Froth Part 9

"I don't care what you call me; I am yours, your slave till death. I owe you not only happiness, but honour. You cannot think what I have gone through these two days, over that cursed debt!" he said, in a voice of genuine emotion.

"And will you go and gamble any more, eh? Gamble, and lose it all, you wretch," said she, tumbling his hair and spoiling the beautiful parting down the middle.

"No--I swear it on my word of honour."

"On your word, and on your money, wretched man? Well, I am off," she added, with a fond little pat, and she went to look at the clock on the chimney-piece. "Mercy! How late it is--I must fly. Good-bye."

She ran to the door, waving her hand to her lover, without looking at him. He could only clutch it, and kiss the tips of her fingers.

He rushed to open the door for her, but her hand was already on the lock; indeed, she was in a fury, because her feeble efforts would not turn it.

"By-bye--till Sat.u.r.day!" said she, in a whisper.

"Till the day after to-morrow."

"No, no--till Sat.u.r.day."

She ran downstairs with the same cautious haste as she had used in coming up, nodded imperceptibly to the porter, and went out. She walked as far as the Plaza del Angel; there she took a hackney coach to drive home.

It was now past six; the lights in the shops had been blazing for an hour or more. She sat as far back in the corner as she could and gazed without interest or curiosity at the streets she pa.s.sed through. Her face had resumed its characteristic expression of scornful haughtiness, qualified by a certain degree of disdain and absent-mindedness.

Her refined elegance, her arrogant mien, and, above all, the severe majesty of her exceptional beauty stamped Clementina beyond question as one of the most _distinguees_ women of Madrid. At the same time, though she was recognised as such, figuring in all the drawing-rooms of the aristocracy, in all the lists of fas.h.i.+onable persons which the papers publish on the day after a ball, a race, or any other entertainment, by birth-right she was far from belonging to such a set. Her origin could not have been more humble. Her mother had been an Irish girl, the mistress of a cooper, who had landed at Valencia in search of work. Her name was Rosa Coote; she was extraordinarily handsome, and would have been even more so if she had cared for dressing or adorning her person; but the squalor in which the illicit home was kept had made her neglectful and dirty. The Valencia waif and the handsome Irish girl came to an understanding behind the cooper's back. Salabert was quite young and a brisk youth; he was not, like the girl's present protector, a victim to drunkenness. Rosa abandoned her former lover to go off with him. Within a few months, Salabert, who saw an opening for going to Cuba as steward on board a steamboat, in his turn deserted her. The Irishwoman, expecting then the birth of the offspring of this connection, wandered about for some time without any protector or means of living till she became acquainted with a carpenter, who ultimately made her his lawful wife. Clementina grew up as an intruder in this new home. Her mother was a violent and irascible creature, with bursts of tenderness which she kept exclusively for her legitimate children.

Clementina she seemed to hate, and avenged on her her father's offence with cruel injustice.

A fearful childhood was that of Clementina.

If some details of it could but have been known in Madrid; if, only in some brief vision, the scenes through which this proudest and most arrogant of dames had pa.s.sed could have been placed before the eyes of her fas.h.i.+onable acquaintance, who would have envied her? What tortures, what refinement of cruelty! At the age of four or five she was made the watchful nurse of two brothers younger than herself, and if she neglected the smallest particular of her duties the punishment followed at once, but not such punishment as was due--a slap, or her ears pulled.

No, it was premeditated to hurt her as much and as long as possible; after flogging her with a strap the wounds were washed with vinegar, she was made to tread for hours on hard peas, to wear shoes that pinched her feet, to go without water, she was thrashed with nettles.

More than once, on hearing the hapless child's outcries, the neighbours had intervened and had remonstrated with the unnatural mother. But nothing ever came of it beyond a noisy discussion, in which the pa.s.sionate Irishwoman, in sputtering Valencian, poured out her wrath on the gossips of the quarter, and afterwards vented her fury on the cause of the squabble. She was always declaring that she would send the child to the workhouse, but this was opposed by the carpenter, who prided himself on being a kind-hearted and merciful man, and who sometimes interfered to mitigate her punishment, though he generally left it to his wife "to correct her daughter," as he said to the neighbours who blamed him. His educational notions clashed with his more kindly instincts, and when they got the upper hand, alas, for the poor little girl!

