GATHERED THREADS.
Some time before the events which we have just related, the loves of
Ricardo and Maria, which had been going on in a gradual diminuendo like
the notes of a beautiful melody, until Ricardo himself knew not whether
they really existed or had completely died away; whether he was the
lover of the first-born daughter of the Elorzas, or whether he had other
rights over her heart than those granted to an old valued friend--these
loves, I say, had suddenly and unexpectedly gained, without any one
knowing a reason for it, a new lease of life, just as a light about to
die from lack of oil is renewed by being given a good quantity of this
combustible. Every one was surprised to see them together, talking as
before in one corner of the parlor, during long interviews, oblivious of
everything around them, dwelling in that nook of heaven which lovers
find as easily in crowds as in solitude. Satisfaction followed surprise
in their friends, and this in turn was followed by hypotheses as to the
approach of the wedding-day, and conjectures about the motives serving
to make such a change in the conduct of the lovers. The mischievous
ones, winking as they said it, declared that of the three enemies of the
soul, the flesh was the most to be feared, and that God had said,
_Crescite et multiplicamini_, and that it was folly to fight against the
laws of nature. The ladies, casting down their eyes, declared that in
all states one could well serve God, and that not the easiest of
penances were imposed by the care and education of children and the rule
of the house. But at all events, the fact was that things had changed
without any one knowing why, and that ladies and gentlemen were
delighted, hoping that the illustrious partners would soon vouchsafe
them a happy day. Don Mariano's delight was so great that it shone
through his eyes every time that he turned them toward the handsome
couple, and a thousand lovely dreams in which figured a swarm of rosy,
frolicsome grandchildren, just as his daughter had been, came at night
to caress him in the solitudes of his feudal couch. Doña Gertrudis, as
usual, thoroughly approved of Maria's conduct. Learn now how this state
of things came about.
One morning when the young Marqués de Peñalta awoke earlier than usual,
noticing from the window of his room that the sky was clear (contrary to
its time-honored custom), he felt an inclination to take a walk in the
environs of the town, and making the thought father to the act, he
hastily dressed and went down into the street in search of pure air; but
before he left the inner town, as he was passing the Elorza mansion, he
accidentally met Maria going to church with her maid. His heart gave a
leap, and, somewhat agitated, he stopped to salute her. The girl met him
with that gay, blithesome gesture, full at once of mischievousness and
candor which was peculiar to her nature, and therefore impossible to
overcome by any force.
"You have got up early--to hear mass, I suppose?"
"Oh no," replied Ricardo with a smile; "I was going to take a walk in
the country, as it must be very lovely now."
"Very well; but to-day you must not go to walk: I claim you, and am
going to take you to mass," said the girl in a tone of resolution, and
with a decidedly adorable inflection of voice; and suiting the action to
the word, she took him by the hand and led him captive this way for a
number of feet.
Lucky Ricardo! what better could he desire at that moment than to see
himself captured in such a lovely way? He could not say a word during
the first few moments. Emotion overmastered him, and a tear slid down
his honest, manly face.
"Oh, Maria, if you knew how happy you make me!" he said to her in a low,
trembling voice. "If you wanted to take me with you, where would I not
go? You cannot comprehend how I long for you to speak with me, to smile
on me, to lead me. I try eagerly to find ways to please you, and I don't
find them. Tell me how I can cause you any pleasure, how I can melt the
ice which is destroying our love, and I will try to do it, even if it
should cost me my life. If I did not love you more than any other being
in this world, and also as the blessed remembrance of my mother, how
long ago I should have left you forever!... But my love is of such a
nature, it is so strong, so eager, so absorbing, that it has succeeded
in disarming all my pride ... and I fear that it has got the better of
my dignity," he added in a low tone.
The young woman looked at him steadily, full of delight and admiration
of such sincere affection, and she replied gayly,--
"At present you can please me by going to mass with me; will you?"
"Yes, dear."
"Will you come to-morrow also, and every other day?"
"Yes, loveliest, I ask nothing better."
"You don't know how you rejoice me, Ricardo!"
"Truly?"
"Yes, I love you dearly, but I want you to be good and religious,
because, before everything else we ought to think of our salvation, and
make it our richest possession in this world."
The young man at that moment felt his heart melt within him, as he drank
in the drops of affection which his sweetheart let fall upon his lips.
There is nothing that can so quickly change our most deeply rooted ideas
and our firmest judgments as the voice of the woman whom we love.
