THE TORRENT

(ENTRE NARANJOS)

By VICENTE BLASCO IBAÑEZ

TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH BY

ISAAC GOLDBERG

AND

ARTHUR LIVINGSTON

1921

THE TORRENT

PART ONE

I

"Your friends are waiting for you at the Club. They saw you for a momentonly, this morning; they'll be wanting to hear all your stories aboutlife in Madrid. "

Doña Bernarda fixed upon the young deputy a pair of deep, scrutinizing, severely maternal eyes that recalled to Rafael all the roguish anxietiesof his childhood. 

"Are you going directly to the Club?. .. " she added. "Andrés will bestarting too, right away. "

Rafael, in reply, wished a blunt "good-afternoon" to his mother and donAndrés, who were still at table sipping their coffee, and strode out ofthe dining-room. 

Finding himself on the broad, red-marble staircase in the silence ofthat ancient mansion, of such princely magnificence, he experienced thesudden sense of comfort and wellbeing that a traveler feels on plunginginto a bath after a tedious journey. 

Ever since he had arrived, with the noisy reception at the station, thehurrahs, the deafening music, handshakes here, crowding there, thepushing and elbowing of more than a thousand people who had throngedthe streets of Alcira to get a close look at him, this was the firstmoment he had found himself alone, his own master, able to do exactly ashe pleased, without needing to smile automatically in all directions andwelcome with demonstrations of affection persons whose faces he couldscarcely recall. 

What a deep breath of relief he drew as he went down the desertedstaircase, which echoed his every footstep! How large and beautiful the_patio_ was! How broad and lustrous the leaves of the plantainsflourishing in their green boxes! There he had spent the best years ofhis childhood. The little boys who in those days used to be hidingbehind the wide portal, waiting for a chance to play with the son of thepowerful don Ramón Brull, were now the grown men, the sinewy orchardworkers, who had been parading from the station to his house, wavingtheir arms, and shouting _vivas_ for their deputy--Alcira's "favoriteson. "

This contrast between the past and present flattered Rafael's conceit, though, in the background of his thoughts, the suspicion lurked that hismother had been not a little instrumental in the preparation of hisnoisy reception, not to mention don Andrés, and numerous other friends, ever loyal to anyone connected with the greatness of the Brulls, _caciques_--political bosses--and leading citizens of the district. 

To enjoy these recollections of childhood and the pleasure of findinghimself once more at home, after several months in Madrid, he stood forsome time motionless in the _patio_, looking up at the balconies of thefirst story, then at the attic windows--from which in mischievous yearsgone by he had many a time withdrawn his head at the sound of hismother's scolding voice--and lastly, at the veil of luminous blueabove--a patch of sky drenched in that Spanish sunlight which ripens theoranges to clusters of flaming gold. 

He thought he could still see his father--the imposing, solemn donRamón--sauntering about the _patio_, his hands behind his back, answering in a few impressive words the questions flung at him by hisparty adherents, who followed him about with idolatrous eyes. If the oldman could only have come back to life that morning to see how his sonhad been acclaimed by the entire city!. .. 

A barely perceptible sound like the buzzing of two flies broke the deepsilence of the mansion. The deputy looked toward the only balcony windowthat was open, though but slightly. His mother and don Andrés were stilltalking in the dining-room--and of him, as usual, without a doubt! And, lest they should call him, and suddenly deprive him of his keenenjoyment at being alone, he left the _patio_ and went out into thestreet. 

It was only the month of March; but at two in the afternoon the air wasalmost uncomfortably hot. Accustomed to the cold wind of Madrid and tothe winter rains, Rafael inhaled, with a sense of voluptuous pleasure, the warm breeze that wafted the perfume of the blossoming orchardsthrough the narrow lanes of the ancient town. 

Once, years before, he had been in Italy on a Catholic pilgrimage, entrusted by his mother to the care of a priest from Valencia, who wouldnot think of returning to Spain without paying a visit to don Carlos. Amemory of a Venetian _calle_ now came back to Rafael's mind as hetraversed the streets of old Alcira--shadowy, cramped, sunk deep aswells between rows of high houses. With all the economy of a city builton an island, Alcira rears its edifices higher and higher as itspopulation grows, leaving just enough space free for the bare needs oftraffic. 

The streets were deserted. The noisy, orchard workers who had welcomedRafael had gone back to the fields again. All the idlers had fled to thecafés, and as the deputy walked smartly by in front of these, warm wavesof air came out upon him through the windows, with the clatter of pokerchips, the noise of billiard balls, and the uproar of heated argument. 

Rafael reached the Suburban Bridge, one of the two means of egress fromthe Old City. The Júcar was combing its muddy, reddish waters on thepiles of the ancient structure. A number of row-boats, made fast to thehouses on the shore, were tugging at their moorings. Rafael recognizedamong them the fine craft that he had once used for lonely trips on theriver. It lay there quite forgotten, gradually shedding its coat ofwhite paint out in the weather. 

Then he looked at the bridge itself; the Gothic-arched gate, a relic ofthe old fortifications; the battlements of yellowish, chipped rock, which looked as if all the rats of the river had come at night to nibbleat them; then two niches with a collection of mutilated, dust-ladenimages--San Bernardo, patron Saint of Alcira, and his estimable sisters. Dear old San Bernardo, _alias_ Prince Hamete, son of the Moorish kingof Carlet, converted to Christ by the mystic poesy of the Christiancult, --and still wearing in his mangled forehead the nail of martyrdom!

As Rafael walked past the rude, disfigured statue he thought of all thestories his mother, an uncompromising clerical and a woman of credulousfaith, had told him of the patron of Alcira, particularly the legend ofthe enmity and struggle between San Vicente and San Bernardo, aningenuous fancy of popular superstition. 

Saint Vincent, who was an eloquent preacher arrived at Alcira on one ofhis tours, and stopped at a blacksmith's shop near the bridge to get hisdonkey shod. When the work was done the horseshoer asked for the usualprice for his labor; but San Vicente, accustomed to living on the bountyof the faithful, waxed indignant, and looking at the Júcar, exclaimed, vindictively:

"Some day folks will say: 'This is where Alcira used to be'. "

"Not while Bernardo is here!" the statue of San Bernardo remarked fromits pedestal. 

And there the statue of the saint still stood, like an eternal sentinel, watching over the Júcar to exorcise the curse of the rancorous SaintVincent! To be sure the river would rise and overflow its banks everyyear, reaching to the very feet of San Bernardo sometimes, and comingwithin an ace of pulling the wily saint down from his perch. It is alsotrue that every five or six years the flood would shake houses loosefrom their foundations, destroy good farm land, drown people, and commitother horrible depredations--all in obedience to the curse of Valencia'spatron; but the saint of Alcira was the better man of the two for allof that! And, if you didn't believe it, there the city was, stillplanted firmly on its feet and quite unscathed, except for a scratchhere and there from times when the rains were exceptionally heavy andthe waters came down from Cuenca in a great roaring torrent!

With a smile and a nod to the powerful saint, as to an old friend ofchildhood, Rafael crossed the bridge and entered the _arrabal_, the "NewCity, " ample, roomy, unobstructed, as if the close-packed houses of theisland, to get elbow-room and a breath of air, had stampeded in a flockto the other bank of the river, scattering hither and thither in thehilarious disorder of children let loose from school. 

The deputy paused at the head of the street on which his club waslocated. Even from there he could hear the talking and laughing of themany members, who had gathered in much greater number than usual becauseof his arrival. What would he be in for down there? A speech, probably!A speech on local politics! Or, if not a speech, idle talk about theorange crop, or cock-fighting. He would be expected to tell them whatkind of a man the Premier was--and then spend the afternoon analyzingthe character of every minister! Then don Andrés would be there, thatboresome Mentor who, at the instance of Rafael's mother, would never lethim out of sight for a moment. Bah! The Club could wait! He would haveplenty of time later in the day to stifle in that smoke-filled parlorwhere, the moment he showed his face, everybody would be upon him andpester the life out of him with questions and wire-pulling!

And more and more yielding to the lure of the southern sunshine and tothose perfumes of May floating about him in wintertime, he turned offinto a lane that led to the fields. 

As he emerged from the ancient Ghetto and found himself in the opencountry, he drew a deep breath, as if to imprison in his lungs all thelife, bloom and color of his native soil. 

The orange orchards lined both banks of the stream with straight rows ofgreen, round tree-tops. The sun glistened off the varnished leaves; thewheels of irrigating machines sounded from the distance like humminginsects. The moisture rising from the canals, joined the clouds from thechimneys of the motors, to form a thin veil of mist over thecountryside, that gave a pearly transparency to the golden light of theafternoon. 

To one side rose the hill of San Salvador, its crest topped with theHermitage, and the pines, the cypresses, and the prickly pears aroundthat rough testimonial of popular piety. The sanctuary seemed to betalking to him like an indiscreet friend, betraying the real motive thathad caused him to evade his appointment with his political friends anddisobey his mother into the bargain. 

Something more than the beauty of the fields had enticed him from thecity. When the rays of the rising sun had awakened him that morning onthe train, the first thing he had seen, before opening his eyes even, was an orange orchard, the bank of the Júcar, and a house paintedblue, --the very one that was now in sight away off there, among theround tree-tops along the river. 

How many times in past months his thoughts had lingered on the memory ofthat same scene!

Afternoons, in the Congress, while the Premier on the Blue Bench wouldbe answering the interpellations of the Opposition in sharp incisivetones, Rafael's brain would begin to doze, reduced to jelly, as it were, by the incessant hammering of words, words, words! Before his closedeyes a dark veil would begin to unroll as if the moist, cellar-likegloom in which the Chamber is always plunged, had thickened suddenly, and against this curtain, like a cinema dream, rows of orange-treeswould come into view, and a blue house with open windows; and pouringthrough the windows a stream of notes from a soft voice, ever so sweet, singing _lieder_ and ballads as an accompaniment to the hard, sonorousparagraphs snapping from the Premier's teeth. Then applause anddisorder! The moment for voting had arrived, and the fading outlines ofthe Blue House still hovering before his dreamy eyes, the member forAlcira would ask his neighbor:

"How do we vote? Yes or no?"

The same it was at night at the Opera, where music served only to remindhim of a familiar voice winding like a thread of gold out across theorchards through the orange trees; and the same again, after dinner withhis colleagues on committees, when the deputies, their cigars tiltedcockily upwards between their lips, and with all the voluptuous gaietyinspired by good digestions, would troop off to see the night out insome trustworthy house of assignation where their dignity asrepresentatives of the country would not be compromised!

Now that blue house was actually before his eyes! And he was hurryingtoward it, --not without some hesitation; a vague uneasiness he could notexplain. His heart was in his mouth, it seemed, and he found it hard tobreathe. 

Orchard workers came along the road, occasionally, stepping aside tomake room for the famous man, though he answered their greetingabsent-mindedly. What a nuisance! They would all be sure to tell wherethey had seen him! His mother would know all about it within half anhour! And, that evening, a scene in the dining-room! As Rafael walked ontoward the Blue House, he thought bitterly of his situation. Why was hegoing there anyhow? Why insist on living in a stew all the time? He hadhad two or three short but violent scenes with his mother a few monthsbefore. What a fury that stern, pious, and puritanic woman became whenshe found out that her son had been calling down at the Blue House andwas on friendly terms with a strange lady, an outsider, whom therespectable folk of the city would have nothing to do with, and of whomnot a good word was ever heard except from the men at the Club, whenthey were sure their wives were not in hearing distance!

Tempestuous scenes they had been! He was running for Congress at thetime. Was he trying--she wanted to know--to dishonor the family andcompromise his political future? Was that what his poor father had livedfor--a life of sacrifice and struggle, of service to "the Party, " which, many a time, had meant shouldering a gun? And a loose woman was to beallowed to ruin the House of Brull, which for thirty years had beenputting every cent it owned into politics, for the benefit of My Lordsup in Madrid! And just when a Brull was about to reap the reward of somany sacrifices at last, and become a deputy--the means perhaps ofclearing off the property, which was lousy with attachments andmortgages!. .. 

Rafael had been no match for that energetic mother, the soul of "theParty. " Meekly he had promised never to return to the Blue House, neverto call again on that "loose woman"--doña Bernarda actually hissed asshe said the word. 

However, the upshot of it all had been that Rafael simply discovered howweak he was. Despite his promise, he returned to the Blue House often, but by round-about ways and over long detours, skulking from cover tocover, as he had done in childhood days when stealing oranges from theorchards. There he was, a man whose name was on the lips of the wholecounty, and who at any moment might be invested with authority from thepeople, thus realizing the life-long dream of his father! But the sightof a woman in the fields, a child, a beggar, would make him blanch withterror! And that was not the worst of it! Whenever he entered the BlueHouse now he had to pretend he came openly, without any fear whatever. And so things had gone on down to the very eve of his departure forMadrid. 

As Rafael reached this point in his reminiscences, he asked himself whathope had led him to disobey his mother and brook her truly formidablewrath. 

In that blue house he had found only frank, disinterested friendship, --asomewhat ironic comradeship, the condescending tolerance of a personcompelled by solitude to choose as her comrade the least repulsive amonga host of inferiors. Alas! How clearly he remembered and could againforesee the sceptical, cold smile with which his words were alwaysreceived, though he was sure he had crammed them with burning passion!What a laugh she had given, --as insolent and as cutting as a lash, --theday he had dared to declare his love!

"Now the soft-pedal on slush, eh, Rafaelito?. .. If you want us to go onbeing friends, all right, but it's on condition you treat me as a man. Comrades, eh, and nothing more. "

And with a look at him through those green, luminous, devilish eyes ofhers, she had taken her seat at the piano and begun one of her divinesongs, as if she thought the magic of her art might raise a barrierbetween them. 

On another occasion, she was irritable rather; Rafael's appealing eyes, his words of amorous adoration, seemed to provoke her, and she had saidwith brutal frankness:

"Don't waste your breath, please! I am through with love. I know men toowell! But even if anyone were to upset me again, it would not be you, Rafaelito dear. "

And yet he had persisted, insensible to the irony and the scorn of thisterrible _amigo_ in skirts, and indifferent as well to the conflictsthat his blind passion might provoke at home if his mother knew. 

He tried to free himself from his infatuation, but unsuccessfully. Withthat in view he fixed his attention on the woman's past; it was saidthat despite her beauty, her aristrocratic manners, the brilliancy ofmind with which she had dazzled him--a poor country boy--she was only anadventuress who had made her way over half the globe from one pair ofarms to another. Well, in that case, it would be a great exploit to wina woman whom princes and celebrated men had loved! But since that wasimpossible, why go on, why continue endangering his career and havingtrouble with his mother all the time?

To forget her, he stressed, before his own mind, words and attitudes ofhers that might be judged defects; and he would taste the joy of dutywell done when, after such gymnastics of the will, he could think of herwithout great emotion. 

At the beginning of his life in Madrid he imagined he had recovered. Newsurroundings; continuous and petty satisfactions to vanity; thekow-towing of doorkeepers in Congress; the flattery of visitors fromhere, there and everywhere who came with requests for passes to admitthem to the galleries; the sense of being treated as a comrade bycelebrities, whose names his father had always mentioned with batedbreath; the "honorable" always written before his name; all Alciraspeaking to him with affectionate familiarity; this rubbing elbows, onthe benches of the conservative majority, with a battalion of dukes, counts and marquises--young men who had become deputies to round out thedistinction conferred by beautiful sweethearts or winningthoroughbreds, --all this had intoxicated him, filled his mindcompletely, crowding out all other thoughts, and persuading him that hehad been completely cured. 

But as he grew familiar with his new life, and the novelty of all thisadulation wore off, tenacious recollections rose again in his memory. Atnight, when sleep relaxed the will to forget, which his vigilance keptat painful tension, that blue house, the green, diabolical eyes of itsprincipal denizen, that pair of fresh lips with their ironic smile thatseemed to quiver between two rows of gleaming white teeth, would becomethe inevitable center of all his dreams. 

Why resist any longer? He could think of her as much as hepleased--that, at least, his mother would never learn. And he gavehimself up to the imagination of love, where distance lent an everstronger enchantment to that woman. 

He felt a vehement longing to return to his city. Absence seemed to doaway with all the obstacles at home. His mother was not so formidable ashe had thought. Who could tell whether, when he went back--changed as hefelt himself to be by his new experiences--it would not be easier tocontinue the old relations? After so much isolation and solitude shemight receive him in more cordial fashion!

The Cortes were about to adjourn, so, in obedience to repeated urgingfrom his fellow-partisans, and from doña Bernarda, to _dosomething_--anything at all--to show interest in the home town--he tookthe floor one afternoon at the opening of the session, when only thepresident, the sergeant-at-arms, and a few reporters asleep in thepress-gallery, were present, and, with his lunch rising in his throatfrom emotion, asked the Minister of Internal Affairs to show a littlemore despatch in the matter of flood protection at Alcira--a bill stillin its in-fancy, though it had been pending some seventy years. 

After this he was free to return with the halo of a "business-like"deputy shining about his head--"a zealous defender of the region'sinterests, " the local weekly and party organ called him. And thatmorning, as he stepped off the train, the deputy, deaf to the RoyalMarch and to the _vivas_, stood up on tiptoe, trying to descry throughthe waving banners the Blue House nestling in the distance among theorange-trees. 

As he approached the place that afternoon he was almost sick withnervousness and emotion. For one last time he thought of his mother, sointent upon maintaining her prestige and so fearful of hostile gossip;of the demagogues who had thronged the doors of the cafes that morning, making fun of the demonstration in his honor; but all his scruplesvanished at sight of the hedge of tall rose-bays and prickly hawthornsand of the two blue pillars supporting a barrier of green wooden bars. Resolutely he pushed the gate open, and entered the garden. 

Orange-trees stretched in rows along broad straight walks of red earth. On either side of the approach to the house was a tangle of tallrose-bushes on which the first buds, heralds of an early spring, werealready beginning to appear. 

Above the chattering of the sparrows and the rustle of the wind in thetrees, Rafael could hear the sound of a piano--the keys barely touchedby the player's fingers--and a soft, timid voice, as if the song weremeant for the singer alone. 

It was she. Rafael knew the music: a _Lied_ by Schubert--the favoritecomposer of the day; a master "whose best work was still unknown, " asshe said in the cant she had learned from the critics, alluding to thefact that only the least subtle of the melancholy composer's works hadthus far been popularized. 

The young man advanced slowly, cautiously, as if afraid lest the soundof his footsteps break in upon that melody which seemed to be rockingthe garden lovingly to sleep in the afternoon's golden sunlight. 

He reached the open space in front of the house and once more foundthere the same murmuring palms, the same rubblework benches with seatsand backs of flowered tile that he knew so well. There, in fact, she hadso often laughed at his feverish protestations. 

The door was closed; but through a half-opened window he could see apatch of silk; a woman's back, bending slightly forward over the music. 

As Rafael came up a dog began to bark at the end of the garden. Somehens that had been scratching about in sand of the drive, scampered offcackling with fright. The music stopped. A chair scraped as it waspushed back. The lady was rising to her feet. 

At the balcony a flowing gown of blue appeared; but all that Rafael sawwas a pair of eyes--green eyes, that seemed to fill the entire windowwith a flood of light. 

"Beppa! Beppina!" cried a firm, a warm, a sonorous, soprano voice. "_Apri la porta_. Open the door. "

And with a slight inclination of her splendid head of thick auburn hairthat seemed to crown her with a helmet of old gold, she smiled to himwith a friendly, somewhat mocking, intimacy:

"Welcome, Rafaelito. I don't know why, but I was expecting you thisafternoon. We have heard all about your triumphs; the music and thetumult reached even to our desert. My congratulations to the Honorabledon Rafael Brull. Come right in, I _su señoría_. "

II

From Valencia to Játiva, in all that immense territory covered withrice-fields and orange groves which Valencians embrace under the generaland rather vague designation of _La Ribera_, there was no one unfamiliarwith the name of Brull and the political power it stood for. 

As if national unity had not yet been effected and the country werestill divided into _taifas_ and _waliatos_ as in the days when oneMoorish King reigned over Carlet, another over Denia, and a third overJátiva, the election system maintained a sort of inviolable rulership inevery district; and when the Administration people came to Alcira inforecasting their political prospects, they always said the same thing:

"We're all right there. We can rely on Brull. "

The Brull dynasty had been bossing the district for thirty years, withever-increasing power. 

The founder of this sovereign house had been Rafael's grandfather, theshrewd don Jaime, who had established the family fortune by fifty yearsof slow exploitation of ignorance and poverty. He began life as a clerkin the _Ayuntamiento_ of Alcira; then he became secretary to themunicipal judge, then assistant to the city clerk, thenassistant-registrar of deeds. There was not a subordinate position inthose offices where the poor come in contact with the law that he didnot get his hands on; and from such points of vantage, by sellingjustice as a favor and using power or adroitness to subdue therefractory, he felt his way along, appropriating parcel after parcel ofthat fertile soil which he adored with a miser's covetousness. 

A brazen charlatan he was, every moment talking of "Article NumberSo-and-So" of the law that applied to the case. The poor orchard workerscame to have as much awe for his learning as fear of his malice, and inall their controversies they sought his advice and paid for it, as if hewere a lawyer. 

When he had gotten a small fortune together, he continued holding hismenial posts in the city administration to retain the superstitiousrespect which is inspired in peasant-folk by all who are on good termswith the law; but not content with playing the eternal beggar, dependenton the humble gratuities of the poor, he took to pulling them out oftheir financial difficulties, lending them money on the collateral oftheir future harvests. 

But six per cent seemed too petty a profit for him. The real plight ofthese folk came when a horse died and they had to buy another. Don Jaimebecame a dealer in dray horses, buying more or less defective animalsfrom gypsies in Valencia, praising their virtues to the skies, andreselling them as thoroughbreds. And no sale on the instalment plan!Cash down! The horses did not belong to him--as he vowed with his handpressed solemnly to his bosom--and their owners wished to realize ontheir value at once. The best he could do in the circumstances promptedby his greatness of heart, which always overflowed at the sight ofpoverty was to borrow money for the purchase from a friend of his. 

The peasant in his desperate need would fall into the snare, and carryoff the horse after signing all kinds of notes and mortgages to coverthe loan of money he had not seen! For the don Jaime who spoke for theunknown party in the deal transferred the cash to the same don Jaime whospoke for the owner of the horse. Result: the rustic bought an animal, without chaffering, at double its value, having in addition borrowed alot of money at cut-throat interest. In every turn-over of this sort donJaime doubled his principal. New straits inevitably developed for thedupe; the interest kept piling up; hence new concessions, still moreruinous than the first, that don Jaime might be placated and give thepurchaser a month's reprieve. 

Every Wednesday, which was market-day in Alcira and brought a greatcrowd of orchard-folk to town, the street where don Jaime lived was thebusiest in the city. People came in droves to ask for renewal of theirnotes, each leaving a tip of several _pesetas_ usually, not to becounted against the debt itself. Others, humbly, timidly, as if they hadcome to rob the grasping Shylock, would ask for loans; and the strangething about it, as the malicious noted, was that all these people, afterleaving everything they owned in don Jaime's hands, went off content, their faces beaming with satisfaction, as if they had just been rescuedfrom a danger. 

This was don Jaime's chief skill. He had the trick of making usury looklike kindness; he always spoke of _those fellows_, those hidden ownersof the money and the horses--heartless wretches who were "after him, "holding him responsible for the short-comings of all their debtors. Theburdens he thus supposedly assumed won him a reputation as akind-hearted soul, and such confidence was the wily old demon able toinstill in his victims that when mortgages were foreclosed on homes orfields, many of the unfortunates despoiled, would say, resignedly:

"It's not his fault. What could the poor man do if they forced him toit? It's those _other fellows_ who are sucking the blood of us poorfolks. "

And so, quietly, leisurely, tranquilly, don Jaime got possession of afield here, then another there, then a third between the two; and in afew years he had rounded out a beautiful orchard of orange-trees withvirtually no expenditure of capital at all. Thus his property went onincreasing, and, with his radiant smile, his spectacles on his foreheadand his paunch growing fatter and fatter, he could be seen surrounded bynew victims, addressing them with the affectionate _tu_, patting them onthe back, and vowing that this weakness he had for the doing of favorswould some day bring him to dying like a dog in the gutter. 

Thus he went on prospering. Nor was all the scoffing of city people ofany avail in shaking the confidence reposed in him by that flock ofrustics, who feared him as they feared the Law itself and believed inhim as they believed in God. 

A loan to a spendthrift eldest son made him the proprietor of the finecity mansion, which came to be known as "the Brull place. " From thatdate he began to hob-nob with the large real-estate owners of the city, who, though they despised this upstart, made a small place for him intheir midst with the instinctive solidarity that characterizes thefreemasonry of money. To gain a little more standing for his name, hebecame a votary of San Bernardo, contributed to the funds for churchfestivals, and danced attendance on the _alcalde_, whoever that "mayor"might be. In his eyes now, the only people in Alcira were such ascollected thousands of _duros_, whenever harvest time came around. Therest were rabble, rabble, sir!

Then, at last he resigned the petty offices he had been filling; andhanding his usury business over to those who formerly had served him asgo-betweens, he set himself to the task of marrying off his son and soleheir, Ramon, an idling ne'er-do-well, who was always getting intotrouble and upsetting the tranquil comfort that surrounded old Brull ashe rested from his plunderings. 

The father felt the satisfaction of a bully in having such a tall, strong, daring and insolent son, a boy who compelled respect in cafesand clubs more with his fists than with the special privileges conferredin small towns by wealth. Let anyone dare make fun of the old usurerwhen he had such a fire-eater to protect him!

Ramon had wanted to join the Army; but every time he referred to what hecalled his vocation, his father would fly into a rage. "Do you thinkthat is what I've worked for all these years?" He could remember thetime when, as a poor clerk, he had been forced to fawn on his superiorsand listen humbly, cringingly, to their reprimands. He did not want aboy of his to be shoved about hither and thither like a mere machine. "Plenty of brass buttons, " he exclaimed with the scorn of a man never tobe taken in by external show, "and plenty of gold braid! But after all, a slave, a slave!"

No, he wanted to see his son free and influential, continuing theconquest of the city, completing the family greatness of which he hadlaid the foundations, getting power over people much as he himself hadgotten power over money. Ramón must become a lawyer, the only career fora man destined to rule others. It was a passionate ambition the oldpettifogger had, to see his scion enter through the front door and withhead proudly erect, the precincts of the law, into which he had crawledso cautiously and at the risk, more than once, of being dragged out witha chain fastened to his ankle. 

Ramón spent several years in Valencia without getting beyond theelementary courses in Common Law. The cursed classes were held in themorning, you see, and he had to go to bed at dawn--the hour when thelights in the pool-rooms went out. Besides, in his quarters at the hotelhe had a magnificent shotgun--a present from his father; andhomesickness for the orchards made him pass many an afternoon at thepigeon traps where he was far better known than at the University. 

This fine specimen of masculine youth--tall, muscular, tanned, with apair of domineering eyes to which thick eyebrows gave a touch ofharshness--had been born for action, and excitement; Ramón simplycouldn't concentrate on books!

Old Brull, who through niggardliness and prudence had placed his son on"half rations, " as he put it, sent the boy just money enough to keep himgoing; but dupe, in turn, of the wiles he had formerly practiced on therustics of Alcira, he was compelled to make frequent trips to Valencia, to come to some understanding with money lenders there, who hadadvanced loans to his son on such terms that insolvency might lead Ramónto a prison cell. 

Home to Alcira came rumors of other exploits by the "Prince, " as donJaime called his boy in view of the latter's ability to run throughmoney. In parties with friends of the family, don Ramón's doings werespoken of as scandalous actually--a duel after a quarrel at cards; thena father and a brother--common workingmen in flannel shirts!--who hadsworn they would kill him if he didn't marry a certain girl he had beentaking to her shop by day and to dance-halls by night. 

Old Brull made up his mind to tolerate these escapades of his son nolonger; and he made him give up his studies. Ramón would not be alawyer; well, after all, one didn't have to have a degree to be a man ofimportance. Besides the father felt he was getting old; it was hard forhim to look after the working of his orchards personally. He could makegood use of that son who seemed to have been born to impose his willupon everybody around him. 

For some time past don Jaime had had his eye on the daughter of a friendof his. The Brull house showed noticeable lack of a woman's presence. His wife had died shortly after his retirement from business, and theold codger stamped in rage at the slovenliness and laziness displayed byhis servants. He would marry Ramón to Bernarda--an ugly, ill-humored, yellowish, skinny creature--but sole heiress to her father's threebeautiful orchards. Besides, she was conspicuous for her industrious, economical ways, and a parsimony in her expenditures that came prettyclose to stinginess. 

Ramón did as his father bade him. Brought up with all the ideas of arural skinflint, he thought no decent person could object to marrying anugly bad-tempered woman, so long as she had plenty of money. 

The father-in-law and the daughter-in-law understood each otherperfectly. The old man's eyes would water at sight of that stern, long-faced puritan, who never had much to say in the house, but wentinto high dudgeon over the slightest waste on the part of the domestics, scolding the farmhands for the merest oversight in the orchards, haggling and wrangling with the orange drummers for a _centime_ more orless per hundredweight. That new daughter of his was to be the solace ofhis old age!

Meantime, the "prince" would be off hunting every morning in the nearbymountains and lounging every afternoon in the cafe; but he was no longercontent with the admiration of the idlers hanging around a billiardtable, nor was he taking part in the game upstairs. He was frequentingthe circles of "serious" people now, had made friends with the _alcalde_and was talking all the time of the great need for getting all "decent"folk together to take the "rabble" in hand!

"Ambition is pecking at him, " the old man gleefully remarked to hisdaughter-in-law. "Let him alone, woman; he'll get there, he'll getthere. .. That's the way I like to see him. "

Ramón began by winning a seat in the _Ayuntamiento_, and soon was anoutstanding figure there. The least objection to his views he regardedas a personal insult; he would transfer debates in session out into thestreets and settle them there with threats and fisticuffs. His greatestglory was to have his enemies say of him:

"Look out for that Ramón . .. He's a tough proposition. "

Along with all this combativeness, he sought to win friends by a lavishhand that was his father's torment. He "did favors, " assured a living, that is, to every loafer and bully in town. He was ready to be "touched"by anyone who could serve, in tavern and café, as advertising agent ofhis rising fame. 

And he rose rapidly, in fact. The old folks who had pushed him forwardwith influence and counsel soon found themselves left far behind. In ashort time he had become _alcalde;_ his prestige outgrew the limits ofthe city, spread over the whole district, and eventually reached thecapital of the province itself. He got able-bodied men exempted frommilitary service; he winked at corruption in the city councils thatbacked him, although the perpetrators deserved to go to prison; he sawto it that the constabulary was not too energetic in running down the_roders_, the "wanderers, " who, for some well-placed shot at electiontime, would be forced to flee to the mountains. No one in the wholecountry dared make a move without the previous consent of don Ramón, whom his adherents always respectfully called their _quefe_, their"chief. "

Old Brull lived long enough to see Ramón reach the zenith of his fame. That scallawag was realizing the old man's dream: the conquest of thecity, ruling over men where his father had gotten only money! And, inaddition don Jaime lived to see the perpetuation of the Brull dynastyassured by the birth of a grandson, Rafael, the child of a couple whohad never loved each other, but were united only by avarice andambition. 

Old Brull died like a saint. He departed this life with the consolationof all the last sacraments. Every cleric in the city helped to waft hissoul heavenward with clouds of incense at the solemn obsequies. And, though the rabble--the political opponents of the son, that is--recalledthose Wednesdays long before when the flock from the orchards would cometo let itself be fleeced in the old Shylock's office, all safe and sanepeople--people who had something in this world to lose--mourned thedeath of so worthy and industrious a man, a man who had risen from thelowest estate and had finally been able to accumulate a fortune by hardwork, honest hard work!

In Rafael's father there still remained much of the wild student who hadcaused so many tongues to wag in his youthful days. But his doings withpeasant girls were hushed up now; fear of the _cacique's_ power stifledall gossip; and since, moreover, affairs with such lowly women cost verylittle money, doña Bernarda pretended to know nothing about them. Shedid not love her husband much. She was leading that narrow, self-centered life of the country woman, who feels that all her dutiesare fulfilled if she remains faithful to her mate and keeps savingmoney. 

By a noteworthy anomaly, she, who was so stingy, so thrifty, ready tostart a squabble on the public square in defense of the family moneyagainst day-laborers or middlemen, was tolerance itself toward thelavish expenditures of her husband in maintaining his politicalsovereignty over the region. 

Every election opened a new breach in the family fortune. Don Ramónwould receive orders to carry his district for some non-resident, whomight not have lived there more than a day or two. So those who governedyonder in Madrid had ordered--and orders must be obeyed. In every townwhole muttons would be set turning over the fires. Tavern wine wouldflow like water. Debts would be cancelled and fistfulls of _pesetas_would be distributed among the most recalcitrant, all at don Ramón'sexpense of course. And his wife, who wore a calico wrapper to save onclothes and stinted so much on food that there was hardly anything leftfor the servants to eat, would be arrayed in splendor when the day forthe contest came around, ready in her excitement to help her husbandthrow the entire house through the window, if need be. 

This, however, was all pure speculation on her part. The money that wasbeing scattered so madly broadcast was a "loan" simply. Some day shewould get it back with interest. Already her piercing eyes werecaressing the tiny, dark-complexioned, restless little creature that layacross her knees, seeing in him the privileged heir-apparent who wouldone day reap the harvest from all such family sacrifices. 

Doña Bernarda had taken refuge in religion as in a cool, refreshingoasis in the desert of vulgarity and monotony in her life. Her heartwould swell with pride every time a priest would say to her in thechurch:

"Take good care of don Ramón. Thanks to him the wave of demagogy haltsat the temple door and evil fails to triumph in the District. He is thebulwark of the Lord against the impious!"

And when, after such a declaration, which flattered her worldly vanityand assured her of a mansion in Heaven, she would pass through thestreets of Alcira in her calico wrapper and a shawl not over-clean, greeted affectionately, effusively, by the leading citizens, she wouldpardon don Ramón all the infidelities she knew about and consider thesacrifice of her fortune a good investment. 

"If it were not for what we do, what would happen to the District. .. . The lower scum would conquer--those wild-eyed mechanics and commonlaborers who read the Valencian newspapers and talk about equality allthe time. And they would divide up the orchards, and demand that theproduct of the harvests--thousands and thousands of _duros_ paid fororanges by the Englishmen and the French--should belong to all. " But tostave off such a cataclysm, there stood don Ramón, the scourge of thewicked, the champion of "the cause" which he led to triumph, gun inhand, at election time; and just as he was able to send any rebellioustrouble-maker off to the penal settlement, so he found it easy to keepat liberty all those who, despite the various murders that figured intheir biographies, lent themselves to the service of the government inthis support of "law and order!"

The patrimony of the House of Brull went down and down, but its prestigerose higher and higher. The sacks of money filled by the old man at thecost of so much roguery were shaken empty over all the District; norwere several assaults upon the municipal treasury sufficient to bringthem back to normal roundness. Don Ramón contemplated this squanderingimpassively, proud that people should be talking of his generosity asmuch as of his power. 

The whole District worshipped as a sacred flagstaff that bronzed, muscular, massive figure, which floated a huge, flowing, gray-fleckedmustache from its upper end. 

"Don Ramón, you ought to remove that bush, " his clerical friends wouldsay to him with a smile of affectionate banter. "Why, man, you look justlike Victor Emmanuel himself, the Pope's jailer. "

But though don Ramón was a fervent Catholic (who never went to mass), and hated all the infidel turnkeys of the Holy Father, he would grin andgive a satisfied twirl at the offending mouth-piece, quite flattered atbottom to be likened to a king. 

The _patio_ of the Brull mansion was the throne of his sovereignty. Hispartisans would find him there, pacing up and down among the green boxesof plantain trees, his hands clasped behind his broad, strong, but nowsomewhat stooping back--a majestic back withal, capable of supportinghosts and hosts of friends. 

There he "administered justice, " decided the fate of families, settledthe affairs of towns--all in a few off-hand but short and decisivewords, like one of those ancient Moorish kings who, in that selfsameterritory, centuries before, legislated for their subjects under theopen sky. On market-days the _patio_ would be thronged. Carts would stopin long lines on either side of the door. All the hitching-posts alongthe streets would have horses tied to them, and inside, the house wouldbe buzzing like a bee-hive with the chatter of that rustic gentry. 

Don Ramón would give them all a hearing, frowning gravely meanwhile, hischin on his bosom and one hand on the head of the little Rafael at hisside--a pose copied from a chromo of the Kaiser petting the CrownPrince. 

On afternoons when the _Ayuntamiento_ was in session, the chief couldnever leave his _patio_. Of course not a chair in the city hall could bedusted without his permission; but he preferred to remain invisible, like a god, knowing well that his power would seem more terrible if itspoke only from the pillar of fire or from the whirlwind. 

All day long city councilors would go trotting back and forth from theCity Hall to the Brull _patio. _ The few enemies don Ramón had in theCouncil--meddlers, doña Bernarda called them--idiots who swallowedeverything in print provided it were against the King andreligion--attacked the _cacique_ persistently, censuring everything hedid. Don Ramón's henchmen would tremble with impotent rage. "That chargemust be answered! Let's see now: somebody go and ask the boss!"

And a _regidor_ would be off to don Ramón's like a greyhound; andarriving at the _patio_ panting, out of breath, he would heave a sigh ofrelief and contentment at sight of "the chief" there, pacing up and downas usual, ready to get his friends out of their difficulties as if thelimitless resources of Providence were at his command. "So-and-So saidthis-and-that!" Don Ramón would stop in his tracks, think a moment, andfinally say, in an enigmatic oracular voice: "Very well, tell him to putthis in his pipe and smoke it!" Whereupon the henchman, mouth agape, would rush back to the session like a racehorse. His companions wouldgather about him eager to know the reply that don Ramón's wisdom haddeigned to suggest; and a quarrel would start then, each one anxious tohave the privilege of annihilating the enemy with the magic words--alltalking at the same time like magpies suddenly set chattering by thedawn of a new light. 

If the opposition held its ground, again stupefaction would come overthem. Another mad dash in quest of a new consultation. Thus the sessionswould go by, to the great delight of the barber Cupido--the sharpest andmeanest tongue in the city--who, whenever the Council met, would observeto his early morning shaves:

"Holiday today: the usual race of councilors bare-back. "

When party exigencies forced don Ramón to be out of town, it was hiswife, the energetic doña Bernarda, who attended to the consultations, issuing statements on party policy, as wise and apt as those of "thechief" himself. 

This collaboration in the upbuilding and the up-holding of the familyinfluence was the single bond of union between husband and wife. Thiscold woman, a complete stranger to tenderness, would flush with pleasureevery time the chief approved her ideas. If only she were "boss" of "theParty!" . .. Don Andrés had often said as much himself!

This don Andrés was her husband's most intimate friend, one of those menwho are born to be second everywhere and in everything. Loyal to thefamily to the point of sacrifice, he served, with the couple itself, tofill out the Holy Trinity of the Brull religion that was the faith ofall the District. Where don Ramón could not go in person, don Andréswould be present for him, as the chief's _alter ego_. In the towns hewas respected as the supreme vicar of that god whose throne was in the_patio_ of the plantain trees; and people too shy to lay theirsupplications before the god himself, would seek out that jollyadvocate, --a very approachable bachelor, who always had a smile on histanned, wrinkled face, and a story under his stiff cigar-stainedmustache. 

Don Andrés had no relatives, and spent almost all his time at theBrull's. He was like a piece of furniture that seems always to begetting in the way at first; but when all were once accustomed to him, he became an indispensable fixture in the family. In the days when donRamón had been a young subordinate of the _Ayuntamiento_, he had met andliked the man, and taking him into the ranks of his "heelers, " hadpromoted him rapidly to be chief of staff. In the opinion of the "boss, "there wasn't a cleverer, shrewder fellow in the world than don Andrés, nor one with a better memory for names and faces. Brull was thestrategist who directed the campaign; don Andrés the tactician whocommanded actual operations and cleaned up behind the lines when theenemy was divided and undone. Don Ramón was given to settling everythingin a violent manner, and drew his gun at the slightest provocation. Ifhis methods had been followed, "the Party" would have murdered someoneevery day. Don Andrés had a smooth tongue and a seraphic smile thatsimply wound _alcaldes_ or rebellious electors around his littlefinger, and his specialty was the art of letting loose a rain of sealeddocuments over the District that started complicated and never-endingprosecutions against troublesome opponents. 

He attended to "the chief's" correspondence, and was tutor and playmateto the little Rafael, taking the boy on long walks through the orchardcountry. To doña Bernarda he was confidential adviser. 

That surly, severe woman showed her bare heart to no one in the worldsave don Andrés. Whenever he called her his "señora, " or his "worthymistress, " she could not restrain a gesture of satisfaction; and it wasto him that she poured out her complaints against her husband'smisdeeds. Her affection for him was that of a dame of ancient chivalryfor her private squire. Enthusiasm for the glory of the house unitedthem in such intimacy that the opposition wagged its tongues, assertingthat doña Bernarda was getting even for her husband's waywardness. Butdon Andrés, who smiled scornfully when accused of taking advantage ofthe chief's influence to drive hard bargains to his own advantage, wasnot the man to be trifled with if gossip ventured to smirch hisfriendship with the _señora_. 

Their Trinity was most closely cemented, however, by their fondness forRafael, the little tot destined to bring fame to the name of Brull andrealize the ambitions of both his grandfather and his father. 

Rafael was a quiet, morose little boy, whose gentleness of dispositionseemed to irritate the hard-hearted doña Bernarda. He was always hangingon to her skirts. Every time she raised her eyes she would find thelittle fellow's gaze fixed upon her. 

"Go out and play in _the patio_, " the mother would say. 

And the little fellow, moody and resigned, would leave the room, as ifin obedience to a disagreeable command. 

Don Andrés alone was successful in amusing the child, with his tales andhis strolls through the orchards, picking flowers for him, makingwhistles for him out of reeds. It was don Andrés who took him to school, also, and who advertised the boy's fondness for study everywhere. 

If don Rafael were a serious, melancholy lad, that defect was chargeableto his interest in books, and at the Casino, the "Party's" Club, hewould say to his fellow-worshippers:

"You'll see something doing when Rafaelito grows up. That kid is goingto be another Canovas. "

And before all those rustic minds the vision of a Brull at the head ofthe Government would suddenly flash, filling the first page of thenewspapers with speeches six columns long, and a _To Be Continued_ atthe end; and they could see themselves rolling in money and running allSpain, just as they now ran their District, to their own sweet wills. 

Never did a Prince of Wales grow up amid the respect and the adulationheaped upon little Brull. At school, the children regarded him as asuperior being who had condescended to come down among them for hiseducation. A well-scribbled sheet, a lesson fluently repeated, wereenough for the teacher, who belonged to "the Party" (just to collect hiswages on time and without trouble, ) to declare in prophetic tones:

"Go on working like that, señor de Brull. You are destined to greatthings. "

At the _tertulias_ his mother attended evenings in his company, it wasenough for him to recite a fable or get off some piece of learningcharacteristic of a studious child eager to bring his school work intothe conversation, for the women to rush upon him and smother him withkisses. 

"But how much that child knows!. .. How brilliant he is!"

And some old woman would add, sententiously:

"Bernarda, take good care of the child; don't let him use his brain somuch. It's bad for him. See how peaked he looks!. .. "

He finished his preparatory education with the Dominicans, taking theleading rôle in all the plays given in the tiny theatre of the friars, and always with a place in the first line on prize days. The Party organdedicated an annual article to the scholastic prodigies of the "giftedson of our distinguished chief don Ramón Brull, the country's hope, whoalready merits title as the shining light of the future!"

When Rafael, escorted by his mother and half a dozen women who hadwitnessed the exercises, would come home, gleaming with medals and hisarms full of diplomas, he would stoop and kiss his father's hard, bristly hand; and that claw would caress the boy's head andabsent-mindedly sink into the old man's vest pocket--for don Ramónexpected to pay for all welcome favors. 

"Very good, " the hoarse voice would murmur. "That's the way I like tosee you do . .. Here's a _duro_. "

And not till the following year would the boy again know what a caressfrom his father meant. On certain occasions, playing in the _patio_, hehad surprised the austere old man gazing at him fixedly, as if trying toforesee his future. 

Don Andrés took charge of settling Rafael in Valencia when he began hisuniversity studies. The dream of old don Jaime, disillusioned in theson, would be fulfilled in the third generation!

"This one at least will be a lawyer!" said doña Bernarda, who in the olddays had imbibed don Jaime's eagerness for the university degree, whichto her seemed like a title of nobility for the family. 

And lest the corruption of the city should lead the son astray as it haddone Ramón in his student days, she would send don Andrés frequently tothe capital, and write letter after letter to her Valencian friends, particularly to a canon of her intimate acquaintance, asking them not tolose sight of the boy. 

But Rafael was good behavior itself; a model boy, a "serious" young man, the good canon assured the mother. The distinctions and the prizes thatcame to him in Alcira continued to pursue him in Valencia; and besides, don Ramón and his wife learned from the papers of the triumphs achievedby their son in the debating society, a nightly gathering of lawstudents in a university hall, where future Solons wrangled on suchthemes as "Resolved: that the French Revolution was more of a good thanan evil, " or "Resolved, that Socialism is superior to Christianity. "

Some terrible youths, who had to get home before ten o'clock to escape awhipping, declared themselves rabid socialists and frightened thebeadles with curses on the institution of property--all rights reserved, of course, to apply, as soon as they got out of college, for someposition under the government as registrar of deeds or secretary ofprefecture! But Rafael, ever sane and a congenital "moderate, " was notof those fire-brands; he sat on "the Right" of the august assembly ofWranglers, maintaining a "sound" attitude on all questions, thinkingwhat he thought "with" Saint Thomas and "with" other orthodox sages whomhis clerical Mentor pointed out to him. 

These triumphs were announced by telegraph in the Party papers, which, to garnish the chief's glory and avoid suspicion of "inspiration, "always began the article with: "According to a despatch printed in theMetropolitan press . .. "

"What a boy!" the priests of Alcira would say to doña Bernarda. "What asilver tongue! You'll see; he'll be a second Manterola!"

And whenever Rafael came home for the holidays or on vacation, each timetaller than before, dressed like a fashion-plate and with mannerismsthat she took for the height of distinction, the saintly mother wouldsay to herself with the satisfaction of a woman who knows what it meansto be homely:

"What a handsome chap he's getting to be. All the rich girls in townwill be after him. He'll have his pick of them. "

Doña Bernarda felt proud of her Rafael, a tall youth, with delicate yetpowerful hands, large eyes, an aquiline nose, a curly beard and acertain leisurely, undulating grace of movement that suggested one ofthose young Arabs of the white cloak and elegant babooshes, whoconstitute the native aristocracy of Spain's African colonies. 

Every time the student came home, his father gave him the same silentcaress. In course of time the _duro_ had been replaced by a hundred_peseta_ note; but the rough claw that grazed his head was falling nowwith an energy ever weaker and seemed to grow lighter with the years. 

Rafael, from long periods of absence, noted his father's conditionbetter than the rest. The old man was ill, very ill. As tall as ever, asaustere and imposing, and as little given to words. But he was growingthinner. His fierce eyes were sinking deeper into their sockets. Therewas little left to him now except his massive frame. His neck, once assturdy as a bull's, showed the tendons and the arteries under the loose, wrinkled skin; and his mustache, once so arrogant, but now witheringwith each successive day, drooped dispiritedly like the banner of adefeated army wet with rain. 

The boy was surprised at the gestures and tears of anger with which hismother welcomed expression of his fears. 

"Well, I hope he'll die as soon as possible . .. Lot's of use he is tous!. .. May the Lord be merciful and take him off right now. "

Rafael said nothing, not caring to pry into the conjugal drama that wassecretly and silently playing its last act before his eyes. 

Don Ramón, that somber libertine of insatiable appetites, prey to asinister, mysterious inebriation, was tossing in a last whirlwind oftempestuous desire, as though the blaze of sunset had set fire to whatremained of his vitality. 

With a deliberate, determined lustfulness, he went scouring theDistrict like a wild satyr, and his brutish assaults, his terrorism andabuse of authority, were reported back by scurrilous tongues to theseignorial mansion, where his friend don Andrés was trying in vain topacify the wife. 

"That man!" doña Bernarda would stammer in her rage. "That man is goingto ruin us! Doesn't he see he's compromising his son's future?"

His most enthusiastic adherents, without losing their traditionalrespect for him, would speak smilingly of his "weaknesses"; but atnight, when don Ramón, exhausted by his struggle with the insatiabledemon gnawing at his spirit, would be snoring painfully away, with adisgusting rattle that made it impossible for people in the house tosleep, doña Bernarda would sit up in her bed with her thin arms foldedacross her bosom, and pray to herself:

"My Lord, My God! May this man die as soon as possible! May all thiscome to an end soon, oh Lord!"

And Bernarda's God must have heard her prayer, for her husband gotrapidly worse. 

"Take care of yourself, don Ramón, " his curate friends would say to him. They were the only ones who dared allude to his disorderly life. "You'regetting old, and boyish pranks at your age are invitations to Death!"

The _cacique_ would smile, proud, at bottom, that all men should knowthat such exploits were possible for a man at his age. 

He had enough strength left for one more caress the day when, escortedby don Andrés, Rafael entered with his degree as a Doctor of Law. Hegave the boy his shotgun--a veritable jewel, the admiration of theentire District--and a magnificent horse. And as if he had been waitingaround just to see the realization of old Don Jaime's ambition, which hehimself had not been able to fulfill, he passed away. 

All the bells of the city tolled mournfully. 

The Party weekly came out with a black border a palm wide; and from allover the District folks came in droves to see whether the powerful donRamón Brull, who had been able to rain upon the just and unjust alike onthis earth, could possibly have died the same as any other human being. 

III

When doña Bernarda found herself alone, and absolute mistress of herhome, she could not conceal her satisfaction. 

Now they would see what a woman could do. 

She counted on the advice and experience of don Andrés, who was closerthan ever to her now; and on the prestige of Rafael, the young lawyer, who bade fair to sustain the reputation of the Brulls. 

The power of the family continued unchanged. Don Andrés, who, at thedeath of his master, had succeeded to the authority of a second fatherin the Brull house, saw to the maintenance of relations with theauthorities at the provincial capital and with the still bigger fish inMadrid. Petitions were heard in the _patio_ the same as ever. Loyalparty adherents were received as cordially as before and the same favorswere done, nor was there any decline of influence in places that donAndrés referred to as "the spheres of public administration. "

There came an election for Parliament, and as usual, doña Bernardasecured the triumph of the individual whose nomination had been dictatedfrom Madrid. Don Ramón had left the party machine in perfect condition;all it needed was enough "grease" to keep it running smoothly; and therehis widow was besides, ever alert at the slightest suggestion of a creakin the gearing. 

At provincial headquarters they spoke of the District with the usualconfidence:

"It's ours. Brull's son is as powerful as the old man himself. "

The truth was that Rafael took little interest in "the Party. " He lookedupon it as one of the family properties, the title to which no one coulddispute. He confined his personal activities to obeying his mother. "Goto Riola with don Andrés. Our friends there will be happy to see you. "And he would go on the trip, to suffer the torment of an interminablerally, a _paella_, during which his fellow partisans would bore him withtheir uncouth merriment and ill-mannered flattery. "You really ought togive your horse a couple of days' rest. Instead of going out for a ride, spend your afternoon at the Club! Our fellows are complaining they neverget a sight of you. " Whereupon Rafael would give up his rides--his solepleasure practically--and plunge into a thick smoke-laden atmosphere ofnoise and shouting, where he would have to answer questions of the mostillustrious members of the party. They would sit around, filling theircoffee-saucers with cigar-ash, disputing as to which was the betterorator, Castelar or Canovas, and, in case of a war between France andGermany, which of the two would win--idle subjects that always provokeddisagreements and led to quarrels. 

The only time he entered into voluntary relations with "the Party" waswhen he took his pen in hand and manufactured for the Brull weekly aseries of articles on "Law and Morality" and "Liberty and Faith, "--therehashings of a faithful, industrious plodder at school, prolixcommonplaces seasoned with what metaphysical terminology he remembered, and which, from the very reason that nobody understood them, excitedthe admiration of his fellow partisans. They would blink at the articlesand say to don Andrés:

"What a pen, eh? Just let anyone dare to argue with him. .. . Deep, thatnoodle, I tell you!"

