TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
* Italics are denoted by underscores as in _italics_.
* Bold text is denoted by equals as in =bold=.
* Small caps are represented in upper case as in SMALL CAPS.
* Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected.
* Original spelling was kept, but variant spellings were made
consistent when a predominant usage was found.
* Throughout the text the following replacements were made:
“Maria” by “María”,
“Telleria” by “Tellería”,
“Joaquin” by “Joaquín”,
“Fontan” by “Fontán”,
“Leopold” by “Leopoldo”,
“Agustin” by “Agustín”,
“Perez” by “Pérez”.
* The following changes were also made:
Page 18: “Atheneam” replaced by “Atheneum”.
Page 28: “Centa” replaced by “Ceuta”.
Page 75: “Corralles” replaced by “Corrales”.
Page 144: “Cerinola” replaced by “Ceriñola”.
Page 147: “Cayentano” replaced by “Cayetano”.
Page 199: “Arragon” replaced by “Aragón” (twice).
Page 246: “Monilla” replaced by “Monina”.
Page 274: “her papa” replaced by “your papa” (twice--after
checking the Spanish original version).
LEON ROCH
A ROMANCE
BY
B. PÉREZ GALDÓS
Author of “Gloria,” etc.
FROM THE SPANISH BY CLARA BELL
--AUTHORIZED EDITION--
IN TWO VOLUMES--VOL. I.
REVISED AND CORRECTED IN THE UNITED STATES
NEW YORK
WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER, PUBLISHER
11 MURRAY STREET
1888
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886
BY WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington
THIS TRANSLATION WAS MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THE PUBLISHER
CONTENTS.
VOLUME I.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME, 1
II.--LIFE AT A WATERING PLACE, 9
III.--IN WHICH THE READER WILL ENJOY HEARING THE
PRAISES LAVISHED BY SPANIARDS ON THEIR
COUNTRY AND COUNTRY-MEN, 15
IV.--MORE CONVERSATION, GIVING US SOME IDEA
OF THE SPANISH CHARACTER, 24
V.--ILLUSTRATING ANOTHER TRAIT OF SPANISH
CHARACTER, 31
VI.--PEPA, 37
VII.--TWO MEN AND THEIR SCHEMES IN LIFE, 45
VIII.--MARÍA EGYPTIACA, 57
IX.--THE MARQUESA TELLERÍA, 69
X.--THE MARQUIS, 79
XI.--LEOPOLDO, 88
XII.--GUSTAVO, 94
XIII.--THE LAST ILLUSION, 103
XIV.--HUSBAND AND WIFE, 111
XV.--A MODUS VIVENDI, 127
XVI.--IN THE DOG-DAYS, 133
XVII.--DESERTERS, 142
XVIII.--THE ASCETIC, 149
XIX.--THE MARQUESA GOES TO A CONCERT, 159
XX.--THE OLD, OLD DRAMA, 166
XXI.--A STRUGGLE WITH THE ANGEL, 179
XXII.--CONQUERED BY THE ANGEL, 185
XXIII.--WEATHER PERMITTING, 188
XXIV.--REMINISCENCES--ANXIETIES, 200
XXV.--MARÍA EGYPTIACA DRESSES IN GREY AND DOES
NOT WASH HER HANDS, 211
XXVI.--THE DEVOURING OGRE--CROUP, 222
XXVII.--THE MOTHER, 238
XXVIII.--THE MARQUIS DE FÚCAR ENJOYS THE SPECIAL
FAVOUR OF HEAVEN, 242
XXIX.--ERUNT DUO IN CARNE UNA, 253
XXX.--AN IRRUPTION OF THE BARBARIANS; ALARIC,
ATTILA, AND OMAR, 263
XXXI.--THE CRISIS, 275
XXXII.--REASON _versus_ PASSION, 293
LEON ROCH
LEON ROCH
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.
“_Ugoibea_, AUGUST 30th.
“DEAR LEON: Think no more of my letter of yesterday; it must have
crossed yours, which I have just received. Vexation, and a fit of
petty jealousy, made me write a great deal of nonsense, and I am
ashamed of having covered my paper with so many dreadful words, mixed
up with such childish prevarications; but no--I am not ashamed; I can
only laugh at myself and my style, and ask you to forgive me. If I
had only had a little patience and waited for your explanations--but
that again is nonsense.--Jealousy and Patience! Who ever saw the
two things combined in one person? You see there is no end to my
absurdities; this proves that after having been a fool, though only
for a day, a woman cannot recover her natural balance of mind all at
once.
