The Catholic World
Chapter 340 : {497} Translated from the Spanish.PERICO THE SAD; OR, THE FAMILY OF ALVAREDA.CHAPTER I

{497}

Translated from the Spanish.

PERICO THE SAD; OR, THE FAMILY OF ALVAREDA.

CHAPTER I.

Following the curve formed by the ancient walls of Seville, encircling it as with a girdle of stone, leaving on the right the river and Las Delicias, we reach the gate of San Fernando. From this gate, in a direct line across the plain, as far as the ridge of Buena Vista, extends a road which pa.s.ses the rill upon a bridge of stone, and ascends the steep side of the hill. To the right of the road are seen the ruins of a chapel. At a bird's-eye view this road looks like an arm which Seville extends toward the ruins as if to call attention to them; for though small, and without a vestige of artistic merit, they form a religious and historic souvenir. They are an inheritance from the great king, Fernando III., whose memory is so popular that he is admired as a hero, venerated as a saint, and beloved as a king: thus realizing, in one grand historic figure the ideal of the Spanish people.

Having gained the summit, the road descends upon the opposite side into a a little valley, through which runs a narrow stream, which has washed its channel so clean that you will see in it only s.h.i.+ning pebbles and golden sand.

Fording this stream, the road touches on its right at a cheerful and hospitable little inn, and salutes on its left a Moorish castle seated so haughtily upon the height that it seems as though the ground had risen solely to form a pedestal for it. This castle was given by Don Pedro de Castilla to Dona Maria de Padilla, whose name it retains. The estate and castle of Dona Maria pa.s.sed in time, as a pious donation, to the Cathedral of Seville, the chapter of which has, in our days, sold it to a private gentleman. The a.s.sociations pa.s.sed for nothing, since a little while afterward, the withered, old, and furrowed Dona Maria appeared clothed in the whitest of lime, and adorned with brilliants of crystal.

Let us follow the road which advances, opening its way through the palmettos and evergreens of some pasture-lands, until it enters the village of Dos-Hermanas, [Footnote 85] situated in the midst of a sandy plain, two leagues from Seville.

[Footnote 85: Dos-Hermanas, two sisters. ]

One sees here neither river, nor lake, nor umbrageous trees, nor rural houses with green blinds, nor arbors covered with twining plants, nor peac.o.c.ks and Guinea fowls picking the green turf, nor grand avenues of trees in straight lines, like slaves holding parasols, to provide a constant shade for those who walk beneath. All these are wanting here.

Sad it is to confess it! All is common, rude, and inelegant, but instead, one meets good and contented faces, which prove how little those things are needed to make happiness. One sees, beside, flowers in the yards of the houses, and at their doors gay and healthy children, even more numerous than the flowers, and finds that sweet peace of the country, made up of silence and solitude, an atmosphere of Eden and the sky of paradise.

The village consists of houses of a single story, arranged in long, straight, though not parallel streets, which open upon the large, sandy market-place, spread out like a yellow carpet before a fine church, which lifts its lofty tower, surmounted by a cross, like a soldier elevating his standard.

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Behind the church we shall find the oasis of this desert. Supported by the rear wall of the edifice is a gate, opening into a wide and vast court, which leads to the chapel of Saint Anna, the patroness of the place. Built against the side of the chapel is the small and humble dwelling of the custodian, who is both singer and sacristan of the church. In this enclosure we shall see century-old cypresses, thick foliaged and sombre; the lilac, of stem so slight and rapid growth, lavis.h.i.+ng leaves, flowers, and perfumes upon the wind, as if conscious that its life is short; the orange, that grand seigneur, that favorite son of the soil of Andalusia, to whom it yields a life so sweet and long. We shall see the vine, which, like a child, needs the help of man to thrive and rise, and which spreads its broad leaves as if to caress the trellis that supports it. For it is certain that even plants have their individual characters from which we receive different impressions. We can hardly see a cypress without sadness, a lilac without tenderness, an orange-tree without admiration. Does not the lavender suggest the thought of a neat and peaceful interior; and the rosemary, perfume of holy night, does it not awaken the wholesome and sacred thoughts of that season?

