María

A South American Romance

 

By Jorge Isaacs

 

Translation by Rollo Ogden

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MARIA

 

The brothers of Ephraim

Behold, my dear friends, the story of adolescence of the one whom you loved so much and which no longer exists. I have done a long time to wait these pages. After writing I found pale and unworthy of being offered as a testimony of my gratitude and my affection. You are aware of the words spoken that terrible night, putting my hands on the book of his memories: "What you know is missing there: read up what my tears have been deleted." Sweet and sad mission! Read them, then, and if reading suspendéis to mourn, those tears I will prove that I have faithfully.

Introduction

Maria is a romantic novel written by Colombian writer Jorge Isaacs in 1867, which takes place in the hacienda "El Paraiso" (located in the municipality of El Cerrito in the Valle del Cauca), in which Isaacs really lived . Although this novel is classified as a romantic, it contains a few moments of humor ; can be observed in the jokes that makes the father of Efraín or Maria, always full of respect.

 

The love story of America. The romance of the American and British excellence , Maria moved and enchanted readers for over a century , since in this work are not tender and tragic romance of Efraín and Maria only but also the landscape in all its splendor vallecaucano . This work Isaacs , a descendant of Jews from Curacao, is also distinguished by its beautiful language and the correctness of its plot development , which , in its simplicity, reveals an author who knows how to get to the depth of their characters . 

 

This is a beautiful 19th century novel , a classic of Latin American literature . This is the story of a young Jewish woman of Colombia and the love of his life, a young man she grew up with. The idyllic and tragic love between María and her cousin Efraín. It is September in the Andean region of Colombia is represented perfectly with the natural imaging parameters and customs of the time. It is both tragic and inspiring , and there is a good reason why this is a classic. It's characters, landscapes, and the end of fear are very memorable.

 

 

 

I

I was still a child when I walked away from the family home to give the beginning of my studies in college Dr. Lorenzo Maria Lleras, established a few years ago in Bogotá, and famous throughout the Republic at that time.

On the eve of my journey night after the evening, came into my room one of my sisters, and without saying a word loving, because the voice sobs embargoed, cut a hair of my head: when he left, had rolled some tears for my own neck.

I fell asleep crying and felt like a vague presentiment that he should suffer many regrets later. These hairs removed a child head; love that caution against such life before death, made during sleep vagase my soul for all the places had gone, without understanding, the happiest hours of my life.

The next morning my father broke my head, wet with many tears, my mother's arms. My sisters say their goodbyes to the rinsed with kisses. Mary humbly waited his turn, and stammering his farewell, gathered his rosy cheek to mine ice for the first sensation of pain.

A few moments later I went to my father, who hid his face in my eyes. The footsteps of our horses in the pebbly path sobs choking my past. The rumor of Zabaletas whose vegas were on our right, is lessened by the minute. We took as a return to the hills of the village, which used to house seen from the travelers desired; I looked at her looking for one of many loved ones: Mary was under vines adorning the windows of the room my mother .

II

After six years, the last days of August I received a fancy to return to native valley. My heart was filled with love of country. It was already the last day of the trip, and I enjoyed the most fragrant summer morning. The sky was a pale blue tint: to the east and towering peaks of the mountains, half mourning still, wandered a few puffs of gold gauze turban as a dancer scattered loving breath. Southward mists floated during the night had wrapped the distant mountains. Gramal crossed green plains, watered by streams whose passage obstructed me beautiful herds, they left their resting places to go into the gaps or vaulted paths tread by flowering and leafy fig trees. My eyes were fixed hungrily half hidden in those places the traveler in the tops of guaduales elderly, in those farms where people had left and virtuous friends. In such moments would not have touched my heart piano arias U. .. Perfumes were so fond aspiring compared to that of her fine clothes, the singing of those birds had no name so sweet harmonies to my heart!

I was speechless at such beauty, whose memory had believed kept in memory because some of my verses, admired by my fellow students, it had pale inks. When in a dance hall, flooded with light, full of voluptuous melodies, thousand aromas mixed with whispers of many garments of seductive women, found those who have dreamed at eighteen and a fleeting glance his burning our front, and his voice makes mute for a moment another voice for us all, and her flowers essences leave behind unknown, then we fall into a heavenly prostration: our voice is powerless, because our ears do not hear his, our eyes can not follow. But when, refreshed mind, her memory returns hours later, our lips murmur in his praise songs, and that woman is his accent, is her look is her light step on the carpet, which mimics that song, that the world will believe ideal. So the sky, the horizon, the plains and the mountains of Cauca make mute who contemplates them. The great beauties of creation can not at once be seen and sung: it is necessary to return to the soul, the memory empalidecidas unfaithful.

Before sunset, I had already seen on whitening on mountainside home of my parents. As I approached her with anxious eyes had groups of willows and orange, through which the cross saw the lights shortly after they were distributed in the rooms.

