Alas for the wretch that between these two phantoms drags out a miserable existence! Happy is he who, by keeping his conscience pure, preserves, amid misfortunes and sorrows, his peace of soul, the supreme good which God has promised man in this exiled state.
Chapter V.
For many years the beautiful house at Chiclana remained unoccupied, the countess obstinately refusing to go there to enjoy the spring. Alas! for her there was neither spring nor pleasure, for, through divine justice, the results of her crime, a crime committed in cold blood and without a single excuse, weighed heavily upon her, as if the Most High had wished, by the force of circumstances, to impress upon her hard and daring spirit that which the sentiments of humanity had failed to communicate.
And these circumstances were indeed terrible, for she had borne the count, successively, two sons, whose birth filled the heart of their mother with consternation. To increase her chagrin, she saw the oldest of the three boys was growing up beautiful, brave, and sincere, occupying the first place in her husband's heart. For not only did Ramon—so the boy was called—sympathize with the general, but the equitable old man, seeing the hostility with which the countess regarded him, redoubled his manifestations of interest and affection toward the victim of her ill temper, and thus, by the force of a terrible retribution, God had brought remorse to that hard heart, and remorse had driven her from the house in which everything reminded her of her crime.
Remorse! Thou that bindest the temples with a crown of thorns, and the heart with a girdle of iron prongs; thou that makest the sleep so light and the vigil so heavy; thou that interposest thyself to cloud the clear glance that comes from the soul to the eyes, and to embitter the pure smile that rises from the heart to the lips; thou so silent in face of the seductive fault, so loud in thy denunciations when it is past, and there is no recalling it. Cruel and inexorable remorse! by whom art thou sent? Is it by the spirit of evil, that he may rejoice in his work and drive guilty man to despair; or by God, to warn him, in order that he may yet expiate his faults? For through thee two ways are opened to the soul—the way of death and the way of repentance. Weak wills and lukewarm spirits fluctuate between the two, shrinking alike from the furnace which would purify them, and the bottomless sea of anguish in whose bitter abysses the impenitent soul must writhe eternally.
These agonies to which Ismena was a prey, this remorse, this undying worm, had gnawed at her heart and life like an incurable cancer, and her tortures augmented in proportion as she felt her end approaching. In a continual struggle with conscience, which cannot be compounded with by human reasons or worldly purposes, because it is in itself a reason from God; every day more undecided whether to enter upon the course it indicated or to follow the path into which her pride had led her, Ismena, tearful alike of the fiery furnace and of the dreadful abyss, was approaching death as a criminal approaches the scaffold, wishing at the same time to lengthen the distance and to shorten it. When her end seemed near, the doctors insisted, as a last recourse, that she should try the air of the country, and the house at Chiclana was prepared for the reception of its proprietors. The most exquisite neatness was restored throughout. The awning once more covered the court, the birds twittered in their gilded cages, and the plants throve and bloomed, though Maria no longer sang as she watered them.
Announced by the sound of its bells, the carriage slowly approached and stopped at the door. But she who descended from it, and, supported by the general and a physician, dragged herself wearily through the marble portal like a corpse entering its sumptuous mausoleum, is only the wasted shadow of the once brilliant Ismena. At twenty-eight she had lost all the brightness of youth, her splendid eyes were dimmed and cast down, her golden locks had become gray, and her white and faded skin was like a shroud that covers a skeleton. A few years had sufficed to produce this change; for, instead of the gentle and reluctant hand of time, it had been wrought by the destructive talon of suffering. The countess was borne to a sofa, upon which she lay for a long while so prostrated that she appeared unconscious of all that surrounded her. But when left alone with Nora, she became feverish and agitated, and called for Maria. Nora, foreseeing the violent shock the sight of this poor old woman, the unfortunate victim of her fatality, must produce, would have put her off; but the countess repeated the demand with so much exasperation that it was necessary to obey. When Maria came in, Ismena extended her arms, and, embracing her convulsively, laid her burning head upon the bosom of the faithful friend who had witnessed her birth. But Maria was serene, for in that bosom beat a pure heart. Her eyes had lost their former expression or cheerful happiness, but still shone with the light of inward peace.
"Maria," exclaimed Ismena at last, "how have you been able to bear your misfortune?"
"With the resignation which God gives when he is asked for it, my lady," replied the good woman.
"O blessed sorrows with which it is not incompatible!" was the agonized cry of Ismena's heart.