Ricardo was a lukewarm believer, like most men of our day, and he
detested exaggerations, and looked with decided repugnance upon
religious practices. Accordingly then, by the work of enchantment, that
is, by the work of that sweet voice and those still sweeter eyes, which
gazed upon him with eloquent expression, he was stripped of his
anti-clerical opinions, and was transformed into a decided champion of
the altar and a fervid devotee of the saints, male and female, of the
celestial court. He took delight in thinking that what his betrothed was
doing was, after all, not blameworthy; that her piety and mysticism were
the reflection of a noble and lofty spirit; that this same piety was the
sweet pledge of her conjugal happiness, since it would cause her to
refrain from the vanities to which other women after marriage devote
themselves; that there was nothing strange in the poor girl desiring her
betrothed to be a believer and devout, when her ideas about eternal
salvation were taken into consideration, and that in this regard he had
done very wrong to oppose her so obstinately, striking her in the very
heart of her sensitive and admirable faith; finally he came to the
conclusion that he was a barbarian, incapable of enjoying the sacraments
or of understanding the adorable mysteries which a heart consecrated to
God might take in, and that Maria was a saint who had borne with him
with too much patience. Moved, partly by this thought, and infinitely
more by the emotion caused by his sweetheart's unexpected favor, he
replied with accents of tenderness:--
"Listen Maria.... You know well that I am not, and have never been an
unbeliever.... It is true I have looked with a certain coolness on
religious practices, but you ought to know just as well that this is a
common fault among young men, and particularly among the military.... As
for the rest, I tell you with all the sincerity of my soul, I have never
abandoned the faith which my sainted mother taught me in childhood....
Even now ring in my ears her counsels, and still I can repeat without
mistake, the multitude of prayers which she made me say on my knees on
the bed, when I retired.... That cannot be forgotten, Maria.... It would
be infamous if one forgot it! To-day the same counsels are repeated by
lips that I worship.... How could you think that a religion always
inculcated by the beings whom I have most loved and respected in my
life, should not be sweet!... Yes, my loveliest, I am religious by birth
and by conviction, and I hope to be still more fervently so by your
aid.... Tell me what you desire me to do in this regard, and I will do
it.... Tell me what thoughts you wish me to think, and I will think
them!... I am all yours, body and soul...."
"Thus, thus I love you.... But you must not be religious for the sake of
my love, for then it has no merit in it, but for the sake of God. The
ties which are made in this world,--what are they worth in comparison
with that existing eternally between the Creator and his creatures? If
you love me much, love me in God and for God, as I love you. In any
other way it is a sin to fix our attention and our love on any
creature."
Ricardo's emotion and ardor received from these words a dash of cold
water, but they were strong enough to persist without diminution, and
they still kept control of his heart until they reached the portico of
the church. Then Maria, taking the holy water, and offering it to him
with the tips of her fingers, said:--
"Now you must stay under the choir to hear the mass; I am going up to
the altar. Be careful not to look for me a single time! You must
understand that this would be to profane the sanctuary, and in such a
case it would be better for you not to come in."
"No, I will not look at you, though it will be very hard work."
"Give me your word that you won't."
"I give it."
"Well, then, adios, ... it won't be long[55] ... wait for me at the
entrance...."
After she had gone several steps away, she turned around to say in a
very subdued tone,--
"Be sure to do as I said, ... and be reverent, will you?"
Ricardo gave a sign of assent, while a happy smile brightened his face.
From that time forth the Marqués de Peñalta every morning escorted the
eldest daughter of the Elorzas to mass, leaving her at the church door
and joining her again when service was over. Maria evidently felt great
pleasure in having his company, and as for Ricardo, it is not easy to
exaggerate the joy which suddenly fell upon him through the change
brought about in the behavior of his betrothed. Gradually her influence
began to have such weight upon his spirit, that before long, as he
himself had already suspected would be the case, his ideas began notably
to modify, and not only his ideas but likewise his habits and manner of
life, causing him to be more circumspect in nature, more careful in his
speech, more gentle and more religious ... Anxious to please his
betrothed, who did not cease to urge him with entreaties and advice, he
began to give up the noisy amusements and even the company of the other
officers of the gun factory, going home early, frequenting churches, and
spending many afternoons with some of the clergymen; he became a member
of several pious confraternities, among them that of Saint Vincent de
Paul, visiting the poor in company with the _beatos_ of the town, and
spending no little money in contributions for worship; finally, after
many heartfelt prayers he made general confession to Fray Ignacio,
Maria's confessor.
