fragments of English language novels
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The sun had set. After the brief interval of twilight the night fell
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calm and dark, and in its gloomy bosom the last sounds of a sleepy
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world died gently away. The traveller went forward on his way,
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hastening his step as night came on; the path he followed was narrow
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and worn by the constant tread of men and beasts, and led gently up a
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hill on whose verdant slopes grew picturesque clumps of wild cherry
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trees, beeches and oaks.--The reader perceives that we are in the north
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of Spain.
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Our traveller was a man of middle age, strongly built, tall and
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broad-shouldered; his movements were brisk and resolute, his step
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firm, his manner somewhat rugged, his eye bold and bright; his pace
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was nimble, considering that he was decidedly stout, and he was--the
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reader may at once be told, though somewhat prematurely--as good a
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soul as you may meet with anywhere. He was dressed, as a man in easy
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circumstances should be dressed for a journey in spring weather, with
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one of those round shady hats, which, from their ugly shape, have been
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nicknamed mushrooms (_hongo_), a pair of field-glasses hanging to a
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strap, and a knotted stick which, when he did not use it to support his
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steps, served to push aside the brambles when they flung their thorny
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branches across so as to catch his dress.
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He presently stopped, and gazing round the dim horizon, he seemed vexed
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and puzzled. He evidently was not sure of his way and was looking
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round for some passing native of the district who might give him such
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topographical information as might enable him to reach his destination.
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"I cannot be mistaken," he said to himself. "They told me to cross the
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river by the stepping-stones--and I did so--then to walk on, straight
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on. And there, to my right, I do in fact, see that detestable town
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which I should call _Villafangosa_ by reason of the enormous amount of
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mud that chokes the streets.--Well then, I can but go 'on, straight
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on'--I rather like the phrase, and if I bore arms, I would adopt it
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for my motto--in order to find myself at last at the famous mines of
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Socartes."
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But before he had gone much farther, he added: "I have lost my way,
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beyond a doubt I have lost my way.--This, Teodoro Golfin, is the
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result of your 'on, straight on.' Bah! these blockheads do not know
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the meaning of words; either they meant to laugh at you or else
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they did not know the way to the mines of Socartes. A huge mining
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establishment must be evident to the senses, with its buildings and
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chimneys, its noise of hammers and snorting of furnaces, neighing of
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horses and clattering of machinery--and I neither see, nor hear, nor
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smell anything. I might be in a desert! How absolutely solitary! If I
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believed in witches, I could fancy that Fate intended me this night to
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have the honor of making acquaintance with some. Deuce take it! why is
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there no one to be seen in these parts? And it will be half an hour
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yet before the moon rises. Ah! treacherous Luna, it is you who are to
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blame for my misadventure.--If only I could see what sort of place I
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am in.--However, what could I expect?" and he shrugged his shoulders
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with the air of a vigorous man who scorns danger. "What, Golfin, after
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having wandered all round the world are you going to give in now? The
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peasants were right after all: 'on, straight on.' The universal law of
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locomotion cannot fail me here."
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And he bravely set out to test the law, and went on about a kilometre
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farther, following the paths which seemed to start from under his feet,
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crossing each other and breaking off at a short distance, in a thousand
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angles which puzzled and tired him. Stout as his resolution was, at
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last he grew weary of his vain efforts. The paths, which had at first
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all led upwards, began to slope downwards as they crossed each other,
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and at last he came to so steep a slope that he could only hope to get
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to the bottom by rolling down it.
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"A pretty state of things!" he exclaimed, trying to console himself for
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this provoking situation by his sense of the ridiculous. "Where have
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you got to now my friend? This is a perfect abyss. Is anything to be
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seen at the bottom. No, nothing, absolutely nothing--the hill-side has
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disappeared, the earth has been dug away. There is nothing to be seen
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but stones and barren soil tinged red with iron. I have reached the
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mines, no doubt of that--and yet there is not a living soul to be seen,
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no smoky chimneys; no noise, not a train in the distance, not even a
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dog barking. What am I to do? Out there the path seems to slope up
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again.--Shall I follow that? Shall I leave the beaten track? Shall I go
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back again? Oh! this is absurd! Either I am not myself or I will reach
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Socartes to-night, and be welcomed by my worthy brother! 'On, straight
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on.'"
