The following day Maria set off for the house of the invalid, in company
with Stein and Momo, foot-equerry to his grandmother, who travelled
mounted on the philosophic Golondrina. The animal, always good, gentle,
and docile, trotted on the road, the head lowered, ears depressed,
without making a single rough movement, except when he encountered a
thistle in proximity with his nostrils.
When they were arrived, Stein was astonished to find, in the middle of
this arid country, of a nature so dry and so sterile, a village so leafy
and so coquettish.
The sea had formed, between two great rocks, a little circular creek,
and surrounded by a coast of the finest sand, which appeared like a
plateau of crystal placed on a table of gold. Several rocks showed
themselves timidly, as if they wished to repose themselves, and be
seated on the tranquil shore. At one of them was made fast a fisherman’s
bark; balancing herself at the will of the waves, she seemed as
impatient as a horse reined in.
On one side of the rocks was elevated the fort of San Cristobal, crowned
by the peaks of wild figs, like the head of an old Druid adorned with
green oak-leaves.
The fisherman had constructed his cabin with the wrecked remains of his
vessel, which the sea had thrown on the coast; he had based all against
the rocks, which formed, in some sort, three stories of the habitation.
The roof was horizontal, and covered with _aquatica_, the first layer
of which, rotted by the rains, had given growth to a great quantity of
herbs and of flowers; so that in the autumn, when the dryness
disappeared with the heat of summer, the cabin appeared covered as with
a delicious garden.
When the persons just arrived entered the cabin, they found the
fisherman sad and cast down, seated near the fire, opposite to his
daughter; who, her hair in disorder, and falling down on both sides of
her pale face, bent up and shivering, her emaciated limbs enveloped in a
rag of brown flannel. She seemed to be not more than thirteen years of
age. The invalid turned, with an expression of but little kindliness,
her large, black, and sullen eyes upon the persons who entered, and
instantly sank down anew in the corner of the chimney.
“Pedro,” said Maria, “you forget your friends, but they do not forget
you. Will you tell me why the good God has given you a mouth? Could you
not have let me known of the illness of the little girl? If you had let
me known of it sooner, I had sooner come with this gentleman, who is
such a doctor as is seldom seen, and who in no time will cure your
daughter.”
Pedro Santalo rose brusquely, and advanced to Stein; he would speak to
him, but he was so overcome with emotion that he could not articulate a
single word, and he covered his face with his hands. He was a man
already advanced in life, his aspect sufficiently rude, and his form
colossal. His countenance, bronzed by the sun, was crowned by a gray
head of hair, thick and uncombed; his breast, red as that of an Ohio
Indian, was also covered with hair.
“Come, Pedro!” said Maria, from whose eyes the tears began to flow at
the sight of the poor father’s despair; “a man like you, big as a
church, a man they believe ready to devour infants uncooked, to be
discouraged thus without reason! Come! I see here nothing but what
appears solid.”
“Good mother Maria,” replied the fisherman, in a feeble voice, “I count,
with this one, five children in their tombs.”
“My God! and why thus lose courage? Remember the saint whose name you
bear, and who threw himself into the sea when he had lost the faith
which sustained him. I tell you that, with the grace of God, Don
Frederico will cure the child in as little time as you could call on
Jesus.”
Pedro sadly shook his head.
“How obstinate are these Catalans!” said Maria, with a little anger; and
passing before the fisherman, she approached the invalid: “Come,
Marisalada, come; rise up, daughter, that this gentleman may examine
you.”
Marisalada did not stir.
“Come, my daughter,” repeated the good woman; “you will see that he will
cure you as by enchantment.” At these words, she took the girl by the
arm, and wished to raise her up.
“I have no desire,” said the invalid, rudely disengaging herself from
the hand which held her.
“The daughter is as sweet as the father; ‘he who inherits steals not,’”
murmured Momo, who appeared at the door.
“It is her illness that renders her impatient,” added the father, to
exculpate his child.
Marisalada had an access of coughing. The fisherman wrung his hands with
grief.
“A fresh cold,” said Maria; “come, come, it is not a very extraordinary
thing. But then he will consent to what this child does; the cold she
takes, running, with naked feet and legs, on the rocks and on the ice.”
“She would do it,” replied Pedro.
“And why not give her healthy food--good soups, milk, eggs? But no, she
eats only fish.”
“She does not wish them,” replied the father, with dejection.
“She dies from negligence,” suggested Momo, who, with arms crossed, was
posted against the door-post.
“Will you put your tongue in your pocket!” said his grandma to him. She
returned towards Stein:
“Don Frederico, try and examine our invalid, as she will not move, for
she will let herself die rather than make a movement.”
Stein commenced by asking of the father some details of the illness of
his daughter. He then approached the young girl who was drowsy, he
remarked that the lungs were too compressed in their right cavity, and
were irritated by the oppression. The case was grave, the invalid was
feeble, from want of proper food; the cough was hard and dry, the fever
constant; the consumption indeed would not allow it to pause.
“Has she always had a taste for singing?” demanded the old woman during
the examination.
“She would sing crucified, like the bald mice,” said Momo, turning away
his head, that the wind would carry his hard speech, and that his
grandma could not hear him.
“The first thing to do,” said Stein, “is to forbid this girl to expose
herself to the rigors of the season.”
“Do you hear, my child?” said the father with anxiety.
“She must,” continued Stein, “wear shoes and dress warm.”
“If she will not?” cried the fisherman, rising suddenly, and opening a
box of cedar, from whence he took numerous objects of toilet.
“Nothing is wanting: all that I have and all that I can amass are hers.