Finally breathed the smell of the garden never forgotten where I was training. The shoes of my horse sparkled on the cobblestones of the courtyard. I heard a cry indefinable was the voice of my mother to shake her arms and closer to his chest, a shadow covered my eyes: the supreme pleasure was moved to a wilderness.

When I tried to recognize women I saw, I left the sisters girls, Maria was standing next to me, and watched his eyelids wide eyes fringed with long lashes. It was his face that was covered the most remarkable blush when to roll my arm brushed shoulders with her figure, and her eyes were moist, even when smiling loving my first expression, like a child whose cry has died down a touch mother.

III

At eight o'clock we went to the dining room, which was picturesquely situated on the eastern side of the house. Since he saw the naked crests of the mountains above the starry sky background. Desert Auras passed through the garden picking flavors to come play with roses around us. The fickle wind could be heard for a few moments the sound of the river.

That nature seemed to hold all the beauty of the night, as a guest for a friend.

My father took the head of the table and put me on the right, my mother sat on the left, as usual, my sisters and children alike stood, and Mary stood in front of me.

My father, graying in my absence, I headed glances and smiled with satisfaction that her maliciously and sweet at the same time, you've never seen in other lips. My mother spoke little, because in those moments was happier than all those around her. My sisters were determined to make me try the snacks and creams: and blushed her whom I ran a flattering word or a look examiner.

Mary was hiding his eyes stubbornly, but I admire in them the brilliance and beauty of the women's race, in two or three times reluctantly met squarely with mine, her red lips, wet and gracefully imperatives , showed me an instant the prime of his veiled nice set. He had, like my sisters, abundant dark brown hair in two plaits arranged on the birth of one of which looked a red carnation.

He wore a light muslin robe, almost blue, which was discovered only part of the bodice and skirt, for a thin cotton shawl, purple color, covered her bosom to the base of his throat, white matte. Returning braids to the back, where it rolled to bend to serve, I admired the underside of deliciously shapely arms, and hands manicured like a queen.

After the dinner, the slaves rose tablecloths, one of them prayed the Our Father, and their owners completed the sentence.

The conversation then became confidential between my parents and me.

Mary picked her sleeping child in her lap, and my sisters went to the rooms: they loved her very much and fought his sweet affection.

Back in the room, my father, to retire, I kissed her daughters forehead. My mother wanted me to see the room that I had intended. My sisters and Mary, less shy and wanted to see what effect it caused me the care with which it was adorned. The room was at the end of the corridor in front of the house, his only window was to the inside height of a comfortable table and at that moment, with leaves and bars open, went in her flowery branches of roses to finish to decorate the table, where a beautiful blue porcelain vase containing laboriously in his glass lilies and lilies, carnations and purple bells River. The bed curtains were white gauze tied columns wide with pink ribbons, and near the head, by a native delicacy, the Dolorosa was small that I had served my altars as a child. Some maps, comfortable seating and a beautiful set of bathroom completed the outfit.

- What beautiful flowers! I cried to see all that the garden and vase covered the table.

-Mary remembered how much I liked my mother-observed.

I turned my eyes to thank him and his men as they strove to endure this time my gaze.

-Mary-I-will guardármelas, because they are harmful in the room where you sleep.

- Is it true? He answered, for the'll replace tomorrow.

How sweet was her accent!

- So many well there?

-So much, will be replenished every day.

After my mother hugged me, Emma gave me his hand, and Mary, abandoning his for a moment, smiled and I smiled in childhood: that smile hoyuelada was the girl of my loves children, caught in the face of a Rafael virgin.

IV

Slept quiet, like when I dozed in childhood one of the wonderful stories of slave Peter.

Mary dreamed I went to renew my table flowers, and that had brushed out the curtains of my bed with gauzy muslin skirt dotted with blue flowers.

When I woke up, fluttering birds sang in the foliage of orange and pomarrosos, and the blossoms filled my room with its aroma as soon as I opened the door.

Mary's voice came to my ears so sweet and pure: his voice was a child, but more severe and longer list to be provided to all modulations of tenderness and passion. Oh! How many times, in my dreams, an echo of that accent has come after my soul, and my eyes have looked in vain so beautiful that garden where I saw that morning in August!

The girl whose innocent caresses were all for me, it would not be because the companion of my games, but in the golden summer afternoons on the rides would be on my side, in the middle of the group of my sisters would help me to grow their flowers favorite, in the evenings I would hear his voice, his eyes would look at me, would separate us one step.

After I had fixed me lightly dressed, opened the window and saw Mary in one of the streets of the garden, accompanied by Emma: wearing a suit darker than the day before, and the color purple shawl, bound at the waist , fell as a band on the skirt, her long hair, divided into two tresses, ocultábale half of the back and chest: she and my sister had bare feet. He wore a little porcelain vase white arms that held, which was filling with roses open overnight, by discarding the wilted and less humid lush. She, laughing with his partner, sinking the cheeks, more fresh roses in the brimming bowl. Emma Descubrióme Mary noticed, and without turning to me, fell on his knees to hide their feet, the shawl desatóse the waist, and covering the shoulders with him, pretending to play with flowers. The nubile daughters of the patriarchs were not in the most beautiful dawns when picking flowers for their altars.

