The Marquis of Penalta (Marta y Maria).

by Armando Palacio Valdes.

PROLOGUE.

The work which I now have the honor of presenting to the public is not based upon ordinary every-day occurrences; nor are the incidents narrated in it such as we are wont frequently to witness. Very likely it will be called untrue or improbable, and regarded as a fanciful production, remote from all reality. With resignation I bow myself in advance to these criticisms, though I claim the right to protest in my own heart, if not publicly, against the unfairness of such a charge. For the chief events of this novel--I must say it, though my glory as an originator may be destroyed--have all actually taken place. The author has done nothing more than recount them and give them unity.

I have the presumption to believe that, though _Marta y Maria_ may not be a beautiful novel, it is a realistic novel. I know that realism--at the present time called naturalism--has many impulsive adepts, who conceive that truth exists only in the vulgar incidents of life, and that these are the only ones worth transferring to art. Fortunately this is not the case. Outside of markets, garrets, and slums, the truth exists no less. The very apostle of naturalism, Emil Zola, confesses this by painting scenes of polished and lofty poetry, which a.s.suredly conflict with his exaggerated aesthetic theories.

The character of the protagonist of my novel is an exceptional character. I take delight in acknowledging this. But to be exceptional is not to be less true to nature, less human. Mystic temperaments are not apt to abound in Madrid: the frivolous and sensual life of the court is little adapted for their development. But all who have lived in a province will have known, just as I have, certain pa.s.sionate and pious souls, who, without any motive of a temporal kind, have renounced the world and consecrated themselves to G.o.d. Take the periodicals, and scarcely a day will pa.s.s without your seeing the announcement of some young woman becoming a nun. Among these young persons are beautiful girls, daughters of wealthy families, rejoicing in all the gifts of nature and the flatteries of society. Is not, peradventure, the careful study of such souls worthy of the literary man, even though he call himself a naturalist?

The motive or occasion of this book being written is as follows: I found myself one afternoon in Don Fernando Fe's bookstore, turning over recent publications and periodicals, when there fell into my hands a number of the _Il.u.s.tracion Espanola y Americana_, in which appeared a capital cut representing "The Taking of the Veil in a Convent of Carmelite Nuns." A pretty young girl was seen on her knees before the inner door of the convent, from which three sisters, bundled up in great thick robes of black, were coming forth to receive her, with a coa.r.s.e wooden cross. In the background an aged bishop was calling down upon her the blessing of heaven; and a lady, in whom the mother was to be instantly recognized, was looking on with ecstatic and troubled eyes. Still farther back there was a numerous group of people, pre-eminent among them being two other young ladies, elegantly dressed, whose resemblance to the novice quickly told that they were her sisters. The first was sadly contemplating the ceremony, while the other hid her face in her hands, as if she were trying to smother her sobs.

I felt impressed in presence of this scene so admirably interpreted by the artist, and as a natural consequence I was a.s.sailed by many memories and not a few reflections connected with the same subject, and I came to the conclusion that it was worth while to make a study of it. It did not deal with anything ancient and remote which might serve merely as a theme for the investigations of the historian, but with a most curious and interesting fact taking place before our very eyes. The enthusiasm, the ardent raptures, the ecstasies, and even the frenzies of these souls at once simple and pa.s.sionate, who find no way to quench the thirst devouring them, to calm the unrest torturing them, by intercourse with the world, and who seek in the mystery of the cloister, medicine for their ills, seemed to me a theme worthy for the contemporary novelist to master and offer with due respect to the consideration of the public. A certain series of events which took place a few years ago, and happened to come under my observation, occurred to my mind, and instantly the desire seized me to write a novel. But one circ.u.mstance proved to be a stumbling-block. It had never entered into my calculations to write novels with transcendental themes, especially those based upon religious subjects. This I declared without qualification in a little line of parenthesis which I put under the t.i.tle of my first novel, _El Senorito Octavio_ (a novel without transcendental thought). And in truth I was afraid to bring myself so soon into conflict with my aesthetic programme in a country where everything is pardoned except contradiction. But among the honorable pleasures conferred by the Supreme Creator upon the heroic Spanish public, there is none more keen and delectable than that of breaking the laws and programmes which they have freely imposed upon themselves. In this particular, sybaritism has reached the point of making itself every morning some rule for the pleasure afforded by breaking it in the afternoon. Therefore as soon as I saw the contradiction, the problem was solved. I will write the novel, I said, for my conscience, so that I may have to endure fifteen literary sessions of the Athenaeum without stirring from my place.

The novel is now written. The subject is one sufficiently rude and liable to be carried away by prejudices and extravagances which the novelist who has a wish to paint the reality must avoid with care. I have striven with all my power to bring myself into a point of view relatively neutral (granting that the absolute cannot be attained), and to study the theme with the calmness of the physiologist. Whatever my sympathies may have been, I have tried always to subordinate them to the truth and to the profound respect which all n.o.ble sentiments and all honest beliefs deserve from me. You shall say if I have succeeded.

CHAPTER I.

IN THE STREET.