Certain details of these horrible torments were sickening. On one occasion Clementina had been to the well and broken the pitcher. It was the third within a month. The child dared not go home, and sought refuge with a neighbour. The woman took her to her mother, but did not leave her till she had extorted a promise that she should not be punished. And in point of fact her mother did not punish her by any ordinary process of chastis.e.m.e.nt; her cries might have led to a disturbance. She formed the diabolical idea of holding the girl's head over a foul sink, till she was half asphyxiated and fainted away. The worst days for the wretched child were when she had dropped asleep at her prayers. The cruel Irishwoman was a bigot, and this offence she never forgave. On one occasion, she beat her so mercilessly for repeating her prayers half asleep before going to bed, that the carpenter, who was peacefully eating his supper in the kitchen, heard her cries, and went up to the bedroom, where he rescued her from her mother, who would otherwise perhaps have been the death of her.

This course of incredible cruelties ended at last in one which led to the interference of justice. The unnatural mother, at her wit's end how to torture the girl, burnt her legs with a candle. A neighbour happening to hear of it told others, and the scandal in the quarter produced a stir; they appealed to justice, informed against the Irishwoman, and the crime being proved, she was condemned to six months' imprisonment, while the girl was placed in an asylum.

About a year later Salabert came to Valencia, not yet a potentate, but with some money. On hearing what had occurred he went to see his daughter at the school for poor girls, whence he removed her to one where he paid for her education, and at long intervals went to see her.

His generous deed was highly lauded, and he knew how to make it tell, setting himself up in the eyes of those who knew him as a living model of paternal devotion, in s.h.i.+ning contrast to the brutality of his deserted mistress.

Not long after, he married, and settled in Madrid. His wife was the daughter of a dealer in iron bedsteads and spring mattresses, in the Calle Mayor. She was plain and sickly, but gentle and affectionate, with fifty thousand dollars for her portion. At the end of three or four years of married life, finding her health increasingly delicate, Dona Carmen lost all hope of having any children, and knowing that her husband had an illegitimate daughter in a Convent at Valencia, she proposed, with rare generosity, to have her at home and treat her as their child. Salabert accepted gladly; he went to fetch Clementina, and thenceforward a complete change came over the girl's fate.

She was at this time aged fourteen, and already a marvel of beauty, a happy combination of the refined and delicate northern type with the severer beauty of the Valencian women. Undeveloped as yet, in consequence of the cruel experiences of her childhood followed by the quiet routine of a convent, under this change of climate and mode of life she acquired in two or three years the commanding stature and majestic proportions we have seen. Her moral nature left much more to be desired. Her temper was irritable, obstinate, scornful, and gloomy.

Whether she was born with these characteristics or they were the result of the misery and sufferings of her wretched infancy it would be hard to decide. In the convent, where she was never ill-treated, she was not much loved by her teachers or her companions; her character was suspicious, and her heart devoid of tenderness. Her companions' troubles not only did not touch her; but brought a cruel smile to her lips, which filled them with aversion. Then, from time to time, she had fits of fury, which made her both feared and hated. On one occasion, when a young girl had spoken to her in offensive terms, she had clutched her by the throat and nearly strangled her. And it was quite impossible afterwards to induce her to beg pardon, as the mother superior required her to do; she preferred a month of solitary confinement rather than humble herself.

The first months of her life in her father's house were a period of trial for kind Dona Carmen. Instead of a bright young creature, grateful for the immense favour she had done her, she found herself confronted with a little heartless savage, devoid of affection or docility, extravagant and capricious to the last degree, who never laughed heartily excepting when a servant had an accident, or a groom was kicked by a horse. But the good woman did not lose courage. With the unfailing instinct of a generous heart she understood that if no love could spring from the soil it was because nothing had been sown in it but the seeds of hate. The softer affections exist in every human soul, as electricity exists in every body; but to detect them, to rouse a response, they must be treated for a length of time with a strong current of kindness. This was what Dona Carmen did to her stepdaughter.

