Benito PErez Galdos

THE OLD, OLD DRAMA.

“MarÍa dear, are we alone?” asked Luis pressing his sister’s hand to his heart.

“No,” said she, looking anxiously at a dark shadow that came towards them from the other side of the garden, “here comes.... No,” she added, after watching it for a minute, “he has turned round; he is walking up and down.... He does not seem to dare to join us—he seems to be afraid of you, or, if not afraid, to feel a respect—a great respect for you. His conscience cannot be at ease in your presence.”

“Do not talk nonsense. Respect for me, a miserable sinner! Besides, my dear, men like your husband respect no one and nothing. In his heart he mocks and scorns us.”

“No, that he does not, I assure you,” said MarÍa firmly. “I assure you he does not scorn us. Leon is thoroughly good and he will learn to believe; yes, he will believe. There, do you see he has turned again, but he keeps away.”

“He is very sad,” said Luis, gazing at the shadow slowly wandering up and down like a soul in torment. “He looks as if some great misfortune had crushed him; and yet he has health, he is rich, he has this world’s goods in abundance. Look at me—sick, dying, bereft of everything, poor and unknown, and yet I am happy. This evening my soul is full of peace and contentment—it is as though a strong and tender hand were lifting it up to heaven.” He put his face quite close to MarÍa’s, looking straight into her eyes and added: “MarÍa, I am dying.”

“For God’s sake do not say that!” she cried in terror. “You are better, you will get well....”

“I cannot bear to hear these empty platitudes from your lips; they are all very well for doctors and people who have no true Christian faith. I am dying, and I am glad to die. This morning when I was at Mass I fancied I heard a celestial voice announcing that my end was near, and from that moment I have felt that triumphant rapture which still possesses me. All my thoughts to-day have been of thankfulness and joy; when they sang the Te Deum I felt such a rapture of happiness that at last I began to fear lest it should in fact veil some kind of human pride and be an offence to God.”

“But you will not die.... You will not die!” said MarÍa caressing his head.

“Ah! your soul, contaminated by the world’s breath, cannot understand the exquisite joy of dying. To you the word has no other sense than that given it in the dictionary and in the conversation of the unrighteous. Rejoice at my death, child, rejoice as I do, and thus you may learn to long for your own! Ah! my dear sister, one, and only one thought mars my happiness, one single worldly anxiety still links me to the burden of the flesh. Do you know what it is? Bring your chair quite close for I cannot raise my voice.”

She did as he desired.

“My great trouble is to know that your precious soul, the twin of my own, as your body is to mine, remains in constant danger of being infected by him.... This idea disturbs my last hours on earth, and though I hope to gain much by entreating the Lord for you, still I am uneasy.”

“I—infected! with what? You know me very little, nor the heroism and constancy with which I can defend my faith, small as it is, humble and dim, a mere reflection of yours, which is as great and as bright as the sun. Have no fears for me. I told you before that there was no danger; I explained to you that, loving him even as I do, I always preserve a fixed impassable gulf between us. He wished to bridge the abyss. So did I, and we made the attempt; but since talking to you I see that nothing can do it short of a miracle.”