Nights, when his mother did not oblige him to visit the home of someinfluential voter who must be kept content, he would spend reading, nolonger, however, as in Valencia, books lent him by the canon, but worksthat he bought himself, following the recommendations of the press, andthat his mother respected with the veneration always inspired in her byprinted paper sewed and bound, an awe comparable only to the scorn shefelt for newspapers, dedicated, every one of them, as she averred, tothe purpose of insulting holy things and stirring up the brutal passionsof "the rabble. "

These years of random reading, unrestrained by the scruples and thefears of a student, gradually and quietly shattered many of Rafael'sfirm beliefs. They broke the mould in which the friends of his motherhad cast his mind and made him dream of a broader life than the oneknown to those about him. French novels transported him to a Paris thatfar outshone the Madrid he had known for a moment in his graduate days. Love stories awoke in his youthful imagination an ardor for adventureand involved passions in which there was something of the intense loveof indulgence that had been his father's besetting sin. He came to dwellmore and more in the fictitious world of his readings, where there wereelegant, perfumed, clever women, practicing a certain art in therefinement of their vices. 

The uncouth, sunburned orchard-girls inspired him with revulsion as ifthey had been women of another race, creatures of an inferior genus. Theyoung ladies of the city seemed to him peasants in disguise, with thenarrow, selfish, stingy instincts of their parents. They knew the exactmarket price of oranges and just how much land was owned by eachaspirant to their hand; and they adjusted their love to the wealth ofthe pretender, believing it the test of quality to appear implacabletoward everything not fashioned to the mould of their petty life ofprejudice and tradition. 

For that reason he was deeply bored by his colorless, humdrum existence, so far removed from that other purely imaginative life which rose fromthe pages of his books and enveloped him with an exotic, excitingperfume. 

Some day he would be free, and take flight on his own wings; and thatday of liberation would come when he got to be deputy. He waited for hiscoming of age much as an heir-apparent waits for the moment of hiscoronation. 

From early boyhood he had been taught to look forward to the great eventwhich would cut his life in two, opening out new pathways for a "forwardmarch" to fame and fortune. 

"When my little boy gets to be deputy, " his mother would say in her raremoments of affectionate expansiveness, "the girls will fight for himbecause he is so handsome! And he'll marry a millionairess!"

Meanwhile, in long years of impatient anticipation, his life went on, with no special circumstance to break its dull monotony--the life of anaspirant certain of his lot, "killing time" till the call should cometo enter on his heritage. He was like those noble youngsters of bygonecenturies who, graced in their cradles by the rank of colonel from themonarch, played around with hoop and top till they were old enough tojoin their regiments. He had been born a deputy, and a deputy he wassure to be: for the moment, he was waiting for his cue in the wings ofthe theatre of life. 

His trip to Italy on a pilgrimage to see the Pope was the one event thathad disturbed the dreary course of his existence. But in that country ofmarvels, with a pious canon for a guide, he visited churches rather thanmuseums. Of theatres he saw only two--larks permitted by his tutor, whose austerity was somewhat mollified in those changing scenes. Indifferently they passed the famous artistic works of the Italianchurches, but paused always to venerate some relic with miracles asfamous as absurd. Even so, Rafael managed to catch a confused andpassing glimpse of a world different from the one in which he waspredestined to pass his life. From a distance he sensed something of thelove of pleasure and romance he had drunk in like an intoxicating winefrom his reading. In Milan he admired a gilded, adventurous bohemia ofopera; in Rome, the splendor of a refined, artistic aristocracy inperpetual rivalry with that of Paris and London; and in Florence, anEnglish nobility that had come in quest of sunlight and a chance to airits straw hats, show off the fair hair of its ladies, and chatter itsown language in gardens where once upon a time the somber Dante dreamedand Boccaccio told his merry tales to drive fear of plague away. 

That journey, of impressions as rapid and as fleeting as a reel ofmoving-pictures, leaving in Rafael's mind a maze of names, buildings, paintings and cities, served to give greater breadth to his thinking, aswell as added stimulus to his imagination. Wider still became the gulfthat separated him from the people and ideas he met in his commoneveryday life. He felt a longing for the extraordinary, for theoriginal, for the adventuresomeness of artistic youth; and politicalmaster of a county, heir of a feudal dominion virtually, he neverthelesswould read the name of any writer or painter whatsoever with thesuperstitious respect of a rustic churl. "A wretched, ruined lot whohaven't even a bed to die on, " his mother viewed such people; but Rafaelnourished a secret envy for all who lived in that ideal world, which hewas certain must be filled with pleasures and exciting things he hadscarcely dared to dream of. What would he not give to be a bohemian likethe personages he met in the books of Murger, member of a merry band of"intellectuals, " leading a life of joy and proud devotion to higherthings in a bourgeois age that knew only thirst for money and prejudiceof class! Talent for saying pretty things, for writing winged versesthat soared like larks to heaven! A garret underneath the roof, offthere in Paris, in the Latin Quarter! A Mimí poor but spiritual, whowould love him, and--between one kiss and another--be able todiscuss--not the price of oranges, like the girls who followed him withtender eyes at home--but serious "elevated" things! In exchange for allthat he would gladly have given his future deputyship and all theorchards he had inherited, which, though encumbered by mortgages not tomention moral debts left by the rascality of his father andgrandfather--still would bring him a tidy annuity for realizing hisbohemian dreams. 

Such preoccupations made life as a party leader, tied down to the pettyinterests of a constituency, quite unthinkable! At the risk of angeringhis mother, he fled the Club, to court the solitude of the hills andfields. There his imagination could range in greater freedom, peoplingthe roads, the meadows, the orange groves with creatures of his fancy, often conversing aloud with the heroines of some "grand passion, "carried on along the lines laid down by the latest novel he had read. 

One afternoon toward the close of summer Rafael climbed the littlemountain of San Salvador, which lies close to the city. From theeminence he was fond of looking out over the vast domains of his family. For all the inhabitants of that fertile plain were--as don Andrés saidwhenever he wished to emphasize the party's greatness--like so manycattle branded with the name of Brull. 

As he went up the winding, stony trail, Rafael thought of the mountainsof Assisi, which he had visited with his friend the canon, a greatadmirer of the Saint of Umbria. It was a landscape that suggestedasceticism. Crags of bluish or reddish rock lined the roadway on eitherside, with pines and cypresses rising from the hollows, and extendingblack, winding, snaky roots out over the fallow soil. At intervals, white shrines with tiny roofs harbored mosaics of glazed tiles depictingthe Stations on the _Via Dolorosa_. The pointed green caps of thecypresses, as they waved, seemed bent on frightening away the whitebutterflies that were fluttering about over the rosemary and thenettles. The parasol-pines projected patches of shade across the burningroad, where the sun-baked earth crackled and crumbled to dead dust underevery footstep. 

Reaching the little square in front of the Hermitage, he rested from theascent, stretching out full length on the crescent of rubblework thatformed a bench near the sanctuary. There silence reigned, the silence ofhigh hill-tops. From below, the noises of the restless life and labor ofthe plain came weakened, softened, by the wind, like the murmuring ofwaves breaking on a distant shore. Among the prickly-pears that grew inclose thicket behind the bench, insects were buzzing about, shining inthe sun like buds of gold. Some hens, belonging to the Hermitage, werepecking away in one corner of the square, clucking, and dusting theirfeathers in the gravel. 

Rafael surrendered to the charm of the exquisite scene. With reason hadit been called "Paradise" by its ancient owners, Moors from the magicgardens of Bagdad, accustomed to the splendors of _The Thousand and OneNights_, but who went into ecstacies nevertheless on beholding for thefirst time the wondrous _ribera_ of Valencia!

Throughout the great valley, orange groves, extending like shimmeringwaves of velvet; hedges and enclosures of lighter green, cutting thecrimson earth into geometric figures; clumps of palms spurting like jetsof verdure upward toward the sky, and falling off again in languorousswoons; villas blue and rose-colored, nestling in flowering gardens;white farmhouses half concealed behind green swirls of forest; spindlingsmokestacks of irrigation engines, with yellow sooty tops; Alcira, itshouses clustered on the island and overflowing to the opposite bank, allof whitish, bony hue, pock-marked with tiny windows; beyond, Carcagente, the rival city, girdled in its belt of leafy orchards; off toward thesea, sharp, angular mountains, with outlines that from afar suggestedthe fantastic castles imagined by Doré; and inland, the towns of theupper _ribera_ floating in an emerald lake of orchard, the distantmountains taking on a violet hue from the setting sun that was creepinglike a bristly porcupine of gold into the hot vapors of the horizon. 

Behind the Hermitage all the lower _ribera_ stretched, one expanse ofrice-fields drowned under an artificial flood; then, Sueca and Cullera, their white houses perched on those fecund lagoons like towns inlandscapes of India; then, Albufera, with its lake, a sheet of silverglistening in the sunlight; then, Valencia, like a cloud of smokedrifting along the base of a mountain range of hazy blue; and, at last, in the background, the halo, as it were, of this apotheosis of light andcolor, the Mediterranean--the palpitant azure Gulf bounded by the capeof San Antonio and the peaks of Sagunto and Almenara, that jutted upagainst the sky-line like the black fins of giant whales. 

As Rafael looked down upon the towers of the crumbling convent of LaMurta, almost hidden in its pine-groves, he thought of all the tragedyof the Reconquest; and almost mourned the fate of those farmer-warriorswhose white cloaks he could imagine as still floating among the grovesof those magic trees of Asia's paradise. It was the influence of theMoor in his Spanish ancestry. Christian, clerical even, though he was, he had inherited a melancholy, dreamy turn of mind from the very Arabswho had created all that Eden. 

He pictured to himself the tiny kingdoms of those old _walis_; vassaldistricts very like the one his family ruled. But instead of resting oninfluence, bribery, intimidation, and the abuse of law, they lived bythe lances of horsemen as apt at tilling the soil as at capering intournaments with an elegance never equalled by any chevaliers of theNorth. He could see the court of Valencia, with the romantic gardens ofRuzafa, where poets sang mournful strophes over the wane of theValencian Moor, while beautiful maidens listened from behind theblossoming rose-bushes. And then the catastrophe came. In a torrent ofsteel, barbarians swept down from the arid hills of Aragon to appeasetheir hunger in the bounty of the plain--the _almogávares_--naked, wild, bloodthirsty savages, who never washed. And as allies of this horde, bankrupt Christian noblemen, their worn-out lands mortgaged to theIsraelite, but good cavalrymen, withal, armored, and with dragonwings ontheir helmets; and among the Christians, adventurers of various tongues, soldiers of fortune out for plunder and booty in the name of the Cross--the "black sheep" of every Christian family. And they seized the greatgarden of Valencia, installed themselves in the Moorish palaces, calledthemselves counts and marquises, and with their swords held thatprivileged country for the King of Aragon, while the conquered Saracenscontinued to fertilize it with their toil. 

"Valencia, Valencia, Valencia! Thy walls are ruins, thy gardensgrave-yards, thy sons slaves unto the Christian . .. " groaned the poet, covering his eyes with his cloak. And Rafael could see, passing likephantoms before his eyes, leaning forward on the necks of small, sleek, sinewy horses, that seemed to fly over the ground, their legshorizontal, their nostrils belching smoke, the Moors, the real people ofValencia, conquered, degenerated by the very abundance of their soil, abandoning their gardens before the onrush of brutal, primitiveinvaders, speeding on their way toward the unending night of Africanbarbarism. At this eternal exile of the first Valencians who left tooblivion and decay a civilization, the last vestiges of which todaysurvive in the universities of Fez, Rafael felt the sorrow he would haveexperienced had it all been a disaster to his family or his party. 

While he was thinking of all these dead things, life in its feverishagitation surrounded him. A cloud of sparrows was darting about the roofof the Hermitage. On the mountain side a flock of dark-fleeced sheep wasgrazing; and when any of them discovered a blade of grass among therocks, they would begin calling to one another with a melancholybleating. 

Rafael could hear the voices of some women who seemed to be climbing theroad, and from his reclining position he finally made out two parasolsthat were gradually rising to view over the edge of his bench. One wasof flaming red silk, skilfully embroidered and suggesting the filigreeddome of a mosque; the second, of flowered calico, was apparently keepingat a respectful distance behind the first. 

Two women entered the little square, and as Rafael sat up and removedhis hat, the taller, who seemed to be the mistress, acknowledged hiscourtesy with a slight bow, went on to the other end of the esplanade, and stood, with her back turned toward him, looking at the view. Theother sat down some distance off, breathing laboriously from theexertion of the climb. 

Who were those women?. .. Rafael knew the whole city, and had never seenthem. 

The one seated near him was doubtless the servant of the other--her maidor her companion. She was dressed in black, simply but with a certaincharm, like the French soubrettes he had seen in illustrated novels. Butrustic origin and lack of cultivation were evident from the stains onthe backs of her unshapely hands; from her broad, flat, finger-nails;and from her large ungainly feet, quite out of harmony with the pair ofstylish boots she was wearing--cast-off articles, doubtless, of thelady. She was pretty, nevertheless, with a fresh exuberance of youth. Her large, gray, credulous eyes were those of a stupid but playful lamb;her hair, straight, and a very light blond, hung loosely here and thereover a freckled face, dark with sunburn. She handled her closed parasolsomewhat awkwardly and kept looking anxiously at the doubled gold chainthat drooped from her neck to her waist, as if to reassure herself thata gift long-coveted had not been lost. 

Rafael's interest drifted to the lady. His eyes rested on the back of ahead of tightly-gathered golden hair, as luminous as a burnished helmet;on a white neck, plump, rounded; on a pair of broad, lithe shoulders, hidden under a blue silk blouse, the lines tapering rapidly, gracefullytoward the waist; on a gray skirt, finally, falling in harmonious foldslike the draping of a statue, and under the hem the solid heels of twoshoes of English style encasing feet that must have been as agile and asstrong as they were tiny. 

The lady called to her maid in a voice that was sonorous, vibrant, velvety, though Rafael could catch only the accented syllables of herwords, that seemed to melt together in the melodious silence of themountain top. The young man was sure she had not spoken Spanish. Aforeigner, almost certainly!. .. 

She was expressing admiration and enthusiasm for the view, talkingrapidly, pointing out the principal towns that could be seen, callingthem by their names, --the only words that Rafael could make out clearly. Who was this woman whom he had never seen, who spoke a foreign languageand yet knew the _ribera_ well? Perhaps the wife of one of the French orEnglish orange-dealers established in the city! Meanwhile his eyes weredevouring that superb, that opulent, that elegant beauty which seemed tobe challenging him with its indifference to his presence. 

The keeper of the Hermitage issued cautiously from the house--a peasantwho made his living from visitors to the heights. Attracted by thepromising appearance of the strange lady, the hermit came forward togreet her, offering to fetch water from the cistern, and to unveil theimage of the miraculous virgin, in her honor. 

The woman turned around to answer the man, and that gave Rafael anopportunity to study her at his leisure. She was tall, ever so tall, astall as he perhaps. But the impression her height of stature made wassoftened by a grace of figure that revealed strength allied to elegance. A strong bust, sculpturesque, supporting a head that engaged the youngman's wrapt attention. A hot mist of emotion seemed to cloud his visionas he looked into her large eyes, so green, so luminous! The golden hairfell forward upon a forehead of pearly whiteness, veined at the templeswith delicate lines of blue. Viewed in profile her gracefully mouldednose, quivering with vitality at the nostrils, filled out a beauty thatwas distinctly modern, piquantly charming. In those lineaments, Rafaelthought he could recognize any number of famous actresses. He had seenher before. Where?. .. He did not know. Perhaps in some illustratedweekly! Perhaps in some album of stage celebrities! Or maybe on thecover of some match-box--a common medium of publicity for famousEuropean belles. Of one thing he was certain: at sight of that wonderfulface he felt as though he were meeting an old friend after a longabsence. 

The recluse, in hopes of a perquisite, led the two women toward the doorof the hermitage, where his wife and daughter had appeared, to feasttheir eyes on the huge diamonds sparkling at the ears of the strangelady. 

"Enter, _siñorita_" the rustic invited. "I'll show you the Virgin, theVirgin _del Lluch_, you understand, the only genuine one. She came herealone all the way from Majorca. People down in Palma claim they have thereal Virgin. But what can they say for themselves? They are jealousbecause our Lady chose Alcira; and here we have her, proving that she'sthe real one by the miracles she works. "

He opened the door of the tiny church, which was as cool and gloomy as acellar. At the rear, on a baroque altar of tarnished gold, stood thelittle statue with its hollow cloak and its black face. 

Rapidly, by rote almost, the good man recited the history of the image. The Virgin _del Lluch_ was the patroness of Majorca. A hermit had beencompelled to flee from there, for a reason no one had been able todiscover--perhaps to get away from some Saracen girl of those exciting, war-like days! And to rescue the Virgin from profanation he brought herto Alcira, and built this sanctuary for her. Later people from Majorcacame to return her to their island. But the celestial lady had taken aliking to Alcira and its inhabitants. Over the water, and without evenwetting her feet, she came gliding back. Then the Majorcans, to keepwhat had happened quiet, counterfeited a new statue that looked justlike the first. All this was gospel truth, and as proof, there lay theoriginal hermit buried at the foot of the altar; and there was theVirgin, too, her face blackened by the sun and the salt wind on hermiraculous voyage over the sea. 

The beautiful lady smiled slightly, as she listened. The maid was allears, not to lose a word of a language she but half understood, hercredulous peasant eyes traveling from the Virgin to the hermit and fromthe hermit to the Virgin, plainly expressing the wonder she was feelingat such a portentous miracle. Rafael had followed the party into theshrine and taken a position near the fascinating stranger. She, however, pretended not to see him. 

"That is only a legend, " he ventured to remark, when the rustic hadfinished his story. "You understand, of course, that nobody hereaboutsaccepts such tales as true. "

"I suppose so, " the lady answered coldly. 

"Legend or no legend, don Rafael, " the recluse grumbled, somewhatpeeved, "that's what my grandfather and all the folk of his day used tosay; and that's what people still believe. If the story has been handeddown so long, there must be something to it. "

The patch of sunlight that shone through the doorway upon the flagstoneswas darkened by the shadow of a woman. It was a poorly clad orchardworker, young, it seemed, but with a face pale, and as rough as wrinkledpaper, all the crevices and hollows of her cranium showing, her eyessunken and dull, her unkempt hair escaping from beneath her knottedkerchief. She was barefoot, carrying her shoes in her hand. She stoodwith her legs wide apart, as if in an effort to keep her balance. Sheseemed to feel intense pain whenever she stepped upon the ground. Illness and poverty were written on every feature of her person. 

The recluse knew her well; and as the unfortunate creature, panting withthe effort of the climb, sank upon a little bench to rest her feet, hetold her story briefly to the visitors. 

She was ill, very, very ill. With no faith in doctors, who, according toher, "treated her with nothing but words"; she believed that the Virgin_del Lluch_ would ultimately cure her. And, though at home she couldscarcely move from her chair and was always being scolded by her husbandfor neglecting the housework, every week she would climb the steepmountain-side, barefoot, her shoes in her hand. 

The hermit approached the sick woman, accepting a copper coin sheoffered. A few couplets to the Virgin, as usual, he supposed!

"Visanteta, a few _gochos_!" shouted the rustic, going to the door. Andhis daughter came into the chapel--a dirty, dark-skinned creature withAfrican eyes, who might just have escaped from a gipsy band. 

She took a seat upon a bench, turning her back upon the Virgin with thebored ill-humored expression of a person compelled to do a dull task dayafter day; and in a hoarse, harsh, almost frantic voice, which echoeddeafeningly in that small enclosure, she began a drawling chant thatrehearsed the story of the statue and the portentous miracles it hadwrought. 

The sick woman, kneeling before the altar without releasing her holdupon her shoes, the heels of her feet, which were bruised and bleedingfrom the stones, showing from under her skirts, repeated a refrain atthe end of each stanza, imploring the protection of the Virgin. Hervoice had a weak and hollow sound, like the wail of a child. Her sunkeneyes, misty with tears, were fixed upon the Virgin with a dolorousexpression of supplication. Her words came more tremulous and moredistant at each couplet. 

The beautiful stranger was plainly affected at the pitiful sight. Hermaid had knelt and was following the sing-song rhythm of the chant, withprayers in a language that Rafael recognized at last. It was Italian. 

"What a great thing faith is!" the lady murmured with a sigh. 

"Yes, _señora_; a beautiful thing!"

Rafael tried to think of something "brilliant" on the grandeur of faith, from Saint Thomas, or one of the other "sound" authors he had studied. But he ransacked his memory in vain. Nothing! That charming woman hadfilled his mind with thoughts far other than quotations from theFathers!

The couplets to the Virgin came to an end. With the last stanza the wildsinger disappeared; and the sick woman, after several abortive efforts, rose painfully to her feet. The recluse approached her with thesolicitude of a shopkeeper concerned for the quality of his wares. Werethings going any better? Were the visits to the Virgin doing good?. .. The unfortunate woman did not dare to answer, for fear of offending themiraculous Lady. She did not know!. .. Yes . .. She really must be alittle better . .. But that climb!. .. This offering had not had such goodresults as the previous ones, she thought; but she had faith: the Virginwould be good to her and cure her in the end. At the church door shecollapsed from pain. The recluse placed her on his chair and ran to thecistern to get a glass of water. The Italian maid, her eyes bulging withfright, leaned over the poor woman, petting her:

"_Poverina! Poverina!. .. Coraggio_!" The invalid, rallying from herswoon, opened her eyes and gazed vacantly at the stranger, notunderstanding her words but guessing their kindly intention. 

The lady stepped out to the _plazoleta_, deeply moved, it seemed, bywhat she had been witnessing. Rafael followed, with affectedabsent-mindedness, somewhat ashamed of his insistence, yet at the sametime looking for an opportunity to renew their conversation. 

On finding herself once more in the presence of that wonderful panorama, where the eye ran unobstructed to the very limit of the horizon, thecharming creature seemed to breathe more freely. 

"Good God!" she exclaimed, as if speaking to herself. "How sad and yethow wonderful! This view is ever so beautiful. But that woman!. .. Thatpoor woman!"

"She's been that way for years, to my personal knowledge, " Rafaelremarked, pretending to have known the invalid for a long time, thoughhe had scarcely ever deigned to notice her before. "Our peasants arequeer people. They despise doctors, and refuse their help, preferring tokill themselves with these barbarous prayers and devotions, which theyexpect will do them good. "

"But they may be right, after all!" the lady replied. "Disease is oftenincurable, and science can do for it about as much as faith--sometimes, even less. .. . But here we are laughing and enjoying ourselves whilesuffering passes us by, rubs elbows with us even, without ournoticing!". .. 

Rafael was at a loss for reply. What sort of woman was this? What a wayshe had of talking! Accustomed as he was to the commonplace chatter ofhis mother's friends, and still under the influence of this meeting, which had so deeply disturbed him, the poor boy imagined himself in thepresence of a sage in skirts--a philosopher under the disguise offemale beauty come from beyond the Pyrenees, from some gloomy Germanalehouse perhaps, to upset his peace of mind. 

The stranger was silent for a time, her gaze fixed upon the horizon. Then around her attractive sensuous lips, through which two rows ofshining, dazzling teeth were gleaming, the suggestion of a smile beganto play, a smile of joy at the landscape. 

"How beautiful this all is!" she exclaimed, without turning toward hercompanion. "How I have longed to see it again!"

At last the opportunity had come to ask the question he had been soeager to put: and she herself had offered the opportunity!

"Do you come from here?" he asked, in a tremulous voice, fearing lesthis inquisitiveness be scornfully repelled. 

"Yes, " the lady replied, curtly. 

"Well, that's strange. I have never seen you. .. . "

"There's nothing strange about that. I arrived only yesterday. "

"Just as I said!. .. I know everyone in the city. My name is RafaelBrull. I'm the son of don Ramón, who was mayor of Alcira many times. "

At last he had let it out! The poor fellow had been dying to reveal hisname, tell who he was, pronounce that magic word so influential in theDistrict, certain it would be the "Open Sesame" to that wonderfulstranger's grace! After that, perhaps, she would tell him who she was!But the lady commented on his declaration with an "Ah!" of coldindifference. She did not show that his name was even known to her, though she did sweep him with a rapid, scrutinizing, half-mocking glancethat seemed to betray a hidden thought:

"Not bad-looking, but what a dunce!"

Rafael blushed, feeling he had made a false step in volunteering hisname with the pompousness he would have used toward some bumpkin of theregion. 

A painful silence followed. Rafael was anxious to get out of his plight. That glacial indifference, that disdainful courtesy, which, without atrace of rudeness, still kept him at a distance, hurt his vanity to thequick. But since there was no stopping now, he ventured a secondquestion:

"And are you thinking of remaining in Alcira very long?. .. "

Rafael thought the ground was giving way beneath his feet. Anotherglance from those green eyes! But, alas, this time it was cold andmenacing, a livid flash of lightning refracted from a mirror of ice. 

"I don't know . .. " she answered, with a deliberateness intended toaccentuate unmistakable scorn. "I usually leave places the moment theybegin to bore me. " And looking Rafael squarely in the face she added, with freezing formality, after a pause:

"Good afternoon, sir. "

Rafael was crushed. He saw her turn toward the doorway of the sanctuaryand call her maid. Every step of hers, every movement of her proudfigure, seemed to raise a barrier in front of him. He saw her bendaffectionately over the sick orchard-woman, open a little pink bag thather maid handed her, and, rummaging about among some sparkling trinketsand embroidered handkerchiefs, draw out a hand filled with shiningsilver coins. She emptied the money into the apron of the astonishedpeasant girl, gave something as well to the recluse, who was no lessastounded, and then, opening her red parasol, walked off, followed byher maid. 

As she passed Rafael, she answered the doffing of his hat with a barelyperceptible inclination of her head; and, without looking at him, started on her way down the stony mountain path. 

The young man stood gazing after her through the pines and the cypressesas her proud athletic figure grew smaller in the distance. 

The perfume of her presence seemed to linger about him when she hadgone, obsessing him with the atmosphere of superiority and exoticelegance that emanated from her whole being. 

Rafael noticed finally that the recluse was approaching, unable torestrain a desire to communicate his admiration to someone. 

"What a woman!" the man cried, rolling his eyes to express his fullenthusiasm. 

She had given him a _duro_, one of those white discs which, in thatatheistic age, so rarely ascended that mountain trail! And there thepoor invalid sat at the door of the Hermitage, staring into her apronblankly, hypnotized by the glitter of all that wealth! _Duros, pesetas_, two-_pesetas_, dimes! All the money the lady had brought! Even a goldbutton, which must have come from her glove!

Rafael shared in the general astonishment. But who the devil was thatwoman?

"How do I know!" the rustic answered. "But judging from the language ofthe maid, " he went on with great conviction: "I should say she was someFrenchwoman . .. Some Frenchwoman . .. With a pile of money!"

Rafael turned once more in the direction of the two parasols that wereslowly winding down the slope. They were barely visible now. The largerof the two, a mere speck of red, was already blending into the green ofthe first orchards on the plain . .. At last it had disappearedcompletely. 

Left alone, Rafael burst into rage! The place where he had made such asorry exhibition of himself seemed odious to him now. He fumed withvexation at the memory of that cold glance, which had checked anyadvance toward familiarity, repelled him, crushed him! The thought ofhis stupid questions filled him with hot shame. 

Without replying to the "good-evening" from the recluse and his family, he started down the mountain, in hopes of meeting the woman again, somewhere, some time, he knew not when nor how. The heir of don Ramón, the hope of the District, strode furiously on, his arms aquiver with anervous tremor. And aggressively, menacingly, addressing his own ego asthough it were a henchman cringing terror-stricken in front of him, hemuttered:

"You imbecile!. .. You lout!. .. You peasant! You provincial ass! You . .. Rube!"

IV

Doña Bernarda did not suspect the reason why her son rose on thefollowing morning pale, and with dark rings under his eyes, as if he hadspent a bad night. Nor could his political friends guess, thatafternoon, why in such fine weather, Rafael should come and shut himselfup in the stifling atmosphere of the Club. 

When he came in, a crowd of noisy henchmen gathered round him to discussall over again the great news that had been keeping "the Party" infeverish excitement for a week past: the Cortes were to be dissolved!The newspapers had been talking of nothing else. Within two or threemonths, before the close of the year at the latest, there would be a newelection, and therewith, as all averred, a landslide for don RafaelBrull. The intimate friend and lieutenant of the House of Brull was thebest informed. If the elections took place on the date indicated by thenewspapers, Rafael would still be five or six months short of histwenty-fifth birth-day. But don Andrés had written to Madrid to consultthe Party leaders. The prime minister was agreeable--"there wereprecedents!"--and even though Rafael should be a few weeks short of thelegal age, the seat would go to him just the same. They would send nomore "foundlings" from Madrid! Alcira would have no more "unknowns"foisted upon her! And the whole Tribe of Brull dependents was preparingfor the contest with the enthusiasm of a prize-fighter sure of victorybeforehand. 

All this bustling expectation left Rafael cold. For years he had beenlooking forward to that election time, when the chance would come forhis free life in Madrid. Now that it was at hand he was completelyindifferent to the whole matter, as if he were the last person in theworld concerned. 

He looked impatiently at the table where don Andrés, with three otherleading citizens, was having his daily hand at cards before coming tosit down at Rafael's side. That was a canny habit of don Andrés. Heliked to be seen in his capacity of Regent, sheltering the heir-apparentunder the wing of his prestige and experienced wisdom. 

Well along in the afternoon, when the Club parlor was less crowded withmembers, the atmosphere freer of smoke, and the ivory balls less noisyon the green cloth, don Andrés considered his game at an end, and took achair in his disciple's circle, where as usual Rafael was sitting withthe most parasitic and adulatory of his partisans. 

The boy pretended to be listening to their conversation, but all thewhile he was preparing mentally a question he had decided to put to donAndrés the day before. 

At last he made up his mind. 

"You know everybody, don Andrés. Well, yesterday, up on San Salvador, Imet a fine-looking woman who seems to be a foreigner. She says she'sliving here. Who is she?"

The old man burst into a loud laugh, and pushed his chair back from thetable, so that his big paunch would have room to shake in. 

"So you've seen her, too!" he exclaimed between one guffaw and another. "Well, sir, what a city this is! That woman got in the day beforeyesterday, and everybody's seen her already. She's the talk of the town. You were the only one who hadn't asked me about her so far. And nowyou've bitten!. .. Ho! Ho! Ho! What a place this is!"

When he had had his laugh out--Rafael, meanwhile, did not see thejoke--he continued in more measured style:

"That 'foreign woman, ' as you call her, boy, comes from Alcira. In fact, she was born about two doors from you. Don't you know doña Pepa, 'thedoctor's woman, ' they call her--a little lady who has an orchard closeby the river and lives in the Blue House, that's always under water whenthe Júcar floods? She once owned the place you have just beyond whereyou live, and she's the one who sold it to your father--the onlyproperty don Ramón ever bought, so far as I know. Don't you remember?"

Rafael thought he did. As he went back in his memory, the picture of anold wrinkled woman rose before his mind, a woman round-shouldered, bentwith age, but with a kindly face smiling with simple-mindedness and goodnature. He could see her now, with a rosary usually in her hand, acamp-stool under her arm, and her _mantilla_ drawn down over her face. As she passed the Brull door on her way to church, she would greet hismother; and doña Bernarda would remark in a patronizing way: "Doña Pepais a very fine woman; one of God's own souls. .. . The only decent personin her family. "

"Yes; I remember; I remember doña Pepa, " said Rafael. 

"Well, your 'foreigner, '" don Andrés continued, "is doña Pepa's niece, daughter of her brother, the doctor. The girl has been all over theworld singing grand opera. You were probably too young to rememberDoctor Moreno, who was the scandal of the province in those days. .. . "

But Rafael certainly did remember Doctor Moreno! That name was one ofthe freshest of his childhood recollections, the bugaboo of many nightsof terror and alarm, when he would hide his trembling head under theclothes. If he cried about going to bed so early, his mother would sayto him in a mysterious voice:

"If you don't keep quiet and go right to sleep I'll send for DoctorMoreno!"

A weird, a formidable personage, the Doctor! Rafael could see him asclearly as if he were sitting there in front of him; with that huge, black, curly beard; those large, burning eyes that always shone with aninner fire; and that tall, angular figure that seemed taller than everas young Brull evoked it from the hazes of his early years. Perhaps theDoctor had been a good fellow, who knows! At any rate Rafael thought so, as his mind now reverted to that distant period of his life; but hecould still remember the fright he had felt as a child, when once in anarrow street he met the terrible Doctor, who had looked at him throughthose glowing pupils and caressed his cheeks gently and kindly with ahand that seemed to the youngster as hot as a live coal! He had fled interror, as almost all good boys did when the Doctor petted them. 

What a horrible reputation Doctor Moreno had! The curates of the townspoke of him in terms of hair-raising horror. An infidel! A man cut offfrom Mother Church! Nobody knew for certain just what high authority hadexcommunicated him, but he was, no doubt, outside the pale of decent, Christian folks. Proof of that there was, a-plenty. His whole attic wasfilled with mysterious books in foreign languages, all containinghorrible doctrines against God and the authority of His representativeson earth. He defended a certain fellow by the name of Darwin, whoclaimed than men were related to monkeys, a view that gave muchamusement to the indignant doña Bernarda, who repeated all the jokes onthe crazy notion her favorite preacher cracked of a Sunday in thepulpit. And such a sorcerer! Hardly a disease could resist DoctorMoreno. He worked wonders in the suburbs, among the lower scum; andthose laborers adored him with as much fear as affection. He succeededwith people who had been given up by the older doctors, wiseacres inlong frocks and with gold-headed canes, who trusted more in God than inscience, as Rafael's mother would say in praise of them. That devil of aphysician used new and unheard-of treatments he learned from atheisticreviews and suspicious books he imported from abroad. His competitorsgrumbled also because the Doctor had a mania for treating poor folkgratis, actually leaving money, sometimes, into the bargain; and heoften refused to attend wealthy people of "sound principles" who hadbeen obliged to get their confessor's permission before placingthemselves in his hands. 

"Rascal!. .. Heretic!. .. Lower scum!. .. " doña Bernarda would exclaim. 

But she said such things in a very low voice and with a certain fear, for those days were bad ones for the House of Brull. Rafael rememberedhow gloomy his father had been about that time, hardly even leaving the_patio_. Had it not been for the respect his hairy claws and hisfrowning eye-brows inspired, the rabble would have eaten him alive. "Others" were in command, . .. "others" . .. Everybody, in fact, exceptthe House of Brull. 

The monarchy had been treasonably overturned; the men of the Revolutionof September were legislating in Madrid. The petty tradesmen of thecity, ever rebellious against the tyranny of don Ramón, had taken gunsin their hands and formed a little militia, ready to send a fusiladeinto the _cacique_ who had formerly trodden them under foot. In thestreets people were singing the _Marseillaise_, waving tricoloredbunting, and hurrahing for the Republic. Candles were being burnedbefore pictures of Castelar. And meantime that fanatical Doctor, aRepublican, was preaching on the public squares, explaining the "rightsof man" at daytime meetings in the country and at night meetings intown. Wild with enthusiasm he repeated, in different words, the orationsof the portentous Tribune who in those days was traveling from one endof Spain to the other, administering to the people the sacrament ofdemocracy to the music of his eloquence, which raised all the grandeursof History from the tomb. 

Rafael's mother, shutting all the doors and windows, would lift herangry eyes toward heaven every time the crowd, returning from a meeting, would pass through her street with banners flying and halt two doorsaway, in front of the Doctor's house, where they would cheer, and cheer. "How long, oh Lord, how long?" And though nobody insulted her nor askedher for so much as a pin, she talked of moving to some other country. Those people demanded a Republic--they belonged, as she said, to the"Dividing-up" gang. The way things were going, they'd soon be winning;and then they would plunder the house, and perhaps cut her throat andstrangle the baby!

"Never mind them, never mind them!" the fallen _cacique_ would reply, with a condescending smile. "They aren't so bad as you imagine. They'llsing their _Marseillaise_ for a time and shout themselves hoarse. Whyshouldn't they, if they're content with so little? Other days arecoming. The Carlists will see to it that our cause triumphs. "

In don Ramón's judgment, the Doctor was a good sort, though his head mayhave been a bit turned by books. He knew him very well: they had beenschoolmates together, and Rafael's father had never cared to join thehue and cry against Doctor Moreno. The one thing that seemed to botherhim was that, as soon as the Republic was proclaimed, the Doctor'sfriends were eager to send him as a deputy to the Constituent Assemblyof '73. That lunatic a deputy! Whereas he, the friend and agent of somany Conservative ministries, had never dared think of the office forhimself, because of the fairly superstitious awe in which he held it!The end of the world was surely coming!

But the Doctor had refused the nomination. If he were to go to Madrid, what would become of the poor people who depended on him for health andprotection? Besides, he liked a quiet, sedentary life, with his booksand his studies, where he could satisfy his desires without quarrels andfighting. His deep convictions impelled him to mingle with the masses, and speak in public places--where he proved to be a successful agitator, but he refused to join party organizations; and after a lecture or anoration, he would spend days and days with his books and magazines, alone save for his sister--a docile, pious woman who worshipped him, though she bewailed his irreligion--and for his little daughter, ablonde girl whom Rafael could scarcely remember, because her father'sunpopularity with the "best people" kept the little child away from"good society. "

The Doctor had one passion--music; and everybody admired his talent forthat art. What didn't the man know, anyhow? According to doña Bernardaand her friends, that remarkable skill had been acquired through "evilarts. " It was another fruit of his impiety! But that did not preventcrowds from thronging the streets at night, cautioning pedestrians towalk more softly as they approached his house; nor from opening theirwindows to hear better when that devil of a doctor would be playing hisvioloncello. This he did when certain friends of his came up fromValencia to spend a few days with him--a queer, long-haired crew thattalked a strange language and referred to a fellow called Beethovenwith as much respect as if he were San Bernardo himself. 

"Yes, don Andrés, " said Rafael. "I remember Doctor Moreno very well. "And his ears seemed to tingle again with the diabolical melodies thathad floated in to the side of his little bed on terrible nights stillfresh in his memory. 

"Very well, " continued the old man. "That lady is the Doctor's daughter. What a man he was! How he made your father and me fume in the days of'73! Now that all that is so far in the past, I'll say he was a finefellow. His brain had gone somewhat bad from reading too much, like donQuixote; and he was crazy over music. Most charming manners he had, however. He married a beautiful orchard-girl, who happened to be verypoor. He said the marriage was . .. For the purpose of perpetuating thespecies--those were his very words--of having strong, sound, healthychildren. For that he didn't need to bother about his wife's socialposition. What he was looking for was health. So he picked out thatTeresa of his, as strong as an ox, and as fresh as an apple. But littlegood it did the poor woman. She had one baby and died a few daysafterward, despite the science and the desperate efforts of her husband. They had lived together less than a year. "

Rafael's companions were listening with as much attention as he; formorbid curiosity is the characteristic of the people of small places, where the keenest pleasure available is that of knowing the privateaffairs of others intimately. 

"And now comes the good part, " don Andrés continued. "The mad Doctorhad two saints: Castelar and Beethoven. The pictures of those fellowswere scattered in every room of the house, even in the attic. ThisBeethoven (in case you don't know it), was an Italian or an Englishman, I'm not sure which--one of those fellows who makes music up out of hishead for people to play in theatres or for lunatics like Moreno to amusethemselves with. Well, when his daughter was born the Doctor wonderedwhat name to give her. As a tribute to Emilio Castelar, his idol, hefelt he ought to call her Emilia: but he liked the sound of Leonorabetter (no, not Lenor, but Leonora!). According to what he told us, thatwas the title of the only opera Beethoven ever wrote--an opera he couldread, for that matter, the way I read the paper. Anyhow, the foreignerwon out; and the Doctor packed the child off to church with his sister, who took a few neighbors of the poorer sort along to see Leonorabaptized. 

"You can imagine what the priest said after he had looked in vainthrough the catalogue of saints for that name. At the time I wasemployed in the municipal offices, and I had to intervene. This was allbefore the Revolution; Gonzalez Brabo was boss in those days--and goodold days they were! Let an enemy of law and order or sound religion justraise his voice and he was off on his way to Fernando Pio in no time. Well, what a racket the Doctor raised! He sat himself down in thatchurch--first time he'd ever been in the place--and insisted that hisdaughter be labeled as he directed. Later he thought he would take herhome without any baptism at all, saying he had no use for the ceremonyanyhow, and that he put up with it only to please his sister. Duringthe argument, he called all the curates and acolytes assembled in thesacristy there, a pack of 'brahmans. '"

"He must have said Brahmins, " interrupted Rafael. 

"Yes, that's it: and Bonzes, too--just joking, of course--I remembervery well. But finally he compromised and let her be baptized with theorthodox name of 'Leonor. ' Not that he cared what they called her in thechurch. As he went out he said to the priest: "She will be 'Leonora' forreasons that please her father, and which you wouldn't understand evenif I were to explain them to you. " What a hubbub followed! Don Ramón andI had to interfere to calm the good curates; they were for sending himup for sacrilege, insult to religion, what not! We had to go some toquiet things down. In those days, boy, a matter of that sort was moreserious than killing a man. "

"Which name did she keep?" asked a friend of Rafael. 

"Leonora, as her father wished. That girl always took after the old man. Just as queer as he was. The Doctor all over again! I haven't seen heryet. They say she's a stunning beauty, like her mother, who was ablonde, and the handsomest girl in all these parts. When the Doctor haddressed his wife up like a lady, she wasn't much for manners, but shecertainly was something to look at. .. . "

"And what became of Moreno?" asked another. "Is it true, as they saidyears ago, that he shot himself?"

"Oh, some say one thing, some another. Perhaps it's all a lie. Whoknows! It all happened so far away. .. . After the Republic fell, it wasthe turn of decent people again. Poor Moreno took it all harder than hedid the death of his Teresa, and kept himself locked up in his house dayin, day out. Your father was stronger than before and we ran things in away that was a sight for sore eyes! Don Antonio up in Madrid gave ordersto the Governors to give us a free hand in cleaning up everything thatwas left of the Revolution. The people who before had been cheering forthe Doctor all the time, now kept away from him for fear we should catchthem. Some afternoons he would go for a walk in the suburbs, or a strollover to his sister's orchard, near the river--always with Leonora at hisside. She was now about eleven years old. All his affection was centeredon her. Poor Doctor! How things had changed from the days when his mobswould meet the troops shot for shot in the streets of Alcira, shouting_vivas_ for the Federal Republic!. .. In his solitude and in all thedejection coming from the defeat of his perverted ideas, he took morethan ever to music. He had but one joy left him. Leonora loved music asmuch as he. She learned her lessons rapidly; and soon could accompanyher father's violoncello on the piano. They would spend the days playingtogether, going through the whole pile of music sheets they kept storedin the attic along with those accursed medical books. Besides, thelittle girl showed she had a voice, and it seemed to grow fuller andmore beautiful every day. 'She will be a singer, a great singer, ' herfather proclaimed enthusiastically. And when some tenant of his or oneof his dependents came into the house and could hardly believe his earsat the sweetness of the little angel's voice, the Doctor would rub hishands and gleefully exclaim: 'What do you think of the little lady, eh?. .. Some day people in Alcira will be proud she was born here. '"

Don Andrés paused to sift his recollections, and after a long silenceadded:

"The truth is, I can't tell you any more. At that time, we were in poweragain, and I had very little to do with the Doctor. We gradually lostsight of him, forgot him, practically. The music we heard when going bythe house was all there was to remind us of him. We learned one day, through his sister, doña Pepa, that he had gone way off with the littlegirl somewhere--what was that city you visited, Rafael?--Milan, yes, Milan, that's it! I've been told that's the market for singers. Hewanted his Leonora to become a prima donna. He never came back, poorfellow!. .. Things must have gone badly with them. Every year he wouldwrite home to his sister to sell another piece of land. It is known thatover there they lived in real poverty. In a few years the little fortunethe Doctor got from his parents was gone. Poor doña Pepa, kind old soul, even disposed of the house--which belonged half to the Doctor and halfto her--sent him every cent of the money, and moved to the orchard. Eversince then she's been coming in to mass and to Forty Hours in all sortsof weather. I could learn nothing for certain after that. People lie so, you see. Some say poor Moreno shot himself because his daughter left himwhen she got placed on the stage; others say that he died like a dog ina poorhouse. The only sure thing is that he died and that his daughterwent on having a great time all over those countries over there. Theway she went it! They even say she had a king or two. As for money! Say, boys, there are ways and ways of earning it, and ways and ways ofspending it! The fellow who knows all about that side of her is thebarber Cupido. He imagines he's an artist, because he plays the guitar;and besides he has a Republican grouch, and was a great admirer of herfather's. He's the only one in town who followed all she was up to, inthe papers. They say she doesn't sing under her own name, but uses someprettier sounding one--foreign, I believe. Cupido is a regular busybodyand you can get all the latest news in his barbershop. Only yesterday hewent to doña Pepa's farmhouse to greet the '_eminent artist_, ' as hecalls her. There's no end to what he tells. Trunks in every corner, enough to pack a house-full of things into, and silk dresses . .. Shopfuls of them! Hats, I can't say how many; jewelry-boxes on everytable with diamonds that strike you blind. And she told Cupido to havethe station-agent get a move on and send what was still missing--theheavier luggage--boxes and boxes that come from way off somewhere--theother end of the world, and that cost a fortune just to ship. .. . Thereyou are!. .. And why not? The way she earned it!"

Don Andrés winking maliciously and laughing like an old faun, gave a slynudge at Rafael, who was listening in deep abstraction to the story. 

"But is she going to live on here?" asked the young man. "Accustomed asshe is to flitting about the world, do you think she'll be able to standthis place?"

"Nobody can tell, " don Andrés replied. "Not even Cupido can find thatout. She'll stay until she gets bored, he says. And to be in less dangerof that, she has brought her whole establishment along on her back, likea snail. "

"Well, she'll be bored soon enough, " one of Rafael's friends observed. "I suppose she thinks she's going to be admired and stared at as she wasabroad! Moreno's girl! Did you ever hear of such a family?. .. Daughterof that _descamisado_, as my father calls him because he died without astitch on his back! And all people say of them! Last night her arrivalwas the subject of conversation in every decent home in town, and therewasn't a man who did not promise to fight shy of her. If she thinksAlcira is anything like the places where they dance the razzle-dazzleand there's no shame, she'll be sadly disappointed. "

Don Andrés laughed slyly. 

"Yes, boys! She'll be disappointed. There's a plenty of morality in thistown, and much wholesome fear of scandal. We're probably as bad aspeople in other places, but we don't want anybody to find us out. I'mafraid this Leonora is going to spend most of her time with her aunt--asilly old thing, whatever her many virtues may be. They say she'sbrought a French maid along. .. . But she's beginning to cry 'sour grapes'already. Do you know what she said to Cupido yesterday? That she hadcome here with the idea of living all by herself, just to get away frompeople; and when the barber spoke to her of society in Alcira, she madea wry face, as much as to say the place was filled with no-accounts. That's what the women were talking most about last night. You can seewhy! She has always been the favorite of so many big guns!"

An idea seemed to flit across the wrinkled forehead of don Andrés, tracing a wicked smile around his lips:

"You know what I think, Rafael? You're young and you're handsome, andyou've been abroad. Why don't you make a try for her, if only to prickthe bubble of her conceit and show her there are people here, too. Theysay she's mighty good-looking, and, what the deuce! It wouldn't be sohard. When she finds out who you are!. .. "

The old man said this with the idea of flattering Rafael, certain thatthe prestige of his "prince" was such that no woman could resist him. But Rafael had lived through the previous afternoon, and the wordsseemed very bitter pills. Don Andrés at once grew serious, as if afrightful vision had suddenly passed before his eyes; and he added in arespectful tone:

"But no: that was only a jest. Don't pay any attention to what I say. Your mother would be terribly provoked. "

The thought of doña Bernarda, the personification of austere, uncompromising virtue, chased the mirth from every face in the company. 

"The strange thing about all this, " said Rafael, who was anxious to turnthe conversation in a different direction, "is that now everybodyremembers the Doctor's daughter. But years and years went by without hername being mentioned, in my hearing at least. "

"Well, it's a question of District matters, you see, " the old mananswered. "All I've been telling you boys, happened long before yourday, and your parents, who knew the Doctor and his daughter, have alwaysbeen careful not to bring this woman into their conversation; for, asRafael's mother says, she's the disgrace of Alcira. From time to time wegot a bit of news; something that Cupido fished out of the newspapersand spread all over town, or something that that silly doña Pepa wouldlet drop, while telling inquisitive people about the glories her niecewas winning abroad; anyhow, all a heap of lies that were invented Idon't know where or by whom. They kept all that quiet, banking the fire, so to speak. If it hadn't got into the girl's head to come back toAlcira, you would never have heard of her probably. But now she's here, and they're telling all they know, or think they know, about her life, digging up tales of things that happened years and years ago. You takemy word for it, boys, I've always considered her a high-flyer myself, but, just the same, people here do tell awful whoppers . .. And swear tothem. She can't be as bad as they say . .. If one were to swalloweverything one hears! Wasn't poor don Ramón the greatest man theDistrict ever produced? Well, what don't they say about him?. .. "

And the conversation drifted away from Doctor Moreno's daughter. Rafaelhad learned all he wished to know. That woman had been born within a fewhundred yards of his own birthplace. They had passed their childhoodyears almost side by side; and yet, on meeting for the first time intheir lives, they had felt themselves complete strangers to each other. 

This separation would increase with time. She made fun of the city, lived outside its circle of influence, in the open country; she wouldnot meet the town halfway, and the town would not go to her. 

How get to know her better, then?. .. Rafael was tempted as he walkedaimlessly about the streets, to look up the barber Cupido in his shopthat very afternoon. That merry rogue was the only person in all Alcirawho entered her house. But Brull did not dare, for fear of gossip. Hisdignity as a party leader forbade his entering that barbershop where thewalls were papered with copies of "Revolution" and where a picture of Piy Margall reigned in place of the King's. How could he justify hispresence in a place he had never visited before? How explain to Cupidohis interest in that woman, without having the whole city know about itbefore sundown?

Twice he walked up and down in front of the striped window-panes of thebarbershop, without mustering the courage to raise the latch. Finally hesauntered off toward the orchards, following the riverbank slowly along, with his gaze fixed on that blue house, which had never before attractedhis attention, but which now seemed the most beautiful detail in thatample paradise of orange-trees. 

Through the groves he could see the balcony of the house, and on it awoman unfolding shining gowns of delicate colors. She was shaking theprima donna's skirts to straighten out the wrinkles and the folds causedby the packing in the trunks. 

It was the Italian maid--that Beppa of the reddish hair whom he had seenthe previous afternoon with her mistress. 

He thought the girl was looking at him, and that she even recognizedhim through the foliage, despite the distance. He felt a suddentimorousness, like a child caught redhanded doing something wrong. Heturned in his tracks and strode rapidly off toward the city. 

But later, he felt quite comforted. Merely to have approached the BlueHouse seemed like progress toward acquaintance with the beautifulLeonora. 

V

All work had stopped on the rich lands of the _ribera_. 

The first winter rains were falling over the entire District. Day afterday the gray sky, heavy with clouds, seemed to reach down and touch thevery tops of the trees. The reddish soil of the fields grew dark underthe continuous downpour; the roads, winding deep between the mudwallsand the fences of the orchards, were changed to rushing streams. Theweeping orange-trees seemed to shrink and cringe under the deluge, as ifin aggrieved protest at the sudden anger of that kindly, friendly landof sunshine. 

The Júcar was rising. The waters, turned to so much liquid clay, lashedred and slimy against the buttresses of the bridges. People living alongthe banks followed the swelling of the river with anxious eyes, studyingthe markers placed along the shores to note how the water was coming up. 

_"Munta?"_ . .. Asked the people from the interior, in their quaintdialect. 

_"Munta!"_ answered the river dwellers. 

And the water was indeed slowly rising, already threatening the citythat had so audaciously taken root in the very middle of its bed. 

But despite the danger, the townspeople seemed to be feeling nothingmore than uneasy curiosity. No one thought of moving across the bridgesto take refuge on the high land. Nonsense! The Júcar was alwaysflooding. You had to expect something of the sort every once in a while. Thank heaven there was something to break the monotony of life in thatsleepy town! Why complain at a week's vacation? It was hard to disturbthe placid complacency of those descendants of the Moors. Floods hadbeen coming since the days of their fathers, their grandfathers andtheir great-grandfathers, and never had the town been carried off. A fewhouses at the worst. Why suppose the catastrophe would be due now?. .. The Júcar was a sort of husband to Alcira. As happens in any decentfamily, there would be a quarrel now and then--a thrashing followed bykisses and reconciliation. Just imagine--living seven or eight centuriestogether! Besides, --and this the lesser people thought--there was FatherSan Bernardo, as powerful as God Himself in all that concerned Alcira. He was able, single-handed, to tame the writhing monster that wound itscoiling way underneath the bridges. 

