Читать книгу The Marquis of Peñalta (Marta y María) - Armando Palacio Valdés - Страница 5

"I am never satisfied, and never shall be satisfied, however much I am with thee, my own life. In all the years since I have adored thee, never for a single instant have I felt the shadow of satiety. When I am near thee, I think that I could not be more content, even in heaven; when I am away, I think how much happier I should be if I were with thee. This is a guaranty that we should never get tired of each other's society; isn't it so? For my part, I give thee my word that if we reach old age, I shall enjoy more by thy side than sitting in the sunshine! What a happy life is waiting for us, and how long it is that I have dreamed about it! Do you remember how one day in the big garden, when you were eight years old, and I was ten, my dear mamma made us take each other's hands, saying to us in a serious tone: 'Would you like to be husband and wife? Then kiss each other, and look out that you don't quarrel any more.' From that time forth I have never dreamed of the possibility of marrying any other woman than you."

Maria made no reply to this fervid declaration. She kept looking at the proprietor of the canning factory, with a strange expression, as though her thoughts were far away.

"Do you know one thing?"

"What?"

"That the chests have come with thy clothes, but I have not opened them yet. Both of them have on the lid thy cipher with the coronet of marchioness above. You may laugh at me, but I shall tell thee, all the same, that it made my heart leap to see the coronet. I imagined that we were already married, and that I hadn't to wait these everlasting forty-five days. I don't know what I wouldn't give if to-day were the last day of December. Tell me, don't you feel any inclination to call yourself the Marquesa de Peñalta? to be mine, mine for ever?"

Maria arose from the sofa, and with a scornful gesture, nor deigning to look once at her lover, replied,—

"Well enough."

And she went and sat down beside one of the numberless De Ciudad girls. Ricardo remained for a few moments glued to his seat, without stirring a finger. Then he got up abruptly and hastened from the room.

Don Serapio at last ceased mourning his lady's absence, declaring in a finale that if such a state of things existed longer, he should die without delay. The pianist added force to this wail of woe by performing a noisy run in octaves. A great clapping of hands was heard, and affectionate smiles of approbation were lavished by the ladies upon the vocalist. The young fellows near the doors, always ready for fun, did their best to bring about a repetition of the romanza, but Don Serapio was shrewd enough to perceive that the plaudits of these boys were not in good faith, and he refused to grant the favor.

Then the stripling with the banged hair made the following little speech to the assembled audience:—

"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe that now is the time for us to listen to the great artiste. We are all waiting impatiently for Maria to delight us—one of those happy moments—with which she has in days gone by delighted us. Isn't it a good idea?"

"That's it; Maria must sing!"

"Of course she will sing; she is very accommodating."

The spokesman offered his arm to the young señorita, and led her to the piano.

When Maria was left standing alone, facing the audience, a thrill of admiration was excited as usual. "How lovely, how lovely she is!" "That girl grows prettier every day!" "What exquisite taste she shows in her dress!" "She looks like a queen!" These and many other flattering phrases were whispered among the friends of the Elorza family.

Without being very tall she was of stately stature and presence. She was slender, lithe, and graceful as those beautiful dames of the Renaissance, which the Italian painters chose as their models. The line of her soft lustrous neck reminded one of Grecian statues. This neck supported a shapely head; the face fair, the cheeks slightly rose-tinted, delicate, regular, transparent, with ruby lips and blue eyes. She bore a notable resemblance to Doña Gertrudis, but she had an attractive and fascinating expression which that celebrated lady never had, whatever may have been the persuasion of the lyric poet of the acrostics. Around her clear and brilliant eyes showed a slight violet circle, which gave her face a decided poetical tinge.

"Now Suárez, you will see what kind of a singer this girl is," said one lady.

"I shall appreciate her, for this Señor Don Serapio has spoiled my ears for the time being."

"Oh! Maria is an artist."

"What I perceive just now is, that she has a stunning figure."

"You just wait till you hear her."

"That girl does everything well! If you could see how she draws!"

"Haven't the Elorzas any other daughters than this?"

"Yes, that other girl, who is sitting down over there; her name is Marta. She is going to be very handsome, too."

"Indeed, she is pretty; but she hasn't any expression at all. It's a common kind of beauty, while her sister—"

"Hush! she's going to begin." Then ensued a silence in the company such as had always been Don Serapio's ideal—unrealizable like all ideals. Maria sang various operatic pieces which were asked for, and needed no urging. When she finished, the plaudits were so eager and long that it made her blush.

Suárez assured his circle[3] of ladies that she had a voice which resembled Nantier Didier's, and that a short time at the conservatory would put her on an equality with the leading contraltos.

When the congratulations had ceased, and the looks of all had ceased to be fastened upon her, a shade of sadness came over Maria's lovely face. She went to Doña Gertrudis and whispered in her ear,—

"Mamma, I have a very severe headache."

"Ay! daughter of my heart, I sympathize with you. I, too, am having my share of pain."

"I should like to go to bed."

"Then go, my daughter, go. I will say that you are feeling a trifle indisposed."

"Adios, mamaita! Good night, and sleep well."

