Maria (GB English)

Forgetting all precaution, I entered the bedchamber where Maria was, and mastering the frenzy that would have made me clasp her to my heart to bring her back to life, I approached her bed in bewilderment. At the foot of it sat my father: he fixed on me one of his intense glances, and then turning it on Mary, seemed to want to remonstrate with me by showing her to me. My mother was there; but she did not raise her eyes to look for me, for, knowing my love, she pitied me as a good mother pities her child, as a good mother pities her own child in a woman loved by her child.

I stood motionless gazing at her, not daring to find out what was wrong with her. She was as if asleep: her face, covered with a deadly pallor, was half hidden by her dishevelled hair, in which the flowers I had given her in the morning had been crumpled; her contracted forehead revealed an unbearable suffering, and a light perspiration moistened her temples; tears had tried to flow from her closed eyes, which glistened on the lashes of her eyelashes.

My father, understanding all my suffering, rose to his feet to retire; but before leaving, he approached the bed, and taking Mary's pulse, said:

–It's all over. Poor child! It is exactly the same evil that her mother suffered from.

Mary's bosom rose slowly as if to form a sob, and returning to its natural state, she exhaled only a sigh. My father being gone, I placed myself at the head of the bed, and forgetting my mother and Emma, who remained silent, I took one of Maria's hands from the cushion, and bathed it in the torrent of my tears hitherto restrained. It measured all my misfortune: it was the same malady as her mother's, who had died very young, attacked by an incurable epilepsy. This idea took possession of my whole being to break it.

I felt some movement in that inert hand, to which my breath could not return the warmth. Mary was already beginning to breathe more freely, and her lips seemed to struggle to utter a word. She moved her head from side to side, as if trying to throw off an overwhelming weight. After a moment's repose, she stammered unintelligible words, but at last my name was clearly perceived among them. As I stood, my gaze devouring her, perhaps I pressed my hands too tightly in hers, perhaps my lips called out to her. She slowly opened her eyes, as if wounded by an intense light, and fixed them on me, making an effort to recognise me. Half sitting up a moment later, "What is it?" she said, drawing me aside; "What has happened to me?" she continued, turning to my mother. We tried to reassure her, and with an accent in which there was something of remonstrance, which I could not at the time explain to myself, she added, "You see, I was afraid.

She was, after the access, in pain and deeply saddened. I returned in the evening to see her, when the etiquette established in such cases by my father permitted it. As I bade her farewell, holding my hand for a moment, she said, "See you to-morrow," and emphasised this last word as she used to do whenever our conversation was interrupted in some evening, looking forward to the next day for us to conclude it.

Chapter XV

As I went out into the corridor that led to my room, an impetuous breeze was swaying the willows in the courtyard; and as I approached the orchard, I heard it tearing through the orange groves, from which the frightened birds were darting. Faint flashes of lightning, like the instantaneous reflection of a buckler wounded by the glow of a fire, seemed to want to illuminate the gloomy bottom of the valley.

Leaning against one of the columns in the corridor, without feeling the rain lashing at my temples, I thought of Mary's illness, about which my father had spoken such terrible words; my eyes wanted to see her again, as in the silent and serene nights that might never come again!

I don't know how much time had passed, when something like the vibrating wing of a bird came to brush against my forehead. I looked towards the immediate woods to follow it: it was a black bird.

My room was cold; the roses at the window trembled as if they feared to be abandoned to the rigours of the tempestuous wind; the vase contained already withered and fainting the lilies that Mary had placed in it in the morning. At this a gust of wind suddenly blew out the lamp; and a clap of thunder let its rising rumble be heard for a long time, as if it were that of a gigantic chariot plunging from the rocky peaks of the mountain.

In the midst of that sobbing nature, my soul had a sad serenity.

The clock in the living room had just struck twelve. I heard footsteps near my door, and then my father's voice calling me. "Get up," he said as soon as I answered; "Maria is still unwell.

