Currita, countess of Alborrnoz

Prologue

TO THE HEADER

Friend Reader, — If you are a man of the world, not an easily frightened connoisseur of human miseries, but a lover of the truth although it be bitter, read without fear the pages of this book, for you will find nothing in them which is unknown to you, or which will vex you. But if you are a pious and timid soul, if the nakedness of the truth scandalizes you, or its rudeness wounds your self-love, stop now, and do not go on without first listening to what I am going to say to you.

For I much fear, should this be the case, and if my reasons do not convince you, that more than one surprise awaits you in the pages of this book. I let my pen wander through it with entire independence, rejecting with horror, upon outlining my picture, that perverse theory which broadens the standard of morality to the point of overflow of the passions, concealing in a manner more or less artful the perfidious idea of allowing all that is agreeable to pass as licit ; moreover I confess at the same time — if not with fright, at least with great vexation and even with a certain literary ire — that I also reject that other extreme common to some timorous consciences, who persist in seeing a danger in all that chances to delight them. For I judge the first to err through excess of boldness, in not seeing abysses where there may be flowers ; and I am of the opinion that the second err also through too much fear, in not being able to look upon a flower without imagining a precipice concealed behind it. Some starting from a false principle, and others from a holy truth, all pass from exaggeration to falsehood, and finally to insanity ; the former imagining they can use as a guide to youth the crudities of Zola, and the latter believing that it does not do to teach children the Credo, and the articles of Faith, without introducing some prudent modifications, — of which I could quote some ridiculous examples. Strange phenomenon and singular exigency for the writer, that of these two opposite extremes ! Legitimate children of the confusion of ideas in all classes of things that characterizes our epoch, and has for its origin, among a thousand other causes, the haughty self-sufficiency and contempt of the authority which legitimately defines, want of profundity and method in studies, the superficial, obtrusive, and interested teachings of the newspapers, and the funereal propensity of judging that which passes in our neighbor’s heart by what is passing in our own !

It is quite certain that the author sins against morality, and deserves all censure, who praises the thief and approves and facilitates his thefts; or, protesting against them and recognizing their immorality, traces nevertheless, with good intentions but very little prudence, pictures of dangerous beauty and of seductive temptation, which exercise upon the incautious reader, and even upon him who does not consider himself so, the sinister attraction of the abyss. But you must not infer from this that the writer is equally immoral who confesses publicly that there are thieves; who gives the cry of alarm against them, and delivers them up to public shame, painting them with all those black tints which decorum tolerates, and which render vice repugnant and odious, thus making use of evil to do good, in the same way that Spring makes use of ordure to produce the rose.

And do not tell me that such an author always runs the fatal risk of opening the eyes of the innocent; for if he knows how to preserve that prudent decorum which I pointed

PROLOGUE out before, and if the innocence of which you speak is the true innocence of the heart, pure and holy, ignorant of everything in theory, as well as in practice, it is evident that it will peruse these pages without understanding what is said between the lines, and will gather the rose without suspecting the existence of the thorn. And if by chance it should suspect and discover it, it is a clear and evident sign that those eyes were not so blind as you believed, and being no longer the pure innocence of the heart, but mere ignorance of the understanding, it will in the end profit by the lesson which the author encloses in prudent enigma. But if one converts the treacle into poison, his will be the fault, and not the physician’s, and the malice will not abide in the writer, but in the self-will of the reader: as an old poet says, —

“ From the loveliest carnation, •

Pride of the delicious garden,

The asp sucks poison ;

The busy bee, honey.”

According to this standard, friend reader, I wrote the book that you have in your hands, and I honestly advise you, so that you may throw it aside in time if my way of reasoning does not satisfy you. And if by chance you marvel that, being who I am, 1 1 enter with so much frankness on such dangerous ground, you must remember that, although I seem to be a novelist, I am only a missionary ; and so, — like the friar of olden times who got up on the tables in the public plazas and preached therefrom rude truths to the wandering sheep who did not go to the temple, speaking to them in their own coarse language, that they might well understand, — so I also mount upon my roof-top in the pages of a novel, and preach thence to those who otherwise have no way of hearing me, and tell them plain and necessary truths in their own language, which could never be pronounced beneath the dome of a temple.

1 The author is a Jesuit priest. — Tb.

For if you, pious and candid reader, seated on the banks of the streams of milk and honey which flow through the Celestial Jerusalem which you inhabit, if you believe that the notion of good and evil exists in all hearts with the same clearness which you possess in your understanding illuminated by grace, you are in gross error. In the world, and above all among a certain class of people, evil is blind to itself, on account of that same confusion of ideas, which reigns in all classes. When laxity is general in any society, the same thing happens which occurs on board ship : as everything moves equally, it seems as if nobody moved ; it being necessary for some one to stop, that there may be a fixed point to mark the hurrying of the rest and the dangerous course of those who continue to move.