It rained day and night; and yet the city, from its animation, seemed tobe having a holiday. The young ones, sent home from school because ofthe bad weather, were all on the bridges throwing branches into thewater to see how swift the current was, or playing along the lanes closeto the river, planting sticks in the banks and waiting for theever-broadening torrent to reach them. 

Under the shelter of the projecting eaves, whence broken water-spoutswere belching streams as thick as a man's arm, loungers in the caféswould slip along the streets toward the river-front; and after glancingat the flood from the scant protection of their umbrellas, would maketheir way proudly back, stopping in every drinking place to offer theiropinions on the rise that had taken place since their previousinspection. 

The city from end to end was one seething storm of heated, typically"Southern" argument and prophecy. Friendships were being made andbroken, over questions as to whether the river had risen four inches thepast hour, or only one, and as to whether this freshet were moreimportant than the one five years before. 

Meantime the sky kept on weeping through its countless eyes; the river, roaring more wrathful every moment, was now licking at the ends of thelow-lying streets near the bank, creeping up into the gardens on theshore, stealing in between the orange-trees, opening holes in the hedgesand the mudwalls. 

The main concern of the populace was whether it were raining also in themountains of Cuenca. If much water came down from there, the flood wouldbecome serious. And experienced eyes studied the color of the waterscarefully. If there was any black in them, it meant they came from theupper provinces. 

The cloud-burst lasted for two whole days. The night of the second dayclosed, and the roar of the river sounded forebodingly in the darkness. On its black surface lights could be seen reflected like restlessflashes of flame--candles from the shore houses and lanterns of watchmenon guard along the banks. 

In the lower streets the water was coming under the doors into thehouses. Women and children were taking refuge in the garrets while themen, with their trousers rolled up to their knees, were splashing aboutin the liquid silt, carrying their farming tools to places of safety, ortugging at some donkey who would be balking at going too deep into thewater. 

All these people of the suburbs, on finding their houses flooded in thedarkness of night, lost the jesting calm which they had so boastfullydisplayed during the daytime. Now fear of the supernatural came overthem, and with childish anxiety they sought protection of some HigherPower to avert the danger. Perhaps this freshet was the final one!Perhaps they were the victims destined to perish in the final downfallof the city!. .. Women began to shriek with terror on seeing theirwretched lanes converted into deep canals. 

"_El pare San Bernat!. .. Que traguen al pare San Bernat_! Father SaintBernard!. .. Let them fetch father Saint Bernard!"

The men looked at each other uneasily. Nobody could handle a matter likethis so well as the glorious patron. It was now high time to haverecourse to him, as had so often been done before, and get him toperform his miracle. 

They ought to go to the City Council, and compel the big guns there, inspite of their scepticism, to bring the saint out for the consolation ofthe poor. 

In an hour a veritable army was formed. Mobs issued from the dark lanes, paddling in the water like frogs, and raising their war-cry: "_SanBernat! San Bernat_!"; the men, with their sleeves and trousers rolledup, or even entirely naked save for the sash that is never removed fromthe skin of a Valencian peasant; the women, with their skirts raisedover their heads for protection, sinking their tanned, skinny, over-worked legs into the slime, and all drenched from head to foot, thewet clothes sticking to their bodies; and at the head, a number ofstrong young men with four-wicked tapers lighted, sputtering andcrackling in the rain and casting a weird flickering radiance back overthe clamoring multitude. 

"_San Bernat! San Bernat!. .. Viva el pare San Bernat!_ Father SaintBernard, _viva_!"

Under the drizzle pouring from the sky and the streams tumbling from theeavespouts, the mob rushed along through the streets in a wild riot. Doors and windows flew open, and new voices were added to the deliriousuproar, while at every crossing recruits would come to swell theon-rushing avalanche headed for the _Ayuntamiento_. Muskets, ancientblunderbusses, and horse-pistols as big as guns, could be seen in themenacing throng, as though those wild forms were to compel the grantingof a petition that might be denied, or to slay the river, perhaps. 

The _alcalde_, with all the members of the council, was waiting at thedoor of the City Hall. They had come running to the place, marshallingthe _alguacils_ and the patrols, to face and quell the mutiny. 

"What do you want?" the Mayor asked the crowd. 

What did they want! They wanted the one remedy, the one salvation, forthe city: they wanted to take the omnipotent saint to the bank of theriver that he might awe it with his presence, just as their ancestorshad been doing for centuries and centuries, and thanks to which the citywas still standing!

Some of the city people, whom the peasants regarded as atheists, beganto smile at the strange request. Wouldn't it be better to spend the timegetting all the valuables out of the houses on the bank? A tempest ofprotests followed this proposal. "Out with the saint! Out with _SanBernat!_ We want the miracle! The miracle!" Those simple people werethinking of the wonders they had learned in their childhood at theirmothers' knees; times in former centuries, when it had been enough forSan Bernardo to appear on a river road, to start the flood down again, draining off from the orchard lands as water leaks from a brokenpitcher. 

The _alcalde_, a liegeman of the Brull dynasty, was in a quandary. Hewas afraid of that ugly mob and was anxious to yield, as usual; but itwould be a serious breach of etiquette not to consult "the chief. "Fortunately, just as the huge, dark mass of human beings was beginningto surge in indignation at his silence, and hisses and shouts of angerwere being raised, Rafael appeared. 

Doña Bernarda had sent him out at the first sign of uneasiness in thepopulace. It was in circumstances such as these that her husband used toshine, taking the helm in every crisis, giving orders and settlingquestions, though to no avail at all. But when the river returned to itsnormal level, and danger was past, the peasant would remember donRamón's "sacrifices" and call him the father of the poor. If themiraculous saint must come out, let Rafael be the one to produce him!The elections were at hand. The flood could not have come in bettertime. There must be no false steps, no frightening opportunity away. Something rather must be done to get people to talking about him as theyused to talk about his father on similar occasions. 

So Rafael, after having the purpose of this demonstration explained tohim by the most ardent of the leaders, gave a magnificent gesture ofconsent:

"Granted; have _San Bernat_ brought out!"

With a thunder of applause and _vivas_ for young Brull, the blackavalanche headed rumbling for the church. 

They must now persuade the curate to take the saint out, and that goodpriest--a fat, kindly, but rather shrewd fellow--always objected to whathe called a bit of old-fashioned mummery. The truth was he lookedforward with little pleasure to a tramp out in the rain at the head of aprocession, trying to keep dry under an umbrella, with his _soutane_rolled up to his knees, and his shoes coming off at every step in themire. Besides, some day, in the very face of San Bernardo, the rivermight carry half the city off, and then what a fix, what a fix, religionwould be in, all on account of those disturbers of the peace!

Rafael and his henchmen of the _Ayuntamiento_ tried their hardest toconvince the curate; but his only reply was to ask whether water wascoming down from Cuenca. 

"I believe it is, " said the _alcalde_. "You can see that makes thedanger worse. It's more than ever necessary to bring out the saint. "

"Well, if there's water coming down from Cuenca, " the priest answered, "we'd better let it come, and San Bernardo also had better keepindoors, at home. Matters concerning saints must be treated with greatdiscretion, take my word for that. .. . And, if you don't agree with me, just remember that freshet when the river got above the bridges. Webrought the saint out, and the river almost carried him off downstream. "

The crowd, growing restless at the delay, began to shout against thepriest. The good sense of that canny churchman was powerless in the faceof superstitions instilled by centuries of fanaticism. 

"Since you will it so, so let it be, " he said gravely. "Let the Saintcome forth, and may the Lord have mercy on us!"

A frenzied acclamation burst from the crowd, which now filled the wholesquare in front of the church. The rain continued falling, and above theserried ranks of heads covered with skirts, cloaks, and an occasionalumbrella, the flames of the tapers flickered, staining the wet facesred. 

The people smiled happily in all their discomfort from the downpour. Confident of success, they were foretasting gleefully the terror of thestream at sight of the blessed image entering its waters. What could notSan Bernardo do? His marvelous history, a blend of Moorish and Christianromance, flamed in all those credulous imaginations. He was a saintnative to that region--the second son of the Moorish king of Carlet. Through his talent, courtesy and beauty he won such success at court inValencia, that he rose to the post of prime minister. 

Once when his sovereign had to have some dealings with the king ofAragon, he sent San Bernardo, who at that time was called Prince Hamete, to Barcelona. During his journey he drew up one night at the portal ofthe monastery of Poblet. The chants of the Cistercians, driftingmystical and vague through the Gothic arches, moved the Saracen youth tothe bottom of his soul. He felt drawn to the religion of his enemies bythe magic of its poetry. He received baptism, assumed the white habit ofSaint Bernard of Clairvaux, and later returned to the kingdom ofValencia to preach Christianity. There he enjoyed the tolerance Saracenmonarchs always had for new religious doctrines. He converted his twosisters--beautiful Mooresses they were--and they took the names ofGracia and Maria, and aflame in turn with pious fervor, they chose to gowith their brother on his tour of preachment. 

But the old king of Carlet had died, and his first-born--the arrogantAlmanzor, a brutal, vainglorious Moor--succeeded to the rulership of thetiny state--a sort of military satrapy. This haughty potentate, offendedin his magnificence to see members of his family traveling over theroads dressed like vagabonds and preaching a religion of beggars, calleda troop of horse and set out in pursuit of his brother and sisters. Hecame upon them near Alcira, hiding on the riverbank. With one slash ofhis sword he cut the heads off both his sisters; San Bernardo hecrucified and drove a big nail through his forehead. Thus the sacredpreacher perished, but all the humble continued to adore him; for herewas a handsome prince, who had turned to a poor man, become a wanderingmendicant even--a sacrifice that endeared him to the poorest of hisvotaries. Of all this that crowd of peasants was thinking as it shouted_vivas_ to San Bernardo, now, surely, prime minister of God, as he hadbeen of the pagan king of Valencia. 

The procession was rapidly organized. Along the narrow lanes of theisland where the rain coursed in streams, people kept coming in droves. They were barefoot for the most part, but some were sinking shoesindifferently into the water. Most of them had tapers or shotguns. Thewomen did their best to shelter little ones under the skirts they hadgathered about their heads. The musicians, all barefoot, were in regularuniform--gold braided jackets and plumed hats--looking for all the worldlike Malay chiefs who beautify their nakedness with castoff coats andthree-cornered hats the missionaries give them. 

In front of the church the lights of the tapers blended into one greatflare. Through the wide doorway the candles on the altars gleamed like adistant constellation. 

The whole neighborhood, almost, had assembled in the square, despite theincreasing rain. Many had come to scoff. What a farce it all would be!They did well, however, to wait two days! The rain was almost over. Itwould probably stop by the time they got the Saint out!

In double file of tapers the procession began to move between two linesof tightly jammed spectators. 

"_Vitol el pare San Bernat!_ Hurrah for father San Bernardo!" amultitude of hoarse voices cried. 

"_Vitol les chermanetes_! Hurrah for his sisters!" others added, tocorrect the lack of gallantry displayed by the most enthusiastic of theidolators in putting ladies last. 

For the sisters, the holy martyrs, Gracia and Maria, also figured inthe procession. San Bernardo never went anywhere alone. As even childrenin baby-school knew, not a power on earth, not all the men and horses inthe orchards put together, could lift the saint from his altar unlesshis sisters went first. That was one of his miracles long accredited bytradition. He had very little confidence in women--less piouscommentators said--and not willing to trust his sisters out of sight, heinsisted that they precede him whenever he left his pedestal. 

The holy sisters appeared in the church doorway, swaying on theirlitters above the heads of the worshippers. 

"_Vitol les chermanetes!_"

And the poor _chermanetes_, dripping from every fold of their vestments, came out into that dark, tempestuous, rain-soaked atmosphere that wasrent by sheaves of crude light from the tapers. 

The musicians tuned their instruments, ready to break into the RoyalMarch! In the brilliantly lighted doorway something shining could beseen laboriously advancing, swaying this way and that, as if the wavesof an angry sea were rocking it. 

The crowd again began to cheer, and the music sounded. 

"_Vitol el pare San Bernat!_"

But the music and the acclamations were drowned by a deafening crash, asif the island had suddenly burst into a thousand pieces, dragging thecity to the depths of the Abyss. The square was shooting a fusillade oflightning flashes, a veritable cannonade. Those ancient arms, blunderbusses, muzzle-loaders, pistols, crammed full of powder, couldroar like artillery. All the guns in the neighborhood were saluting theappearance of the Saint. And the crowd, drunk with the smell of powder, began to shout and gesticulate in the presence of that bronze image, whose round, kindly face--that of a healthy well-fed friar--seemed toquiver with life in the light of the torches. 

Eight strong men, almost naked, came forward staggering under the weightof the metal saint. The crowd surged against them, threatening to upsetthe statue. But two bare-breasted strong-armed boys, devotees of thepatron, were marching on either side, and they fought the multitudeback. 

The women, shoved hither and thither and almost suffocated in the jam, burst into tears as their gaze fell upon the miraculous image. 

"_Ay_, father San Bernardo! Father San Bernardo! Save us! Save us!"

Others dragged children out from the folds of their skirts, and heldthem out above their heads toward the powerful guards. 

"Lift him up! Let him kiss the Saint!"

And those muscular peasants would pick the children up like dolls, nowby an arm, now by a leg, now by the nape of the neck, raise them to alevel with the saint, that they might kiss the bronze face, and thentoss them back into the arms of their mothers, working like automatons, dropping one child to seize another, with the regularity of machines inaction. Many times the impact was too rough; the noses of the childrenwould flatten against the folds of the metallic garb; but the fervor ofthe crowd seemed to infect the little ones. They were the future adorersof the Moorish monk. Rubbing their bruises with their soft little handsthey would swallow their tears and return to their snug places in theirmothers' skirts. 

Behind the glorious saint marched Rafael and the gentlemen of the_Ayuntamiento_ with long wax tapers; and after them the curate, grumbling as he heard the first dashes of rain beat on the large redsilk umbrella which the sacristan held over him, and felt the impact ofthe crowd of orchard-folk, that was mixed at random with the musicians. The latter, paying more attention to where they stepped than to theirinstruments, played a rather discordant march. Guns, meanwhile, continued to blaze away. The wild cheering for San Bernardo and hissisters went on; and, framed in a red nimbus of torch-light, greeted atevery street-corner by a new fusillade, the image sailed along over thatsea of heads, pelted by the rain, which, in the light of the candles, looked like a maze of transparent crystal threads. Around the saint thearms of the athletes kept ever moving, lifting children up to bump theirdrooling noses on the bronze of father San Bernardo. Balconies andwindows along the way were filled with women, their heads protected bytheir skirts. 

Sighs, wails, exclamations of entreaty welcomed the passing saint in achorus of despair and hope. 

"Save us, father San Bernardo!. .. Save us!. .. "

The procession reached the river, crossing and recrossing the bridgesthat led to the suburbs. The flickering torches were mirrored in thedark edges of the stream, which was growing momentarily more terrifyingand clamorous. The water had not yet reached the railing, as at othertimes. Miracle! San Bernardo was at work already!

Then the procession marched to points where the river had flooded thelanes near the bank, and turned them to virtual ponds. The morefanatical of the devotees, lifting their tapers above their heads, wentout fearlessly neck high into the water: for surely the Saint must notgo in alone. 

One old man, shaking with malaria, caught in the rice-fields, and hardlyable to hold the taper in his trembling hands, hesitated at the brink ofthe stream. 

"Go on in, _agüelo_!" the women encouraged affectionately. "Father SanBernardo will cure you. Don't lose such a chance!"

When the saint was out performing miracles, he might remember the oldman, too. So _agüelo_--"grandaddy"--shivering in his drenched clothesand his teeth chattering, walked resolutely in. 

The statue was making its way very slowly along the inundated streets, for the feet of the bearers sank deep into the water under their load;and they could advance at all only with the aid of the faithful, whogathered about the litter on all sides to help. A writhing mass of bare, sinewy arms rose from the water like tentacles of a human octopus tocarry the Saint along. 

Just behind the image came the curate and the political dignitaries, riding astride the shoulders of some enthusiasts who, for the greaterpomp of the ceremony, were willing to serve as mounts, though the tapersof their riders kept getting into their faces. 

The curate began to feel the cold water creeping up his back, andordered the Saint inshore again. In fact San Bernardo was already atthe end of the lane, and actually in the river itself. His guards ofhonor were having a time of it to keep their feet in the face of thecurrent, but they were still willing to go on, believing that thefarther the statue went into the stream, the sooner the waters would godown. At last, however, the most foolhardy withdrew. The Saint cameback. Though the procession at once went on to the next road and to thenext, repeating the same performance. 

And suddenly it stopped raining. 

A wild cheer, a shout of joy and triumph, shook the multitude. 

"_Vitol el pare San Bernat_!. .. " Now would the people of the neighboringtowns dare dispute his immense power?. .. There was the proof! Two daysof incessant downpour, and then, the moment the Saint showed his faceout of doors--fair weather! Excuse me!

In fervent thanksgiving weeping women rushed upon the saint and began tokiss whatever part of the image was within reach--the handles of thelitter, the decorations of the pedestal, the bronze body itself. Thetottering structure of wood and metal began to stagger and reel like afrail bark tossing over a sea of shrieking heads and extended arms thattrembled with exaltation. 

The procession marched on for more than an hour still along the river. Then the priest, who was dripping wet and had exhausted more than adozen "horses" under him, forbade it to continue. Leave it to thosepeasants, and the nonsense would go on till dawn! So the curate observedthat the Saint had already done what was required of him. Now it wastime to go home!

Rafael handed his taper to one of his henchmen and stopped on the bridgewith a number of experienced observers, who were lamenting the damagedone by the flood. At every moment, no one could say just how, alarmingreports of the destruction wrought by the river were coming in. Now amill had been isolated by the waters, and the people there had takenrefuge on the roof, firing their shotguns as signals of distress. Manyorchards had been completely submerged. The few boats available in thecity were doing the best they could in the work of rescue. The valleyhad become one vast lake. Rowboats caught in the shifting currents werein danger of smashing against hidden obstructions; and it waspractically impossible to push a punt upstream with oars. 

Yet the people spoke with relative calmness. They were accustomed tothis almost annual visitation, and accepted it resignedly as aninevitable evil. Besides, they referred hopefully to telegrams receivedby the _alcalde_. By dawn help would be coming in. The governor inValencia was sending a detachment of marines, and the lagoon would befilled with navy boats. Everything would be all right in a few hours. But if the water got much higher meanwhile . .. !

They consulted stakes and other water marks along the river, and violentdisputes arose. Rafael, for his part, could see the flood was stillrising, though but slowly. 

The peasants refused to believe it. How could the river rise afterFather San Bernardo had gone into it? No, sir! it was _not_ rising. Thatwas all a lie intended to discredit the patron. And a sturdy youth withflashing eyes threatened to disembowel with one stroke of hisknife--like that!--a certain scoffer who maintained that the river wouldgo on rising if only for the pleasure of refuting that charlatan of afriar. 

Rafael approached the brawlers, and by the dim lantern light recognizedCupido--the barber--a sarcastic fellow, with curly side-whiskers and anaquiline nose, who took great pleasure in poking fun at the barbarous, unshakable faith of the illiterate peasants. 

Brull knew the barber very well. The man was one of his childhoodfavorites. Fear of his mother was the only thing that had kept him fromfrequenting Cupido's shop--the rendezvous of the city's gayest set, ahotbed of gossip and practical jokes, a school of guitar playing andlove songs that kept the whole neighborhood astir. Besides, Cupido wasthe freak of the city, the sharp-tongued but irresponsible practicaljoker, who was forgiven everything in advance, and could enjoy hisidiosyncrasies and speak his mind about people without starting a riotagainst him. He was, for instance, the one person in Alcira who scoffedat the tyranny of the Brulls without thereby losing entrance to theParty Club, where the young men admired his wit and his eccentric way ofdressing. 

Rafael was still fond of Cupido, though not very intimate with him. Inall the sedate, conservative world around him, the barber seemed theonly person really worth while talking with. Cupido was almost anartist. In winter he would go to Valencia to hear the operas praised bythe newspapers, and in one corner of his shop he had heaps of novels andillustrated magazines, much mildewed and softened by the damp, and theirleaves worn through from continual thumbing by customers. 

He had very little to do with Rafael, guessing that the youth's motherwould not regard such a friendship with any too much favor; but hedisplayed a certain liking for the boy; and addressed him familiarly, having known him as a child. Of Rafael he said everywhere:

"He's the best one in the family; the only Brull with more brains thancrookedness. "

Nothing too small for Cupido to notice ever happened in Alcira. Everyweakness, every foible of the city's celebrities was made public by himin his barbershop, to the delight of the Opposition, whose membersgathered there to read their party organ. The gentlemen of the_Ayuntamiento_ feared the barber more than any ten newspapers combined, and whenever some famous Conservative minister referred in parliament toa "revolutionary hydra" or a "hotbed of anarchy, " they pictured tothemselves a barbershop like that of Cupido, but much larger perhaps, scattering a poisonous atmosphere of cruel gibe and perverse effronteryall through the nation. 

The barber was inevitably on hand where anything was going on. It mightbe at the very end of the suburbs, or away out in the country. In a fewmoments Cupido would put in an appearance to learn all about it, giveadvice to those who might need it, arbitrate between disputants andafterward tell the whole story with a thousand embellishments. 

He had plenty of time on his hands for leading such a life. Two youngfellows, as crazy as their employer, tended shop. Cupido paid them withmusic-lessons and meals--better or worse these latter, according to theday's receipts, which were divided fraternally among the three. And ifthe "boss" sometimes astonished the city by going out for a walk inmidwinter in a suit of white duck, they, not to be outdone, would shaveoff their hair and eyebrows and show heads as smooth as billiard-ballsbehind the shop windows, to the great commotion of the city, which wouldflock _en masse_ to see "Cupido's Chinamen. "

A flood was always a great day for the barber. He closed shop andplanted himself out on a bridge, oblivious to wind and rain, haranguingthe crowds of spectators, terrifying the stupid with his exaggerationsand inventions, and announcing hair-raising news which he asserted hehad just received from the Governor by telegraph, and according towhich, in two hours, there would not be a cellar-hole left of the place. Even the miracle-working San Bernardo would be washed into the sea!

When Rafael found him upon the bridge that night, after the procession, Cupido was on the point of coming to blows with several rustics, who hadgrown indignant at his heresies. 

Stepping aside from the crowd, the two began a conversation about thedangers of the flood. Cupido, as usual, was well-informed. He had beentold a poor old man had been cut off in an orchard and drowned. That wasprobably not the only accident that had taken place. Horses and pigs inlarge numbers had drifted past under the bridge, early in the afternoon. 

The barber talked earnestly and with some sadness, it seemed. Rafaellistened in silence, scanning his face anxiously, as if looking for achance to speak of something which he dared not broach. 

"And how about the Blue House, " he ventured finally, "that farm of doñaPepa's where you go sometimes? Will anything be wrong down there?"

"It's a good solid place, " the barber replied, "and this isn't the firstflood it's been through. .. . But it's right on the river, and by thistime the garden must be a lake; the water will surely be up to thesecond story. I'll bet doña Pepa's poor niece is scared out of herwits. .. Just imagine--coming from so far away and from such prettyplaces, and running into a mess like this . .. "

Rafael seemed to meditate for a moment. Then as if an idea that had beendancing about in his head all day had just occurred to him, he said:

"Suppose we take a run down there!. .. What do you say, Cupido?"

"Down there!. .. And how'll we get there?"

But the proposal, from its very rashness, was bound to appeal to a manlike the barber, who at length began to laugh, as if the adventure werea highly amusing one. 

"You're right! We could get through! It will look funny, all right! Ustwo paddling up like a couple of Venetian gondoliers to serenade acelebrated prima donna in her fright . .. I've a good mind to run homeand fetch my guitar along . .. "

"What the devil, Cupido! No guitar business! What a josher you are! Ourjob is to get those women out of there. They'll get drowned if wedon't. "

The barber, insisting on his romantic idea, fixed a pair of shrewd eyeson Rafael. 

"I see! So you're interested in the illustrious _artiste_, too . .. Yourascal! You're smitten on her reputation for good looks . .. But no . .. Iremember . .. You've seen her; she told me so herself. "

"She!. .. She spoke to you about me?"

"Oh, nothing important! She told me she saw you one afternoon up at theHermitage. "

Cupido kept the rest to himself. He did not say that Leonora, onmentioning Rafael's name, had added that he looked like an "idiot. "

Rafael's heart leaped with joy! She had talked of him! She had notforgotten that meeting which had left such a painful memory in him!. .. What was he doing, then, standing like a fool there on that bridge, whendown at the Blue House they might be needing a man's help?

"Listen, Cupido; I have my boat right handy here; you know, the boatfather had made to order in Valencia as a present for me. Steel frame;hard wood; safe as a warship. You know the river . .. I've seen youhandle an oar more than once; and I've got a pair of arms myself . .. What do you say?"

"I say, let's go, " the barber answered resolutely. 

They asked for a torch, and with the help of several men draggedRafael's boat toward a stairway on the riverbank. 

Above, through the crowds on the bridge, the news of the expeditionflashed, but exaggerated and much idealized by the curious. The men weregoing to save a poor family that had taken refuge on the roof of ahouse--poor devils in danger of being swept off at any moment. Rafaelhad learned of their plight, and he was starting to save them at therisk of his own skin. And a wealthy, powerful man like him, with so muchto live for! Damn it, those Brulls were all men, anyhow!. .. And yet seehow people talked against them! What a heart! And the peasants followedthe blood-red glow of the torch in the boat as it mirrored across thewaters, gazing adoringly at Rafael, who was sitting in the stern. Out ofthe dark entreating voices called. Many loyal followers of the Brullswere eager to go with the chief--drown with him, if need be. 

Cupido protested. No; for a job like that, the fewer the better; theboat had to be light; he would do for the oars and Rafael could steer. 

"Let her go! Let her go!" called Rafael. 

And the boat, after hesitating a second, shot off on the current. 

In the narrow gorge between the Old City and the New, the swollentorrent swept them along like lightning. The barber used his oars justto keep the boat away from the shore. Submerged rocks sent greatwhirlpools to the surface and pulled the boat this way and that. Thelight of the torch cast a dull reddish glow out over the muddy eddies. Tree trunks, refuse, dead animals, went floating by, shapeless masseswith only a few dark points visible above the surface, as though somedead man covered with mud were swimming under water. Out on thatswirling current, with the slimy vapors of the river rising to hisnostrils and the eddies sucking and boiling all around, Rafael thoughthimself the victim of a weird nightmare and began even to repent of hisrashness. Cries kept coming from houses close to the river; windows weresuddenly lighted up; and from them great shadowy arms like the wings ofa windmill waved in greeting to that red flame which people saw glidingpast along the river, bringing the outlines of the boat and the two meninto distinct view. The news of their expedition had spread throughoutthe city and people were on the watch for them as they sped by: "_Viva_don Rafael! _Viva_ Brull!"

But the hero who was risking his life to save a family of poor folks outthere in the darkness of that sticky, murky, sepulchral night, had inmind only one thing--a blue house, into which he was to penetrate atlast, in so strange and romantic a fashion. 

From time to time a scraping sound or a jolt of the boat would bring himback to reality. 

"Your tiller there!" Cupido would shout, without, however, taking hiseyes from the water ahead. "Look out, Rafaelito, or we'll get smashed!"

The boat was indeed a good one, for any other, would long before havecome to grief in those rapids jammed with rocks and debris. 

They were around the city in no time. Few lighted windows were now to beseen. High, steep banks of slippery mud--quite unscalable--crested withwalls, were slipping past on either hand, with an occasional palisade, the piles just emerging from the water. Somewhat ahead, the open river, where the two arms that girt the Old City reunited in what was now avast lake!

The two men went on blindly. All normal landmarks were gone. The bankshad disappeared, and in the blackness, beyond the red circle of torchlight, they could make out only water and then more water--an immenseincessantly rolling sheet that was taking them they knew not where. Fromtime to time a black spot would show above the muddy surface; the crestof some submerged canebrake; the top of a tree; a strange, fantasticvegetation that seemed to be writhing in the gloom. The river, free nowfrom the gorges and shallows around the city, had ceased its roaring. Itseethed and swirled along in absolute silence, effacing all trace of theland. The two men felt like a couple of shipwrecked sailors adrift on ashoreless, sunless ocean, alone save for the reddish flame flickering atthe prow, and the submerged treetops that appeared and vanished rapidly. 

"Better begin to row, Cupido, " said Rafael. "The current is very strong. We must be still in the river. Let's turn to the right and see if we canget into the orchards. "

The barber bent to the oars, and the boat, slowly, on account of thecurrent, came around and headed for a line of tree-tops that peeredabove the surface of the flood like seaweed floating on the ocean. Shortly the bottom began to scrape on invisible obstacles. Entanglementsbelow were clutching at the keel, and it took some effort occasionallyto get free. The lake was still dark and apparently shoreless, but thecurrent was not so strong and the surface had stopped rolling. The twomen knew they had reached dead water. What looked like dark, giganticmushrooms, huge umbrellas, or lustrous domes, caught the reflection ofthe torch, at times. Those were orange-trees. The rescuers were in theorchards. But in which? How find the way in the darkness? Here and therethe branches were too thick to break through and the boat would tip asif it were going over. They would back water, make a detour, or tryanother route. 

They were going very slowly for fear of striking something, zig-zaggingmeanwhile to avoid snags. As a result they lost direction altogether, and could no longer say which way the river lay. Darkness and watereverywhere! The submerged orange-trees, all alike, formed complicatedlanes over the inundation, a labyrinth in which they grew momentarilymore confused. They were now rowing about quite aimlessly. 

Cupido was perspiring freely, under the hard work. The boat was movingslower and slower because of the branches catching at the keel. 

"This is worse than the river, " he murmured. "Rafael, you're facingforward. Can't you make out any light ahead?"

"Not a one!"

The torch would throw some huge clump of leaves into relief for amoment. When that was gone, the light would be swallowed up into damp, thick, empty space. 

Thus they wandered about and about the flooded countryside. The barber'sstrength had given out and he passed the oars over to Rafael, who wasalso nearly exhausted. 

How long had they been gone? Were they to stay there forever? And theirminds dulled by fatigue and the sense of being lost, they imagined thenight would never end--that the torch would go out and leave the boat ablack coffin, for their corpses to float in eternally. 

Rafael, who was now facing astern suddenly noticed a light on his left. They were going away from it; perhaps that was the house they had beenso painfully searching for. 

"It may be, " Cupido agreed. "Perhaps we went by without seeing it, andnow we're downstream, toward the sea. .. . But even if it is not the BlueHouse, what of it? The main thing is to find someone there. That's farbetter than wandering around here in the dark. Give me the oars, againRafael. If that isn't doña Pepita's place, at least we'll find out wherewe are. "

He pulled the boat around, and gradually they made their way through thetreetops toward the light. They struck several snags, orchard fences, perhaps, or submerged walls--but the light kept growing brighter. Finally it had become a large red square across which dark forms weremoving. Over the waters a golden, shimmering wake of light wasstreaming. 

The torch from the boat brought out the lines of a broad house with alow roof that seemed to be floating on the water. It was the upper storyof a building that had been swamped by the inundation. The lower storywas under water. The flood, indeed, was getting closer to the upperrooms. The balconies and windows looked like landings of a pier in animmense lake. 

"Seems to me as if we'd struck the place, " the barber said. 

A warm, resonant voice, that of a woman, vibrant, but with a deep, melodious softness, broke the silence. 

"Hey, you in the boat there!. .. Here, here!"

The voice betrayed no fear. It showed not a trace of emotion. 

"Didn't I tell you so I . .. " the barber exclaimed. "The very place wewere looking for. Doña Leonora!. .. It's I! It's I!"

A rippling laugh came out into gloom. 

"Why, it's Cupido! It's Cupido!. .. I can tell him by his voice. Auntie, auntie! Don't cry any more. Don't be afraid; and stop your praying, please! Here comes the God of Love in a pearl shallop to rescue us!"

Rafael shrank at the sound of that somewhat mocking voice, which seemedto people the darkness with brilliantly colored butterflies. 

Now in the luminous square of a window he could make out the haughtyprofile of a woman among other black forms that were going to and fropast the light inside, in agreeable surprise at the unexpected visit. 

The craft drew up to the balcony. The men rose to their feet and wereable to reach an iron railing. The barber, from the prow, was lookingfor something strong where he could make the boat fast. 

Leonora was leaning over the balustrade while the light from the torchlit up the golden helmet of her thick, luxuriant hair. She was trying toidentify that other man down there who had bashfully sat down again inthe stern. 

"You're a real friend, Cupido!. .. Thank you, thank you, ever and everso much. This is one of the favors we never forget. .. . But who has comealong with you?. .. "

The barber was already fastening the boat to the iron railing. 

"It's don Rafael Brull, " he answered slowly. "A gentleman you have metalready, I believe. You must thank him for this visit. The boat is his, and it was he who got me out on this adventure. "

"Oh, thank you, Señor Brull, " said Leonora, greeting the man with thewave of a hand that flashed blue and red from the rings on its fingers. "I must repeat what I said to our friend Cupido. Come right in, and Ihope you'll excuse my introducing you through a second-story window. "

Rafael had jumped to his feet and was answering her greeting with anawkward bow, clasping the iron railing in order not to fall. Cupidojumped into the house and was followed by the young man, who took painsto make the climb gracefully and sprightly. 

He was not sure how well he succeeded. That had been too much excitementfor a single night: first the wild trip through the gorges near thecity; then those hours of desperate aimless rowing over the windinglanes of the flooded countryside; and now, all at once, a solid floorunder his feet, a roof over his head, warmth, and the society of thatmadly beautiful woman, who seemed to intoxicate him with her perfume, and whose eyes he did not dare meet with his own for fear of faintingfrom embarrassment. 

"Come right in, _caballero_, " she said to him. "You surely needsomething after this escapade of yours. You are sopping wet, both ofyou. .. . Poor boys! Just look at them!. .. Beppa!. .. Auntie! But do comein, sir!"

And she fairly pushed Rafael forward with a sort of maternalauthoritativeness, much as a kindly woman might take her child in handafter he has done some naughty prank of which she is secretly proud. 

The rooms were in disorder. Clothes everywhere and heaps of rusticfurniture that contrasted with the other pieces arranged along thewalls! The household belongings of the gardener had been broughtupstairs as soon as the flood started. An old farmer, his wife--who wasbeside herself with fear--and several children, who were slinking in thecorners, had taken refuge in the upper story with the ladies, as soon asthe water began seeping into their humble home. 

Rafael entered the dining-room, and there sat doña Pepita, poor oldwoman, heaped in an armchair, the wrinkles of her features moistenedwith tears and her two hands clutching a rosary. Cupido was tryingvainly to cheer her with jokes about the inundation. 

"Look, auntie! This gentleman is the son of your friend, doña Bernarda. He came over here in a boat to help us out. It was very nice of him, wasn't it?"

The old woman seemed quite to have lost her mind from terror. She lookedvacantly at the new arrivals, as if they had been there all their lives. At last she seemed to realize what they were saying. 

"Why, it's Rafael!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Rafaelito. .. . And youcame to see us in such weather! Suppose you get drowned? What will yourmother say?. .. Lord, how crazy of you! Lord!"

But it was not madness, and even if it were, it was very sweet of him!That, at least, was what Rafael seemed to read in those clear, luminouseyes of the golden sparkles that caressed him with their velvety touchevery time he dared to look at them. Leonora was staring at him:studying him in the lamplight, as if trying to understand the differencebetween the man in front of her and the boy she had met on her walk tothe Hermitage. 

Doña Pepa's spirits rallied now that men were in the house; and with asupreme effort of will, the old lady decided to leave her armchair for alook at the flood, which had stopped rising, if, indeed, it were notactually receding. 

"How much water, oh Lord our God!. .. How many terrible things we'lllearn of tomorrow! This must be a punishment from Heaven . .. A warningto us to think of our many sins. "

Leonora meanwhile was bustling busily about, hurrying the refreshments. Those gentlemen couldn't be left like that--she kept cautioning to hermaid and the peasant woman. Just imagine, with their clothes wetthrough! How tired they must be after that all night struggle! Poorfellows! It was enough just to look at them! And she set biscuits on thetable, cakes, a bottle of rum--everything, including a box of Russiancigarettes with gilded tips--to the shocked surprise of the gardener'swife. 

"Let them come here, auntie, " she said to the old lady. "Don't make themtalk any more now. .. . They need to eat and drink a little, and getwarm. .. . I'm sorry I have so little to offer you. What in the world canI get for them? Let's see! Let's see!"

And while the two men were being forced, by that somewhat despoticattentiveness, to take seats at the table, Leonora and her maid wentinto the adjoining room, where keys began to rattle and tops of cheststo rise and fall. 

Rafael, in his deep emotion, could scarcely manage a few drops of rum;but the barber chewed away for all he was worth, downing glass afterglass of liquor, and talking on and on through a mouth crammed with foodwhile his face grew redder and redder. 

When Leonora reappeared, her maid was following her with a great bundleof clothes in her arms. 

"You understand, of course, we haven't a stitch of men's clothes in thehouse. But in war-time we get along as best we can, eh? We're in whatyou might call a state of siege here. "

Rafael noted the dimples that a charming smile traced in those wonderfulcheeks! And what perfect teeth--jewels in a casket of red velvet!

"Now, Cupido; off with those wet things of yours; you're not going tocatch pneumonia on my account, and thus deprive the city of its onebright spot. Here's something to put on while we are drying yourclothes. "

And she offered the barber a magnificent gown of blue velvet, withveritable cascades of lace at the breast and on the sleeves. 

Cupido nearly fell off his chair. .. . Was he going to dress in top stylefor once in his life? And with those side-whiskers?. .. How the people inAlcira would howl if they could only see him now! And entering at onceinto the fun of the situation, he hastened into the next room to don hisgown. 

"For you, " Leonora said to Rafael with a motherly smile, "I could findonly this fur cloak. Come, now, take off that jacket of yours; it'sdripping wet. "

With a blush, the young man refused. No, he was all right! Nothing wouldhappen to him! He had been wetter than that many times. 

Leonora without losing her smile, seemed to grow impatient. No one inthat house ever talked back to her. 

"Come, Rafael, don't be so silly. We'll have to treat you like a child. "

And taking him by a sleeve, as if he were a refractory baby, she beganto pull at his jacket. 

The young man, in his confusion, was hardly aware of what was takingplace. He seemed to be traveling along on an endless horizon, at greaterspeed than he had been swept down the river just before. She had calledhim by his first name; he was a pampered guest in a house he had formonths been trying in vain to enter, and she, Leonora, was calling him"child" and treating him like a child, as if they had been friends alltheir lives. What sort of woman was this? Was he not lost in somestrange world? The women of the city--the girls he met at the parties athis home, seemed to be creatures of another race, living far, ever sofar, away, at the other end of the earth, cut off from him forever bythat immense sheet of water. 

"Come, Mr. Obstinate, or we'll have to undress you like a doll. "

She was bending over him; he could feel her breath upon his cheeks, andthe touch of her delicate, agile hands; and a sense of deliciousintoxication swept over him. 

The fur coat was drawn snugly about his shoulders. It was a raregarment; a cloak of blue fox as soft as silk, thick, yet light as theplumes of some fantastic bird. Though Rafael passed for a tall man, itsedges touched the floor. The young man realized that thousands of francshad suddenly been thrown over his back, and tremblingly he gathered thebottom up, lest he should step upon it. 

Leonora laughed at his embarrassment. 

"Don't be afraid; no matter if you do tread on it. One would think youwere wearing a sacred veil from the respect you show that coat. It isn'tworth much. I use it only to travel in. A grandduke gave it to me inSaint Petersburg. "

And to show more clearly how little she prized the princely gift, shewrapped it closer around the boy, patting at his shoulders to fit itmore tightly to him. 

Slowly they walked back into the front room. Meanwhile, the appearanceof the barber, dressed in his luxuriant gown, was greeted with shouts oflaughter in the dining-room. Cupido was taking full advantage of theoccasion. The train in one hand and stroking his side-whiskers with theother, he was writhing about like a prima donna in her big scene andsinging in a falsetto soprano voice. The peasant family laughed likemad, forgetting the disaster that had overtaken their home; Beppa openedher eyes wide, surprised at the elegant figure of the man, and the gracewith which he pronounced the Italian verses. Even poor doña Pepa hitchedaround in her armchair and applauded. The barber, according to her, wasthe most charming devil in the world. 

Rafael was standing on the balcony, at Leonora's side, his gaze lost inthe darkness, his spirit lulled by the music of her sweet voice, hisbody snug and comfortable in that elegant garment which seemed to haveretained something of the warmth and perfume of her shoulders. Withmarks of very real interest, she was questioning him about the desperatetrip down the river. 

Rafael answered her inquiries with bated breath. 

"What you have done, " the prima donna was saying, "deserves my deep, deep gratitude! It is a chivalrous act worthy of ancient times. Lohengrin, arriving in his little boat to save Elsa! Only the swan islacking . .. Unless you want to call Cupido a swan. .. . "

"And suppose you had been carried off--drowned!. .. " the youth exclaimedin justification of his rashness. 

"Drowned!. .. I must confess that at first I was somewhat afraid. Not somuch of dying, for I'm somewhat tired of life--as you will realize afteryou've known me a little longer. But a death like that, suffocated inthat mud, that filthy, dirty water that smells so bad, doesn't at allappeal to me. If it were some green, transparent Swiss lake!. .. I wantbeauty even in death; I'm concerned with the 'final posture, ' like theRomans, and I was afraid of perishing here like a rat in a sewer. .. . Andnevertheless, I couldn't help laughing at my aunt and our poor servantsto see the fright they were in!. .. Now the water is no longer rising, and the house is strong. Our only trouble is that we're cut off, andI'm waiting for daylight to come so that we can see where we are. Thesight of all this country changed into a lake must be very beautiful, isn't it, Rafael?"

"You've probably seen far more interesting things, " the young manreplied. 

"I don't deny that; but I'm always most impressed by the sensation ofthe moment. "

And she fell silent, showing by her sudden seriousness the vexation thathis distant allusion to her past had caused. 

For some moments neither of them spoke; and it was Leonora who finallybroke the silence. 

"The truth is, if the water had gone on rising, we would have owed ourlives to you. .. . Let's see, now, frankly: why did you come? What kindinspiration made you think of me. You hardly know me!"

Rafael blushed with embarrassment, and trembled from head to foot, as ifshe had asked him for a mortal confession. He was on the point ofuttering the great truth, baring in one great explosion all his thoughtsand dreams and dreads of past days. But he restrained himself andgrasped wildly for an answer. 

"My enthusiasm for the artist, " he replied timidly. "I admire yourtalent very much. "

Leonora burst into a noisy laugh. 

"But you don't know me! You've never heard me sing!. .. What do you knowabout my "talent, " as they call it? If it weren't for that chatterbox ofa Cupido, Alcira would never dream that I am a singer and that I'msomewhat well-known--except in my own country. "

Rafael was crushed by the reply; he did not dare protest. 

"Come, Rafael, " the woman continued affectionately, "don't be a childand try to pass off the fibs boys use to deceive mama with. I know whyyou came here. Do you imagine you haven't been seen from this verybalcony hovering about here every afternoon, lurking in the road like aspy? You are discovered, sir. "

The shy Rafael thought the balcony was collapsing underneath his feet. He shivered in abject terror, drew the fur cloak tighter around him, without knowing what he was about, and shook his head in energeticdenial. 

"So it's not true, you fraud?" she said, with comic indignation. "Youdeny that since we met up at the Hermitage you have been taking all yourwalks in this neighborhood? _Dios mío_! What a monster of falsehood havewe here? And how brazenly he lies. "

And Rafael, vanquished by her frank merriment, had finally to smile, confessing his crime with a loud laugh. 

"You're probably surprised at what I do and say, " continued Leonoradrawing closer to him, leaning a shoulder against his with unaffectedcarelessness, as if she were with a girl friend. "I'm not like mostwomen. A fine thing it would be for me, with the life I lead, to playthe hypocrite!. .. My poor aunt thinks I'm crazy because I say just whatI feel; in my time I've been much liked and much disliked on account ofthe mania I have for not concealing anything. .. . Do you want me to tellyou the real truth?. .. Very well; you've come here because you love me, or, at least, because you think you love me: a failing all boys of yourage have, as soon as they find a woman different from the others theyknow. "

Rafael bowed his head and said nothing; he did not dare look up. He feltthe gaze of those green eyes upon the back of his head and they seemedto reach right into his soul. 

"Let's see your face. Raise that head of yours a little. Why don't yousay it isn't so, as you did before? Am I right or not?"

"And supposing you were right?. .. " Rafael ventured to murmur, findinghimself thus suddenly discovered. 

"Since I know I am, I thought it best to provoke this explanation, so asto avoid any misunderstandings. After what has happened to-night, I wantto have you for a friend; friend you understand, and nothing more; acomradeship based on gratitude. We ought to know in advance exactlywhere we stand. We'll be friends, won't we?. .. You must feel quite athome here; and I'm sure I shall find you a very agreeable chum. Whatyou've done to-night has given you a greater hold on my affection thanyou could ever have gained in any ordinary social way; but you're goingto promise me that you won't drift into any of that silly love-makingthat has always been the bane of my existence. "

"And if I can't help myself?" murmured Rafael. 

"'And if I can't help myself', " said Leonora, laughing and mimickingthe voice of the young man and the expression on his face. "'And if Ican't help myself'! That's what they all say! And why can't you helpyourself? How can one take seriously a love for a woman you are nowseeing for the second time? These sudden passions are all inventions ofyou men. They're not genuine. You get them out of the novels you read, or out of the operas we sing. Nonsense that poets write and callow boysswallow like so many boobies and try to transplant into real life! Thetrouble is we singers are in the secret, and laugh at such bosh. Well, now you know--good friends, and the soft pedal on sentiment and drama, eh? In that way we'll get along very well and the house will be yours. "

Leonora paused and, threatening him playfully with her forefinger, added:

"Otherwise, you may consider me just as ungrateful and cruel as youplease, but your gallant conduct of to-night won't count. You'll not bepermitted to enter this place again. I want no adorers; I have come herelooking for rest, friendship, peace . .. Love! A beautiful, cruelhoax!. .. "

She was speaking very earnestly, without moving, her gaze lost on thatimmense sheet of water. 

Rafael dared to look at her squarely now. He had raised his head and wasstudying her as she stood there thinking. Her beautiful face was tintedwith a bluish light, that seemed to surround her with a halo of romance. Morning was coming on, and the leaden curtains of the sky were rent inthe direction of the sea, allowing a livid light to filter through. 

Leonora shivered as if from cold, and snuggled instinctively againstRafael. With a shake of her head she seemed to rout a troop of painfulthoughts, and stretching out a hand to him she said:

"Which shall it be? Friends, or distant acquaintances? Do you promise tobe good, be a real comrade?"

Rafael eagerly clasped that soft, muscular hand, and felt her rings cutdeliciously into his fingers. 

"Very well--friends then!. .. I'll resign myself, since there's no helpfor it. "

"In that case you will find what you now believe a sacrifice somethingquite tolerable and quite consoling; you don't know me, but I knowmyself. Believe me, even should I come to love you--as I nevershall--you would be the loser by it. I am worth much more as a friendthan as a lover. And more than one man in the world has found that out. "

"I will be a friend, ready to do much more for you than I've doneto-night. I hope you will come to know me too. "

"No promises now! What more can you do for me? The river doesn't floodevery day. You can't expect to be a hero every other moment. No, I'msatisfied with to-night's exploit. You can't imagine how grateful I am. It has made a very deep impression on my--friendly--heart. .. . May I bequite frank? Well, when I met you there at the Hermitage, I took you forone of these local _señoritos_ who have such an easy time of it in town, and so, look upon every woman they meet as their property for theasking. Afterwards, when I saw you lurking about the house, my scornincreased. 'Who does that little dandy think he is?' I said to myself. And how Beppa and I laughed over it! I hadn't even noticed your faceand your figure: I hadn't realized how handsome you were. .. . "

Leonora laughed at the thought of how angry she had been, and Rafael, overwhelmed by such candor, likewise smiled to conceal hisembarrassment. 

"But after what happened to-night I am fond of you . .. As people arefond of friends. I am alone here: the friendship of a good and noble boylike yourself, capable of sacrifice for a woman whom he hardly knows, isa very comforting thing to have. Besides, that much doesn't compromiseme. I am a bird of passage, you see; I have alighted here because I'mtired, ill--I don't just know what's the matter, but deeply broken inspirit anyhow. I need rest, just plain existence--a plunge into sweetnothingness, where I can forget everything; and I gratefully accept yourfriendship. Later on, when you least expect it, probably, I'll fly away. The very first morning when I wake up, feel quite myself again--and hearinside my head the song of the mischievous bird that has advised me todo so many foolish things in my life--I'll pack up my trunk and takeflight! I'll drop you a line of course; I'll send you newspaperclippings that speak of me, and you'll see you have a friend who doesnot forget you and who sends you greetings from London, SaintPetersburg, or New York--any one of the corners of this world which manybelieve so large yet where I am unable to stir without encounteringthings that bore me. "

"May that moment be long delayed!" said Rafael. "May it never come!"

"Rash boy!" Leonora exclaimed. "You don't know me. If I were to stayhere very long, we'd finish by quarreling and coming to blows. At bottomI hate men: I have always been their most terrible enemy. "

Behind their backs they heard the rustle of the gown that Cupido wasdragging along behind him with absurd antics. He was coming to thebalcony with doña Pepita to see the sunrise. 

Through its dense clouds the sky was beginning to shed a gray, wanlight, under which the vast, watery plain took on the whitish color ofabsinthe. Down the stream the debris of the inundation was floating, sweepings of wretched poverty, uprooted trees, clumps of reeds, thatchedroofs from huts, all dirty, slimy, nauseating. Bits of flotsam andjetsam became entangled between the orange-trees and formed dams thatlittle by little grew with the new spoils brought along by the current. 

In the distance at the very end of the lake, a number of black pointscould be seen in regular rhythmic motion, stirring their legs likeaquatic flies around some roofs barely protruding above the immensefield of water. The rescuers had arrived from Valencia--with whale-boatsof the Fleet, brought overland by rail to the scene of the flood. 

The provincial authorities would soon be arriving in Alcira; and thepresence of Rafael was indispensable. Cupido himself, with suddengravity, advised him to go and meet those boats. 

While the barber was putting on his own clothes, Rafael, with intenseregret, removed his fur cloak. It seemed that in taking it off he waslosing the warmth of that night of sweet intimacy, the contact of thatsoft shoulder that had for hours long been leaning against him. 

Leonora meanwhile looked at him fixedly. 

"We understand each other, don't we?" she asked, slowly. "Friends, withno hope of anything more than that. If you break the pact, you'll notenter this place again, not even by the second-story window, as you didlast night. "

"Yes, friends and nothing more, " Rafael murmured with a tone of sinceresadness, that seemed to move Leonora. 

Her green eyes lighted up: her pupils seemed to glitter with spangles ofgold. She stepped nearer and held out her hand. 

"You're a good boy; that's the way I like you: resignation andobedience. For this time, and in reward for your good sense, we'll makejust one exception. Let's not part thus coldly. .. . So, --you may kissme, --as they do it on the stage--here!"

And she raised her hand up toward his lips. Rafael seized it hungrilyand kissed it over and over again, until Leonora, tearing it away with aviolence that showed extraordinary strength, reprimanded him sharply. 

"You rogue!. .. Up to mischief so soon! What an abuse of confidence?Good-bye! Cupido is calling you. .. . Good-bye. "

And she pushed him toward the balcony, where the barber was alreadyholding the boat against the railing. 

"Hop in, Rafael, " said Cupido. "Better lean on me; the water's goingdown and the boat's very low, " Rafael jumped into his white craft, which was now dirty and stained from the red water. The barber took theoars. They began to move away. 

"Good-bye! Good-bye! Many thanks!" cried doña Pepa. The maid and thewhole family of the gardener had come out on the balcony. 

Rafael let go the tiller, and turned toward the house. He could seenothing, however, but that proud beauty, who was waving her handkerchiefto them. He watched her for a long time, and when the crests of thesubmerged trees hid the balcony from view, he bowed his head, givinghimself up entirely to the silent pleasure of tasting the sweetness thathe could still feel upon his burning lips. 