Maria kissed her mother's brow, and gradually, taking care not to be noticed, she left the parlor by the dining-room door. She stopped to get a drink of eau sucré, and stood a moment motionless, with her eyes fixed on vacancy. The shade of melancholy had greatly dulled the brilliancy of her face.

She passed out of the dining-room and crossed a long and pretty dark entry. At the end there was a door which led to a back stairway. She had mounted only four or five steps when she felt herself seized roughly by the arm, and uttered a cry of terror. Turning round, she saw with embarrassment the pale and troubled face of her betrothed.

"Ricardo! what are you doing here?"

"I saw that you left the dining-room, and I followed you."

"What for?"

"To hear for a second time from your lips the infamous words you said to me in the drawing-room. Do you think, perhaps, it isn't worth while to repeat them? Do you think, perhaps, that I can give up a whole past of love, a whole future of happiness, all the sweet dreams of my life, without calling you infamous, a hundred times infamous, a thousand times infamous, now right here, while we are together alone, afterwards in open society, and then before the whole world? Come, come back, you miserable girl—come back, and let me call you so before everybody!"

And Ricardo, pale and trembling like a gambler who has staked his last remaining money on a card, firmly grasped his sweetheart by the wrist and tried to drag her back to the parlor.

Maria hung her head and said not a word. Without offering any resistance she allowed him to pull her down the four or five steps of the staircase. But on reaching the passage-way, Ricardo felt on his cheek a warm kiss, which caused him to loose his captive and fall back with horror; instantly Maria's arms were wound around his neck, and on his lips he felt the imprint of other lips.

"Ricardo mio, for heaven's sake, don't put me to shame!"

These words, whispered in his ear with a passionate accent, were accompanied by a cloud of caresses. The young man pressed her close to his heart without answering a word; his emotion choked his utterance. When he became a little calmer, he asked her with trembling voice,—

"Do you love me?"

"With all my soul!"

"Was that nothing else but a moment of ill humor?"

"That was all."

"Oh, what a wretched time you have made me have! Not for all the gold in the world would I go through it again!"

"Tell me, haven't I made up for it now?"

"Yes, loveliest."

"Let me loose. I am going to lie down. I have such a headache!"

"Wait a minute. Let me kiss thee on thy forehead,—now another on thy eyes,—now another on thy lips,—now on thy hands!"

"Adios!"

"Adios!"

"Let me go, Ricardo, let me go!"

The young fellow, laughing with happiness, still held her by the hand. Maria struggled to escape, though she also was laughing.

"Come, let me go, don't be foolish."

"It shows I'm not foolish because I don't let you go!"

"Think how my head aches!"

"All right, then, I'll let you go."

"Till to-morrow! Be careful whom you dance with now."

"Don't you worry. I am going immediately. Till to-morrow!"

Maria tore herself away. Ricardo tried to catch her again, leaping up the dark staircase, but he did not succeed. The girl said good night[4] with a merry laugh from the top of the stairs.

When Ricardo returned to the parlor he was smiling like a happy man. The light of the chandelier somewhat dazzled him, and he hastened to sit down.

Maria's room, when she entered it, was plunged in darkness. She groped about for the matches and lighted a lamp of burnished iron. The room was furnished with a luxury and good taste rarely to be found in provincial towns. The furniture was upholstered in blue satin; the curtains and paper were of the same color. In the recess between the windows was a mahogany wardrobe with a full-length mirror. The dressing-table loaded down under the weight of its bottles stood against the opposite wall; the carpet was white, with blue flowers. The exquisite niceness with which all these objects were put in place, the elegance and coquetry of the furniture, and the delicate fragrance perceptible on entering, clearly declared the sex and the station of the person who dwelt there.

When Maria lighted her lamp, her eyes met the eyes of an image of the Saviour which stood on the centre of the table where the light burned. It was on wood, beautifully carved and painted, with a decidedly sad and meek expression of the face, and it was this which had led the young woman to buy it. When she caught sight of the sweet but icy face of the image, the happy smile which still hovered over her lips died away, leaving her motionless and deeply thoughtful. Little by little, doubtless under the influence of the ideas which came into her mind, her face lost its usual expression and assumed one as melancholy and humble as that of a Magdalene. At that moment the sound of the piano came vibrating through the dark stairway, telling of the first movement of a fascinating rigadoon. She fell on her knees and bent her head. Every now and then she sobbed. Her lips were pressed convulsively against the naked feet of the Saviour, and muttered unintelligible words.

After a long time she raised her face bathed in tears, and exclaimed in a tone of woe:—

"My Jesus! what treachery! what treachery! How illy do I repay the love which thou hast bestowed on me. Punish me, Lord, so that I may again have peace of mind!"

Arising from the floor, she took the lamp in her hand and went into her bed-room. It was tiny and warm as a nest, and it was ornamented with a profusion of engravings of Jesus and the Virgin. The bed, covered with satin curtains, was white and delightful as a baptismal altar. She placed the lamp on her dressing-table and with more tranquil face quickly undressed.

Then she took a travelling-mantle from the wardrobe, wrapped herself in it, blew out the lamp, made the sign of the cross time and again on her forehead, her mouth, and her breast, and lay down on the floor. The white bed, covered with satin and lawn, warm and perfumed, and full of sensuous delights, awaited her in vain all night. Thus she remained stretched on the floor till daylight dawned.