However strange it may seem, we must declare that Ricardo, far from
feeling repugnance or discomfort in this new life, found deep,
mysterious pleasures, which till then he had never enjoyed. The pomp and
circumstance of the Catholic religion, to which he had hitherto paid
little attention, began to fascinate him; the sweet seclusion of the
church at eventide, when it is peopled with shadows and murmurs, filled
him with a gentle perturbation, with a certain peculiar longing for a
lofty secret something; the odors of the incense and wax were for him
like a pleasant poison, which put him to sleep, carrying him away to
glorious regions of immortal bliss; his frequent deeds of charity
produced in him an agreeable aftertaste and a great sense of comfort,
increasing his faith; the humiliation of the sacrament of penance,
which at first had been so distasteful to him, came to be a fountain of
delights; he himself did not know whence they proceeded or how they took
possession of his soul. Perhaps some of the psychological novelists who
know so much and take such delight in investigating the deepest recesses
of the consciousness of other people might discover the origin of those
joys in the close union which our young friend created in the depths of
his soul between religion and his love for Maria, and might see in the
pleasure which Ricardo felt in running counter to his ideas, and
mortifying his self-love, a certain analogy to what mystics and ascetics
feel in the midst of their cruel torments,--the pleasure of sacrificing
self for the beloved object. Perhaps they would set themselves minutely
to investigate what part of that pleasure corresponded to pure devotion,
and what part to the development of amorous sentiments and the movement
of the feelings. Possibly, carried away by their love of analysis, and
dragged from their moorings by the hurricane of impiety, which is
nowadays apt to carry away with it this class of novelists, they might
go so far as to declare that there exists at the bottom of religious
practices and the ceremonial of the Church something which instead of
calming the voice of the feelings adds to it, and that the inclination
of the sexes, in the very heart of the religious life, within the temple
itself, enjoying the soporific light reflected gently from the gilding
of the altars, breathing the keen odors of the dust and the wax, and the
narcotic perfume of the incense, listening to the moaning of the organ,
and the vague murmur of the prayers of the faithful, acquires the
flattering savor of forbidden fruit, and is more delicious and
voluptuous than amid the splendor and elegance of the ball-room.
Possibly they would say this and add many other considerations to prove
it, but I will not follow them on this path, which, without good reason,
leads to the offending of timid consciences and the grievous confusing
of the novelist with the philosopher. I limit myself gladly to setting
forth facts without launching out into the philosophy of them, and I
faithfully describe what I have seen and experienced, or have been told
by trustworthy people.
One genuine fact, therefore, was that Ricardo enjoyed in his own way
yielding to the counsels of his betrothed in reference to the practice
of Christian virtue and pious deeds. The afternoon when he made general
confession, he felt more deeply than ever the singular consolation and
the lively delights to be enjoyed in the depths of humility. It was a
clear, beautiful spring afternoon. Fray Ignacio, forewarned by Maria,
was waiting for him in the sacristy of San Felipe, and received him with
a certain familiar solemnity not free from condescension. He confessed
in the sacristy itself, Fray Ignacio being seated in a wooden chair
blackened and polished by use, while he knelt at his feet with the
diffidence and emotion such as he used to feel as a boy when his mother
led him by the hand to the same confessional. The shame of announcing
his sins soon passed away, giving place to a gentle tenderness full of
unspeakable sweetness, which was so overpowering that he was constrained
to tears. The spacious room in which he found himself, its lofty
ceiling, its dusty walls set with black shelves and gloomy paintings,
gave a melancholy echo to the murmured words of his confession; the
sunlight made its way in through the leaded panes of the two windows,
making in the wide spaces lines of floating, luminous dust. The priest
threw one arm around his neck and brought his ear close to his lips,
gradually probing with many leading questions the inmost nooks and
corners of his conscience and the deepest secrets of his soul, sometimes
severely chiding him, sometimes giving him sweet counsels, sometimes
entertaining him with exemplary anecdotes which agreeably occupied for a
few moments the intervals of the pious proceeding. He stopped to speak
long of Ricardo's love and its advantages and of Maria's splendid
character. Ricardo felt a lively pleasure in these words: he looked with
admiration and reverence on that man who was the absolute master of his
loved one's secrets, and he determined to put his soul into his hands,
that he might guide it just as she had done. The priest continued with a
final exhortation full of fire, wherein he eloquently united Maria's
name with all the acts of virtue which he expected from him henceforth,
so as to stir him to the highest pitch and kindle in his spirit sincere
repentance and an irresistible desire to live piously and rejoice his
betrothed. When they were done, and Fray Ignacio, assuming a certain
solemnity, drew back a little and let fall upon him a full and generous
absolution, the lines of the floating luminous dust had vanished and the
sacristy was half enveloped in shadows. On the following day, when he
went to mass with Maria, instead of waiting under the choir, he went
with her to the great altar and received in her presence and to her
great joy the holy wafer.