VI

The elections set the whole District agog. The crucial moment for theHouse of Brull had come, and all its loyal henchmen, as though stilluncertain of the Party's omnipotence, and fearing the sudden appearanceof hidden enemies, were running this way and that about the city and theoutlying towns, shouting Rafael's name as a clarion call to victory. 

The inundation was something of the forgotten past. The beneficent sunhad dried the fields. The orchards fertilized by the silt of the recentflood looked more beautiful than ever. A magnificent harvest wasforecasted, and, as sole reminders of the catastrophe, there remainedonly a shattered enclosure here, a fallen fence there, or some sunkenroad with the banks washed away. Most of the damage had been repaired ina few days, and people were quite content, referring to the past dangerjokingly. Until next time!

Besides, plenty of relief money had been given out. Help had come fromValencia, from Madrid, from every corner of Spain, thanks to thewhimpering publicity given the inundation in the local press; and sincethe pious believer must attribute all his boons to the protection ofsome patron saint, the peasants thanked Rafael and his mother for thisalms, resolving to be more faithful than ever to the powerful family. So--long live the Father of the Poor!

Doña Bernarda's ambitious dreams were on the point of realization, andshe could not give herself a moment's rest. Her son's cool indifferencewas something she could not understand for the life of her! The Districtwas his all right, but was that a reason for falling asleep on the job?Who could tell what the "enemies of law and order"--there was more thanone of them in the city--might spring at the very last moment? No, hemust wake up--go and make a speech--now at this town, now at that--andsay a few words of encouragement to the people of property, especially. And why not visit the _alcalde_, down in X---, just to show that poordevil he was being taken seriously. Rafael must show himself in public, keep everybody talking about him and thinking about him!

And Rafael obeyed, but taking good care to avoid the company of donAndrés on such trips, in order to spend a few hours at the Blue House onthe way out or back, or else, to cut his engagement altogether and passthe day with Leonora, trembling to return home lest his mother shouldhave learned what he had been up to. 

Doña Bernarda, in fact, had not been slow in detecting her son's newfriendship. To begin with, her one concern in life was Rafael's healthand conduct. And in that gossipy inquisitive country-town, her son coulddo virtually nothing which she did not know all about in the course of afew hours. An indiscreet remark of Cupido had even brought her to thebottom of that mysterious and perilous night trip down the floodedriver--not to rescue a "poor family, " but to call on that_comica_--that "chorus girl"--as doña Bernarda called Leonora in afurious burst of scorn. Stormy scenes occurred that were to leave astrong undercurrent of bitterness and fear in Rafael's character. DoñaBernarda's harshness of disposition broke the young man's spirit, makinghim realize with what good reason he had always feared his mother. Thatuncompromising pietist, with her armorplate of impeccable virtue and"sound principles" about her, crushed him flat with her very firstwords. What in the world was he thinking of? Was he bound to dishonorthe name of Brull? Now after so many, many years of family sacrifice, was he going to make a fool of himself, and give his enemies a hold onhim, just because of the first ballet-skirt that came along? And in herrage she did not hesitate to rend the veil of reticence behind which herconjugal fury and her conjugal unhappiness had run their parallelcourses. 

"The same as your father!" doña Bernarda exclaimed. "There's no escapingblood: a woman-chaser, a friend of low-lives, ready to drive me out ofhouse and home for the sake of any one of them . .. And I, big fool thatI am, work for men like that! Forgetting the salvation of my soul in thenext world to see you get farther along in this than your father did!. .. And how do you repay me? Just as he did; with one disappointment, oneirritation, after another!"

Then softening somewhat and feeling the need of imparting her greatplans for the future, she would pass from anger to friendly confidence, and give Rafael insight into the condition of the family. He was so busywith Party affairs, and thumbing his big books upstairs, that he didnot know how things were going at home. And he didn't need to know forthat matter: she was there to take care of that. But Rafael must realizethe gaps that had been opened in their fortune by his father's wildconduct just before he died. She was performing miracles of economy. Thanks to her efficient administration of affairs, and to the loyal aidof don Andrés, many debts had already been paid off, and she hadredeemed several mortgages. But the burden was a heavy one and it wouldstill be many years before she could call herself quite free of it. 

Besides--and as doña Bernarda came to this part of her talk she grewtenderer and more insinuating still--he was now the leading man of theDistrict and so he must be the wealthiest. Now that wouldn't be adifficult thing to manage. All he had to do was, be a good son, andfollow the advice of his mama, who loved him more than anything else inthe world. .. A deputy now, and later on, when he came back from Madrid, marry! There were plenty of good girls around--well brought up, educatedin the fear of the Lord--and millionairesses besides--who would be morethan glad to be his wife. 

Rafael smiled faintly at this harangue. He knew whom his mother had inmind--Remedios, the daughter of the richest man in town--a rustic, thelatter, with more luck than brains, who flooded the English markets withoranges and made enormous profits, circumventing by instinctiveshrewdness all the commercial combinations made against him. 

That was why Rafael's mother was always insistently urging her son tovisit the house of Remedios, inventing all sorts of pretexts to get himthere. Besides, doña Bernarda invited Remedios to the Brull placefrequently, and rarely indeed did Rafael come home of an afternoonwithout finding that timid maiden there--a dull, handsomish sort ofgirl, dressed up in clothes that did cruel injustice to a peasant beautyrapidly transformed, by her father's good luck, into a young "society"girl. 

"But, mama, " said Rafael, smiling. "I'm not thinking of marriage!. .. Andwhen I do, I'll have to consider my own feelings. "

After that interview a moral gulf had opened between mother and son. Asa child, Rafael had known his mother to frown and sulk after somemischievous prank of his. But now, her aggressive, menacing, uncommunicative glumness was prolonged for days and days. 

On returning home at night he would find himself subjected to asearching cross-examination that would last all during supper. DonAndrés would usually be present, though he did not dare raise his headwhen that masterful woman spoke. Where had he been? Whom had he seen?. .. Rafael felt himself surrounded by a system of espionage that followedhim wherever he went in the city or in the country. 

"No sir, today you were at the chorus-girl's house again!. .. Take care, Rafael! Mark my word! You're killing me, you're killing me . .. !"

And then those absurd clandestine trips to the Blue House began, theleading man of the district, the advocate of Alcira's fortunes, creepingon his stomach, skulking from bush to bush, in order not to be seen bytelltale observers!

Don Andrés did his best to console the irate woman. It was just apassing whim of Rafael's! Boys will be boys! You've got to let them havea good time now and then! What do you expect with a handsome fellow likethat and from the best family in the region! And the cynical old man, accustomed to easy conquests in the suburbs, blinked maliciously, takingit for granted that Rafael had won a complete triumph down at the BlueHouse. How else explain the youth's assiduity in his visits there, andhis timid though tenacious rebelliousness against his mother'sauthority?

"Such affairs, oh you enjoy them--what's the use! But in the end theyweary a fellow, doña Bernarda, " the old man said sententiously. "She'llbe clearing out some fine day. Besides, just let Rafael go to Madrid asdeputy, and see the society there! When he comes back he'll haveforgotten this woman ever existed!"

The faithful lieutenant of the Brulls would have been astonished to knowhow little Rafael was progressing with his suit. 

Leonora was not the woman that she had shown herself on the night of theflood. With the fascination of danger gone, the novelty of theadventure, and the extraordinary circumstances of their secondinterview, she treated Rafael with a kindly indifference like any otherof the adorers who had flocked about her in her day. She had come tolook upon him as a new piece of furniture that she found in place infront of her every afternoon; an automaton, who appeared as regularly asa clock strikes, to spend hours and hours staring at her, pale, shrinking with an absurd consciousness of inferiority, and oftenanswering her questions with stupid phrases that made her laugh. 

Her irony and deliberate frankness wounded Rafael cruelly. "Hello, Rafaelito, " she would say sometimes as he came in. "You here again?Better look out! People will be talking about us before long. Then whatwill mama say to you?" And Rafael would be stung to the quick. What adisgrace, to be tied to a mother's apron-strings, and have to stoop toall those subterfuges to visit this place without raising a rumpus athome!

But try as he would, meanwhile, he could not shake off the spell thatLeonora was exercising over him. 

Besides, what wonderful afternoons when she deigned to be good!Sometimes, wearied with walks about the open country, and bored, asmight have been expected of a frivolous, fickle character like hers, with the monotony of the landscape of orange-trees and palms, she wouldtake refuge in her parlor, and sit down at the piano! With the hushedawe of a pious worshipper, Rafael would take a chair in a corner, andgluing his eyes upon those two majestic shoulders over which curlytresses fell like golden plumes, he would listen to her rich, sweet, mellow voice as it blended with the languishing chords of the piano;while through the open windows the breath of the murmurous orchard madeits way drenched in the golden light of autumn, saturated with theseasoned perfume of the ripe oranges that peered with faces of firethrough the festoons of leaves. 

Shubert, with his moody romances, was her favorite composer. Themelancholy of that sad music had a peculiar fascination for her in hersolitude. Her passionate, tumultuous soul seemed to fall into alanguorous enervation under the fragrance of the orange blossoms. Attimes, she would be assailed by sudden recollections of triumphs on thestage, and on such occasions, setting the piano ringing with the sublimefury of the Valkyries' Ride, she would begin to shout Brunhilde's"Hojotojo, " the impetuous, savage war-cry of Wotan's daughter--amelodious scream with which she had brought many an audience to itsfeet, and which, in that deserted paradise, made Rafael shudder andadmire, as if the singer were some strange divinity--a blond goddesswith green eyes, wont to charge across the ice-fields through whirlwindsof driving snow, but who, there, in a land of sunshine, had deigned tobecome a simple, an entrancing woman!

And then again, throwing her beautiful body back in her chair, as if inher mind's eye she could see some old palatial hall festooned withroses, and in it a maze of hoop skirts, powdered wigs, and red heels, whirling in the dance, she would brush the keys with a minuet by Mozart, as subtly fragrant as priceless perfume, as seductive as the smile of apainted princess with beauty-patches and false dimples!

Rafael had not forgotten the first night of their friendship, nor thefingers that had been offered to his lips in that selfsame parlor. Oncehe was moved to repeat the scene, and bending low over the keys, hadtried to kiss Leonora's hand. 

The actress started, as if awakening from a dream. Her eyes flashedangrily, though her lips did not lose their smile; and she raised herhand threateningly, with all its fantastic glitter of jewelry, andpretended to strike at him:

"Take care, Rafael; you're a child and I'll treat you as such. Youalready know that I don't like to be annoyed. I won't send you away thistime, but if you do it again, you'll get a good cuffing. Don't forgetthat when I want my hand kissed I begin by giving it voluntarily. What anuisance! Such a thing happens only once in a life-time. .. . But, Iunderstand: no more music for today; it's all over! I'll have toentertain the little boy so's he won't fuss. "

And she began to tell him stories of her professional career, whichRafael at once appraised as new progress toward intimacy with the divinebeauty. 

He looked over her pictures for the various operas in which she hadsung; a rich collection of beautiful photographs, with studio signaturesin almost every European tongue, some of them in strange alphabets thatRafael could not identify. That pale, mystic Elizabeth of _Tannhäuser_had been taken in Milan; that ideal, romantic Elsa of _Lohengrin_, inMunich; here was a wide-eyed, bourgeois Eva from _die Meistersinger_, photographed in Vienna; there a proud arrogant Brunhilde, with hostile, flashing eyes, that bore the imprint of St. Petersburg. And there wereother souvenirs of seasons at Covent Garden, at the San Carlos ofLisbon, the Scala of Milan, and opera houses of New York and Rio deJaneiro. 

As Rafael handled the large pasteboard mountings, he felt much like aboy watching strange steamers entering a harbor and scattering theperfumes of distant, mysterious lands all around. Each picture seemedto wrap him in the atmosphere of its country, and from that peacefulsalon, murmuring with the breathing of the silent orchard, he seemed tobe traveling all over the earth. 

The photographs were all of the same characters--heroines of Wagner. Leonora, a fanatic worshipper of the German genius, was ever speaking ofhim in terms of intimate familiarity, as if she had known himpersonally, and wished to sing no operas but his. And in her eagerdesire to compass all the Master's work, she did not hesitate tocompromise her reputation for power and vigor by attempting roles oflighter or tenderer vein. 

Rafael gazed at the portraits one by one; here she seemed emaciated, wan, as if she had just recovered from an illness; there, she was strongand proud, as if challenging the world with her beauty. 

"Oh, Rafael!" she murmured pensively. "Life isn't all gaiety. I have hadmy stormy times like everybody else. I have lived centuries, it seems, and these strips of cardboard are chapters of my life-story. "

And while she surrendered to a dreamy re-living of the past, Rafaelwould go into ecstasies over a picture of Brunhilde, a beautifulphotograph which he had more than once thought of stealing. 

That Brunhilde was Leonora herself; the arrogant Valkyrie, the strong, the valiant Amazon, capable of trying to beat him for the slightestunwarranted liberty he took--and of doing it besides. Beneath the helmetof polished steel, with its two wings of white plumes, her blond locksfell, while a savage flash glittered in her green eyes, and hernostrils seemed to palpitate with indomitable fierceness. A cloak fellfrom her shoulders that were round, muscular, powerful. A steel coat ofmail curved outward around her magnificent bust, and her bare arms, oneholding the lance, and the other resting on a burnished shield, asshining and luminous as a sheet of crystal, showed vigor and strengthunder feminine grace of line. There she was in all her goddess-likemajesty--the Pallas of a mythology of the North, as beautiful asheroism, as terrible as war. Rafael could understand the mad enthusiasm, the electrified commotion of her audiences as they saw her stepping outamong the rocks of painted canvas, setting the boards a-tremble with herlithe footsteps, rudely raising her lance and shield above the whitewings of her helmet and shouting the cry of the Valkyries--"_Hojotoho!_"which, repeated in the green tranquility of that Valencian orchard, seemed to make the lanes of foliage quiver with a tremor of admiringecstasy. 

Across the whole world, and everywhere in triumph, that whimsical, adventuresome, madcap woman, of whose life as an actress so many storieswere told, had carried the arrogance of the virgin warrior-maidconceived by the master Wagner. In a bulky book, of uneven irregularpages, where the singer with the minute conscientiousness of a child, had preserved everything the newspapers of the globe had written abouther, Rafael found echos of her stormy ovations. Many of the printedclippings were yellow with age, but they could still evoke before hisdazzled eyes, visions of theaters packed with elegant, sensuous women, as beautiful as Wotan's daughter in the coat-of-mail; atmospheres hotwith light and enthusiasm, a-glitter with sparkling jewels andsparkling eyes; and in the background, with her helmet and her lance, the dominating Valkyrie herself greeted with frantic applause andlimitless admiration. 

In the collection were newspaper reproductions of the singer'sphotographs, biographical notices, critical articles relating to thetriumphs of the celebrated _diva_ Leonora Brunna--for such was the stagename adopted by Doctor Moreno's daughter--clipping after clippingprinted in Castilian or South American Spanish; columns of the clear, close print of English papers; paragraphs on the coarse, thin paper ofthe French and Italian press; compact masses of Gothic characters, whichtroubled Rafael's eyes, and unintelligible Russian letters, that, tohim, looked like whimsical scrawls of a childish hand. And all in praiseof Leonora, one universal tribute to the talent of that woman, who waslooked upon so scornfully by the citified peasants of the boy's nativetown. A divinity, indeed! And Rafael felt a growing hatred and contemptfor the gross, uncouth virtue of those who had left her in a socialvacuum. Why had she come to Alcira, anyway? What could possibly have ledher to abandon a world of triumphs, where she was admired by everyone, for the life, virtually, of a barnyard?

Later she showed him some of her more personal mementoes; jewels of rarebeauty, expensive baubles, "testimonials, " reminiscent of "evenings ofhonor, " when admirers had surprised her in the green room while outsidethe audience was applauding wildly, and she, lowering her lance, andsurrounded by ushers with huge bouquets, would step forward to thefootlights and make her bow of acknowledgment, under a deluge of tinseland flowers. One medallion bore the portrait of the venerable don Pedroof Brazil, the artist-emperor, who paid tribute to the singer in agreeting written in diamonds. Gem-incrusted frames of gold spoke ofenthusiasts who perhaps had begun by desiring the woman to resignthemselves in the end to admiration for the artist. Here was acollection of illuminated diplomas from charitable societies thankingher for assistance at benefits. Queen Victoria of England had given hera fan with an autograph dated from a concert at Windsor Castle. FromIsabel II came a royal bracelet, as a souvenir of various evenings atthe Castilla Palace in Paris. Millionaires, princes, grand-dukes, presidents of Spanish-American republics, had left a whole museum ofcostly trinkets at her feet. Characteristic of adorers from the UnitedStates, where people always temper enthusiasm with usefulness, were anumber of portfolios, their bindings much worn by time, containingrailroad shares, land titles, stocks in enterprises of varyingstability, suggesting the rambles of the American promotor from theprairies of Canada to the pampas of the Argentine. 

In the presence of all the trophies that the arrogant Valkyrie hadgathered in on her triumphal passage through the world, Rafael feltpride, first of all, at being friends with such a woman; but at the sametime a sense of his own insignificance, exaggerating, if anything, thedifference that separated them. How in the world had he ever dared makelove to a person like Leonora Brunna?

Finally came the most interesting, the most intimate of all hertreasures--an album which she allowed him hurriedly to glimpse through, forbidding him, however, even to look at certain of the pages. It was avolume modestly bound in dark leather with silver clasps; but Rafaelgazed upon it as on a wonderful fetish, and with all the awe-struckadoration inspired by great names. Kings and emperors were the leastamong the celebrities who had knelt in homage before the goddess. Theovershadowing geniuses of art were there, dedicating a word ofaffection, a line of verse, a bar of music, to the beautiful songstress. Rafael stared in open-mouthed wonderment at the signatures of the oldVerdi and of Boito. Then came the younger masters, of the new Italianschool, noisy and triumphant with the clamor of art brought within rangeof the mob. In gallant phrases the Frenchmen, Massenet and Saint-Saens, paid their respects to the greatest interpreter of the greatest ofcomposers; Rafael could decipher what was in Italian, scenting the sweetperfume of Latin adulation despite the fact that he scarcely knew thelanguage. A sonnet by Illica moved him actually to tears. Otherinscriptions were meaningless to him--the lines from Hans Keller, especially, the great orchestral conductor, disciple and confidant ofWagner, the artistic executor, charged with watching over the master'sglory--that Hans Keller of whom Leonora was speaking all the time withthe fondness of a woman and the admiration of an artist--all of whichdid not prevent her from adding that he was "a barbarian. " Stanzas inGerman, in Russian and in English, which, as the singer re-read thembrought a contented smile to her features, Rafael, to his greatdespair, could not induce her to translate. 

"Those are matters you wouldn't understand. Go on to the next page. Imustn't make you blush. "

And that was the only explanation she would give--as though he were achild. 

Some Italian verses, written in a tremulous hand and in crooked lines, attracted Rafael's attention. He could half make their meaning out, butLeonora would never let him finish reading them. It was an amorous, desperate lament; a cry of racking passion condemned to disappointment, writhing in isolation like a wild beast in its cage: Luigi Macchia. 

"And who is Luigi Macchia?" asked Rafael. "Why such despair?"

"He was a young fellow from Naples, " Leonora answered, at last, oneafternoon, in a sad voice, and turning her head, as if to conceal thetears that had come to her eyes. "One day they found him under the pinetrees of Posilipo, with a bullet through his head. He wanted to die, yousee, and he killed himself. .. . But put all this aside and let's go downto the garden. I need a breath of air. "

They sauntered along the avenue that was bordered with rose-bushes, andseveral minutes went by before either of them spoke. Leonora seemedquite absorbed in her thoughts. Her brows were knitted and her lipspressed tightly together, as if she were suffering the sting of painfulrecollections. 

"Suicide!" she said at last. "Doesn't that seem a silly thing to do, Rafael? Kill yourself for a woman? Just as if we women were obliged tolove every man who thinks he's in love with us!. .. How stupid men are!We have to be their servants, love them willy-nilly. And if we don't, they kill themselves just to spite us. "

And she was silent for a time. 

"Poor Macchia! He was a good boy, and deserved to be happy. But if Iwere to surrender to every desperate protestation made to me!. .. However, he went and did just what he said he would do. .. . How crazythey get! And the worst of it is, I have found others like him in mytravels. "

She explained no farther. Rafael gazed at her, but respected hersilence, trying in vain to guess the thoughts that were stirring behindher shining eyes, as green and golden as the sea under a noonday sun. What a wealth of romance must be hidden in that woman's past! Whattragedies must have been woven into the checkered fabric of herwonderful career!. .. 

So the days went by, and election time came around. Rafael, in passiverebellion against his mother, who rarely spoke a word to him now, hadcompletely neglected the campaign. But on the decisive Sunday hetriumphed completely, and Rafael Brull, Deputy from Alcira, spent thenight shaking hands, receiving congratulations, listening to serenades, waiting for morning to come that he might run to the Blue House andreceive Leonora's ironic good wishes. 

"I'm very glad to hear it, " the actress said. "Now you'll be leavingvery soon and I'll lose sight of you. It was high time really! You know, my dear child, you were beginning to get tiresome with your assiduousworship, that mute, persistent, tenacious adoration of yours. But up inMadrid you'll get over it all. Tut, tut, now . .. Don't say you won't. Noneed to perjure yourself. I guess I know what young men are like! Andyou're a young man. The next time we meet, you'll have other things inyour head. I'll be a friend, just a friend; and that's what--and all--Iwant to be. "

"But will I find you here when I come back?" Rafael asked, anxiously. 

"You want to know more things than anybody I ever knew! How can I saywhether I'll be here or not? Nobody in the world was ever sure ofholding me. I don't know where I'll be tomorrow myself. .. . But, no, " shecontinued, gravely, "if you come back by next spring, you'll find mehere. I'm thinking of staying surely until then. I want to see theorange-trees in bloom, go back to my early childhood--the only memoriesof my past that have followed me everywhere. Many a time I have gone toNice, spending a fortune and crossing half the world to get there--andjust to see a handful of puny orange-trees in bloom; now I want to takeone great, deep, plunge into the deluge of orange blossoms thatinundates these fields every year. It's the one thing that keeps me inAlcira. .. . I'm sure. So if you come back about that season, you willfind me; and we will meet for one last time; for that will be the limitof my endurance. I shall simply have to fly away, however hard poorauntie takes it. .. . For the present, however, I am quite comfortable. You see I was so tired! I find this solitude a welcome refuge after astormy voyage. Only something very important indeed could persuade me toleave it at once. "

But they saw each other on many another afternoon in the garden, there. It was saturated now with the fragrance of ripe oranges. The vast valleylay blue beneath the winter sun. Oranges, oranges, everywhere, reachingout, it seemed, through the foliage, to the industrious hands that wereplucking them from the branches. Carts were creaking all along theroads, trundling heaps of golden fruit over the ruts. The large shippinghouses rang again with the voices of girls singing at their work as theyselected and wrapped the oranges in paper. Hammers were pounding at thewooden crates, and off toward France and England in great golden wavesthose daughters of the South rolled--capsules of golden skin, filledwith sweet juice--the quintessence of Spanish sunshine. 

Leonora, standing on tiptoe under an old tree, with her back towardRafael, was looking for a particularly choice orange among the densebranches. As she swayed this way and that, the proud, graceful curves ofher vigorous slenderness became more beautiful than ever. 

"I'm leaving tomorrow, " the young man said, dispiritedly. 

Leonora turned around. She had found her orange and was peeling it withher long pink nails. 

"Tomorrow?" she said, smiling. "Everything comes if you wait longenough!. .. The best of success to you, señor deputy. "

And bringing the fragrant fruit to her lips, she sank her white, glistening teeth into the golden pulp, closing her eyes rapturously, tosense the full warm sweetness of the juice. 

Rafael stood there pale and trembling, as if something desperate werein his mind. 

"Leonora! Leonora!. .. Surely you are not going to send me away likethis?"

And then suddenly, carried away by a passion so long restrained, so longcrushed under timidity and fear, he ran up to her, seized her hands andhungrily sought her lips. 

"Oh! What in the world are you up to, Rafael?. .. How dare you!" shecried. And with one thrust of her powerful arms she threw him back, staggering, against the orange-tree. The young man stood there withlowered head, humiliation and shame written on every line of his face. 

"You see, I'm a strong woman, " said Leonora, in a voice quivering withanger. "None of your foolish tricks, or you'll be sorry!"

She glared at him for a long time; but then gradually recovered herequanimity, and began to laugh at the pitiable spectacle before her. 

"But what a child you are, Rafael!. .. Is that what you call a friendlygood-bye?. .. How little you know me, silly! You force matters, you do, Isee. Well just understand, I'm impregnable, unless I choose to beotherwise. Why, men have died without being able to kiss so much as thetip of my fingers. It's time you were going, Rafael. We'll still befriends, of course. .. . But in case we are to see each other again, don'tforget what I tell you. We are through with such nonsense once and forall. Don't waste your time. I cannot be yours. I'm tired of men; perhapsI hate them. I have known the handsomest, the most elegant, the mostfamous of them all. I have been almost a queen; queen 'on the left handside, ' as the French say, but so much mistress of the situation that, had I cared to get mixed up in such vulgarity, I could have changedministries and overturned thrones. Men renowned in Europe for theirelegance--and their follies--have grovelled at my feet, and I havetreated them worse than I have treated you. The most celebrated womenhave envied me and hated me--copying my dresses and my poses. And when, tired of all that brilliancy and noise, I said 'Good-bye' and came tothis retreat, do you think it was to give myself to a village_señorito_, though a few hundred country bumpkins think he is awonder?. .. Oh, say, Rafael, really. .. . "

And she laughed a cruel, mocking laugh--that cut Rafael to the quick. The young man bowed his head and his chest heaved painfully, as if thetears that could not find issue through his eyes were stifling, chokinghim. He seemed on the point of utter collapse. 

Leonora repented of her cruelty. 

She stepped up to the boy until she was almost touching him. Then takinghis chin in her two hands, she made him raise his head. 

"Oh, I have hurt you, haven't I! What mean things I said to the poorchild! Let me see now. Lift that head up! Look me straight in the eye!Say that you forgive me. .. . That cursed habit I have of never holding mytongue! I have offended you; but please, don't pay any attention tothat! I was joking! What a fine way of repaying you for what you didthat night!. .. No; Rafael, you are a very handsome chap indeed . .. Andvery distinguished . .. And you will make a great name for yourself, upin Madrid!. .. You'll be what they call a 'personage, ' and you'llmarry--oh my--a very stylish, elegant, society girl! I can see allthat. .. . But, meanwhile, my dear boy, don't depend on me. We are goingto be friends, and nothing more than friends, ever! Why, there are tearsin your eyes! Well, here. Come . .. Kiss my hand, I will let you . .. Asyou did that night--there, like that! I could be yours only if I lovedyou; but alas! I shall never fall in love with the dashing Rafaelito!I'm an old woman, already, and I've been so lavish with my heart, spentit so freely, I'm afraid I have none left. .. . Poor, poor little Rafael!I'm so sorry . .. But, you see, you came so late . .. So late . .. !"

PART TWO

I

Hidden in the tall, thick rose-bushes that bounded the _plazoleta_ infront of the Blue House, and under four old dead palms that droopedtheir branches dry and melancholy under the vigorous tufts of youngertrees, were two rubblework benches, white-washed, the backs and armrestsof ancient Valencian tiles, the glazed surfaces flecked with arabesquesand varicolored fancies inherited from days of Saracen rule--sturdy, butcomfortable seats, with the graceful lines of the sofas of theEighteenth Century; and in them Leonora liked to spend her time in lateafternoons especially, when the palm trees covered the little squarewith a cool, delightful shade. 

On that warm March day, doña Pepa was sitting in one of them, hersilver-rimmed spectacles on her nose, reading the "Life" of the day'ssaint. At her side was the maid. A true daughter of the _campagna_ ofRome, Beppa had been trained to piety from her earliest years; and shewas listening attentively so as not to miss a word. 

On the other bench were Leonora and Rafael. The actress, with loweredhead, was following the movements of her hands, busily engaged on someembroidery. 

Rafael found Leonora much changed after his months of absence. 

She was dressed simply, like any young lady of the city; her face andhands, so white and marble-like before, had taken on the goldentransparency of ripened grain under the continued caress of theValencian sun. Her slender fingers were bare of all rings, and her pinkears were not, as formerly, a-gleam with thick clusters of diamonds. 

"I've become a regular peasant, haven't I?" she said, as if she couldread in Rafael's eyes his astonishment at the transformation she hadundergone. "It's life in the open that works such miracles: today onefrill, tomorrow another, and a woman eventually gets rid of everythingthat was once a part of her body almost. I feel better this way. .. . Would you believe it? I've actually deserted my dressing-table, and theperfume I used lies all forsaken and forlorn. Fresh water, plenty offresh water . .. That's what I like. I'm a long way from the Leonora whohad to paint herself every night like a clown before she could appearbefore an audience. Take a good look at me! Well . .. What do you think?You might mistake me for one of your vassals almost, eh? I'll bet thatif I had gone out this morning to join your demonstration at the stationyou wouldn't have recognized me in the crowd. "

Rafael was going to say--and quite seriously, too--that he thought hermore beautiful than ever. Leonora seemed to have descended from herheight and drawn closer to him. But she guessed what was coming, and toforestall any compliments, hastened to resume control of theconversation. 

"Now don't say you like me better this way. What nonsense! Remember, youcome from Madrid, from real elegance, a world you did not knowbefore!. .. But, to tell the truth, I like this simplicity; and theimportant thing in life is to please yourself, isn't it? It was a slowtransformation, but an irresistible one; this country life graduallyfilled me with its peace and calm; it went to my head like a blanddelicious wine. I just sleep and sleep, living the life of a humananimal, free from every emotion, and quite willing never to wake upagain. Why, Rafaelito! If nothing extraordinary happens and the devildoesn't give an unexpected tug at my sleeve, I can conceive of stayingon here forever. I think of the outer world as a sailor must of the sea, when he finds himself all cosy at home after a voyage of continuoustempest. "

"That's right, do stay, " said Rafael. "You can't imagine how I worriedup in Madrid wondering whether or not I'd find you here on my return. "

"Don't go telling any fibs, " said Leonora, gently, smiling with just asuggestion of gratification. "Do you think we haven't been followingyour doings in Madrid? Though you never were a friend, exactly, of goodold Cupido, you've been writing him frequently--and all sorts ofnonsense; just as a pretext for the really important thing--thepostscript, with your regards to the 'illustrious artist, ' sure toprovoke the consoling reply that the 'illustrious artist' was stillhere. How those letters made me laugh!"

"Anyway, that will prove I wasn't lying that day when I assured you Iwould not forget, in Madrid. Well, Leonora; I didn't! The separation hasmade me worse, much worse, in fact. "

"Thanks, Rafael, " Leonora answered, quite seriously, as if she had lostmastery over the irony of former days. "I know you're telling thetruth. And it saddens me, because it really is too bad. You understand, of course, that I can't love you. .. . So--if you don't mind--let's talkof something else. "

And hastily, to shift the conversation from such dangerous ground, shebegan to chat about her rustic pleasures. 

"I have a hen-coop that's too charming for anything. If you could onlysee me mornings, in a circle of cackling feathers, throwing fusilladesof corn about to keep the roosters away. You see they get under myskirts and peck at my feet. It's hard to realize I can be the same womanwho, just a few months ago, was brandishing a stage lance andinterpreting Wagner's dreams, no less, as finely as you please! You'llsoon see _my_ vassals. I have the most astonishing layers you ever saw;and every morning I rummage around in the straw like a thief to get theeggs, and when I find them, they are still warm. .. . I've forgotten thepiano. I hadn't opened it for more than a week, but this afternoon--Idon't know why--I just felt like spending a little while in the societyof the geniuses. I was thirsty for music . .. One of those moody whims ofthe olden days. Perhaps the presentiment that you were coming: thethought of those afternoons when you were upstairs, sitting like a boobyin the corner, listening to me. .. . But don't jump to the conclusion, mydear deputy, that everything here is mere play--just chickens and thesimple life. No, sir! I have turned my leisure to serious account. Ihave done big things to the house. You would never guess! A bathroom, ifyou please! And it just scandalizes poor auntie; while Beppa says it'sa sin to give so much thought to matters of the body. I could give upmany of my old habits, but not my bath; it's the one luxury I have kept, and I sent to Valencia for the plumbers, the marble, and the wood and. .. Well . .. It's a gem. I'll show it to you, by and by. If some fine day Ishould suddenly take it into my head to fly away, that bath will remainhere, for my poor aunt to preach about and show how her madcap niecesquandered a mint of money on sinful folly, as she calls it. "

And she laughed, with a glance at the innocent doña Pepa, who, there onthe other bench, was for the hundredth time explaining to the Italianmaid the prodigious miracles wrought by the patron of Alcira, and tryingto persuade the "foreigner" to transfer her faith to that saint, andwaste no more time on the second or third raters of Italy. 

"Don't imagine, " the actress continued, "that I forgot you during allthis time. I am a real friend, you see, and take an interest! I learnedthrough Cupido, who ferrets out everything, just what you were doing inMadrid. I, too, figured among your admirers. That proves what friendshipcan do! . .. I don't know why, but when señor Brull is concerned, Iswallow the biggest whoppers, though I know they're lies. When you madeyour speech in the Chambers on that matter of flood protection, I sentto Alcira for the paper and read the story through I don't know how manytimes, believing blindly everything said in praise of you. I once metGladstone at a concert given by the Queen at Windsor Castle; I haveknown men who got to be presidents of their countries on sheereloquence--not to mention the politicians of Spain. The majority ofthem I've had, one time or another, as hangers-on in mydressing-room--once I had sung at the 'Real. ' Well, despite all that, Itook the exaggerations your party friends printed about you quiteseriously for some days, putting you on a level with all the solemntop-notchers I have known. And why, do you suppose? Perhaps from myisolation and tranquillity here, which do make you lose perspective; orperhaps it was the influence of environment! It is impossible to live inthis region without being a subject of the Brulls!. .. Can I be fallingin love with you unawares?"

And once more she laughed the gleeful, candid, mocking laugh of otherdays. At first she had received him seriously, simply, under theinfluence still of solitude, country life and the longing for rest andquiet. But once in actual contact with him again, the sight, again, ofthat lovesick expression in eyes which now, however, showed a trace ofself-possession, the old teaser had reappeared in her; and her irony cutinto the youth's flesh like a steel blade. 

"Stranger things than that have happened, " Rafael snapped boldly, andimitating her sarcastic smile. "It's humanly conceivable that even youshould wind up by falling in love with even me--out of pity, of course!"

"No, " answered Leonora bluntly. "It's not even humanly conceivable. I'llnever fall in love with you . .. And even if I should, " she continued ina gentle, almost mothering tone, "you would never know about it. Ishould keep it jolly well to myself--so as to prevent your going crazyon finding your affections returned. All afternoon I have been tryingto evade this explanation. I have brought up a thousand subjects, I haveinquired about your life in Madrid--even going into details that haven'tthe slightest interest for me--all to keep the talk off love. But withyou, that's impossible; you always come back to that sooner or later. Very well, so be it . .. But I'll never love you--I must not love you. IfI had made your acquaintance somewhere else, but under the same romanticcircumstances, I don't say it mightn't have happened. But here!. .. Myscruples may make you laugh, but I feel as though I'd be committing acrime to love you. It would be like entering a home and repaying thehospitality by purloining the silverware. "

"That's a new kind of nonsense you are talking, " Rafael exclaimed. "Justwhat do you mean? I don't think I understand, exactly. "

"Well, you live here, you see, and you hardly realize what it's alllike. Love for love's sake alone! That may happen in the world where Icome from. There folks aren't scandalized at things. Virtue isbroad-minded and tolerant; and people, through a selfish desire to havetheir own weaknesses condoned, are careful not to censure others tooharshly. But here!. .. Here love is the straight and narrow path thatleads to marriage. Now let's see how good a liar you are! Would you becapable of saying that you would marry me?. .. "

She gazed straight at the youth out of her green, luminous, mockingeyes, and with such frankness that Rafael bowed his head, stuttering ashe started to speak. 

"Exactly, " she went on. "You wouldn't, and you are right. For thatwould be a piece of solemn, deliberate barbarity. I'm not one of thewomen who are made for such things. Many men have proposed marriage tome in my time, to prove what fools they were, I suppose. More than oncethey've offered me their ducal crowns or the prestige of theirmarquisates, with the idea that title and social position would hold meback when I got bored and tried to fly away. But imagine me married!Could anything be more absurd?"

She laughed hysterically, almost, but with an undertone that hurt Rafaeldeeply. There was a ring of sarcasm, of unspeakable scorn in it, whichreminded the young man of Mephisto's mirth during his infernal serenadeto Marguerite. 

"Moreover, " continued Leonora, recovering her composure, "you don't seemto realize just how I stand in this community. Don't imagine what's saidabout me in town escapes me . .. I just have to notice the way the womenlook at me the few times I go in there. And I know also what happened toyou before you left for Madrid. We find out everything here, Rafaelito. The gossip of these people carries--it reaches even this solitary spot. I know perfectly well how your mother hates me, and I've even heardabout the squabbles you've had at home over coming here. Well, we mustput a stop to all that! I am going to ask you not to visit me any more. I will always be your friend; but if we stop seeing each other it willbe to the advantage of us both. "

That was a painful thrust for Rafael. So she knew! But to escape fromwhat he felt to be a ridiculous position, he affected an air ofindependence. 

"Don't you believe such bosh! It's just election gossip spread by myenemies. I am of age, and I daresay I can go where I please, withoutasking mamma. "

"Very well; keep on coming, if you really want to; but all the same, itshows how people feel toward me--a declaration of war, virtually. And ifI should ever fall in love with you . .. Heavens! What would they saythen? They'd be sure I had come here for the sole purpose of capturingtheir don Rafael! You can see how far such a thing is from my mind. Itwould be the end of the peace and quiet I came here to find. If theytalk that way now, when I'm as innocent as a lamb, imagine how theirtongues would wag then!. .. No, I'm not looking for excitement! Let themsnap at me as much as they please; but I mustn't be to blame. It must beout of pure envy on their part. I wouldn't stoop to provoking them!"

And with a turn of her head in the direction of the city that was hiddenfrom view behind the rows of orange-trees, she laughed disdainfully. 

Then her gleeful frankness returned once more--a candor of which she wasalways ready to make herself the first victim--and in a low, confidential, affectionate tone she continued:

"Besides, Rafaelito, you haven't had a good look at me. Why, I'm almostan old woman!. .. Oh, I know it, I know it. You don't have to tell me. You and I are of the same age; but you are a man; and I'm a woman. Andthe way I've lived has added considerably to my years. You are still onthe very threshold of life. I've been knocking about the world since Iwas sixteen, from one theatre to another. And my accursed disposition, my mania for concealing nothing, for refusing to lie, has helped make meworse than I really am. I have many enemies in this world who are justgloating, I am sure, because I have suddenly disappeared. You can'tadvance a step on the stage without rousing the jealousy of someone; andthat kind of jealousy is the most bloodthirsty of human passions. Canyou imagine what my kind colleagues say about me? That I've gotten alongas a woman of the _demimonde_ rather than as an artist--that I'm a_cocotte_, using my voice and the stage for soliciting, as it were. "

"Damn the liars!" cried Rafael hotly. "I'd like to have someone say thatin my hearing. "

"Bah! Don't be a child. Liars, yes, but what they say has a grain oftruth in it. I have been something of the sort, really; though the blamehad not been wholly mine . .. I've done crazy foolish things--giving aloose rein to my whims, for the fun of the thing. Sometimes it would bewealth, magnificence, luxury; then again bravery; then again just plain, ordinary, good looks! And I would be off the moment the excitement, thenovelty, was gone, without a thought for the desperation of my lovers atfinding their dreams shattered. And from all this wild career ofmine--it has taken in a good part of Europe--I have come to oneconclusion: either that what the poets call love is a lie, a pleasantlie, if you wish; or else that I was not born to love, that I am immune;for as I go back over my exciting and variegated past, I have torecognize that in my life love has not amounted to this!"

And she gave a sharp snap with her pink fingers. 

"I am telling you everything, you see, " she continued. "During your longabsence I thought of you often. Somehow I want you to know methoroughly, once and for all. In that way perhaps we can get alongtogether better. I can understand now why it is a peasant woman willwalk miles and miles, under a scorching sun or a pouring rain, to have apriest listen to her confession. I am in that mood this afternoon. Ifeel as though I must tell everything. Even if I tried not to, I shouldnot succeed. There's a little demon inside me here urging me, compellingme, to unveil all my past. "

"Please feel quite free to do so. To be a confessor even, to deserveyour confidence, is some progress for me, at any rate. "

"Progress? But why should you care to progress . .. Into my heart! Myheart is only an empty shell! Do you think you'd be getting much if yougot me? I'm absolutely, absolutely worthless! Don't laugh, please! Imean it! Absolutely worthless. Here in this solitude I have been able tostudy myself at leisure, see myself as I really am. I recognize it plainas day: I am nothing, nothing. Good looking?. .. Well, yes; I confess Iam not what you'd call ugly. Even if, with a ridiculous false modesty, Iwere to say I was, there's my past history to prove that plenty of menhave found me beautiful. But, alas, Rafaelito! That's only the outside, my facade, so to speak. A few winter rains will wash the paint off andshow the mould that's underneath. Inside, believe me, Rafael, I am aruin. The walls are crumbling, the floors are giving way. I have burnedmy life out in gaiety. I have singed my wings in a headlong rush intothe candle-flame of life. Do you know what I am? I am one of those oldhulks drawn up on the beach. From a distance their paint seems to haveall the color of their first voyages; but when you get closer you seethat all they ask for is to be let alone to grow old and crumble away onthe sand in peace. And you, who are setting out on your life voyage, come gaily asking for a berth on a wreck that will go to the bottom assoon as it strikes deep water, and carry you down with it!. .. Rafael, mydear boy, don't be foolish. I am all right to have as a friend; but it'stoo late for me to be anything more . .. Even if I were to love you. Weare of a different breed. I have been studying you, and I see that youare a sensible, honest, plodding sort of fellow. Whereas I--I belong tothe butterflies, to the opposite of all you are. I am a conscript underthe banner of Bohemia, and I cannot desert the colors. Each of us on hisown road then. You'll easily find a woman to make you happy. .. . Thesillier she is, the better. .. . You were born to be a family man. "

It occurred to Rafael that she might be poking fun at him, as she sooften did. But no; there was a ring of sincerity in her voice. Theforced smile had vanished from her face. She was speaking tenderly, affectionately, as if in motherly counsel to a son in danger of goingwrong. 

"And don't make yourself over, Rafael. If the world were made up ofpeople like me, life would be impossible. I too have moments when Ishould like to become a different person entirely--a fowl, a cow, orsomething, like the folks around me, thinking of money all the time, andof what I'll eat tomorrow; buying land, haggling with farmers on themarket, studying fertilizers, having children who'd keep me busy withtheir colds and the shoes they'd tear, my widest vision limited togetting a good price for the fall crop. There are times when I envy ahen. How good it must be, to be a hen! A fence around me to mark theboundaries of my world, my meals for the trouble of pecking at them, mylife-work to sit hour after hour in the sun, balanced on a roost. .. . Youlaugh? Well, I've made a good start already toward becoming a hen, andthe career suits me to a 't. ' Every Wednesday I go to market, to buy apullet and some eggs; and I haggle with the vendors just for the fun ofit, finally giving them the price they ask for; I invite the peasantwomen to have a cup of chocolate with me, and come home escorted by awhole crowd of them; and they listen in astonishment when I talk toBeppa in Italian! If you could only see how fond they are of me!. .. Theycan hardly believe their eyes when they see the _siñorita_ isn't half soblack as the city people paint her. You remember that poor woman we sawup at the Hermitage that afternoon? Well, she's a frequent visitor, andI always give her something. She, too, is fond of me. .. . Now all that isagreeable, isn't it? Peace; the affection of the humble; an innocent oldwoman, my poor aunt, who seems to have grown younger since I came here!Nevertheless, some fine day, this shell, this rustic bark that hasformed around me in the sun and the air of the orchards, will burst, andthe woman of old--the Valkyrie--will step out of it again. And then, tohorse, to horse! Off on another gallop around the world, in a tempest ofpleasure, acclaimed by a chorus of brutal libertines!. .. I am sure thatis bound to happen. I swore to remain here until Spring. Well, Spring isalmost here! Look at those rose-bushes! Look at those orange-trees!Bursting with life! Oh, Rafael, I'm afraid of Springtime. Spring hasalways been a season of disaster for me. "

And she was lost in thought for a moment. Doña Pepa and the Italian maidhad gone into the house. The good old woman could never keep away fromthe kitchen long. 

Leonora had dropped her embroidery upon the bench and was lookingupward, her head thrown back, the muscles of her arching neck tense anddrawn. She seemed wrapt in ecstacy, as if visions of the past werefiling by in front of her. Suddenly she shuddered and sat up. 

"I'm afraid I'm ill, Rafael. I don't know what's the matter with metoday. Perhaps it's the surprise of seeing you; this talk of ours thathas called me back to the past, after so many months of tranquillity. .. . Please don't speak! No, not a word, please. You have the rare skill, though you don't know it, of making me talk, of reminding me of things Iwas determined to forget. .. . Come, give me your arm; let's walk outthrough the garden; it will do me good. "

They arose, and began to saunter along over the broad avenue that ledfrom the gate to the little square. The house was soon behind them, lostin the thick crests of the orange-trees. Leonora smiled mischievouslyand lifted a forefinger in warning. 

"I took it for granted you had returned from your trip a more serious, a more well-behaved person. No nonsense, no familiarities, eh? Besides, you know already that I'm strong, and can fight--if I have to. "

II

Rafael spent a sleepless night tossing about in his bed. 

Party admirers had honored him with a serenade that had lasted beyondmidnight. The "prominents" among them had shown some pique at havingcooled their heels all afternoon at the Club waiting for the deputy invain. He put in an appearance well on towards evening, and after shakinghands once more all around and responding to speeches of congratulation, as he had done that morning, he went straight home. 

He had not dared raise his head in Doña Bernarda's presence. He wasafraid of those glowering eyes, where he could read, unmistakably, thedetailed story of everything he had done that afternoon. At the sametime he was nursing a resolve to disobey his mother, meet herdomineering, over-bearing aggressiveness with glacial disregard. 

The serenade over, he had hurried to his room, to avoid any chance of anaccounting. 

Snug in his bed, with the light out, he gave way to an intense, arapturous recollection of all that had taken place that afternoon. Forall the fatigue of the journey and the bad night spent in asleeping-car, he lay there with his eyes open in the dark, going overand over again in his feverish mind all that Leonora told him duringthat final hour of their walk through the garden. Her whole, her reallife's story it had been, recorded in a disordered, a disconnectedway--as if she must unburden herself of the whole thing all atonce--with gaps and leaps that Rafael now filled in from his own luridimagination. 

Italy, the Italy of his trip abroad, came back to him now, vivid, palpitant, vitalized, glorified by Leonora's revelations. 

The shadowy majestic Gallery of Victor Emmanuel at Milan! The immensetriumphal arch, a gigantic mouth protended to swallow up the Cathedral!The double arcade, cross-shaped, its walls covered with columns, setwith a double row of windows under a vast crystal roof. Hardly a traceof masonry on the lower stories; nothing but plate glass--the windows ofbook-shops, music shops, cafés, restaurants, jewelry stores, haberdasheries, expensive tailoring establishments. 

At one end, the Duomo, bristling with a forest of statues and perforatedspires; at the other, the monument to Leonardo da Vinci, and the famous_Teatro de la Scala_! Within the four arms of the Gallery, a continuousbustle of people, an incessant going and coming of merging, dissolvingcrowds: a quadruple avalanche flowing toward the grand square at thecenter of the cross, where the Café Biffi, known to actors and singersthe world over, spreads its rows of marble tables! A hubbub of cries, greetings, conversations, footsteps, echoing in the galleries as in animmense cloister, the lofty skylight quivering with the hum of busyhuman ants, forever, day and night, crawling, darting this way and that, underneath it!

Such is the world's market of song-birds; the world's Rialto of Music;the world's recruiting office for its army of voices. From that center, march forth to glory or to the poorhouse, all those who one fine dayhave touched their throats and believed they have some talent forsinging. In Milan, from every corner of the earth, all the unhappyaspirants of art, casting aside their needles, their tools or theirpens, foregather to eat the macaroni of the _trattoria_, trusting thatthe world will some day do them justice by strewing their paths withmillions. Beginners, in the first place, who, to make their start, willaccept contracts in any obscure municipal theatre of the Milan district, in hopes of a paragraph in a musical weekly to send to the folks at homeas evidence of promise and success; and with them, overwhelming themwith the importance of their past, the veterans of art--the celebritiesof a vanished generation: tenors with gray hair and false teeth; strong, proud, old men who cough and clear their throats to show they stillpreserve their sonorous baritone; retired singers who, with incredibleniggardliness, lend their savings at usury or turn shopkeepers afterdragging silks and velvets over world famous "boards. "

Whenever the two dozen "stars, " the stars of first magnitude that shinein the leading operas of the globe, pass through the Gallery, theyattract as much admiring attention as monarchs appearing before theirsubjects. The _pariahs_, still waiting for a contract, bow their headsin veneration; and tell, in bated breath, of the castle on Lake Comothat the great tenor has bought, of the dazzling jewels owned by theeminent soprano, of the graceful tilt at which the applauded baritonewears his hat; and in their voices there is a tingle of jealousy, ofbitterness against destiny--the feeling that they are just as worthy ofsuch splendor--the protest against "bad luck, " to which they attributefailure. Hope forever flutters before these unfortunates, blinding themwith the flash of its golden mail, keeping them in a wretched despondentinactivity. They wait and they trust, without any clear idea of how theyare to attain glory and wealth, wasting their lives in impotence, to dieultimately "with their boots on, " on some bench of the Gallery. 

Then, there is another flock, a flock of girls, victims of the Chimera, walking with a nimble, a prancing step, with music scores under theirarms, on the way to the _maestro's_; slender, light-haired English_misses_, who want to become prima donnas of comic opera; fair-skinned, buxom Russian _parishnas_ who greet their acquaintances with thesweeping bow of a dramatic soprano; Spanish _señoritas_ of bold facesand free manners, preparing for stage careers as Bizet'scigarette-girl--frivolous, sonorous song-birds nesting hundreds ofleagues away, and who have flown hither dazzled by the tinsel of glory. 

At the close of the Carnival season, singers who have been abroad forthe winter season appear in the Gallery. They come from London, St. Petersburg, New York, Melbourne, Buenos Aires, looking for newcontracts. They have trotted about the globe as though the whole worldwere home to them. They have spent a week in a train or a month on asteamer, to get back to their corner in the Gallery. Nothing haschanged, for all of their distant rambles. They take their usual table. They renew their old intrigues, their old gossip, their old jealousies, as if they had been gone a day. They stand around in front of theshow-windows with an air of proud disdain, like princes travelingincognito, but unable quite to conceal their exalted station. They tellabout the ovations accorded them by foreign audiences. They exhibit thediamonds on their fingers and in their neckties. They hint at affairswith great ladies who offered to leave home and husband to follow themto Milan. They exaggerate the salaries they received on their trip, andfrown haughtily when some unfortunate "colleague" solicits a drink atthe nearby Biffi. And when the new contracts come in, the mercenarynightingales again take wing, indifferently, they care not whither. Oncemore, trains and steamers distribute them, with their conceits and theirpetulances, all over the globe, to gather them in again some monthslater and bring them back to the Gallery, their real home--the spot towhich they are really tied, and on which they are fated to drag outtheir old age. 

Meantime, the _pariahs_, those who never arrive, the "bohemians" ofMilan--when they are left alone console themselves with tales of famouscomrades, of contracts they themselves refused to accept, pretendinguncompromising hauteur toward impresarios and composers to justify theiridleness; and wrapped in fur coats that almost sweep the ground, withtheir "garibaldis" on the backs of their heads, they hover aroundBiffi's, defying the cold draughts that blow at the crossing of theGallery, talking and talking away to quiet the hunger that is gnawing attheir stomachs; despising the humble toil of those who make their livingby their hands, continuing undaunted in their poverty, content withtheir genius as artists, facing misfortune with a candor and anendurance as heroic as it is pathetic, their dark lives illumined byHope, who keeps them company till she closes their eyes. 