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He took a step, and his foot sank in the soft and crumbling soil.
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"What next, ye ruling stars? Am I to be swallowed up alive? If only
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that lazy moon would favor us with a little light we might see each
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other's faces--and, upon my soul, I can hardly expect to find Paradise
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at the bottom of this hole. It seems to be the crater of some extinct
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volcano.... Nothing could be easier than a slide down this beautiful
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precipice. What have we here?... A stone; capital--a good seat while I
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smoke a cigar and wait for the moon to rise."
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The philosophical Golfin seated himself as calmly as if it were a
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bench by a promenade, and was preparing for his smoke, when he heard a
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voice--yes, beyond a doubt, a human voice, at some little distance--a
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plaintive air, or to speak more accurately, a melancholy chant of a
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single phrase, of which the last cadence was prolonged into a "dying
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fall," and which at last sank into the silence of the night, so softly
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that the ear could not detect when it ceased.
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"Come," said the listener, well pleased, "there are some human beings
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about. That was a girl's voice; yes, certainly a girl's, and a lovely
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voice too. I like the popular airs of this country-side. Now it has
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stopped.... Hark! it will soon begin again.... Yes, I hear it once
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more. What a beautiful voice, and what a pathetic air! You might
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believe that it rose from the bowels of the earth, and that Señor
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Golfin, the most matter-of-fact and least superstitious man in this
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world, was going to make acquaintance with sylphs, nymphs, gnomes,
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dryads, and all the rabble rout that obey the mysterious spirit of the
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place.--But, if I am not mistaken, the voice is going farther away--the
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fair singer is departing.... Hi, girl, child, stop--wait a minute!..."
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The voice which had for a few minutes so charmed the lost wanderer with
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its enchanting strains was dying away in the dark void, and at the
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shouts of Golfin it was suddenly silent. Beyond a doubt the mysterious
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gnome, who was solacing its underground loneliness by singing its
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plaintive loves, had taken fright at this rough interruption by a human
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being, and fled to the deepest caverns of the earth, where precious
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gems lay hidden, jealous of their own splendor.
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"This is a pleasant state of things--" muttered Golfin, thinking that
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after all he could do no better than light his cigar.--"There seems no
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reason why it should not go on for a hundred years. I can smoke and
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wait. It was a clever idea of mine that I could walk up alone to the
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mines of Socartes. My luggage will have got there before me--a signal
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proof of the advantages of 'on, straight on.'"
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A light breeze at this instant sprang up, and Golfin fancied he
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heard the sound of footsteps at the bottom of the unknown--or
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imaginary--abyss before him; he listened sharply, and in a minute felt
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quite certain that some one was walking below. He stood up and shouted:
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"Girl, man, or whoever you are, can I get to the mines of Socartes by
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this road?"
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He had not done speaking when he heard a dog barking wildly, and then a
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manly voice saying: "Choto, Choto! come here!"
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"Hi there!" cried the traveller. "My good friend--man, boy, demon, or
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whatever you are, call back your dog, for I am a man of peace."
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"Choto, Choto!..."
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Golfin could make out the form of a large, black dog coming towards
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him, but after sniffing round him it retired at its master's call;
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and at that moment the traveller could distinguish a figure, a man,
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standing as immovable as a stone image, at about ten paces below him,
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on a slanting pathway which seemed to cut across the steep incline.
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This path, and the human form standing there, became quite clear now to
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Golfin, who, looking up to the sky, exclaimed:
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"Thank God! here is the mad moon at last; now we can see where we are.