For six months she kept her in a warm atmosphere of affection, a close net of delicate thoughtfulness, and unfailing proofs of lively and loving interest. At last Clementina, who had begun by being first disdainful and then indifferent, who would pa.s.s hours together locked in her own room and never go near her stepmother but when she was sent for, who never had made any advances, but lived in absolute reserve, suddenly succ.u.mbed, feeling the vital and mysterious throb which binds human beings to each other, as it does all the bodies of the created universe.

The change was strange and violent, like everything else in that strangely compounded temperament. At the most unlooked-for moment she fell on her knees before Dona Carmen, professing such deep respect, such pa.s.sionate affection, that the good woman was amazed, and had great difficulty in believing in her sincerity. The revelation of lovingkindness had burst at length on the girl's soul; her icy heart had melted under the motherly warmth of the large-hearted woman; the divine essence of love henceforth had a home where hitherto the essence of Satan alone had dwelt.

It was a perfect miracle. Instead of spending her life in her room, she would never leave her stepmother's; she now called her "Mamma" with a fervour, a joy, a determination, such as are only to be seen in the devout when they appeal to the Virgin. And Clementina's feeling for her father's wife was in truth devotion. Amazed to find that so gentle, so tender a being could exist in this world, she was never tired of gazing at her, as though she had dropped from heaven. She would read her thoughts in her eyes, antic.i.p.ate her smallest wishes, let no one serve her but herself; and, like every lover, insisted on the exclusive possession of the object of her affection. The slightest sign of disapproval on Dona Carmen's part was enough to disconcert her and plunge her into the deepest grief. The haughty creature, who had made herself generally odious, would humble herself with intense satisfaction before her stepmother. It was the humiliation of the mystic prostrated by an irresistible spiritual impulse. When she felt the good woman's hand caress her face she fancied it was the touch of G.o.d Himself, and hardly dared to touch those thin, transparent fingers with her lips.

But it was only to her stepmother that she had so entirely changed. To all else, including her father, she still displayed the same scornful coldness, the same proud and obstinate temper. If now and again she seemed sweeter and more tractable, it was due, not to her own will, but to some express command of Dona Carmen's; and as soon as this command was at an end, or forgotten, she was the same malevolent being once more. The servants hated her for the insufferable pride which she showed as soon as she realised her position as her father's heiress, and for her total lack of compa.s.sion if they did wrong.

The greatest sufferer was the English governess whom her father had engaged for her. She was an elderly woman, but she had a mania for dressing and tricking herself out like a girl. This harmless weakness was so constantly the theme of Clementina's mockery, that only necessity could have made the poor woman endure it. All the secrets of her toilet were mercilessly revealed for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the servants, and her physical defects, mimicked by the young lady's waiting-maid, were the laughing-stock of the kitchen. On a certain grand occasion, a day when there was a dinner-party, Clementina hid the old maid's false teeth, which she had left on the dressing-table after was.h.i.+ng them. Her discomfiture may be imagined. But she took an innocent revenge by calling her "_Senorita Capricho_" and setting her as an exercise to translate from English into French certain maxims and aphorisms of scorching application, as: "Pride is the leprosy of the soul; a proud girl is a leper whom all should avoid with horror." "Those who do not respect their seniors can never hope to be respected," and the like.

Clementina laughed at these innuendoes; sometimes she would even dare to subst.i.tute some phrase of her own for that of her governess. Where she should have translated: "There is nothing so odious and contemptible as haughtiness in the young," she would write: "There is nothing so ridiculous and laughable as presumption in the old." Miss, as she was called, took offence, and complained to Dona Carmen, who would appeal to her stepdaughter, reproving her gently, and Clementina, seeing her grieved and annoyed, would smoothe her brow and kiss her lovingly. And all was well till next time. In fact Miss Anna and the servants were no doubt in the right when they said that the Senora would be the ruin of the girl. Dona Carmen, living in fearful solitude of soul, was so captivated and gratified by the warm affection her stepdaughter was always ready to lavish on her that she had no eyes for her faults, and even if she had, would not have found the courage to correct them.