After lunch, my mother called me to her sewing.

Emma and Mary were embroidering nearby.

He returned it to blush when I introduced myself, remembering perhaps the surprise that I had inadvertently given in the morning.

My mother wanted to see me and hear me constantly.

Emma, ​​more flirtatious and I wondered a thousand things in Bogota, I demanded that describe splendid dances, beautiful lady dresses were in use, the most beautiful women then appear in high society. Heard without leaving their jobs. Mary looked at me sometimes carelessly, or made under his observations to his seatmate, and stand to approach my mother to ask something about the embroidery, I could see her neatly shod feet: his brisk and worthy revealed all pride, not killed, of our race, and the seductive modesty of Christian virgin. Ilumináronsele eyes when my mother said that I wish to give the girls some lessons in grammar and geography, subjects that had but very few notions. It was agreed that we would start to lessons past six or eight days, during which I would grade the state of knowledge of each.

Hours later I was told that the bath was ready, and went to him. A big orange lush, ripe fruit overwhelmed, was flag on polished quarry pond width: floated on the water many roses; semejábase an oriental bath, and was perfumed with flowers in the morning had picked Mary.

V

It had been three days when my father invited me to visit their estates in the valley, and it was necessary to please, on the other hand, I had real interest in favor of their companies. My mother insisted strongly by our early return. My sisters were grieved. Mary begged me not like them, that regresase in the same week, but I was still with eyes constantly during my preparations.

In my absence, my father had markedly improved properties: an expensive and beautiful sugar factory, many bushels cane to supply it, large pastures with cattle and horses, good feedlots and a luxurious room, were the most notable of his Hot landed estate. Slaves, well dressed and happy as far as possible be pregnant in servitude, were submissive and affectionate to his master. I found men who, shortly before children, had taught me to set traps and guatines chilacoas in the dense forests, their parents and they came back to me with unmistakable signs of pleasure. Only Peter, good friend and faithful schoolmaster should not find him: he had shed tears to put me on the horse the day of my departure to Bogotá, saying: "Amice mine, and never see you again." His heart was warned that he would die before my return.

I noticed that my father, without ceasing to be master, affectionate treatment gave their slaves, was jealous of the good conduct of their wives and children petted.

One afternoon, already sunsets, returning from the crops to the factory my father, Higinio (the butler) and me. They talked about work done and to be done, to me occupied less serious things: I thought the days of my childhood. The peculiar smell of freshly felled forests and the pinecones in season: the outcry of the parrots in the bamboo and guava neighbors, the tolling of a distant horn pastor, echoed by the mountains, the castrueras of slaves returning spaciously of the work with the tools to shoulder the afterglow seen through the reeds to shifting all evening reminded me that, abusing my sisters, Mary and I leave some of my mother, obtained by dint of tenacity, we collect solazábamos guavas of our favorite trees, pulling pinecones nests, often with serious injury to arms and hands, and parrots chicks peeping fences corrals.

When faced with a group of slaves, said my father to a young black man of remarkable good looks:

'So, Bruno, is everything in your marriage is arranged for tomorrow?

-Yes, my master replied rush his hat and leaning on the handle of his shovel.

- Who are the sponsors?

Dolores and Lord Na Anselmo, if your worship will.

-Good. Remigia and you'll be fine confessed. Did you get everything you need for her and for you to give you the money I sent?

-Everything is ready, master.

- And anything else you want?

His mercy will.

-The fourth Higinio you noted, is it good?

'Yes, master.

- Ah! I know. What I want to dance.

Bruno then laughed, showing his dazzling white teeth, looking back at his companions.

-Just is, you behave very well. You know, he added, addressing Higinio-: fix that, and that they are happy.

- What are their grants before? Bruno asked.

'No,' I replied, we give guests.

At dawn next Saturday and Remigia Bruno married. That night, at seven, my father and I rode to the ball, which we began to hear music. When we arrived, Julian, the slave gang captain, came to take the step and get our horses. He was lavish with her Sunday dress and hung from the waist trim the long machete silver insignia of his employment. A room of our old house had been unoccupied room of work containing utensils, to dance in it. Habíanla surrounded by pallets, in a wooden chandelier hanging in one of the beams, half dozen spinning lights, musicians and singers, aggregate mixture, slaves and freedmen, occupying one of the doors. There were only two reed pipes, a makeshift drum, two alfandoques and a tambourine, but the fine voices of the blacks sang masterfully bambucos such, had in their songs as heartfelt combination of melancholy, joyous and light chords, the verses tenderly sang were so simple, that the more educated dilettante had heard that music in semi-wild ecstasy. We entered the room with coats and hats. Remigia then danced and Bruno, she follao blue bolero, cuddy red flowers, white shirt and black embroidered crystal necklace and earrings ruby ​​color, danced with all the kindness and grace that were expected of her figure cimbrador . Bruno, bent over his shoulder cloths yarn poncho, blanket colorful panties, ironed white shirt and a waist again cabiblanco, zapateaba with admirable dexterity.