“But now I am recovering mine. An end to recrimination; I am
firmly resolved never again to be irritable and suspicious and
inquisitive--as you say I am. Your explanations really and entirely
satisfy me; their frankness and fulness impress me strongly--I hardly
know why--and leave no room in my mind for doubt, but fill my soul
with a conviction--how can I express it? that is in itself a sort
of affection, that is its twin brother and as inseparable from it
as--as--I cannot finish my sentence; but what does it matter?--To
proceed; I was saying that I fully accept your explanation. A denial
would have increased my suspicions; your confession has removed
them. You tell me that you did love--no, that is not the word, that
you had a fancy, a mere fancy, as a boy--as children together--for
Pepa de Fúcar; that you have known her since she was little, and
that you played together--I remember you used to tell me something
about it in Madrid, when we first made your acquaintance. It was
she, no doubt, who used to go with you to pick up the blossoms
fallen from the orange-trees--who was frightened at the rustling
made by the silk-worms when they were feeding, and for whom you
used to make crowns of Marvel of Peru? Yes, you told me many funny
stories of your companion as a child. You and she used to dye your
cheeks with blackberries, and make paper crowns to wear; you loved
to take birds’ nests, and her greatest delight was to pull off her
shoes and stockings and paddle in the streams among the rushes and
water-plants. One day, almost at the same instant, you fell from a
tree and she was bitten by some reptile. That was Pepa de Fúcar, was
it not? You see I remember very well, and could write your history
quite accurately.
“The truth is that I really did not pay much attention to those baby
stories; but when I saw the girl, and when they said you were in love
with her.--It is ten days ago and I still feel as if I were being
suffocated--as I did when I first heard it. Believe me; I felt as if
the world were coming to an end, as if time were standing still--I
cannot express the feeling--or had turned backward and revealed
some horrible spot, some unknown desert where--another unfinished
sentence! To proceed.
“I remember now some more stories of your childish amusements, which
you told me not long ago. How such trifles cling to our memories!
When you were a boy, and were studying that science of stones of
which I can never see the use; when she--for I think that again
it was Pepa de Fúcar--had left off putting her feet in the water
and staining your cheeks with blackberry juice or decking herself
with your paper crowns, that you played at being lovers with less
innocence than before, but still--come, I will allow thus much--still
with perfect innocence. She was at some school where there were a
great number of lilac shrubs, and a porter who undertook to receive
and deliver notes. Are you not astonished at my good memory? I even
remember that porter’s name; it was Escoiquiz.
“Well--enough of ancient history. What you have just told me, what
I did not know till I just now read your letter (and I repeat that I
was not particularly pleased to hear it) was that two years ago you
met again where the orange-trees blow and the silk-worms feed and
the water flows in the brooks; that you suffered a slight illusion,
so to speak, and at that time began to feel a sincere affection for
her, which grew and grew until--and here I come to the story--until
you knew me.--Thank you Sir, and I make you a pretty curtsy, for the
string of compliments, polite hints, protestations, and loving words
which here follow. This shower of praises fills a whole page. Such
pages as these come before us like a face we love, and this one made
me cry with joy. Thanks again, a thousand thanks. It is all charming,
and what you say of me is much too kind and good. You are worth a
hundred of me.--You live for me? Oh Leon! How can I do better than
believe all these romantic speeches? My heart opens wide to accept
them all. I am a good catholic and have been brought up to be a true
believer.
“Yes, I will be so foolish--I have read that blessed page once more.
Oh! it is good to be told that ‘a true, deep, and lofty devotion
has blotted out that fancy and left no trace of it’--very good!
‘the illusions of childhood rarely last into mature years’ of
course; ‘Your sentiments are sincere, and your intentions thoroughly
honest’--yes no doubt; ‘The voice I heard, the words that made me
feel as if the world had come to an end, were simply one of those
wild suppositions thrown out at random, to be taken up by malice
and used by her as terrible weapons’--so it is, so it is; ‘Pepa de
Fúcar is as indifferent to you at this moment as any other woman
living’--that is perfect, exquisite! and finally ‘I and I alone’--me
and no one else.--What joy to press my hand closely to my heart while
I think to myself--me, me alone, and no one in the world but me!
“A potent argument in your favour has just occurred to me; Pepa de
Fúcar is immensely rich and I am almost poor. However, when one
has faith no arguments are needed, and I have faith in you. Every
one who knows you, says you are a model of uprightness and noble
generosity--a rare thing in these days. I am as proud as I am
flattered. How good God has been to me in bestowing on me a gift
which, by all accounts, is so seldom found in this world!
“I cannot avoid telling you--though this letter already seems
interminable--the impression that girl produced on me, even setting
aside the rancour I could not help feeling at first. But now the
storm is over; I can judge her coolly and impartially, and though,
when I heard what you know, I thought she must be perfectly
charming, I see her now in her true light. Every one talks of her
shameful extravagance. It is an insult to Heaven and humanity! Papa
says she spends enough in clothes in a week to support several
families comfortably. She is elegant, no doubt; but sometimes very
affected--as much as to say: ‘Gentlemen, I behave in this way that
you may all see how rich I am.’ Mamma says, no man would ever
think of marrying a girl who thinks of nothing but displaying the
products of industry. Rothschilds are not to be met with at every
turn, and Pepa de Fúcar is enough to frighten away her suitors.