The access had been repeated. After a quarter of an hour I was ready to leave. My father was giving me the last indications about the symptoms of the illness, while the little black Juan Angel was quieting my impatient and frightened horse. I mounted; his shod hooves crunched on the cobbles, and a moment later I was riding down towards the plains of the valley, looking for the path in the light of some livid flashes of lightning. I was going in search of Dr. Mayn, who was then spending a season in the country three leagues from our farm.

The image of Mary as I had seen her in bed that afternoon, as she said to me, "See you tomorrow," that perhaps she would not come, was with me, and, quickening my impatience, made me measure incessantly the distance that separated me from the end of the journey; an impatience which the speed of the horse was not enough to moderate,

The plains began to disappear, fleeing in the opposite direction to my run, like immense blankets swept away by the hurricane. The forests that I thought were closest to me seemed to recede as I advanced towards them. Only the moaning of the wind among the shady fig-trees and chiminangos, only the weary wheezing of the horse and the clash of its hoofs on the sparking flints, interrupted the silence of the night.

Some huts of Santa Elena were on my right, and soon after I stopped hearing the barking of their dogs. Sleeping cows on the road began to make me slow down.

The beautiful house of the lords of M***, with its white chapel and its ceiba groves, could be seen in the distance in the first rays of the rising moon, like a castle whose towers and roofs had crumbled with the passing of time.

The Amaime was rising with the rains of the night, and its roar announced it to me long before I reached the shore. By the light of the moon, which, piercing the foliage of the banks, was going to silver the waves, I could see how much its flow had increased. But I could not wait: I had done two leagues in an hour, and it was still too little. I put my spurs to the horse's hindquarters, and with his ears laid back towards the bottom of the river, and snorting deafly, he seemed to calculate the impetuosity of the waters that were lashing at his feet: he plunged his hands into them, and, as if overcome by an invincible terror, he spun back on his legs. I stroked his neck and moistened his mane, and again prodded him into the river; then he threw up his hands impatiently, asking at the same time for all the rein, which I gave him, fearful that I had missed the flood-hole. He went up the bank about twenty rods, taking the side of a crag; he brought his nose close to the foam, and raising it at once, plunged into the stream. The water covered almost all of me, reaching up to my knees. The waves soon curled around my waist. With one hand I patted the animal's neck, the only visible part of its body, while with the other I tried to make it describe the cut line more curved upwards, because otherwise, having lost the lower part of the slope, it was inaccessible due to its height and the force of the water, which swung over the broken branches. The danger had passed. I alighted to examine the girths, one of which had burst. The noble brute shook himself, and a moment later I continued my march.

After a quarter of a league, I crossed the waves of the Nima, humble, diaphanous and smooth, which rolled illuminated until they were lost in the shadows of silent forests. I left the pampa of Santa R., whose house, in the midst of ceiba groves and under the group of palm trees that raise their foliage above its roof, resembles on moonlit nights the tent of an oriental king hanging from the trees of an oasis.

It was two o'clock in the morning when, after crossing the village of P***, I dismounted at the door of the house where the doctor lived.

Chapter XVI

In the evening of the same day the doctor took leave of us, after leaving Maria almost completely recovered, and having prescribed a regimen to prevent a recurrence of the access, and promised to visit her frequently. I was unspeakably relieved to hear him assure her that there was no danger, and for him, twice as fond as I had hitherto been of her, just because such a speedy recovery was predicted for Maria. I went into her room, as soon as the doctor and my father, who was to accompany him a league's journey, had set out. She was just finishing braiding her hair, looking at herself in a mirror that my sister held up on the cushions. Blushing, she pushed the piece of furniture aside and said to me:

–These are not the occupations of a sick woman, are they? but I am well enough. I hope I shall never again cause you such a dangerous journey as last night.

–There was no danger on that trip," I replied.

–The river, yes, the river! I thought of that and of so many things that could happen to you because of me.

A three-league journey? You call this…?