Past that hand, that they call each piece peasant dance, the musicians played their most beautiful bambuco because Julian told them it was for love. Remigia, encouraged by her husband and by the captain, was resolved at last to dance with my father a few moments, but then did not dare to raise his eyes, and his movements were less spontaneous dance. After an hour we left.

My father was satisfied with my attention during our visit to the farms, but when I said I wanted to participate onwards from their labors staying beside him, I said, almost regretfully, we looked at the case of sacrificing for mine their welfare, cumpliéndome the promise that I had made some time ago to send to Europe to finish my medical studies, and travel to be undertaken no later than four months. When you talk like that, his face took on a seriousness solemn without affectation, that it showed in him when taking irrevocable decisions. This happened in the afternoon we returned to the mountains. It began to get dark, and have not been, would have noticed the excitement that its refusal caused me. The rest of the journey was made in silence. How happy I would see Mary again, if the news of that trip had not been brought from that time in my hopes and her!

VI

What had happened in those four days in the life of Mary?

Was she going to place a lamp on a table in the living room, when I went to say hello, and I had missed not seeing her in the middle of the group of the family in the stands where we had just desmontarnos. The trembling of his hand exposed the lamp, and I lent him aid, less calm than I thought to be. It seemed slightly pale, and around his eyes had a faint, imperceptible for those who had seen it without looking. She turned her face toward my mother, who was speaking at the time, so I could avoid examine bathed in the light that we close, I then noticed that in the birth of one of the strands had a withered carnation, and was definitely the one that I had given the day before my departure to the valley. The enameled coral crucecilla she had brought for her, like that of my sisters, the slope of her neck a string of black hair. He was silent, sitting in the middle of the seats we occupied my mother and me. As the resolution of my father about my trip never left my memory, I must have seemed to her sad, as I said in a voice almost floor:

- Did you hurt the trip?

-No, Mary, 'I said, but we both sunny and we walked ...

I was going to say something else, but the accent of his voice confidentially, new light for me that was surprised in his eyes, I was unable to do anything but watch it until, noticing that he was ashamed of the involuntary fixity of my eyes, and finding examined by one of my father (more terrible when some fleeting smile on his lips wandered), left the room in the direction of my room.

I closed the doors. There were the flowers picked by her to me, the Aje with my kisses once wanted to suck all their flavors, looking at them from the dresses of Mary; bañélas with my tears ... Ah, those not well have wept with happiness, weep with despair, if you have spent your adolescence, because so neither shall return to love ya!

First Love! ... Noble pride of being loved: sweet sacrifice everything before us was expensive for the beloved woman, who bought happiness for a day with the tears of an entire existence, we would receive as a gift from God; perfume for every hour of future; inextinguishable light of the past stored in the soul flower and wither is not given to the disappointments, only treasure you can not take away the envy of men; delirium delicious ... inspiration of Heaven ... Mary! Mary! How I loved you! Love you much!

VII

When did my father's last voyage to the West Indies, Solomon, cousin to whom much had loved since childhood, had just lost his wife. Very young people had come together to South America, and one of his trips my father fell in love with the daughter of a Spanish captain bold, after leaving the service for a few years, was forced in 1819 to take back the arms in defense of the kings of Spain, which was shot in Majagual on May 20, 1820.

The girl's mother demanded that my father loved to give it a condition for his wife to renounce the Jewish religion. My father became a Christian at the age of twenty. His cousin is fond in those days to the Catholic religion, without giving their bodies so that did baptize also, knowing that I've done for my father, gave the wife he wanted, he would be acceptable to prevent the woman he loved in Jamaica.

After a few years of separation, they met again, then, the two friends. It was a widower Solomon. Sara, his wife, had left a girl who was at the time three years. My father found him morally and physically disfigured by pain, and then his new religion gave consolation to his cousin, consolations had sought in vain to save relatives. He urged Solomon to give him his daughter in order to educate them on our side, and dared to suggest that Christian would. Solomon agreed saying, "It is true that only my daughter has kept me on a journey to India, would improve my spirit and my remedy poverty: it has also been my only solace after the death of Sarah, but you want it, either your daughter. The Christians are sweet and good, and your wife must be a saint mother. If Christianity gives supreme misfortune in relief that you have given me, maybe I would my daughter leaving unhappy Jewish. Do not tell our relatives, but when you get to the first coast where he is a Catholic priest to baptize and to make it change the name of Mary Esther. " It said the unhappy shedding many tears.