"You have given me the greatest pleasure of my life, Ricardo," she said
as they went out of the church.
The young marquis smiled beatifically, and replied in a whisper,--
"Do you love me more now?"
"I don't care to answer you," replied the girl with a sweet expression
of face. "After communion one ought not to speak of such things.... Let
us wait till to-morrow."
They waited till the morrow, and then Maria told him without hesitation
that his virtuous conduct inspired her with more and more love, and that
he must not faint in the way if he desired to see himself always loved.
Ricardo had no other thought than this, and he found so much to delight
him in this new state of affairs that for no earthly advantage would he
consent to change it. Thus, then, each day he kept on with greater
resolution in the path which his betrothed laid out for him, and paid no
heed to the chaffing of his companions of the factory, since it was
difficult to catch sight of him anywhere else except at home, at Don
Mariano's, or at church.
"You have converted me into a _beato!_" he said sometimes to Maria, as a
sort of affectionate reproach.
"Why? are you getting tired of it, you rogue?"
"No, dear, no; I am happy enough because thus I have conquered your
love...."
"Is that the only reason?"
" ...And because I like to lead this better regulated and sober life."
"That is a different thing!"
Let us say here (though the reader will not have failed to perceive it)
that in imagination, and even intelligence, Maria was the young Marqués
de Peñalta's superior, and that in this regard, and taking into account
the deep affection which he professed for her, it was nothing strange
that he should yield to his mistress and her counsels in matters wherein
men of greater learning and talent frequently give way to their mothers
and wives. Maria, aside from her vivid imagination, stimulated and
kindled by continual reading, had a special gift for persuading. Her
language was always easy and picturesque, and she took especial delight
in moving her friends to compassion, when she wanted to entice from them
money for the poor or for church services; the rare facility with which
she passed from the serious and pathetic to the humorous, and mingled
with an earnest entreaty the salt of a witty saying, made her
irresistible. The religious confraternities and societies of Nieva had
no more active and influential member, and they relied upon her in
emergencies as upon a guardian angel who would be able to rescue them
from their difficulties. As may be supposed, this lofty estimation was
supported, not only by the young lady's splendid moral and physical
qualities, but also in no small degree by the fact that she was the
daughter of the richest and most respected gentleman in town.
Let us say also that at the period when these events occurred, the
clergy and the religious tendencies of our people were suffering a mild
sort of persecution on the part of the government, which was then under
the control of liberals most extreme in their views and notorious for
their heretical ideas, and this, as was to be expected, had greatly
excited the consciences of the God-fearing, and had kindled in the
Northern provinces, naturally more religious and more tenacious of
tradition, an obstinate and bloody civil war which threatened to
overthrow the body politic, and, at the same time, our wealth and
prestige. All people of greater or less piety who loved our Catholic
traditions, every one who detested the persecution suffered by the
Church, and yearned for the kingdom of Jesus on earth under the
mediation of his ministers, waited eagerly the result of this formidable
war, in which were at stake not only the more or less genuine rights of
a claimant to the throne, but likewise the dearest and most august
interests of religion. Those who frequented the churches and were on
terms of intimacy with the clergy, took a tacit stand together against
the heretics in power, receiving joyfully and quickly spreading all
intelligence favorable to the royal-Catholic cause, and falling into
anxiety and melancholy when bad news came. In the houses of the richest
landed proprietors, in the sacristies, and in the back shops of many an
absolutist merchant was read on the sly the _Cuartel Real_, the official
journal of the Pretender, which came from time to time between pieces of
_cretonne_ or packages of macaroni. Festivals in honor of the Virgin
were celebrated with great pomp as an atonement for the manifold
impieties of the Congress of Deputies, and these festivals on more than
one occasion ended violently by the interference of drunken Republicans.