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I had not the faintest notion that a path existed so close to me, why,
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it is quite a road. Tell me, my friend, do you know whether the mines
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of Socartes are hereabout?"
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"Yes, Señor, these are the mines of Socartes; but we are at some
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distance from the works."
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The voice which spoke thus was youthful and pleasant, with the
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attractive inflection that indicates a polite readiness to be of
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service. The doctor was well pleased at detecting this, and still
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better pleased at observing the soft light, which was spreading through
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the darkness and bringing resurrection to earth and sky, as though
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calling them forth from nothingness.
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"_Fiat lux!_" he said, going forward down the slope. "I feel as if I
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had just emerged into existence from primeval chaos.... Indeed, my good
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friend, I am truly grateful to you for the information you have given
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me, and for the farther information you no doubt will give me. I left
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Villamojada as the sun was setting.--They told me to go on, straight
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on...."
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"Are you going to the works?" asked the strange youth, without stirring
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from the spot or looking up towards the doctor, who was now quite near
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him.
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"Yes, Señor; but I have certainly lost my way."
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"Well, this is not the entrance to the mines. The entrance is by the
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steps at Rabagones, from which the road runs and the tram-way that
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they are making. If you had gone that way you would have reached the
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works in ten minutes. From here it is a long way, and a very bad road.
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We are at the outer circle of the mining galleries, and shall have to
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go through passages and tunnels, down ladders, through cuttings, up
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slopes, and then down the inclined plane; in short, cross the mines
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from this side to the other, where the workshops are and the furnaces,
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the machines and the smelting-house."
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"Well, I seem to have been uncommonly stupid," said Golfin, laughing.
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"I will guide you with much pleasure, for I know every inch of the
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place."
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Golfin, whose feet sank in the loose earth, slipping here and tottering
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there, had at last reached the solid ground of the path, and his first
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idea was to look closely at the good-natured lad who addressed him.
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For a minute or two he was speechless with surprise.
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"You!" he said, in a low voice.
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"I am blind, it is true, Señor," said the boy. "But I can run without
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seeing from one end to the other of the mines of Socartes. This stick I
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carry prevents my stumbling, and Choto is always with me, when I have
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not got Nela with me, who is my guide. So, follow me, Señor, and allow
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me to guide you."
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@ -0,0 +1,317 @@
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Behind the pine grove the setting sun had left a zone of fire
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against which the trunks of the pine trees stood out like bronze
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columns. The path was rugged and uneven, giving evidence of the
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ravages wrought by the winter rains; at intervals loose stones,
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looking like teeth detached from the gum, rendered it still more
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impracticable. The melancholy shades of twilight were beginning to
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envelop the landscape; little by little the sunset glow faded away
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and the moon, round and silvery, mounted in the heavens, where the
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evening star was already shining. The dismal croaking of the frogs
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fell sharply on the ear; a fresh breeze stirred the dry plants and
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the dusty brambles that grew by the roadside; and the trunks of the
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pine trees grew momentarily blacker, standing out like inky bars
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against the pale green of the horizon.
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A man was descending the path slowly, bent, apparently, on
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enjoying the poetry and the peace of the scene and the hour. He
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carried a stout walking-stick, and as far as one could judge in the
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fading light, he was young and not ill-looking.
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He paused frequently, casting glances to the right and to the
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left as if in search of some familiar landmark. Finally he stood
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still and looked around him. At his back was a hill crowned with
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chestnut trees; on his left was the pine grove; on his right a small
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church with a mean belfry; before him the outlying houses of the
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town. He turned, walked back some ten steps, stopped, fronting the
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portico of the church, examined its walls, and, satisfied at last
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that he had found the right place, raised his hands to his mouth and
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forming with them a sort of speaking trumpet, cried, in a clear
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youthful voice:
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"Echo, let us talk together!"