Within the arcade the people were crowding relentlessly; each and every one was performing prodigies of skill to flout the physical law of the impenetrability of bodies, by reducing his own to an imaginary quant.i.ty.

The night was unusually thick and dark. The feet of the loungers found each other out in the darkness, and when they met they indulged in somewhat expressive forms of endearment; the elbows of some, by a secret and fatal impulse, went straight into the eyes of others; the pa.s.sive subject of such caresses instantly raised his hand to the place of contact, and usually exclaimed with some asperity, "You barbarian, you might at least--" but an energetic "Sh--sh--sh" from the throng obliged him to nip his discourse in the bud, and silence again began to reign.

Silence was at this time the most pressing necessity which was felt by the inhabitants of Nieva there gathered together. The least noise was regarded as an act of sedition, and was instantly punished by a threatening hiss. Coughs and sneezes were prohibited, and still more condign punishment was meted out to laughter and conversation. There was profuse perspiration, although the night was not among the mildest of autumn.

In the arcades of the houses opposite, more or less the same state of things existed; but in the street itself there were few people, because a very fine rain was slowly falling, and this the natives of Nieva had learned not to despise, since in the long run and notwithstanding its gentle and insinuating ways, it was like any other. Only a few people with umbrellas, and some others who, not having them, sheltered themselves with their philosophy, maintained a firm footing in the midst of the gutter.

The balconied windows of the house of Elorza were thrown wide open, and through the embrasures streamed a bright and cheerful light which made the dark and misty night outside still more melancholy. Likewise there streamed forth from time to time torrents of musical notes let loose from a piano.

The house of Elorza was the princ.i.p.al one in a long, narrow street, adorned with an arcade on both sides like almost all the rest in the town of Nieva. Its most important facade looked into this street, but it had another with balconies facing the town square, which was wide and handsome like that of a city. Though the darkness does not allow us to make out exactly the appearance of the house, yet we can prove that it is a building of faced stone and of one story, with s.p.a.cious arcade, the elegant and stately arches of which instantly declare the rank of its owners. This arcade, which might be called a portico, makes a notable contrast with that of the succeeding houses, which is low and narrow and supported by round, rough pillars without any ornamentation. Likewise the same difference is to be seen in the pavement. In the arcade of which we are speaking, it is of well-set flagging, while the others offer merely an inconvenient footway paved with cobble-stones. Without venturing, indeed, to call it a palace, it is not presumptuous to a.s.sert that this mansion had been built for the exclusive use and gratification of some person of importance; the fact that it had only one story very clearly decided this point. The truth demands that we set forth likewise the fact that the architect had given undeniable proofs of good taste in laying out the plan of the building, since its proportions could not be more elegant and correct. But what most struck the eye was a certain attractive and aristocratic thriftiness about it perfectly free from presumption, which, though calculated to inspire envy, certainly did not arouse in the minds of the people those hatreds and heart-burnings always excited by overweening wealth. The frowning firmament ceaselessly poured down all the moist and chilly mist with which its clouds were surcharged. The shadows shrowded and concealed the outlines of the house, crowding together underneath the arches and in the hollows of their stone mouldings, but they did not dare so much as to approach the bright, joyful openings of the balconies, which drove them away in terror. They gazed clandestinely into the heavenly _el dorado_ of the interior, and eaten up with envy, they poured out their spite upon the heads of the philosophers who were listening in the open air. The pyramidal group of loungers, enjoying the protection of the opposite arcades, did not take their eyes from the balconies, while those who cl.u.s.tered under the arches of the house itself, as they lacked this expedient, entirely trusted to their ears, the receptive capacity of which they strove to increase by placing the palms of their hands behind them and doubling them forward a little. The darkness was dense in both arcades, for the town lanterns shed their pallid rays at respectable distances. Each served only to light up a sufficiently circ.u.mscribed area at wide intervals in the plaza, making melancholy reflections on the wet stones of the pavement. Amid the shadows now and then the light of a cigar flashed out for an instant, causing a ruddy glow on the smoker's mustachios. A little further away, on the corner, a variety shop still remained open; but the shopkeeper's shadow could be seen often crossing in front of the door as he was putting his wares in order before shutting up. On the princ.i.p.al floor of the same house the balconied windows were all thrown wide open; through them rang voices, coa.r.s.e outbursts of laughter, and the clicking of billiard b.a.l.l.s, sounds which fortunately reached the arcades greatly softened. This was the Cafe de la Estrella, frequented until the small hours of the night by a dozen indefatigable patrons. Otherwise, silence reigned, although it was impossible to get rid of the peculiar rumble inseparable from the thronging of people in one place, which is caused by the shuffling of feet, the stirring of bodies, and above all by the smothered phrases in falsetto tones let fall by some in the hearing of others.

At the moment when the present history begins, the vibrating tones of the piano were heard preluding the pa.s.sionate _allegro_ of the aria from "La Traviata": _gran Dio morir si giovine_. When the prelude was ended, a soft and appropriate accompaniment began. The expectation was intense.