Of that strange world, Rafael had caught a glimpse, barely, during thefew days he had spent in Milan. His companion, the canon, had run acrossa former chorister from the cathedral of Valencia, who could findnothing to do but loiter night and day about the Gallery. Through himBrull had learned of the life led by these journeymen of art, always onhand in the "marketplace", waiting for the employer who never comes. 

He tried to picture the early days of Leonora in that great city, as oneof the girls who trot gracefully over the sidewalks with music sheetsunder their arms, or enliven the narrow side streets with all thosetrills and cadences that come streaming out through the windows. 

He could see her walking through the Gallery at Doctor Moreno's side: ablonde beauty, svelte, somewhat thin, over-grown, taller than her years, gazing with astonishment through those large green eyes of hers at thecold, bustling city, so different from the warm orchards of herchildhood home; the father, bearded, wrinkled, nervous, still irritatedat the ruin of his Republican hopes; a veritable ogre to strangers whodid not know his lamb-like gentleness. Like exiles who had found arefuge in art, they two went their way through that life of emptiness, of void, a world of greedy teachers anxious to prolong the period ofstudy, and of singers incapable of speaking kindly even of themselves. 

They lived on a fourth floor on the _Via Passarella_--a narrow, gloomythoroughfare with high houses, like the streets of old Alcira, preemptedby music publishers, theatrical agencies and retired artists. Theirjanitor was a former chorus leader; the main floor was rented by anagency exclusively engaged from sun to sun in testing voices. The otherswere occupied by singers who began their vocal exercises the moment theygot out of bed, setting the house ringing like a huge music-box fromroof to cellar. The Doctor and his daughter had two rooms in the houseof _Signora Isabella_, a former ballet-dancer who had achieved notorious"triumphs" in the principal courts of Europe, but was now a skeletonwrapped in wrinkled skin, groping her way through the corridors, quarreling over money in foul-mouthed language with the servants, andwith no other vestiges of her past than the gowns of rustling silk, andthe diamonds, emeralds and pearls that took their turns in her stiff, shrivelled ears. This harpy had loved Leonora with the fondness of theveteran for the new recruit. 

Every day Doctor Moreno went to a café of the Gallery, where he wouldmeet a group of old musicians who had fought under Garibaldi, and youngmen who wrote _libretti_ for the stage, and articles for Republican andSocialist newspapers. That was his world: the only thing that helped himendure his stay in Milan. After a lonely life back there in his nativeland, this corner of the smoke-filled café seemed like Paradise to him. There, in a labored Italian, sprinkled with Spanish interjections, hecould talk of Beethoven and of the hero of Marsala; and for hour afterhour he would sit wrapt in ecstasy, gazing, through the denseatmosphere, at the red shirt and the blond, grayish locks of the greatGiuseppe, while his comrades told stories of this, the most romantic, ofadventurers. 

During such absences of her father, Leonora would remain in charge of_Signora Isabella_; and bashful, shrinking, half bewildered, would spendthe day in the salon of the former ballet-dancer, with its coterie ofthe latter's friends, also ruins surviving from the past, burned-out"flames" of great personages long since dead. And these witches, smokingtheir cigarettes, and looking their jewels over every other moment to besure they had not been stolen, would size up "the little girl, " as theycalled her, to conclude that she would "go very far" if she learned howto "play the game. "

"I had excellent teachers, " said Leonora, in speaking of that period ofher youth. "They were good souls at bottom, but they had very littlestill to learn about life. I don't remember just when I began to seethrough them. I don't believe I was ever what they call an 'innocent'child. "

Some evenings the Doctor would take her to his group in the café, or tosome second balcony seat under the roof of _La Scala_, if a couple ofcomplimentary tickets happened to come his way. Thus she was introducedto her father's friends, bohemians with whom music went hand in handwith the ideas and the ideals of revolution, curious mixtures of artistand conspirator; aged, bald-headed, near-sighted "professors, " theirbacks bent by a lifetime spent leaning over music stands; and swarthyyouths with fiery eyes, stiff, long hair and red neckties, alwaystalking about overthrowing the social order because their operas hadnot been accepted at _La Scala_ or because no _maestro_ could be foundto take their musical dramas seriously. One of them attracted Leonora. Leaning back on a side-seat in the cafe, she would sit and watch him forhours and hours. He was a fair-haired, extremely delicate boy. Histapering goatee and his fine, silky hair, covered by a sweeping, softfelt hat, made her think of Van Dyck's portrait of Charles I of Englandthat she had seen in print somewhere. They called him "the poet" at thecafé, and gossip had it that an old woman, a retired "star, " was payingfor his keep--and his amusements--until his verses should bring himfame. "Well, " said Leonora, simply, with a smile, "he was my firstlove--a calf-and-puppy love, a schoolgirl's infatuation which nobodyever knew about"; for though the Doctor's daughter spent hours with hergreen golden eyes fixed upon the poet, the latter never suspected hisgood fortune; doubtless because the beauty of his patroness, thesuperannuated _diva_, had so obsessed him that the attractions of otherwomen left him quite unmoved. How vividly Leonora remembered those daysof poverty and dreams!. .. Little by little the modest capital the Doctorowned in Alcira vanished, what with living expenses and music lessons. Doña Pepa, at her brother's instance, sold one piece of land afteranother; but even such remittances were often long delayed; and then, instead of eating in the _trattoria_, near _la Scala_, with dancingstudents and the more successful of the young singers, they would stayat home; and Leonora would lay aside her scores and take a turn atcooking, learning mysterious recipes from the old _danseuse_. For weeksat a time they would live on nothing but macaroni and rice served _alburro_, a diet that her father abhorred, the Doctor, meanwhile, pretending illness to justify his absence from the café. But theseperiods of want and poverty were endured by father and daughter insilence. Before their friends, they still maintained the pose ofwell-to-do people with plenty of income from property in Spain. 

Leonora underwent a rapid transformation. She had already passed herperiod of growth--that preadolescent "awkward age" when the features arein constant change before settling down to their definitive forms andthe limbs seem to grow longer and longer and thinner and thinner. Thelong-legged spindling "flapper, " who was never quite sure where to stowher legs, became the reserved, well-proportioned girl with themysterious gleam of puberty in her eyes. Her clothes seemed, naturally, willingly, to curve to her fuller, rounding outlines. Her skirts wentdown to her feet and covered the skinny, colt-like appendages that hadformerly made the denizens of the Gallery repress a smile. 

Her singing master was struck with the beauty of his pupil. As a tenor, Signor Boldini had had his hour of success back in the days of the_Statuto_, when Victor Emmanuel was still king of Piedmont and theAustrians were in Milan. Convinced that he could rise no higher, he hadcome to earth, stepping aside to let those behind him pass on, turninghis stage experience to the advantage of a large class of girl-studentswhom he fondled with an affectionate, fatherly kindliness. His whitegoatee would quiver with admiring enthusiasm, as, playfully, lightly, hewould touch his fingers to those virgin throats, which, as he said, were his "property. " "All for art, and art for all!" And this motto, theideal of his life, he called it, had quite endeared him to DoctorMoreno. 

"That fellow Boldini could not be fonder of my Leonora if she were hisown daughter, " the Doctor would say every time the _maestro_ praised thebeauty and the talent of his pupil and prophesied great triumphs forher. 

And Leonora went on with her lessons, accepting the light, the playful, the innocent caresses of the old singer; until one afternoon, in themidst of a romanza, there was a hateful scene: the _maestro_, despiteher horrified struggling, claimed a feudal right--the first fruits ofher initiation into theatrical life. 

Through fear of her father Leonora kept silent. What might he not do onfinding his blind confidence in the _maestro_ so betrayed? She sank intoresigned passivity at last, and continued to visit Boldini's housedaily, learning ultimately to accept, as a matter of professionalcourse, the repulsive flattery of refined vice. 

Poor Leonora entered on a life of wrong through the open door, learning, at a single stroke, all the turpitude acquired by that shrivelled_maestro_ during his long career back-stage. Boldini would have kept hera pupil forever. He could never find her just well enough prepared tomake her debut. But hardly any money was coming from Spain now. Poordoña Pepa had sold everything her brother owned and a good deal of herown land besides. Only at the cost of painful stinting could she sendhim anything at all. The Doctor, through connections with itinerantdirectors and impresarios _à l'aventure_, "launched" his daughterfinally. Leonora began to sing in the small theatres of the Milandistrict--two or three night engagements at country fairs. Suchcompanies were formed at random in the Gallery, on the very day of theperformance sometimes, --troupes like the strolling players of old, leaving at a venture in a third-class compartment on the train with theprospect of returning on foot if the impresario made off with the money. 

Leonora began to know what applause was, what it meant to give _encore_after _encore_ before crowds of rustic landowners, dressed in theirSunday clothes, and ladies with false rings and plated chains; and shehad her first thrills of feminine vanity on receiving bouquets andsonnets from subalterns and cadets in small garrison towns. Boldinifollowed her everywhere, neglecting his lessons, in pursuit of this, hislast depraved infatuation. "All for art, art for all!" He must enjoy thefruits of his creation, be present at the triumphs of his star pupil! Sohe said to Doctor Moreno; and that unsuspecting gentleman, thankful forthis added courtesy of the master, would leave her more and more to theold satyr's care. 

The escape from that life came when she secured a contract for a wholewinter in Padua. There she met the tenor Salvatti, a high and mighty_divo_, who looked down upon all his associates, though toleratedhimself, by the public, only out of consideration for his past. 

For years now he had been holding his own on the opera stage, less forhis voice than for his dashing appearance, slightly repaired with penciland rouge, and the legend of romantic love affairs that floated like arainbow around his name--noble dames fighting a clandestine warfare forhim; queens scandalizing their subjects by blind passions he inspired;eminent divas selling their diamonds for the money to hold him faithfulby lavish gifts. The jealousy of Salvatti's comrades tended toperpetuate and exaggerate this legend; and the tenor, worn out, poor, and a wreck virtually for all of his pose of grandeur, was able to makea living still from provincial publics, who charitably applauded himwith the self-conceit of climbers pampering a dethroned prince. 

Leonora, playing opposite that famous man, "starring, " singing duetswith him, clasping hands that had been kissed by the queens of art, wasdeeply stirred. This, at last, was the world she had dreamed of in herdingy garret in Milan. Salvatti's presence gave her just the illusion ofaristocratic grandeur she had longed for. Nor was he slow in perceivingthe impression he had made upon that promising young woman. With a coldcalculating selfishness, he determined to profit by her naïveadmiration. Was it love that thrust her toward him? As, so longafterwards, she analyzed her passion to Rafael, she was vehementlycertain it had not been love: Salvatti could never have inspired agenuine feeling in anyone. His egotism, his moral corruptness, were tooclose to the surface. No, he was a philanderer simply, an exploiter ofwomen. But for her it had been a blinding hallucination nevertheless, fraught, during the first days, at least, with the deliciousexhiliration, the voluptuous abandonment of true love. She became theslave of the decrepit tenor, voluntarily, just as she had become her_maestro's_ slave through fear. And so complete had her infatuationbeen, so overpowering its intoxication, that, in obedience to Salvatti, she fled with him at the end of the season, and deserted her father, whohad objected to the intimacy. 

Then came the black page in her life, that filled her eyes withanguished tears as she went on with her story. What folks said about herfather's end was not true. Poor Doctor Moreno had not committed suicide. He was altogether too proud to confess in that way the deep grief thather ingratitude had caused him. 

"Don't talk to me about that woman, " he would say fiercely to hislandlady at Milan whenever the old _danseuse_ would mention Leonora. "Ihave no daughter: it was all a mistake. "

Unbeknown to Salvatti, who became terribly grasping as he saw his powerwaning, Leonora would send her father a few hundred francs from London, from Naples, from Paris. The Doctor, though in direst poverty, would atonce return the checks "to the sender" and, without writing a word;where-upon Leonora paid an allowance every month to the housekeeper, begging her not to abandon the old man. 

The unhappy Doctor needed, indeed, all the care the landlady and her oldfriends could give him. The _povero signor spagnuolo_--the poor Spanishgentleman--spent his days locked up in his room, his violoncello betweenhis knees, reading Beethoven, the only one "in his family"--as hesaid--"who had never played him false. " When old Isabella, tired of hismusic, would literally put him out of the house to get a breath of air, he would wander like a phantom through the Gallery, distantly greetedby former friends, who avoided closer contact with that blackdespondency and feared the explosions of rage with which he receivednews of his daughter's rising fame. 

A rapid rise she was making in very truth! The worldly old women whoforegathered in the ballet-dancer's little parlor, could not containtheir admiration for their "little girl's" success; and even grewindignant at the father for not accepting things "as things had to be. "Salvatti? Just the support she needed! An expert pilot, who knew thechart of the opera world, who would steer her straight and keep her offthe rocks. 

The tenor had skilfully organized a world wide publicity for his youngsinger. Leonora's beauty and her artistic verve conquered every public. She had contracts with the leading theatres of Europe, and thoughcritics found defects in her singing, her beauty helped them to forgetthese, and one and all they contributed loyally to the deification ofthe young goddess. Salvatti, sheltering his old age under this prestigewhich he so religiously fostered, was keeping in harness to the veryend, and taking leave of life under the protecting shadow of that woman, the last to believe in him and tolerate his exploitation. 

Applauded by select publics, courted in her dressing-room by celebratedmen and women, Leonora began to find Salvatti's tyranny unbearable. Shenow saw him as he really was: miserly, petulant, spoiled by praise. Every bit of her money that came into his hands disappeared, she knewnot where. Eager for revenge, though really answering the lure of theelegant world she glimpsed in the distance but was not yet a part of, she began to deceive Salvatti in passing adventures, taking a diabolicalpleasure in the deceit. But no; as she looked back on that part of herlife with the sober eye of experience, she understood that she hadreally been the one deceived. Salvatti, she remembered, would alwaysretire at the opportune moment, facilitating her infidelities. Sheunderstood now that the man had carefully prepared such adventures forher with influential men whom he himself introduced to make certainprofits out of the meeting--profits that he never declared. 

After three years of this sort of life, when Leonora had reached thefull splendor of her beauty, she chanced to become the favorite offashion for one whole summer at Nice. Parisian newspapers, in their"society columns" referred, in veiled language, to the passion of anaged king, a democratic monarch, who had left his throne, much as amanufacturer of London or a stockbroker of Paris would leave his office, for a vacation on the Blue Coast. This tall, robust gentleman with apatriarchal beard--the very type of the good king in fairy tales--hadnot hesitated to be seen in public with a beautiful _artiste_. 

That conquest, fleeting though it had been, put the finishing touch onLeonora's eminence! "Ah! La Brunna!" people would declareenthusiastically. "The favorite of king Ernesto. .. . Our greatestartist. " And troops of adorers began to besiege her under the keen, mercenary eyes of the tenor Salvatti. 

About this time her father died in a hospital at Milan--a very sad end, as Signora Isabella, the former ballet-dancer, explained in her letters. Of what had he died?. .. The old lady could not say, as the physicianshad differed; but her own view of the matter was that the _povero signorspagnuolo_ had simply grown tired of living--a general collapse of thatwonderful constitution, so strong, so powerful, in a way, yet strangelysusceptible to moral and emotional influences. He was almost blind whenadmitted to the hospital. He seemed quite to have lost his mind--sunk inan unbreakable silence. Isabella had not dared to keep him in her houseafter he had fallen into that coma. But the strange thing was, that asdeath drew near, his memory of the past suddenly cleared, and the nurseswould hear him groan for nights at a time, murmuring in Spanish withtenacious persistency:

"Leonora! My darling! Where are you?. .. Little girl, where are you?"

Leonora wept and wept, and did not leave her hotel for more than a week, to the great disgust of Salvatti, who observed, in addition, that tearswere not good for her complexion. 

Alone in the world!. .. Her own wrong-doing had killed her poor father!No one was left now except her good old aunt, who was "existing" faraway in Spain, like a vegetable in a garden, her stupid mind entirely onher prayer-book. Leonora vented her anguish in a burst of hatred forSalvatti. He was responsible for her abandonment of her father! Shedeserted him, taking up with a certain count Selivestroff, a handsomeand wealthy Russian, captain in the Imperial Guard. 

So she had found her destiny! Her life would always be like that! Shewould pass from stage to stage, from song to song, belonging toeverybody--and to nobody!

That fair Russian, so strong, so manly, so thoroughly a gentleman, hadloved her truly, with a passionate humble adoration. 

He would kneel submissively at her feet, like Hercules in the presenceof Adriadne, resting his chin on her knees, looking up into her facewith his gray, kindly, caressing eyes. Timidly, doubtfully, he wouldapproach her every day as if he were meeting her for the first time andfeared a repulse. He would kiss her softly, delicately, with hushedreserve, as if she were a fragile jewel that might break beneath histenderest caress. Poor Selivestroff! Leonora had wept at the thought ofhim. In Russia and with princely Russian sumptuousness, they had livedfor a year in his castle, in the country, among a population of sodden_moujiks_ who worshipped that beautiful woman in the white and blue fursas devotedly as if she had been a Virgin stepping forth from the gildedbackground of an ikon. 

But Leonora could not live away from stageland: the ladies of the ruralaristocracy avoided her, and she needed applause and admiration. Sheinduced Selivestroff to move to St. Petersburg, and for a whole wintershe sang at the Opera there, like a grand dame turned opera singer outof love for the work. 

Once more she became the reigning _belle_. All the young Russianaristocrats who held commissions in the Imperial Guard, or high posts inthe Government, spoke enthusiastically of the great Spanish beauty; andthey envied Selivestroff. The count yearned moodily for the solitude ofhis castle, which held so many loving memories for him. In the bustling, competitive life of the capital, he grew jealous, sad, melancholy, irritable at the necessity of defending his love. He could sense theunderground warfare that was being waged against him by Leonora'scountless admirers. 

One morning she was rudely awakened and leapt out of bed to find thecount stretched out on a divan, pale, his shirt stained with blood. Anumber of gentlemen dressed in black were standing around him. They hadjust brought him in from a carriage. He had been wounded in the chest. The evening before, on leaving the theatre, the count had gone up for amoment to his Club. He had caught an allusion to Leonora and himself insome words of a friend. There had been blows--then hasty arrangementsfor a duel, which had been fought at sunrise, with pistols. Selivestroffdied in the arms of his mistress, smiling, seeking those delicate, powerful, pearly hands for one last time with his bleeding lips. Leonoramourned him deeply, truly. The land where she had been so happy with thefirst man she had really loved became intolerable to her, and abandoningmost of the riches that the count had given her, she went forth into theworld again, storming the great theatres in a new fever of travel andadventure. 

She was then just twenty-three, but already felt herself an old woman. How she had changed!. .. More affairs? As she went over that period ofher life in her talk with Rafael, Leonora closed her eyes with a shudderof modesty and remorse. Drunk with fame and power she had rushed aboutthe world lavishing her beauty on anyone who interested her for themoment. The property of everybody and of nobody! She could not rememberthe names, even, of all the men who had loved her during that era ofmadness, so many had been caught in the wake of her stormy flight acrossthe world! She had returned to Russia once, and been expelled by theCzar for compromising the prestige of the Imperial Family, through anaffair with a grand duke who had wanted to marry her. In Rome she hadposed in the nude for a young and unknown sculptor out of purecompassion for his silent admiration; and she herself made his "Venus"public, hoping that the world-wide scandal would bring fame to the workand to its author. In Genoa she found Salvatti again, now "retired, " andliving on usury from his savings. She received him with an amiablesmile, lunched with him, treated him as an old comrade; and at dessert, when he had become hopelessly drunk, she seized a whip and avenged theblows she had received in her time of slavery to him, beating him with aferocity that stained the apartment with gore and brought the police tothe hotel. Another scandal! And this time her name bandied about in acriminal court! But she, a fugitive from justice, and proud of herexploit, sang in the United States, wildly acclaimed by the Americanpublic, which admired the combative Amazon even more than the artist. 

There she made the acquaintance of Hans Keller, the famous orchestraconductor, and a pupil and friend of Wagner. The German _maestro_ becameher second love. With stiff, reddish hair, thick-rimmed eyeglasses, anenormous mustache that drooped over either side of his mouth and framedhis chin, he was certainly not so handsome as Selivestroff. But he hadone irresistible charm, the charm of Art. With the tragic Russian in hermind and on her conscience, she felt the need of burning herself in theimmortal flame of the ideal; and she adored the famous musician for theartistic associations that hovered about him. For the first time, themuch-courted Leonora descended from her lofty heights to seek a man'sattention and came with her amorous advances to disturb the placid calmof that artist so wholly engrossed in the cult of the sublime Master. 

Hans Keller noticed the smile that fell like a sunbeam upon his musicscrolls. He closed them and let himself be drawn off on the by-paths oflove. Leonora's life with the _maestro_ was an absolute rupture with allher past. Her one wish was to love and be loved--to throw a cloak ofmystery over her real self, ashamed as she now was of her previous wildcareer. Her passion enthralled the musician and she in turn felt at oncestirred and transfigured by the atmosphere of artistic fervor thathaloed the illustrious pupil of Wagner. 

The spirit of Him, the Master, as Hans Keller called Wagner with piousadoration, flashed before the singer's eyes like the revealing glorythat converted Paul on the road to Damascus. Music, as she now sawclearly for the first time, was not a means of pleasing crowds, displaying physical beauty, and attracting men. It was a religion--themysterious power that brings the infinite within us into contact withthe infinite that surrounds us. She became the sinner awakening torepentance, and yearning for the atoning peace of the cloister, aMagdalen of Art, touched on the high road of worldliness and frivolityby the mystic sublimity of the Beautiful; and she cast herself at thefeet of Him, the supreme Master, as the most victorious of men, lord ofthe mystery that moves all souls. 

"Tell me more about Him, " Leonora would say. "How much I would give tohave known him as you did!. .. I did see him once in Venice: during hislast days . .. He was already dying. "

And that meeting was, indeed, one of her most vivid and lastingmemories. The declining afternoon enlivening the dark waters of theGrand Canal with its opalescent spangles; a gondola passing hers in theopposite direction; and inside, a pair of blue, imperious eyes, shining, under thick eyebrows, with the cold glint of steel--eyes that couldnever be mistaken for common eyes, for the divine fire of the Elect, ofthe demi-God, was bright within them! And they seemed to envelop her ina flash of cerulean light. It was He--ill, and about to die. His heartwas wounded, bleeding, pierced, perhaps, by the shafts of mysteriousmelody, as hearts of the Virgin sometimes bleed on altars bristling withswords. 

Leonora could still see him as if he were there in front of her. Helooked smaller than he really was, dwarfed, apparently, by illness, andby the wrack of pain. His huge head, the head of a genius, was bent lowover the bosom of his wife Cosima. He had removed the black felt hat soas to catch the afternoon breeze full upon his loose gray locks. Hisbroad, high curved forehead, seemed to weigh down upon his body like anivory chest laden full of unseen jewels. His arrogant nose, as strong asthe beak of a bird of prey, seemed to be reaching across the sunkenmouth toward the sensuous, powerful jaw. A gray beard ran down along theneck, that was wrinkled, wasted with age. A hasty vision it had been, tobe sure; but she had seen him; and his venerable figure remained in hermemory like a landscape glimpsed at the flare of a lightning-flash. Shehad witnessed his arrival in Venice to die in the peace of those canals, in that silence which is broken only by the stroke of the oar--wheremany years before he had thought himself dying as he wrote his_Tristan_--that hymn to the Death that is pure, to the Death thatliberates! She saw him stretched out in the dark boat; and the splash ofthe water against the marble of the palaces echoed in her imaginationlike the wailing, thrilling trumpets at the burial of Siegfried--thehero of Poetry marching to the Valhalla of immortality and glory upon ashield of ebony--motionless, inert as the young hero of the Germaniclegend--and followed by the lamentations of that poor prisoner of life, Humanity, that ever eagerly seeks a crack, a chink, in the wall aboutit, through which the inspiriting, comforting ray of beauty maypenetrate. 

And the singer gazed with tearful eyes at the broad _boina_ of blackvelvet, the lock of gray hair, two broken, rusty steel pens--souvenirsof the Master, that Hans Keller had piously preserved in a glass case. 

"You knew him--tell me how he lived. Tell me everything: talk to meabout the Poet . .. The Hero. "

And the musician, no less moved, described the Master as he had seen himin the best of health; a small man, tightly wrapped in anovercoat--with a powerful, heavy frame, however, despite his slightstature--as restless as a nervous woman, as vibrant as a steel spring, with a smile that lightly touched with bitterness his thin, colorlesslips. Then came his "genialities, " as people said, the caprices of hisgenius, that figure so largely in the Wagner legend: his smoker, ajacket of gold satin with pearl flowers for buttons; the precious clothsthat rolled about like waves of light in his study, velvets and silks, of flaming reds and greens and blues, thrown across the furniture andthe tables haphazard, with no reference to usefulness--for their sheerbeauty only--to stimulate the eye with the goad of color, satisfy theMaster's passion for brightness; and perfumes, as well, with which hisgarments--always of oriental splendor--were literally saturated; phialsof rose emptied at random, filling the neighborhood with the fragranceof a fabulous garden, strong enough to overcome the hardiest uninitiate, but strangely exciting to that Prodigy in his struggle with the Unknown. 

And then Hans Keller described the man himself, never relaxed, alwaysquivering with mysterious thrills, incapable of sitting still, except atthe piano, or at table for his meals; receiving visitors standing, pacing back and forth in his salon, his hands twitching in nervousuncertainty; changing the position of the armchairs, rearranging thefurniture, suddenly stopping to hunt about his person for a snuff-box ora pair of glasses that he never found; turning his pockets inside out, pulling his velvet house-cap now down over one eye, now back over thecrown of his head, or again, throwing it into the air with a shout ofjoy or crumpling it in his hand, as he became excited in the course of adiscussion!

And Keller would close his eyes, imagining that he could still hear inthe silence, the faint but commanding voice of the Master. Oh, where washe now? On some star, doubtless, eagerly following the infinite song ofthe spheres, a divine music that only his ears had been attuned to hear!And to choke his emotion, the musician would sit down at the piano, while Leonora, responsive to his mood, would approach him, and standingas rigid as a statue, with her hands lost in the musician's head ofrough tangled hair, sing a fragment from the immortal _Tetralogy_. 

Worship of Wagner transformed the butterfly into a new woman. Leonoraadored Keller as a ray of light gone astray from the glowing star nowextinguished forever; she felt the joy of humbleness, the sweetness ofsacrifice, seeing in him not the man, but the chosen representative ofthe Divinity. Leonora could have grovelled at Keller's feet, let himtrample on her--make a carpet of her beauty. She willed to become aslave to that lover who was the repository of the Master's thoughts; andwho seemed to be magnified to gigantic proportions by the custody ofsuch a treasure. 

She tended him with the exquisite watchfulness of an enamored servant, following him, on his trips in the summer, the season of the greatconcerts, to Leipzig, Geneva, Paris; and she, the most famous livingprima donna, would stay behind the scenes, with no jealousy for theapplause she heard, waiting for Hans, perspiring and tired, to drop thebaton amid the acclamations of the audience and come back-stage to haveher dry his forehead with an almost filial caress. 

And thus they traveled about Europe, spreading the light of the Master;Leonora, voluntarily in the background, like a patrician of old, dressedas a slave and following the Apostle in the name of the New Word. 

The German musician let himself be adored, receiving all her caresses ofenthusiasm and love with the absent-mindedness of an artist sopreoccupied with sounds that at last he comes to hate words. He taughthis language to Leonora that she might some day realize a dream of hersand sing in Bayreuth; and he grounded her in the principles that hadguided the Master in the creation of his great characters. And so, whenLeonora made her appearance on the stage one winter with the wingedhelmet and the lance of the Valkyrie, she attained an eminence inWagnerian interpretation that was to follow her for the remainder of hercareer. Hans himself was carried away by her power, and could neverrecover from his astonishment at Leonora's complete assimilation of thespirit of the Master. 

"If only He could hear you!" he would say with conviction. "I am sure Hewould be content. "

And the pair traveled about the world together. Every springtime she, asspectator, would watch him directing Wagnerian choruses in the "MysticAbyss" at Bayreuth. Winters it was he who went into ecstasies under hertremendous "_Hojotoho_!"--the fierce cry of a Valkyrie afraid of theaustere father Wotan; or at sight of her awakening among the flames forthe spirited Siegfried, the hero who feared nothing in the world, buttrembled at the first glance of love!

But artists' passions are like flowers, fragrant, but quicklylanguishing. The rough German musician was a simple person, unstable, fickle, ready to be amused at any new plaything. Leonora admitted toRafael that she could have lived to old age submissively at Keller'sside, pampering his whims and selfish caprices. But one day Kellerdeserted her, as she had deserted others, to take up with a sickly, languid contralto, whose best charms could have been hardly comparableto the morbid delicacy of a hot-house flower. Leonora, mad with love andjealousy, pursued him, knocking at his door like a servant. For thefirst time she felt the voluptuous bitterness of being scorned, discarded, until reaction from despair brought her back to her formerpride and self-control!

Love was over. She had had enough of artists; though an interesting sortof folk they were in their way. Far preferable were the ordinary, normalmen she had known before Keller's time! The foolisher--the morecommonplace--the better! She would never fall in love again!

Wearied, broken in spirit, disillusioned, she went back into her oldworld. But now the legend of her past beset her. Again men came, passionately besieging her, offering her wealth in return for a littlelove. They talked of killing themselves if she resisted, as if it wereher duty to surrender, as if refusal on her part were treachery. Thegloomy Macchia committed suicide in Naples. Why? Because she did notcapitulate to his melancholy sonnets! In Vienna there had been a duel, in which one of her admirers was slain. An eccentric Englishman followedher about, looming in her pathway everywhere like the shadow of a fatalDestiny, vowing to kill anybody she should prefer to him. .. . She had hadenough at last! She was wearied of such a life, disgusted at the malevoracity that dogged her every step. She longed to fall out of sight, disappear, find rest and quiet in a complete surrender to some boundlessdream. And the thought--a comforting, soothing thought, it had been--ofthe distant land of her childhood came back to her, the thought of hersimple, pious aunt, the sole survivor of her family, who wrote to hertwice every year, urging her to reconcile her soul with God--to whichend the good old Doña Pepa was herself aiding with prayer!

She felt, too, somehow, without knowing just why, that a visit to hernative soil would soften the painful memory of the ingratitude that hadcost her father's life. She would care for the poor old woman! Herpresence would bring a note of cheer into that gray, monotonousexistence that had gone on without the slightest change, ever. Andsuddenly, one night, after an "Isolde" in Florence, she ordered Beppa, the loyal and silent companion of her wandering life, to pack herthings!

Home! Home! Off for her native land! And might she find there somethingto keep her ever from returning to the troubled stirring world she wasleaving!

She was the princess of the fairy tales longing to become a shepherdess. There she meant to stay, in the shade of her orange-trees, now and thenfondling a memory of her old life, perhaps, but wishing eternally toenjoy that tranquillity, fiercely repelling Rafael, therefore, becausehe had tried to awaken her, as Siegfried rouses Brunhilde, braving theflames to reach her side. 

No; friends, friends, nothing else! She wanted no more of love. Shealready knew what that was. Besides, he had come too late. .. . 

And Rafael tossed sleeplessly in his bed, rehearsing in the darkness thestory he had been told. He felt dwarfed, annihilated, by the grandeur ofthe men who had preceded him in their adoration of that woman. A king, great artists, handsome and aristocratic paladins, Russian counts, potentates with vast wealth at their command! And he, a humble countryboy, an obscure junior deputy, as submissive as a child to his mother'sdespotic ways, forced to beg for the money for his personal expenseseven--he was trying to succeed them!

He laughed with bitter irony at his own presumptuousness. Now heunderstood Leonora's mocking tone, and the violence she had used inrepulsing all boorish liberties he had tried to take. But despite thecontempt he began to feel for himself, he lacked the strength towithdraw now. He had been caught up in the wake of seduction, themaelstrom of love that followed the actress everywhere, enslaving men, casting them, broken in spirit and in will, to earth, like so manyslaves of Beauty. 

III

"Good morning, Rafaelito . .. We are seeing each other betimes today. .. . I am up so early not to miss the marketing. I remember that Wednesdaywas always a great event in my life, as a child. What a crowd!. .. "

And Leonora, with the great swarming cities far from her mind, wasreally impressed at the numbers of bustling people crowding the littlesquare, called _del Prado_, where every Wednesday the "grand market" ofthe Alcira region was held. 

Their sashes bulging with money bags, peasants were coming into town tobuy supplies for the whole week out in the orange country. Orchard womenwere going from one stall to the next, as slender of body and as neatlydressed as the peasant girls of an opera ballet, their hair in_señorita_ style, their skirts of bright batiste gathered up to holdtheir purchases and showing fine stockings and tight-fitting shoesunderneath. Tanned faces and rough hands were the only signs to betraythe rustic origin of the girls; because those were prosperous days forthe orange growers of the District. 

Along the walls hens were clucking, ranged in piles and tied together bythe feet. Here and there were pyramids of eggs, vegetables, fruit. In"shops" that were set up in the morning and taken down at night, drygoods dealers were selling colored sashes, strips of cotton cloth andcalico, and black woolsey, the eternal garb of every native of theJúcar valley. Beyond the Prado, in _El Alborchí_, was the hog market;and then came the _Hostal Gran_ where horses were tried out. OnWednesdays all the business of the neighborhood was transacted--moneyborrowed or paid back, poultry stocks replenished, hogs bought to fattenon the farms, whole families anxiously following their progress; and newcart-horses, especially, the matter of greatest concern to the farmers, secured on mortgage, usually, or with cash saved up by desperatehoarding. 

Though the sun had barely risen, the crowd, smelling of sweat and soil, already filled the market place with busy going and coming. Theorchard-women embraced as they met, and with their heavy baskets proppedon their hips, went into the chocolate shops to celebrate the encounter. The men gathered in groups; and from time to time, to "buck up" alittle, would go off in parties to swallow a glass of sweet brandy. Inand out among the rustics walked the city people: "petty bourgeois" ofset manners, with old capes, and huge hempen baskets, where they wouldplace the provisions they had bought after tenacious hagglings;_señoritas_, who found in these Wednesday markets a welcome relief fromthe monotony of their secluded life at home; idlers who spent hour afterhour at the stall of some vendor friend, prying into what each marketercarried in his basket, grumbling at the stinginess of some and praisingthe generosity of others. 

Rafael gazed at his friend in sheer astonishment. What a beauty she was!Who could ever have taken her, in that costume, for a world-famous primadonna!

Leonora looked the living picture of an orchard girl: a plain cottondress, in anticipation of spring; a red kerchief around her neck; herblond hair uncovered, combed back with artful carelessness and hastilyknotted low on the back of her head. Not a jewel, not a flower! Only herheight and her striking comeliness marked her off from the other girls. Under the curious, devouring glances of the whole market throng, Rafaelsmilingly greeted her, feasting his eyes on her fresh, pink skin, stillradiant from the morning bath, inhaling the subtle, indefinablefragrance that hovered about that strong, healthy, youthful person. 

She was constantly smiling, as if bent on dazzling the bumpkins, whowere gaping at her from a distance, with the pearly flash of her teeth. The market-place began to buzz with admiring curiosity, or the thrill ofscandal. There, face to face, in view of the whole city, the deputy andthe opera singer were talking and laughing together like the best offriends!

Rafael's supporters--the chief officials in the city government--whowere loitering about the square, could not conceal their satisfaction. Even the humblest of the constables felt a certain pride. That beautifulfairy was talking with "the Chief, " smiling at him, even. What an honorfor "the Party!" But after all, why not? Everything considered, donRafael Brull deserved all that, and more! And those men, who were verycareful to keep silent when their wives spoke indignantly of the"stranger, " admired her with the instinctive fervor that beautyinspires, and envied the deputy his good fortune. The old orchard-womenwrapped the couple in caressing glances of approval. There was ahandsome pair! What a fine match!

The town ladies in passing by would draw up full height and pretend notto see them. On meeting acquaintances they would make wry faces and sayironically: "Did you see?. .. Here she is, in full sight of everybody, casting her fly for doña Bernarda's son!" What a disgrace! It wasgetting so a decent woman hardly dared go out of doors!

Leonora, quite unconscious of the interest she was arousing, chatteredon about her shopping. Beppa, you see, had decided to stay at home withher aunt that morning; so she had come with her gardener's wife andanother woman--there they were over there with the large baskets. Shehad no end of things to get--and she laughed as she read off the list. Aregular housewife she had become, yes, sir! She knew the price ofeverything and could tell down to a _centime_ just what it was costingher to live. It was like those hard times back in Milan, when she hadgone with her music roll under her arm to get macaroni, butter or coffeeat the grocer's. And what fun it all was!. .. However, Leonora observedthat, without a doubt, her audience was interpreting her cordial offhandway with Rafael in the worst light possible. She gave him her hand andtook leave. It was growing late! If she stood there much longer the bestof the market would be carried off by others--if she found anything atall left! "Down to business, then! Good-bye!"

And the young man saw her make her way, followed by the two countrywomen, through the crowds, pausing at the booths, welcomed by thevendors with their best smiles, as a customer who never haggled;interrupting her purchases to fondle the filthy, whining children thepoor women were carrying in their arms, and taking the best fruits outof her basket to give to the little ones. 

And everywhere general admiration! "_Así, siñorita_!--Here, my dearyoung lady!" "_Vinga, doña Leonor_!--This way, doña Leonora!" thehuckstresses cried, calling her by name to show greater intimacy. Andshe would smile, with a familiar intimate word for everybody, her handfrequently visiting the purse of Russian leather that hung from herwrist. Cripples, blind beggars, men with missing arms or legs, all hadlearned of the generosity of that woman who scattered small change bythe fistful. 

Rafael gazed after her, smiling indifferently in acknowledgment of thecongratulations the town notables were heaping on him. The_alcalde_--the most hen-pecked husband in Alcira, according to hisenemies--affirmed with sparkling eyes that for a woman like that he wascapable of doing almost any crazy thing. And they all joined in a chorusof invidious praise, taking it for granted that Rafael was the_artiste's_ accepted lover; though the youth himself smiled bitterly atthe thought of his real status with that wonderful woman. 

And she vanished, finally, into the sea of heads at the other end of themarket-place; though Rafael, from time to time, thought he could stillmake out a mass of golden hair rising above the _chevelures_ of theother girls. Willingly he would have followed; but Don Matias was at hisside--don Matias, the wealthy orange exporter, father of the wistfulRemedios who was spending her days obediently at doña Bernarda's side. 

That gentleman, heavy of speech and heavier still of thought, waspestering Rafael with a lot of nonsense about the orange business, giving the young man advice on a new bill he had drawn up and wanted tohave introduced in Congress--a protectionist measure for Spanishoranges. "Why, it will be the making of the city, boy! Every mother'sson of us swimming in money!" as he guaranteed with his hand upon hisheart. 

But Rafael's gaze was lost in the distant reaches of the Prado, to catchone more fleeting glimpse of a golden head of hair--proof of Leonora'spresence still! He found it hard to be courteous, even, to this man who, according to authentic rumor, was destined to be his father-in-law. Ofall the drawling trickling words only a few reached his ears, beating onhis brain like monotonous hammer blows. "Glasgow . .. Liverpool . .. Newmarkets . .. Lower railroad rates . .. The English agents are a set ofthieves . .. "

"Very well, let them go hang, " Rafael answered mentally. And giving amechanical "yes, yes!" to propositions he was not even hearing, he gazedaway more intently than ever, fearing lest Leonora should already havegone. He felt relieved, however, when a gap opened in the crowd and hecould see the actress seated in a chair that had been offered her by ahuckstress. She was holding a child upon her knees, and talking with atiny, wretched, sickly creature who looked to Rafael like theorchard-woman they had met at the hermitage. 

"Well, what do you think of my plan?" don Matias asked. 

"Excellent, magnificent, and well worthy of a man like you, who knowsthe question from top to bottom. We'll discuss the matter thoroughlywhen I return to the Cortes. "

And to avoid a second exposition, he patted the wealthy boor on theback, and wondered why in the world Fortune should have picked such adisgusting man to smile on. 

The whole city had known don Matias when he went around in peasant'sclogs and worked a tiny orchard he had secured on lease. His son, avirtual half-wit, who took advantage of every opportunity to rifle theold man's pockets and spend the money in Valencia with bull-fighters, gamblers and horse-dealers, went barefoot in those days, scamperingabout the roads with the children of the gipsies encamped in _ElAlborchi_. His daughter--the now well-behaved, the now modest, Remedios, who was passing day after day at complicated needlework under thetutelage of doña Bernarda--had grown up like a wild rabbit of thefields, repeating with shocking fidelity all the oaths and vile languageshe heard from the carters her father drank with. 

"But you have to be an ox to get rich these days!" the barber Cupidowould say when don Matias came up for discussion. 

Little by little the man had worked his way into the orange exportbusiness--to England especially. His first stock he bought on credit;and at once Fortune began to blow upon him with bloated cheeks, and shewas still puffing and puffing! His wealth had been accumulated in a fewyears. In crises where the most powerful vessels foundered, that rudeand heavy bark, sailing on without chart or compass, suffered not theslightest harm. His shipments always arrived at the psychologicalmoment. The fancy, carefully-selected oranges of other merchants wouldland at Liverpool or London when the markets were glutted and priceswere falling scandalously. The lucky dolt would send anything at allalong, whatever was available, cheap; and circumstances always seemed tofavor him with an empty market and prices sky-high regardless ofquality. He realized fabulous profits. He had nothing but scorn for allthe wiseacres who subscribed to the English papers, received dailybulletins and compared market quotations from year to year, getting, forall their pains, results that made them tear their hair. He was anignoramus and he was proud of it! He trusted to his lucky star. Wheneverhe thought it best, he would ship his produce off from the port ofValencia, and--there you are!--it would always turn out that his orangesfound no competition on arrival and brought the highest prices. Morethan once it had happened that rough weather held his vessel up. Well--the market would sell out, and his shipment would have a clearfield just the same!

Within two years he had a place in town and had become a "personage. " Hewould smilingly declare that he wouldn't "go to the wall for undereighty thousand _duros_. " Later, ever on the wing, his fortune reacheddizzy heights. Folks whispered in superstitious awe the figures he madein net profits at the end of every sailing. He owned warehouses aslarge as churches in the vicinity of Alcira, employing armies of girlsto wrap the oranges and regiments of carpenters to make the crates. Hewould buy the crop of an entire orchard at a single glance and never bemore than a few pounds off. As for the pay he gave, the city was proudof its millionaire. Not even the Bank of Spain enjoyed the respect andconfidence his firm had won. No clerks and cashiers! No mahoganyfurniture! Everything above board! Ask for a hundred thousand; and ifdon Matías said "yes, " he just went in to his bedroom and, God knowsfrom where, he would draw out a roll of bank-notes the size of yourbody!

And this lucky rustic, this upstart lout, rich without deserving it forany competence he had, was giving himself the airs of an intelligentdealer, presuming to approach Rafael, "his deputy, " with a proposal fora freight-rate bill to promote the shipping of oranges into the interiorof Spain! As if a little thing like a bill in Congress would make anydifference to his way of getting money!

Of his wretched past don Matías preserved but a single trait: hisrespect for the house of Brull. The rest of the city he treated with acertain uppishness; but he could not conceal the awe which doña Bernardainspired in him--a feeling that was strengthened by gratitude for herkindness in singling him out (after he had become rich), and for theinterest she showed in his "little girl. " He cherished a vivid memory ofRafael's father, the "greatest man" he had known in all his life. Itseemed as though he could still see don Ramón stopping on his big horsein front of his humble farmhouse and, with the air of a grand lord, leaving orders for what don Matías was to do in the coming elections. He knew the bad state in which the great man had left his affairs uponhis death; and more than once he had given money to doña Bernardaoutright, proud that she should do him the honor of appealing to him inher straits. But in his eyes, the House of Brull, poor or rich, wasalways the House of Brull, the cradle of a dynasty whose authorityno power could shake. He had money. But those _others_, theBrulls--ah!--they had, up there in Madrid, friends, influence! If theywanted to they could get the ear of the Throne itself. They were peoplewith a "pull, " and if anyone suggested in his presence that Rafael'smother was thinking of Remedios as a daughter-in-law, don Matías wouldredden with satisfaction and modestly reply:

"I don't know; I imagine it's all talk. My Remedios is only a town girl, you see. The señor deputy is probably thinking of someone from the'upper crust' in Madrid. "

Rafael had for some time been aware of his mother's plans. But he had nouse for "that crowd. " The old man, despite his boresome habit ofsuggesting "new bills, " he could stand on account of his touchingloyalty to the Brull family. But the girl was an utterly insignificantcreature, pretty, to be sure, but only as any ordinary young girl ispretty. And underneath that servile gentleness of hers lay anintelligence even more obtuse than her father's, a mind filled withnothing but piety and the religious phrases in which she had beeneducated. 

That morning, followed by an aged servant, and with all the gravity ofan orphan who must busy herself with the affairs of her household andact as head of the home, Remedios had walked by Rafael twice. Shescarcely looked at him. The submissive smile of the future slave withwhich she usually greeted him had disappeared. She was quite pale, andher colorless lips were pressed tight together. Without a doubt in theworld she had seen him, from a distance, talking and laughing with "thechorus girl. " His mother would know all about it within an hour! Really, that young female seemed to think he was her private property! And theangry expression on her face was that of a jealous wife taking notes fora curtain-lecture!

Scenting a danger Rafael took hasty leave of don Matias and his otherfriends, and left the market place to avoid another meeting withRemedios. Leonora was still there. He would wait for her on the road tothe orchard. He must take advantage of the early hour!

The orange country seemed to be quivering under the first kisses ofspring. The lithe poplars bordering the road were covered with tenderleaves. In the orchards the buds on the orange-trees, filling with thenew sap, were ready to burst, as in one grand explosion of perfume, intowhite fragrant bloom. In the matted herbage on the river-banks the firstflowers were growing. Rafael felt the cool caress of the sod as he satdown on the edge of the road. How sweet everything smelled! What abeautiful day it was!

The timorous, odorous violet must be sprouting on the damp ground yonderunder the alders! And he went looking along the stream for those littlepurple flowers that bring dreams of love with their fragrance! He wouldmake a bouquet to offer Leonora as she came by. 

He felt thrilled with a boldness he had never known before. His handsburned feverishly. Perhaps it was the emotion from his own sense ofdaring. He had resolved to settle things that very morning. The fatuityof the man who feels himself ridiculous and is determined to raisehimself in the eyes of his admirers, excited him, filling him with acynical rashness. 

What would his friends, who envied him as Leonora's lover, say if theyknew she was treating him as an insignificant friend, a good little boywho helped her while away the hours in the solitude of her voluntaryexile?

A few kisses--on her hand; a few kind words; many many cruel jests, suchas come from a chum conscious of superiority . .. That was all he had wonafter months and months and months of assiduous courtship, months ofdisobedience to his mother, in whose house he had been living like astranger, without affection, at daggers' points; months of exposure tothe criticism of his enemies, who suspected him of a liaison with the"chorus girl" and were raising their brows, horror-stricken, in the nameof morality. How they would scoff, if they knew the truth! Thoseaddlepates down at the Club were always boasting of their amorousadventures, which began inevitably with the sudden physical attack andended in easy triumph. 

With the Spaniard's mortal dread of looking ridiculous, Rafael began toassure himself that those brutes were right--that such was the road toa woman's heart. He had been too respectful, too humble, gazing atLeonora, timidly, submissively, from afar, as an idolater might look atan ikon. Bosh! Wasn't he a man, and isn't the man the stronger? Someshow of a male authority, that was what she needed! He liked her! Well, that was the end of it! His she must be! Besides, since she treated himso kindly, she surely loved him! A few scruples perhaps! But that wouldbe nothing, before a show of real manhood!

Just as this valorous decision had emerged in the full splendor of itsdignity from the mess of vacillation in his weak, irresolute character, Rafael heard voices down the road. He jumped to his feet. Leonora wasapproaching, followed by the two peasant women, who were bent low undertheir heavily laden baskets. 

"Here, too!" the actress exclaimed with a laugh that rippled charminglyunder the white skin of her throat. "You are getting to be my shadow. Inthe market place, on the road, everywhere! I find you every time I lookaround!"

She accepted the bouquet of violets from the young man's hand, inhalingtheir fragrance with evidence of keen enjoyment. 

"Thanks, Rafael, they are the first I have seen this season. Mybeautiful, faithful old friend! Springtime! You have brought her to methis year, though I felt her coming days before! I am so happy--can'tyou see? I feel as though I'd been a silkworm all winter, coiled up in acocoon, and had now suddenly grown my wings! And I'm going to fly outover this great green carpet, so sweet with its first perfumes! Don'tyou feel as I do, Rafael?. .. "

Rafael, gravely, said he did. He, too, felt a seething in his blood, thenip of life in every one of his pores! And his eyes ran over the bareneck in front of him, a neck of such tempting smoothness, its whitebeauty set off by the red kerchief; and over the violets resting on thatstrong, robust bosom. The two orchard women exchanged a shrewd smile, ameaningful wink, at sight of Rafael, and went on ahead of theirmistress, with the evident design of not disturbing the couple by theirpresence; but Leonora caught the look on their faces. 

"Yes, go right on, " she said. "We'll take our time, but we'll be theresoon!"

And when they were out of hearing she resumed, pointing to the womenwith her closed parasol:

"Did you see that? Didn't you notice their smiles and the winks theyexchanged when they saw you on the road?. .. Oh, Rafael! You are blind asa bat! And no good is going to come of it! If I had any reputation tolose, I'd be mighty careful with a friend like you! What do you supposethey are thinking?"

And she laughed with a pout of condescension, as though for her part, she did not care what people might be saying about her friendship withRafael. 

"On the market-place all the huckstresses talk to me about you, with theidea of flattering me. They assure me we'd make a wonderful couple. Mykitchen woman seizes every opportunity to tell me how handsome you are. You ought to thank her. .. . Even my aunt, my poor aunt, with one leg inthe grave, drew it out the other day to say to me: 'Do you notice thatRafael visits us quite frequently? Do you think he wants to marry you?'Marry, you see! Ha, ha, ha! Marry! That's all poor auntie can see in theworld for a woman!"

And she went on gaily chattering like a wild bird escaped from a cageand happy at its liberty, though her frank, mocking laughter was instrange contrast with the expression of sinister determination onRafael's face. 

"But how glum and queer you look today! Are you ill?. .. What's thematter?"

Rafael took advantage of this opening. Ill, yes! Sick with love! He knewthe whole place was gossiping about them. But it wasn't his fault. Hesimply couldn't hide his feelings. If she only realized what that muteadoration was costing him! He had tried to root the thought of her outof his mind, but that had been impossible. He must see her, hear her! Helived for her alone. Study? Impossible! Play, with his friends? They hadall become obnoxious to him! His house was a cave, a cellar, a place toeat in and sleep in. He left it the moment he got out of bed, and keptaway from the city, too, which seemed stuffy, oppressive, like a jail tohim. Off to the fields; to the orchards, to the Blue House where shelived! He would wait and wait for afternoon to come--the time when, by atacit arrangement neither of them had proposed, he might enter herorchard and find her on the bench under the four dead palms!. .. Well, hecould not go on living that way. Poor folks envied him his power, because he was a deputy, at twenty-five! And yet his one purpose in lifewas to be . .. Well, she could guess what . .. That garden bench, forinstance, gently, deliciously burdened with her weight for wholeafternoons; or that needlework which played about in her soft fingers;or one of her servants, Beppa, perhaps, who could waken her in themorning, bend low over her sleeping head, and smooth the loose tressesspread like rivulets of gold over the white pillow. A slave, an animal, a thing even, provided it should be in continuous contact with herperson--that was what he longed to be; not to find himself obliged, atnightfall, to leave her after a parting absurdly prolonged by childishpretexts, and return to his irritating, common, vulgar life at home, tothe solitude of his room, where he imagined he could see a pair of greeneyes staring at him from every dark corner, tempting him. 

Leonora was not laughing. Her gold-spotted eyes had opened wide; hernostrils were quivering with emotion. She seemed deeply moved by theyoung man's eloquent sincerity. 

"Poor Rafael! My poor dear boy!. .. And what are we going to do?"

Down at the Blue House, Rafael had never dared speak so openly. Thepresence of Leonora's servants; the nonchalant, mocking air with whichshe welcomed him at the door; the irony with which she met his everyhint at a declaration had always crushed, humiliated him. But there, onthe open highway, it was different somehow. He felt free. He would emptyhis whole heart out. 