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From the angle formed by the walls, there came back instantly
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another voice, deeper and less distinct, strangely grave and
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sonorous, which repeated with emphasis, linking the answer to the
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question and dwelling upon the final syllable:
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"Let us talk togethe-e-e-e-r!"
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"Are you happy?"
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"Happy-y-y-y!" responded the echo.
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"Who am I?"
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"I-I-I-I!"
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To these interrogations, framed so that the answer should make
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sense with them, succeeded phrases uttered without any other object
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than that of hearing them reverberated with strange intensity by the
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wall. "It is a lovely night."--"The moon is shining."--"The sun has
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set."--"Do you hear me, echo?"--"Have you dreams, echo, of glory,
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ambition, love?" The traveler, enchanted with his occupation,
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continued the conversation, varying the words, combining them into
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sentences, and, in the short intervals of silence, he listened to the
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faint murmur of the pines stirred by the evening breeze, and to the
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melancholy concert of the frogs. The crimson and rose-colored clouds
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had become ashen and had begun to invade the broad region of the
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firmament over which the unclouded moon shed her silvery light. The
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honeysuckles and elder-flowers on the outskirts of the pine grove
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embalmed the air with subtle and intoxicating fragrance. And the
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interlocutor of the echo, yielding to the poetic influences of the
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scene, ceased his questions and exclamations and began to recite, in
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a slow, chanting voice, verses of Becquer, paying no heed now to the
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voice from the wall, which, in its haste to repeat his words,
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returned them to him broken and confused.
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Absorbed in his occupation, pleased with the harmonious sounds of
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the verse, he did not notice the approach of three men of odd and
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grotesque appearance, wearing enormous broad-brimmed felt hats. One
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of the men was leading a mule laden with a leathern sack filled,
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doubtless, with the juice of the grape; and as they walked slowly,
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and the soft clayey soil deadened the noise of their footsteps, they
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passed close by the young man, unperceived by him. They exchanged
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some whispered words with one another. "Who is he,
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man?"--"Segundo."--"The lawyer's son?"--"The same."--"What is he
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doing? Is he talking to himself?"--"No, he is talking to the wall of
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Santa Margarita."--"Well, we have as good a right to do that as he
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has."--"Begin you ----"--"One--two--here goes----"
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And from those profane lips fell a shower of vile words and
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coarse and vulgar phrases, interrupting the _Oscuras Golondrinas_
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which the young man was reciting with a great deal of expression, and
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producing, in the peaceful and harmonious nocturnal silence, the
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effect of the clatter of brass pans and kettles in a piece of German
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music. The most refined expressions were in the following style:
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"D---- (here an oath). Hurrah for the wine of the Border! Hurrah for
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the red wine that gives courage to man! D----" (the reader's
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imagination may supply what followed, it being premised that the
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disturbers of the Becquerian dreamer were three lawless muleteers who
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were carrying with them an abundant provision of the blood of the
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grape).
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The nymph who dwelt in the wall opposed no resistance to the
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profanation and repeated the round oaths as faithfully as she had
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repeated the poet's verses. Hearing the vociferations and bursts of
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laughter which the wall sent back to him mockingly, Segundo, the
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lawyer's son, aware that the barbarians were turning his sentimental
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amusement into ridicule, became enraged. Mortified and ashamed, he
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tightened his grasp on his stick, strongly tempted to break it on the
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ribs of some one of them; and, muttering between his teeth, "Kaffirs!
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brutes! beasts!" and other offensive epithets, he turned to the left,
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plunged into the pine grove and walked toward the town, avoiding the
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path in order to escape meeting the profane trio.