At last, above the accompaniment arose a clear and most dulcet voice, echoing through the whole plaza like a sound from heaven. The two groups of listeners were stirred as though they had touched their fingers to the k.n.o.b of an electric machine, and a subdued murmur of satisfaction ran up and down among them.

"'Tis Maria," said three or four, hoping that the ears of the walls would not overhear them.

"It was high time!" remarked one, in a little louder voice.

"It is she that is singing now; hark! and not that beast of the canning factory!" exclaimed a third, still more impulsive.

"Have the goodness to keep quiet, gentlemen, so that we can hear!" cried a very angry voice.

"Let that man hold his tongue!"

"Out with him!"

"Silence!"

"Sh--sh--sh--shhh!"

"I have always insisted that there are no people more ill-bred than those of this place!" again cried the angry voice.

"Hold your tongue!"

"Don't be a fool, man!"

"Sh--sh--sh--shhh!"

Finally all became silent, and Verdi's pa.s.sionate melody could be heard, interpreted with remarkable delicacy. The lovely, limpid voice, issuing from the open balconies, rent the saturated atmosphere out of doors, and vibrating with force, went the rounds of the plaza, and died away in the mazes of the town. The loneliness and gloom of the night increased the power and range of that lovely voice, lovely beyond all praise. I do not say that, for any one of those clever people who feel themselves wrapped up in the vocalism of the paradise of the Royal Theatre, the singer was a prodigy in her mastery of attacking, sustaining, and trilling the notes; but I affirm that for those whom we do not see tortured by musical scruples, she sang very well, and she possessed, above all, a bewitching voice, of a pa.s.sionate _timbre_, which penetrated to the very depths of the soul.

The loungers of both arcades, and likewise the philosophers of the gutter, gave unmistakable proofs of feeling moved. The taste for music in country towns always partakes of a more violent and impetuous nature than is shown in large cities, and this is due to the fact that the latter are furnished with an excess of theatres and salons, while the former can only from time to time enjoy it. No one whispered, or moved a step from his place; with open mouths and far-away eyes, they followed ecstatically the course of that despairing melody, in which Violetta mourns that she must die after such sufferings undergone. The most sensitive began to shed tears, remembering some gallant adventure of their youthful days. The sky, still relentless, kept sending down its inexhaustive deposit of liquid dust. Two of the philosophers of the gutter felt of their garments, shook their sombreros, and muttering a curse against the elements, took refuge in the arcade, causing by their arrival a slight disturbance among their neighbors.

At some little distance from both groups, and near a column, were seen, not very distinctly, three small bodies, with whom we must bring the reader into contact for a few moments. One of them struck a match to light a cigar, and there appeared three fresh, laughing, mischievous faces of fourteen or fifteen years, which resolved into darkness again as the match went out.

"Say, Manolo," asked one, lowering his voice as much as possible, "who gave you that mouth-piece?"

"Suppose I ragged it of my brother!"

"Is it amber?"

"Amber and meerschaum; it cost three duros in Madrid."

"I pity you, if you should get caught by your--"

"Hush up, you fool you! What have we got a servant in the house for, if not to blame for such faults?"

A man who was standing nearer than the rest, harshly bade them hold their tongues. The urchins obeyed. But after a moment Manolo said, in a barely perceptible voice, "See here, lads! would you like to have me break this all up in a jiffy?"

"Yes, yes, Manolo!" hastily replied the others, who evidently had great faith in the destructive powers of their companion.

"Then you just wait; stay quiet where you are."

And moving a little aside from them, he hid himself beside a door, and set up three extraordinary yelps, precisely like those emitted by dogs when they are beaten. A tremendous, furious, universal barking immediately resounded through the s.p.a.ces. All the dogs of the community, united and compact, like one single mastiff, protested energetically against the punishment inflicted upon one of their kind. Maria's singing was completely lost beneath that formidable yelping. The listening mult.i.tude experienced a painful shock, stirred tumultuously for some moments, uttered incoherent exclamations against the cursed animals, endeavored to bring them to silence by shouting at them, and at last, seeing the uselessness of their efforts, resigned themselves to the hope that they would cease of themselves. The howls, in fact, were gradually dying away, all the time becoming more and more infrequent and remote; only the dog belonging to the variety shop, which had just been closed, continued for some time barking furiously. At length even he ceased, though most unwillingly. The song of the dying Violetta was once again heard, pure and limpid as before, and once again the auditors began to experience the softening impressions which it had made upon them, although they were somewhat restless and nervous, as if fearing at any moment to be deprived of that pleasure.

Manolo, choking with amus.e.m.e.nt, rejoined his companions and was received with stifled laughter and applause.

"Come, Manolito, yelp once again."

"Wait, wait awhile; we want to take 'em by surprise."

After some little time had pa.s.sed, Manolo once more cautiously crept away, and, skirting the group, stationed himself at the opposite extreme. From there he set up three more howls like the first, and the same thunderous barking filled the s.p.a.ces, giving back kind for kind.

The mult.i.tude underwent a new excess of vexation, but accompanied by far greater tumult; everybody was speaking at once, and uttering furious e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns.