We took our coffee in the Tejo and I gazed attentively at that respectable patriarch of the vegetable world which was destined to play a certain part in my life. The enormous, rugged trunk fantastically covered with moss, with its bark alive and sound in spite of age, easily supported the majestic branches of the giant of the Ria, as it was styled in poetic parlance by the writers and correspondents of the Madrid journals when they came to pass the summer there. The manner in which it grew and spread its foliage of an intensely dark green had something of biblical impressiveness. It was impossible to look at the yew tree without profound veneration, as a symbol of exuberant and maternal nature which had brought forth such a sovereign organism.
The ocean, enamored of the beauty of Galicia, embraces her lovingly with its waves, kisses and fondles her with its spray, surrounds her, caresses her, and extends toward her a blue hand eager to press the soft roundness of the coast. The spreading fingers of this hand are the Rías. There the air is purer, softer, and more fragrant, while the vegetation is more southern and luxuriant. That Tejo, king of all other trees, only on the border of a Ria, and on land enriched by its waters, could spread itself with such lordly pride. It was the real monument of that region. It gave a name to the country seat; it served as a landmark to the boatmen and fishermen when in doubt how to find their way back to San Andrés. From its lofty summit one could overlook the surrounding country, and see not only the hamlets on the seashore, but also the group of islands, the famous Casitérides of the ancient geographers, and the boundless extent of a sea almost Grecian in its quiet beauty.
In order to build the three balconies, one above another, which adorned it, neither great architectural science nor unusual skill were needed. All they had to do was to take advantage of the splendid horizontal position of its branches, and build on that strong foundation some circular platforms, guarded by a light balustrade, running around them.
The winding staircase found a natural support in the very trunk of the giant. Its foliage was so dense that no one, from the ground, could see those who were taking coffee or refreshments in the second story, nor those who were dancing in the first, while the person who climbed to the third had to come to the front of the balcony in order to be seen.
Each story had its name. The first was the ball-room, the second the supper-room, and the third, “Bellavista.”
At Aldao’s you would often hear some one say: “Did you go up to Bellavista this morning?” “No, I went no further than the ball-room.”
To tell the truth, even if Señor Aldao should be displeased by it, the ball-room was not very spacious. However, it was large enough to enable them to dance a contra-dance there very comfortably, to the sound of the piano, which was brought out into the garden on such festive occasions. And it was quite charming to dance under its green awning, between its green walls, which hardly allowed the sunlight to flicker through. The platform used to shake a great deal, and so the exercise was dancing and swinging at the same time.
CHAPTER XI.
That day, when we climbed up in the supper-room to take our coffee, where they had already placed a number of chairs, benches, and rustic tables, the yew was more attractive than ever. A fresh breeze coming up from the estuary made the branches gently sway; the sun, striking full on the tree’s top, gilded it, and drew out that penetrating, somewhat resinous odor, which increases in our hearts the rapture of life. The height at which we found ourselves suspended might indeed make us fancy that we were birds; to me, it seemed that the birds would have a pleasant abode in the bosom of that colossus; and suddenly, as if nature took pleasure in inspiring me with one of those desires, impossible to gratify, with which she makes sport of mortals, I felt a desire, or, rather, an eager longing to fly, to lose myself in those blue spaces, pure and unfathomable, which we could see through the openings in the branches. When I perceived that I was envying the sea-gulls, which, far off, were swooping down upon the cliffs of San Andrés, I took myself to task for my folly, and, making an effort, I gave my attention to the conversation.
As usual, Father Moreno had the lead, and was once more assuring his hearers that he always felt better in Morocco than in Spain, better among the Moors than among the Christians, “of the kind they had there.”