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The town was but a step away. The walls of its nearest houses
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shone white in the moonlight, and the stones of some buildings in
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course of erection, garden walls, orchards, and vegetable beds,
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filled up the space between the town and the pine grove. The path
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grew gradually broader, until it reached the highroad, on either side
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of which leafy chestnut trees cast broad patches of shade. The town
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was already asleep, seemingly, for not a light was to be seen, nor
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were any of those noises to be heard which reveal the proximity of
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those human beehives called cities. Vilamorta is in reality a very
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||||||
|
small beehive, a modest town, the capital of a district. Bathed in
|
||||||
|
the splendor of the romantic satellite, however, it was not without a
|
||||||
|
certain air of importance imparted to it by the new buildings, of a
|
||||||
|
style of architecture peculiar to prison cells, which an
|
||||||
|
_Americanized_ Galician, recently returned to his native land with a
|
||||||
|
plentiful supply of cash, was erecting with all possible expedition.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Segundo turned into an out-of-the-way street--if there be any
|
||||||
|
such in towns like Vilamorta. Only the sidewalks were paved; the
|
||||||
|
gutter was a gutter in reality; it was full of muddy pools and heaps
|
||||||
|
of kitchen garbage, thrown there without scruple by the inhabitants.
|
||||||
|
Segundo avoided two things--stepping into the gutter and walking in
|
||||||
|
the moonlight. A man passed so close by him as almost to touch him,
|
||||||
|
enveloped, notwithstanding the heat, in an ample cloak, and holding
|
||||||
|
open above his head an enormous umbrella, although there was no sign
|
||||||
|
of rain; doubtless he was some convalescent, some visitor to the
|
||||||
|
springs, who was breathing the pleasant night air with hygienic
|
||||||
|
precautions. Segundo, when he saw him, walked closer to the houses,
|
||||||
|
turning his face aside as if afraid of being recognized. With no less
|
||||||
|
caution he crossed the Plaza del Consistorio, the pride of Vilamorta,
|
||||||
|
and then, instead of joining one of the groups who were enjoying the
|
||||||
|
fresh air, seated on the stone benches round the public fountain, he
|
||||||
|
slipped into a narrow side street, and crossing a retired little
|
||||||
|
square shaded by a gigantic poplar turned his steps in the direction
|
||||||
|
of a small house half hidden in the shadow of the tree. Between the
|
||||||
|
house and Segundo there stood a lumbering bulk--the body of a
|
||||||
|
stage-coach, a large box on wheels, its shafts raised in air,
|
||||||
|
waiting, lance in rest, as it were, to renew the attack. Segundo
|
||||||
|
skirted the obstacle, and as he turned the corner of the square,
|
||||||
|
absorbed in his meditations, two immense hogs, monstrously fat,
|
||||||
|
rushed out of the half-open gate of a neighboring yard, and at a
|
||||||
|
short trot that made their enormous sides shake like jelly, made
|
||||||
|
straight for the admirer of Becquer, entangling themselves stupidly
|
||||||
|
and blindly between his legs. By a special interposition of
|
||||||
|
Providence the young man did not measure his length upon the ground,
|
||||||
|
but, his patience now exhausted, he gave each of the swine a couple
|
||||||
|
of angry kicks, which drew from them sharp and ferocious grunts, as
|
||||||
|
he ejaculated almost audibly: "What a town is this, good Heavens!