“Well, not a miracle, but a special intervention of His grace ... and this you ought still to hope for. Ask it of Him without ceasing, and meanwhile do not neglect for a day—for an instant—the precious work of your own salvation. Devote yourself to that, MarÍa; regard your life on earth as a ladder by which to scale Heaven; cultivate the inner life, strengthen it by unfailing devotion, arm yourself with patience and crown yourself with sacrifice, for your situation is a perilous one. Your liberty is fettered; through a fatal error of your youth you are bound to a man who will strain every nerve to drag you out of the only path that leads to eternal glory. So that you have in fact a double task before you. Your sorrows will be terrible—you must sweat blood, drink gall, and suffer those lacerating tortures of the soul which are more acute than the flames of the martyr’s stake.... Poor, poor, darling sister!... When the Fathers of the Seminary sent me home to Madrid I was miserable. ‘Why,’ said I, ‘will you send me to that hotbed of sin? Why not let me die here in peace?’ But I was resigned to obey when a sudden thought flashed upon me: ‘Rely upon it the Lord has some good work for you to do there’ ... and I soon saw what it was. This voice, so soon to be silent to the world, might yet utter some precious words to the sweet and innocent soul that the Lord would fain keep for his own. God knew full well that you were the being I most love on earth; he formed us as one, and our feelings, like our faces are intimately kin; we both had a natural taste for the spiritual life; why, when we were little enough to play games we would make believe we were martyrs. Our life together in that dreary little town laid the foundation on which we each had to build up a structure of piety. My vocation to the priesthood preserved me from contact with the world. You wandered from the path of light into darkness; and in that darkness, when the eyes of your soul were blinded, you married ... but whom? I do not condemn marriage, which is a holy estate, but your choice. However, the good seed in your soul will fructify in spite of everything; yes, thrive and fructify.... I, by a special mercy, have come to die in your arms; I was sent to you that you might see and hear me.”

“Blessed be God for that,” cried MarÍa passionately. “I thought that in your pious retreat you knew nothing of what was going on here; I thought you knew nothing of my husband’s views.”

“We know everything there; I knew his deeds, his opinions, I had heard of his amiable person and of his many natural good qualities. I knew too of the vices that are undermining our wretched family—vices which between you and me can be no secret. Our poor father does not lead the life of a Christian gentleman; our mother is wholly given up to worldly vanities; Leopoldo is a dissolute rake, sunk in wickedness; and Gustavo, though he is an energetic defender of the faith, does it with too much ostentation and more out of vainglory than from any religious zeal. They all forget that beauty, human glory, riches, honours and applause, are at last no more than food for the worms that eat our bodies, and that whatever pains they spend on anything that is not a gain to the soul, profits no one but those same horrible worms ... you alone seem to me to have some light of holiness and virtue, which shines conspicuous; but even you, superior as you are to the others, are not devoid of evil and are in danger of losing your soul....” As he spoke his voice suddenly failed him and his words died away in a gurgle, as though a hand on his throat were strangling him.

“I am suffocating,” he murmured indistinctly, throwing back his head. “I cannot....” He could scarcely breathe and he writhed in his seat with pain and helplessness.

“Leon, Leon!” MarÍa called in extreme alarm.

“It is nothing ... do not call,” said Luis with great difficulty, as he began to recover his breath. “The hour has come ... it is not far off ... give me your hand, do not leave me.”

Leon ran to his wife’s assistance.

“It is nothing,” Luis repeated. “There is nothing to be alarmed about.... I thought I was dying ... but not yet, no, I have something more to say.”

Then they were all three silent. “It is not wise to stay out here,” said Leon. “The evening air has been heated by the day’s sun and it is like a furnace. Shall we take you to the eastern side, where it is a little cooler?”

“Yes, and it is better there because we hear less of the noise of the road and the bustle of the people.”

Luis rose and went a few steps quite briskly, leaning on his sister’s arm, while Leon followed with the two seats; but suddenly the invalid lost his footing and, clinging to MarÍa’s arm, tottered like a drunken man.

“Leon, Leon, for heaven’s sake!”

Held up between them, the hapless youth reached his seat on the other side of the garden and sat gazing at the vault of sky that bent over the plain.

“This reminds me,” he said, as he recovered his breath, “of our beloved wilderness of Avila which was such a perfect emblem of human life; of that glorious night landscape, consisting of a bare stretch of land, and a blazing sky suggesting a sort of mystic tree of which nothing could be seen but the root and the shining flowers.... It is the same here—do you see? The roots in the earth, the flowers in Heaven ... rocks below and blossoms above—eternal, unfading, and shedding their promise of everlasting joys.”

Then there was a long silence while nothing was heard but his painful breathing. His eyes were fixed on the stars and he seemed to be counting them, as in his infancy. MarÍa was praying speechlessly. Leon took his brother-in-law’s hand, felt his pulse and laid his hand on his forehead, watching him carefully for some time.

