Читать книгу Leon Roch - Benito Pérez Galdós - Страница 7

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In front of the grotto where the water-drinkers swallowed glass after glass, eager to counteract the oidium in their blood, there was a summer-house. It was now ten o’clock, the hour when all the visitors came out to the spring, and a party had gathered in this pleasant spot, consisting of Don Joaquín Onésimo, Leon Roch and Federico Cimarra, who was sitting astride on his chair and making it creak and groan as he seesawed.

“Do you know Leon what ails Fúcar’s daughter?”

“She left the drawing-room early last evening; she must be ill.” And having thus spoken Leon sat looking at the ground.

“But her complaint is a very strange one, as the marquis says,” added Onésimo. “Consider the symptoms. As you know, she collects china; last month, on her way back from Paris, she spent two days at Arcachon, and the Count de la Reole’s daughters gave her three pieces of Palissy-ware. They are considered handsome; to me they are no better than common crockery. Besides these she brought from Paris eight specimens of Dresden so fine and delicate you can hardly feel their weight. Well, Pepa’s whole mind seemed set on these precious works of art; she talked of nothing but her china. She took them out to look at, fifty times a day. And then—this morning she collected all this rubbish, went up to the topmost room in the hotel, opened the window and flung them into the court-yard, where they broke in a thousand pieces.”

Federico looked at Leon who merely said: “Yes, so I heard.”

“Yesterday evening,” Onésimo went on, “when we were returning from the Grotto—where, by the way, there is no more to be seen than in my bed-room—one of the large pearls dropped out of her earring. We hunted for it, and at last I found it close to a stone. I stooped to pick it up, as was natural, but she was quicker than I was; she set her foot on it and crushed it, saying: ‘Of what use is it?’—Then, they say, she tore up some costly laces. But did not you see her last night in the drawing-room? I could swear she is out of her mind.” Neither Leon nor Cimarra made any reply.

“I can tell you one thing,” continued the intelligent official, “the man who marries the damsel will have hard work with her. What bringing up! my dear fellow what training! Her father, who knows the value of money uncommonly well himself, has never taught her the difference between a bank-note and a copper piece. She is a real treasure is the Señorita de Fúcar! I had heard that she was capricious, extravagant and had the most preposterous and outrageous fancies you can imagine. Poor husband—and poor father! If she were only pretty; but she is not even that.—She will vex Don Pedro at last.—And no one listens when I thunder and declaim against these modern and foreign fashions which have spoiled all the modesty of our Spanish women—all their christian humility; their delightful ignorance, their love for a retired and domestic life, their indifference to luxury, their sobriety in dress, their neatness and economy. Only look at the hussies that are the result of modern civilisation. I quite understand the dread of matrimony which is spreading among us and which, if it is not checked, will compel the government to pass a law for betrothals and a law for marriages and create a president over bachelors.”

“But, bless me!” cried Cimarra, slapping Leon on the shoulder. “Here is the man who can tell us all about Pepa’s eccentricities, for he has known her ever since they were both children.”

Leon answered coldly:

“Whether Pepa’s attacks or eccentricities consist in breaking china or destroying her ornaments, it matters little after all. Her father is rich enough—enormously rich and richer every day.”

“On the subject,” said the phœnix of the bureaux, “of the immense wealth of Fúcar, the most characteristic thing ever said, was spoken by our friend here, who is a man of epigrams.”

“I? I never said anything, not a word about Don Pedro,” declared Federico with becoming modesty.

“Nay, nay, biting tongue! Was it not you who said at Aldearrubia’s house—I heard it myself—apropos of Fúcar’s vast fortune: ‘We must have a new formula in political economy: National bankruptcy is the fount of riches?’”

“But that might be said of so many men,” remarked Leon.

“Of so very many,” Cimarra hastened to add. “If Fúcar has amassed a fortune at the expense of the public treasury—as they say he has?—then I say: so far as the augmentation of his fortune in dealing with public moneys is concerned, he is by no means the only man to whom the remark as to National bankruptcy applies.”

Onésimo winced; but recovering himself at once he added:

“I have heard you render a merciless account of the millions amassed by the marquis, my dear Cimarra. But a wit is always allowed to find fault. You need not prevaricate, though I know that at this time you and your victim are excellent friends. Still, you described him admirably when you said: ‘He is one of those men who make money out of solids, liquids and gases, or—which comes to the same thing—out of paving-stones, wine for the troops, and gas for lighting the streets.’ The tobacco he provides by contract is a particular kind which has the property of turning bitter in the mouth and the advantage of being useful as timber; his rice and his beans are equally unique, the beans are quite famous in Ceuta; the convicts call them Apothecary Fúcar’s sprouting pills.”

“That is talking for talking’s sake,” replied Cimarra. “In spite of all this I appreciate and esteem the marquis highly; he is a most worthy man. And which of us has not, at some time or other, trodden on a neighbour’s corns?”

“I know quite well that this is all merely in joke. In this country everything must be sacrificed to a witticism. It is the way with us Spaniards. We flay a man alive, and then give him our hand. I am criticising no one in saying so—we are all alike.”

At this moment the marquis himself entered the summer-house.

“And Pepa?” asked Leon.

“She is very happy now. She passes from sadness to merriment with a rapidity that amazes me. She was crying all the morning; she says she is thinking of her mother, that she cannot get her mother out of her mind—I do not understand her. Now she wants to leave this place, at once, without waiting for me to take the baths. I did not want to come—I detest the horrible, inconvenient hotels in this country. As for my daughter’s freaks and follies! No sooner were we in France than she took it into her head to come to Iturburua. I could not help myself—Iturburua, to Iturburua Papa—What could I do? I am getting accustomed to this vagabond life, but to tell the truth it vexes me now just as much to go away as it did to come—to go without having taken six baths even. For I do not believe there are any waters to compare with these in the world.—And then where are we to go? I have not the remotest idea, for my daughter’s vagaries make all reasonable plans impossible. I am hardly allowed time enough to secure a saloon carriage; Pepa is in as great a hurry to be off as she was to come. I am to be ready at once, to-day, early to-morrow at the latest—the mountains oppress her, the hotel is crushing her, the very sky seems falling on her, and she hates all the visitors, and it is killing her—suffocating her....”

While Don Pedro was thus pouring out his paternal troubles, his three friends sat silent; only Onésimo now and again murmured a few commonplaces about nervous irritation, the result, as he stated, of some strange influences to which the fairer half of humanity are exposed. The marquis took Cimarra’s arm saying:

“Come, my dear fellow, do me the favour of amusing Pepa for a short time. At present she is very well content, but she will be bored to the last degree in a short time. You know she always laughs at your amusing notions; she said to me just now: ‘If only Cimarra would come and whisper a few spiteful things about the neighbours....’ For we all know you have a special gift that way. Come my dear fellow; she is alone.—Good-bye gentlemen; I am carrying off this rascal, for he is more wanted elsewhere than here.”

Don Joaquín and Leon Roch were left together.

“What do you think of Pepa?” asked Onésimo.

“That she has been very badly brought up.”

“Just so—very badly brought up.—And now I think of it, tell me: Is it true that you are going to be married?”

“Yes—my hour is come,” said Leon with a smile.

“To María Sudre?”

“To María Sudre.”

“A very sweet girl—and what a Christian education! Honestly my good fellow, it is more than a heretic like you deserves.” He tapped Leon kindly on the shoulder and the men parted.