There was a great increase in attention to religious worship, especially
to that of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, and many pious people
went on pilgrimages to the sanctuary of Lourdes, on their return telling
their friends about the fine arrangement and the solid organization of
the Catholic hosts in the Basque provinces. A number of young men of the
best known families of Nieva had not been seen over night, concealing
the real purpose of their absence. From this to open, resolute
conspiracy is but a step, and in Nieva this preparatory step had already
been taken. There was formed in the town a Carlist committee,[56] which
held its meetings with a certain mystery and kept up close relations
with the Central Committee, whose orders it obeyed, and a lively
correspondence with the army of the Pretender. As in the country,
though not to such a degree as in the Basque provinces, there existed
sufficient elements for the service of the Catholic-monarchical cause,
to bring about, provided they were well managed, if not a formal war, at
least a serious agitation. The committee of Nieva, instigated by that of
the capital, decided, after much vacillation and no few discussions, to
raise a company within the territory. The preparations were very
extensive; they began early in the winter, and did not terminate until
the beginning of the spring. There were reports emanating from Bayonne,
there came orders and plans of action, there were numberless secret
meetings, a few women were enlisted, muskets were surreptitiously
abstracted from the factory by a few Carlist workmen, a quantity of
white caps and spatterdashes[57] were made; finally, one night there
went out to camp some thirty young men, for the most part students and
seminarists, at whose head marched the president of the committee, Don
César Pardo, whom we had the honor of meeting at the end of the third
chapter of this narration. Those who had sworn to go forth that night
were more than three hundred, but only that handful of braves were on
hand, and Don César, giving proofs of what he was, that is, a bold,
heroic caballero, did not hesitate to take command of them, hoping by
his example to carry along the timid. They made their way to the
mountain by the valley of Cañedo; but on the next day a dozen
policemen,[58] who immediately started in pursuit of them, took them by
surprise just as they were dining in camp, and brought them back to the
city, bound, without being able to make the least resistance. The
people, hearing of the incident, hastened in great numbers to await
them on the highway, and saw them filing toward the jail, melancholy but
dignified and stern, showing in their haughty eyes that if they had not
been victims of a surprise, much blood would have been shed.
The eldest daughter of the house of Elorza, a most ardent devotee of
religion, enlisted body and soul in the divine mission of sanctifying
her spirit and saving it from the clutches of sin. An unwearied worker
in the field of evangelical virtue, ever aspiring to greater perfection,
and a zealous propagator of the faith, she could not fail to share in
the indignation burning in the breast of the people with whom she had
most to do. To her ears came, greatly exaggerated, the rumor of the
revolutionary excesses, and the blasphemies daily uttered by the
newspapers at the capital, though of course she never ventured to read
them. Her confessors commanded her to implore God in her prayers, that
the Church might triumph and its enemies be brought to confusion and
repentance; her friends and companions in the confraternities asked her
to join them in special novenas for the consolation of the Virgin; not a
few times they asked alms of her for some priest who was lying in
misery, and at other times for the unfortunate nuns of some convent,
cruelly torn from it that it might be turned into barracks. All these
things, along with a fervid affection for the holy institutions thus
persecuted, continually fomented in her ardent, enthusiastic soul a deep
aversion for the persecutors and the impious men who governed contrary
to the law of God. Sometimes, carried away by her impressionable
temperament, she felt powerful impulses to follow the example of Judith,
making some villain expiate such horrible deeds of sacrilege. She would
have liked to hold in her power the persecutors of Jesus, to destroy
them and crush them to powder. When these cruel impulses passed away,
they left her always with a warm compassion for the innocent victims of
the madness of impiety, and a vague desire to contribute with her blood
to the reign of Jesus and Mary over all the powers of the earth. She
felt that a something was born in her heart spurring her toward active
life, persuading her to leave for a time the joys of contemplation for
the pains of struggle, repose for labor, the enchantment of solitude for
tumult; she heard, like the bride of the Sacred Song, a voice saying:
"_Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled, for my head is
fitted with dew and my locks with the drops of the night._" She saw
clearly that her Jesus suffered for the injustices of men, and that he
demanded her aid; that he asked a new proof of love by tearing her away
from the comfort which she enjoyed and casting her amid the hurricanes
of the world. But the beautiful young girl at the same time saw the
enormous difficulties rising before her at the first step which she
should make, the persecutions which would come upon her, and the
certainty that those who loved her would regard her conduct as absurd.
She understood her weakness, was afraid of the bitter griefs in store
for her, and she replied, like the bride: "_I have put off my coat; how
shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?_"
Long she struggled with herself to quench the voice calling her to
active life, and convince herself that she could not do anything for the
cause of the Lord; but it was in vain. All her specious arguments were
answered victoriously by the voice, putting it before her that she ought
not to question whether her aid would or would not be valuable, but
simply to consider the will with which she offered it; that God was
pleased oftentimes to show his power by entrusting the execution of
great deeds to humble and frail creatures, as was proved by the
renowned Jean d'Arc, Saint Catalina of Sienna, Saint Teresa, and other
excellent virgins who accomplished mighty works in spite of the high
powers of the earth.