Never will a squint-eyed person understand his own defect, unless a faithful mirror be held before him, which will reflect his crooked sight ; for the eye which serves to see and recognize others cannot see and recognize itself, unless a miracle should happen equivalent to that grace which you enjoy.

A great and charitable work, therefore, will be that of the book which serves as a fixed point to caution those on the ship who are drifting away from the shore; and which serves as a faithful mirror to the unfortunate squint-eyed person, who, beginning by recognizing in it his own misleading sight, will end by hating it in himself.

This explains, by the way, why I am detained at times with so many small details, which I would disdain as an artist, and to which I would not descend as a religious. The last refuge of the cross-eyed person who does not wish to look straight, is to deny that he understands the one who chides him for the defect in his sight ; but when the critic puts before him intimate details known only to those of his class, he concedes upon the spot the immense advantage of experience, and surrenders at discretion, reflecting that if he who reprimands him was not also one of the many who squinted in his day, he must have been very near it : and

PROLOGUE thus a great point is already gained in the heart that he wishes to win; for the idea that this inexorable critic studied in the same book, and conquered the same weaknesses, invites confidence and insures indulgence.

If you concede all these things and yet argue that it does not suit the dignity of 4 ‘ The Messenger ” 1 to publish such profane stories, I beg you to consider one thing, of which no doubt you have not thought. Not all the subscribers of 44 The Messenger’’ are, like yourself, pious and spiritual; in its lists may be found very worldly women as well as mystical abbesses, and, side by side with the congregation of San Luis, indifferent men and even gay youths. It is necessary, then, that all this heterogeneous multitude should find food which will nourish and please it, for the holy doctrine of the monthly Intention, serious, profound, and devout, which the abbess relishes with delight, is too sublime food for the blunt palates of those who can swallow this same celestial doctrine only when it is submerged in a licitly profane sauce.

Let pious souls leave, then, this corner of 44 The Messenger” for those poor hungry ones who have to be fed by surprise with the holy doctrine of Christ ; for far superior to the charity which consists in giving, is that which consists in understanding and supporting human weaknesses. It is that which makes me take my pen to write for them, although at the risk of hearing, as upon a certain occasion I have heard, that the sacerdotal character is lowered by writing such trivial things. As if charity could ever lower itself, no matter how much it stoops ! With this, friend reader, I leave you in peace ; you are free to peruse these pages of my book if it please you, or to leave them alone. I fear, nevertheless, and in your devout little eyes I see that you are already anxious to read it, and won’t put it down until you have devoured it word for word ; because if my reasons have not convinced you as I wish, curiosity will no doubt prompt

1 First published in “ The Spanish Messenger of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.” — Tr, you to do that against which I plead. God be with you, then, and bless you. I, for my part, —

With these things I say And those I pass in silence.

From my solitude I come.

To my solitude I go.

CHAPTER I Something is rotten in the State of Denmark

Shakespeare — Hamlet.

The two little towers of the College rose sharp and graceful, like arrows piercing the blue sky, serene and radiant, which usually overspreads Madrid in the early days of June. The verdure of the garden made it resemble an emerald fallen in the sand, an oasis of little forests of lilacs, already withering, and of white lilies just opening, lost in the arid plains which stretched from the side of the College to the Court of Spain. The water leaped in the fountains and ran murmuring through the basins ; one could hear happy voices of children in the interior of the edifice, and chirpings of the nightingales and linnets in the trees ; but farther on, beyond the cross-barred gate, were neither children nor water, flowers nor birds, only a sterile plain, and town of huts ; while yonder on the horizon, far, far away, lay Madrid, the Court of Spain, her cupolas and towers just appearing amid that haze which sets in relief the purity of the atmosphere, a species of vapor which rises from great cities like emanations from a fetid pool.

On this day school was closing ; already the distribution of premiums had taken place, and the hour had come for the leave-takings. Congratulations and good-byes, messages and injunctions were heard on all sides, and fathers and mothers, children and servants, moving to and fro in a confused bustle, invaded all the rooms of the College, beaming with that pure satisfaction which the premium justly received, work finished, and the certain hope of rest inspire, — that tumultuous joy which the magic word Vacations / awakens in the student of whatever age.