Maria! my daughter! you will put on this clothing! Do this for the love
of heaven!--Mariquita, you see it is what the doctor orders.”
Marisalada, who was aroused by the noise made by her father, cast an
irritated look on Stein, and said to him in a sharp voice:
“Who governs me?”
“And say that they do not give this government to me, by means of a good
branch of wild olive!” murmured Momo.
“She must have,” continued Stein, “good nourishment, and substantial
soups.”
Maria made an expressive gesture of approbation at the same time.
“She should be nourished with milk diet, and chickens, and fresh eggs.”
“Did I not tell you so!” interrupted the old woman, exchanging a look
with Pedro: “Don Frederico is the best doctor in the world.”
“Take care that she does not sing,” remarked Stein.
“Am I never to listen to her again?” cried poor Pedro with grief.
“See, then, what a misfortune!” replied Maria. “Let her be cured, and
then she can sing night and day, like the ticking of a watch. But I
think it will be best to have her taken to me, for there is no one to
nurse her, nor any one who knows like me how to make good soup for her.”
“I can prove that,” said Stein, smiling, “and I assure you one might
set before a king a soup prepared by my good nurse.”
Maria never felt more happy.
“Thus, Pedro, it is useless talking of it; I will take her home.”
“Remain without her! no, no, it is impossible.”
“Pedro, Pedro, it is not thus we should love our children,” replied
Maria. “To love them is to do above all that which will benefit them.”
“So let it be!” replied the fisherman, rising with resolution; “I place
her in your hands, I confide her to this doctor’s care, and commend her
to the divine goodness.”
With difficulty could he pronounce these last words, which flowed
rapidly, as if he feared to recall his determination; and he went to
harness his ass.
“Don Frederico,” asked Maria, when they were alone with the invalid, who
remained drowsy, “is it not true, that, with God’s help, we will cure
her?”
“I hope so,” replied Stein; “I cannot tell you how much this poor father
interests me.”
Maria made a package of the linen which the fisherman had taken out of
the box, and Pedro came back leading the ass by the bridle. They placed
the invalid on the saddle: the young girl, enfeebled by the fever,
opposed no resistance. Before Maria had mounted Golondrina, who appeared
quite content to return in company with Urca (name given to a great
sea-fish, and which was that of Pedro’s ass), the fisherman took Maria
aside, and said to her, in trying to slip some pieces of gold in her
hand:
“This is all I could save from my shipwreck, take it, and give it to the
doctor, for all I have is for him who can give me back my daughter.”
“Keep your gold,” replied Maria, “and know, in the first place, it is
God who has conducted the doctor hither; in the second place--it is I.”
Maria pronounced these last words with a light tinge of vanity.
They commenced their journey.
“Do not stop, grandma,” said Momo, who walked behind; “however large may
be the convent, it must be filled with people. Eh! what? the cabin was
not good enough for the Princess Gaviota?”
“Momo,” replied the grandma, “mind your own affairs.”
“But what do you see in her? And what touches you in this wild Gaviota,
to take her thus under your care?”
“Momo, a proverb says, ‘Who is thy sister? thy nearest neighbor;’
another adds, ‘Wipe the nose of thy neighbor’s child, and take her to
thee.’ And here is the moral: ‘Treat thy neighbor as thyself.’”
“There is yet another proverb,” added Momo, “which says, ‘He is mad who
occupies himself about others.’ But it is of no use. You were obstinate
about raising the palm to _San Juan de Dios_.”
“You will not be the angel to aid me,” said Maria with sadness.
Dolores received the invalid with open arms, as approving the resolution
of her mother-in-law.
Pedro Santalo, who had accompanied his daughter, called the charitable
nurse before he returned, and, putting the pieces of gold in her hand,
said--
“This is to defray the expenses, and that she may want for nothing. As
to your care, God will recompense you.”
The good old woman hesitated an instant, took the gold, and said--
“It is well, she shall want for nothing. Depart without uneasiness,
Pedro, your daughter is in good hands.”
The poor father went away hurriedly, and did not stop till he reached
the coast. Then he returned to the side of the convent, and wept with
bitterness.
Maria said to Momo: “Bestir yourself. Go to the village, and bring me a
ham from Serrano’s, who will please send me a good one, when he knows it
is for a poor sick girl. Bring me at the same time a pound of sugar and
a quart of almonds.”
“Just so, always sent about! Throw away every thing you possess,” cried
Momo. “Think you they will give me all this on credit, and for my
handsome face?”
“Here is to pay for them,” replied the grandma, and she placed in his
hand a piece of gold of four _duros_ (about 4 dollars).
“Gold!” cried Momo, stupefied: for the first time in his life he saw
this metal in the form of money. “From what demons have you snatched
this?”
“What is it to you?” replied Maria; “don’t worry yourself.”
“It needs no more than this,” replied Momo, “that I serve as domestic to
this magpie, this accursed Gaviota! I will not go.”
“Go, boy, at once, and nimbly too.”
“Ha! Well--no, I will not go; I will not annoy myself,” repeated Momo.
“José,” said Maria, on seeing the shepherd go out, “do you go to the
village?”
“Yes, Señora; what orders have you for me?”
The good woman gave him the commission, and added--
“This Momo has a bad heart, and will not go. And I have not the strength
to complain to his father, who would make him march quickly, and caress
him in a manner to break his bones.”
“Yes, yes, do every thing to take care of this crow who will tear out
your eyes,” said Momo. “You will receive payment in the trouble she will
give you; if it is not so now, it will be in time.”