The novel is now written. The subject is one sufficiently rude and liable to be carried away by prejudices and extravagances which the novelist who has a wish to paint the reality must avoid with care. I have striven with all my power to bring myself into a point of view relatively neutral (granting that the absolute cannot be attained), and to study the theme with the calmness of the physiologist. Whatever my sympathies may have been, I have tried always to subordinate them to the truth and to the profound respect which all noble sentiments and all honest beliefs deserve from me. You shall say if I have succeeded.
CHAPTER I.
IN THE STREET.
WITHIN the arcade the people were crowding relentlessly; each and every one was performing prodigies of skill to flout the physical law of the impenetrability of bodies, by reducing his own to an imaginary quantity. The night was unusually thick and dark. The feet of the loungers found each other out in the darkness, and when they met they indulged in somewhat expressive forms of endearment; the elbows of some, by a secret and fatal impulse, went straight into the eyes of others; the passive subject of such caresses instantly raised his hand to the place of contact, and usually exclaimed with some asperity, "You barbarian, you might at least—" but an energetic "Sh—sh—sh" from the throng obliged him to nip his discourse in the bud, and silence again began to reign. Silence was at this time the most pressing necessity which was felt by the inhabitants of Nieva there gathered together. The least noise was regarded as an act of sedition, and was instantly punished by a threatening hiss. Coughs and sneezes were prohibited, and still more condign punishment was meted out to laughter and conversation. There was profuse perspiration, although the night was not among the mildest of autumn.
In the arcades of the houses opposite, more or less the same state of things existed; but in the street itself there were few people, because a very fine rain was slowly falling, and this the natives of Nieva had learned not to despise, since in the long run and notwithstanding its gentle and insinuating ways, it was like any other. Only a few people with umbrellas, and some others who, not having them, sheltered themselves with their philosophy, maintained a firm footing in the midst of the gutter.
The balconied windows of the house of Elorza were thrown wide open, and through the embrasures streamed a bright and cheerful light which made the dark and misty night outside still more melancholy. Likewise there streamed forth from time to time torrents of musical notes let loose from a piano.
The house of Elorza was the principal one in a long, narrow street, adorned with an arcade on both sides like almost all the rest in the town of Nieva. Its most important façade looked into this street, but it had another with balconies facing the town square, which was wide and handsome like that of a city. Though the darkness does not allow us to make out exactly the appearance of the house, yet we can prove that it is a building of faced stone and of one story, with spacious arcade, the elegant and stately arches of which instantly declare the rank of its owners. This arcade, which might be called a portico, makes a notable contrast with that of the succeeding houses, which is low and narrow and supported by round, rough pillars without any ornamentation. Likewise the same difference is to be seen in the pavement. In the arcade of which we are speaking, it is of well-set flagging, while the others offer merely an inconvenient footway paved with cobble-stones. Without venturing, indeed, to call it a palace, it is not presumptuous to assert that this mansion had been built for the exclusive use and gratification of some person of importance; the fact that it had only one story very clearly decided this point. The truth demands that we set forth likewise the fact that the architect had given undeniable proofs of good taste in laying out the plan of the building, since its proportions could not be more elegant and correct. But what most struck the eye was a certain attractive and aristocratic thriftiness about it perfectly free from presumption, which, though calculated to inspire envy, certainly did not arouse in the minds of the people those hatreds and heart-burnings always excited by overweening wealth. The frowning firmament ceaselessly poured down all the moist and chilly mist with which its clouds were surcharged. The shadows shrowded and concealed the outlines of the house, crowding together underneath the arches and in the hollows of their stone mouldings, but they did not dare so much as to approach the bright, joyful openings of the balconies, which drove them away in terror. They gazed clandestinely into the heavenly el dorado of the interior, and eaten up with envy, they poured out their spite upon the heads of the philosophers who were listening in the open air. The pyramidal group of loungers, enjoying the protection of the opposite arcades, did not take their eyes from the balconies, while those who clustered under the arches of the house itself, as they lacked this expedient, entirely trusted to their ears, the receptive capacity of which they strove to increase by placing the palms of their hands behind them and doubling them forward a little. The darkness was dense in both arcades, for the town lanterns shed their pallid rays at respectable distances. Each served only to light up a sufficiently circumscribed area at wide intervals in the plaza, making melancholy reflections on the wet stones of the pavement. Amid the shadows now and then the light of a cigar flashed out for an instant, causing a ruddy glow on the smoker's mustachios. A little further away, on the corner, a variety shop still remained open; but the shopkeeper's shadow could be seen often crossing in front of the door as he was putting his wares in order before shutting up. On the principal floor of the same house the balconied windows were all thrown wide open; through them rang voices, coarse outbursts of laughter, and the clicking of billiard balls, sounds which fortunately reached the arcades greatly softened. This was the Café de la Estrella, frequented until the small hours of the night by a dozen indefatigable patrons. Otherwise, silence reigned, although it was impossible to get rid of the peculiar rumble inseparable from the thronging of people in one place, which is caused by the shuffling of feet, the stirring of bodies, and above all by the smothered phrases in falsetto tones let fall by some in the hearing of others.
At the moment when the present history begins, the vibrating tones of the piano were heard preluding the passionate allegro of the aria from "La Traviata": gran Dio morir si giovine. When the prelude was ended, a soft and appropriate accompaniment began. The expectation was intense. At last, above the accompaniment arose a clear and most dulcet voice, echoing through the whole plaza like a sound from heaven. The two groups of listeners were stirred as though they had touched their fingers to the knob of an electric machine, and a subdued murmur of satisfaction ran up and down among them.
"'Tis Maria," said three or four, hoping that the ears of the walls would not overhear them.
"It was high time!" remarked one, in a little louder voice.
"It is she that is singing now; hark! and not that beast of the canning factory!" exclaimed a third, still more impulsive.