An insignificant incident brought Maria to a decision. Her uncle
Rodrigo, Marqués de Revollar, who was one of the most important magnates
of the court of the Pretender, learning of her enkindled faith and the
relations which she maintained with the partisans of Catholic monarchy
in Nieva, wrote her from Bayonne, asking her if she were ready to serve
as intermediary for the correspondence between him and Don César Pardo,
president of the Carlist committee. Maria hastened to reply that she
should be delighted to do so, and from that time she began frequently to
receive letters from her uncle, enclosed in which came others for Don
César. These were doubtless the thread by which the Carlist conspiracy
of Nieva was connected with the lofty spheres whence the orders
emanated. And, without her knowing how, she found herself
compromised--and she was not troubled by it--in the cause of the good
Christians who, as she frequently heard from the lips of Don César and
others, were endeavoring to restore Jesus to his sacred throne, and to
rescue him from pride and heresy. Far, as I said, from feeling fear or
trouble by it, her courage increased from the danger that she ran, and
this was for her a manifest sign that the favor of heaven accompanied
her, and she constantly entangled herself more and more in the designs
of the conspirators, being present at their meetings and serving them
with zeal and enthusiasm to the best of her ability. At the time of Don
César's armed expedition she it was who embroidered the standard and the
flannel hearts which the defenders of the faith wore, sewed on their
waistcoats. The conspirators felt toward her the greatest respect on
account of her reputation for sanctity, and they professed for her deep
affection for the enthusiasm with which she burned for the cause. In
some of these meetings she was invited to give her opinion, and she did
so with such talent and eloquence, she showed so much fire, and at the
same time so much discretion in her language, that the conspirators saw
in the beautiful young girl an angel sent from God to sustain their
faith and cause them to hold firm in their mighty schemes.
After Don César's abortive attempt the Carlists of Nieva were quite cast
down. Maria shed many tears, and besought God earnestly that He would
not allow iniquity and falsehood to prevail against His holy law, and
that He would have compassion on His good soldiers, now banished and
persecuted. And, in fact, God had compassion, and allowed Don César and
the larger part of the young men, who with him had been banished to the
_Canary Islands_, to escape in a foreign steamship, and return incognito
to their fatherland, where they hid in the houses of their faithful and
valorous friends. Thereupon the partisans of tradition recovered their
energy and began once more to plot, though it was vaguely and without
definite object. The object did not appear for some time, until the
heroic and determined Don César suggested the idea of striking an
audacious blow which would suddenly give them the means of struggling
advantageously with the few troops in the province. This stroke,
proposed by the valiant ringleader, was nothing less than to seize the
gun factory[59] of Nieva. At first all thought the project a crazy one,
but gradually, by dint of thinking the idea over and over, they came to
look upon it as less unreasonable, and even began quietly, and with
great enthusiasm, to prepare the means for carrying it out. Such being
the state of things, Maria, one afternoon, went to the house where Don
César was concealed, and asked to speak with him in private. What the
damsel said must have been exceedingly important and flattering, for the
old ringleader, offering her his hand, and giving her a kiss upon the
forehead, replied with trembling voice:--
"My daughter, you are going to be our salvation. God desires to submit
the lot of many brave men to such dainty hands, and who knows if not
also the triumph of His cause?"
The young woman retired to her room, where she engaged in prayer for a
long time, and then she went down to her mother's apartment. Ricardo
soon came in, according to his habit. After a few moments of
conversation, Doña Gertrudis went off to sleep, and the two young people
retired to a nook in the window to tell each other the sweet every-day
secrets, which are sweeter and more delicious the more they are
repeated. Maria was preoccupied; her betrothed, with the quickness of
one who truly loves, instantly noticed it.
"What ails you to-day?... it seems to me that you are troubled...."
"I feel sad, Ricardo.... I feel sad, as though some misfortune were
hurrying on me."
"It's your nerves, which are overtaxed, dear.... Fasts greatly weaken
you. You ought to stop them for a while, as well as so many hours of
prayer.... You are weakening yourself very much...."
"On the contrary, I have never felt so well as I have lately. It is not
my nerves, but a genuine sadness.... It is my soul that suffers, and not
my body."
"But have you any reason for being melancholy?"
"I have a presentiment."
"But who cares for presentiments?"
Maria kept silent, and Ricardo also. It was the twilight hour; both
gazed steadily out of the window, upon the great plaza of Nieva,
surrounded by its arcades, where the boys who had been let out of school
were amusing themselves, running and shouting. The sun was already down,
leaving above the tiled roof of the town-hall[60] a wide stretch of sky
slightly tinted with rose, which took bluish shades toward the zenith,
and yellow toward the horizon. The people of the town were hurrying
through the streets, attending to the last duties of the day, and
enjoying the sweet gloaming. Such an evening was rare. The balconies of
the Café de la Estrella were occupied by a few customers, who were
casting their restless eyes around the plaza. On the balcony of the
opposite house a little boy, with blue eyes and light, curly hair, was
having a good time with a wooden pipe, blowing soap-bubbles. Several
ragamuffins below, with no little chatter, caught them as they floated
down, bursting them with their hats and handkerchiefs.
