The gratitude which the fisherman felt for him who had saved Marisalada,
was complete when he saw him so attached to his daughter: an impassioned
friendship which could only be compared to the admiration excited in him
by the brilliant qualities of Stein.
From thence they were devoted to each other: the brusque mariner and the
man of science sympathized, because men of kindred natures and gifted
with good sentiments feel, when they come in contact, such an
attraction, that, scorning the distance which separates their positions,
they meet as brothers.
It thus happened when Stein offered himself as the old man’s son-in-law:
the good father could not articulate a word, so much was he overcome
with the joy which filled his heart. He besought Stein only, when taking
his hand, to come and live in his cabin. Stein cordially assented. The
fisherman appeared then to recover all his strength and all the agility
of his youth, to employ them in ameliorating and embellishing his
habitation. He cleared away the little garret to make there his personal
lodging, leaving the first story for his children; he whitened and
ornamented the walls; he levelled the ground, and covered it with a
precious mat of palms, which he weaved for that purpose; he engaged
Maria to make up for him a _trousseau_ for the bride in character with
the simplicity of his dwelling.
Great was the news caused by the rumored approaching marriage of Stein,
to all those who knew and loved him. Old Maria was so joyous that she
passed three nights without sleep. She predicted that when Don Frederico
permanently established himself in the country none of the inhabitants
would die except from old age. Brother Gabriel manifested so much
contentment and such pleasure in seeing Maria so sprightly, that he
entered into the feelings of his protectress, and ventured to say a
witty thing, the first and the last in all his life; he said in a loud
voice, “that the cura had forgotten the _De profundis_.”
This remark became of some consequence, inasmuch as Maria, for fifteen
days, was earnest in reporting, after the usual compliments, the famous
forgetfulness of the _De profundis_, which remark she considered as the
glory and honor of her _protégé_. He himself was so embarrassed with the
success attendant upon his innocent wit, that he vowed never again to
succumb to a similar temptation.
Don Modesto was of opinion that the Gaviota had gained the first prize
in the lottery, and the people of the village the second: “Because,”
said he, “I would never have been maimed if I had met at Gaëte a surgeon
as skilful as Stein.”
Dolores added, that if the fisherman had twice given life to his
daughter, the will of God had twice given her happiness, in conferring
on her such a father and such a husband.
Manuel observed, that there was in Heaven a cake reserved for husbands
who never repented of their marriage, and which, up to this moment, no
one had yet put his teeth into.
His wife said, it was because husbands never entered there!
As to Momo, he concluded that since the Gaviota had found a husband, the
Plague need not lose hope of finding one also.
Rosa Mistica took the affair differently. Mariquita had, by a recent
act, increased her list of evil deeds; some devotees were assembled to
sing, in honor of the Virgin, couplets accompanied by a wretched
harpsicord, played by an old blind man. Rosita presided at this
ceremony. Not being able to ignore the aptitude of Marisalada, she
silenced her ancient resentments, and thought, by the mediation of Don
Modesto, to induce the fisherman’s daughter to take part in the pious
concert.
Don Modesto took his cane, and set out on his campaign. Marisalada
replied to the old commandant a dry “_No_,” without prologue or
epilogue.
This monosyllable frightened Modesto more than a discharge of artillery;
the negotiator knew not what to do. Don Modesto was one of those men who
are sufficiently good-hearted to desire the good of their friends, but
who want strength to achieve it, and imagination to find the means of
obtaining it.
“Pedro,” said he to the fisherman, after this peremptory refusal, “do
you know I tremble in all my limbs? What will Rosita say? What will all
the village say? Can you not then influence her?”
“If she will not, what can I do?” replied the fisherman.
And the poor Don Modesto resigned himself to report this ungracious
message, which would not only offend, but scandalize the mysticism of
his hostess.
“I would prefer a thousand times,” said he, in returning to Villamar,
“to present myself before all the batteries of Gaëte, than before Rosita
with a _no_ on my lips. In what a state she will be!”
And Don Modesto was right; for it was in vain that he essayed to
ornament her answer by an exordium which merely insinuated, to comment
by vague hints, to embellish by verbose paraphrases: he did not less
keenly offend Rosita, who cried out in a loud tone--
“They who would not employ in the service of God the gifts they have
received of Him, merit perdition.”
Also, when she learned the project of marriage, she sighed, and raised
her eyes to Heaven:
“Poor Don Frederico!” she said.
Momo, according to his bad habits, took pleasure in conveying the news
of this marriage to Ramon Perez.
“Really!” cried the barber, in consternation.
“You are sad; I am much more sad in seeing that there are people who
ought to be beaten for the absurdity of their tastes. See a little! To
be smitten of this saucebox! but Don Frederico proves the proverb, ‘Late
married, badly married.’”
“I am not sad,” replied Ramon Perez, “because Marisalada is loved by Don
Frederico, but because she loves this stranger who has hair of hemp and
fishes’ eyes. Why does not the ingrate recollect this sentence, ‘Who
marries late becomes either a dupe or a deceiver.’”
“It will not be he who will be the first to deceive. For as to Don
Frederico, he is a brave man, nothing can be said to the contrary; but
this vixen has bewitched him with her singing, which lasts from the
rising to the setting sun. I have already said to him: Don Frederico,
listen to the proverb, ‘Take a house with a hearth: take a wife who
knows how to spin.’ He has not attended to either: it is a misfortune.
As to thee, Ramon Perez, they have simply made a great mistake.”
“That is easily seen,” replied the barber, giving so hasty a turn to the
key of his guitar that the treble-string broke: “he whom we would drive
from our house must be a stranger. But you ought to know, Momo, that I
care for very little. The year will finish one day, and if the king is
dead, long live the king!”
Then he commenced to strike his guitar with rage, singing with bombastic
voice:
“Cold creature! what of thy contempts,
My heart, no longer irate, is now cured;
Stains which no mulberry exempts,
By the mulberry green are no longer endured.
* * * * *
“Love is fled! three pirouettes, and then--
Crack! and my happy days return;
I have gold to please young girls I ween,
To purchase other loves I’ll learn.”