their way into the circle of the ' Four 
 Hundred.' "— iV. Y. Herald. 
 
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 104 ^ 106 Fourth Avenue, New York. 
 
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OED HOUGHTON'S 
 
 
 IFE AND LETTERS. 
 
 THE LIFE, LETTERS, AND FRIENDSHIPS OF 
 RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, FIRST LORD 
 HOUGHTON. BY T. WEMYSS REID. INTRO- 
 DUCTION BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 
 
 In two vols., with portraits. Price, $5.00. 
 
 " A perfect storehouse of interesting things, grave and gay, 
 political, philosophical, literary, social, witty," — London Tivies. 
 
 *' The book of the season, and an enduring literary masterpiece." 
 — 77^^ Sta7\ London. 
 
 " In this biography, not his acquaintances only, but his friends, 
 are counted by hundreds, and they are found in every country." — The 
 Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, in The Speaker, 
 
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 something to arrest the attention of the intelligent reader." — The 
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 novels, and fuller of good stories than any jest-book. Every page is 
 full of meat — sweetbread be it understood, and not meat from the 
 joint." — The Spectator, London. 
 
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 and Letters ' as soon as he can, and he will thank Mr. Wemyss Reid 
 for having furnished him with the means of passing as many agree- 
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.Vii 
 
 1