To the right and left of the place extend those interminable olive plantations, which form the princ.i.p.al branch of the agriculture of Andalusia. The trees being planted well apart from each other give a cheerful air to these groves, but the ground underneath, kept so level and free from other vegetation by the plough, renders them wearisomely monotonous. At certain distances we encounter the groups of buildings which belong to the estates. These are constructed without taste or symmetry, and we may go all round them without finding the front.

There is nothing imposing about these great ma.s.ses, or structures, except the towers of their windmills, which rise above the olives as if to count them. The most of these estates belong to the aristocracy of Seville, but they are generally deserted because the ladies do not like to live in the country, and are therefore as desolate and as empty as barns, so that in these out-of-the-way places, the silence is only broken by the crowing of the c.o.c.k, while he vigilantly guards his seraglio, or by the braying of some superannuated a.s.s, that, turned out by the overseer to take his ease, tires of his solitude.

At the close of a beautiful day in January, in the year 1810, might have been heard the fresh voice of a youth of some twenty years, who, with his musket upon his shoulder, was walking with a firm but light step along one of the footpaths which are traced through the olive groves. His figure was straight, tall, and slight. His person, his air, his walk, had the ease, the grace, and the elegance which art endeavors to create, and which nature herself lavishes upon the Andalusians with generous hand. His head, covered with black curls, a model of the beautiful Spanish type, he carried erect and proudly. His large eyes were black and vivid; his look frank and full of intelligence. His well-formed upper lip, shortened with an expression of cheerful humor, showed his white and brilliant teeth. His whole person breathed a superabundance of life, health, and strength. A silver b.u.t.ton fastened the snowy s.h.i.+rt at his brown throat. He wore a short jacket of gray cloth, short trowsers, tied at the knee with cords and ta.s.sels of silk, and a yellow silk girdle pa.s.sed several times around his waist. Leather shoes and gaiters of the same, finely st.i.tched, encased his well-formed feet and legs. A wide-brimmed Portuguese hat, adorned with a velvet band and silk ta.s.sels, and jauntily inclined toward the left side, completed the elegant Andalusian dress.

This youth, noted for his active disposition, and for his impulsive and daring character, was employed by the superintendent of one of the estates to act as guard during the olive gathering. He sang as he went along:

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"The way is short, my step is light, I loiter not, nor do I weary; The path seems downward--easy trod, When up the hill I climb to Mary.

"But long the road, and oh! how steep!

My lingering footsteps slow and weary; The mountains seem before me piled When down the hill I come from Mary."

Arriving at the paling which enclosed the plantation the guard sprang over it without stopping to look for the gate, and found himself in a road face to face with another youth a little older than himself, who was also going toward the village. He was dressed in the same manner, but he was neither so tall nor so erect as the former.

His eyes were gray, and not so vivid, and his glance was more tranquil, his mouth was graver and his smile sweeter. Instead of a gun he carried a spade upon his shoulder. An a.s.s preceded him without being driven, and he was followed by an enormous dog, with short thick hair of a whitish yellow color, of the fine race of shepherd-dogs of Estremadura.

"Halloo! Is this you, Perico? G.o.d bless you!" exclaimed the elegant guard.

"And you, too, Ventura, are you coming to take a rest?"

"No," answered Ventura, "I come for supplies, and besides, it is eight days--"

"Since you saw my sister, Elvira," interrupted Perico with his sweet smile. "Very good, my friend, you are killing two birds with one stone."

"You keep still, Perico, and I will. He whose house has a gla.s.s roof shouldn't throw stones at his neighbor's," answered the guard.

"You are happy, Ventura," proceeded Perico with a sigh, "for you can marry when you like, without opposition from any one."

"And what!" exclaimed Ventura, "who or what can oppose your getting married?"

"The will of my mother," replied Perico.

"What are you saying?" asked Ventura, "and why? What fault can she find with Rita, who is young, good-looking, and comes of a good stock, since she is own cousin to you?"

"That is precisely the reason my mother alleges for not being in favor of it."

