A Wedding Trip

by condesa de Emilia Pardo Bazán

The heroine of the occasion might be some eighteen years old; she might be thought younger, if one judged by the childish expression of her mouth and the rounded contour of her cheeks, older, judging by the luxuriant curves of her figure and the exuberant life and vigor revealed in her whole person. Here were no high and narrow shoulders and impossible hips such as we see represented in fashion plates, that put one in mind of a doll stuffed with bran; this was a woman, not of the conventional type of an ephemeral fashion, but of the eternal type of the feminine form, such as nature and classic art have designed it. Perhaps this physical superiority detracted to a certain extent from the effect of the fanciful traveling dress of the bride, perhaps curves less rounded, firmer outlines of the arm and neck were required in order to wear with the necessary ease the semi-masculine dress of maroon-colored cloth and the coarse straw toque, on whose crown perched, with wings outspread over a nest formed of feathers, a humming-bird with irridescent plumage.

It was evident that these adornments of dress were new to the bride, and that the skirt, gathered and fastened around the waist, and the tight jacket, which followed closely the lines of the bust, made her feel ill at ease as a young girl at her first ball feels ill at ease in her décolleté gown, for in every unaccustomed fashion in dress there is something immodest for the woman of simple habits. Besides, the mold was too narrow for the beautiful statue which it inclosed and which threatened at every moment to burst it, not so much by reason of its volume as because of the freedom and vigor of its youthful movements. The race of the strong and robust old man, the father, who stood there erect, his eyes fastened on his daughter, was not belied in this splendid specimen of womanhood. The old man, tall, firm and upright as a telegraph post, and a middle-aged Jesuit of short stature, were the only men noticeable among the feminine swarm.

The bridegroom was accompanied by some half-dozen friends, and if the retinue of the bride was the link that joins the middle class to the people, that of the bridegroom touched on the boundary line, in Spain as vague as it is extensive, between the middle class and the higher ranks. A certain air of official gravity, a complexion faded and smoked by the flare of the gas-jets, an indefinable expression of optimistic satisfaction and maturity of age, were signs indicative of men who had reached the summit of human aspirations in those countries which are in their decline—a government situation. One among them seemed to take precedence of the rest, by whom he was treated with marked deference.

This group was animated by a noisy joviality restrained by official decorum; curiosity was rife here too, less open and ingenuous but keener and more epigrammatic in its expression than among the swarm of the female friends of the bride. There were whispered conversations, witticisms of the café, accentuated by a gesture of the hand or a push of the elbow, bursts of laughter quickly suppressed, glances of intelligence; cigar-ends were thrown on the ground with a martial air, arms were folded as if they had a tacit understanding with each other. The gray overcoat of the groom was noticeable among the black coats, and his tall figure dominated the figures of the men around him. Half a century, less a lustrum, successfully combated by the skill of the tailor and the arts of the toilet, shoulders that stooped in spite of their owner’s efforts to hold them erect, a countenance against whose pallor, suggestive of habitual late hours, were defined, sharply as lines drawn with pen and ink, the pointed ends of the mustache, hair whose scantiness was apparent even under the smooth brim of the ash-colored felt hat, skin wrinkled and pursy under the eyes, eyelids of a leaden hue, eyes lusterless and dull but a carriage still graceful, and the carefully preserved remains of former good looks—such was the picture presented by the bridegroom. Perhaps the very elegance of his dress served to make all the more evident the ravages of time; the long overcoat was a trifle too tight for the waist, less slender than it had once been, the felt hat, jauntily tipped to one side, called loudly for the smooth cheeks and temples of youth. But all this notwithstanding, among that assemblage of vulgar provincial figures the figure of the bridegroom had a certain air of courtliness, the ease of a man accustomed to the commodious and comfortable life of great cities, and the dash of one who knows no scruples and stops at nothing when self-interest is in question. He showed himself superior to the group of his friends even in the good-humored reserve with which he received the innuendos and whispered jests, so appropriate to the bourgeois character of the wedding.

The engine now announced by a shrill whistle or two the approaching departure of the train; the hurry and movement on the platform increased and the floor trembled under the weight of the baggage-laden barrows. The warning cries of the officials were at last heard. Up to this time the wedding party had been conversing in groups in low and confidential tones; the approaching crisis seemed to reanimate them, to break the spell as it were, transforming the scene in an instant. The bride ran to her father with open arms, and the old man and the young girl clasped each other in a long embrace—the hearty embrace of the people in which the bones crack and the breathing is impeded. From the lips of both, almost simultaneously, came rapid phrases in quick succession.

“Be sure and write to me every day, eh? Take care not to drink water when you are perspiring. Your husband has money—ask more if that should run out.”

“Don’t worry, father. I will do all in my power to come back soon. Take care of yourself, for Heaven’s sake—take care of your asthma. Go once in a while to see Señor de Rada. If you should fall ill, send me a telegram on the instant. On your word of honor?”

Then followed the hugs and hearty kisses, the sobs and snifflings of the retinue of the bride, and the last commissions, the last good-wishes.

“May you be as happy as the patriarchs of old.”

“San Rafael be with you, child.”