At eighteen Clementina was one of the loveliest and wealthiest women of Madrid. Her father's fortune grew like the sc.u.m of yeast. He was regarded as one of the great bankers of the city, and was not known to have any other heir, nor was it likely that he would have one. The young aristocrats of family or wealth--the best known members of the _Savage Club_--began to flutter about her with the most pressing and eager attentions. If she appeared at a party a group of men fenced her round; if she went to church, another and a larger party stood in a row awaiting her exit; if she drove out in the Castellana Avenue, a cavalcade of admirers galloped beside her carriage as a guard of honour; at the theatre pairs of opera-gla.s.ses were invariably fixed upon her.

The name of Clementina Salabert was to be heard in all the conversations of the gilded youth of Madrid, to be seen in print in every drawing-room chronicle, and was registered in the capital as that of one of the brightest stars of the firmament of fas.h.i.+on. She took up and dropped one lover after another without a thought, thus earning the reputation of a flirt and feather-brain. But this never interferes with a girl's chance of adorers; on the contrary, the self-love of men prompts them to pay great attentions to women of that stamp, in the hope, born of vanity, of being the nail to fix the weather-c.o.c.k. Nor did she suffer any serious damage from a coa.r.s.e and malignant rumour which, all through Madrid, connected her in a strange friends.h.i.+p with a young and famous bull-fighter. In this affair Dona Carmen's simplicity and weakness played a leading part. Not only did the good lady allow the man to visit at her house, and sit at her table, but she even accompanied the pair in public on more than one occasion. This, and her having cheered him at the death of several bulls, gave scandal--as busy in the capital as in the provinces--sufficient pretext for an attack on the envied beauty.

But as it could bring forward nothing but bold suspicion and vague conjecture, and as, on the other side, there were positive facts which far outweighed them, the calumny did not diminish the number of her adorers. Its only use was as an outlet for the bile of some rejected one.

At this age, and often after, Clementina's manners betrayed a strong infusion of Bohemianism--of the free and easy airs and sarcastic coolness of the adventuresses of Madrid. A similar tendency may be observed, in a more or less exaggerated form, in all the upper circles of Madrid Society; it is a mark which distinguishes it from that of other countries. And in this tendency, which is everywhere conspicuous from the palace to the hovel, there is some good; it is not wholly evil.

In the first place it implies a protest against the perpetual falsehood which the increasing refinement and complication of social formalities inevitably entail. Propriety of conduct and moderation of language are highly praiseworthy no doubt, but in an exaggerated form they result in the cold courtesy of a _diplomate_ at a foreign Court. Men and women, crushed under the weight of so much formality, become artificial beings, puppets, whose acts and words are all set forth in a programme. To exclude liberty and familiarity from society is to undermine human nature; to prohibit frankness of speech is to destroy the charm which ought to exist in all human intercourse.

Moreover, an instinct of equality underlies this a.s.sertion of freedom, and cannot fail to make it attractive to every lover of Nature and truth. A lady is not a bundle of fine clothes, of foregone conclusions and ready-made phrases; she is, above all else, a woman in whom culture has, or ought to have, tempered impetuosity of character and impulses of vanity, but not to have impaired the genuineness of Nature by transforming her in society into a cold dry doll, devoid of grace and originality. It must not be supposed that the perfect refinement and elegance proper to the scenes where the upper cla.s.ses meet are unknown in Madrid. They are constantly observed by almost every Spanish woman of family; but, happily, they are united with the vivacity, grace, and spontaneity of the Spanish race, making our fair ones, in the opinion of impartial observers, the most accomplished, gracious, and agreeable women in Europe--excepting, perhaps, the French.

Clementina had a somewhat exaggerated taste for this freedom of word and action. She had acquired it no one knows how--by contagion in the atmosphere perhaps--since women in her position are not in the habit of spending their time with the commoner sort. She had had a waiting maid, born and brought up in Maravillas, and it was from her, in her moments of excitement, that Clementina picked up the greater part of her slang and sayings. Then came her friends.h.i.+p with the _torero_ above-mentioned; an acquaintance with various young men who cultivated that style; the lower cla.s.s of theatres, where the manners and customs of the lower cla.s.ses of the Madrid populace are set on the stage--not without grace; and her intimacy with Pepe Frias, and some other fast women of fas.h.i.+on, finally gave her the full Bohemian flavour. She was an enthusiast for bull-fights. It was a perfect marvel if she missed one, sitting in her private box with the orthodox white mantilla and red carnations. And she would discuss the chances, and fulminate criticisms, and bestow applause; and was regarded by the _habitues_ as a keen and eager connoisseur. The national sport, exciting and b.l.o.o.d.y, was quite after her mind, violent and indomitable as she was by nature. When she saw other women covering their eyes or showing weakness over the fortunes of the arena, she laughed sardonically, as doubting the genuineness of their horror.

