Part 12 (1/2)

”I have come for you,” the latter said, ”to take you with me to the club-house, which is full of people to-day, and presents a very animated appearance. What is the use of sitting here longer, gazing into vacancy, as if you were waiting to catch flies?”

Don Luis, without offering any resistance, and as if these words were a command, took his hat and cane, and saying, ”Let us go wherever you wish,” followed Currito, who led the way, very well pleased with the influence he exercised over his cousin.

The club-house was full of people, owing to the festivities of the morrow, which was St. John's day. Besides the gentry of the village, many strangers were there, who had come in from the neighboring villages to be present at the fair and the vigil in the evening.

The princ.i.p.al point of reunion was the court-yard, which was paved with marble. In its center played a fountain, which was adorned with flower-pots containing roses, pinks, sweet-basil, and other flowers.

Around this court-yard ran a corridor or gallery, supported by marble columns, in which, as well as in the various saloons that opened into it, were tables for _ombre_, others with newspapers lying on them, others where coffee and other refreshments were served, and finally, lounges, benches, and several easy-chairs. The walls were like snow, from frequent whitening; nor were pictures wanting for their adornment.

There were French colored lithographs, a minute explanation of the subject of each being written, both in French and in Spanish below. Some of them represented scenes to The life of Napoleon, from Toulon to St.

Helena; others, the adventures of Matilda and Malek-Adel; others.

Incidents in love and war, in the lives of the Templar, Rebecca, Lady Rowena, and Ivanhoe; and others, the gallantries, the intrigues, the lapses and the conversions of Louis XIV. and Mademoiselle de la Valliere.

Currito took Don Luis, and Don Luis allowed himself to be taken, to the saloon where were gathered the cream of the fas.h.i.+on, the dandies and _cocodes_ of the village and of the surrounding district. Prominent among these was the Count of Genazahar, of the neighboring city of--.

The Count was an ill.u.s.trious and much admired personage. He had made visits of great length to Madrid and Seville, and, whether as a country dandy or as a young n.o.bleman, was always attired by the most fas.h.i.+onable tailors.

The Count of Genazahar was a little past thirty. He was good-looking, and he knew it; and could boast of his prowess in peace and in war, in duels and in love-making. The Count, however--and this notwithstanding the fact that he had been one of the most persistent suitors of Pepita--had received the sugar-coated pill of refusal that she was accustomed to bestow on those who paid their addresses to her and aspired to her hand.

He had not yet recovered from the irritation produced in his proud heart by this rejection. Love had turned into hatred, and the count lost no occasion of giving utterance to his feelings, holding Pepita up, on such occasions, to the most merciless ridicule.

The count was engaged in this agreeable exercise, when, by an evil chance, Don Luis and Currito approached, and joined the crowd that was listening to the odd species of panegyric, which opened to receive them.

Don Luis, as if the devil himself had had the arrangement of the matter, found himself face to face with the count, who was speaking as follows:

”She's a cunning one, this same Pepita Ximenez, with more fancies and whims than the Princess Micomicona. She wants to make us forget that she was born in poverty, and lived in poverty until she married that accursed usurer, Don Gumersindo, and took possession of his dollars. The only good action this same widow has performed in her life was to conspire with Satan to send the rogue quickly to h.e.l.l, and free the earth from such a contamination and plague. Pepita now has a hobby for virtue and for chast.i.ty. All that may be very well; but how do we know that she has not a secret intrigue with some plowboy, and is not deceiving the world as if she were Queen Artemisia herself?”

People of quiet tastes, who seldom take part in reunions of men only, may perhaps be scandalized by this language; it may appear to them indecent and brutal, even to the point of incredibility; but those who know the world will confess that language like this is very generally employed in it, and that the most amiable and agreeable women, the most honorable matrons, if they chance to have an enemy, or even without having one, are often made the subjects of accusations no less infamous and vile than those made by the count against Pepita; for scandal is often indulged in, or, to speak more accurately, dishonor and insult are disseminated, for the purpose of showing wit and the power to entertain.

