Just as Maria's toilet was almost completed, a young man came rushing into the room with the violence of a gust of wind. It was that youth with the banged hair, who gradually had made himself indispensable in all festivals, solemnities, ceremonies, and merry-makings of the town.

"Mariita! the secretary of the senor bishop sends me to tell you that his eminence is ready, and is at this moment starting for the church."

"Very well, I shall be right out."

"I have attended to the organ-loft. I notified Don Serapio and the organist.... Preciosa, Mariita preciosa.... Do notice the blue hangings which I put on the picture of the Virgin...."

"Thanks, Ernesto, many thanks; I am deeply grateful to you."

At a sign from Maria all the ladies arose, and hastened behind her down the stairs, but for all that there was no cessation of their impertinent chatter. The young woman went straight to her father's room, and remained shut in it for some time. No one knew what pa.s.sed within. Those who were waiting at the door heard the sound of sobs, confused sentences spoken in angry tones, the movement of chairs. The ladies, waiting in the anteroom, whispered to those who came in, "She is taking farewell, farewell of her father.... Don Mariano will not attend the ceremony."

Shortly afterward, Maria re-appeared, smiling and serene as before, saying, "Come, ladies, let us go!"

With the same serenity she pa.s.sed through the great room of the mansion without giving a glance at the furniture, and descended the broad, stone stairway without showing the slightest trepidation, as she walked along in her dainty white satin shoes.

And yet what recollections she left behind her! How many hours of light and joy! The prattle of her childish lips, sweet as the trilling of a bird; her father's somewhat gruff but, for that very reason, all the sweeter singing, as he rocked her to sleep in his arms; the dreams, the fresh laughter of her girlhood; the lovely sun of April mornings, filling her room with light; the constant caresses of her mother, the warmth of home; in short, that warmth which all the treasures of earth cannot buy; all this remained behind her, imprinted on the walls, ingrained in the furniture. And she left it all without a tear!

At the door stood waiting a magnificent barouche, drawn by four white horses. Pedro had shown his taste by decorating them with great blue plumes, and by donning a livery of the same color. On that day everything must be blue, the color of purity and virginity. Even the sky, for greater glory, had clad itself in blue, and shone clear and beautiful. Maria climbed into the carriage with the Senora de Ciudad, her G.o.dmother, and the others took leave of her for the nonce, and hastened to the church.

Extraordinary agitation reigned in the town. The taking of the veil by the Senorita de Elorza, though expected for some time, nevertheless did not fail to make a profound impression. A young lady so rich, so beautiful, so flattered by all that the world considered gay and desirable! Interminable comments were made during these days, as people met in the shops. "But didn't they say that she was to be married to the marquesito?"--"No! not at all! there's no such thing. The marquesito was greatly disappointed; the girl, after the strange experience of being arrested, and her mother's death, returned with more zest than ever to her pious occupations; it is decidedly her vocation: there is no fickleness about her." Some looked upon it in one way, some in another; but as a general thing, Maria's conduct aroused lively sympathy, and over many, especially among the people, it exerted a certain fascination like everything extraordinary, and up to a certain point, marvellous.

She had the reputation of being a saint: the quenching of all the splendor of her beauty, wealth, and talent in the solitudes of the cloister, was the unparalleled complement of her fame, the crowning stroke in the process of her popular canonization. All those rough women, who pitilessly elbowed each other in order to see her pa.s.s toward the church, would have felt themselves defrauded, if she had wedded prosaically, and had they seen her arm in arm with her husband, preceded by a nurse-maid with a tender infant in arms.

The plaza was full of spectators. When the young lady entered the carriage, and Pedro, cracking his tongue and his whip, started up his horses, there was a great tumult among the throng, which reached Maria's ears like a chorus of flatteries. The people separated precipitately, making way for her to pa.s.s. In presence of that magnificence, which only some old woman had ever seen before, the peaceful inhabitants found themselves overwhelmed with respect, and equally excited by a great curiosity. The carriage rolled away, at first slowly, breaking the close ranks of the spectators; the horses pranced impatiently, shaking their blue plumes as though they were anxious to carry the bride to the arms of the mystic Bridegroom. It was a royal procession; and, in truth, Maria, from her elegant appearance, splendidly adorned, with her deep blue eyes, shining with emotion, and her cheeks of milk and roses, was worthy of being a queen. She was a figure of remarkable beauty, and offered many points of resemblance to the fair Virgin of Murillo, that we see in the Museum at Madrid. The women of the town could not restrain their enthusiasm, and they burst out in a thousand flattering adjectives.