Among the many adorers and suitors who successively and rapidly rose and fell in her favour, there was one who succeeded in securing her notice, at any rate, for a rather longer time than the rest. His name was Tomas Osorio. He was a young man of twenty-eight or thirty, rich, small and delicate, with a pleasing face and a lively, determined temper. Either of deliberate purpose, or from genuine independence of character, he made a deeper impression than his peers. When he first paid attention to her he did not cringe nor completely abdicate his own will. In some differences on important points in the course of his long courts.h.i.+p--for it lasted not less than two years--he firmly maintained his dignity. He was, like her, irritable, haughty and scornful; purse-proud too, and with a spiteful wit which stood him in good stead with women. Thanks to these qualities, Clementina did not tire of him so soon as of the rest.

But at the end of the two years, within a few days of the marriage, it was broken off in a very public and almost scandalous manner. All Madrid was talking of it, and commentary was endless. The conclusion arrived at was that it was the gentleman who had taken the first steps towards the rupture, and this report, whether true or false, reached Clementina's ears, and was such a stab to her pride that she was almost ill with rage.

Another year went by. She had other suitors, off and on, and Osorio, on his part, courted other damsels. But in both, notwithstanding, the memory of the past survived. She was burning for revenge. So long as that man was going about the world, so perfectly content as he seemed, she felt herself humiliated. He, on the contrary, in spite of his affected indifference, was still consumed by love, or rather by desire.

Clementina had captivated his senses, had pierced his flesh, and, do what he would, he could not extract the dart. She was always in his thoughts, always before his eyes, provoking his pa.s.sion. The longer the time that elapsed the fiercer the fire burned within him, and the greater were the effort and the anguish of keeping up a haughty and indifferent demeanour when they happened to meet. Clementina, with a penetration common in women, had no difficulty in guessing that her former love still cherished a secret pa.s.sion for her, and felt a malicious joy. Thenceforward she dressed and adorned herself for him alone--to bewitch him, to fascinate him, to make him drain the bitter cup of jealousy.

From this moment dated her fame as an elegant woman. Clementina was indeed, in this matter, a great artist. She knew how to dress so that her clothes should never by their colour or quality attract attention to the prejudice of her face. Understanding that what a woman wears should be not a uniform, but an adornment to set off the perfections which nature has bestowed upon her, she was no blind slave of fas.h.i.+on; when she thought it unbecoming to her beauty she boldly defied it or modified it. She avoided glaring hues, a profusion of tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and elaborate styles of hair-dressing; she regarded and treated her person as a statue. Hence a certain tendency, constantly evident in her costume, towards drapery, and amplitude of flowing folds. Her fine, majestic figure gained greatly by this style of dress, which, though it became rather p.r.o.nounced after her marriage, was never exaggerated beyond the limits of good taste. She was fond of wearing white, and this, with a simple manner of dressing her hair like that of the Milo Venus, made her appear in the drawing-rooms of Madrid like a beautiful Greek statue. One thing she did which, though highly censurable from a moral point of view, is not so as a matter of art. She wore her dresses very low. Her bust was superb; it might have been moulded by the Graces to turn the head of a G.o.d. The vain desire to display her beauty, unchecked by the wholesome control of a mother, led her on more than one occasion to incur the severest comments of society. Poor Dona Carmen, besides knowing nothing of social custom, was so lenient to her stepdaughter's fancies and caprices, that she accepted them as quite reasonable, and as undoubted evidence of her indisputable elegance and taste.

However, her vanity brought its own punishment. On one occasion when she made her appearance at a ball given by the Alcudias, the Marquesa said as she greeted her:

"Very pretty, very nice, Clementina. Your dress is lovely; but it is too low, my dear. Come with me and let us set it right."

She took the girl up to her room and, with motherly kindness, arranged some gauzy material to cover what really ought not to be displayed.

Clementina managed to conceal her mortification, ascribing the fault to the dressmaker; but she felt so humiliated by the lecture, and the pitying smile which accompanied it, that she never again could endure to see the prudish Marquesa.

Under this constant fanning Osorio's flame waxed fiercer and fiercer, and he could no longer keep it to himself. At last he confided in his sister, who was fairly intimate with the young lady; he begged her to sound the way, and ascertain whether he might once more make advances without fear of a rebuff. Mariana undertook the commission. Clementina heard her with ill-disguised triumph, but sat demure until Senora de Calderon had poured out all her story, and a.s.sured her that Tomas was burning with devotion. Then she replied ambiguously, and with laughter: "She would think it over. She was deeply aggrieved by the reports that had been spread as to their rupture, but at any rate, he was not to give up all hope."

She did reflect seriously as to the means of satisfying the demands of her wounded pride, and at the end of a few days she announced to Mariana her ultimatum. If she was to consent to give her hand to Osorio, he must beg it of her parents on his knees, in the presence of such witnesses as she might choose.

Such a preposterous idea would never have occurred to any Spanish woman of pure race, and only the admixture of British blood could have led her to conceive of such a monstrous refinement of arrogance.

When Osorio was informed of the conditions imposed by his ex-_fiancee_ he flew into a violent rage, and swore defiantly that he would be cut in pieces before he would suffer such degradation. The matter dropped, and things went on as before. But as, in spite of his utmost efforts, the serpent of desire gnawed at his heart with increasing virulence, the poor wretch at the end of two months had fallen into utter dejection; he was really dying of love; he could not tear himself from Madrid, and once more he besought his sister to open negotiations. Clementina, quite sure of having him in her power, was inflexible; either he must pa.s.s beneath these strange Caudine forks, or there was no hope.

And Osorio submitted.

What could he do?--The extraordinary ceremony was carried out one evening at the lady's residence. On reaching the house Osorio found a.s.sembled about a score of women whom Clementina had chosen from among the most envious of her acquaintances, or those who had been most malignant as to the cause of their former quarrel. He adopted the best conduct he possibly could in such a case: grave and solemn, with a certain ease of language and manner, betraying a suspicion of irony, as if he were performing a comedy for the benefit of a crazy person. He gave a brief preliminary sketch of their former engagement; confessed himself to blame; praised Clementina in extravagant terms--with so little moderation indeed that he seemed to be speaking sarcastically--and professed himself unworthy to aspire to her hand.

Finally declaring that as she was so worthy to be adored, and the joy of winning her so great, he thought it but a small thing to ask her of her parents on his knees. At the same time he fell on one knee. Dona Carmen hastened to raise him, and embraced him effusively. Clementina even pressed his hand, better pleased by the grace and dignity with which he had got through the ordeal, than gratified in her conceit. In truth, on this occasion she felt for him, what she never felt again, a tiny spark of love. If any one suffered humiliation from this scene it was she herself, from the light and easy dignity with which her lover carried it off. But this was a trifle; a woman enjoys nothing more keenly and deeply than the superiority of the man who mollifies her. Clementina was happy that evening.

But though Osorio had come so well out of the ordeal, he never forgave her the intention to humiliate him; he was as proud as she. The insane pa.s.sion she had inspired for a time smothered every other. His honeymoon was as brief as it was delicious. The shock of two such characters, both equally obstinate and proud, was inevitable. It soon came in the form of a series of petty annoyances which instantly extinguished the feeble sparks of affection which her husband had struck in the young wife's heart. In him pa.s.sion survived longer. The knowledge each had of the other made them cautious, for fear of a more formidable collision which must have led to disaster. But this too came at last. Report said that Osorio, tired of his wife's indifference and scorn, had insulted her beyond forgiveness. Whether or no the story as it was told was true in all its details, their union at any rate was practically at an end for ever. Osorio forfeited his own right to interfere with his wife on the score of conduct, and could only look on while Clementina unblus.h.i.+ngly and confessedly accepted the attentions of every man who offered them.

He certainly, to parry the ridicule to which he was thus exposed, threw himself into excesses of dissipation, raising women from the lowest ranks to figure as his mistresses.