Marianela 10
"Yes, yes--I understand. Every one says there is nothing in the world
so beautiful as the sea, because it is so grandly simple.--Listen,
Nela, to what I am going to say--but what are you doing?" Nela had
grasped a bough of the tree with both hands, and was swinging by it
lightly and gracefully.
"Here I am, _Señorito mio_. I was wondering why God should not give us
human creatures wings to fly like birds. How delightful it would be
just to give a flap and a whisk, and up we should go, and in one flight
we should be at the top of that peak between Ficóbriga and the sea."
"But though God has not given us wings he has given us thought
instead, which flies faster than any bird, since it can fly up to God
himself.--Tell me, child, of what good would wings be to me, if God had
denied me the gift of thought?"
"But I should like to have both. And if I had wings I would pick you
up in my little beak to take you out of this world, and carry you up
ever so much higher than the clouds." The blind lad put out his hand to
stroke Nela's hair.
"Sit down by me; are you not tired?"
"Just a little," she said, sitting down and laying her head with
childlike confidence on her master's shoulder.
"You are breathing fast, Nelilla, you are very tired; it is with trying
to fly.--Well, what I want to say to you is this: Talking of the sea
put me in mind of a thing my father read to me last night. You know
that ever since I was old enough, my father has been in the habit of
reading to me every evening different books of science, or history,
or art, or mere amusement. I might say that these readings make up
all I know of life. The Lord, to compensate me for being blind, has
given me a very good memory, and it has turned these readings to good
account; for though there has been no regular method in them, I have
contrived to put some order into the ideas that have penetrated to my
understanding. How I have enjoyed listening and learning about the
admirable laws and order of the universe, the harmonious circling of
the stars, the motion of atoms, and above all, those grand principles
which govern our souls and minds. I have enjoyed history too, which is
a true account of all the things men have done in former times; for
though, my child, they have always done the same wicked and foolish
things, they have nevertheless gone on improving, some of them doing
their utmost--but without ever succeeding--to attain that perfection
which belongs to God alone. And finally, my father has read me some
deeper and more mysterious things that cannot be understood at once,
but when they are thought over and considered they occupy and charm
the mind. He does not enjoy that sort of reading very much, as he does
not altogether follow it, and it has tired me sometimes, while at
other times it has delighted me. And there is no doubt that when you
have an author who explains himself clearly, such subjects are very
interesting. They deal with cause and effect, the rationale of all we
think, and how we think, and teach us about the essential nature of
things."
Nela did not seem to understand a single word of what her friend was
saying, but she listened attentively with her mouth wide open; to
inhale, if possible, the essences and causes of which her master was
discoursing, opening her beak like a bird watching the movements of a
fly he wants to catch.
"Well, then," he went on, "last night he was reading me some pages
about Beauty. The author, in discussing Beauty, said that it was the
outcome and radiance of goodness and truth, with many other ingenious
comparisons so well thought out and expressed, that it was a pleasure
to listen."
"And was that book," said Nela, anxious to prove herself equal to the
occasion, "like one father Centeno has.... _The thousand and I don't
know how many nights_?"
"No, no, goose-cap; it is a book on Beauty in the abstract, you will
not understand--on ideal Beauty--and yet you must understand that
there is a sort of Beauty which cannot be seen, nor touched, nor
perceived by any of our senses."
"For example, like the Virgin Mary," interrupted Nela, "whom we cannot
see nor touch, because her pictures are not herself, but only her
likeness."
"You are quite right; it is just like that. Thinking over this, my
father shut the book, and talked of one thing and another. We spoke
then of beauty of form, and my father said: 'This unfortunately you can
never understand.' But I said I could. I said that there could only be
one type, and that would apply to all."
Nela, caring little enough for such subtleties, had taken the flowers
out of her companion's hands, and was arranging their colors to her
taste.
"I have a clear idea about this," the blind lad went on, vehemently,
"an idea that I have been quite in love with for some months. Yes, I
am sure, quite sure of it; I want no eyes to see that, and I said to
my father, I have an ideal of enchanting beauty, a type which includes
every possible perfection, and that type is Nela. My father began to
laugh, and said 'yes.'"
Nela turned as scarlet as a poppy, and could not answer a word. During
a short spasm of terror and pain, she felt as if the blind boy were
looking at her.