After a while, Maria turned to her betrothed, and fixing upon him an
intense, anxious look, said, with trembling voice,--
"Ricardo, do you love me much?"
"Why do you ask me that question?... Don't you know that I do?"
"Yes, I know that you love me.... You have already given me proof of it
... but in love, as in everything not transitory in this world, there is
always a more and less.... Only divine love is infinite.... The love
that you bear me has stood certain proofs; who knows if it could stand
others?"
"The love which I have for thee," said the young marquis, placing his
hand on his heart, "has power to stand all proofs."
"All?"
"All."
"Even if I were to ask you your life?..."
"Bah! bah!" replied the young man, shrugging his shoulders with gesture
of disdain, "that would be to ask very little."
Maria smiled with satisfaction, and after a pause, demanded timidly,--
"And if I asked your honor ... or what you men understand by honor?..."
she added, correcting herself.
Ricardo, slightly pale, arose to his feet, and hesitated some time
before he replied. At last he said in a low tone, calmly:--
"Honor, my love, is not our own possession; it is a trust which heaven
places in our hands at birth, demanding account of it when we die."
A flash of indignation and scorn passed through Maria's eyes, as she
heard those words.
"And who has told you[61] what heaven grants you or asks of you, and why
do you mix heaven with things that oftentimes pertain to hell?"
But calming herself in an instant, and giving her words a sweet,
persuasive tone, she added:--
"What heaven confides to man at birth nothing can reveal except
religion, and religion tells us that man not seldom counts his honor in
what he ought to look upon as his ruin and destruction.... Generally
what the world most appreciates and thirsts for goes against God's
law.... Therefore we ought to make very little account of this pretended
honor with which pride and haughtiness are cloaked. The true honor of
the Christian consists only in serving God, and obeying His holy
commands.... Listen, Ricardo.... I asked you if you loved me much for
the reason that it was imperative for me to know ... to know with
absolute and entire certainty.... I am going to make you a confession,
after which, if you are as noble and have as much faith as I may demand
of you, perhaps you will love me more than ever; ... but if your faith
is frail and vacillating, and you pay tribute to the frivolous
considerations of the world, you will surely love me less, and possibly
you will even desert me...."
"Never that!"
"Wait a moment.... Imagine that your betrothed, neglecting and even
violating certain rules laid down by society, and overstepping the
limits always set for woman, especially when she is an unmarried girl,
mingles in actions that are purely masculine; ... for example, in
politics, ... and not only mingles in them with thought and word, but
actually takes an active part in them. Imagine her to enter into a
conspiracy, and work with ardor for the triumph of her cause, ... and
put her life or her liberty at stake to accomplish it...."
"What, you?..."
"Yes," replied Maria, with resolution. "I have entered with all my heart
into a conspiracy.... I am working with all my might and main for the
triumph of the cause of the righteous.... God knows well that it makes
no difference to me whether one set of men or another rule over us, and
that no earthly consideration has tempted me to such a step. But I have
seen, and I still see religion and the ministry of religion, abused; I
see the salvation of many souls endangered, I see every day the divine
Jesus and his sweet name made a mockery by the impious men who chance to
rule in Spain, wearing a crown of thorns a thousand times more grievous
than what he bore at Jerusalem ... and I feel that his eyes implore me
and I hear his celestial voice begging me to lift that terrible crown a
little.... Do you think that I can weigh against the sublime interests
of religion, the safety of my soul, and the glory of Jesus, the childish
fear of displeasing the world?"
"I know nothing about it," replied Ricardo, in a dull voice, buried in
deep thought.
"You see how I was right! Now that I have confessed to you and told you
my secret, your love already grows dim, and you certainly will soon
drift away from me and abandon me!"
The young girl's last word caused Ricardo to lift his head quickly. He
had a presentiment that something serious was at hand, and he replied in
a tone of ill humor,--
"And what is it that has moved you to confide to me all these things,
which you have kept so secret till now?"
"Before all, forgive me for not having confided in you before.... They
were secrets that did not belong to me.... Besides, I imagined that you
would not think as I did, and would raise some objection to my plans....
