The mother repeated listlessly: "My Jesus."
_"By thy most sacred pa.s.sion."_
"By thy most sacred ... pa.s.sion."
_"By the innumerable pains that thou hast suffered."_
"By the in ... numerable ... pains."
"_That thou hast suffered_," repeated Maria.
"That thou hast suffered."
_"Pardon thou my offences."_
"Pardon thou ... my offences."
_"And save my soul."_
"That"ll do, that"ll do!" said the dying woman, pushing her daughter away with her trembling hand. "No, I am not dying.... I am well.... Come here, Mart.i.ta.... It isn"t true ... that I am ... dying ... is it, daughter?"
"No, mamma," replied the girl, pressing her hands. "You are not dying, mamita; no.... You must get well soon, and we will go to drive in the carriage as we used ... now the weather is fine."
"Yes, loveliest, yes.... We will go ... wait ... lift me a little.... I am uncomfortable in this position."
Marta helped her to sit up; but as she did so her mother"s eyes rested upon her, fixed, motionless, terrible. That look smote the poor girl to the depths of her heart, and uttering a frightful, piercing cry, she let her fall back on the pillow. The Senora de Elorza"s head relaxed as though the neck were dislocated, with open mouth and rigid lips; and still from the pillow her great gla.s.sy eyes continued to follow her daughter with the same fixed and terrifying gaze.
"Mother of my heart!" cried the girl, instantly throwing her arms around her. "Do not look at me so, for G.o.d"s sake! Mamita mia, do not look at me so. Ay! do not look at me so. Ay! how you terrify me!... Mamita!
mamita!... Ay! O G.o.d, what is it?"
Don Mariano, who, on hearing the cry, had hurried into the bedchamber with anxious face, and hair standing on end, tried to draw his daughter from the corpse.
"Come away! my soul"s daughter, now you have no longer a mother!"
"Yes, I have her.... Yes ... here she is.... Mamma! Mamita! You are here, are you not?... Answer me!... Speak!... Kiss me, for G.o.d"s sake, mamita!... Let go of me, papa!... Let go of me!... Now she is going to kiss me.... Wait a moment, for G.o.d"s sake!... Let go of me, papa darling!... Let her kiss me!"
The girl had embraced the dead body of her mother with extraordinary force, and covered it with eager loud kisses. Don Mariano, terribly excited, almost beside himself, pulled her away brutally, as though the welfare of all depended upon wrenching her from that position. Maria, kneeling in one corner of the room, had lifted her eyes and her hands to heaven, and was praying for the eternal glory of the departed.
At last they succeeded in dragging Marta away, and took her to another room. Without intending it at all, they caused her great harm. The unhappy girl had not sufficiently mastered her grief; by taking her away they choked the fountain of her tears, and they did not flow again.
Pale, completely altered, with eyes fixed on vacancy, she neither listened to what was said to her, nor was willing to take what was given to calm her. She did nothing else but repeat incessantly, in a low, somewhat hoa.r.s.e voice:--
"Mamma.... Mamma.... Mamma!"
The priest went to her, and said:--
"My daughter, calm yourself, calm yourself. It is a test which G.o.d sends you that you may show your resignation. Instead of rebelling against His will, you ought to thank Him for His remembrance of you, showing that He loves you...."
"Don"t say foolish things!" exclaimed the girl, in an angry voice, casting upon him a look of scorn. "Is that a proof of G.o.d"s love, that he has taken away my mother?... Then that"s a fine kind of love!... a fine kind of love ... a fine kind of love!"
Marta kept repeating the expression over and over again for some time, in a tone of irritation. When she had calmed down a little the priest said once more,--
"My daughter, you should take example of your sister. She feels her misfortune as much as you, but she is giving proof of Christian resignation and fort.i.tude.... She does not rebel: she acknowledges the working of the Almighty hand, and with her prayers is contributing to the greater happiness and glory of her who is no more."
Marta saw that the priest was right; she repented of her anger and hung her head, murmuring,--
"Oh, my sister is a saint!"
"You also can be one, my daughter. The road to perfection is open to all who wish to follow it...."
The girl received the counsels of the priest and of the others who were with him, but did not answer a word. She continued in the same way, not moving a finger, her face pale and distorted, and her eyes fixed. Her indifference began to cause them anxiety, and they told her father. The instant Don Mariano entered the room, she felt a shock, and suddenly jumping up she threw herself into his arms sobbing bitterly. She was saved.