The Commencement had been brilliant. In the lower part of the hall a platform richly decorated was occupied by the one hundred pupils of the College, in their uniforms of blue and silver, all fluttering with emotion, and searching with little, restless eyes, red cheeks, and beating hearts, among the multitude which filled the place, for father, mother, brothers, and sisters, who were to be the witnesses and participants of their triumph. The platform was crowned by a magnificent picture of La Dolorosa , Our Lady of the Remembrance , titulary of the College, and at its right the Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, seated under a rich canopy and surrounded by the rector and professors of the College, presided over the exercises.

The rest of the immense hall was filled by the parents of the children, the grand lady, as well as the humble merchant’s wife, the grandee of Spain, and the successful business man, all happy and satisfied, looking at each other and smiling, friends and strangers alike, as if the paternal sentiment, equally affected, abridged the distances and heightened the relations, awakening in every soul the same gladsomeness, the same happiness, and a mutual desire to look upon one another and embrace one another as brothers.

The orchestra opened the exercises, majestically playing the overture from Semiramis. The rector, an old religious, the honor and glory of the order to which he belonged, afterwards made a short address, which he could not finish. Fixing his dim eyes on this mountain of little blond and brunette heads, which gazed at him so attentively, crowded together and expressive as the little angels of a masterpiece of Murillo, he began to stammer, and tears cut short his speech.

“ I do not weep because you are going,” he was able to say at last; u but because many will never return.”

The cloud of little heads began to shake negatively, and a spontaneous and noisy applause broke from those two hundred little hands, as an affectionate protest, which made the old man smile in the midst of his tears. The Secretary of the College then began to read the names of the prize pupils ;

they all rose up, bashful, and perturbed with fright at the exhibition, and with the intoxication of their triumph. They went up to receive their medals and diplomas from the hands of the Archbishop amidst the applause of their companions, the sounds of music, and the bravos of the public, and returned hurriedly to their seats, seeking in the eyes of their fathers and mothers that look of infinite love and rightful pride which was for them the completion of the triumph. A tiny little fellow of eight years stole up the steps of the platform, stood up on tip-toe in order to discern his mother at a distance, saw her afar off, and threw her a kiss from the tip of his diploma. Young and old applauded with enthusiasm, some for that angelic instinct which makes the child understand what is holy and beautiful, others from that tender sympathy which awakens in the heart of every father and mother, when anything tends to reveal the pure love of the child.

The exercises seemed to be already finished, the Archbishop was about to give the blessing, and all rose to receive it on their knees, when a child fair and blond, beautiful and candid as one of Fra Angelico’s angels, advanced towards the middle of the platform. In the enchantment of his youth and innocence was realized that indescribable something, aristocratic and delicately fine, which in children of grand houses attracts, subjugates, and even affects one. His long, light hair, cut in front like that of a little page of the fifteenth century, gave him the appearance of Prince Richard, painted by Millais in his celebrated picture, The Sons of Edward.

All stopped at the sight of him, each one remaining in his seat in the most profound silence. The child then turned his large blue eyes, beaming with candor and purity, towards the picture of the Virgin, and in a little angel’s voice, began to recite : 1 —

1 The verses of which this is a running translation were composed by Father Alarcon, and read on an occasion similar to that here described. — Tr.

“ Sweet memory of my life,

Bless those who are departing.

0 Virgin of Sorrowful Remembrance, Receive my farewell greeting,

And remember thou me.

" Far from these guardian walls,

The companions of my happy age Ne’er will be false to thy love ;

They will keep their hearts pure,

They will remember thee.”

A general applause broke from the group of children, like a cry of enthusiastic assent. The grown people did not applaud; but with their souls in their eyes, full of tears, they listened immovable. The child took two steps forward, and raising his little hands to his breast, continued slowly : —

“ But I feel, upon leaving, an agony Which the heart is unaccustomed to feel.

But who confides in the words of a child 7 I fear — I know not what, mother mine,

For them and for me.”

All were breathless; the tears falling made no sound. The child then turned his eyes to the public, with that vague look of innocence which always seems to investigate something unknown, and continued with a sadness which touched one, and with a simplicity which reached the soul : —

“ They say the world is a beautiful garden,

But that the garden conceals asps —

That there are sweet fruits of deadly poison,

And that the sea of the world is full of rocks.

Why is it so 7

“ They say that, for gold and for honors.

Men without faith, of mean heart,

Dry up the spring of their love,

And to their God and their country are traitors. Why are they so 7

“They say that the thorns of this life They wish to exchange for worldly feasts ;

That they are the source of thy sorrows,

And that the mourning in thy sweet eyes By them is caused.”