“I am quite comfortable,” said Luis without looking at him.

Leon presently rose and left them; his step rang on the path with that bell-like clink that sometimes is more soothing than music. When the faintness of the sound showed that the master of the house had turned the corner of the garden, Luis called his sister.

“MarÍa,” he murmured without moving.

“What is it dear?”

“Soon, very soon, my soul will escape among those hosts of stars, which look as though they waited there to receive triumphant souls ... ah how glad, how happy I am!... If I could only make you feel how happy; if I could only make you understand what joy there is in casting off this weary burthen and soaring free. Up, away, to the immensity of space made everlastingly glorious by the rejoicings of the redeemed!... Away, alone, without casting a glance back at this miserable earth. Do you see that wondrous vault of stars? If they, which are so splendid, are not worthy to be compared with the dust that the blessed tread under foot, what must those be which crown the head of the immaculate Mother in the furthest distance, the supremest height ... where our gaze cannot pierce?”

“For pity’s sake do not talk so much!” said MarÍa anxiously. “Be calm ... you are excited.”

“MarÍa, I talk to you as a prisoner might when awaiting his release and you interrupt me with your commonplace remarks!—Stupid doctors’ saws.—What now can the health of my body matter to me? The life of the merest insect that settles on my face to sting me is of more value than mine! And how can you expect me to care for your useless precaution when I know that to-morrow—yes, dearest to-morrow, after attending mass, I must bid farewell to this world? I am sure of it; I hear the same voice that has warned me of so many things in my secluded life. I cannot doubt it—it is an announcement from Heaven!—To-morrow, to-morrow.”

MarÍa was speechless with dismay. Her brother’s face was like that of a dead man who has suddenly recovered speech and sight; she dared not leave his side for an instant; his sufferings alarmed her, but his eager flow of speech fascinated her.

“Listen to my words,” said Luis, holding her hands, “and mark them, so that they may sound in your ears throughout the rest of your existence. They are the last exhortations of your dying but happy brother; and even if my person lends them no authority my death will, since there is something of the prophet in every departing soul. MarÍa, I quite admit that you have already done something towards saving your soul; that you have started on the right path, carrying out, besides the devotions which are incumbent on us all, others of a more special character addressed to the Blessed Virgin and the Saints; but this is not enough, my darling sister; nay, it is as nothing so long as you give up part of your thoughts and time to the vanities and delusions of the world. The devotions in vogue, which allow you to frequent theatres and gay society, to dress with audacious luxury, to drive out always in a carriage, and to foster your pride and extravagance, are a mere farce of piety. Reform your life altogether; flee from the world, avoid gaieties, renounce splendour, rich clothing, and the elegancies of life, walk instead of riding, give up the show and comfort ...” and as he spoke he waved his hand as if to strike out each item of the catalogue. “Let it be your aim to be looked down upon,” he went on in his saintly and poetical vehemence. “To be laughed at, to be caluminated, to be despised as ridiculous and unsociable, to be forgotten and rejected by the whole human race. Have no care for the things of earth, but only for heavenly things.... We were born together, and as our bodies have been twins, growing with one growth even before our birth, so let our souls be as one in the life to come. We will be twins to all eternity, MarÍa. Say, do you desire this? Do you long to be for ever one with me in the presence of our Father, can you desire, as I do, that our righteousness may be as that of one, and that the praises we shall sing before the throne of God may sound as one hymn?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” sobbed MarÍa, as she flung herself into her brother’s arms. He was in a state of feverish exaltation, almost amounting to delirium, and her brain too was on fire; it was as though she had felt the sweep of some blazing comet in this critical moment of her existence.

“Yes,” she continued, and her hot tears fell on the dying man’s breast. “I long to soar with you, eternally one with you, to be indeed inseparably your twin, to save my soul with yours, and to enjoy the same bliss and glory that you attain to!”