–That voyage on which you might have drowned," said the doctor here, so surprised, that he had not yet pressed me, and was already talking about it. You and he, on your return, had to wait two hours for the river to go down.

–The doctor on horseback is a mule; and his patient mule is not the same as a good horse.

–The man who lives in the little house by the pass," Maria interrupted me, "when he recognised your black horse this morning, he was amazed that the rider who jumped into the river last night had not drowned just as he was shouting to him that there was no ford. Oh, no, no; I don't want to get sick again. Hasn't the doctor told you that I won't get sick again?

–Yes," I replied; "and he has promised me not to let two days in succession pass in this fortnight without coming to see you.

–Then you won't have to make another overnight trip. What would I have done if I…

–You would have cried a lot, wouldn't you? -I replied with a smile.

He looked at me for a few moments, and I added:

–Can I be sure of dying at any time convinced that…

–From what?

And guessing the rest in my eyes:

–Always, always! -she added almost secretly, appearing to examine the beautiful lace on the cushions.

–And I have very sad things to say to you," he continued after a few moments' silence; "so sad, that they are the cause of my illness. You were on the mountain. Mamma knows all about it; and I heard papa tell her that my mother had died of a disease whose name I never heard; that you were destined to make a fine career; and that I – I – I don't know whether it's a matter of the heart or not. Ah, I don't know whether what I heard is true – I don't deserve that you should be as you are with me.

Tears rolled from her veiled eyes to her pale cheeks, which she hastened to wipe away.

–Don't say that, Maria, don't think it," I said; "no, I beg you.

–But I heard about it, and then I didn't know about myself.... Why, then?

–Look, I beg you, I… I… Will you allow me to command you to speak no more of it?

She had dropped her forehead on the arm on which she was leaning, and whose hand I was clasping in mine, when I heard in the next room the rustle of Emma's clothes approaching.

That evening at dinner time my sisters and I were in the dining room waiting for my parents, who took longer than usual. At last they were heard talking in the drawing-room, as if ending an important conversation. My father's noble physiognomy showed, in the slight contraction of the extremities of his lips, and in the little wrinkle between his brows, that he had just had a moral struggle which had upset him. My mother was pale, but without making the least effort to appear calm, she said to me as she sat down at the table:

–I hadn't remembered to tell you that José came to see us this morning and to invite you to a hunt; but when he heard the news, he promised to come back very early tomorrow morning. Do you know if it's true that one of his daughters is getting married?

–He will try to consult you about his project," my father remarked absently.

–It's probably a bear hunt," I replied.

–Of bears? What! Do you hunt bears?

–Yes, sir; it's a funny hunt I've done with him a few times.

–In my country," said my father, "they would think you a barbarian or a hero.

–And yet such a game is less dangerous than that of deer, which is made every day and everywhere; for the former, instead of requiring the hunters to tumble unwittingly through heather and waterfalls, requires only a little agility and accurate marksmanship.

My father, his countenance no longer showing its former frown, spoke of the way deer were hunted in Jamaica, and of how fond his relatives had been of this kind of pastime, Solomon being distinguished among them for his tenacity, skill, and enthusiasm, of whom he told us, with a laugh, some anecdotes.

As we got up from the table, he came up to me and said:

–Your mother and I have something to talk over with you; come to my room later.

As I entered the room, my father was writing with his back to my mother, who was in the less well-lit part of the room, sitting in the armchair she always sat in whenever she stopped there.

–Sit down," he said, stopping his writing for a moment and looking at me over the white glass and gold-rimmed mirrors.

After a few minutes, having carefully put back the account book in which he was writing, he moved a seat nearer to the one I was sitting on, and in a low voice spoke thus:

–I wanted your mother to be present at this conversation, because it is a serious matter on which she has the same opinion as I have.