Some women blushed, for from the lips of the child the voice of many consciences seemed to speak. Several men bowed their heads, and one voice, energetic but broken, repeated from a distance, “Yes! yes!” It was an old general, grandfather of a pupil of the College. The child seemed moved, as the angels might be at the sight of human miseries ; he shook his little head sadly, crossed his hands, and continued, with the expression of a cherub looking down upon earth : —

“ They, ingrates ! fill thee with woe ;

Shall I also he deaf to thy groan ?

No ! I like not fruits that poison.

I wish not for joys which pain thee, 0 mother,

I care not to he so.

“ And while I respond to thy call,

While I judge myself blest in thy love,

And, burning with this affection which inflames me,

I tell thee often that I love thee.

Wilt thou forget me ?

“ Ah ! no, sweet memory of my life.

Whene’er I may struggle in dangerous conflict,

Whene’er my sorrowful soul may weep Upon remembering my farewell good-bye,

Wilt thou not remember me ?

“ And in return for love and sincere faith,

Ne’er without thy memory shall I live ;

My last tear shall be for thee.

Until I die, mother, until I die,

I will remember thee.

“And thou, mother, when the time may come To wing my flight to the Celestial Confines,

Drawing me to thee in a sweet embrace.

Ne’er separate me from thy side,

Ne’er let me go from thee.”

The boy stopped. No applause was heard ; only a sob broke forth, an immense sob, which from a thousand breasts seemed to issue from a single throat, carrying with it mingled feelings of love, tenderness, shame, enthusiasm, piety, and repentance, which the candid little voice of the child had awakened in these hearts. At a signal from the rector, all those who were on the platform rushed into the arms of their parents, and a veritable tempest of kisses, screams, embraces, blessings, tears of joy, and cries of delight broke forth. Only the child who had declaimed the verses remained solitary in his seat, without father or mother to receive him in their arms. The poor little creature gave a lingering glance at the happy groups, and with his premiums in his hands went slowly out through a wide corridor, in which the servants and the carriages of the children who were going were already gathering. At one end of it was a large globe, with the initials “F. L.” on the top, and on this the child sat, as if waiting for something, with his premiums at his side, head bowed, and little cap in hand, sad, silent, and motionless. The joyful shouts of the multitude in the hall reached his ears, and little by little his chest began to heave, his throat swelled, and he burst out weeping, bitterly but silently, without sobs and without sighs, as those cry who have the source of their tears in the heart. The servants were already beginning to load up the equipages, and the groups of parents and children were moving towards the door with joyful commotion, but none observed the lonely boy. At times a companion passing gave him an affectionate tap, or a professor running hurriedly by smiled at him, and the child swallowing his tears smiled in return.

A stout lady of good-natured appearance found herself in this crush near the boy. She held by the hand a small, chubby child, who had obtained a premium for gymnastics. This little fellow noticed the tears of his companion, and pulling the skirts of the lady, whispered in her ear : —

“Mamma! mamma! Lujan is crying.”

“ What are you crying about, my child? ” asked the lady, compassionately. “You recited very well ; did you not get a premium ? ”

The boy blushed, and raising his head with childish pride, answered, showing those he had : —

44 Five, and two excellences.”

“You don’t say so! Five premiums, and yet you are crying ? ”

The boy did not answer, but hung his head as if abashed, and began to cry afresh.

“ But what is the matter, child? ” insisted the lady. “ Are you ill? Why are you crying?”

An immense distress, which in that little angel’s face rent the soul, showed itself in the child’s features. With his little teeth clenched, and his eyes overflowing with tears and bitterness, he replied at last : —

“Because I am all alone; my mamma did not come; no one has seen my premiums.”

The lady seemed to understand all the profound bitterness which this simple lament contained. The tears sprang into her eyes, and while with one hand she stroked the blond head of the boy, she pressed with the other against her breast that of her son, as if she feared he too might some day be in want of that loving refuge.

“ Bless his little heart ! ” she said at the same time. “ My poor little boy ! Your mamma has not been able to come ; she is no doubt outside. What is her name?”

“The Countess of Albornoz,” replied the boy.

A violent expression of indignation was depicted upon the countenance of the lady upon hearing this name. She turned abruptly towards a young lady who accompanied her, and exclaimed with more impetuosity than prudence : —

4 4 Did you hear that ? This certainly is an outrage to heaven ! What a mother ! While this angel is crying, she is scandalizing Madrid as usual.”

