"Now you must stay under the choir to hear the mass; I am going up to the altar. Be careful not to look for me a single time! You must understand that this would be to profane the sanctuary, and in such a case it would be better for you not to come in."
"No, I will not look at you, though it will be very hard work."
"Give me your word that you won't."
"I give it."
"Well, then, adios, ... it won't be long[55] ... wait for me at the entrance...."
After she had gone several steps away, she turned around to say in a very subdued tone,—
"Be sure to do as I said, ... and be reverent, will you?"
Ricardo gave a sign of assent, while a happy smile brightened his face.
From that time forth the Marqués de Peñalta every morning escorted the eldest daughter of the Elorzas to mass, leaving her at the church door and joining her again when service was over. Maria evidently felt great pleasure in having his company, and as for Ricardo, it is not easy to exaggerate the joy which suddenly fell upon him through the change brought about in the behavior of his betrothed. Gradually her influence began to have such weight upon his spirit, that before long, as he himself had already suspected would be the case, his ideas began notably to modify, and not only his ideas but likewise his habits and manner of life, causing him to be more circumspect in nature, more careful in his speech, more gentle and more religious ... Anxious to please his betrothed, who did not cease to urge him with entreaties and advice, he began to give up the noisy amusements and even the company of the other officers of the gun factory, going home early, frequenting churches, and spending many afternoons with some of the clergymen; he became a member of several pious confraternities, among them that of Saint Vincent de Paul, visiting the poor in company with the beatos of the town, and spending no little money in contributions for worship; finally, after many heartfelt prayers he made general confession to Fray Ignacio, Maria's confessor.
However strange it may seem, we must declare that Ricardo, far from feeling repugnance or discomfort in this new life, found deep, mysterious pleasures, which till then he had never enjoyed. The pomp and circumstance of the Catholic religion, to which he had hitherto paid little attention, began to fascinate him; the sweet seclusion of the church at eventide, when it is peopled with shadows and murmurs, filled him with a gentle perturbation, with a certain peculiar longing for a lofty secret something; the odors of the incense and wax were for him like a pleasant poison, which put him to sleep, carrying him away to glorious regions of immortal bliss; his frequent deeds of charity produced in him an agreeable aftertaste and a great sense of comfort, increasing his faith; the humiliation of the sacrament of penance, which at first had been so distasteful to him, came to be a fountain of delights; he himself did not know whence they proceeded or how they took possession of his soul. Perhaps some of the psychological novelists who know so much and take such delight in investigating the deepest recesses of the consciousness of other people might discover the origin of those joys in the close union which our young friend created in the depths of his soul between religion and his love for Maria, and might see in the pleasure which Ricardo felt in running counter to his ideas, and mortifying his self-love, a certain analogy to what mystics and ascetics feel in the midst of their cruel torments,—the pleasure of sacrificing self for the beloved object. Perhaps they would set themselves minutely to investigate what part of that pleasure corresponded to pure devotion, and what part to the development of amorous sentiments and the movement of the feelings. Possibly, carried away by their love of analysis, and dragged from their moorings by the hurricane of impiety, which is nowadays apt to carry away with it this class of novelists, they might go so far as to declare that there exists at the bottom of religious practices and the ceremonial of the Church something which instead of calming the voice of the feelings adds to it, and that the inclination of the sexes, in the very heart of the religious life, within the temple itself, enjoying the soporific light reflected gently from the gilding of the altars, breathing the keen odors of the dust and the wax, and the narcotic perfume of the incense, listening to the moaning of the organ, and the vague murmur of the prayers of the faithful, acquires the flattering savor of forbidden fruit, and is more delicious and voluptuous than amid the splendor and elegance of the ball-room. Possibly they would say this and add many other considerations to prove it, but I will not follow them on this path, which, without good reason, leads to the offending of timid consciences and the grievous confusing of the novelist with the philosopher. I limit myself gladly to setting forth facts without launching out into the philosophy of them, and I faithfully describe what I have seen and experienced, or have been told by trustworthy people.