A few days later was to sail in Montego Bay the schooner that my father was driving the coast of New Granada. The ship was rehearsing its white light like a heron wings of our forests theirs before going on a long flight. Solomon entered the room of my father, who had just fix your suit on board, taking Esther sitting on one arm, and slope of a chest containing another baggage girl: this little arms stretched his uncle , and Solomon, putting on his friend, fell sobbing on the small trunk. The creature, whose head had just beautiful bathing in a shower of tears of pain before baptism than the religion of Jesus, was a sacred treasure, my father knew well, and never forgot. A Solomon was remembered by his friend, to jump into the boat he was going to separate them, a promise, and he said in a choked voice: "The prayers of my daughter for me and mine for her and her mother, rising together at the feet of the Crucified! ».

I was seven years old when my father returned, and disdained precious toys that brought me from his trip to admire the girl so beautiful, so sweet and smiling. My mother covered her with caresses, and my sisters were treated to tenderness, from the time that my father, putting it in the lap of his wife, said, "This is the daughter of Solomon, he sends you."

During our playground lips began modular Castilian accent, so harmonious and seductive in a pretty mouth of the smiling woman and a child.

They would run about six years. When I entered the room one afternoon when my father heard him sobbing had his arms folded on the table and rested his forehead on them; near him my mother was crying, and Mary resting on her knees head, not understanding that pain and almost indifferent to the cries of his uncle was a letter from Kingston, received that day, gave the news of the death of Solomon. I remember only an expression of my father that afternoon: "If all are leaving me without being able to receive their final goodbyes, what will I turn to my country? '. Alas, his ashes were to rest in a strange land, without the ocean winds, whose beaches frolicked as a child, whose vastness crossed young and ardent, come sweeping over his grave slab of dried flowers and dust flavors the years!

Few were then those who, knowing our family, might suspect that Mary was not the daughter of my parents. He spoke our language, were friendly, lively and intelligent. When my mother stroked his head, while my sisters and me, no one could have guessed what was there the orphan.

Was nine. The head of hair, yet light brown, loose and playing on his thin waist and moveable; talkative eyes, the accent with some melancholy that had our voices, such was the picture that I took when I left her father's house , and was in the morning of that sad day, under the vines of the window of my mother.

VIII

A night raw Emma called to my door to go to the table. I bathed his face to hide the tracks of my tears, and I moved the clothes to excuse my tardiness.

Mary was not in the room, and vainly imagined that they had done their jobs take longer than usual. Noticing my father a vacant seat, asked for her, and Emma apologized saying that since that afternoon he had a headache and was sleeping already. I tried not to show me impressed, and making every effort to ensure that the conversation was pleasant, spoke enthusiastically about all the improvements that were found on farms that had just visited. But to no avail: my father was more tired than me, and retired early, Emma and my mother got up to go to bed at children and check on Mary, which I thanked them, but I was surprised as me that same feeling of gratitude.

Although Emma returned to the dining room, the desktop did not last long. Felipe and Heloise, who had committed to take part in their game of cards, charged my sleepy eyes. He unsuccessfully requested permission to accompany my mother the next day at the mountain, making retired discontent.

Meditating in my room, I thought I guess the cause of suffering of Mary. I remembered how I had left the room after I arrived and how the impression I made the confidential tone of it was ground that will answer to the lack of tact of one who is suppressing an emotion. Knowing and the origin of his sentence, would have given a thousand lives for him obtain a pardon, but the doubt came to aggravate the distress of my spirit. I doubted the love of Mary. Why, I thought, my heart strives to believe before this same martyrdom? Consider me unworthy to hold such beauty, such innocence. Echéme pride in that face that I had obfuscated to the point of believing by the object of his love, to be worthy of her affection only sister. In my madness I thought with less terror, almost with pleasure, on my next trip.

IX

I got up the next day at daybreak. The flashes eastward delineating the cusps of the central mountains gilded in semicircles on it some light clouds that were unleashed from each other to get away and disappear.

The green valley plains and forests were seen as through a glass the blue, and in the midst of them some cabins white fumes of freshly burnt hills rising spiral, and once the riots of a river. The mountains of the West, with its folds and breasts looked like dark blue velvet robes suspended from their centers by the hands of geniuses veiled by the mists. In front of my window, roses and foliage of the trees of the garden seemed to fear the first breezes that come to shed the dew glistened on the leaves and flowers. Everything seemed sad. I took the shotgun, I motioned to loving Mayo, seated on hind legs, staring at me, wrinkled forehead by excessive attention, awaiting the first order, and stone jumping the fence, took the mountain road. At internarme, I found it fresh and trembling under the caresses of the latest auras of the night. Herons left their roosts in flight forming undulating lines that silvered the Sun, as tapes abandoned to the whims of the wind. Numerous flocks of parrots in the bamboo rose to address the neighboring cornfields, and greeted diostedé up with his sad and monotonous singing from the heart of the mountain.

I went down to the river plain mountainous along the same path by which he had so many times six years earlier.

The thunder of the flood is going to increase, and soon discovered the streams, rushing to rush into the jumps, turned in foams kettles in them, clear and smooth in the backwaters, rolling it over a plush bed of moss rocks, fringed in the bank by iracales, ferns and yellow rods stems, silky seed plumes of purple.