But now you have greatly changed: you are more religious, and you love
the name of Christian which you bear.... Therefore I decided to open my
soul entirely before you, and to put into your trusty, honest hands the
lives of many noble-souled men.... I am very weak, Ricardo mio; I am
only a poor girl, incapable of struggling and resisting; ... a shadow
makes me tremble, ... a word startles me and moves me to the very depths
of my being.... My eyes are more accustomed to shed tears than to direct
imperious glances, and my hands are folded with more pleasure than they
are raised in anger.... I have no cunning to avoid impositions, or
fortitude to endure pain.... I can do nothing, ... nothing, ... and I am
filled with despair; but thou art brave, thou art noble, and thou art
generous.... I can rely on thee as the bird in the air, and thanks to
thee, win heaven.... These moments are supreme for me.... I feel as
though I was near the abyss, and I have no power to stay my steps.... If
thou dost not reach me out thy hand, thou wilt very soon see me plunging
into it.... Ricardo mio, do not abandon me, ... for God's sake do not
abandon me!..."
The young man felt that the danger was nearer than ever, and
exclaimed,--
"Let us have it done with at once, Maria. Let us know what it is all
about."
"It is about a great act of merit which you can accomplish toward your
salvation if you will abandon the wicked suggestions of the world and
listen to the invitation of heaven.... In this town there is a mighty
weapon which, instead of serving God, as everything in this world ought
to serve Him, is an awful auxiliary of the devil. This weapon is the gun
factory...." Maria stopped a moment, and then, casting a frightened look
at her lover, continued in a trembling voice: "You can snatch this
weapon from the evil one and restore it into the hands of God by
delivering it over to the defenders of religion and--"
Maria stopped a second time, and looked with horror at the livid,
contracted face of the young marquis, who grasped her by the arm, and
shaking her violently, roared, rather than spoke:--
"Who suggested to you the idea of proposing _that_ to me?... Answer
me.... Who was the vile, low wretch who advised you to do it?... I'll go
myself this very instant and tear out his tongue for him! Tell me, tell
me, Maria!... This thought never originated with you.... You couldn't
have supposed that your lover, the Marquis of Peñalta, the descendant of
so many noble gentlemen, a soldier of honor and loyalty, could calmly
listen to such a proposition!... You could not have imagined that the
man who adored you was a cowardly traitor, whom his comrades would
justly laugh to scorn!... Only thus can I pardon the horrible words
which you have just spoken.... Listen for God's sake, Maria.... Just now
my brain is on fire and my heart is frozen.... I hear within me a voice
which prophesies a great misfortune.... Yet still, at this moment I tell
thee that I love thee with all my soul.... Even to the point of giving
my life for thee gladly; ... but if this love which I have for thee were
multiplied a thousand-fold, and were not to be gratified in this world,
I would crush it, I would blot it out as a light is blotted out,--with a
breath,--and I would remain all my life long in darkness sooner than
consent to such villany.... What am I saying?... If God himself came
down to propose that to me, and threatened me with the eternal torments
of hell, I would refuse.... I would prefer to be damned with the loyal
than be saved with traitors."
Maria hung her head in consternation. After some little time she
succeeded in saying in a weak voice:--
"You do not understand me, Ricardo, nor do I understand you any better.
In judging of the things of this world we put ourselves at very opposite
points of view: you look through the glass of the conventions
established by men, and I only through that of the law of God. For you
the renown of bravery, the reputation of being loyal and noble, is the
first thing; for me the main thing is the salvation of my soul....
Pardon me if I have offended you, and let this _honor_ which you worship
so fervently serve you to forget forever what we have been talking
about."
Ricardo gave the girl a long, sad look. He had just learned once and for
all that that woman could never be his; that he held only a very
subordinate place in that idolatrous heart, so full of mysterious
sentiments, grand and sublime, perhaps, but incomprehensible for him. A
tear sprang into his eyes and rolled tremblingly down his cheeks.
"You are right, Maria.... I don't understand you.... My father was a man
of honor, and he also could not have understood you.... My grandfather
was a soldier who lost his life in the defence of his country, and he,
too, would not have understood you any better.... But my father and my
grandfather would have felt insulted, as I feel insulted, that any one
should remind them that they ought to keep secrets confided to them."
Both maintained a protracted silence, gazing sadly through the panes
upon the great plaza of Nieva, which began to be concealed under the
gathering shades of night. The passers-by were going to their homes with
slow and lazy gait. A few lights were already burning in the depths of
the houses. The ragamuffins, who had been laboriously catching the
soap-bubbles sent out to them by the boy in the opposite house, had
disappeared, and he, tired of blowing through his pipe, finally flung it
to the ground together with his bowl of soap-suds, and set himself
making faces at Ricardo and Maria; but they, solemn and motionless, paid
no attention, as on other occasions, and the child, surprised to find
them so serious, likewise remained motionless, staring at them with his
bright, beautiful, cherub eyes.