She is recklessly extravagant and wilful, full of whims, and very
badly brought up, and will end by falling into the hands of some
fortune-hunter. So Mamma says, and she knows the world; and I really
believe she is right.
“I do not think her so pleasing even as some people do, nor as I
thought her myself, when I was dying of jealousy. She is too tall and
thin to be graceful. It is impossible to deny that she has a fine
complexion, but one needs a microscope to see her eyes, they are so
small. They say she is very amusing and agreeable, but this I know
nothing about, as I never talked to her, and never wish to. I have
seen her from a distance, on the sands and in the gallery of the
bathing house, and her manners struck me as decidedly free and easy.
I fancied she looked rather particularly at me; and I looked at her,
intending to convey to her that I did not care a straw about her. I
do not know whether I succeeded.
“She was here three days and I would not go out; I never cried more
in my life. At last she went away; but the joy I felt in her absence
is somewhat clouded by the knowledge that you and she are in the same
place. All day yesterday I was wishing that there were some very,
very high tower here, from which I could see what is going on at
Iturburua. I would be at the top with one jump. But indeed I trust
your loyalty--and if you will tell her that you love no one but me,
if she has any affection for you still, and is furious when she hears
it--yes, furious--do let me know; I long to have that satisfaction.
“We expect you on Monday. Papa says that if you do not come, you are
not a man of your word. He is very anxious to see you to discuss
some question of politics, for, by his account, there is a perfect
plague of politicians here who utterly disgust him. If they would but
make him a Senator!--and to tell you the truth, I almost fear for
his reason if he does not attain to that bench of the blessed. He
still suffers from a mania of writing letters to the papers. We have
had some these last few days, and some articles as well. Mamma, of
course, knows them, and they invariably begin with: “It is greatly to
be regretted....”
“He came in to-day quite proud to show me your new book. He praised
it highly and read the opening sentences aloud to Mamma. It was a
most laughable scene; neither he, nor Mamma, nor I understood a
single word of it; but, in spite of that, we had the highest opinion
of the learning displayed in the book. You may fancy how much we
should understand of an ‘Analysis of the Plutonic rocks in the
Columbrete islands,’ and the interest I should take in quartinary
deposits or in metamorphic or azoic strata. Why, I find it hard
enough to spell the words, and have to copy them letter for letter.
However, the mere fact that it was you who wrote this mass of
mysterious learning, is enough to give it a charm in my eyes. I
spent a long time poring over your pages, as though I were trying to
learn Greek, and--you will not believe me, but it is quite true--I
read and read, full of admiration and respect for you who had written
them. Among all those monstrous names too I came on some which
took my fancy in a vague fashion, such as _syenite_, _variolite_,
_amphibolite_. They sound to me like the endearing names of fairies
and cherubs who danced round you while you were studying the works of
God down in the bowels of the earth.
“You see I have become poetical without intending it, a thing which
is past endurance I admit, and yet this villainous letter will not
get itself finished! But Mamma is calling me to go out with her;
she is dreadfully bored here. She says it is the most detestable of
bathing places, and that she would rather stay in Madrid than ever
come here again. There is no casino, no society, no excursions to
make, no shops with pretty things, no company worth looking at--in
fact there is no second Biarritz in the world.
“Leopoldo, too, is bored to death. He says it is a population of
savages, and he cannot understand how any decent person can like to
bathe among the Caffirs--so he calls the poor Castilians who swarm
on the sands. Gustavo is gone to France, to visit that good angelic
creature Luis Gonzaga, who is very ailing. Poor little brother! A
few days since he sent an Italian priest to call on us, Don Paoletti
by name, a charming man who talked delightfully. But I want to tell
you everything and really cannot. My paper is coming to an end, and
Mamma is calling me again. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye. Do not fail
us on Monday, and we will talk of that--you know what. At night, when
I say my prayers, I pray for you. Now do not put on that disagreeable
face. There is a dark corner in your soul which I do not at all like.
Well, I will say no more for fear of assuming the airs of a preacher,
and for fear too of anticipating a great work--that sentence too
may remain unfinished. Give my love to Syenite, Pegmatite and
Amphibolite, the only fair beings of whom I am not jealous, and
good-bye. I love you with all my heart; nay I am simpleton enough to
believe all you tell me, and I expect you on Monday. So till Monday,
farewell. Beware of failing me. If you do, you will see what you will
see!
MARÍA.”