Marianela 8

Marianela 8

A lad at once made his appearance, remarkably tall, grave and erect,

his head held somewhat stiffly and his eyes fixed and vacant like

lenses. His face was like marble, carved with exquisite sharpness, and

his skin was as fine and soft as a girl's; there was not a feature or a

line which was not of that supremely beautiful type of manliness which

was the outcome of a thousand years of Hellenic thought. Those eyes

even, so purely sculpturesque in their lack of sight, were large, grand

and brilliant. Their fixity lost its strangeness when you remembered

that behind them all was night. In the absence of the faculty which is

the cause and origin of facial __EXPRESSION__, this blind Antinous had the

cold serenity of marble, endowed with form by the genius of sculpture

and with life by a vital spark. A breath, a ray of warmth, a mere

sensation would suffice to animate the beautiful stone which, while it

possessed every charm of form, was devoid of that consciousness of its

own beauty, which is born of the faculty of seeing it.

 

He looked about twenty, and his strong and graceful frame was in

every respect worthy of the incomparable head that crowned it. Never

was a more lamentable injustice done by Nature, than to this perfect

example of humanity as to beauty, blest, on one hand, with every

gift, and bereft, on the other, of the sense by which man has most in

common with his fellow-man and gains familiarity with all the marvels

of creation at large. The injustice was such, that these splendid

gifts were useless--it was as though after creating all things the

Creator had left them in darkness, so that he could not himself take

pleasure in his works. And to make the privation more conspicuous, the

young man had mental lights of the highest order and a very superior

intelligence. To have this and to lack the faculty of conceiving the

idea of visibility, of form as distinct from mere matter, and at the

same time to be as beautiful as an angel; to have all the faculties of

a man and be as blind as a vegetable! It was strange and hard. We,

alas! know not the secret of these terrible injustices; if we did,

then indeed the gates would be open to us which hide the primordial

secrets of moral and physical duty; we should understand the fathomless

mysteries of inherited woe, of evil and of death, and might take

measure of the dark shadow which always haunts life and all that is

good in it.

 

Don Francisco Penáguilas, the young man's father, was more than good,

he was admirable; judicious, kind, genial, honorable and magnanimous,

and well educated too. No one disliked him; he was the most respected

of all the rich land-owners in the country side, and more than one

delicate question had been settled by the mediation--always equitable

and intelligent--of the _Señor de Aldeacorba de Suso_. The house in

which we now find him had been the home of his infancy. In his youth

he had been to America, and on returning to Spain without having made

his fortune, he had joined the National Guard. He then returned to his

native town where, having inherited a good fortune, he devoted himself

to husbandry and to breeding cattle, and at the period of our story he

had just come into another and even larger sum.

 

His wife, who was an Andalusian, had died very young, leaving him

the one son who, from his birth, was found to be deprived of the most

precious of the five senses. This was the one drop which embittered

the tender father's cup. What was the use of reminding him that he

was wealthy, that fortune favored all his undertakings and smiled on

his house? For whose sake did he care about it all? For one who could

see neither the thriving beasts, the flowery meadows, the overflowing

granaries, nor the orchard with its abundant crop. Don Francisco would

gladly have given his own eyes to his son, and have remained blind for

the rest of his days, if such an act of generosity were possible in

this work-a-day world; but, as it was not, Don Francisco could only

carry his devotion into practice by giving the hapless youth every

pleasure which could alleviate the gloom of the darkness in which

he lived. For him he was indefatigable in the cares and the endless

trifling details of forethought and affection of which mothers have the

secret--and fathers sometimes, when the mother is no more. He never

contradicted his son in anything which might console or entertain

him within the limits of propriety and morality. He amused him with

narratives and reading, watched him with studious anxiety, considering

his health, his legitimate amusements, his instruction and his

Christian education; for, said Señor de Penáguilas, whose principles

were strictly orthodox: "I would not have my son doubly blind."

 

Now, as he came out of the house, he said affectionately:

 

"Do not go too far to-day, and do not run--good-bye."