44 Psh! — Be careful!” replied the other, looking with anxiety at the child.

44 But who can see such a thing with patience? What a mother for such a son ! I would have come from the ends of the earth to have seen my boy receive his premium for gymnastics. God bless you, my son ! that shows that when you are big you will at least know how to pull a cart. All I want is that you will be good to me ! Is it not so, Calisto, my love ? ”

And on the chubby cheeks of her child she imprinted those noisy and fond mother’s-kisses which seem like little bites of the soul.

Lujan, wiping his large eyes, of a blue deep as the distant sea, had heeded nothing.

The lady turned to him, saying : —

“ Come, my boy, don’t cry. Go, Calisto, don’t be stupid ; say something to this little boy. Don’t you see he is crying ? What is your name, child? ”

“ Paquito Lujan,” he replied.

“ Well, don’t cry any more, Paquito; your mamma is waiting for you at home. Look ! Calisto, give him one of the boxes of sweets I brought you ; or better, give him both and I will buy you more.”

And as she saw that the boy refused the pretty little box of Mahonesa which Calisto handed him rather reluctantly, she added : —

44 Take them, child ; this is for you, and the other for your brothers and sisters. You have brothers and sisters, have you not ? ”

4 4 I have Lili.”

44 Well, take one to Lili ; and take this also ; ” and the good lady imprinted on his wet cheeks two sonorous kisses, in which she tried in vain to supply the warmth which he missed from the kisses of his mother.

A groom in a long, olive-green livery, with an earl’s crest on the buttons, and carrying in his hand a high hat with a large, curly cockade, now approached the group.

44 When the little master wishes, the carriage awaits him,” he said respectfully to the boy. The poor little master sprang up with a bound, and embracing the gymnast Calisto with a movement full of grace, he ran toward the door, without allowing the groom to carry his premiums. At the cross-barred gate the rector, who was there saying good-bye to the boys, detained him. Paquito kissed the old man’s hand, who, embracing the boy affectionately, whispered a moment in his ear. The boy blushed deeply, his tears began to flow anew, and with affection he raised for the second time to his lips the hand of the priest.

Little by little the carriages went filing away, and at last the cries of good-bye ceased.

44 Good-bye! good-bye ! ” repeated the old man.

Some little hands were still waving from a distance out of the carriage windows : —

44 Good-bye ! good-bye ! ”

Finally all were lost to view in the last angle of the road, and the arid plains, the dusty high-road, and the village alone remained. The College was left solitary and silent as an empty linnet’s cage, and in the distance, hiding in ambush amid the haze, lay Madrid, the fetid pool. The poor old man let his arms fall dejectedly, bowed his head sadly, and entered the chapel murmuring : —

44 Oh! Virgin of Sorrowful Remembrance, will they think of thee?”

Chapter II

That same afternoon, in the smoking-room of the Duchess of Bara, but few were present, and there was a great lack of animation. The Duchess lay extended almost at full length in a chaise-longue , smoking a deliciously pure cigar, whose relucent rings betrayed its genuineness. She complained of headache. Spread over her lap, but not fastened, was a little apron of very fine pelt, and of elegant cut, designed to preserve from the risk of conflagration the laces of her matinee of raw silk ; and from time to time she shook off the ashes into a pretty, round earthenware jar, which represented a group of cupids rising out of egg shells in the bottom of a nest. Pilar Balsano was puffing another cigar, not so strong, but quite as large as that of the Duchess, and was making rings, while Carmen Tagle was almost dislocating her jaws trying to smoke another, which showed itself somewhat rebellious.

u It is evident this isn’t going to draw,” she soon said. And in order to gain more strength, she sipped, slowly and with a most distinguished air, a third glass of very strong whiskey, which was Served in a rich flask of Bohemian glass, with tea, brioches, and sandwiches.

The wife of Lopez Moreno, stout and majestic, like the money-bags of her husband, contracted her large lips in order to draw a little paper cigarette, and laughed maternally to see her daughter Lucy, who had just left school, take little puffs from Angelito Castropardo’s cigar. The young girl puffed, coughed, and made faces ; Angelito puffed to give her a masterly example, and the little school-girl began again to puff and cough, finding the pastime most diverting. It seemed to please her very much to have a grandee of Spain for a teacher, and she tried to study the chic of these illustrious ladies, whom her mother had held up to her as models of distinction. Yet, nevertheless, her school-girl eyes saw in them very curious things. The Duchess was disgusted with the loud laughter of the banker’s wife, but the mortgages which the latter’s spouse had upon the property of the former amounted to over two millions, and, considering the necessity of a prospective furlough, it was advisable to prepare the way with patience and amiability.