What anguish! Every day he went to the Blue House trembling with hope, enthralled in his dream of love! "Perhaps it will be today, " he wouldsay to himself each time. And his legs would give way at the knees, andhe would choke as he swallowed! Then, hours later, at nightfall, hewould slink home, downcast, dispirited, desperate, staggering along theroad under the star-light as if he were drunk, repressing the tearsburning in his eyes, longing for the peace of death, like a wearyexplorer who must go on and on breaking his way over one ice-field afteranother. She must have noticed, surely! She must have seen the untiringefforts he made to please her!. .. Ignorant, humble, recognizing the vastgulf that separated them because of the different lives they had led, how he had worked to raise himself to a level with the men who had lovedand won her! If she spoke of the Russian count--a model of stylishelegance--the next day, to the great astonishment of his mother, Rafaelwould take out his best clothes and, all sweating in the hot sun andnearly strangled by a high collar, he would set out along that sameroad--his Road to Calvary--walking on his toes like a boarding-schoolgirl in order not to get his shoes dirty. If Hans Keller had come toLeonora's mind, he would run through his histories of music, anddressing up like some artist he had read about in novels, would come toher house fully intending to deliver an oration on the immortal Master, Wagner, whom he knew nothing at all about, but whom he adored as amember of his family. .. . Good God! All that was ridiculous, he knew verywell; it would have been far better to present himself just as he was, undisguised, in all his littleness. He knew that this pretending toequality with the thousand or more figures flitting in Leonora's memory, was grotesque. But there was nothing, absolutely nothing he would not doto stir her heart a little, be loved for a day, a minute, a second--andthen die!. .. 

There was a note of such real feeling in the youth's confession thatLeonora, more and more deeply moved, unconsciously drew closer to him, almost grazing him as they walked along; and she smiled slightly, as sherepeated her previous phrase--a blend of motherly affection andcompassion:

"Poor Rafael!. .. My poor dear boy!"

They had reached the gate to the orchard. The walk inside was deserted. In the little square some hens were scratching about. 

Overwhelmed by the strain of that confession, in which he had vented theanguish and dreams of many months, Rafael leaned against the trunk of anold orange-tree. Leonora stood in front of him, listening to his words, with head lowered, making marks on the ground with the tip of her redparasol. 

Die, yes; he had often read in novels about people dying for love. Andhe had always laughed at the absurdity of such a thing. But heunderstood now. Many a night, tossing in his delirium, he had thought ofending his misery in some tragic manner. The violent, domineering bloodof his father seethed in his veins. Once firmly convinced she couldnever be his, he would kill her, to keep her from belonging toanybody. .. And then stab himself! They would fall together to theblood-soaked ground, and lie there as on a bed of red damask, and hewould kiss her cold lips, without fear of being disturbed; kiss her andkiss her, till the last breath of his life exhaled upon her livid mouth. 

He seemed to be saying all that with deadly earnestness. The muscles ofhis strong face quivered, and his eyes--Moorish eyes--glowed like livecoals. Leonora was looking at him passionately now, as if a man were infront of her. She shuddered with a strange fascination as she picturedhis barbarous dreams, fraught with blood and death. This was somethingnew! This boy, when he saw that his love was vain, would not gloomilyand prosaically slay himself as Macchia, the Italian poet, had done. Hewould die, but asserting himself, killing the woman, destroying his idolwhen it would not harken to his entreaties!

And, pleasantly excited by Rafael's tragic demeanor, she gave way to thethrill of it, letting herself be carried along by his anguished rapture. He had taken her arm and was drawing her off the path, out among thelow-hanging branches of the orange-trees. 

For some time they were both silent. Leonora seemed to be drinking inthe virile perfume of that savage passionate adoration. 

Rafael thought he had offended her, and was sorry for his violent words. 

She must pardon him; he was beside himself, exasperated beyond bounds ather strange resistance. Leonora! Leonora! Why persist in spoiling aperfectly beautiful thing? He was not wholly a matter of indifference inher eyes. She did not dislike him. Otherwise she would not have let himbe a friend and have permitted his frequent visits. Love?. .. Of courseshe did not love him--poor unhappy wretch that he was, incapable ofinspiring passion in a woman like her. But let her just accept him. Hewould teach her to love him in time, win her by the sheer beauty of hisown tenderness and worship. His love alone, alas, was great enough forboth of them and for all the famous lovers in history put together! Hewould be her slave; a carpet for her to tread underfoot; a dog, alwaysat her feet, his eyes burning with the fire of eternal fidelity! Shewould finally learn to be fond of him, if not out of passion, at leastout of gratitude and pity!

And as he spoke, he brought his face close to Leonora's, looking for hisown image in the depths of her green eyes; and he pressed her arm in afever of passion. 

"Careful, Rafael. .. . That hurts! Let go, of me. "

And as if suddenly sensing a danger in the full of a sweet dream, sheshuddered and pulled herself free with a nervous violence. 

Then, quite recovered from the intoxication into which she had been ledby Rafael's passionate appeal, she began to speak calmly, composedly. 

No; what he asked was impossible. Her fate was ordained; she did notwant love any more. .. . Friendship had carried them a bit astray. It washer fault, but she would find a way to remedy that. If she had known himyears before--perhaps! She might have learned to love him. He was moreworthy of being loved than many of the men she had accepted. But he hadcome too late. Now she was content with just living. Besides, what ahorror! Imagine a "grand passion" in a petty environment such as theywere in, a tiny world of gossip-mongers and evil tongues! Imagine havingto hide like a criminal to express a noble emotion! No, when she loved, she loved in the open, with the sublime immodesty of the masterpiecethat scandalizes bumpkins with its naked beauty! How impossible it wouldbe, finding herself nibbled at constantly by gossiping fools, quitebeneath her contempt. She would feel the scorn and the indignation of awhole town about her. They would accuse her of leading an innocent boyastray, alienating him from his own mother. "No, Rafael; a thousandtimes no; I have a little conscience left! I'm not the irresponsiblesiren I used to be. "

"But what about me?" cried the youth, seizing her arm again with aboyish petulance. "You think of yourself and of other people, but neverof me. What am I going to do all along with my suffering?"

"Oh, you? Why . .. You will forget, " said Leonora gravely. "I have justrealized this very moment that it is impossible for me to stay here anylonger. We two must separate. I will leave before Spring is over; I'llgo . .. I don't know where, back to the world at any rate, take up mysinging again, where I'll not find men of just your kind. Time, and myabsence, will attend to the curing of you. "

Leonora winced before the flash of savage desire that gleamed inRafael's eyes. On her face she felt the ardent breath of lips that wereseeking her own, and she heard him murmur with a stifled roar ofpassion:

"No. You shall not go; I refuse to let you go!"

And she felt his strong arms close about her, swaying her from head tofoot, in a clasp to which madness added strength. Her feet left theground, and a brutal thrust threw her to her side at the foot of anorange-tree. 

But, in a flash, the Valkyrie reappeared in Leonora. With a supremeeffort, she struggled free from the encircling vise, sat up, threwRafael violently to his back, got to her feet, and stamped a footbrutally and mercilessly down upon the young man's chest, using herwhole weight as though bent on crushing the very framework of his body. 

Her face was an inspiring thing to look upon. She seemed to have gonemad! Her blond hair had fallen awry and was flecked with leaves andgrass and bark. Her green eyes flashed with metallic glints, likedaggers. Her lips were pale from emotion. And in that wild posture, whether through force of habit, or the suggestiveness of the effort shehad made, she raised her warcry--a piercing, savage "_Hojotoho!_" thatrent the calm of the orchard, frightening the hens and sending themscampering off over the paths. Her parasol she brandished as if it werethe lance of Wotan's daughter, and several times she aimed it atRafael's eyes, as if she intended to spear him blind. 

The youth seemed to have collapsed less from the violence of thestruggle than from an overpowering sense of shame. He lay motionless onthe ground, without protesting, and as if not caring ever to riseagain--longing to die under the pressure of that foot which was soheavily weighing down upon him, taking away his breath. 

Leonora regained her composure, and slowly stepped back. Rafael sat up, and reached for his hat. 

It was a painful moment. They stood there cold, as if the sun had goneout and a glacial wind were blowing through the orchard. 

Rafael kept his eyes to the ground, afraid to look up and meet her gaze, ashamed at the thought of his disordered clothes, which were soiled withdirt; humiliated at having been beaten and pummeled like a robber caughtby a victim he had expected to find powerless. 

He heard Leonora's voice addressing him with the scornful "_tu_" a ladymight use toward her lowest inferiors. 

"Go!"

He raised his head and found Leonora looking at him, her eyes ablazewith anger and offended dignity. 

"I'm never taken by force, " she said coldly. "I give myself . .. If Ifeel like it. "

And in the gesture of scorn and rage with which she dismissed him, Rafael thought he caught a trace of loathing at some memory ofBoldini--that repugnant lecher, who had been the only person in theworld to win her by violence. 

Rafael tried to stammer an excuse, but that hateful association of thebrutal scene rendered her implacable. 

"Go! Go, or I'll beat you again!. .. And never come back!"

And to emphasize the words, as Rafael, humiliated and covered with dirt, was leaving the garden, she shut the gate behind him with such a violentslam that the bars almost went flying. 

IV

Doña Bernarda was much pleased with Rafael. The angry glances, thegestures of impatience, the wordless arguments between mother and son, which the household had formerly witnessed in such terror, had come toan end. 

The boy had not been visiting the Blue House for some time. She knewthat with absolute certainty, thanks to the gratuitous espionageconducted for her by persons attached to the Brull family. He scarcelyever left the house; a few moments at the Club after lunch; and the restof the day in the dining-room, with her and family friends; or else, shut up in his room, with his books, probably, which the austere señorarevered with the superstitious awe of ignorance. 

Don Andrés, her advisor, commented upon the change with a gloating "Itold you so. " What had he always said, when doña Bernarda, in theconfiding intimacies of that friendship which amounted almost to asenile, a tranquil, a distantly respectful passion, would complain ofRafael's contrariness? That it would all pass; that it was a young man'swhim; that youth must have its fling! What was the use? Rafael hadn'tstudied to be a monk! Many boys his age, and even older ones, were farworse!. .. And the old gentleman smiled, for he was thinking of his owneasy conquests with the wretched flock of dirty, unkempt peasant girlswho wrapped the oranges in the shipping houses of Alcira. "You see, doñaBernarda, you suffered too much with don Ramón. You are a bit tooexacting with Rafael. Let him have a good time! Let him enjoy himself!He'll get tired of that chorus girl soon enough, pretty as she is. Thenyou can take hold and start him right!"

Doña Bernarda once again had reason to appreciate the talent of hercounsellor. His predictions, made with a cynicism that always caused thepious lady to blush, had been fulfilled to the letter!

She, too, was sure it was all over. Her son was not so blind as hisfather had been. He had soon wearied of a "lost woman" like Leonora; hehad decided it was not worth while to quarrel with his mamma over sotrifling a matter, and have his enemies discredit him on that account. He was returning to the path of duty; and to express her unbounded joy, the good woman could not pamper him enough. 

"And how about . .. That?" her friends would ask her, mysteriously. 

"Nothing, " she would answer, with a proud smile. "Three weeks have goneby and he hasn't shown the slightest inclination to go back. No, Rafaelis a good boy. All that was just a young one's notion. If you could onlysee him keeping me company in the parlor every afternoon! An angel! Goodas pie! He spends hour after hour chatting with me and Matías'sdaughter. "

And then, broadening her smile and winking cunningly, she would add:

"I think there's something doing in that direction. "

And indeed something was "doing"; at least, to judge by appearances. Bored with wandering from room to room through the house, sick of hisbooks, with which he would spend hours and hours turning pages withoutreally seeing a word that was printed on them, Rafael had taken refugein the sitting-room where his mother did her sewing, supervising acomplicated piece of embroidery that Remedios was making. 

The girl's submissive simplicity appealed to Rafael. Her ingenuousnessgave him a sense of freshness and repose. She was a cosy secluded refugewhere he might sleep after a tempest. His mother's satisfied smile wasthere to encourage him in this feeling. Never had he seen her so kindand so communicative. The pleasure of having him once more safe andobedient in her hands had mollified that disposition so stern by natureas to verge on rudeness. 

Remedios, with her head bowed low over her embroidery, would blush deepred whenever Rafael praised her work or told her she was the prettiestgirl in all Alcira. He would help her thread her needles, and hold hishands out to make a winding frame for the skeins; and more than once, with the familiarity of an old playmate, he would pinch hermischievously through the embroidery hoop. And she would never miss thechance to scream scandal. 

"Rafael, don't be crazy, " his mother would say, threatening himindulgently with her withered forefinger. "Let Remedios work; if youcarry on so I won't let you come into the parlor. "

And at night, alone in the dining-room with don Andrés, when the hourof confidences came, doña Bernarda would forget the affairs of "theHouse" and of "the Party, " to say with satisfaction:

"It's going better. "

"Is Rafael taking to her?"

"More and more every day. We're getting there, we're getting there! Thatboy is the living image of his father when it comes to matters likethis. Believe me, you can't let one of that tribe out of your sight aminute. If I didn't keep my eye peeled, that young devil would be doingsomething that would discredit the House forever. "

And the good woman was sure that Doctor Moreno's daughter--thatabominable creature whose good looks had been her nightmare for somemonths past--no longer existed for Rafael. 

She knew, from her spies, that on one market morning the two had met onthe street in town. Rafael had looked the other way, as if trying toavoid her; the "_comica_" had turned pale and walked straight aheadpretending not to see him. What did that mean?. .. A break for good ofcourse! The impudent hussy was livid with rage, you see, perhaps becauseshe could not trap her Rafael again; for he, weary of suchuncleanliness, had abandoned her forever. Ah, the lost soul, theindecent gad-about! Excuse me! Was a woman to educate a son in thesoundest and most virtuous principles, make a somebody of him, and thenhave an adventuress come along, a thousand times worse than a commonstreet-woman, and carry him off, as nice as you please, in her filthyhands? What had the daughter of that scamp of a doctor thought?. .. Lether fume! "You're sore just because you see he's dumped you for good!"

In the joy of her triumph doña Bernarda was thinking anxiously of herson's marriage to Remedios, and, coming down one peg on the ladder ofher dignity toward don Matias, she began to treat the exporter as amember of the family, commenting contentedly upon the growing affectionthat united their two children. 

"Well, if they're fond of each other, " said the rustic magnate, "thewedding can take place tomorrow so far as I'm concerned. Remedios meansa good deal to me; hard to find a girl like her for running a house; butthat needn't interfere with the marriage. I'm mighty well satisfied, doña Bernarda, that we should be related through our children. I'm onlysorry that don Ramon isn't here to see it all. "

And that was true. The one thing lacking to the millionaire's perfectjoy was that he would never have the chance to treat the tall, imposingDon Ramon on equal terms for once, --the crowning triumph of a self-mademan. 

Doña Bernarda, too, saw in this union the realization of her fondestdreams: money joined to power; the millions of a business, whosemarvelous successes seemed like deliberate tricks of Chance, coming torevivify with their sap of gold the Brull family tree, which was showingthe signs of age and long years of struggle!

Spring had come on apace. Some afternoons doña Bernarda would take "thechildren" to her own orchards or to the wealthy holdings of don Matías. It was a sight worth seeing--the kindly shrewdness with which shechaperoned the young couple, shouting with shocked alarm if theydisappeared behind the orange-trees for a moment or two in theirfrolics. 

"That Rafael of ours, " she would say to don Andrés, mimicking the longface he used to put on when bringing up her troubles with her husband, "what a rascal he is! I'll bet he's got both arms around her by thistime!"

"Let 'em alone, let 'em alone, doña Bernarda! The deeper in he gets withthis one, the less likely he'll be to go back to the other. "

Back to her?. .. There was no fear of that. It was enough to watch Rafaelpicking flowers and weaving them into the girl's hair while shepretended to fight him off, blushing like a rose, and quite moved atsuch homage. 

"Now be good, Rafaelito, " Remedios would murmur in a sort of entreatingbleat, "don't touch me; don't be so bold. "

But her emotion would so betray her that you could see the thing shemost wanted in the world was for Rafael to place upon her body onceagain those hands that made her tingle from the tips of her toes to theroots of her hair. She resisted only because such was the duty of awell-educated Christian girl. Like a young she-goat she would dash offwith graceful, tripping bounds between the rows of orange-trees, and _suseñoria_, the member from Alcira, would give chase with all his might, his nostrils quivering and his eyes ablaze. 

"Let's see if he can catch you!" the mother would call, with a laugh. "Run and let him try to catch you!"

Don Andrés would roll up his wrinkled face into the smile of an oldfaun. Such play made him feel young again. 

"Huh, _señora_! I believe you. This is getting on--on, and then some. I'd say, marry them off pretty quick; for, if you don't, mark my word, there'll soon be something for Alcira to laugh about. "

And they were both mistaken. Neither the mother nor don Andrés waspresent to note the expression of dejection and despair on Rafael's facewhen he was alone, shut up in his room, where, in the dark corners, hecould still see a pair of green, mysterious eyes gleaming at him andtempting him. 

Go back to her? Never! He still felt the shame, the humiliation of thatmorning. He could see himself in all his tragic ridiculousness, in a heapon the ground, trampled under foot by that Amazon, covered with dirt, ashumble and abashed as a criminal caught redhanded and with no excuse. And then that word, that had cut like the lash of a whip: "Go!" As if hewere a lackey who had dared approach a Duchess! And then that gateslamming behind him, falling like a slab over a tomb, setting up aneternal barrier between him and the love of his life!

No, he would never go back! He was not brave enough to face her again. That morning when he had met her by chance near the market-place, hethought he would die of shame; his legs sagged under him, and the streetturned black as if night had suddenly fallen. She had disappeared; butthere was a ringing in his ears; and he had had to take hold ofsomething, as if the earth were swaying under his feet, and he wouldfall. 

He needed to forget that unutterable disgrace--a recollection astenacious as remorse itself. That was why he had plunged into theaffair with his mother's protegée--as a sort of anaesthetic. She was awoman! And his hands, which seemed to have been unbound since thatpainful morning, went out toward her; his tongue, free after hisvehement confession of love at the orchard-gate, spoke glibly nowexpressing an adoration that seemed to go beyond the inexpressivefeatures of Remedios, and reach far, far away, to the Blue House, wherethe other woman was, offended and in hiding. 

With Remedios he would feel some sign of life, only to relapse intotorpid gloom the moment he was left alone. It was a foamy, frothyintoxication he felt when with the girl, an effervescence that allevaporated in solitude. He thought of Remedios as a piece of greenfruit--sound, free of cut or stain, and with all the color of maturity, but lacking the taste that satisfies and the perfume that enthralls. 

In his strange situation, spending days in childish games with a younggirl who aroused in him nothing more than the bland sense of fraternalcomradeship, and nights in sad and sleepless recollection, the one thingthat pleased him was intimacy with his mother. Peace had been restoredto the home. He could come and go without being conscious of a pair ofeyes glaring upon him and without hearing words of indignation stifledbetween grating teeth. 

Don Andrés and his friends at the Club kept asking him when the weddingwould take place. In presence of "the children" doña Bernarda wouldspeak of alterations that would have to be made in the house. She andthe servants would occupy the ground floor. The whole first story wouldbe for the couple, with new rooms that would be the talk of thecity--they would get the best decorators in Valencia! Don Matias treatedhim familiarly, just as he had in the old days when he came to the_patio_ to get his orders from don Ramón and found Rafael, as a child, playing at his father's feet. 

"Everything I have will be for you two. Remedios is an angel, and theday I die, she will get more than my rascal of a son. All I ask of youis not to take her off to Madrid. Since she is leaving my roof, at leastlet me be able to see her every day. "

And Rafael would listen to all these things as in a dream. In reality hehad not expressed the slightest desire to marry; but there was hismother, taking everything for granted, arranging everything, imposingher will, accelerating his sluggish affection, literally forcingRemedios into his arms! His wedding was a foregone conclusion, the topicof conversation for the entire city. 

Sunk in this sadness, in the clutch of the tranquillity which nowsurrounded him and which he was afraid to break; weak, as a matter ofcharacter, and without will power, he sought consolation in thereflection that the solution his mother was preparing was perhaps forthe best. 

His friendship with Leonora had been broken forever. Any day she mighttake flight! She had said so very often. She would be going verysoon--when the blossoms were off the orange-trees! What would be leftfor him then . .. Except to obey his mother? He would marry, and perhapsthat would serve as a distraction. Little by little his affection forRemedios might grow. Perhaps in time he would even come to love her. 

Such meditations brought him a little calm, lulling him into anattitude of agreeable irresponsibility. He would turn child again, as heonce had been, have his mother take charge of everything; let himself bedrawn along, passive, unresisting, by the current of destiny. 

But at times this resignation boiled up into hot, seething ebullitionsof angry protest, of raging passion. At night Rafael could not sleep. The orange-trees were beginning to bloom. The blossoms, like an odoroussnow, covered the orchards and shed their perfume as far even as thecity streets. The air was heavy with fragrance. To breathe was to scenta nosegay. Through the window-gratings under the doors, through thewalls, the virginal perfume of the vast orchards filtered--anintoxicating breath, that Rafael, in his impassioned restlessness, imagined as wafted from the Blue House, caressing Leonora's lovelyfigure, and catching something of the divine fragrance of her redolentbeauty. And he would roll furiously between the sheets, biting thepillow and moaning. 

"Leonora! Leonora!"

One night, toward the end of April, Rafael drew back in front of thedoor to his room, with the tremor he would have felt on the threshold ofa place of horror. He could not endure the thought of the night thatawaited him. The whole city seemed to have sunk into languor, in thatatmosphere so heavily charged with perfume. The lash of spring wasstirring all the impulses of life with its exciting caress, and goadingevery feeling to new intensity. Not the slightest breeze was blowing. The orchards saturated the calm atmosphere with their odorousrespiration. The lungs expanded as if there were no air, and all spacewere being inhaled in each single breath. A voluptuous shudder wasstirring the countryside as it lay dozing under the light of the moon. 

Hardly realizing what he was doing, Rafael went down into the street. Soon he found himself upon the bridge, where a few strollers, hat inhand, were breathing the night air eagerly, looking at the clusters ofbroken light that the moon was scattering over the river like fragmentsof a mirror. 

He went on through the silent, deserted streets of the suburbs, hisfootsteps echoing from the sidewalks. One row of houses lay white andgleaming under the moon. The other was plunged in shadow. He was drawnon and on into the mysterious silence of the fields. 

His mother was asleep, he suddenly reflected. She would know nothing. Hewould be free till dawn. He yielded further to the attraction of theroads that wound in and out through the orchards, where so many times hehad dreamed and hoped. 

The spectacle was not new to Rafael. Every year he had watched thatfertile plain come to life at the touch of Springtime, cover itself withflowers, fill the air with perfumes; and yet, that night, as he beheldthe vast mantle of orange-blossoms that had settled over the fields, andwas gleaming in the moonlight like a fall of snow, he felt himselfcompletely in control of an infinitely sweet emotion. 

The orange-trees, covered from trunk to crown with white, ivory-smoothflowerets, seemed like webs of spun glass, the vegetation of one ofthose fantastic snow-mantled landscapes that quiver sometimes in theglass spheres of paper-weights. The perfume came in continuous, successive waves, rolling out upon the infinite with a mysteriouspalpitation, transfiguring the country, imparting to it a feeling ofsupernaturalness--the vision of a better world, of a distant planetwhere men feed on perfume and live in eternal poetry. Everything waschanged in this spacious love-nest softly lighted by a great lantern ofmother-of-pearl. The sharp crackling of the branches sounded in the deepsilence like so many kisses; the murmur of the river became the distantecho of passionate love-making, hushed voices whispering close to theloved one's ears words tremulous with adoration. From the canebrake anightingale was singing softly, as if the beauty of the night hadsubdued its plaintive song. 

How good it was to be alive! The blood tingled more rapidly, more hotly, through the body! Every sense seemed sharper, more acute; though thatlandscape imposed silence with its pale wan beauty, just as certainemotions of intense joy are tasted with a sense of mystic shrinking!

Rafael followed the usual path. He had turned instinctively toward theBlue House. 

The shame of his disgrace still smarted raw within him. Had he metLeonora now in the middle of the road he would have recoiled in childishterror; but he would not meet her at such an hour. That reflection gavehim strength to walk on. Behind him, over the roofs of the city, thetolling of a clock rolled. Midnight! He would go as far as the wall ofher orchard, enter if that were possible, stand there a few moments insilent humility before the house, looking up adoringly at the windowsbehind which Leonora lay sleeping. 

It would be his farewell! The whim had occurred to him as he left thecity and saw the first orange-trees laden with the blossoms whoseperfume had for many months been holding the songstress there in patientexpectation. Leonora would never know he had been near her in the silentorchard bathed in moonlight, taking leave of her with the unspokenanguish of an eternal farewell, as to a dream vanishing on the horizonof life!

The gate with the green wooden bars came into view among the trees--thegate that had been slammed behind him in insulting dismissal. Among thethorns of the hedge he looked for an opening he had discovered in thedays when he used to hover about the house. He went through, and hisfeet sank into the fine, sandy soil of the orange-groves. Above the topsof the trees, the house itself could be seen, white in the moonlight. The rain-troughs of the roof and the balustrades of the balconies shonelike silver. The windows were all closed. Everything was asleep. 

He was about to step forward, when a dark form shot out from between twoorange-trees and stopped near him with a muffled growl. It was the housedog, an ugly, ill-tempered animal trained to bite before it barked. 

Rafael recoiled instinctively from the warm breath of that panting, furious muzzle which was reaching for his leg; but the dog, after asecond's hesitation, began to wag its tail with pleasure; and wascontent merely to sniff at the boy's trousers so as to make absolutelysure of an old friend's identity. Rafael patted him on the head, as hehad done so many times, distractedly, in conversations with Leonora onthe bench in the _plazoleta_. A good omen this encounter seemed! And hewalked on, while the dog resumed his watch in the darkness. 

Timidly he made his way forward in the shelter of a large patch ofshadow cast by the orange-trees, dragging himself along, almost, like athief afraid of an ambuscade. 

He reached the walk leading to the _plazoleta_ and was surprised to findthe gate half open. Suddenly he heard a suppressed cry near by. 

He turned around, and there on the tile bench, wrapped in the shadow ofthe palm-trees and the rose-bushes, he saw a white form--a woman. As sherose from her seat the moonlight fell squarely on her features. 

"Leonora!"

The youth would have gladly sunk into the earth. "Rafael! You here?. .. "

And the two stood there in silence, face to face. He kept his eyes fixedon the ground, ashamed. She looked at him with a certain indecision. 

"You've given me a scare that I'll never forgive you for, " she said atlast. "What are you doing here?. .. "

Rafael was at a loss for a reply. He stammered with an embarrassmentthat quite impressed Leonora; but despite his agitation, he noticed astrange glitter in the girl's eyes, and a mysterious veiling of hervoice that seemed to transfigure her. 

"Come, now, " said Leonora gently, "don't hunt up any far-fetchedexcuses. .. . You were coming to bid me good-bye--and without trying tosee me! What a lot of nonsense! Why don't you say right out that youare a victim of this dangerous night--as I am, too?"

And her eyes, glittering with a tearful gleam, swept the _plazoleta_, which lay white in the moonlight; and the snowy orange-blossoms, therose-bushes, the palm-trees, that stood out black against the blue skywhere the stars were twinkling like grains of luminous sand. Her voicetrembled with a soft huskiness, as caressing as velvet. 

Rafael, quite encouraged by this unexpected reception, tried to begforgiveness for the madness that had caused his expulsion from theplace; but the actress cut him short. 

"Let's not discuss that unpleasant thing! It hurts me just to think ofit. You're forgiven; and since you've fallen on this spot as thoughheaven had dropped you here, you may stay a moment. But . .. Noliberties. You know me now. "

And straightening up to her full height as an Amazon sure of herself, she turned to the bench, motioning to Rafael to take a seat at the otherend. 

"What a night!. .. I feel a strange intoxication without wine! Theorange-trees seem to inebriate me with their very breath. An hour ago myroom was whirling round and round, as though I were going to faint. Mybed was like a frail bark tossing in a tempest. So I came down as Ioften do; and here you can have me until sleep proves more powerful thanthe beauty of this beautiful night. "

She spoke with a languid abandonment; her voice quivering, and tremorsrippling across her shoulders, as if all the perfume were hurting her, oppressing her powerful vitality. Rafael sat looking at her over thelength of the bench--a white, sepulchral figure, wrapped in the hoodedcape of a dressing-gown--the first thing she had laid hands upon whenshe had thought of going out into the garden. 

"I was frightened when I saw you, " she continued, in a slow, faintvoice. "A little fright, nothing more! A natural surprise, I suppose;and yet, I was thinking of you that very moment. I confess it. I wassaying to myself: 'What can that crazy boy be doing, at this hour, Iwonder?' And suddenly you appeared, like a ghost. You couldn't sleep;you were excited by all this fragrance; and you have come to try yourluck anew, with the hope that brought you here at other times. "

She spoke without her usual irony, softly, simply, as if she weretalking to herself. Her body was thrown limply back against the bench, one arm resting behind her head. 

Rafael started to speak once more of his repentance, of his desire tokneel in front of the house there in mute entreaty for pardon, while shewould be sleeping in the room above. But Leonora interrupted him again. 

"Hush! Your voice is very loud. They might hear you. My aunt's room isin the other wing of the house, but she's not a heavy sleeper. .. . Besides, I don't care to listen to talk about remorse, pardon, and suchthings. It makes me think of that morning. The mere fact that I amletting you stay here ought to be enough, oughtn't it? I want to forgetall that. .. . Hush, Rafael! Silence makes the beauty of the night morewonderful. The fields seem to be talking with the moon, and these wavesof perfume that are sweeping over us are echoes of their passionatewords. "

And she fell silent, keeping absolutely still, her eyes turned upward, catching the moonbeams in their tear-like moisture. From time to timeRafael saw her quiver with a mysterious tremor; then extend her arms andcross them behind her head of golden hair, in a voluptuous stretch thatmade her white robe rustle, while her limbs grew taut in a delicioustension. She seemed upset, ill almost; at times her panting breath waslike a sob. Her head drooped over a shoulder and her breast heaved withcountless sighs. 

The youth was obediently silent, fearing lest the remembrance of hisbase audacity should again come up in the conversation; and notventuring to reduce the distance that separated them on the bench. Sheseemed to divine what he was thinking and began to speak, slowly, of theabnormal state of mind in which she found herself. 

"I don't know what's the matter with me tonight. I feel like crying, without knowing why. I am filled with a strange inexplicable happiness, and yet I could just weep and weep. Oh, I know--it's the Springtime; allthis fragrance that whips my nerves like a lash. I really believe I'mcrazy. .. . Springtime! My best friend--though she has done me only wrong!If ever I have been guilty of any foolish thing in my life, Spring wasat the bottom of it. .. . It's youth reborn in us--madness paying us itsannual visit. .. . And I--ever faithful to her, adoring her; waiting inthis out-of-the-way spot almost a year for her to come, to see her oncemore in her best clothes, crowned with orange-blossoms like a virgin--awicked virgin who pays me back for my devotion with betrayal!. .. Justsee what I've come to! I am ill--I don't know why--with excess of life, perhaps. She drives me on I don't know where, but certainly where Iought not to go. .. . If it weren't for sheer will-power on my part, I'dcollapse in a heap on this bench here. I'm just like a drunken manbending every effort to keep his feet and walk straight. "

It was true; she was really ill. Her eyes grew more and more tearful;her body was quivering, shrinking, collapsing, as if life wereoverflowing within her and escaping through all her pores. 

Again she was silent, for a long time, her eyes gazing vacantly intospace; then, she murmured, as if in answer to a thought of her own. 

"No one ever understood as well as He. He knew everything, felt asnobody ever felt the mysterious hidden workings of Nature; and He sangof Springtime as a god would sing. Hans used to remark that many a time;and it's so. "

Without turning her head she added, in a dreamy musing voice. 

"Rafael, you don't know _Die Walküre_, do you? You've never heard theSpring Song?"

He shook his head. And Leonora, with her eyes still gazing moonward, herhead resting back against her arms, which escaped in all their round, pearly strength from her drooping sleeves, spoke slowly, collecting hermemories, recreating in her mind's eye that Wagnerian scene of suchintense poetry--the glorification and the triumph of Nature and Love. 

Hunding's hut, a barbaric dwelling, hung with savage trophies of thechase, suggesting the brutish existence of man scarcely yet possessed ofthe world, in perpetual strife with the elements and with wild animals. The eternal fugitive, forgotten of his father, --Sigmund by name, thoughhe calls himself "Despair, " wandering years and years through theforests, harrassed by beasts of prey who take him for one of themselvesin his covering of skins, rests at last at the foot of the giant oakthat sustains the hut; and as he drinks the hidromel in the horn offeredto him by the sweet Siglinda, he gazes into her pure eyes and for thefirst time becomes aware that Love exists. 

The husband, Hunding, the wild huntsman, takes leave of him at the endof the rustic supper: "Your father was the Wolf, and I am of the race ofHunters. Until the break of day, my house protects you; you are myguest; but as soon as the sun rises in the heavens you become my enemy, and we will fight. .. . Woman, prepare the night's drink; and let us beoff to bed. "

And the exile sits alone beside the fireplace, thinking of his immenseloneliness. No home, no family, not even the magic sword promised him byhis father the Wolf. And at daybreak, out of the hut that shelters himthe enemy will come to slay him. The thought of the woman who allayedhis thirst, the sparkle of those pure eyes wrapping him in a gaze ofpity and love, is the one thing that sustains him. .. . She comes to himwhen her wild consort has fallen asleep. She shows him the hilt of thesword plunged into the oak by the god Wotan; nobody can pull it out: itwill obey only the hand of him to whom it has been destined by the god. 

As she speaks the wandering savage gazes at her in ecstasy, as if shewere a white vision revealing to him the existence of something morethan might and struggle in the world. It is the voice of Love. Slowly hedraws near; embraces her; clasps her to his heart, while the door ispushed open by the breeze and the green forest appears, odorous in themoonlight--nocturnal Springtime, radiant and glorious, wrapped in amantle of music and perfume. 

Siglinda shudders. "Who has come in?" No one--and yet, a Stranger hasentered the hovel, opening the door with an invisible hand. And Sigmund, at the inspiration of Love, divines the identity of the visitant. "It isSpringtime laughing in the air about your tresses. The storms are gone;gone is the dark solitude. The radiant month of May, a young warrior inan armor of flowers, has come to give chase to bleak Winter, and in allthis festival of rejoicing Nature, seeks his sweetheart: Youth. Thisnight, which has brought you to me, is the unending night of Spring andYouth. "

And, Leonora was thrilled as she heard in her memory the murmur of theorchestra accompanying the song of tenderness inspired by Spring; therustle of the forest branches benumbed by the winter, now swaying withthe new sap that had flowed into them like a torrent of vitality; andout on the brightly lighted _plazoleta_ she could almost see Sigmund andSiglinda clasping in an eternal unseverable embrace, as she had seenthem from the wings of the opera, where she would be waiting as aValkyrie to step out and set an audience wild with her mighty"_Hojotoho!"_

She was feeling the same loneliness and yearning that Sigmund felt inHunding's hovel. Without a family, without a home, wandering over theworld, she longed for someone to lean on, someone to clasp tenderly toher heart! And it was she who unconsciously, instinctively, had drawncloser to Rafael, and placed her hand in his. 

She was ill. She sighed softly with the appealing entreaty of a child, as if the intense poetry of that memory of music had shattered the frailremnant of will that had kept her mistress of herself. 

"I don't know what's the matter with me to-night. I feel as though Iwere dying. .. . But such a sweet death! So sweet!. .. What madness, Rafael! How rash it was of us to have seen each other on such anight!. .. "

And with supplicating eyes, as if entreating forgiveness, she gazed outinto the majestic moonlight, where the silence seemed to be stirringwith the palpitation of a new life. She could divine that something wasdying within her, that her will lay prostrate on the ground, withoutstrength to defend itself. 

Rafael, too, was overwhelmed. He held her clasped against his breast, one of her hands in his. She was weak, languid, will-less, incapable ofresistance; yet he did not feel the brutal passion of the previousmeeting; he did not dare to move. A sense of infinite tenderness cameover him. All he yearned for was to sit there hour after hour in contactwith that beautiful form, clasping her tightly to him, making her onewith him, as a jewel-case might guard a jewel. 

He whispered mysteriously into her ear, hardly knowing what he wassaying; tender words that seemed to be coming from someone within him, thrilling him with a tingling, suffocating passion as they left hislips. 

Yes, it was true; that night was the night dreamed of by the immortalPoet; the wedding night of smiling Youth and of martial May in his armorof flowers. The fields were quivering voluptuously under the rays of themoon; and they, two young hearts, feeling the flutter of Love's wingsabout their hair, why should they sit unresponsive there, blind to thebeauty of the night, deaf to the infinite caress that was echoing fromall around?

"Leonora! Leonora!" moaned Rafael. 

He had slipped down from the bench. Before he was aware of it, he foundhimself kneeling at her feet, clutching her hands, and thrusting hisface upward without daring to reach her lips. 

She drew weakly back, protesting feebly, with a girlish plaint:

"No, no; it would hurt me. .. . I feel that I'm dying. "

"You belong to me, " the youth continued with an exaltationill-suppressed. "You belong to me forever; to gaze into your dear eyes, and to murmur in your ear, your sweet, beautiful, name, and die, if needbe, here. What do we care for the world and its opinions?"

And Leonora with weakening resistance, continued to refuse:

"No, no. .. . I must not. It's a feeling I can't explain. "

And that was so. The gentle quiver of Nature under the kiss ofSpringtime, the intense perfume of the flower that is the emblem ofvirginity, had transfigured that madcap singer, that adventuress of acareer so checkered, who had been violently thrust into her firstexperience of passion, and now for the first time felt the blush ofmodesty in the arms of a man. Nature, intoxicating her, shattering herwill, seemed to have created a strange virginity in that body sofamiliar with the call of passion. 

"Oh, Rafael, what is happening to me?. .. What's happening to me? It mustbe love; a new love that I did not think I should ever know. .. . Rafael . .. Rafael, my own boy!"

And weeping softly, she took his head in her hands, pressed her lips tohis, and then fell back in her seat with eyes distended, maddened withthe joy of that kiss. 

"I belong to you, Rafael! Yours . .. But forever. I have always loved youfrom the first, but now . .. I adore you. .. . For the first time in mylife I say that with all my soul. "

Hardly able to realize his good fortune, Rafael was thrilled by a deeplygenerous sentiment. There was nothing he would not give to thatwoman. .. . 

"Yes; you belong to me forever. .. . I will marry you. "

But in his dreamy, wild intoxication he saw the artiste's eyes open widein surprise, as a sad smile flitted across her lips. 

"Marry me And why?. .. That's well enough for other women; but me youmust love, my darling child, ever so much, as much as you can. .. . Justlove me!. .. I believe only in Love!"

V

"But my dear child, when are we getting to this island of yours?. .. Itbores me to be here sitting on this seat, so far away from my littleboy, watching his arms get tired from all that rowing. I must kiss him. . Even if he says no! It will rest him, I am sure. "

And rising to her feet, Leonora took two steps forward in the whiteboat, though threatening to upset it, and kissed Rafael several times. He lay aside the oars and laughingly defended himself. 

"Madcap! We'll never get there at this rate. With rests like this wemake very little progress, and I've promised to take you to my island. "

Once again he bent to the oars, heading out toward midstream over themoonlit water, as if to vouchsafe the groves on either bank an equalpleasure in the romantic escapade. 

It had been one of her caprices--a desire repeated during his visits tothe Blue House on some afternoons, in the presence of doña Pepa and themaid, and on every night, as he passed through the opening in the hedgewhere Leonora's bare arms were waiting for him in the darkness. 

For more than a week Rafael had been living in a sweet dream. Never hadhe imagined that life could be so beautiful. It was a mood of deliciousabstraction. The city no longer existed for him. The people that movedabout him seemed like so many spectres: his mother and Remedios wereinvisible beings. Their words he would hear and answer without takingthe trouble to look up. 

He spent his days in feverish impatience for night to come--that thefamily might finish supper and leave him free to go to his room, whencehe would cautiously tip-toe, as soon as the house was silent andeverybody was asleep. 

Indifferent to everything foreign to his love, he did not realize theeffect his conduct was having on his mother. She had noticed that hisdoor was locked all morning while he slept off the fatigue of asleepless night. She had already tired of asking him whether he was ill, and of getting the same reply:

"No, mama; I've been working nights; an important study I'm preparing. "

It was all his mother could do on such occasions to restrain herselffrom shouting "Liar!" Two nights she had gone up to his room, to findthe door locked and the keyhole dark. Her son was not inside. She wouldlie awake for him now; and every morning, somewhat before dawn, shewould hear him softly open the outside door and tip-toe up the stairs, perhaps in his stocking-feet. 

The female Spartan said nothing however, hoarding her indignation insilence, complaining only to don Andrés of the recrudescence of amadness that was upsetting all her plans. Through his numerous henchmenthe counselor kept watch upon the young man. His spies followed Rafaelcautiously through the night, up to the gate of the Blue House. 

"What a scandal!" exclaimed doña Bernarda. "At night, too! He'll windup by bringing her into this house! Can it be that that simpleton of adoña Pepita is blind to all this?"

And there was Rafael, unaware of the storm that was gathering about hishead, no longer deigning even to speak to Remedios, or look at her, aswith her head bowed like a sulky goat, she went around stifling hertears at the memory of those happy strolls in the orchard under doñaBernarda's surveillance. 

The deputy had eyes for nothing outside of the Blue House; his happinesshad blinded him. The one thing that annoyed him was the necessity ofhiding his joy--his inability to make his good fortune public, so thatall his admirers might learn of it. 

He would willingly have gone back to the days of the Roman decadence, when the love affairs of the powerful became matters of nationaladoration. 

"What do I care for their gossip" he once said to Leonora. "I love youso much that I'd like to see the whole city worship you in public. I'dlike to snatch you up in my arms, and appear upon the bridge at highnoon, before a concourse stupefied by your beauty: 'Am I or am I notyour "_quefe_"?' I'd ask. 'Well, if I am, adore this woman, who is myvery soul and without whom I could not live. The affection which youhave for me you must have also for her. ' And I'd do just as I say if itwere possible. "

"Silly boy . .. Adorable child, " she had replied, showering him withkisses, brushing his dark beard with her soft, quivering lips. 

And it was during one of their meetings--when their words were brokenby sudden impulses of affection, and their lips were tightly pressedtogether--that Leonora had expressed her capricious desire. 

"I'm stifling in this house. I hate to caress you inside four walls, asif you were only a passing whim. This is unworthy of you. You are Love, who came to seek me out on the most beautiful of nights. I like youbetter in the open air. You look more handsome to me then, and I feelyounger. "

And recalling those trips down the river about which Rafael had told herso many times when they were only friends--that islet with its curtainsof reeds, the willows bending over the water and the nightingale singingfrom its hiding-place--she had asked him, eagerly:

"What night are you going to take me there? It's a whim of mine, a wildidea; but, what does love exist for, if not to make people do thefoolish things that sweeten life?. .. Carry me off in your boat! The barkthat bore you there will transport the two of us to your enchantedisland; we will spend the whole night in the open air. "

And Rafael, who was flattered by the idea of taking his love publiclydown the river, through the slumbering countryside, unfastened his boatat midnight under the bridge and rowed it to a canebrake near Leonora'sorchard. 

An hour later they emerged through the opening in the hedge, arm in arm, laughing at the mischievous escapade, disturbing the majestic silence ofthe landscape with noisy, insolent kisses. 

They got into the boat, and with a favoring current, began to descendthe Júcar, lulled by the murmur of the river as it glided between thehigh mudbanks covered with reeds that bent low over the water andformed mysterious hiding places. 

Leonora clapped her hands with delight. She threw over her neck the silkshawl with which she had covered her head. She unbuttoned her lighttraveling coat, and inhaled with deep enjoyment the moist, somewhatmuggy breeze that was curling along the surface of the river. Her handtrembled as it dipped into the water from time to time. 

How beautiful it was! All by themselves, and wandering about, as if theworld did not exist; as if all Nature belonged to them, to them alone!Here they were, slipping past clusters of slumbering houses, leaving thecity far behind. And nobody had suspected that passion, which in itsenthusiasm had broken its chains and left its mysterious lair to havethe heavens and the fields for sympathetic witnesses. Leonora would havewished that the night should never end; that the waning moon, whichseemed to have been slashed by a sword, should stop eternally in the skyto wrap them forever in its feeble, dying light; that the river shouldbe endless, and the boat float on and on until, overwhelmed by so muchlove, they should breathe the last gasp of life away in a kiss astenuous as a sigh. 

"If you could only know how grateful I am to you for this excursion, Rafael!. .. I'm happy, so happy. Never have I had such a night as this. But where is the island? Have we gone astray, as you did the night ofthe flood?"

No! At last they reached the place. There Rafael had spent many anafternoon hidden in the bushes, cut off by the encircling waters, dreaming that he was an adventurer on the virgin prairies or the vastrivers of America, performing exploits he had read about in the novelsof Fenimore Cooper and Mayne Reid. 

A tributary joined the Júcar at this point, emptying gently into themain stream from under a thicket of reeds and trees that formed atriumphal arch of foliage. At the confluence rose the island--a tinypiece of land almost level with the water, but as fresh as green andfragrant as an aquatic bouquet. The banks were lined with dense clumpsof cane, and a few willows that bent their hairy foliage low over thewater, forming dark vaults through which the boat could make its way. 

The two lovers entered the shade. The curtain of branches concealed themfrom the river; a bare tear of moonlight managed to filter through themane of willows. 

Leonora felt a first sense of uneasiness in this dark, damp, cave-likehaunt. Invisible animals took to the water with dull splashes as theyheard the boat's bow touch the mud of the bank. The actress clutched herlover's arm with nervous pleasure. 

"Here we are, " murmured Rafael. "Hold on to something and get out. Careful, careful! Don't you want to hear the nightingale? Here we havehim. Listen. "

It was true. In one of the willows, at the other side of the island, themysterious bird was trilling from his hiding place, a dizzying shower ofnotes, which broke at the crescendo of the musical whirl-pool into aplaint as soft and long-sustained as a golden thread stretched in thesilence of the night across the river, that seemed to be applaudingwith its hushed murmur. To get nearer, the lovers went up through therushes, stopping, bending over at each step, to keep the branches fromcrackling underneath their feet. 

Favoring moisture had covered the islet with an exuberant undergrowth. Leonora repressed exclamations of glee as she found her feet caught inmeshes of reeds or received the rude caresses of the branches thatsnapped back, as Rafael went ahead, and brushed against her face. Shecalled for help in a muffled voice; and Rafael, laughing also, wouldhold out his hand to her, taking her finally to the very foot of thetree where the nightingale was singing. 

The bird, divining the presence of intruders, ceased his song. Doubtlesshe had heard the rustle of their clothing as they sat down at the footof the tree, or the tender words they were murmuring into each other'sear. 

Over all, the silence of slumbering Nature reigned--that silence made upof a thousand sounds, harmonizing and blending in one majestic calm; themurmur of the water, the stirring of the foliage, the mysteriousmovements of unseen creatures crawling along under the leaves orpatiently boring their winding galleries in the creaking trunks. 

The nightingale began again to sing, timidly, like an artist afraid ofan impending interruption. He uttered a few disconnected notes withanxious rests between them--love sighs they seemed, broken by sobs ofpassion. Then gradually he took courage, regained self-confidence, andentered on his full song, just as a soft breeze rose, swept over theisland, and set all the trees and reeds rustling in mysteriousaccompaniment. 

The bird gradually grew intoxicated with the sound of his own trilling, cadenced, voice; one could almost see him up there in the thickdarkness, panting, ardent, in the spasm of his musical inspiration, utterly engrossed in his own beautiful little world of song, overwhelmedby the charm of his own artistry. 

But the bird had ceased his music when the two lovers awoke in a tightembrace, still in ecstasy from the song of love to which they had fallenasleep. Leonora was resting a dishevelled head on Rafael's shoulder, caressing his neck with an eager, wearied breathing, whispering in hisear, random, incoherent words that still were vibrant with emotion. 

How happy she was there! Everything comes for true love! Many a time, during the days of her unkindness to him, she had looked out from herbalcony upon the river winding down through the slumbering countryside;and she had thought with rapture of a stroll some day through thatimmense garden on Rafael's arm--of gliding, gliding down the Júcar, tothat very island. 

"My love is an ancient thing, " she murmured. "Do you suppose, I havebeen loving you only since the other night? No, I have loved you for along, long time. .. . But don't you go and get conceited on that account, _su señoria_! I don't know how it began: It must have been when you wereaway in Madrid. When I saw you again I knew that I was lost. If I stillresisted, it was because I was a wise woman; because I saw thingsclearly. Now I'm mad and I've thrown my better judgment to the winds. God knows what will become of us. .. . But come what may, love me, Rafael, love me. Swear that you'll love me always. It would be cruel to desertme after awakening a passion like this. "

And, in an impulse of dread, she nestled closer against his breast, sankher hands into his hair, lifted her head back to kiss him avidly on theface, the forehead, the eyes, the lips, nibbling playfully, tenderly athis nose and chin, yet with an affectionate vehemence that drew cries ofmock protest from Rafael. 

"Madcap!" he muttered, smiling. "You're hurting me. "

Leonora looked steadily at him out of her two great eyes that werea-gleam with love. 

"I could eat you up, " she murmured. "I feel like devouring you, myheaven, my king, my god. .. . What have you given me, tell me, little boy?How have you been able to fascinate me, make me feel a passion that Inever, never felt before?"

And again they fell asleep. 

Rafael stirred in his lover's arms, and suddenly sat up. 

"It must be late. How many hours have we been here, do you suppose?"

"Many, many hours, " Leonora answered sadly. "Hours of happiness alwaysgo so fast. "

It was still dark. The moon had set. They arose and, hand in hand, groping their way along, they reached the boat. The splash of the oarsbegan again to sound along the dark stream. 

Suddenly the nightingale again piped gloomily in the willow wood, as ifin farewell to a departing dream. 

"Listen, my darling, " said Leonora. "The poor little fellow is biddingus good-bye. Just hear how plaintively he says farewell. "

And in the strange exhiliration that comes from fatigue, Leonora feltthe flames of art flaring up within her, seething through her organismfrom head to foot. 

A melody from _Die Meistersinger_ came to her mind, the hymn that thegood people of Nuremberg sing when Hans Sachs, their favorite singer, asbounteous and gentle as the Eternal Father, steps out on the platformfor the contest in poetry. It was the song that the poet-minstrel, thefriend of Albrecht Dürer, wrote in honor of Luther when the greatReformation broke; and the prima donna, rising to her feet in the stern, and returning the greeting of the nightingale began:

 "_Sorgiam, che spunta il dolce albor, cantar ascolto in mezzo ai fior voluttuoso un usignol spiegando a noi l'amante vol_!. .. "

Her ardent, powerful voice seemed to make the dark surface of the rivertremble; it rolled in harmonious waves across the fields, and died awayin the foliage of the distant island, whence the nightingale trilled ananswer that was like a fainting sigh. Leonora tried to reproduce withher lips the majestic sonorousness of the Wagnerian chorus, mimickingthe rumbling accompaniment of the orchestra, while Rafael beat thewater with his oars in time with the pious, exalted melody with whichthe great Master had turned to popular poetry adequately to greet theoutbreak of Reform. 

They went on and on up the river against the current, Leonora singing, Rafael bending over the oars, moving his sinewy arms like steel springs. He kept the boat inshore, where the current was not so strong. At timeslow branches brushed the heads of the lovers, and drops of dew fell ontheir faces. Many a time the boat glided through one of the verdantarchways of foliage, making its way slowly through the lily-pads; andthe green overhead would tremble with the harmonious violence of thatwonderful voice, as vibrant and as resonant as a great silver bell. 

Day had not yet dawned--the _dolce albor_ of Hans Sachs' song--but atany moment the rosy rim of sunrise would begin to climb the sky. 

Rafael was hurrying to get back as soon as possible. Her sonorous voiceof such tremendous range seemed to be awakening the whole countryside. In one cottage a window lighted up. Several times along the river-bank, as they rowed past the reeds, Rafael thought he heard the noise ofsnapping branches, the cautious footsteps of spies who were followingthem. 

"Hush, my darling. You had better stop singing; they'll recognize you. They'll guess who you are. "

They reached the bank where they had embarked. Leonora leaped ashore. They must separate there; for she insisted on going home alone. Andtheir parting was sweet, slow, endless. 