Detúveme in the middle of the bridge, formed by the hurricane with a big cedar, where it had happened in another time. Parasitic flowering hanging from their branches, and shimmering bluebells and down in festoons from my feet to rock in the waves. A lush and proud abovedaba at intervals the river, and through it penetrated some rays of the rising sun as the roof of a broken left Indian temple. May coward on the bank yelled that I had just left, and my request was resolved to go through the great bridge, then take the path before me leading to the possession of the old Joseph, who expected me to pay that day Welcome your visit.

After a short steep slope, dark, and jumps through a dry woodland on recent demolitions Highlander, I found myself in the small square planted with vegetables, where I saw the little steaming set amidst green hills, which I had stopped between forests apparently indestructible. Cows, beautiful for its size and color, bellowing at the door of the yard looking for their calves. Domestic poultry ration morning getting rattled, in the nearby palm trees, which had spared the ax of the farmers, the orioles bustling swayed in their hanging nests, and amid uproar was heard so pleasing to the time the shrill cry of the fowler, Since its barbecue and armed honda frightened hungry macaws that flew over the cornfield.

Antioquia dogs by barking gave notice of my arrival. May, afraid of them approached me pouting. Joseph came to meet me, ax in one hand and his hat in the other.

The small house denounced industry, thrift and cleanliness, everything was rustic, but in a convenient ready, and everything in its place. The room of the house, well swept, bamboo benches around, covered with reed mats and bearskins, lit some paper prints depicting saints and lit with orange spines to walls unbleached had right and left the bedroom Joseph's wife and the girls. The kitchen is small and made of cane with the roof of leaves of the same plant, was separated from the house by a little garden where parsley, chamomile, pennyroyal and basil aromas mingled.

Women seemed dressed more carefully than usual. The girls, Lucy and Traffic, wore purple and chintz petticoats very white shirts with lace ruffs, edged with black braid, under which hid part of their rosaries, necklaces and colored bulbs opal glass. The braids of her hair, thick and jet black color, they played on their backs at the slightest movement of bare feet, care and restless. I spoke with extreme shyness, and his father was the one who, noting that, encouraged them by saying: "Is it not the same child Ephraim, because they come from school and already knew lad? '. Then became more jovial and smiling: we amicably laced memories of childhood games, powerful in the imagination of poets and women. With aging, the face of Joseph had gained much: but let not the beard, his face was something Biblical, like almost all of the elders of morality in the country where he was born, a abundant white hair and shadowed him the toast and broad forehead, and their smiles revealed tranquility of soul. Luisa, his wife happier than him in the struggle over the years, kept in dress fashion something Antioquia, and his constant cheerfulness kept realize he was happy with their lot.

Joseph led me to the river and told me about their crops and hunting, as I plunged into the airy haven from which water throwing forming a small waterfall. On our return we found served at the only table in the house the provocative lunch. Corn rampant everywhere: in the mote soup served in glazed earthenware dishes and golden arepas scattered on the tablecloth. The only utensils covered the cross on my plate was white and bordered in blue.

May sat at my feet with watchful eyes, but more humble than usual.

José mended a cast net while their daughters, but shameful lists, full of care served me, trying adivinarme in the eyes he could miss me. Much has been embellished, and loquillas girls who were women had become informal.

Hurried the thick glass of frothy milk dessert that lunch patriarchal Jose and I went to tour the garden and it was fucking slashing. The was amazed of my knowledge about the fields, and returned to the house an hour later and I say goodbye to the girls and mother.

Púsele the good old at the waist the hunting knife he had brought from reino1, neck and Lucia transit, precious rosaries, and in the hands of a reliquary Luisa she had asked my mother. I took around the mountain when it was noon per edge, according to the survey that the Sun did Joseph.

 

X

On my return, I did slowly, the image of Mary returned to cling to my memory. Those solitudes, its silent forests, its flowers, its birds and its waters, why I talked about it? What was there to Mary? In the humid shadows in the breeze moved the leaves, in the sound of the river ... Eden was that he saw, but she was missing, was that he could not stop loving her, but not love me. And inhaled the scent of wild lilies bouquet that daughters of Joseph were formed for me, thinking that perhaps I deserve to be touched by the lips of Mary and had weakened into a few hours of the night my purposes.

Just got home, I went to my mother's sewing Mary was with her, my sisters had gone to the bathroom. After answering the Hail Mary looked down over the seam. My mother said elated by my return, for startled at home with the delay, had sent for me at that time. He spoke with them pondering the progress of Joseph, and Mayo off his tongue with my dresses cockleburs that they were caught in the weeds.