The friends of the family, by dint of strong pressure, made Don Mariano and Mart.i.ta go and rest for a few minutes, while the proper arrangements were made for laying out the body and for the funeral. Maria remained praying in her mother"s room. The pale rays of the dawn found her still on her knees, with her face turned to heaven. The wax tapers which she herself had taken care to place around the deathbed were burning funereally, their crude yellow beams struggling with the languid light pouring into the room. No one dared to call her from her devout meditations; those who penetrated into the dressing-room and saw her in that att.i.tude, whispered a few words of surprise, and retired silently with emotion and admiration.
Finally, all the outside people went away, and Maria shut herself in her room to take the rest which she so much needed, after the cruel series of changes and the great labors that she had undergone during the last few hours. At noon the father and his two daughters met in the dining-room, to begin the melancholy meal which all who have experienced a family affliction will recall with horror: a meal in which tears mingle with the food, and sobs fill the long intervals of silence. At this first meal scarcely any one spoke; no one ventured to lift his eyes lest they should meet those of the others, and only furtive, grief-stricken glances were cast at the place left vacant by the being who had just fled from this world forever. The courses were eaten mechanically, without appet.i.te, and handkerchiefs were lifted to the eyes oftener than napkins to the lips; the rattle of the dishes cruelly wounded their ears, and the rare words exchanged fell from their lips tremulously and without animation. The spirit protested dumbly against the brutal necessity imposed upon it by the body, obliging it, by such a wretched act, to give over the expression of its bitter grief and break the current of its melancholy thoughts.
They arose from the table in the same silence. Maria shut herself in her room again. Don Mariano, accompanied by Mart.i.ta, likewise went to his.
They sat down together on a sofa, with their arms closely clasped about each other for the larger part of the afternoon; the caresses which they bestowed upon each other gradually changed their desperate sorrow into a most tender feeling, melting into tears. They took turns in consoling each other; the girl declared that her mother in heaven would be on the watch for them all, and promised to be always good and prudent, and never to cause her father sorrow; the father pressed her to his heart, and blessed her mother for having given him such good and beautiful daughters. When a servant came to tell them of the call of some ladies, they felt an unspeakable annoyance, a painful impression, as though they had been wakened from some melancholy sweet sorrow to plunge into despair again.
Don Mariano suspected the motive of the call. They wanted to distract their attention, so that they might not notice the noise made by the men in carrying the body from the house. And, in fact, a group of ladies and a few gentlemen endeavored, by repeated entreaties, to persuade them to go to more retired apartments; but their efforts, as far as Don Mariano was concerned, were in vain; he strenuously urged his friends, in a tone which gave no chance for reply, to leave him alone as they had done, but to take Mart.i.ta with them.
Alone with his grief the Senor de Elorza felt more keenly his loss and more deeply his misfortune. In youth there is scarcely any loss that is not reparable; the pa.s.sions, the feelings are more intense, but at the same time more transitory. One lives for the future, and through the darkest and most furious storms there never fails to shine some bright spot, promising consolation. But at the age which our caballero had reached hope is no more; the future exists not. Every misfortune undergone is a new pain, coming to join those that are past, and waiting for those that are to come: the affections which perish, like the hair that falls, find no subst.i.tute. Don Mariano, with eyes closed and head sadly bent upon his breast, let his thoughts fly back over all the events of his long life, and in all of them, whether fortunate or unlucky, he saw the image of his wife, the inseparable companion of his manhood. He saw her awakening in his youthful heart a pa.s.sion at once tender and ardent: beautiful and pure as an angel, with delicate oval face and blue eyes, looking at him with love. He remembered perfectly the few times when he had had lover"s quarrels with her, and the little reason that there had been for almost all of them. Gertrudis had such a peaceable disposition and such a gentle nature. It always ended in making her weep. He saw her on the day of his marriage, in her black satin (she was still in mourning for her father, the Marques de Revollar) with which the fairness of her complexion and the gold of her hair made a dazzling contrast. A distinguished gentleman of Madrid, present at the wedding, taking him into a corner of the drawing-room, said to him: "Elorza, you are marrying one of the most beautiful women of Spain. I tell you so, and I have seen many in my life." The same day he started on a journey through foreign lands. He remembered, as though it were but yesterday, the intoxicating, ineffable impression, perhaps the sweetest and most blissful of his life, that he felt when he suddenly found himself alone with his beloved, as the coachman whipped up his horses, and they heard the farewells of the relations and friends, who sped them from the door of the palace of Revollar. How the poor little girl blushed when she realized that they were alone, and she in her lover"s power! But he was polite and generous. He merely asked for one hand, and raised it timidly to his lips. All the enchanting details of that journey were imprinted on the Senor de Elorza"s memory.
