Marianela 18

Marianela 18

And a minute later he was dreaming of himself in the semblance of

Don Teodoro Golfin, fixing new eyes in old sockets, splitting open

fragments of rock, and snatching sick men from the jaws of death by

means of doses of flies, stewed on a Monday, with hazel twigs picked

by a maiden. He saw himself dressed with gorgeous garments, his hands

encased in perfumed gloves, and riding in a coach drawn by swans

instead of horses, invited by Kings and courted by Queens, attending

ladies of distinction, lauded by nobles, and carried in triumph by all

the peoples of the earth.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII.

 

BETWEEN TWO BASKETS.

 

 

Nela had shut herself into her baskets to be alone; we will follow her,

however, and look in upon her thoughts. But first we must give a little

more of her history.

 

Having entirely lacked all instruction in her infancy, having equally

lacked all those soft endearments, which unfailingly open the mind

to recognize certain truths, Marianela's powerful imagination had

conceived a strange set of ideas, a wild and fanciful theogony, and

a highly whimsical scheme of cause and effect. Teodoro Golfin's

comparison of Nela's mind with the early stage of a primitive race was

a particularly happy one. In her, as in them, the fascination of the

marvellous was the predominant sense; she believed in supernatural

agencies, apart from the one and supreme God, and saw in all natural

objects an abstract personality, by no means cut off from all

communication with men. In spite of all this, however, Nela had some

knowledge of the Gospel. It had never been taught her, to be sure, but

she had heard such things talked of. She saw that people went to a

function they called the Mass, and she understood the idea of a sublime

sacrifice; but beyond this her notions could not go. The contagion of

a common feeling had accustomed her mind to reverence the image of

the Crucified God; she knew it should be kissed, and she even could

repeat some prayers that she had learnt mechanically; she knew whatever

she wanted she could ask of God--but this was all. The absolute

neglect in which her whole nature had been left until the time of her

acquaintance with Pablo Penáguilas was the cause of this confusion,

and her friendship with this strange being, who, shut up in darkness,

nevertheless with his mind's eye boldly investigated all the problems

of life, had come to her too late. Nela's system of philosophy, of her

own fabrication, had already petrified--a strange compound of paganism

and sentimentality. At the same time it must be said that Marianela,

though her spirit ranged so far outside the common atmosphere, was well

endowed with good sense, and could form a sound judgment on the things

of daily life, as has been seen in the advice she gave to Celipin.

This, no doubt, was due to the native soundness of her mind.

 

The strongest instinct of her nature was her love, nay her secret

passion, for physical beauty wherever she saw it. Nothing could be

more natural than this impulse in a human soul growing up in total

solitude, so far as society and teaching were concerned, and in

constant intercourse, in close intimacy we may say, with Nature and all

its sublime or gracious beauty--light, color, eloquent inarticulate

voices, and infinite variety of form. And Marianela's admiration had

assumed the guise of worship; in obedience to a law, which also governs

the primitive race, she had personified all the beauty she saw around

her and worshipped it in a single incarnation, ideal but human. This

divinity of her imagination she called the Virgin Mary, a conception

she had derived from the domain of religious thought, of which she knew

so little. And the Virgin Mary would not have become her cherished

ideal, if she had not joined to her moral perfections all the physical

gifts of beauty and grace; if her aspect had not been noble and

attractive, at once human and divine; if it had not seemed to Nela the

epitome in which were concentrated all the glory of light, the sober

peace of darkness, the music of running waters, the grace and sweetness

of flowers, the freshness of the dew, the low complaining of the wind,

the spotless purity of the mountain snow, the loving glances of the

stars, and the solemn majesty of the clouds, as they ride across the

vault of heaven.

 

The person of God himself she conceived of as terrible and austere,

inspiring respect rather than love. All that was gracious was bestowed

by the Virgin, and she was the giver of all that human creatures could

ask for. God frowned, while She smiled; God chastised, but She forgave;

this last notion was by no means a strange one. It is accepted with

almost absolute faith among the laboring classes of the rural parts of

Spain. Nor is it at all uncommon, when we find a strong imagination

joined to extreme ignorance, to meet with the fusion which existed

in Nela's mind of all the beauties of Nature with the beautiful

personification which combines all the æsthetic charms of the Christian

ideal. If the darkness in which Nela dwelt had only been more complete,

if she had but been rather more destitute of religious notions, she

would have been an utter pagan and have worshipped the moon, the woods,

the rivers, fire and the sun. This was Nela as her life in Socartes

had made her, and such she remained till she was fifteen. After that,

her comradeship with Pablo and her frequent talk with the lad, whose

ideas were so broad and so sound, had somewhat modified her tone of

thought. But she still allowed supreme sovereignty to physical beauty;

she still superstitiously adored the Virgin as the embodiment of all

the loveliness of Nature, and, in a way, of all moral law; crowning her

system with the most extraordinary ideas as to death and the life to

come.