|
||||||
|
Even the hogs must run against one in the streets. Ah, what a
|
||||||
|
miserable place! Hell itself could not be worse!"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
By the time he had reached the door of the house, he had, to some
|
||||||
|
extent, regained his composure. The house was small and pretty and
|
||||||
|
had a cheerful air. There was no railing outside the windows, only
|
||||||
|
the stone ledges, which were covered with plants in pots and boxes;
|
||||||
|
through the windows shaded by muslin curtains a light could be seen
|
||||||
|
burning, and in the silent façade there was something peaceful and
|
||||||
|
attractive that invited one to enter. Segundo pushed open the door
|
||||||
|
and almost at the same instant there was heard in the dark hall the
|
||||||
|
rustling of skirts, a woman's arms were opened and the admirer of
|
||||||
|
Becquer, throwing himself into them, allowed himself to be led,
|
||||||
|
dragged, carried bodily, almost, up the stairs, and into the little
|
||||||
|
parlor where, on a table covered with a white crochet cover, burned a
|
||||||
|
carefully trimmed lamp. There, on the sofa, the lover and the lady
|
||||||
|
seated themselves.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Truth before all things. The lady was not far from thirty-six or
|
||||||
|
thirty-seven, and what is worse, could never have been pretty, or
|
||||||
|
even passably good-looking. The smallpox had pitted and hardened her
|
||||||
|
coarse skin, giving it the appearance of the leather bottom of a
|
||||||
|
sieve. Her small black eyes, hard and bright like two fleas, matched
|
||||||
|
well her nose, which was thick and ill-shaped, like the noses of the
|
||||||
|
figures of lay monks stamped on chocolate. True, the mouth was
|
||||||
|
fresh-colored, the teeth white and sound like those of a dog; but
|
||||||
|
everything else pertaining to her--dress, manner, accent, the want of
|
||||||
|
grace of the whole--was calculated rather to put tender thoughts to
|
||||||
|
flight than to awaken them. With the lamp shining as brightly as it
|
||||||
|
does, it is preferable to contemplate the lover. The latter is of
|
||||||
|
medium height, has a graceful, well-proportioned figure, and in the
|
||||||
|
turn of his head and in his youthful features there is something that
|
||||||
|
irresistibly attracts and holds the gaze. His forehead, which is high
|
||||||
|
and straight, is shaded and set off by luxuriant hair, worn somewhat
|
||||||
|
longer than is allowed by our present severe fashion. His face, thin
|
||||||
|
and delicately outlined, casts a shadow on the walls which is made up
|
||||||
|
of acute angles. A mustache, curling with the grace which is peculiar
|
||||||
|
to a first mustache, and to the wavy locks of a young girl, shades
|
||||||
|
but does not cover his upper lip. The beard has not yet attained its
|
||||||
|
full growth; the muscles of the throat have not yet become prominent;
|
||||||
|
the Adam's apple does not yet force itself on the attention. The
|
||||||
|
complexion is dark, pale, and of a slightly bilious hue.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Seeing this handsome youth leaning his head on the shoulder of
|
||||||
|
this woman of mature age and undisguised ugliness, it would have been
|
||||||
|
natural to take them for mother and son, but anyone coming to this
|
||||||
|
conclusion, after a single moment's observation, would have shown
|
||||||
|
scant penetration, for in the manifestations of maternal affection,
|
||||||
|
however passionate and tender they may be, there is always a
|
||||||
|
something of dignity and repose which is wanting in those of every
|
||||||
|
other affection.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Doubtless Segundo felt a longing to see the moon again, for he
|
||||||
|
rose almost immediately from his seat on the sofa and crossed over to
|
||||||
|
the window, his companion following him. He threw open the sash, and
|
||||||
|
they sat down side by side in two low chairs whose seats were on a
|
||||||
|
level with the flower-pots. A fine carnation regaled the sense with
|
||||||
|
its intoxicating perfume; the moon lighted up with her silvery rays
|
||||||
|
the foliage of the poplar that cast broad shadow over the little
|
||||||
|
square. Segundo opened the conversation this wise:
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Have you made any cigars for me?"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Here are some," she answered, putting her hand into her pocket
|
||||||
|
and drawing from it a bundle of cigars. "I was able to make only a
|
||||||
|
dozen and a half for you. I will complete the two dozen to-night
|
||||||
|
before I go to bed."
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
There was a moment's silence, broken by the sharp sound made by
|
||||||
|
the striking of the match and then, in a voice muffled by the first
|
||||||
|
puff of smoke, Segundo went on:
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Why, has anything new happened?"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"New? No. The children--putting the house in order--and
|
||||||
|
then--Minguitos. He made my head ache with his complaining--he
|
||||||
|
complained the whole blessed evening. He said his bones ached. And
|
||||||
|
you? Very busy, killing yourself reading, studying, writing, eh? Of
|
||||||
|
course!"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"No, I have been taking a delightful walk. I went to Peñas-albas
|
||||||
|
and returned by way of Santa Margarita. I have seldom spent a
|
||||||
|
pleasanter evening."
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"I warrant you were making verses."
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"No, my dear. The verses I made I made last night after leaving
|
||||||
|
you."
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Ah! And you weren't going to repeat them to me. Come, for the
|
||||||
|
love of the saints, come, recite them for me, you must know them by
|
||||||
|
heart. Come, darling."
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
To this vehement entreaty succeeded a passionate kiss, pressed on
|
||||||
|
the hair and forehead of the poet. The latter raised his eyes, drew
|
||||||
|
back a little and, holding his cigar between his fingers after
|
||||||
|
knocking off the ashes with his nail, proceeded to recite.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
The offspring of his muse was a poem in imitation of Becquer. His
|
||||||
|
auditor, who listened to it with religious attention, thought it
|
||||||
|
superior to anything inspired by the muse of the great Gustave. And
|
||||||
|
she asked for another and then another, and then a bit of Espronceda
|
||||||
|
and then a fragment or two of Zorrilla. By this time the cigar had
|
||||||
|
gone out; the poet threw away the stump and lighted a fresh one. Then
|
||||||
|
they resumed their conversation.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Shall we have supper soon?"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Directly. What do you think I have for you?"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"I haven't the least idea."
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Think of what you like best. What you like best, better than
|
||||||
|
anything else."
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Bah! You know that so far as I am concerned, provided you don't
|
||||||
|
give me anything smoked or greasy----"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"A French omelet! You couldn't guess, eh? Let me tell you--I
|
||||||
|
found the receipt in a book. As I had heard that it was something
|
||||||
|
good I wanted to try it. I had always made omelets as they make them
|
||||||
|
here, so stiff, that you might throw one against the wall without
|
||||||
|
breaking it. But this--I think it will be to your taste. As for me, I
|
||||||
|
don't like it much, I prefer the old style. I showed Flores how to
|
||||||
|
make it. What was in the one you ate at the inn at Orense? Chopped
|
||||||
|
parsley, eh?"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"No, ham. But what difference does it make what was in it?"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"I'll run and take it out of the pantry! I thought--the book says
|
||||||
|
parsley! Wait, wait."
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
She overturned her chair in her haste. An instant later the
|
||||||
|
jingling of her keys and the opening and closing of a couple of doors
|
||||||
|
were heard in the distance. A husky voice muttered some
|
||||||
|
unintelligible words in the kitchen. In two minutes she was back
|
||||||
|
again.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Tell me, and those verses, are you not going to publish them? Am
|
||||||
|
I not going to see them in print?"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Yes," responded the poet, slowly turning his head to one side
|
||||||
|
and sending a puff of smoke through his lips. "I am going to send
|
||||||
|
them to Vigo, to Roberto Blanquez, to insert them in the _Amanecer_."
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"I am delighted! You will become famous, sweetheart! How many
|
||||||
|
periodicals have spoken of you?"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Segundo laughed ironically and shrugged his shoulders.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Not many." And with a somewhat preoccupied air he let his gaze
|
||||||
|
wander over the plants and far away over the top of the poplar whose
|
||||||
|
leaves rustled gently in the breeze. The poet pressed his companion's
|
||||||
|
hand mechanically, and the latter returned the pressure with
|
||||||
|
passionate ardor.
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"Of course. How do you expect them to speak of you when you don't
|
||||||
|
put your name to your verses?" she said. "They don't know whose they
|
||||||
|
are. They are wondering, likely----"
|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
"What difference does the name make? They could say the same
|
||||||
|
things of the pseudonym I have adopted as of Segundo García. The few
|
||||||
|
people who will trouble themselves to read my verses will call me the
|
||||||
|
Swan of Vilamorta."
|
||||||
|
|
Loading…
Reference in New Issue