He went to the door to open it and throw away the cigar he was smoking, and continued in this manner:

–You have been with us three months now, and it is only after two more that Mr. A*** will be able to start on his journey to Europe, and it is with him that you must go. This delay, in a certain degree, means nothing, both because it is very agreeable to us to have you with us after six years' absence, to be followed by others, and because I note with pleasure that even here, study is one of your favourite pleasures. I cannot conceal from you, nor must I, that I have conceived great hopes, from your character and aptitudes, that you will crown the career you are about to pursue with brilliancy. You are not unaware that the family will soon need your support, and all the more so after the death of your brother.

Then, pausing, he continued:

–There is something in your conduct which I must tell you is not right; you are but twenty years old, and at that age a love inconsiderately fostered might render illusory all the hopes of which I have just spoken to you. You love Maria, and I have known it for many days, as is natural. Maria is almost my daughter, and I should have nothing to observe, if your age and position allowed us to think of a marriage; but they do not, and Maria is very young. These are not only the obstacles which present themselves; there is one perhaps insuperable, and it is my duty to speak to you of it. Mary may drag you and us with you into a lamentable misfortune of which she is threatened. Dr. Mayn dares almost to assure that she will die young of the same malady to which her mother succumbed: what she suffered yesterday is an epileptic syncope, which, taking increase at every access, will terminate in an epilepsy of the worst character known: so says the doctor. You answer now, with much thought, a single question; answer it like the rational man and gentleman that you are; and let not your answer be dictated by an exaltation foreign to your character, when it is a question of your future and that of your own. You know the doctor's opinion, an opinion that deserves respect because it is Mayn who gives it; the fate of Solomon's wife is known to you: if we consented to it, would you marry Mary to-day?

–Yes, sir," I replied.

–Would you take it all in?

–Everything, everything!

–I think I speak not only to a son but to the gentleman I have tried to form in you.

At that moment my mother hid her face in her handkerchief. My father, moved perhaps by those tears, and perhaps also by the resolution he found in me, knowing that his voice would fail him, stopped speaking for a few moments.

–Well," he continued, "since that noble resolution animates you, you will agree with me that you cannot be Maria's husband before five years. It is not for me to tell you that she, having loved you since she was a child, loves you to-day so much, that it is intense emotions, new to her, which, according to Mayn, have caused the symptoms of the disease to appear: that is to say, that your love and hers need precautions, and that I require you henceforth to promise me, for your sake, since you love her so much, and for her sake, that you will follow the doctor's advice, given in case this case should come to pass. You must promise nothing to Mary, for the promise to be her husband after the time I have appointed would make your intercourse more intimate, which is precisely what is to be avoided. Further explanations are useless to you: by following this course, you can save Mary; you can spare us the misfortune of losing her.

–In return for all that we grant you," said he, turning to my mother, "you must promise me the following: not to speak to Maria of the danger which threatens her, nor to reveal to her anything of what has passed between us to-night. You must also know my opinion of your marriage with her, if her illness should persist after your return to this country – for we are soon to be separated for some years: as your and Maria's father, I would not approve of such a liaison. In expressing this irrevocable resolution, it is not superfluous to let you know that Solomon, in the last three years of his life, succeeded in forming a capital of some consideration, which is in my possession destined to serve as a dowry for his daughter. But if she dies before her marriage, it must pass to her maternal grandmother, who is at Kingston.

My father paced a few moments in the room. Thinking our conference concluded, I rose to retire; but he resumed his seat, and pointing to mine, resumed his discourse thus.

–Four days ago I received a letter from Mr. de M*** asking me for Maria's hand for his son Carlos.

I could not hide my surprise at these words. My father smiled imperceptibly before adding:

–Mr. de M*** gives you fifteen days to accept or not his proposal, during which time you will come to pay us a visit that you promised me before. Everything will be easy for you after what has been agreed between us.

–Good night, then," he said, laying his hand warmly on my shoulder, "may you be very happy in your hunt; I need the skin of the bear you kill to put at the foot of my cot.

–All right," I replied.

My mother held out her hand to me, and holding mine, she said:

–We're expecting you early; watch out for those animals!

So many emotions had been swirling around me in the last few hours that I could hardly notice each one of them, and it was impossible for me to cope with my strange and difficult situation.