“That is well,” said Luis, “then never forget me. I must depart; but I leave my hopes, my words with you. Listen to me,” he went on in sentences broken by coughing, “your husband, utterly corrupt through his philosophical speculations and his atheism, will always be a terrible obstacle to your salvation. You must surmount these obstacles without failing in the duties imposed on you by the sacrament of marriage. A more difficult position I cannot conceive of; still, I think I can point out to you the right way. None but a superficial union can ever exist between you; your souls are parted by the gulf that lies between belief and infidelity. No true marriage-tie can bind your souls. Still your faith forbids that you should abhor him. Love him with that christian charity which the law of Christ enjoins towards the reprobate; obey him in all that does not contravene your religious practices, acknowledge him as your lord and master in all things so long as you never let his tyrannical atheism enslave your conscience as a Catholic. Always pay him due respect, do him no wrong, and pray for him every day—every hour—not forgetting our parents and brothers, who also need our intercessions. God has given you no children; do you not see in this a curse on your marriage? It is a curse, but at the same time a special sign of grace so far as you are concerned, since, by leaving you childless, the Lord plainly shows that he claims you as wholly his own and signifies his will that you should dedicate yourself solely to him. Ah! we poor twins have much to be thankful for.”

“Much, much!” exclaimed MarÍa, carried away by his flood of feeling. “But while you are a saint, I am a sinner!”

“Nay, you will be as much and more a saint than I, for you will suffer and strive, and your triumph will be all the more meritorious. Having no children you can consecrate yourself entirely to the improvement of your inner life. By breaking entirely with the world you can have nothing to fear; and the utter opposition of your ideas to your husband’s, leaves your conscience perfectly free. If, in external matters, he plays the tyrant, you must be his slave; but if he tries to domineer in matters of opinion, pay no more heed to him than to the dropping of the rain. If he revenges himself, suffer in silence; if he smites one cheek, offer the other; but if by insidious argument or diabolical persuasions he tries to insinuate any heretical notions, shut your ears and flee from him in spirit. By yielding superficial obedience you will preserve your liberty of thought. If he forbids you to go to church, stay away, and make up for your absence from public worship by constant meditation and silent prayer; if on the contrary he allows you to go, do so as often as possible, and aim at that exaltation of spirit which may fit you to receive the Eucharist every day. If he does not seek your society, do not seek his; if he insists on being supreme in all your actions, still let me be supreme in all your thoughts; do all you can for his salvation, but never for an instant neglect your own. Do not try to convert him by talking; it will only excite his atheism, and your best arguments will be your virtues and humility. Never on any consideration join evening parties, either in your own house or elsewhere, and make no friends of either sex; though you cannot make your home a sanctuary, never permit the slightest scandal; an orgy or a meeting of infidels will amply justify you in flying from his roof. And if, after all, some day God should in his mercy touch the heart of your most wretched husband, and enlighten his mind—if he should at length confess the true faith, entreat him at once to consent to a separation so that you may each of you retire to a convent and dedicate the remainder of your lives, apart, to winning heaven.”

“Oh! my dear brother,” cried MarÍa beside herself, “I cannot doubt that God himself speaks to me through you.”

Luis pressed his sister’s head to his breast. Then suddenly he gasped for breath, moaning as he threw his head back. Life seemed fast ebbing in the struggle; his eyes rolled, till presently he closed them as if to shut out a blinding light; his breathing was a hoarse and laboured sobbing.

“Leon, Leon,” MarÍa screamed in terror; but all was silent, not a footstep was to be heard.

“Leon, Leon!... It will pass away,” she added putting her face close to her brother’s and trying to revive him by her appeal.

Then she called again and again, but Leon was not in the garden. She heard no servants, nor any sound but the noises in the road where the children were at play, and a party of thieving dogs were prowling about the gutters. There was not a breath of air to stir the leaves on the trees; all was so still, with a sort of awe-stricken peace, that the very stars seemed to MarÍa to twinkle less fitfully than usual, and to gaze down like anxious eyes. She glanced round her and shuddered at finding herself so completely alone with her brother who, to all appearance, was dying. Again she called—nay, screamed; and at last she heard her husband’s step coming slowly towards her.