"Yes, you are the most perfect beauty imaginable," Pablo went on,
eagerly. "How could it be possible that your goodness, and innocence,
and freshness and grace--your imagination, your sweet and lovely soul,
which have all combined to enliven and comfort my dark and melancholy
life--how, I say, could it be possible that they should not be embodied
in a person as lovely? Nela, Nela," and his voice trembled with
anxiety.--"Tell me--are you not beautiful--very pretty?"
Nela was silent; she instinctively put her hands up, and stuck into her
hair some of the half-faded flowers she had gathered in the meadows.
"You will not say? You are modest. Indeed, if you were not, you would
not be the sweet little soul that you are; the logic of Beauty would be
at fault, and that cannot be. You do not answer?"
"I ..." murmured Nela timidly, not ceasing her occupation, "I do not
know--they say that I was very pretty as a baby--but now...."
"You are still?"
María, in her utter confusion, could only say:
"Now--well, you know that people talk nonsense--and make stupid
mistakes--sometimes those who have eyes see least."
"Yes indeed, well said! Come here and kiss me."
Nela did not instantly obey, for having succeeded in fixing a sort of
garland of flowers in her hair, she now felt an eager wish to see the
effect of the adornment in the clear mirror of the reservoir. For the
first time in her life she felt an impulse of vanity, and leaning on
her hands, she bent over the basin.
"What are you doing?" asked the blind lad.
"I am looking at myself in the water, which is just like a
looking-glass," she replied, confessing her vanity with perfect
simplicity.
"You need not do that. You are as lovely as the angels round the throne
of God." He had fired himself with enthusiastic imaginings.
"The water is ruffled now," said the girl, "and I cannot see myself
plainly. It is trembling as much as I am. There, now it is quieter, now
it is still again.--I can see myself now, very well."
"And see how pretty you are! Come here, my child?" added the blind
youth, holding out his arms.
"I ... pretty!" she said, in anxious confusion. "Well, what I see in
the pool is not so ugly as they say. The fact is, there are a great
many people who do not know how to see."
"Aye, a great many."
"If only I were dressed as other girls are!" exclaimed Nela, with a
touch of pride.
"You shall be."
"And the book said I was beautiful?" asked Nela, appealing to every
source of conviction.
"I say so, and I always speak the truth!" cried the boy, carried away
by his eager imagination.
"Maybe it is so," said Nela, moving away from her not too flattering
contemplation. "Maybe that men are very stupid, and do not see things
as they really are."
"Human nature is liable to a thousand errors."
"I do believe it," said Mariquilla, greatly comforted by her friend's
words. "What can they see to laugh at in me?"
"Oh! how miserable is the lot of man!" cried the blind boy, driven to
wild absurdity by his raving fancy. "The gift of sight may lead him
into many errors--may betray him into a misapprehension of abstract
truth--and abstract truth proves that you are beautiful, without any
stain or blemish of ugliness. If any one tells me the contrary, I will
give him the lie. Away with their theories of form. Oh, fool! into
what sins your eyes may mislead you! Nela, come here, I want to have
you by my side and kiss your beloved head."
She threw herself into his arms.
"Sweet, lovely darling!" he exclaimed, clasping her passionately to his
breast. "With all my soul I love you!"
Nela did not speak. Her heart was full of innocent and tender devotion,
overflowing with pure delight. The youth, trembling and throbbing, held
her more closely than ever, saying:
"I love you more than my life. Angel of God, love me too or I shall
die!"
María freed herself from his embrace, and he remained lost in
bewilderment. She, the tiny woman, felt an overwhelming and
irresistible impulse to look at her face once more in the water. She
gently stole up to the edge, and there against the green background
she saw the insignificant little face, with its black eyes, its dull
coloring, its sharp nose--not altogether ugly that nose--the short,
unkempt hair, and the birdlike, eager __EXPRESSION__. She leaned farther
over the stone brim to see her body; it was pitiably made and mean. The
flowers in her hair fell into the water, making circles in it, and the
image wavered. She, poor child, felt as if her heart were being torn
up by the roots, and she staggered backwards, murmuring:
"Mother of God! how hideous I am!"
"What are you saying, Nela? I thought you spoke."
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기