Mary threatened with death; promised thus as a reward for my love, by a terrible absence; promised on condition of loving her less; me obliged to moderate so powerful a love, a love forever possessed of my whole being, on pain of seeing her disappear from the earth like one of the fugitive beauties of my reveries, and having henceforth to appear ungrateful and insensible perhaps in her eyes, only by a conduct which necessity and reason compelled me to adopt! I could no longer hear her confidences in a moved voice; my lips could not touch even the end of one of her plaits. Mine or death's, between death and me, one step nearer to her would be to lose her; and to let her weep in abandonment was an ordeal beyond my strength.

Cowardly heart! you were not capable of letting yourself be consumed by that fire which, poorly hidden, could consume her? Where is she now, now that you no longer palpitate; now that the days and years pass over me without my knowing that I possess you?

Carrying out my orders, Juan Ángel knocked on the door of my room at dawn.

–How is the morning? -I asked.

–Mala, my master; it wants to rain.

–Well. Go to the mountain and tell José not to wait for me today.

When I opened the window I regretted having sent the little black man, who, whistling and humming bambucos, was about to enter the first patch of forest.

A cold, unseasonable wind was blowing from the mountains, shaking the rose bushes and swaying the willows, and diverting the odd pair of travelling parrots in their flight. All the birds, the luxury of the orchard on cheerful mornings, were silent, and only the pellars fluttered in the neighbouring meadows, greeting the sad winter's day with their song.

In a short time the mountains disappeared under the ashen veil of a heavy rain, which was already making its growing rumble heard as it came lashing through the woods. Within half an hour, murky, thundering brooks were running down, combing the haystacks on the slopes on the other side of the river, which, swollen, thundered angrily, and could be seen in the distant rifts, yellowish, overflowing, and muddy.

Chapter XVII

Ten days had passed since that distressing conference took place. Not feeling able to comply with my father's wishes as to the new sort of intercourse which he said I was to use with Maria, and painfully concerned at the proposal of marriage made by Charles, I had sought all sorts of pretexts for getting away from home. I spent those days, either shut up in my room, or in José's possession, often wandering about on foot. My companion on my walks was some book I couldn't manage to read, my shotgun, which never fired, and Mayo, who kept tiring me out. While I, overcome by a deep melancholy, let the hours pass hidden in the wildest places, he tried in vain to doze off curled up in the leaf litter, from which ants dislodged him or ants and mosquitoes made him jump impatiently. When the old fellow tired of the inaction and silence, which he disliked in spite of his infirmities, he would come up to me and, laying his head on one of my knees, would look at me affectionately, and then go away and wait for me a few rods away on the path that led to the house; And in his eagerness to get us on our way, when he had got me to follow him, he would even make a few jumps of joyous, youthful enthusiasms, in which, besides forgetting his composure and senile gravity, he came off with little success.

One morning my mother came into my room, and sitting at the head of the bed, from which I had not yet emerged, she said to me:

–This cannot be: you must not go on living like this; I am not satisfied.

As I kept silent, he continued:

–What you do is not what your father has required; it is much more; and your conduct is cruel to us, and more cruel to Maria. I was persuaded that your frequent walks were for the purpose of going to Luisa's, on account of the affection they have for you there; but Braulio, who came yesterday evening, let us know that he had not seen you for five days. What is it that causes you this deep sadness, which you cannot control even in the few moments you spend in society with the family, and which makes you constantly seek solitude, as if it were already troublesome for you to be with us?

Her eyes were filled with tears.

–Mary, madam," I replied, "he must be entirely free to accept or not to accept the lot which Charles offers him; and I, as his friend, must not delude him in the hopes which he must rightly entertain of being accepted.

Thus I revealed, without being able to help it, the most unbearable pain that had tormented me since the night I heard of the proposal of the gentlemen of M***. The doctor's fatal prognoses of Maria's illness had become nothing to me before that proposal; nothing the necessity of being separated from her for many years to come.