 

He watched them from the gate till they had turned the corner of the

garden wall, and then he went indoors, for he had many things to do; to

write to his brother Manuel, to buy a cow, to prune a tree, and to see

whether the guinea-hen had laid.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI.

 

ABSURDITIES.

 

 

Pablo and Marianela went out into the country, preceded by Choto, who

ran on and danced round them, leaping with delight, and sharing his

caresses with great impartiality between his master and his master's

guide.

 

"Nela," said Pablo,--"it is a lovely day; the air is soft and fresh,

and the sun warm without being scorching. Where shall we go?"

 

"Let us go straight on through the meadows," replied Nela, poking her

hand into one of the pockets of the lad's coat. "What have you brought

me to-day?"

 

"Search and you will find," said Pablo laughing.

 

"Ah! Holy Virgin! chocolate! how I love chocolate!--nuts--and something

done up in paper. What is it? Oh, Blessed Virgin! a sweetie! Do not I

like sweeties! How rich I am! We do not have such good things to eat at

home, Pablo. There is no luxury in our food; there is no luxury in our

clothes either, to be sure. In fact, no luxury of any sort."

 

"Where shall we go to-day?" repeated the blind lad.

 

"Wherever you like, child of my heart," replied Nela, eating the

sugar-plum and tearing up the paper it had been wrapped in. "I hear and

obey, king of the world."

 

The child's black eyes sparkled with happiness; her sprightly little

birdlike face smiled and wrinkled with satisfaction, and was not still

for an instant, as though fitful flashes came and went there like

dimpling light on wavelets in a pool. This helpless little creature,

whose spirit seemed imprisoned and confined in the feeble body,

expanded and rose elastic when she was alone with her master and

friend. With him she at once became original, bright and intelligent;

she had feeling, grace, refinement and fancy. When she left him, the

dark doors of a prison seemed to close on her once more.

 

"But I tell you we will go wherever you like," remarked the blind

youth. "I like to do what you like. If you wish we will go to the clump

of trees beyond Saldeoro--but just as you like."

 

"Yes, yes, delightful!" exclaimed Nela, clapping her hands. "And as

there is no hurry, we can sit down whenever we are tired."

 

"There is a nice place near the spring--do you remember, Nela? And

there are some large tree-trunks, which seem to have been left there on

purpose for us to sit upon, and we hear so many, many birds singing,

that it is quite glorious."

 

"And we can go past the mill-stream that, you say, talks and mumbles

the words out like a tipsy man. Oh! what a lovely day and how happy I

am!"

 

"Is the sun very bright, Nela? Though if you say 'yes,' I shall be none

the wiser, since _bright_ has no meaning for me."

 

"It is very bright indeed, _Señorito mio_. But what does it matter

that you cannot see it? The sun is not at all pretty; you cannot look

in its face."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because it hurts."

 

"Hurts what?"

 

"Hurts the eyes. How do you feel when you are happy?"

 

"When I am out with you, just we two together in the fields?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Oh! I feel inside me a sort of freshness, a springing up of something

sweet and soothing...."

 

"That is just it; now you know how the sun shines bright."

 

"What with freshness?"

 

"No, no--silly boy."

 

"What then?"

 

"Oh, like that."

 

"Like that? But what is that?"

 

"Like that," Nela insisted again.

 

"I see, it is a thing that cannot be explained in words. Do you know I

used to have a notion of day and of night. It was daytime when people

talked, it was night when people were silent and the cocks crowed. Now

I estimate it differently; it is day when you and I are together, and

it is night when we are apart."

 

"Ah, Holy Mother!" exclaimed the girl, shaking back the elf-locks that

hung over her forehead.--"To me, who can see, it is exactly the same."

 

"I mean to ask my father to let you come and live in our house, so that

I may always have you with me."

 

"Good, good!" cried Marianela clapping her hands once more. And as she

spoke, she skipped on a little way in front and picking up her skirts

with a great deal of grace began to dance.

 

"What are you about?" asked the blind boy.

 

"Child of my heart, I am dancing, I felt so happy that I thought I must dance."