Then he remembered the strange sensation of pleasure and surprise which he felt at the birth of his first child, and the deliciously cruel impression which his wife made upon him, by keeping him rigorously away from her during those moments of anguish. But, ay! in a short time poor Gertrudis became an invalid, and never recovered perfect health. In spite of this, his love for her had never grown cool; he took the greatest care of her, endeavoring, by all the means in his power, to alleviate her sufferings. She appreciated his sacrifices, seeing in him a Providence who always soothed her by his caresses. Even after many years had gone by, and when no one at all took any notice of the good lady"s tribulations, still Don Mariano was the one who pitied her most, though he made believe look upon her attacks with disdain, and she comprehended it perfectly, and she still reserved for him in her heart the same privileged place as in her youth. The harmony of generous, warm sentiments in both, the affection which they had lavished upon their daughters, the deep esteem which they mutually felt, and the ever vivid recollection of their pa.s.sionate loves, had been so woven into life that neither of them understood it without being side by side. It was the intimate, perfect, and absolute union ordained by G.o.d, such as men rarely heed.
A melancholy, ominous noise, heard through the walls of his room, caused him to raise his head, and fix his eyes on s.p.a.ce. Yes, there could be no doubt; they were carrying her away, carrying her away. Don Mariano flung himself, face down, on the sofa, and hid his face in the cushions to choke his sobs.
"My wife! wife of my heart!... They are carrying you away ... carrying you away forever!... Ay! how terrible!"
And the good caballero"s tears soaked through the texture of the damask, and his athletic form shook convulsively because of his sobs. Then he felt a great curiosity, that terrible curiosity which exerts a fascination at such moments, and leaves an indelible mark on the memory of him who has satisfied it. He waited attentively and soon heard the heavy shuffling of feet, and after a little the funereal, heart-rending song of the clergy almost under the balconies. Then he got up quickly, and cautiously lifted one of the curtains. And he saw the coffin, the black, gilded coffin, borne like a boat above the throng. The sky was cloudy and gray, leaving the great plaza of Nieva in shadow. The surging mult.i.tude extended to the farthest corners, moving with a slow and measured tread. And the boat, preceded by a great silver cross between two lighted candles, was borne away, carrying from him for evermore his treasure.
He let the curtain drop and once more flung himself on the sofa, muttering incoherent words. He knew not how long he remained thus. The light was fading, leaving the room in shadow, and everything was silent.... Everything except his thoughts, which spoke to him ceaselessly, and the sobs which broke from his breast.
And thus he remained a long time, a long time. At last he perceived that the door of his room was softly opening; he turned his head and saw his daughter Maria. She came and sat silently beside him. But he, as though having a presentiment of a new sorrow, asked her no question, said nothing. He merely took her hand and closed his eyes again.
"Papa," said the young woman after a long period of silence, "we have suffered a fearful misfortune, one of those misfortunes which cause even the most sceptical to turn their eyes to heaven in search of consolation. G.o.d alone possesses the key to them; He knows their reason, and is able to turn them into a result advantageous for us. This misfortune has confirmed me in a resolution which I made some time since, to consecrate myself to G.o.d forever.... I know by a thousand signs that He calls me, and I should be truly ungrateful if I did not obey His call.... I am useless in the world.... All its amus.e.m.e.nts weary me; thus, then, I make no sacrifice in confining myself in a convent.... Besides, there I can better pray for you and be more useful to you than here.... The idea of matrimony, which you have desired for me, is repugnant to my heart, where fortunately there has sprung up another and purer love which is immortal.... This resolution ought not to surprise you.... I believe that you ought not to feel it.... At this solemn moment in which afflictions weigh down upon you, perhaps it may be a consolation to you to know that you are going to have a daughter safeguarded from all deceit, from all disloyalty, who is living happily in the service of G.o.d and praying for you."
Maria had spoken with frequent pauses, as though she expected her father to interrupt her. But she ended, and still there pa.s.sed a long period of silence without his opening his lips. At last the young woman asked him, timidly,--
"Have you nothing to say to me, papa?"
"Nothing," he replied, without looking at her.
"But do you give me your consent to do as I said?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I knew you would!... You are so good ... and sufficiently religious.... You are not like other fathers who are blinded, and would rather their daughters were exposed to the dangers of the world than be forever servants of the Lord, in the safe precincts of a holy house....
Thanks, papa, thanks.... I was afraid ... it is true, I was afraid that you would not approve my resolution.... But G.o.d has touched your heart.... Now I will leave you.... Marta is waiting for me.... Adios, papa!.... Let me kiss you.... Adios!"
And the door opened and shut again softly. The Senor de Elorza remained motionless in the same position in which his daughter left him, sitting with his hands clasped and his head bent on his breast.