"An old woman's scruples! Does she wish to change the custom of the church, which permits it?"

"My mother's scruples," replied Perico, "are not religious ones. She says that the union of such near relations is against nature, that the same blood in both repels itself, and distaste is the result; that sooner or later evils, misfortunes and weariness follow and overtake them, and she gives a hundred examples to prove it."

"Don't mind her," said Ventura; "let her prophesy and sing evil like an owl. Mothers have always something against their sons' marrying."

"No," answered Perico gravely, "no; without my mother's consent I will never marry."

They walked along some instants in silence when Ventura said:

"The truth is, I am like the captain who embarked the pa.s.sengers and remained on sh.o.r.e himself, or like the preacher who used to say, 'Do as I tell you and not as I do;' for, in fact, does not the will of my father hold me, tied down like a lion with a woollen rope? Do you think, Perico, that if it were not for my father, I would not now be in Utrera, where the regiment of volunteers is enlisting to go and fight the infamous traitors who steal across our frontier in the guise of friends, to make themselves masters of the country and put a foreign yoke upon our necks?"

"I am of the same mind," said Perico, "but how can I leave my mother and sister who have only me to look to? But remember, if my mother sets herself against my marrying, I'm not going to live so, and I shall go with the other young men."

"And you will do right," said Ventura with energy. "As for me, the day they least expect it, though they call me, I shall not answer, and you may be sure, Perico, that on that day there will be a few less Frenchmen on the soil of Spain."

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"And Elvira?" questioned Perico.

"She will do like others, wait for me--or weep for me."

CHAPTER II.

The house of the family of Perico was s.p.a.cious and neatly whitewashed, both without and within. On each side of the door, built against the wall, was a bench of mason work. In the entry hung a lantern before an image of our Lord which was fixed upon the inner door, according to the Catholic custom, which requires that a religious thought shall precede everything, and puts all things under some holy patronage. In the midst of the s.p.a.cious court-yard an enormous orange-tree rose luxuriantly upon its smooth and robust trunk. Its base was s.h.i.+elded by a wooden frame. For numberless generations this beautiful tree had been a source of enjoyment to this family. The deceased Juan Alvareda, the father of Perico, claimed upon tradition, that its existence dated as far back as the expulsion of the Moors, when, according to his a.s.sertion, an Alvareda, a soldier of the royal saint, Fernando, had planted it, and when the parish priest, who was his wife's brother, would jest him upon the antiquity, and uninterrupted succession of his lineage, or make light of it, he always answered, without being disturbed or vacillating for an instant in his conviction, that all the lineages of the world were ancient, and that, though the direct line or succession of the rich might often be extinguished, such a thing never happened with the poor.

The women of the family made of the leaves of the orange-tree tonics for the stomach and soothing preparations for the nerves. The young girls adorned themselves with its flowers and made confections of them. The children regaled their palate and refreshed their blood with its fruit. The birds had their quarters-general among its leaves, and sung to it a thousand cheerful songs, while its possessors, who had grown up under its shelter, watered it unweariedly in summer-time and in winter cut away its withered twigs, as one pulls the gray hairs from the head of the father he would never see grow old.

On opposite sides of the entry were two suites of rooms, or, according to the expression of the province, _partidos_, both alike; consisting, each, of a parlor having two small windows with gratings looking toward the street, and two bedrooms forming an angle with the parlor, and receiving light from the yard. At the end of the yard was a door which opened into a large enclosure in which were the kitchen, wash-house, and stables, and which paraded in its centre a large fig-tree of so little pretension and self-esteem that it yielded itself without complaint to the nightly roost of the hens, never having bent its boughs under the inconvenient weight, even to play them a trick by way of carnival.

The master of the house had been dead three years. When he felt his end approaching, he called his son to him and said: "In your care I leave your mother and sister; be guided by the one and watch over the other. Live always in the holy fear of G.o.d, and think often of death, so that you may see his approach without either surprise or fear.

Remember my end, that you may not dread your own. All the Alvaredas have been honest men; in your veins flows the same Spanish blood and in your heart exist the same Catholic principles that made them such.