"Good-bye, my love; one kiss. Until tomorrow . .. No, later--today. "

She walked a few steps up the bank, and then suddenly ran back tosnuggle again in her lover's arms. 

"Another, my prince . .. The last. "

Day was breaking, announced not by the song of the lark, as in thegarden of Shakespere's lovers at Verona, but by the sound of carts, creaking over country roads in the distance, and by a languid, sleepymelody of an orchard boy. 

"Good-bye, Rafael. .. . Now I must really go. They'll discover us. "

Wrapping her coat about her she hurried away, waving a final farewell tohim with her handkerchief. 

Rafael rowed upstream toward the city. That part of the trip--hereflected--alone, tired, and struggling against the current, was the onebad part of the wonderful night. When he moored his boat near the bridgeit was already broad day. The windows of the river houses were opening. Over the bridge carts laden with produce for the market were rumbling, and orchard women were going by with huge baskets on their heads. Allthese people looked down with interest on their deputy. He must havespent the night fishing. And this news passed from one to the other, though not a trace of fishing tackle was visible in the boat. How theyenvied rich folks, who could sleep all day and spend their time just asthey pleased!

Rafael jumped ashore. All that curiosity he was attracting annoyed him. His mother would know everything by the time he got home!

As he climbed slowly and wearily, his arms numb from rowing, to thebridge, he heard his name called. 

Don Andrés was standing there, gazing at him out of those yellow eyes ofhis, scowling through his wrinkles with an expression of sternauthority. 

"You've given me a fine night, Rafael. I know where you've been. I sawyou row off last night with that woman; and plenty of my friends were onhand to follow you and find out just where you went. You've been on theisland all night; that woman was singing away like a lunatic. .. . God ofGods, boy! Aren't there any houses in the world? Do you have to play theband when you're having an affair, so that everybody in the Kingdom cancome and look?"

The old man was truly riled; all the more because he was himself thesecretive, the dexterous, libertine, adopting every precaution not to bediscovered in his "weaknesses. " Was it anger or envy that he felt onseeing a couple enough in love with each other to be fearless of gossipand indifferent to danger, to throw prudence to the winds, and flaunttheir passion before the world with the reckless insolence of happiness?

"Besides, your mother knows everything. She's discovered what you'vebeen up to, these nights past. She knows you haven't been in your room. You're going to break that woman's heart!"

And with paternal severity he went on to speak of doña Bernarda'sdespair, of the danger to the future of the House, of the obligationsthey were under to don Matías, of the solemn promise given, of that poorgirl waiting to be married!

Rafael walked along in silence and like an automaton. That old man'schatter brought down around his head, like a swarm of pesteringmosquitoes, all the provoking, irritating obligations of his life. Hefelt like a man rudely awakened by a tactless servant in the middle of asweet dream. His lips were still tingling with Leonora's kisses! Hiswhole body was aglow with her gentle warmth! And here was this oldcurmudgeon coming along with a sermon on "duty, " "family, " "what theywould say"--as if love amounted to nothing in this life! It was a plotagainst his happiness, and he felt stirred to the depths with a sense ofoutrage and revolt. 

They had reached the entrance to the Brull mansion. Rafael was fumblingabout for the key-hole with his key. 

"Well, " growled the old man. "What have you got to say to all this? Whatdo you propose to do? Answer me! Haven't you got a tongue in your head?"

"I, " replied the young man energetically--"will do as I please. "

Don Andrés jumped as though he had been stung. My, how this Rafael hadchanged!. .. Never before had he seen that gleam of aggressiveness, arrogance, belligerency in the eye of the boy!

"Rafael, is that the way you answer me, --a man who has known you sinceyou were born? Is that the tone of voice you use toward one who lovesyou as your own father loved you?"

"I'm of age, if you don't mind my saying so!" Rafael replied. "I'm notgoing to put up any longer with this comedy of being a somebody on thestreet and a baby in my own house. Henceforth just keep your advice toyourself until I ask for it. Good day, sir!"

As he went up the stairs he saw his mother on the first landing, in thesemi-darkness of the closed house, illumined only by the light thatentered through the window gratings. She stood there, erect, frowning, tempestuous, like a statue of Avenging Justice. 

But Rafael did not waver. He went straight on up the stairs, fearlessand without a tremor, like a proprietor who had been away from home forsome time and strides arrogantly back Into a house that is all his own. 

VI

"You're right, don Andrés. Rafael is not my son. He has changed. Thatwanton woman has made another man of him. Worse, a thousand times worse, than his father! Crazy over the huzzy! Capable of trampling on me if Ishould step between him and her. You complain of his lack of respect toyou! Well, what about me?. .. You wouldn't have thought it possible! Theother morning, when he came into the house, he treated me just as hetreated you. Only a few words, but plain enough! He'll do just as hepleases, or--what amounts to the same thing--he'll keep up his affairwith that woman until he wearies of her, or else blows up in one granddebauch, like his father. .. . My God! And that's what I've suffered forall these years. That's what I get for sacrificing myself, day in dayout, trying to make somebody out of him!"

The austere doña Bernarda, dethroned by her son's resoluterebelliousness, wept as she said this. In her tears of a mother's griefthere was something also of the chagrin of the authoritarian on findingin her own home a will rebellious to hers and stronger than hers. 

Between sobs she told don Andrés how her son had been carrying on sincehis declaration of independence. He was no longer cautious aboutspending the night away from home. He was coming in now in broaddaylight; and, afternoons, with his meals "still in his mouth" as shesaid, he would take the road to the Blue House, on the run almost, as ifhe could not get to perdition soon enough. The dead hand of his fatherwas upon him!

All you had to do was look at him. His face discolored, yellow, pale;his skin drawn tight over his cheekbones; and--the only sign oflife--the fire that gleamed in his eyes like a spark of wild joy! Oh, acurse was on the family! They were all alike . .. !

The mother did her best to conceal the truth from Remedios. Poor girl!She was going about crestfallen and in deep dejection, unable to explainRafael's sudden withdrawal. 

The matter had to be kept secret; and that was what held doña Bernarda'srage within bounds during her rapid, heated exchanges with her son. 

Perhaps everything would come out all right in the end--somethingunforeseen would turn up to undo the evil spell that had been cast overRafael. And in this hope she used every effort to keep Remedios and herfather from learning what had happened. She feigned contentment in theirpresence, and invented a thousand pretexts--studies, work, evenillness--to justify her son's neglect of his "fiancee. " At the sametime, the disconsolate mother feared the people around her--the gossipof a small town, bored with itself, ever on the alert, hunting forsomething interesting to talk about and get scandalized about. 

The news of Rafael's affair spread like wildfire meanwhile, considerablymagnified as it passed from mouth to mouth. People told hair-raisingtales of that expedition down the river, of walks through the orangegroves, of nights spent at doña Pepa's house, Rafael entering in thedark, in his stocking feet, like a thief; of silhouettes of the loversoutlined in suggestive poses against the bedroom curtain; of theirappearing in windows their arms about each other's waists, looking atthe stars--everything sworn to by voluntary spies, who could say "I sawit with my own eyes"--persons who had spent whole nights, on theriver-bank, behind some fence, in some clump of bushes, to surprise thedeputy on his way to or from his assignations. 

In the cafés or at the Casino, the men openly envied Rafael, commentingwith eyes a-glitter on his good fortune. That fellow had been born undera lucky star! But later at home they would add their stern voices to thechorus of indignant women. What a scandal! A deputy, a public man, a"personage" who ought to set an example for others! That was a disgraceto the constituency! And when the murmur of general protest reached theears of doña Bernarda, she lifted her hands to heaven in despair. Wherewould it all end! Where would it all end! That son of hers was bent onruining himself!

Don Matías, the rustic millionaire, said nothing; and, in the presenceof doña Bernarda, at least, pretended to know nothing. His interest in amarriage connection with the Brull family counselled prudence. He, too, hoped that it would all blow over, prove to be the blind infatuation ofa young man. Feeling himself a father, more or less, to the boy, hethought of giving Rafael just a bit of advice when he came upon him inthe street one day. But he desisted after a word or two. A proud glanceof the youth completely floored him, making him feel like the poororange-grower of former days, who had cringed before the majestic, grandiose don Ramón!

Rafael was intrenched in haughty silence. He needed no advice. But alas!When at night he reached his beloved's house--it seemed to be redolentwith the very perfume of her, as if the furniture, the curtains, thevery walls about her had absorbed the essence of her spirit--he felt thestrain of that insistent gossip, of the persecution of an entire citythat had fixed its eyes upon his love. 

Two against a multitude! With the serene immodesty of the ancientidylls, they had abandoned themselves to passion in a stupid, narrowenvironment, where sprightly gossip was the most appreciated of themoral talents!

Leonora grew sad. She smiled as usual; she flattered him with the sameworship, as if he were an idol; she was playful and gay; but in momentsof distraction, when she did not notice that he was watching, Rafaelwould surprise a cast of bitterness about her lips--and a sinister lightin her eyes, the reflection of painful thoughts. 

She referred with acrid mirth one night to what people were saying aboutthem. Everything was found out sooner or later in that city! The gossiphad gotten even to the Blue House! Her kitchen woman had hinted that shehad better not walk so much along the river front--she might catchmalaria. On the market place the sole topic of conversation was thatnight trip down the Júcar . .. The deputy, sweating his life out overthe oars, and she waking half the country up with her strange songs!. .. And she laughed, but with a hard, harsh laugh of affected gaiety thatshowed the nervousness underneath, though without a word of complaint. 

Rafael remorsefully reflected that she had foreseen all that in firstrepelling his advances. He admired her resignation. She would have beenjustified in rebuking him for the harm he had done her. As it was, shewas not even telling him all she knew! Ah, the wretches! To harass aninnocent woman so! She had loved him, given herself to him, bestowed onhim the royal gift of her person. And the deputy began to hate his city, for repaying in insult and scandal the wondrous happiness she hadconferred on its "chief"!

On another night Leonora received him with a smile that frightened him. She was affecting a mood of hectic cheerfulness, trying to drown herworries by sheer force, overwhelming her lover with a flood of light, frivolous chatter; but suddenly, at the limit of her endurance, she gaveway, and in the middle of a caress, burst into tears and sank to adivan, sobbing as if her heart would break. 

"Why what's the matter? What has happened . .. ?"

For a time she could not answer, her voice was too choked with weeping. At last, however, between sobs, burying her tear-stained face onRafael's shoulder, she began to speak, completely crushed, fainting fromvirtual prostration. 

She could stand it no longer! The torture was becoming unbearable. Itwas useless for her to pretend. She knew as well as he what people weresaying in the city. They were spied upon continuously. On the roads, inthe orchard, along the river, there were people constantly on the watchfor something new to report. That passion of hers, so sweet, soyouthful, so sincere, was a butt of public laughter, a theme for idletongues, who flayed her as if she were a common street-woman, becauseshe had been good to him, because she had not been cruel enough to watcha young man writhe in the torment of passion, indifferently. .. . Butthough this persecution from a scandalized public was bad enough, shedid not mind it. Why should she care what those stupid people said? But, alas, there were others--the people around Rafael, his friends, hisfamily, . .. His mother!

Leonora sat silent for a moment, as if waiting to see the effect of thatlast word; unless, indeed, she were hesitating, out of delicacy, toinclude her lover's family in her complaint. The young man shrank with aterrible presentiment. Doña Bernarda was not the woman to stand by idleand resigned in the face of opposition, even from him!

"I see . .. Mother!" he said in a stifled voice. "She has been up tosomething. Tell me what it is. Don't be afraid. To me you are dearerthan anything else in the world. "

"Well . .. There is auntie . .. " Leonora resumed; and Rafael rememberedthat doña Pepa, remarking his assiduous visits to the Blue House, hadthought her niece might be contemplating marriage. In the afternoon, Leonora explained, she had had a _scene_ with her aunt. Doña Pepa hadgone into town to confession, and on coming out of church had met doñaBernarda. Poor old woman! Her abject terror on returning home betrayedthe intense emotion Rafael's mother had succeeded in wakening in her. Leonora, her niece, her idol, lay in the dust, stripped of that blind, enthusiastic, affectionate trust her aunt had always had for her. Allthe gossip, all the echoes of Leonora's adventurous life, thathad--heretofore but feebly--come to her ears, the old lady had neverbelieved, regarding them as the work of envy. But now they had beenrepeated to her by doña Bernarda, by a lady "in good standing, " a goodChristian, a person incapable of falsehood. And then after rehearsingthat scandalous biography, Rafael's mother had come to the shockingeffrontery with which her niece and Rafael were rousing the whole city;flaunting their wrong-doing in the face of the public; and turning herhome, the respectable, irreproachable home of doña Pepa, into a den ofvice, a brothel!

And the poor woman had wept like a child in her niece's presence, adjuring her to "abandon the wicked path of transgression, " shudderingwith horror at the great responsibility she, doña Pepa, had unwittinglyassumed before God. All her life she had labored and prayed and fastedto keep her soul clean. She had thought herself almost in a state ofgrace, only to awaken suddenly and find herself in the very midst of sinthrough no fault of her own--all on account of her niece, who hadconverted her holy, her pure, her pious home into an ante-chamber ofhell! And it was the poor woman's superstitious terror, the convictionof damnation that had seized on doña Pepa's simple soul, that woundedLeonora most deeply. 

"They've robbed me of all I had in the world, " she murmured desperately, "of the affection of the only dear one left after my father died. I amnot the child of former days to auntie; that is apparent from the wayshe looks at me, the way she shuns me, avoiding all contact with me. .. . And just because of you, because I love you, because I was not cruel toyou! Oh, that night! How I shall suffer for it!. .. How clearly I foresawhow it would all end!"

Rafael was humiliated, crushed, filled with shame and remorse at thesuffering that had fallen upon this woman, because she had given herselfto him. What was he to do? The time had come to prove himself thestrong, the resourceful man, able to protect the beloved woman in hermoment of danger. But where should he strike first to defend her?. .. 

Leonora lifted her head from her lover's shoulder, and withdrew from hisembrace. She wiped away her tears and rose to her feet with thedetermination of irrevocable resolution. 

"I have made up my mind. It hurts me very much to say what I am going tosay; but I can't help it. It will do you no good to say 'no'--I cannotstay under this roof another day. Everything is over between my aunt andme. Poor old woman! The dream I cherished was to care for her lovingly, tenderly till she died in my arms, be to her what I failed to be tofather. .. . But they have opened her eyes. To her I am nothing but asinner now and my presence upsets everything for her. .. . I must go away. I've already told Beppa to pack my things. .. . Rafael, my love, this isour last night together. .. . To-morrow . .. And you will never see meagain. "

The youth recoiled as if someone had struck him in the breast. 

"Going? Going . .. ? And you can say that coolly, simply, just like that?You are leaving me . .. This way . .. Just when we are happiest . .. ?"

But soon he had himself in hand again. This surely could be nothing morethan a passing impulse, a notion arrived at in a flash of anger. Ofcourse she did not really mean to go! She must think things over, seethings clearly. That was a crazy idea! Desert her Rafaelito? Absurd!Impossible!

Leonora smiled sadly. She had expected him to talk that way. She, too, had suffered much, ever so much, before deciding to do it! It made hershudder to think that within two days she would be off again, alone, wandering through Europe, caught up again in that wild, tumultuous lifeof art and love, after tasting the full sweetness of the most powerfulpassion she had ever known--of what she believed was her "first love. "It was like putting to sea in a tempest with destination unknown. Sheloved him, adored him, worshipped him, more than ever now that she wasabout to lose him. 

"Well, why are you going?" the young man asked. "If you love me, why areyou forsaking me?"

"Just because I love you, Rafael. .. . Because I want you to be happy. "

For her to remain would mean ruin for him: a long battle with hismother, who was an implacable, a merciless foe. Doña Bernarda might bekilled, but never conquered! Oh, no! How horrible! Leonora knew whatfilial cruelty was! How had she treated her father? She must not nowcome between a son and a mother! Was she, perhaps, a creature accursed, born forever to corrupt with her very name the sacredest, purestrelations on earth?

"No, you must be good, my heart. I must go away. We can't go on lovingeach other here. I'll write to you, I'll let you know all I'm doing. .. . You'll hear from me every day, if I have to write from the North Pole!But you must stay! Don't drive your mother to despair! Shut your eyes tothe poor woman's injustice! For after all, she is doing it all out ofher immense love for you. .. . Do you imagine I am glad to be leavingyou--the greatest happiness I have ever known?"

And she threw her arms about Rafael, kissing him over and over again, caressing his bowed, pensive head, within which a tempest of conflictingideas and resolutions was boiling. 

So those bonds which he had come to believe eternal were to be broken?So he was to lose so easily that beauty which the world had admired, thepossession of which had made him feel himself the first among men? Shetalked of a love from a distance, of a love persisting through years ofseparation, travel, all the hazards of a wandering life; she promised towrite to him every day!. .. Write to him . .. From the arms of anotherman, perhaps! No! He would never give up such a treasure; never!

"You shall not go, " he answered at last decisively. "A love like ours isnot ended so easily. Your flight would be a disgrace to me--it wouldlook as if I had affronted you in some way, as if you were tired of me. "

Deep in his soul he felt eager to make some chivalrous gesture. She wasgoing away because she had loved him! He should stay behind, sad andresigned like a maid abandoned by a lover, and with the sense of havingharmed her on his conscience! _Ira de diós_! He, as a man, could notstand by with folded arms accepting the abnegation of a woman, to sticktied to his mother's apron-strings in boobified contentment. Even girlsran away from home and parents sometimes, in the grip of a powerfullove; and he, a man, a man "in the public eye" also--was he to let abeautiful girl like Leonora go away sorrowful and in tears, so that hecould keep the respect of a city that bored him and the affection of amother who had never really loved him? Besides, what sort of a love wasit that stepped aside in a cowardly, listless way like that, when awoman was at stake, a woman for whom far richer, far more powerful menthan he, men bound to life by attractions that he had never dreamed ofin his countrified existence, had died or gone to ruin?. .. 

"You shall not go, " he repeated, with sullen obstinacy. "I won't give upmy happiness so easily. And if you insist on going, we will gotogether. "

Leonora rose to her feet all quivering. She had been expecting that; herheart had told her it was coming. Flee together! Have her appear like anadventuress, drawing Rafael on, tearing him from his mother's arms aftercrazing him with love? Oh, no! Thanks! She had a conscience! She didnot care to burden it with the execration of a whole city. Rafael mustconsider the matter calmly, face the situation bravely. She must go awayalone. Afterwards, later on, she would see. They might chance to meetagain; perhaps in Madrid, when the Cortes reassembled! He would bethere, and alone; she could find a place at the _Real_, singing fornothing if that should prove necessary. 

But Rafael writhed angrily at her resistance. He could not live withouther! A single night without seeing her would mean despair. He would endas Macchia ended! He would shoot himself!

And he seemed to mean it. His eyes were fixed on the floor as if he werestaring at his own corpse, lying there on the pavement, motionless, covered with blood, a revolver in its stiffened hand. 

"Oh, no! How horrible! Rafael, my Rafael!" Leonora groaned, clasping himaround the neck, hanging upon him in terror. 

Her lover continued to protest. He was free. Had he been a married man;if, in his flight, he were leaving a wife behind to cry betrayal, orchildren calling for his help in vain, it would all be a differentmatter. She could properly feel the repugnance of a kind heart unwillingthat love should mean a shattered home! But whom was he abandoning? Amother, who, in a short time, would find consolation in the thought thathe was well and happy, a mother jealous of any rivalry in her son'saffection, and to that jealousy willing to sacrifice his very happiness!Any harm an elopement would bring would by no means be irreparable. No, they must go away together, parade their love through the whole world!

But Leonora, lowering her head again, repeated feebly:

"No, my mind is made up. I must go alone. I haven't the strength to facea mother's hatred. "

Rafael flushed indignantly:

"Why not say outright that you don't love me. You're tired of me, and ofthis environment. The hankering for your old life has come over youagain; your old world is calling!"

The actress fixed her great, luminous, tear-stained eyes upon him. Andthey were filled with tenderness and pity. 

"Tired of you!. .. When I have never felt such desperation as tonight!You say I want my old life back. You don't realize that to leave hereseems like entering a den of torture. .. . Oh, dear heart, you'll neverknow how much I love you. "

"Well, then . .. ?"

And to tell everything, to spare no detail of the danger he would faceafter separation, Rafael spoke of the life he would lead alone with hismother in that dull, unspeakable city. Leonora was assuming thataffection played some part in his mother's indignant opposition. Well, doña Bernarda did love him--agreed: he was her only son; but ambitionwas the decisive thing in her schemes, her passion for theaggrandizement of the House--the controlling motive of her whole life. She was openly, frankly, using him as security in an alliance she wasplanning with a great fortune. She wanted to marry him to money: and ifLeonora were to go, if he were left alone, forsaken, then despair--andtime, which can do all things--would break his will; and eventually hewould succumb, like a victim at the altar, who, in his terror andabasement, does not sense the real significance of the sacrifice forcedupon him. 

The words reached a jealous spot in Leonora's heart. All the scatteredrumors that had come to her ears in former days now echoed in hermemory. She knew that Rafael was telling the truth. The man she loved, given away by his mother--to another woman!. .. Lost forever if she losthim now!. .. And her eyes opened wide with horror and revulsion. 

"And I refuse, Leonora, do you understand? I refuse!" continued herlover with unaffected resolution. "I belong to you, you are the onlywoman I love. I shall follow you all over the world, even against yourwishes, to be your servant, see you, speak to you, and there are notmillions enough in the world to stop me!"

"Oh, my darling! My darling! You love me, you love me--as I love you!"

And in a frenzy of passion she fell impetuously, madly upon him, clutching him in her arms like a fury. In her caresses Rafael felt anintensity that almost frightened him. The room seemed to be whirlingabout him. Trembling, limp and weak, he sank to the divan, overwhelmed, pounded to pieces, it seemed, by that vehement adoration, that caughthim up and carried him away like a tumultuous avalanche. His senses lefthim in that trembling confusion, and he closed his eyes. 

When he opened them, the room was dark. Around his neck he could feel agentle arm that was tenderly sustaining him, and Leonora was whisperingin his ear. 

Agreed! They would go together: to continue their love duct in somecharming place, where nobody knew them, where envy and vulgarity wouldnot disturb. Leonora knew every nook in the world. She would have noneof Nice and the other cities of the Blue Coast, pretty places, coquettish, bepowdered and rouged like women fresh from their dressingtables! Besides there would be too many people there. Venice was better. They would thread the narrow, solitary silent canals there, stretchedout in a gondola, kissing each other between smiles, pitying the poorunfortunate mortals crossing the bridges over them, unaware of how greata love was gliding beneath their feet!

But no, Venice is a sad place after all: when it rains, it rains andrains! Naples rather; Naples! _Viva Napoli_! And Leonora clapped herhands in glee! Live in perpetual sunshine, freedom, freedom, freedom tolove openly, as nakedly as the _lazzaroni_ walk about the streets! Sheowned a house in Naples, --at Posilipo, that is--a _villino_, in pinkstucco, a dainty little place with fig trees, nopals and parasol pines, that ran in a grove down a steep promontory to the sea I They would fishin the bay there--it was as smooth and blue as a looking-glass! Andafternoons he would row her out to sea, and she would sing, looking atthe waters ablaze with the sunset, at the plume of smoke curling up fromVesuvius, at the immense white city with its endless rows of windowsflaming like plaques of gold in the afterglow. Like gipsies they wouldwander through the countless towns dotting the shores of the miraculousBay; kissing on the open sea among the fisherboats, to the accompanimentof passionate Neapolitan boat-songs; spending whole nights in the openair, lying in each other's arms on the sands, hearing the pearlylaughter of mandolins in the distance, just as that night on the island, they had heard the nightingale! "Oh, Rafael, my god, my king! Howwonderful!"

When day dawned, they were still sitting there weaving fanciful plansfor the future, arranging all the details of their elopement. She wouldleave Alcira as soon as possible. He would join her two days later, whenall suspicion had been quieted, when everybody would imagine she wasfar, far away. Where would they meet? At first they thought ofMarseilles, but that was a long way off! Then they thought of Barcelona. But that, too, meant hours of travel, when hours, minutes, counted forso much. It seemed utterly incredible that they could live two dayswithout each other! No, the sooner they met again the better! And, bargaining with time like peasants in a market, at last they chose thenearest city possible, Valencia. 

For love--true love--is fond of brazenness!

VII

They had just finished lunch among the trunks and boxes that occupied agreat part of Leonora's room in the _Hôtel de Roma_ in Valencia. 

For the first time they were at a table in familiar intimacy, with noother witness than Beppa, who was quite accustomed to every sort ofsurprise in her mistress's adventurous career. The faithful maid wasexamining Rafael with a respectful kindliness, as if he were a new idolthat must share the unswerving devotion she showed for Leonora. 

This was the first moment of tranquillity and happiness the young manhad tasted for some days. The old hotel, with its spacious rooms, itshigh ceilings, its darkened corridors, its monastic silence, seemed tohim a veritable abode of delight, a grateful place of refuge where foronce he would be free of the gossip and the strife that had beenoppressing him like a belt of steel. Besides, he could already feel theexotic charm that lingers around harbors and great railroad terminals. Everything about the place, from the macaroni of the lunch, and theChianti in its straw-covered, heavy-paunched bottle, to the musical, incorrect Spanish of the hotel-proprietors--fleshy, massive men withhuge mustaches in Victor Emmanuel style--spoke of flight, of delightfulseclusion in that land so glowingly described by Leonora. 

She had made an appointment with him in that hotel, a favorite haunt ofartists. Somewhat off the main thoroughfares, the "Roma" occupies onewhole side of a sleepy, peaceful, aristocratic square with no noise savethe shouting of cab-drivers and the beating of horses' hoofs. 

Rafael had arrived on the first morning train--and with no baggage; likea schoolboy playing truant, running off with just the clothes he had onhis back. The two days since Leonora left Alcira had been days oftorture to him. The singer's flight was the talk of the town. Peoplewere scandalized at the amount of luggage she had. Counted over in theimagination of that imaginative city, it eventually came to fill all thecarts in the province. 

The man who knew the business to the bottom was Cupido, the barber, whohad dispatched the trunks and cases for her. He knew where the dangerouswoman was bound, and he kept it so secret that everybody found it outbefore the train started. She was going back to Italy! He himself hadchecked and labelled the baggage to the Customs' House at thefrontier--cases as big as a house, man! Trunks he could have lain downcomfortable in, with his two "Chinamen" to boot! And the women, as theylistened to his tale, applauded the departure with undissimulatedpleasure. They had been liberated from a great danger. Joy go with her!

Rafael kept quite to himself. He was vexed at the curiosity of people, at the scoffing sympathy of his friends who condoled with him that hishappiness was ending. For two days he remained indoors, followed by hismother's inquiring glances. Doña Bernarda felt more at ease now that theevil influence of the "chorus girl" promised to be over; but none theless she did not lose her frown. With a woman's instinct, she stillscented the presence of danger. 

The young man could hardly wait for the time to come. It seemedunbearable for him to be there at home while "she" was away offsomewhere, alone, shut up in a hotel, waiting just as impatiently as hewas for the moment of reunion. 

What a sunrise it had been that day when he set out! Rafael burned withshame as he crept like a burglar in his stockings and on tip-toe, through the room where his mother received the orchard-folk and adjustedall accounts pertaining to the tilling of the land. He groped his wayalong guided by the light that came in through the chinks in the closedwindows. His mother was sleeping in a room close by; he could hear herbreathe--the labored respiration of a deep sleep that spelled recoveryfrom the insomnia of the days of his love trysts. He could still feelthe criminal shudder that rippled through him at a slight rattle of thekeys, which had been left with the confidence of unlimited authority inthe lock of an old chest where doña Bernarda kept her savings. Withtremulous hands he had collected all the money she had put away in thesmall boxes there. A thief, a thief! But, after all, he was taking onlywhat belonged to him. He had never asked for his share of his father'sestate. Leonora was rich. With admirable delicacy she had refused totalk of money during their preparations for the journey; but he wouldrefuse to live on her! He did not care to be like Salvatti, who hadexploited the singer in her youth! That thought it had been which gavehim strength to take the money finally and steal out of the house. Buteven on the train he felt uneasy; and _su señoria_, the deputy, shiveredwith an instinctive thrill of fear, every time a tricorne of the CivilGuard appeared at a railroad station. What would his mother say when shegot up and found the money gone?

As he entered the hotel his self-confidence returned and his spiritsrevived. He felt as if he were entering port after a storm. He foundLeonora in bed, her hair spread over the pillow in waves of gold, hereyes closed, and a smile on her lips, as if he had surprised her in themiddle of a dream, where she had been tasting her memories of love. Theyordered lunch in the room early, intending to set out on their journeyat once. Circumspection, prudence, until they should be once beyond theSpanish border! They would leave that evening on the Barcelona mail forthe frontier. And calmly, tranquilly, like a married couple discussingdetails of house-keeping in the calm of a quiet home, they ran over thelist of things they would need on the train. 

Rafael had nothing. He had fled like a fugitive from a fire, with thefirst clothes he laid hands on as he bounded out of bed. He needed manyindispensable articles, and he thought of going out to buy them--amatter of a moment. 

"But are you really going out?" asked Leonora with a certain anguish, asif her feminine instinct sensed a danger. "Are you going to leave mealone?. .. "

"Only a moment. I won't keep you waiting long. "

They took leave of each other in the corridor with the noisy, nonchalant joy of passion, indifferent to the chamber-maids who werewalking to and fro at the other end of the passageway. 

"Good-bye, Rafael. .. . Another hug; just one more. "

And as, with the taste of the last kiss still fresh on his lips, hereached the square, he saw a bejewelled hand still waving to him from abalcony. 

Anxious to get back as soon as possible, the young man walked hurriedlyalong, elbowing his way among the cab-drivers swarming in front of thegreat _Palacio de Dos Aguas_, closed, silent, slumbering, like the twogiants that guarded its portals, displaying in the golden downpour ofsunlight the overdecorated yet graceful sumptuousness of its roccocòfacade. 

"Rafael! Rafael!. .. "

The deputy turned around at the sound of his name, and blanched as if hehad seen a ghost. It was don Andrés, calling to him. 

"Rafael! Rafael!"

"You?. .. Here?"

"I came by the Madrid express. For two hours I've been hunting for youin all the hotels of Valencia. I knew you were here. .. . But come, wehave a great deal to talk over. This is not just the place to do it. "

And the old Mentor glowered hatefully at the _Hôtel de Roma_, as if hewanted to annihilate the huge edifice with everybody in it. 

They walked off, slowly, without knowing just where they were going, turning corners, passing several times through the same streets, theirnerves tense and quivering, ready to shout at the top of their lungs, yet using every effort to speak softly, so as not to attract attentionfrom the passers-by who were rubbing against them on the narrowside-walks. 

Don Andrés, naturally, was the first to speak:

"You approve of what you've done?"

And seeing that Rafael, like a coward, was trying to pretend innocentastonishment, asking "what" he had done, observing that he had come toValencia on a matter of business, the old man broke into a rage. 

"Now, see here, don't you go lying to me: either we're men or we're notmen. If you think you've acted properly, you ought to stand up for itand say so. Don't imagine you're going to pull the wool over my eyes andthen run off with that woman to God knows where. I've found you and I'mnot going to let you go. I want you to know the truth. Your mother issick abed; she tipped me off and I caught the first train to get here. The whole house is upside down! At first it was thought a robbery hadbeen committed. By this time the whole city must be agog about you. Comenow!. .. What do you say to that? Do you want to kill your mother? Well, you're going about it right! Good God! And this is what they call a 'boyof talent, ' a 'young man of promise'! How much better it would have beenif you were a dunce like me or your father--but a dunce at least whoknows how to get a woman if he has to, without making a public ass ofhimself!"

Then he went into detail. Rafael's mother had gone to the old chest toget some money for one of her laborers. Her cry of horror and alarm hadthrown the whole house into an uproar. Don Andrés had been hastilysummoned. Suspicions against the servants, a "third degree" for thewhole lot, all of them protesting and weeping, in outrage! Until finallydoña Bernarda sank to a chair in a swoon, whispering into her adviser'sear:

"Rafael is not in the house. He has gone . .. Perhaps never to return. Iam sure of it--he took the money!"

While the others were getting the sobbing mother to bed, and sending forthe doctor, don Andrés had made for the station to catch the express. Hecould tell from the way people looked at him that everybody knew whathad been going on. Gossip had already connected the excitement in theBrull mansion with Rafael's taking the early train! He had been seen byseveral persons, in spite of his precautions. 

"Well, is the Hon. Don Rafael Brull, member from Alcira, satisfied withhis morning's work? Don't you think the laugh your enemies have raiseddeserves an _encore_!"

For all his bitter sarcasm the old man spoke in a faltering voice, andseemed on the verge of tears. The labor of his entire life, the greatvictories won with don Ramón, that political power which had been socarefully built up and sustained over decades, was about to crumble toruins; all because of a light-headed, erratic boy who had handed to thefirst skirt who came along everything that belonged to him andeverything that belonged to his friends as well. 

Rafael had gone into the interview in an aggressive mood, ready toanswer with plain talk if that sodden idiot should go too far in hisrecriminations. But the sincere grief of the old man touched him deeply. Don Andrés, who resembled Rafael's father as the cat resembles thetiger, could think of nothing but Brull politics; and he was almostsobbing as he saw the danger which the prestige of the Brull House wasrunning. 

With bowed head, crushed by the realization of the scene that hadfollowed his flight, Rafael did not notice where they were going. Butsoon he became conscious of the perfume of flowers. They were crossing agarden; and as he looked up he saw the figure of Valencia's conqueror onhis sinewy charger glistening in the sun. 

They walked on. The old man began in wailing accents to describe thesituation which the Brull House was facing. That money, which perhapsRafael still had in his pocket--more than thirty thousand_pesetas_--represented the final desperate efforts of his mother torescue the family fortune, which had been endangered by don Ramón'sprodigal habits. The money was his, and don Andrés had nothing to say inthat regard. Rafael was at liberty to squander it, scatter it to thefour winds of heaven; but don Andrés wasn't talking to a child, he wastalking to a man with a heart: so he begged him, as his childhoodpreceptor, as his oldest friend, to consider the sacrifices his motherhad been making--the privations she had imposed upon herself, goingwithout new clothes, quarreling with her help over a _céntimo_, despiteall her airs as a grand lady, depriving herself of all the dainties andcomforts that are so pleasant to old age--all that her son, her _señorhijo_, might waste it in gay living on a woman! Thirty thousand! Anddon Andrés mentioned the sum with bated breath! It had taken so muchtrouble to hoard it! Come, man! The sight of such things was enough tomake a fellow cry like a baby!. .. 

And suppose his father, don Ramón, were to rise from the grave? Supposehe could see how his Rafael were destroying at a single stroke what ithad cost him so many years to build up, just because of a woman!. .. 

They were now crossing a bridge. Below, against the background of whitegravel in the river-bed the red and blue uniforms of a group of soldierscould be seen; and the drums were beating, sounding in the distance likethe humming of a huge bee-hive--worthy accompaniment, Rafael reflected, to the old man's evocation of the youth's father. Rafael thought hecould almost see in front of him the massive body, the flourishingmustache, the proud, arrogant brow of don Ramón, a born fighter, anadventurer destined from the cradle to lead men and impose his will uponinferiors. 

What would that heroic master of men have said of this? Don Ramón wouldgive a lot of money to a woman--granted--but he wouldn't have swappedall the beauties on earth put together for a single vote!

But his son, the boy on whom he had grounded his fondest hopes--theredeemer destined to raise the House of Brull to its loftiest glory--thefuture "personage" in Madrid, the fondled heir-apparent, who had foundhis pathway already cleared for him at birth--was throwing all hisfather's labors through the window, the way you toss overboardsomething it has cost you nothing to earn! It was easy to see thatRafael had never known what hard times were--those days of theRevolution, when the Brulls were out of power and held their own justbecause don Ramón was a bad man with a gun--desperate electioncampaigns, when you marched to victory over somebody's dead body, boldcross-country rides on election night, never knowing when you would meetthe _roder_ in ambush--the outlaw sharpshooter who had vowed to kill donRamón; then endless prosecutions for intimidation and violence, whichhad given doña Bernarda and her husband months and months of anxiety, lest a catastrophe from one moment to the next bring prison andforfeiture of all their property! All that his father had gone through, for his boy's sake; to carve out a pedestal for Rafael, pass on to him aDistrict that would be his own, blazing a path over which he might go tono visible limit of glory! And he was just throwing it all away, relinquishing forever a position that had been built up at the cost ofyears and years of labor and peril! That is what he would be doing, unless that very night he returned home, refuting by his presence therethe rumors his scandalized adherents were circulating. 

Rafael shook his head. The mention of his father had touched him, and hewas convinced by the old man's arguments; but none the less he wasdetermined to resist. No, and again no; his die was cast: he wouldcontinue on his way. 

They were now under the trees of the Alameda. The carriages were rollingby, forming an immense wheel in the center of the avenue. The harnessesof the horses and the lamps of the drivers' boxes gleamed in thesunlight. Women's hats and the white lace shawls of children could beseen through the coach windows as they passed. 

Don Andrés became impatient with the youth's stubbornness. He pointed toall those happy, peaceful-looking families out for their afternoondrive--wealth, comfort, public esteem, abundance, freedom from struggleand toil! _Cristo_, boy! Was that so bad, after all? Well, that was justthe life he could have if he would be good and not turn his back on hisplain duty--rich, influential, respected, growing old with a circle ofnice children about him. What more could a decent person ask for in thisworld?

All that bohemian nonsense about pure love, love free from law andrestraint, love that scoffs at society and its customs, sufficient untoitself and despising public opinion, that was just bosh, the humbug ofpoets, musicians and dancers--a set of outcasts like that woman who wastaking him away, cutting him off forever from all the ties that boundhim to family and country!

The old man seemed to take courage from Rafael's silence. He judged themoment opportune for launching the final attack upon the boy'sinfatuation. 

"And then, what a woman! I have been young, like you, Rafael. It's trueI didn't know a stylish woman like this one, but, bah! they're allalike. I have had my weaknesses; but I tell you I wouldn't have lifted afinger for this actress of yours! Any one of the girls we have down homeis worth two of her. Clothes, yes, talk, yes, powder and rouge inchesdeep!. .. I'm not saying she's bad to look at--not that; what I sayis. .. Well, it doesn't take much to turn your head--you're satisfiedwith the leavings of half the men in Europe. .. . "

And he came to Leonora's past, the lurid, much exaggerated legend of herjourney through life--lovers by the dozens; statues and paintings of herin the nude; the eyes of all Europe centered on her beauty; the publicproperty of a continent! "That was virtue to go crazy about, come now!Quite worth leaving house and home for, no doubt of that!"

The old man winced under the flash of anger that blazed in Rafael'seyes. They had just crossed another bridge, and were entering the cityagain. Don Andrés, wretched coward that he was, sidled away to be withinreach of the customs' office if the fist he could already see cleavingthe air should come his way. 

Rafael, in fact, stopped in his tracks, glaring. But in a second or twohe went on his way again, dejected, with bowed head, ignoring thepresence of the old man. Don Andrés resumed his place at the boy's side. 

The cursed old fox! He had stuck the knife in the right place! Leonora'spast! Her favors distributed with mad lavishness over the four cornersof the globe! An army of men of every nation owning her for a momentwith the appeal of luxury or the enchantment of art! A palace today anda hotel tomorrow! Her lips repeating in all the languages of Babel thevery words of love that had fired him as if he had been the first tohear them! He was going to lose everything for that--that refuse, as donAndrés said--a public scandal, a ruined reputation; and a murderedmother perhaps, --for that! Oh, that devil of a don Andrés! How cunninglyhe had slashed him, and then plunged his fingers into the bleeding gashto make the wound deeper! The old man's plain common-sense had shatteredhis dream. That man had been the rustic, cunning Sancho at the side ofthe quixotic don Ramón; and he was playing the same role with Rafael!

Leonora's story came back to the boy in one flash--the frank confessionshe had made during the days of their mere friendship, when she had toldhim everything to prevent his continuing to desire her. However much shemight adore him, he would be nothing after all but a successor to aRussian count, and a German musician; the latest, simply among thosecountless ephemeral lovers, whom she had barely mentioned but who mustnone the less have left some trace in her memory. The last item in along inventory! The most recent arrival, coming several years late, andcontent to nibble at the soggy over-ripe fruit which they had known whenit was fresh and firm. Her kisses that so deeply disturbed him! Whatwere they but the intoxicating, unhealthful perfume of a whole career ofcorruptness and licentiousness, the concentrated essence of a worldmadly dashing at her seductive beauty, as a bird of night breaks itshead against the globe of a lighthouse? Give up everything for that! Thetwo of them traveling about the world, free, and proud of theirpassion!. .. And out in that world he would encounter many of hispredecessors; and they would look at him with curious, ironic eyes, knowing of her all that he would know, able to repeat all the pantingphrases she would speak to him in the exaggerations of her insatiablepassion! The strange thing about it was that all this had not occurredto him sooner. Blind with happiness, he had never thought an instant ofhis real place in that woman's life!

How long had they been walking through the streets of Valencia?. .. Hislegs were sagging under him! He was faint with weariness. He couldhardly see. The gables of the houses were still tipped with sunlight, yet he seemed to be groping about in a deep night. 

"I'm thirsty, don Andrés. Let's go in somewhere. "

The old man headed him toward the Café de España, his favorite resort. He selected the table in the center of the big square salon under thefour clocks supported by the angel of Fame. The walls were covered withgreat mirrors that opened up fantastic perspectives in the dingy roomwhere the gilded ornaments were blackened by the smoke and a crepuscularlight filtered in through the lofty skylight as into a sombre crypt. 

Rafael drank, without realizing just what his glass contained--a poison, it felt like, that froze his heart. Don Andrés sat looking at thewriting articles on the marble table: a letter-case of wrinkledoil-cloth, and a grimy ink-well. He began to rap upon them with theholder of the public pen--rusty and with the points bent--an instrumentof torture well fitted for a hand committed to despair!

"We have just an hour to catch our train! Come, Rafael, be a man!There's still time! Come, let's get out of this mess we're in!"

And he held out the pen, though he had not said a word about writing toanybody. 

"I can't, don Andrés. I'm a gentleman. I've given my word; and I willnot go back upon it, come what may!"

The old man smiled ironically. 

"Very well, be as much of a gentleman as you please. She deserves it!But when you break with her, when she leaves you, or you leave her, don't come back to Alcira. Your mother won't be there to welcome you! Ishall be--I don't know where; and those who made you deputy will lookupon you as a thief who robbed and killed his mother. .. . Oh, get mad ifyou want to--beat me up even; people at the other tables are alreadylooking at us. .. . Why not top the whole business off with a saloonbrawl? But just the same, everything I've been saying to you is gospeltruth!. .. "

In the meantime Leonora was growing impatient in her hotel room. Threehours had gone by. To relieve her nervousness she sat down behind thegreen curtain at the window watching pedestrians crossing the square. 

How like a small piazza of old Florence this place was, with its statelyaristocratic residences, shrouded in imposing gloom; it's grass-grown, cobblestone pavements hot from the sun; its sleepy solitude: anoccasional woman, or a priest, or a tourist, --and you could hear theirfootsteps even when they were far away! Here was a curious corner of the_Palacio de Dos Agnas_--panels of jasper stucco with a leaf design onthe mouldings! That talking came from the drivers gathered in the hoteldoor--the innkeeper and the servants were setting the chairs out on thesidewalk as if they were back at home--in a small Italian town! Behindthe roof opposite, the sunlight was gradually fading, growing paler andsofter every moment. 

She looked at her watch. Six o'clock! Where on earth could that Rafaelhave gone? They were going to lose the train. In order to waste no time, she ordered Beppa to have everything in readiness for departure. Shepacked her toilet articles; then closed her trunks, casting an inquiringglance over the room with the uneasiness of a hasty leave-taking. On anarmchair near the window she laid her traveling coat, then her hand-bag, and her hat and veil. They would have to run the moment Rafael came in. He would probably be very tired and nervous from returning so late. 

But Rafael did not come!. .. She felt an impulse to go out and look forhim; but where? She had not been in Valencia since she was a child. Shehad forgotten the streets. Then she might actually pass Rafael on theway without knowing it, and wander aimlessly about while he would bewaiting for her at the hotel. No. It would be better to stay there!

It was now dusk and the hotel-room was virtually dark. She went to thewindow again, trembling with impatience, filled with all the gloom ofthe violet light that was falling from the sky with a few red streaksfrom the sunset. They would surely lose the train now! They would haveto wait until the next day. That was a disappointment! They might havetrouble in getting away!

She whirled nervously about as she heard someone calling from thecorridor. 

"Madame, madame, a letter for you!"

A letter for her!. .. She snatched it feverishly from the bell-boy'shand, while Beppa, seated on a trunk, looked on vacantly, withoutexpression. 

She began to tremble violently. The thought of Hans Keller, theungrateful artist, suddenly rose in her memory. She looked for a candleon the chiffonier. There was none. Finally she went to the balcony andtried to read the letter in the little light there was. 

It was his handwriting on the envelope--but tortuous, labored, as if itwere the product of a painful effort. She felt all her blood rush backupon her heart. Madly she tore the letter open, and read with the hasteof a person anxious to drain the cup of bitterness at a single draught, skipping a line here and a line there, taking in only the significantwords. 

"My mother very ill. .. . I must go home for a day or two . .. My duty as ason . .. We'll soon meet again. " And then all the cowardly, conventionalexcuses that chivalry has created to soften the harshness ofdesertion--the promise to join her again as soon as possible; passionateprotestations that she was the only woman in the world he loved. 

Her first thought was to go back to Alcira at once, walk there ifnecessary, find the scamp somewhere, throw the letter into his face, beat him, claw him to pieces!

"Ah, the wretch! The infamous, cowardly, unspeakable wretch!" she cried. 

Beppa had found a candle. She lighted it. And there her mistresswas--staggering, deathly pale, her eyes wide open, her lips white withanguish! Leonora began to walk up and down the apartment, taut andstrained, as if her feet were not moving at all, as if she were beingthrust about by an invisible hand. 

"Beppa, " she groaned finally, "he has gone. He is deserting me. "

The maid did not care about the desertion particularly. She had beenthrough that before. She was thinking about Leonora, waiting for theimpending crisis, studying the anguished countenance of her mistresswith her own placid, bovine eyes. 

"The wretch!" Leonora hissed, pacing back and forth in the chamber. "What a fool, what a complete, unconscionable fool I have been! Givingmyself to that man, believing in that man, trusting that man, giving upmy peace of mind, the last relative I had in the world for that man!. .. And why would he not let me go off alone? He made me dream of an eternalspringtime of love, and now he deserts me. .. . He has tricked me . .. Heis laughing at me . .. And I can not hate him. Why did he insist onrousing me when I was there alone, quite peaceful, forgettingeverything, sunk in a placid indulgent calm!. .. The cool fraud that hewas!. .. But what do I care, after all?. .. It's all over. Come Beppa, cheer up! Hah-hah! Come, Beppa! We're off! We're off! We're going tosing again! Off over the whole globe. Good-bye to this rat-hole forever!I'm through educating children! Now for life again! And we'll drain themdry, the brutes! Kick them about like the selfish donkeys they are!Well, well! I can't believe I've been taken in this way! Isn't it ajoke? The best joke you ever heard! Ha, ha, ha! And I thought I knew theworld . .. ! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!. .. "

And her laugh was audible distinctly down in the square. It was a wild, shrill, metallic laughter, that seemed to be rending her flesh! Thewhole hotel was in commotion, while the actress, with foaming lips, fellto the floor and began to writhe in fury, overturning the furniture andbruising her body on the iron trimmings of her trunks. 

PART THREE

I

"Don Rafael, the gentlemen of the Committee on the Budget are waitingfor you in the second section. "

"I'll be there directly. "

And the deputy bent low over his desk in the writing-room of theCongress, went on with his last letter, adding one more envelope to theheap of correspondence piled up at the end of the table, near his caneand his silk hat. 

This was his daily grind, the boresome drudgery of every afternoon; andaround him, with similar expressions of disgust on their faces, a largenumber of the country's representatives were busy at the same task. Rafael was answering petitions and queries, stifling the complaints andacknowledging the wild suggestions that came in from the District--theendless clamor of the voters at home, who never met the slightestannoyance in their various paths of life without at once running totheir deputy, the way a pious worshipper appeals to the miracle-workingsaint. 

He gathered up his letters, gave them to an usher to mail, andsauntering off with a counterfeit sprightliness that was morecounterfeit as he grew fatter and fatter with the years, walked throughto the central corridor, a prolongation of the lobby in front of the_Salón de Conferencias_. 

The Honorable señor don Rafael Brull, member from Alcira, felt as muchat ease as if he were in his own house when he entered that corridor, --adark hole, thick with tobacco smoke, and peopled with black suitsstanding around in groups or laboriously elbowing their way through thecrowds. 

He had been there eight years; though he had almost lost count of thetimes he had been "duly elected" in the capricious ups and downs ofSpanish politics, which give to Parliaments only a fleeting existence. The ushers, the personnel of the Secretariat, the guards and janitors, treated him with deferential intimacy, as a comrade on a somewhat higherlevel, but as much of a fixture as they were to the Spanish Congress. Hewas not one of those men who are miraculously washed into office on thecrest of a reform wave, but never succeed in repeating the trick, andspend the rest of their lives idling on the sofas of the ConferenceChamber, with wistful memories of lost greatness, waiting to enterCongress afternoons, to preserve their standing as ex-deputies, andforever hoping that their party will some day return to power, so thatonce again they may sit on the red benches. No, don Rafael Brull was agentleman with a District all his own: he came with a clean, undisputedand indisputable certificate of election, whether his own party or theOpposition were in the saddle. For lack of other discoverable merit inhim, his fellow-partisans would say: "Brull is one of the few who comehere on honest returns. " His name did not figure brilliantly in theCongressional record, but there was not an employee, not a journalist, not a member of the "ex-honorables" who, on noticing the word "Brull" onall the committees, did not at once exclaim: "Ah, yes! Brull . .. OfAlcira. "

Eight years of "service to the country. " Eight years of lodging-houselife, while yonder lay a sumptuous home adorned with a luxuriousnessthat had cost his mother and his father-in-law half a fortune! Longseasons of separation from his wife and his children--and withoutamusements, to avoid spending money lest the folks at home suspect himof dereliction in public--and private--duty! What a dog's life his eightyears as deputy had been! Indigestion from the countless gallons ofsugared water drunk at the Congressional bar; callouses on his feet fromendless promenades along the central corridor, absentmindedly knockingthe varnish off the tiles of the wainscoating with the tip of his cane;an incalculable quantity of _pesetas_ spent on carriages, through faultof his supporters, who sent him trotting every morning from one Ministryto the next, asking for the earth, and getting a grain of sand!

He had not as yet gotten anywhere in particular; but according toChamber gossip he was a "serious" well-balanced young man, of few words, but good ones, and sure some day to be rewarded with a Portfolio. Content with the rôle of safety and sanity that had been assigned tohim, he laughed very seldom, and dressed soberly, with not a dissonantcolor to brighten his black attire. He would listen patiently to thingsthat did not concern him in the least, rather than venture a personalopinion with the chance of going wrong--satisfied with prematurewrinkles, premature corpulency, and premature baldness, since nothingcould be more respectable than a thoughtful face, a conspicuous paunch, and a pate that could shine with venerable brilliancy under the lamps ofthe Chamber. At thirty-four, he looked more like forty-five. When hespoke he would remove his spectacles with a gesture he had carefullyimitated from the deceased leader of "the Party. " He would never takethe floor without prefacing his remarks with: "My understanding is . .. , "or "I have my own humble opinion on this matter. .. . " And this was whatdon Rafael Brull had learned in eight years of parliamentary assiduity!

The new Conservative leader, seeing that he could always depend onBrull's vote and that Alcira elections cost "the Party" nothing, had acertain consideration for Rafael. He was a soldier always on hand forroll-call, whenever a new Parliament was formed. He would presenthimself with his certificate of election, whether his party, with allthe insolence of victory, occupied the benches on the Right, or hungryand defiant, and reduced in numbers, was huddled on the Left, determinedto find fault with everything the reigning Ministry did. Two sessions aspart of the minority had won him a certain intimacy with the leader inthat frank comradeship that Oppositions always have, since, from leaderdown to the most silent member, all the deputies "out of power" are on alevel. Besides, in those two seasons of misfortune, to aid in thedestructive tactics of his faction, he put little interpellations to thegovernment, at the openings of the sessions when the crowds were small;and more than once he heard from the pale smiling lips of the chief:"Very good, Brull; that was to the point. " And such congratulationswere duly echoed in his home city, where rustic imagination did therest. 