Mary raised her eyes again, fixing them in the bouquet of lilies I had in my left hand, as I leaned right in the shotgun, I thought I understood that he wanted, but an indefinable fear, true respect for my mother and my purposes of night, preventing me from offering them. But I delighted in imagining how beautiful would be one of my little lilies on her shining brown hair. For it should be, because it would have collected during the morning and violet blossoms vase for my table. When I entered my room I saw a flower there. If I had found on the table a coiled snake, I would not have felt the same emotion that I caused the absence of flowers: the fragrance had become something of the spirit of Mary wandering around me in the hours of study, which rocked in the curtains of my bed at night ... Ah! So it was true that I loved! So he could deceive both my visionary imagination! And that class had brought for her, what could I do? If another woman, beautiful and seductive, had been there at that time, in that moment of resentment against my pride, resentment with Mary, she would have given him shew condition and beautify all with him. I took it to my lips as if to say goodbye for the last time an illusion dear, and threw it out the window.

XI

I made efforts to show jovial during the day. In the table spoke enthusiastically of the beautiful women of Bogotá, and thank intentionally pondered and ingenuity of P. .. My father was happy hearing me: Heloise would have wanted the desktop lasted until night. Mary was silent, but I found that sometimes her cheeks paled, and that its original color had not returned to them, as well as the roses that have graced overnight feast.

Towards the latter part of the conversation, Mary had pretended to play with the hair of John, brother of three years whom she doted. Endured to the end, but as soon as I stood up, she went with the child to the garden.

All the rest of the afternoon and early evening was necessary to help my father in his work desk.

At eight o'clock, and then the women had already said her prayers always, we called the dining room. As we sat at the table, I was surprised to see one of the lilies on the head of Mary. There was such a beautiful face in her air noble, innocent and sweet resignation, as mesmerized by something hitherto unknown to me in it, I could not stop staring.

Loving and cheerful girl, woman as pure and seductive as those with whom I had dreamed, and knew her, but resigned to my disdain, was new to me. Deified by resignation, I felt unworthy of fixing a look on his face.

Poorly answered some questions that I made about Joseph and his family. My father could not be hide my embarrassment, and turns to Mary and said, smiling:

-Beautiful lilies in her hair you: I have not seen these in the garden.

Mary, trying to hide his embarrassment, faint voice responded:

-Is that these lilies only in the mountains.

Surprised at that time a kind smile on Emma's lips.

- Who sent them? My father asked.

The embarrassment of Mary was already known. I looked at her and she had to find something new and entertainer in my eyes, for firmer accent answered:

-Ephraim bounced around the garden, and found it to be so rare, it was unfortunate that were lost: this is one of them.

Mary-le-I said, if I had known they were so esteemed those flowers, I would have saved ... for you, but I found it less beautiful than the day put in the vase on my desk.

She understood the cause of my resentment, and I said so clearly his look, I feared they hear the beating of my heart.

That night, when the family leave the room, Mary was casually sitting near me. After much hesitation, I finally said, his voice denouncing my excitement: "Mary, were for you, but I found yours."

She stammered some excuse when I stumble on the couch with his hand, held it was a people's movement to my will. He stopped talking. His eyes looked at me astonished and fled from mine.

Pasóse anguish over his forehead with his free hand, and leaned on her head, plunging the bare arm on the cushion immediately. Finally making an effort to undo the double loop of matter and soul that united us in that moment, he began to walk, and as a reflection begun concluding, he said so softly I could barely hear her: "So ... I will take every day the most beautiful flowers, "and disappeared.

Souls like Maria ignore the mundane language of love, but shudder at the first bend caress that they love, like poppy forests under the wings of the winds.

Had just confessed my love for Mary, she had encouraged me to confess humbling himself as a slave to pick the flowers. I repeated with delight his last words, his voice still whispered in my ear: "So every day I will gather the most beautiful flowers."

XII

The moon, which had just raised under a big full and deep sky on the crests of the mountains towering, bleached selvosas skirts lit here and there by the tops of the Yarumos, foams argentando torrents and spreading his melancholy clarity to the bottom Valley. Plants exhaled its softer and mysterious aromas. The silence, broken only by the murmur of the river, was more pleased than ever to my soul.

Leaning his elbows on the frame of my window, I imagined seeing her among the roses among them had caught that morning first, was there gathering bouquet of lilies, sacrificing his pride to his love. It was I who would disturb sleep onwards child of his heart could already speak of my love, make it the object of my life. Tomorrow!, Night magic word that we are told we are loved! Their eyes, meeting mine, would have nothing to hide, she embellish for my happiness and pride.

Never July auroras in Cauca were as beautiful as Maria when I was presented the next day, moments after leaving the bathroom, shaded tortoiseshell hair loose and medium curl, the rosy cheeks gently faded, but in some fueled by the flush times, and loving playing on his lips that smile that reveals chaste women like Mary a happiness that can not hide. Their eyes, sweetest and brightest, showed that his dream was not as peaceful as it had solid. When you approach him on his forehead noticed a contraction funny and barely noticeable, kind of mock severity that used many times to me when after all the light dazzle with their beauty, imposed silence to my lips, next to repeat what she knew both .

It was now a necessity for me to have her by my side constantly, not wasting a single moment of her existence abandoned my love and happy with what they had, and even avid said, I tried to make a paradise of the family home. I talked to my sister Mary and who had expressed the desire to make them some basic studies under my direction: they came to get excited about the project, and it was decided that from that day would start.