 

* * * * *

 

Curling herself up in her basket, Marianela's reflections took this

form:

 

"Holy Mother of God! Why--why did you not make me beautiful? Why did

you not look down on me as soon as I was born? For the more I look

at myself, the uglier I seem to grow. Oh! why am I in this world at

all? Of what good can I be? Who can care for me? One single soul, Lady

Mother, only one, and he only because he cannot see me. What is to

become of me when he sees me and casts me off? for it is impossible

that he should ever love me when he sees my miserable little body, my

freckled face, my ugly mouth, my sharp nose, my dirty brown skin--all

my hideous little self--of no good to any one but to kick perhaps. What

is that? Only Nela--nothing at all. She is of no use to any one but the

blind boy. If his eyes are opened, if he turns and looks at me, I shall

drop down dead.

 

"He is the only being to whom 'Nela' is anything more important than

the cats and the birds. He loves me. Loves me as lovers love their

sweet-hearts, as God intends human beings to love each other.--Oh Lady

Mother! now that you are going to work a miracle and let him see, make

me beautiful or strike me dead, for I shall not be wanted any more in

this world. I am good for nothing and ever shall be, excepting to one

person. Am I sorry then that he should be able to see?--No, no, not

that, no. I want him to see; I would give my own eyes for him to see

with his; I would give my life. I hope Don Teodoro can work the miracle

as they say. Blessings on all wise men! What I do not want is that my

master should ever see me. Before I will let him see me, oh Mother! I

will bury myself alive, I will throw myself into the river.--Yes, the

earth shall cover my ugliness. I ought never to have been born."

 

She writhed in her narrow basket, and then she went on:

 

"All my heart and thought are for him. That poor, blind man, who has

taken it into his head to be fond of me--he is the first being in

the world to me next to the Virgin Mary. Oh! If only I were tall and

handsome; if I had the figure, and the face, and the color--above

all, the color--of other girls! If I could only make a lady of myself

and dress myself up.--And then my greatest joy would be to think that

his eyes liked to look at me. If I were like other girls, even like

Mariuca--how soon I would find a way of getting taught and being made

a lady of. Oh Mother Mary, Queen of the world! The only creature that

loves me, I am going to lose: he will leave me. Why did you ever let

him love me, and let me love him? It ought not--never--to have been."

 

The tears poured down her cheeks; she folded her arms and turned over,

and even when half asleep she still was speaking to herself:

 

"Oh, how much I love you, child of my soul! Love me too, love me very

much. It is Nela who is no good to any one.--Love me very much. Let me

give you a kiss--here on your head.--But do not open your eyes, do not

look at me. Shut them--so."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIV.

 

HOW THE VIRGIN MARY APPEARED TO NELA.

 

 

The thoughts which fade and fly as sleep overcomes us, very commonly

lurk in some hole or corner ready to take us by storm again as soon

as we wake. Thus it was that Mariquilla, who, having fallen asleep

with her head full of strange fancies of the Virgin, of the blind lad,

and of her own ugliness which, she longed so wildly to see changed

into wonderful loveliness, woke with the same ideas in her brain when

Señana's call roused her in her basket. As soon as her eyes were open,

Nela put up her usual prayer to the Virgin Mother--a sort of Litany,

compounded of the ordinary Litany to the Virgin and of certain clauses

of her own devising, and forming altogether an address which would look

strange enough if it were written down. Among other things, Nela's

prayer said:

 

"Thou didst appear to me in my dreams last night, oh Lady! and promise

to comfort me to-day. Now I am awake, and still I feel as if I saw thy

face just before me, and far lovelier than all the grand and lovely

things in the world." And as she spoke she turned and gazed round her.

Noticing in herself the utter vagueness with which she did so, she

thought to herself: "Something has come over me."

 

"What is the matter, Nela?" asked Señana, seeing the girl stand with

her eyes wide open and fixed on a spot in space. "Do you see a vision,

simpleton?"

 

But Nela did not answer, her mind was absorbed in self contemplation.

 

"What ails me?" she asked herself. "It cannot be anything evil, or

wicked, for I do not feel the black ugly figure of a devil inside me,

but something heavenly: a beautiful face, a smile and a look which--if

I am in my right mind--are those of the Virgin Mary herself. Oh Lady

Mother! Can it be true that thou wilt give me comfort to-day? And

how?--By giving me what I prayed for last night?"

 

"Now then, brat!" screamed Señana in her harsh tones, like a cracked

bell. "Go and wash your ugly little snout."

 

Nela went at once. Her spirit had felt a shock as of a sudden gleam

of great hope. She looked at herself in the quivering surface of the

water, and her heart shrank within her.

 

"No difference," she muttered. "As ugly as ever; the same child's face

with a woman's years and a woman's heart!"

 

But after washing herself she went through the same experience as before--a sort of agony of anticipation, and, in spite of her narrow vocabulary, Nela could classify these feelings as presentiments.