In addition, a few parliamentary honors had come his way; the "GrandCross" had been given him, as it is given to most deputies of a certainlength of service--from membership, eventually, on committees chargedwith representing the legislative branch of the government at formalpublic functions. If an "Answer to the Message" was to be taken "to thePalace, " he was one of those chosen for the purpose; and he trembledwith emotion to think of what his mother, his wife, all the people downyonder at home would say if they could see him riding there in thesumptuous carriage of state, preceded by bright-liveried horsemen andsaluted by trumpets blaring the royal march! He was also usually amongthe delegates who came out on the staircase of the Congress to welcomeTheir Majesties on the opening of a parliament. Finally, for onesession, he was on "the Committee for the Interior, " an appointment thatraised his prestige a thousand percent among the ushers. 

"That fellow Brull, " they would say in the Chamber, "will be somebodythe day his party returns to power. "

Well, now "the Party" was in power again. During one of those ordered, calculated "changes of direction" to which Spain lives subject, becauseof its parliamentary system of party weights and party balances, theConservatives captured the premiership; and Rafael went on the budgetcommittee. There he would do something more than make interpellationswhen he opened his mouth to speak. In fact he had to win his spurs, justify his filling one of those posts which, according to report, hischief was holding for him. 

The green deputies, the younger set constituting the new majority, electand triumphant through grace of the Ministry of the Interior, respectedhim and deferred to what he said, much as students listen to a tutor whothey know receives his orders from the master directly--thesubordination of freshmen, as it were, to the sophomore who knows therules. 

Whenever a vote was being taken and the Opposition was excited over thechance of putting the government in the minority, the Premier would lookabout anxiously over the hall for Brull. 

"See here, Brull, better bring your people in; we're going to have aclose call. "

And Brull, proud at being noticed thus, would dash out like a streak oflightning while the bells were ringing and the ushers were running aboutsummoning the deputies to vote. He would make the rounds of the desks inthe writing rooms, elbow his way into groups in the corridors; andfilling with self-importance because of the authority conferred uponhim, he would rudely shoo the ministerial flock off toward the Chamber, grumbling fogeywise and assuring them that "in his time, " when he wasserving his first term, there was "far better discipline. " When the votewas all in and the victory won, he would sigh with satisfaction. He hadsaved the government! And perhaps the nation!

At times a residue of the sincerity and frankness of his character as aboy would rise to the surface in him. Then cruel doubts would assail hisfaith in himself. Weren't they all playing a stupid comedy therewithout the slightest wit or sense in it? Really was what they said anddid there of the slightest importance to the country--to anybody?

Standing in the corridor, he would feel the nervous flutter of thejournalists about him--those poor, intelligent, attractive, youngfellows, who found it so hard to make a living. From the press-gallerythey would sit and look down on the legislators the way birds in thetreetops must look down on the wretchedness of the streets below, laughing at the nonsense those solemn baldpates were talking! Could afarce on the stage be more amusing?

To Rafael those "intellectuals" seemed to bring a breeze from out ofdoors into the close, sordid, vitiated air of the Chamber. They stoodfor the thought of the world outside--the idea fatherless, unsponsored, the aspiration of the great masses--a breath of fresh air in thesick-room of a chronic invalid forever dying, forever unburiable. 

Their judgment always differed from that of the country'srepresentatives. His Excellency señor don What's-his-Name was in theireyes, a mud-eel, and in their lingo a _congrio_; the illustrious oratorWhat-do-you-call-him, who took up a sixteen-page sheet in theCongressional Record every time he spoke, was a _percebe_, a "barnacleon the keel of Progress"; every act of parliament struck them as a bitof balderdash, though, to hold their jobs, they praised it to the skiesin their articles. And why was it that the country, in some mysteriousway, would always think eventually what those boys thought, so long, andonly so long, as they remained boys? Would they have to come down fromtheir scats in the press-gallery to the red benches on the floor beforethe real will of the country would make itself felt?

Rafael Brull finally realized that national opinion was present on thefloor, among his fellow members, also, but like a mummy in asarcophagus: bound hand and foot in rhetoric and conventional utterance, spiced, embalmed with proprieties that made any outburst of sincerity, any explosion of real feeling, evidence of "bad taste!"

In reality everything was going well with the Ship of State. The nationhad passed from action to talk, and from talk to passivity, and frompassivity to resignation. The era of revolutions was gone forever. Theinfallible system of government had proved to be this mechanism ofpre-arranged "crises" and amicable exchanges of patronage betweenLiberals and Conservatives, each member of the party in power and eachmember of the party out of power knowing just what he was to say andjust what he was to get. 

So, in that palace of over-ornate architecture, as pretentious and asshowy as the mansion of a millionaire _parvenu_, Rafael was condemned tospend his lifetime, foregoing the blue sky and the flowering fields andorchards of Alcira that a family ambition might be realized. 

Nothing noteworthy had occurred during those eight years. His life hadbeen a muddy, monotonous stream, with neither brilliancy nor beauty inits waters, lazily meandering along, like the Júcar in winter. As helooked back over his career as a "personage, " he could have summed it upin three words: he had married. 

Remedios was his wife. Don Matias was his father-in-law. He waswealthy. He had control over a vast fortune, for he exercised despoticrule over his wife's peasant father, the most fervent of his admirers. His mother seemed to have put the last of her strength into thearrangement of that "marriage of convenience. " She had fallen into asenile decrepitude that bordered on dotage. Her sole evidence of beingalive was her habit of staying in church until the doors were closed andshe could stay no longer. At home she did nothing but recite the rosary, mumbling away in some corner of the house, and taking no part in thenoisy play of her grandchildren. Don Andrés had died, leaving Rafaelsole "boss" of "the Party. " He had had three children. They had hadtheir teeth, their measles, their whooping-cough. These episodes, with afew escapades of that brother of Remedios, who feared Rafael's paunchand bald head more than the wrath of don Matias, were the onlydistractions in a thoroughly dull existence. 

Every year he bought a new piece of land. He felt a thrill of pride whenfrom the top of San Salvador--that Hermitage, alas, of such desperateand unfading memory!--he looked down upon the vast patches of land withorange-trees in straight rows and fenced in by green walls, that all, all, belonged to him. The joy of ownership, the intoxication of propertyhad gone to his head. 

As he entered the old mansion, entirely made over now, he felt the samesense of well-being and power. The old chest in which his mother used tokeep her money stood where it had always stood; but it was no longerdevoted to savings hoarded slowly at the cost of untold sacrifice andprivation to raise mortgages and temporize with creditors. Never againhad he tip-toed up in the dark to rifle it. Now it was his own. And atharvest time it became literally crammed with the huge rolls ofbanknotes his father-in-law paid over in exchange for the oranges of theBrull orchards. And Rafael had a covetous eye on what don Matías had inthe banks; for all that, too, would come to him when the old man died. Acquisitiveness--money and land--had become his one, his ruling passion. Monotony, meanwhile, had turned him into an accurate, methodical, meticulous machine; so that every night he would make out a schedule, hour for hour, of all that he would do on the following day. At thebottom of this passion for riches conjugal contagion probably lay. Eightyears of unbroken familiarity had finally inoculated him with most ofthe obsessions and most of the predilections of his wife. 

The shrinking, timorous little she-goat that used to gambol about withhim in pursuit, the poor child who had been so wistful and downcastduring the days of his wantonness, had now become a woman with all theimperious obstinacy, all the domineering superiority of the female ofthe species as it has evolved in the countries of the South. Cleanlinessand frugality in Remedios took the form of unendurable tyranny. Shescolded her husband if he brought the slightest speck of dust into thehouse on his shoes. She would turn the place upside down, flay all theservants alive, if ever a few drops of oil were spilled from a jar, or acrumb of bread were wasted on the table. 

"A jewel for the home! And didn't I tell you so?" her father wouldwhisper, satisfied with his daughter's obtrusive qualities. 

Rafael, for his part, found them intolerable. He had tried to love hisbride in the early months of their marriage. He made an honest effort toforget, and recall the playful, passionate impulses he had felt on thosedays when he had chased her around the orchards. But after a first feverof passion had passed, she had proved to be a cold, calculatingchild-bearer, hostile to expansiveness of love out of religiousscruples, viewing it her duty to bring new offsprings into the world toperpetuate the House of Brull and to fill "grandaddy" don Matías withpride at sight of a nursery full of future "personages" destined to theheights of political greatness in the District and in the nation. 

Rafael had one of those gentle, temperate, honest, households that, onthe afternoon of their walk through Valencia, don Andrés had pointed outto him as a radiant hope, if only he would turn his back on his madadventure. He had a wife; and he had children; and he was rich. Hisfather-in-law ordered shotguns for him from his correspondents inEngland. Every year a new horse was added to the stable, and don Matiaswould see to purchasing the best that could be found in the fairs ofAndalusia. He hunted, took long horseback rides over the roads of thedistrict, dispensed justice in the _patio_ of the house, just as hisfather don Ramón had done. His three little ones, finding him somewhatstrange after his long absences in Madrid and more at home with theirgrand-parents than with him, would group themselves with bowed, bashfulheads around his knees, silently waiting for his paternal kiss. Everything attainable around him was within his reach for the asking;and yet--he was not happy. 

From time to time the adventure of his youth would come back to hismind. The eight years that had passed seemed to have put a centurybetween him and those ancient days. Leonora's face had slowly, slowly, faded in his memory, till all he could remember were her two green eyes, and her blond hair that crowned her with a crown of gold. Her aunt, thedevout, ingenuous doña Pepa, had died some time since--leaving herproperty for the salvation of her soul. The orchard and the Blue Housebelonged now to Rafael's father-in-law, who had transferred to his ownhome the best of its equipment--all the furniture and decorations thatLeonora had bought during her period of exile, while Rafael had been inMadrid and she had thought of living the rest of her life in Alcira. 

Rafael carefully avoided revisiting the Blue House, out of regard forhis wife's possible susceptibilities. As it was, the woman's silencesometimes weighed heavily upon him, a strange circumspection, whichnever permitted the slightest allusion to the past. In the coldness andthe uncompromising scorn with which she abominated any poetic madness inlove, an important part was doubtless played by the suppressed memory ofher husband's adventure with the actress, which everybody had tried toconceal from her and which had deeply disturbed the preparations for herwedding. 

When the deputy was alone in Madrid, as much at liberty as before hismarriage, he could think of Leonora freely, without those restraintswhich seemed to disturb him back at home in the bosom of his family. What could have become of her? To what limits of mad frolic had she goneafter that parting which even after years had passed, still brought ablush of shame to Rafael's cheeks? The Spanish papers paid very littleattention to matters of foreign art. Only twice in their columns did hediscover Leonora's stage name with an account of her new triumphs. Shehad sung in Paris in French, with as much success as a native _artiste_. The purity of her accent had surprised everyone. In Rome she had playedthe "lead" in an opera by a young Italian composer, and her coming hadbeen announced by press agents as a great event. The opera had failed toplease; not so the singer. Her audience had been moved to tears by herexecution of a scene in the last act, where she wept for a lost love. 

After that--silence, no news whatever! She had disappeared. A new loveaffair, Rafael supposed, a new outburst of that vehement passion whichmade her follow her chosen man like a slave. And Rafael felt a flash ofjealousy at the thought, as if he had rights over the woman still, as ifhe had forgotten the cruelty with which he had bidden her farewell. 

That, fundamentally, had been the cause of all the bitterness andremorse in his life. He understood now that Leonora had been his onegenuine passion: the love that comes to people once in a lifetime. Ithad been within reach of his hand, and he had failed to grasp it, hadfrightened it away forever with a cowardly act of villany, a cruelfarewell, the shame of which would go to the grave with him. Garlandedin the orange-blossoms of the orchard, Love had passed before him, singing the Hymn of wild Youth that knows neither scruples nor ambition. Love, true love had invited him to follow--and he had answered with astab--in the back! That love would never return, as he well knew. Thatmysterious being with its smiles and with its frolics, goes forever whenonce it goes. It knows no bartering with destiny. It demands blindobedience and bids the lover take the woman who offers her hand, orchard-maid or prima donna as she may be. The man who hesitates islost. 

And Rafael felt that an endless night had closed around him! He foundall his efforts to escape from his dullness and depression vain. Hecould not shake off the senility that was creeping over his spirit. Sadly he bowed to the conviction that another love like the first wasimpossible. 

For two months he had been the lover of Cora, a popular girl of theprivate rooms of the Fornos, a tall, thin, strong Galician beauty--asstrong, alas, as the other. Cora had spent a few months in Paris, andhad returned thence with her hair bleached and a distinctly Frenchmanner of lifting her skirt as if she were strolling along the_trottoir_ of the _boulevards_. She had a sweet way of mixing Frenchwords in her conversation, calling everybody _mon cher_ and pretendingexpertness in the organization of a supper. At all events she shone likea great _cocotte_ among her competitors, though her real asset was aline of _risqué_ stories, and a certain gift for low songs. 

Rafael soon wearied of this affair. He did not like her manufacturedbeauty, nor her tiresome chatter that always turned on fashions. She wasalways wanting money for herself and for her friends. Rafael, as awealthy miser, grew alarmed. Remorsefully he thought of his children'sfuture, as if he were ruining them; and of what his economical Remedioswould say of his considerably augmented expenditures. Well he knew thatRemedios haggled for everything down to the last _céntimo_, and that herone extravagance was an occasional new shawl for the local Virgin, andan annual _fiesta_ for the Saint with a large orchestra and hundreds ofcandles! He broke off relations with the Galician _boulevardière_, andfound the rupture a sweet relief. It seemed to remove a sully from thememory of his youthful passion. Moreover, his Party had just returned topower and it was important to have no blemish on his standing as a"serious" person! He resumed his seat on the Right, and near the BlueBench this time, as one of the senior deputies. The moment for work hadcome! Now, it was time to see whether he could not make a position forhimself with one good boost!

They named him to the Committee on the Budget, and he took it uponhimself to refute certain strictures presented by the Opposition to theGovernment program on Pardon and Justice. One friend he could count onwas the minister: a respectable, solemn marquis who had once been anAbsolutist, and who, wearied of platonisms, as he put it, had finally"recognized" the liberal regime, without amending his former ideas, however. 

Rafael was as nervous as a schoolboy on the eve of his firstexaminations. At the library he studied everything that had been said onthe subject by countless deputies in a century of Parliamentarygovernment. His friends in the Conference Chamber--the legislativebohemia of "ex-honorables" and unsuccessful aspirants, who were loyal tohim in gratitude for passes to the floor--were encouraging him andprophesying victory. They no longer approached him to begin: "When I wasauditor . .. " to indulge in a veritable intoxication on the fumes oftheir past glory; no longer did they ask him what don Francisco thoughtof this, that, or the other thing, to draw their own wild inferencesfrom his replies and start rumors going based on "inside information. "Now, quite frankly, they "advised" him, giving him hints in accordancewith what they had said or meant to say during that discussion of thebudget back in González Brabo's time, to end by murmuring, with a smilethat gave him the shudders: "Well, anyhow, we'll see! Good luck to you!"

And that flock of disgruntled spirits who sat around waiting for anelection that would never come and ran like old war-horses at the scentof gun-powder to group themselves, as soon as a row started and the bellbegan to ring for order, in two factions on either side of thepresident's chair, could never have imagined that the young deputy, onmany a night, broke off his study with a temptation to throw the thicktomes of records against the wall, yielding finally, with thrills ofintense voluptuousness, to the thought of what might have become of himhad he gone out into life on his own in the trail of a pair of greeneyes whose golden lights he thought he could still see glittering infront of him between the lines of clumsy parliamentary prose, temptinghim as they had tempted him of yore!

II

"Order of the day. Resumption of debate on ecclesiasticalappropriations!"

The Chamber suddenly came to life with a wild movement of dispersion, something comparable to the stampede of a herd or the panic of an army. The deputies of quickest motory reactions were on their feet in aninstant, followed by dozens and dozens of others, all making for thedoors. Whole blocks of seats were emptied. 

The Chamber had been packed from the opening of the Session. It was aday of intense excitement: a debate between the leader of the Right anda former comrade who was now in the Opposition. The jealousy between thetwo old cronies was resulting in a small-sized scandal. Mutual secretsof their ancient intimacy as colleagues were coming to light--many ofthe intrigues that had settled historic parliamentary contests for thepremiership. The galleries were filled with spectators who had come toenjoy the fun. The deputies and ministers occupied every seat on eitherhand of the presidential chair. But now the incident was closed. Twohours of veiled insult and pungent gossip had passed all too soon. Andthe phrase "Ecclesiastical Appropriations" had served as a fire-alarm. Run--do not walk--to the nearest exit!

However, the name of the orator who was now being given the floorserved to check the stampede somewhat, much as routs have been stoppedby some great historic warcry. A few deputies hurried back to theirbenches. All eyes turned toward the extreme Left of the Chamber, where, a white head, rising above the red seats over a pair of spectacles and agently ironical smile, was coming into view. 

The old man was on his feet, at last. He was small, so frail of person, that he hardly overtopped the men still seated. All his vital energieshad been concentrated in that huge, nobly proportioned head of his, pinkat the top, with shocks of white hair combed back over it. His palecountenance had the warlike transparency of a sound, vigorous old age. To it a shining, luminous silvery beard added a majesty like that withwhich Sacred Art used to picture the Almighty. 

The venerable orator folded his arms and waited for the noise in theChamber to cease. When the last determined fugitives had disappearedthrough the exit doors, he began to speak. The journalists in thepress-gallery craned their necks toward "the tribune, " hushing forsilence in order not to lose a word. 

This man was the patriarch of the Chamber. He represented "theRevolution"--not only the old-fashioned, the political, revolution, butthe modern, the social and economic revolution. He was the enemy of allpresent systems of government and society. His theories irritatedeverybody, like a new and incomprehensible music falling on slumberingears. But he was listened to with respect, with the veneration inspiredby his years and his unsullied career. His voice had the melodiousfeebleness of a muffled, silver bell; and his words rolled through thesilence of the hall with a certain prophetic stateliness, as if thevision of a better world were passing before his eyes as he spoke, therevelation of a perfect society of the future, where there would be nooppression and no misery, the dream he had so often dreamed in thesolitude of his study. 

Rafael was sitting at the head of the committee bench, somewhat apartfrom his companions. They were giving him ample room, as bull-fightersdo their _matador_. He had bundles of documents and volumes piled up athis seat, in case he should need to quote authorities in his reply tothe venerable orator. 

He was studying the old man admiringly and in silence. What a strong, sturdy spirit, as hard and cold and clear as ice! That veteran haddoubtless had his passions like other men. At moments, through his calmimpassive exterior, a romantic vehemence would seem to burn, a poeticardor, that politics had smothered, but which smouldered on as volcanicfires lie dormant rumbling from time to time under the mantle of snow ona mountain peak. But he had known how to adjust his life to duty; andwithout belief in God, with the support of philosophy only, his virtuehad been strong enough to disarm his most violent enemies. 

And a weakling, a dawdler like himself, must reply to a hero likethat!. .. Rafael began to be afraid; and to recover his spirits he sweptthe hall with his eyes. What the regular hangers-on of the sessionswould have called a medium-sized house! A few deputies scattered aboutthe benches! But the public galleries were filled with spectators, workingmen mostly, absolutely quiet, and all ears, as if they weredrinking in every word of the old republican! In the reserved seats, just previously packed with curiosity-seekers interested in the set-toscheduled for the opening of the session, only a few foreign touristswere left. They were taking in everything--even the fantastic uniformsof the mace-bearers; and they were determined not to leave until theywere put out. A few women of the so-called "parliament set, " who cameevery afternoon when there was a squabble on the program, were munchingcaramels and staring in wonderment at the old man. There he was, thearch enemy of law and order! The man whose name it was bad form tomention at their afternoon teas! Who would have supposed he had such akindly, harmless face? How easily, with what naturalness and grace, hewore his frock coat! Incredible!. .. In the diplomatic gallery a solitarylady! She was extravagantly attired in a huge picture hat with blackplumes. Almost hidden behind her was a fair haired youth, his hairparted in the middle, his dress the height of correctness and foppery. Some rich tourist-woman probably! She was directly opposite Rafael'sbench. He could see that her gloved hand rested on the railing, as shemoved her fan to and fro with an almost discourteous noise. The rest ofher body was lost in the darkness of the gallery. She bent back fromtime to time to whisper and laugh with her escort. 

Somewhat reassured by the empty appearance of the house, Rafael scarcelypaid any further attention to the orator. He had guessed all that theman would say, and he was satisfied. The outline of the long answer hehad prepared would not in the least be affected. 

The old man was inflexible and unchangeable. For thirty years he hadbeen saying the same thing over and over again. Rafael had read thatspeech any number of times. The man had made a close study of nationalevils and abuses, and had formulated a complete and pitiless criticismof them in which the absurdities stood out by force of contrast. Withthe conviction that truth is forever the same and that there is nothingever so novel as the truth, he had kept repeating his criticism yearafter year in a pure, concise, sonorous style that seemed to scatter theripe perfume of the classics about the muggy Chamber. 

He spoke in the name of the future Spain, of a Spain that would have nokings, because it would be governed by itself; that would pay nopriests, because, respecting freedom of conscience, it would recognizeall cults and give privileges to none. And with a simple, unaffectedurbanity, as if he were constructing rhyming verses, he would pairstatistics off, underscoring the absurd manner in which the nation wastaking leave of a century of revolution during which all peoples haddone things while Spain was lying stagnant. 

More money, he pointed out, was spent on the maintenance of the RoyalHouse than upon public education. Conclusion: the support of a singlefamily in idleness was worth more than the awakening of an entire peopleto modern life! In Madrid, in the very capital, within sight of everyone of his hearers, the schools remained in filthy hovels, whilechurches and convents rose overnight on the principal streets likemagic palaces. During twenty-odd years of Restoration, more than fiftycompletely new, religious edifices, girding the capital with a belt ofglittering structures, had been built. On the other hand, only a singlemodern school, at all comparable to the ordinary public schools of anytown in England or Switzerland! The young men of the nation were feeble, unenthusiastic, selfish and--pious--in contrast with fathers, who hadadored the generous ideals of liberty and democracy and had stood foraction, revolt! The son was an old man at majority, his breast ladenwith medals, with no other intellectual stimulus than the debates of hisreligious fraternity, trusting his future and his thinking to the Jesuitintroduced into the family by the mother, while the father smiledbitterly, realizing that he was a back-number, belonging to a differentworld, to a dying generation--though to a generation which hadgalvanized the nation for a moment with the spirit of revolutionaryprotest!

Here was the Church collecting pay for its services from the faithful, and then over again from the State! Here was the Ministry of theInterior appealing for a reduction in taxes--a program of stricteconomy--while new bishoprics were being created and ecclesiasticalappropriations swelled for the benefit of the upper clergy; and with noadvantage at all, meanwhile, to the proletariat of the soutane, to thepoor curates who, to make a bare living, had to practice the mostimpious worldliness and unscrupulously exploit the house of God! Andwhile this was going on public works could wait, towns could go withoutroads, Districts without railroads, though the wildest savages of Asiaand Africa had both! Fields could continue to perish of drought whilenearby rivers continued to pour their unutilized waters into the sea!

A thrill of conviction rippled through the Chamber. The silence wasabsolute. Everybody was holding his breath so as not to lose a syllablefrom that faint voice, which sounded like a cry from a distant tomb. Itwas as though Truth in person were passing through those murkyprecincts; and when the orator ended with an invocation to the future, in which social absurdities and injustice should no longer exist, thesilence became deeper still, as if a glacial blast of death were blowingupon those brains that had thought themselves deliberating in the bestof all possible worlds. 

It was now time for the reply. Rafael arose, pale, pulling at his cuffs, waiting a few minutes for the excitement in the Chamber to subside. Theaudience had relaxed and was whispering and stirring about, after thesustained attention compelled by the concise style and the barelyaudible voice of the old man. 

If Rafael was depending on the sympathy of an audience to encourage him, things looked promising indeed! The hall began to empty. Why not? Who isinterested in a committee's reply to the Opposition? Besides, Brull hada bundle of documents on hand. A long-winded affair! Let's escape!Deputies filed by in line across the semi-circle in front of him; whileabove, in the galleries, the desertion was general. The caramel-chewers, noting that the display of celebrities was over for the day, rose fromtheir places. Their coaches were ready outside for a ride through theCastellana. That strange woman in the diplomatic gallery had also risento go. But no: she was giving her hand to her companion, bidding himgood-bye. Now she had resumed her seat, continuing the busy movement ofher fan that annoyed Rafael so. Thanks for the compliment, my fair one IThough as far as he was concerned, the whole audience might have gone, leaving only the president and the mace-bearers. Then he could speakwithout any fear at all! The public galleries, especially, unnerved him. Nobody had moved there. Those workingmen were without doubt waiting forthe rebuttal of his answer from their venerable spokesman. Rafael feltthat the swarthy heads above all those dirty blouses and shirt-frontswithout collars or neckties were eyeing him with stony coldness. "Nowwe'll see what this ninny has got to say!"

Rafael began with a eulogy on the immaculate character, the politicalimportance and the profound learning of that venerable septuagenarianwho still had strength to battle consistently and nobly for the lostcause of his youth. An exordium of this nature was the regularprocedure. That was how "the Chief" did things. And as he spoke, Rafael's eyes turned anxiously upon the clock. He wanted to be long, very long. If he did not talk for an hour and a half or two hours hewould feel disgraced. Two hours was the least to be expected from a manof his promise. He had seen party chiefs and faction leaders go it for awhole afternoon, from four to eight, hoarse and puffing, sweating likediggers in a sewer, with their collars wilted to rags, watching thegreat hall-clock with the intentness of a man waiting to be hanged. "Still an hour left before closing time!" a speaker's friends would say. And the great orator, like a wearied horse, but a thoroughbred, wouldfind new energy somewhere and start on another lap, round and round, repeating what he had already said a dozen times, summarizing the twoideas he had managed to produce in four hours of sonorous chatter. Withduration as the test of quality, no one on the government had yetsucceeded in equaling a certain redheaded deputy of the Opposition whowas forever heckling the Premier, and could talk, if need be, three daysin succession for four hours a day. 

Rafael had heard people praise the conciseness and the clarity ofnew-fangled oratory in the parliaments of Europe. The speeches of partyleaders in Paris or in London took up never more than half a column in anewspaper. Even the old man he was answering had adopted, to be originalin everything, that selfsame conciseness: every sentence of hiscontained two or three ideas. But the member from Alcira would not beled astray by such niggardly parsimony. He believed that ponderousnessand extension were qualities indispensable to eloquence. He must fill awhole issue of the Congressional Record, to impress his friends backhome in the District. So he talked and talked on, trying deliberately toavoid ideas. Those he had he would keep in reserve as long as possible, certain that the longer he held them prisoner the longer and more solemnwould his oration be. 

He had gained a quarter of an hour without making any reply to theprevious speech whatever, and literally burying his illustriousantagonist in flowers. _Su señoria_ was noteworthy firstly, because, secondly, because, fourteenthly, because . .. Nay more, he hadaccomplished this, performed that, endeavored the otherthing--"But"--and with this _but_, alas, Rafael must begin to loosen upon a little of what he had prepared in advance. _Su señoria_ was an"ideologue" of immense talent, but ever removed from reality; he wouldgovern peoples in accordance with theories dug out of books, withoutpaying any attention to practical considerations, to the individual andindestructible character possessed by every nation!. .. 

And it was worth sitting an afternoon even in that Chamber to hear theslighting tone of scorn with which the member from Alcira emphasizedthat word _ideologue_ and that phrase about "theories dug out of books"and "living removed from reality!"

"Good, fine. That's the way to give it to him, " his comrades encouraged, nodding their sleek bald-pates in indignation against anybody who triedto live apart from reality. Those _ideologues_ needed somebody to tellthem what was what!

And the minister, Rafael's friend, the only auditor left on the BlueBench, pressing his huge paunch against the desk, turned his head--anowlish, hairy head with a sharp beak--to smile indulgently on the youngman. 

The orator continued, his confidence increasing as he went on, fortifiedby these signs of approval. He spoke of the patient, deliberate studythe committee had made of this matter of the ecclesiastical bud-gets. Hewas the most modest, the least among them, but there were hiscomrades--they were there, in truth, solemn gentlemen in Englishfrock-coats, with their hair parted in the middle, from their foreheadsto the napes of their necks--studious young men--who had flattered himwith the honor of speaking for them--and if they had not been moreeconomical, it was because greater economy had been impossible. 

And the heads of the committee-men nodded as they murmured gratefully:

"Say, this fellow Brull can make quite a speech!"

The government was ready to exercise any economy that should proveprudent and feasible, without prejudice to the dignity of the nation;but Spain was an eminently religious country, favored by God in all hercrises; and no government loyal to the national genius could ever toucha _céntimo_ of the ecclesiastical appropriation. Never! Never!. .. 

On the word _never_ his voice resounded with the melancholy echo thatrings in empty houses. Rafael looked in anguish at the clock. Half anhour. Half an hour gained, and still he had not really damaged hisoutline. His talk was going so well that he was sorry the Chamber wasfar from crowded!. .. Before him, in the shadows of the diplomaticgallery, that fan kept fluttering. Pesky woman! Why couldn't she keepquiet and not spoil his speech!

The president, so restless and vigilant, so ever-ready with watch andbell in hand when any of the Opposition had the floor, was now sittingback in his chair with his eyes shut, dozing away with the confidence ofa stage director who is sure the show will go off without a hitch. Thepanes of the glass dome were glowing under the rays of the sun, but theyallowed only a diffuse, green light, a discreet, soft, crypt-likeclarity to seep through into the Chamber that lay below in monasticcalm. Through the windows over the president's chair, Rafael glimpsedpatches of the blue sky, drenched in the gentle light of an afternoon ofSpringtime. A white dove was hovering in the perspective of those bluesquares. 

Rafael felt a slackening of his powers of endurance, as if anirresistible languor were stealing over him. The sweet smile of Naturepeering at him through the transoms of that gloomy, parliamentary tombhad taken him back to his orange-orchards, and to his Valencian meadowscovered with flowers. He felt a curious impulse to finish his speech ina few hasty words, grab his hat and flee, losing himself out among thegroves of the Royal Gardens. With that sun and those flowers outside, what was he doing in that hole, talking of things that did not concernhim in the least?. .. But he successfully passed this fleeting crisis. Heceased rummaging among the bundles of documents piled up on the bench, stopped thumbing papers so as to hide his perturbation, and waving thefirst sheet that came to his hand, he went on. 

The intention of the gentleman in opposing this appropriation was nothidden from him. On this matter he had his own, his private and personalideas. "I understand that _su señoria_, in here proposing retrenchment, is really seeking to combat religious institutions, of which he is adeclared enemy. "

And as he reached this point, Rafael dashed wildly into the fray. He wastreading firm and familiar ground. All this part of the speech he hadprepared, paragraph by paragraph: a defense of Catholicism, an apology_pro fide_, so intimately bound up with the history of Spain. He couldnow use impassioned outbursts and tremors of lyric enthusiasm, as if hewere preaching a new crusade. 

On the Opposition benches he caught the ironic glitter of a pair ofspectacles, the convulsions of a white chin quivering over two foldedarms, as if a kindly, indulgent smile had greeted his parade of so manymusty and faded commonplaces. But Rafael was not to be intimidated. Hehad gotten away with an hour almost! Forward, to "Section Two" of theoutline, the part about the great national and Christian epic! And hebegan to reel off visions of the cave of Covadonga; the fantastic treeof the Reconquest "where the warrior hung up his sword, the poet hisharp, " and so on and so on, for everybody hung up something there; sevencenturies of wars for the cross, a rather long time, believe me, gentlemen, during which Saracen impiety was expelled from Spanish soil!Then came the great triumphs of Catholic unity. Spain mistress of almostthe whole world, the sun never allowed to set on Spanish domains; thecaravels of Columbus bearing the cross to virgin lands; the light ofChristianity blazing forth from the folds of the national banner to shedits illuminating rays throughout the earth. 

And as if this hymn to enlightening Christianity, chanted by an oratorwho could now hardly see across the gloomy hall, had been a signal, theelectric lights went on; and the statues, the escutcheons, and theharsh, blatant figures painted on the cupola, sprang forth fromobscurity. 

Rafael could hardly contain his joy at the facility with which hisspeech was developing. That wave of light which was shed over the hall, in the middle of the afternoon, while the sun was still shining, seemedto him like the sudden entrance of Glory, approaching to give him theaccolade of renown. 

Caught up now in the real torrent of his premeditated verbosity, hecontinued to relieve himself of all that he had learned by crammingduring the past few days. "In vain does _su señoria_ fatigue his wits. Spain is and will remain a profoundly religious country. Her history isthe history of Catholicism: she has survived in all her times of stormand stress by tightly embracing the Cross. " And he could now come to thenational wars; from the battles in which popular piety saw Saint James, on his white steed, lopping off the heads of the Moors with his goldencutlass, to the uprising of the people against Napoleon, behind thebanner of the parish and with their scapularies on their bosoms. He didnot have a word to say about the present. He left the pitiless criticismof the old revolutionist intact. Why not? The dream of an ideologue! Hewas absorbed in his song of the past, affirming for the hundredth timethat Spain had been great because she had been Catholic and that whenfor a moment she had ceased to be Catholic, all the evils of the worldhad descended upon her. He spoke of the excesses of the Revolution, ofthe turbulent Republic of '73, (a cruel nightmare to all right-thinkingpersons) and of the "canton" of Cartagena (the supreme recourse ofministerial oratory), --a veritable cannibal feast, a horror that hadnever been known even in this land of _pronunciamientos_ and civil wars. He tried his best to make his hearers feel the terror of thoserevolutions, whose chief defect had been that they had revolutionizednothing. .. . And then came a panegyric on the Christian family, on theCatholic home, a nest of virtues and blessings, whereas in nations whereCatholicism did not reign all homes were repulsive brothels or horriblebandit caves. 

"Fine, Brull, very good, " grunted the minister, his elbows stretchedforward over his desk, delighted to hear his own ideas echoing from theyoung man's mouth. 

The orator rested for a moment, with his glance sweeping the galleriesnow bright with the electric lighting. The woman in the diplomaticsection had stopped fanning herself. She was following him closely. Hereyes met his. 

Of a sudden Rafael nearly fell to his seat. Those eyes!. .. Perhaps anastonishing resemblance! But no; it was she--she was smiling to him withthat same jesting, mocking smile of their earlier acquaintance!

He felt like the bird writhing on the tree unable to free itself fromthe hypnotic stare of the serpent coiled near the trunk. Thosesarcastic, mischievous eyes had upset all his train of thought. He triedto finish in some way or other, to end his speech as soon as possible. Every minute was an added torment to him; he imagined he could hear themute gibes that mouth must be uttering at his expense. 

Again he looked at the clock; in fifteen minutes more he would bethrough. And he spurted on at a mad pace, with a hurried voice, forgetting the devices he had thought of to prolong the peroration, dumping them out all in a heap--anything to get through! "TheConcordate. .. Sacred obligations toward the clergy . .. Their servicesof old . .. Promises of close friendship with the Pope . .. The generousfather of Spain . .. In short, we cannot reduce the budget by a _céntimo_and the committee stands, by its proposals without accepting a singleamendment. "

As he sat down, perspiring, excited, wiping his congested faceenergetically, his bench companions gathered around him congratulatinghim, shaking his hands. He was every inch an orator! He should have gonedeeper into the matter and taken even more time! He shouldn't have beenso modest!

And from the bench below came the grunt of the minister:

"Very good, very good. You said exactly what I would have said. "

The old revolutionist arose to make a short rebuttal, repeating thecontentions of his original speech, of which no denial had beenattempted. 

"I'm quite tired, " sighed Rafael, in reply to the felicitations. 

"You can go out if you wish, " said the minister. "I think I'll answerthe rebuttal myself. It's a courtesy due to so old a deputy. "

Rafael raised his eyes toward the diplomatic gallery. It was empty. Buthe imagined he could still make out the plumes of a woman's hat in thedark background. 

He left his bench hastily and hurried to the corridor, where a number ofdeputies were waiting with their congratulations. 

Not one of them had heard him, but they were all profuse in theirflattering remarks. They shook his hand and detained him maddeningly. Once more he thought he could descry at the end of the corridor, at thefoot of the gallery staircase, standing out against the glass exit-door, those black, waving plumes. 

He elbowed his way through the crowds, deaf to all congratulations, brushing aside the hands that were proferred to him. 

Near the door he stumbled into two of his associates, who were lookingout with eyes radiant with admiration. 

"What a woman? Eh?"

"She looks like a foreigner. Some diplomat's wife, I guess!"

III

As he came out of the building he saw her on the sidewalk, about to stepinto a vehicle. An usher of the Congress was holding the carriage dooropen, with the demonstrative respect inspired by the goldbraid shiningon the driver's hat. It was an embassy coach!

Rafael approached, believing, from the carriage, that it still mightprove to be a case of an astonishing resemblance. But no; it was she;the same woman she had always been, as if eight hours and not eightyears had passed:

"Leonora! You here!. .. "

She smiled, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to see himagain. 

"I saw you and heard you. You did very well, Rafael: I enjoyed it. "

And grasping his hand in a frank, hearty clasp of friendship, sheentered the carriage with a rustle of silk and fine linen. 

"Come! Won't you step in too?" she asked, smiling. "Join me for a littledrive along the Castellana. It's a magnificent afternoon; a little freshair won't do any harm after that muggy room. "

Rafael, to the astonishment of the usher, who was surprised to see himin such seductive company, got in; and the carriage rolled off. Therethey were, together again, sitting side by side, swaying gently back andforth with the motion of the soft springs. 

Rafael was at a loss for words. The cold, ironic smile of his formerlover chilled him. He was flushed with shame at the thought of how hehad treated that beautiful creature the last time they had seen eachother. He wanted to say something, and yet he could not find a way tobegin. The ceremonious, formal _usted_ she had employed in inviting himinto the carriage embarrassed him. At last he ventured, timidly, alsoavoiding the intimate _tu_!

"Imagine our meeting here! What a surprise!"

"I got in yesterday; tomorrow I leave for Lisbon. A short stop, isn'tit! Just time for a word with the director of the _Real_; perhaps I'llcome next winter to sing _Die Walküre_ here. But let's talk about you, illustrious orator. .. . But I may say _tu_ to you, mayn't I?" shecorrected--"for I believe we are still friends. "

"Yes, friends, Leonora. .. . I have never been able to forget you. "

But the feeling he put into the words vanished before the cold smilewith which she answered. 

"Friends; that's it, " she said, slowly. "Friends, and nothing more. Between us there lies a corpse that prevents us from getting very closeto each other again. "

"A corpse?" asked Rafael, not catching her meaning. 

"Yes; the love you murdered. .. . Friends, nothing more; comrades unitedby complicity in a crime. "

And she laughed with cruel sarcasm, while the carriage turned into oneof the avenues of Recoletos. Leonora looked vacantly out upon thecentral boulevard. The rows of iron benches were filled with people. Groups of children in charge of governesses were playing gaily about inthe soft, golden splendor of the afternoon. 

"I read in the papers this morning that don Rafael Brull, 'of theFinance Commission, ' if you please, would undertake to speak for theMinistry on the matter of the budget; so I got down on my knees to anold friend of mine, the secretary of the English embassy, and begged himto come and take me to the session. This coach is his. .. . Poor fellow!He doesn't know you, but the moment he saw you stand up to speak, hetook to his heels. .. . He missed something though; for really, youweren't half bad. I'm quite impressed. Say, Rafael, where do you dig upall those things?"

But Rafael looked uneasily at her cruel smile and refused to accept herpraise. Besides, what did he care about his speech? It seemed to himthat he had been for years and years in that coach; that a wholelifetime had gone by since he left the halls of the Congress. His gazewas fixed on her in admiration, and his astonished eyes were drinking inthe beauty of her face, and of her figure. 

"How beautiful you are!" he murmured in impulsive enchantment. "The sameas you were then. It seems impossible that eight years can have flownby. "

"Yes; I admit that I bear up well. Time seems not to touch me. A littlelonger at the dressing table--that's all. I'm one of the people who diein harness, so to speak, making no concessions, so far as looks go, toold age. Rather than surrender, I'd kill myself. I intend to put Ninonde Lenclos in the shade!"

It was true. Eight years had made not the slightest impression on her. The same freshness, the same robust, energetic slenderness, theidentical flames of arrogant vitality in her green eyes. Instead ofwithering under the incessant parching of passion's flame, she seemed togrow stronger, hardier, in the crucible. 

She measured the deputy with sarcastic playfulness. 

"Poor Rafael! I'm sorry I can't say as much for you. How you've changed!You look almost like a Knight of the Crown. You're fat! You're bald! Andthose eyeglasses! Why, I could hardly recognize you in the Chamber. Howmy romantic Moor has aged! You poor dear! You even have wrinkles!. .. "

And she laughed, as if it filled her with intense joy, the joy ofvengeance, to see her former lover so crestfallen at her portrayal ofhis decrepitude. 

"You're not happy, are you! I can see that. And yet, you ought to be. You must have married that girl your mother picked for you. Youdoubtless have children. .. . Don't try to fib to me, just to seem more. .. What shall I say . .. More interesting! I can see it from the looks ofyou. You are the _pater familias_ all over. I am never mistaken in suchthings!. .. Well, why aren't you happy? You have all the requisites for apersonage of note, and you will shortly be one. I'll bet you wear thatsash to hold your paunch in! You are rich, you make speeches in thathorrid, gloomy, cave. Your friends back home will go into ecstasies whenthey read the oration their honorable deputy has delivered; and Iimagine they're already preparing fireworks and music for a receptionto you. What more could you ask for?"

And with her eyes half-closed, smiling maliciously, she waited for hisreply, knowing in advance what it would be. 

"What more can I ask for? Love; Leonora, the love I once had . .. Withyou. "

And with the vehemence of other days, as if they were still among theorange-trees of the old Blue House, the deputy gave way to his eightyears of longing. 

He told her of the image he nourished in his sadness. Love! The Lovethat passes but once in a lifetime, crowned with flowers, and followedby a retinue of kisses and laughter. And whosoever follows him inobedience, finds happiness at the end of the joyous pathway; butwhosoever, through pride or selfishness, lags by the wayside, comes tolament his folly and to expiate his cowardice in an everlasting life oftedium and sorrow! He had sinned, grievously. That he would confess! Butcould she not forgive him? He had paid for his deliquency with eightlong, monotonous, crushing, meaningless years, one suffocating stiflingnight that never broke into morning. But they had met again! There wasstill time, Leonora! They could still call back the Springtime of theirlives, make it burgeon anew, compel Love to retrace his footsteps, passtheir way again, stretching forth his sweet hands of youth to them!

The actress was listening with a smile upon her lips, her eyes closed, her head thrown back in the carriage. It was an expression of intensepleasure, as if she were tasting with delight the fire of love that wasstill burning in Rafael, and that, to her, meant vengeance. 

The horses were proceeding at a walk along la Castellana. Othercarriages were going by and the people in them peered back at the coachwith that beautiful, unknown woman. 

"What is your answer, Leonora? We can still be happy! Forget the pastand the wrong I did you! Imagine it was only yesterday that we saidgood-bye in the orchard, and that we are meeting again today to beginour lives over again from the beginning, to live together always, always. "

"No, " she replied coldly. "You yourself just said so: Love passes butonce in a lifetime. I know that from cruel experience. I have done mybest to forget. No, Love has passed us by! It would be sheer folly forus to ask him to hunt us up again. He never comes back! Our mostdesperate effort could revive barely the shadow of him. You let himescape. Well, you must weep for your loss, just as I had to weep foryour baseness . .. Besides, you don't realize the situation we are innow! Don't you remember what we talked about on our first night there inthe moonlight? 'The arrogant month of May, the young warrior in an armorof flowers, seeks out his beloved, Youth. ' Well, where is our youth now?Quite frankly, you can find mine on my dressing-table! I buy it at theperfumer's; and though that gentleman is quite skilled at disguising me, there's an oldness of the spirit underneath, a terrible thing I don'tdare think about, because it frightens me so. And yours, poorRafael--you just haven't any, not even the kind you can buy! Take a goodlook at yourself! You're ugly, to put it mildly, my dear boy! You'relost that attractive slimness of your younger days. Your dreams make melaugh! A passion at this late date! The idyll of a middle-aged siren anda bald-headed father of a litter of children, with a paunch, with apaunch, with a paunch! Oh, Rafael! Ha, ha, ha!"

The cruel mocker! How she laughed! How she was avenging herself. Rafaelgrew angry at this cutting, ironic resistance. He began to flame with amore excited passion. .. . The ravages of time made no difference. Couldnot Love work miracles! He loved her more than he had ever loved her inthe olden days. He felt a mad hunger for her. Passion would give themback the fires of youth. Love was like a springtime that brings new sapto branches grown numb in the winter's cold. Let her say "Yes, " and onthe instant she would behold the miracle, the resurrection of theirslumbering past, the awakening of their souls to the future of love!

"And your wife? And your children?" Leonora asked, brutally, as if shewished to bring him back to realities, with a smarting lash from a whip. 

But Rafael was now beside himself, drunk with the nearness of all thatbeauty, and with the waves of perfume that filled the interior of thecarriage. 

Wife? Family? He would leave everything for her: family, future, position. It was she he needed to live and be happy!

"I will go with you; everybody is a stranger to me when I think of you. You, you alone, are my life, my love!"

"Many thanks, " Leonora answered curtly. "I could not accept such asacrifice. .. . Besides, all that sanctity of the home you were justtalking about a few moments ago in the Chamber? And all that Christianmorality, without which civilization would go to the damnation bow wows!How I laughed when I heard you say that. How you were stuffing thosepoor ninkampoops!. .. "

And again she laughed cruelly, at the contrast between his pious wordsin Congress and his mad idea of forsaking everything to follow heraround the world. Oh, the hypocrite! She had felt, as she sat listeningto him, that his speech was a pack of lies, a mess of conventionaltrumpery and platitudes! The only one there who had spoken with any realsincerity, any real virtue, was that little old man, whom she hadlistened to with veneration because he had been one of her father'sidols!

Rafael was crushed with bitter shame. Leonora's flat refusal, herpitiless mockery of his speech, had brought him to realize the enormityof his baseness. She was avenging herself by bringing him face to facewith the abjectness of his mad, hopeless passion, which made him capableof committing the lowest deeds!

Dusk was gathering. Leonora ordered the driver to the Plaza de Oriente. She was stopping in one of the houses near the Opera where manytheatrical people lodged. She was in a hurry! She had a dinnerengagement with that young man from the Embassy, and two musical criticswere to be introduced to her. 

"And I, Leonora? Are we not to see each other any longer?"

"As far as my door, if you wish, and then . .. Till we meet again!"

"Oh, please, Leonora, stay here a few days! Let me see you! Let me havethe consolation of talking to you, of feeling the bitter pleasure ofyour ridicule, at least!"

Stay a few days!. .. Her days did not belong to her. She traveled fromone end of the world to the other, with her life marked off to the tickof the clock. From Madrid to Lisbon--an engagement at the SanCarlos--three performances of Wagner! Then, a jump to Stockholm! Afterthat she was not quite sure where she would go; to Odessa, or to Cairo. She was the Wandering Jew, the Valkyrie galloping along on the clouds ofa musical tempest, from frontier to frontier, from pole to pole, arrogant, victorious, suffering not the slightest harm to health orbeauty. 

"Oh, if you only would! If you would let me follow you! As your friend, nothing more! As your servant, if necessary!"

And he grasped her hand, passionately, thrusting his fingers up hersleeve, fondling the delicate arm underneath her glove. She did notresist. 

"There! Do you see, Rafael?" she said, smiling coldly. "You have touchedme, and it's useless; not the slightest thrill. You're as good as deadto me. My flesh does not tingle at your fondling. In fact, I find it alldecidedly annoying!"

Rafael realized that it was true. She had once trembled madly under hiscaresses. Now she was quite insensible, quite cold!

"Don't worry, Rafael. It's over, spelled with a capital _O_. It's notworth wasting a moment's thought on. As I look at you now I feel the wayI do when I see one of my old dresses that, in its time, I went madover. I see nothing but the defects--the absurdities of the fashion thatis out of date. Our passion died as it should properly have died. Perhaps your deserting me was for the best. It was better for you todefault in the full splendor of our honeymoon than to have broken withme afterwards, when I should have moulded my nature forever to yourcaresses. We were brought together . .. Oh, by the orange perfume, bythat cursed Springtime; but you were not meant for me, nor was I evermeant for you. We are of different breeds. You were born a bourgeois. Iam an out-and-out bohemian! Love and the novelty of my kind quite, dazzled you. You struggled hard, you beat your wings, to follow me, butyou fell to earth from the very weight of your inherited traits. Youhave the appetites and the ambitions of people like you! Now you imagineyou are unhappy! But you'll find you're not when you see yourself becomea personage, ' when you count the acreage of your orchards over, when yousee your children growing up to inherit papa's power and fortune. Thisbusiness of love for love's sake, mocking at law and morality, scorninglife and peacefulness, that is our privilege, the privilege of usbohemians--the sole blessing left to us mad creatures whom society looksupon--quite properly, I suppose--with disdainful mistrust. Each to hisown! The poultry to their quiet roost, where they can fatten in the sun;the birds of passage to their wandering life of song, sometimes in aflowering garden, sometimes in the cold and storm!"

And smiling again, as if those words, uttered with such gravity andconviction, had been too cruel in their effective summary of the wholestory of their love, she added in a jesting tone:

"That was a fine little paragraph, wasn't it? What a pity you didn'thear it in time to tack it on at the end of your speech!"

The carriage had entered the _Plaza de Oriente_; and was drawing up infront of Leonora's house. 

"May I go in with you?" the deputy asked anxiously, much as a childmight beg for a toy. 

"Why? You'll only be bored. It will be the same as here. Upstairs thereis no moon, and there are no orange-trees in bloom. You can't expect twonights like that in a life like yours. Besides, I don't want Beppa tosee you. She has a vivid recollection of that afternoon in the Hôtel deRoma when I got your note. I'd lose prestige with her if she saw me inyour company. "

With a commanding gesture she motioned him to the sidewalk. When thecarriage had gone they stood there together for a moment looking at eachother for the last time. 

"Farewell, Rafael. Take good care of yourself, and try not to grow oldso rapidly. I believe it's been a real pleasure, though, to see youagain. I needed just this to convince myself it was really all over!"

"But are you going like this!. .. Is this the way you let a passion endthat still fills my life!. .. When shall we see each other again?"

"I don't know: never . .. Perhaps when you least expect it. The world islarge, but when a person gads about it the way I do, you never can tellwhom you are going to meet. "

Rafael pointed to the Opera nearby. 

"And if you should come to sing . .. Here?. .. If I were actually to seeyou again?. .. . "

Leonora smiled haughtily, guessing what he meant. 

"In that case, you will be one of my countless friends, I suppose, butnothing more. Don't imagine that I'm a saint even now. I'm just as I wasbefore you knew me. The property of everybody--understand--and ofnobody! But of the janitor of the opera, if necessary, sooner than ofyou. You are a corpse, in my eyes, Rafael. .. . Farewell!"

He saw her vanish through the doorway; and he stood for a long timethere on the sidewalk, completely crushed, staring vacantly into thelast glow of twilight that was growing pale beyond the gables of theRoyal Palace. 

Some birds were twittering on the trees of the garden, shaking theleaves with their mischievous playfulness, as if the fires of Springtimewere coursing in their veins. For Spring had come again, faithful andpunctual, as every year. 

He staggered off toward the center of the city, slowly, dejectedly, withthe thought of death in his mind, bidding farewell to all his dreams, which that woman seemed to have destroyed forever in turning her backimplacably upon him. Yes! A corpse, indeed! He was a dead man dragging asoulless body along under the sad glimmering of the first street-lamps. Farewell! Farewell to Love! Farewell to Youth! For him Springtime wouldnever return again. Joyous Folly repelled him as an unworthy deserter. His future was to grow a fatter and fatter paunch under the frock coatof a "personage"!

At the corner of the Calle del Arenal he heard his name called. It wasa deputy, a comrade of "the Party" who had just come from the session. 

"Let me congratulate you, Brull; you were simply monumental! The Chiefspoke enthusiastically of your speech to the Prime Minister! It's aforegone conclusion. At the first new deal you'll be madedirector-general or undersecretary at least! Again, my congratulations, old fellow!"

THE END