"Look at her! look at her! What a splendid creature,--a woman after my very heart!"

"I should like to devour her with kisses!"

"And what a rich dress she wears!"

"They say that it came expressly from Paris. She did not want to dress in _tisu_; the chasubles which it will make into will be given away separately, and the gown will remain for the Virgin of Amor Hermoso."

"Oh, I never saw such a lovely creature!... She looks like an angel."

The carriage followed its majestic course, and the young woman smiled sweetly on the mult.i.tude. From two or three houses a deluge of flowers was showered upon her, and their variegated petals for a moment enameled the white cloth of her dress; a few remained entangled in her hair. The people applauded.

"Woman, this girl's vocation teaches us a lesson."

"How fortunate she is!... Who would be in her place?"

"It can't be said that she was obliged to.... I know that her father was furious when he heard about it, and tried every way to dissuade her."

"Come now, she is wedded to Jesus Christ, and her family don't like it,"

declared a youth, who was listening to this conversation.

The women turned around ready to crush the scoffer, but he made off, laughing.

And the carriage continued on its way under the radiant sun, which made the panes of the balconied windows glitter, and reflected on the white houses of the town with transports of delight. The sky opened up its purest depths, smiling upon all the wishes for happiness, all the joyful aspirations of mortals, even upon those of the beautiful maiden who, of her own free will, was going to lose it from sight and shut herself forever in the shadows of the cloister. The carriage pa.s.sed by the feudal palace of the Penaltas, the ancient walls of which, spotted here and there with moss, cast upon the street a mantle of gloom, making still more vivid the blazing light of the sun.

What was Ricardo doing during this time?

Maria did not ask this; she pa.s.sed by without casting even a furtive look at the Gothic windows; on her lips still hovered the serene, condescending smile. The shadow nevertheless caused in her a slight tremor of chill.

At the church door all her girl friends, including Mart.i.ta, were waiting for her. The temple was overflowing with people; they made way for her to pa.s.s. At the high altar the bishop of----, who had come purposely to give her the veil, stood ready to receive her. He knelt and prayed for a few instants. The confused murmur of the congregation ceased; an intense silence reigned.

The prelate began to speak in a clear and solemn voice:--

"I know, beloved daughter, that you have formed the resolution to shut yourself forever in this holy house, to the end that you may be all your life long the servant of the Lord.... I know, likewise, that your will is steadfast, and that you have been enabled to resist not only the vain seductions of the world, but also those proper pleasures which the goodness of G.o.d allows us to enjoy.... But life, my daughter, can be in the midst of mortification and penance more broad than in the tumult of pleasures; and while our spirit remains imprisoned in the flesh we are the target of severe and constant temptations."

The venerable bishop spoke with extraordinary deliberation, making long pauses at the end of his sentences, which lent great dignity to his discourse. His voice was sweet and clear, and rang through the silent nave of the church like sweet music. He went on to trace with terrible accuracy the details of the religious life, spreading out before the young woman's eyes all the apparatus of mortification which it involved; the pleasures of the world entirely forgotten, the senses crucified, earthly affections, even the purest, crushed; and this, not for a day, not for a month, not for a year only, but for all days, all months, all years, until the hour of death, always eagerly seeking for pain as others seek for pleasure. But after he had painted the gloomy picture of the mortification, he went on to express eloquently the pure, lively pleasures to be found in it. "To trust one's self to the arms of G.o.d, as a child goes to its mother, that he may do with us as he pleases. To find G.o.d in the depths of bitterness and grief, to unite one's self to Him.... To possess Him ... and to be the beloved child in whom His infinite grandeur can take delight.... To live eternally united to Him.... To be His bride!... Is not that a sufficient recompense for the petty sorrows that we may experience in a life so brief?"

Began the profession of faith. The bishop asked, reading his questions from a book, if she were ready to leave the life of the world and intercourse with its creatures, to consecrate herself exclusively to the service of G.o.d. Maria replied that she had heard the voice of the Lord and hastened at the call. The prelate asked once more if she had meditated well on her resolution, if she had made it from some mundane consideration, wounded by some ephemeral disillusion. Maria replied that she came of her own free will to give herself up to the Beloved of her soul and rest in Him; all the armies of the earth could not make her retrace her steps, for the Lord had made her steadfast and immovable as Mount Zion.