They turned a corner of the room in cabinet study; desclavaron some maps of my room, dusted the geographical globe on my father's desk had been hitherto ignored, were cleared of ornaments two consoles to make them study table. My mother smiled to witness anyone rigged derangement that our project.

We met every day two hours, during which I explained to them a chapter of geography, we read some history, and sometimes many more pages Genius of Christianity. Then valuing all intelligence could Mary: my sentences were recorded indelibly in his memory, and his understanding was ahead almost always win my explanations child.

Emma was surprised and delighted secrecy in our innocent happiness. How do I hide in those frequent conferences in my heart what happened? She must have seen my look still on his face while his partner sorcerer gave this explanation requested. He had seen her trembling hand to Mary if I put it on some point searched in vain on the map. And if sitting near the table, they stood on either side of my seat, leaned Mary to see something that was better in my book or in the letters, his breath, brushing my hair, her braids, rolling their shoulders, troubled my explanations, and Emma could see her straighten modest.

Sometimes housework called the attention of my disciples, and my sister took charge always go back to fill them for a while then reunírsenos. Then my heart was pounding. Mary, forehead and lips childishly grave almost laughing, left to mine some of his aristocratic hands planted dimples, made to oppress fronts like Byron, and his accent, while having music that was peculiar, became slow and deep to pronounce words softly articulated in vain to prove I remember now, because I have not heard them, because lips uttered by others are not the same, and written in these pages appear meaningless. They belong to another language, which for many years does not come to mind or a phrase.

XIII

The pages of Chateaubriand inks were slowly giving the imagination of Mary. As faith-filled Christian, rejoiced to find beauties for her presentidas in Catholic worship. His soul took the palette that I offered him the most beautiful colors to make it beautiful throughout, and fire poetic gift of Heaven makes admirable men who possess and deifies women reveal reluctantly, gave his countenance charms unknown to me before in the human face. The thoughts of the poet, welcomed into the soul of this woman so seductive in the midst of his innocence, turned to me as a distant echo and harmony that becomes known to move the heart.

One afternoon late as my country, adorned with violet clouds and sudden flashes of pale gold, beautiful as Mary was beautiful and transitory as it for me, her, my sister and I sat on the wide stone slope, from where we could see right into the deep rolling vega bustling river flows, and taking the valley below us majestic and quiet, I read the episode of Atala, and two, admirable in its stillness and abandonment, heard sprout my lips all that melancholy agglomerated by the poet to "make the world mourn." My sister, right arm leaning on one of my arms, his head almost bound to mine eyes were still lines that I was reading. Mary, half kneeling near me, my face did not separate from their eyes, and wet.

The sun had altered voice when I read the last pages of the poem. Emma's pale head rested on my shoulder. Mary hid her face with both hands. Then I read this heartbreaking farewell Chactas over the grave of his beloved, farewell so often a sob ripped my chest: "Sleep in peace in foreign land, hapless youth! In return for your love, your exile and you die, you are abandoned to the same Chactas "Mary, leaving my voice heard, discovered the face, and big tears rolled down her. It was as beautiful as the creation of the poet, and I loved her with the love he imagined. We drove in silence and slowly toward the house. Oh, my soul and Mary were not only moved by reading this: they were overwhelmed by the feeling!

XIV

After three days, dropping, an afternoon of the mountain, I seem to notice any shock on the faces of the young men with whom I came across in the interior corridors. My sister told me that Mary had suffered a nervous breakdown, and adding that he was still senseless sought soon as he could soothe my painful anxiety.

Forgetting all caution, I went into the bedroom where she was Mary, and dominating the frenzy that I had done to my heart to clasp back to life, I approached his bed baffled. At the foot of it sat my father noticed me one of her looks intense, and then turning it on Mary, seemed to want me to make a counterclaim to show me. My mother was there, but did not look up to find me, because, knowing my love, pity I pitied as a good mother knows the woman loved by his son, his son himself.

I stood there staring, not daring to find out what his wrong. I was like asleep: his face covered with deathly pallor, looked half hidden by the hair decomposed, which were discovered crushed the flowers I had given in the morning revealed a contracted forehead unbearable suffering, and a slight sweat she moistened his temples: closed eyes had tried to sprout tears shining in the tabs arrested.

Understanding my father all my suffering, stood up to leave, but before leaving he approached the bed, and taking the pulse of Mary, said:

'Everything happened. Poor girl! Exactly the same was afflicted his mother.

Maria's chest rose slowly to form a sob, and to return to its natural state just breathed a sigh. That my father was gone, coloquéme to the bedside, and forgetting my mother and Emma, ​​who remained silent, I took on the cushion of the hands of Mary, and bathed in the torrent of my tears, until then content. It measured all my misfortune was the same evil of his mother, who died very young attacked an incurable epilepsy. This idea took possession of my whole being to bruise.

I felt some movement in that limp

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 12.05.2014
ISBN: 978-3-7368-1079-2

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