Don Luis--who, from a child, had been accustomed to the consideration and respect of those around him, first, of the servants and dependents of his father, who gratified him in all his wishes, and then, of every one in the seminary, where, as well because he was a nephew of the dean, as on account of his own merits, he had never been contradicted in anything, but, on the contrary, always pleased and flattered--stood, when he heard the insolent count thus drag in the dust the name of the woman he loved, as if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet.

But how undertake her defense? He knew, indeed, that although he was neither husband, brother, nor other relative of Pepita's, he might yet come forward in her defense, as a man of honor; but he saw well the scandal this would give rise to, since, far from saying a word in her favor, all the other persons present joined in applauding the wit of the count. He, already the minister, almost, of a G.o.d of peace, could not be the one to give the lie to this ruffian, and thus expose himself to the risk of a quarrel.

Don Luis was on the point of departing in silence. But his heart would not consent to this, and, striving to clothe himself with an authority which was justified neither by his years nor by his countenance, where the beard had scarcely begun to make its appearance, nor by his presence in that place, he began to speak with earnest eloquence in denunciation of all slanderers, and to reproach the count, with the freedom of a Christian and in severe accents, with the vileness of his conduct.

This was to preach in the desert, or worse. The count answered his homily with gibes and jests; the by-standers, among whom were many strangers, took the part of the jester, notwithstanding the fact that Don Luis was the son of the squire. Even Currito, who was of no account whatever, and who was, besides, a coward, although he did not laugh, yet made no effort to take the part of his friend, and the latter was obliged to withdraw, disturbed and humiliated by the ridicule he had drawn on himself.

”This flower only was wanting to complete the nosegay,” muttered poor Don Luis between his teeth when he had reached his house and shut himself up in his room, vexed and ill at ease because of the jeers of which he had been the b.u.t.t. He exaggerated them to himself; they seemed to him unendurable. He threw himself into a chair, depressed and disheartened, and a thousand contradictory ideas a.s.sailed his mind at once.

The blood of his father, which boiled in his veins, incited him to anger, and urged him to throw aside the clerical garb, as he had in the beginning been advised to do in the village, and then give the count his deserts; but the whole future he had planned for himself would be thus, at a blow, destroyed. He pictured to himself the dean disowning him; and even the Pope, who had already sent the pontifical dispensation permitting him to be ordained before the required age, and the bishop of the diocese, who had based the pet.i.tion for the dispensation on his approved virtue and learning and on the firmness of his vocation, all appeared before him now to reproach him.

Then the humorous theory of his father in regard to those other arguments, in addition to those of persuasion, of which the apostle St.

James, the bishops of the middle ages, and St. Ignatius Loyola had made use, occurred to his mind, and it seemed to him now not so preposterous as before, and he almost repented not having put them into practice.

He then recalled to mind the custom of an orthodox doctor, a distinguished philosopher of Persia, of our own day, mentioned in a book recently written on that country--a custom which consisted in punis.h.i.+ng with harsh words his hearers and pupils when they laughed at his teachings or could not understand them, and, if this did not suffice, in descending from his chair, saber in hand, and giving them all a beating.

This method, as it appears, had proved efficacious, especially in controversy; although it had chanced that the said philosopher, coming across an opponent of the same way of thinking as himself, had received from him a severe wound in the face.

Don Luis, in the midst of his mortification and ill-humor, could not help laughing at the absurdity of this recollection. He thought there were not wanting in Spain philosophers who would willingly adopt the Persian method; and, if he himself did not put it into practice, it was certainly not through fear of the wounds he might receive, but through considerations of greater weight.

”I did very wrong in preaching there,” he said to himself. ”I should have remained silent. Our Lord Jesus Christ has said, 'Give not that which is holy to dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.'