Over the heads of the faithful appeared a great silver waiter, the same which a few hours before was in one of the convent cells, and on it the habit of the novice of San Bernardo. The prelate blessed it.

Then were heard the sharp, nasal tones of the organ, and the procession took up the line of march: Maria in front, and at her side her G.o.dmother and Marta; next came the bishop and behind him the clergy. Some of the people followed and some stayed in the church. Near the door was the entrance to the convent, through which they pa.s.sed, penetrating into a large, gloomy cloister, illuminated at intervals by a bright sunbeam coming through the swell of the arches. At the end of one of the galleries was an open door, and guarding it, silent, motionless, were seen the white figures of two nuns with wax tapers in their hands. The bride-elect again knelt, and instantly rising she convulsively pressed her sister to her heart. It was the last embrace. When she wished to extricate herself, Mart.i.ta's arms were so tightly clasped about her neck that it required the intervention of several ladies to accomplish it.

She also kissed all her girl friends, who wept bitterly, while she, giving an example of sublime serenity, joyous and smiling, entered the house of the Lord escorted by the two nuns.

The doors closed. Though it was the month of August, Marta and her friends felt a sudden chill in the cloister, and hastened to take refuge in the church, where Don Serapio, accompanied by the organ, was annihilating Stradella's beautiful prayer.

All waited some time with impatient curiosity. No one paid any attention to the cracked voice of the proprietor of the canning factory; the eyes of the congregation were fixed, glued to the choir of the Bernardas, gazing through the bars at the little door in the rear.

At last she appeared. She came, escorted still by the two nuns. The garb of novice made her look a little older. Yet she was beautiful; very beautiful; for she really was beautiful, that saintly and extraordinary creature. The people devoured her with their eyes, and repeated in a whisper, "She comes smiling, she comes smiling."

Ah, yes, the new bride of Jesus Christ was smiling, in her expectation of the sweet reward for her sacrifice. But the venerable man who, at that same instant, was walking alone through one of the state departments of the Elorza mansion ... he did not smile! And the young man who, at the same time, was sitting with folded arms, and head sunken for his breast, face to face with a woman's portrait, was he perhaps smiling?... No, no! neither did he smile.

The prelate came to the grating, and said to the novice,--

"Thou shalt not call thyself Maria Magdalena, but, Maria Juana de Jesus."

The novice prostrated herself before the abbess, and respectfully kissed the crucifix of her rosary. Then she embraced, one after another, her new companions. While this scene was transpiring, many of the ladies in the congregation shed tears. The bishop said the solemn ma.s.s, and finally all the sisterhood, including Maria, took the Communion. The organ shrilled, whistled, and snorted with more energy than ever, spurred, perhaps, by compet.i.tion. It seemed as though Don Serapio and the organ had entered into a tremendous contest, a duel to the death, and the obstreperous consequences fell upon the ears of the faithful.

But the organ mocked the manufacturer in most audacious fashion. When he reached the highest point of ecstasy, emitting from this throat some complicated _fioritura_, or _fermata_, a horrisonant bellowing broke in upon him pitilessly, leaving him lost and inundated for a long time. Don Serapio struck out again with a tender note, sure of the effect.... Zas!

the organ, like a blood-thirsty beast, fell upon it, and tore it in pieces. Thus it wantoned for a long time, until, tired of amusing itself and intoxicated with triumph, it suddenly broke in with all its voices at once, clamoring in the silence of the church with a monstrous insufferable shriek. The manufacturer remained choked in that diabolical roar, and ceased to appear.

Silence reigned for a few moments, but it was disturbed by a peculiarly melancholy tinkling. It was the curtain of the choir being drawn.

Nothing more was seen. They began to put out the lights, and the people withdrew in all haste.

Maria's intimate friends went to the reception-room[71] to give her their felicitations.

The reception-room was a square, and rather gloomy apartment, cut in two by a double iron grating. The novice appeared, accompanied by the Mother Superior.... Still smiling, perhaps?... Yes, smiling.

"What examples you have given us of courage and goodness, Maria," said one to her.

The young woman shrugged her shoulders, with a gesture of throwing from her the glory which was heaped upon her.

"Don't fail to pray for us!"

"Yes, I will pray for you, dear. We"--she added with a little emphasis--"we are obliged to pray for those who remain in the world."