Prefacio · V

I believed her sincere, but the more she showed anxiety to avoid me, the more there grew in me the desire to detain her, that she should listen to me, look upon me again, and above all love me. The vehemence of that sudden fancy was such that, were it not for the passing crowd, I believe I would have fallen on my knees at her feet. I felt eloquent, and words came to my lips burning and commanding.

“If you wished to flee from me,” I said to the mask, pressing close, “why did you look at me with eyes that set my heart on fire? Why did you plant the arrow if you were to refuse to heal the wound? Do you not see how with that single glance you have stirred my whole being? Do you not hear my voice shaken with emotion, do you not observe the disorder of my senses? Do you not see I am distraught? Do you not know I had a presentiment of you, that I divined your coming, that I came to this ball assured your presence would fill it with light and charm? And do you think I will let you escape, that I will consent, that I will not follow you to the ends of the earth? You cannot go. In your glance love betrayed itself, and still betrays itself in your agitation, my mask.”

It was true. The mask, as though fascinated, leaned against the wall. Her frame trembled, her bosom rose and fell hurriedly, and through the tiny eyeholes of the vizard I saw two burning tears tremble upon the dark velvet of her pupils. In a voice scarcely audible, broken by sobs, she murmured slowly, as if wishing to engrave her words forever in my memory:

“It is true: only to draw near to you, to enjoy the sight of you, have I adopted this disguise, have I committed the folly of coming to the ball. And see what a strange thing: loving you thus, I weep... because you speak words of love to me. To hear them with bare face I would give my blood. But you, who have just sworn you adore me now you see me wrapped in this green rag, you... would flee from me if I showed myself without a mask. You have pursued me only because you did not see my face. And I am neither old nor ugly... It is not that! Look upon me and you will understand! Look upon me and afterwards... you will never have to look upon me again!”

And lifting her vizard, the green domino showed me the face of my abandoned, rejected, disdained María... Profiting by my stupor, she ran, leaped into the carriage awaiting her, and as I would have dashed after her, I heard the rumble of wheels upon the pavement.

Since that sad carnival episode I know that the only thing that distracts us is a green rag—Hope, the eternal mask, the veiled one ever fleeing, promising all... hiding beneath her smiling disguise the pale face of old Disappointment.

The Angel’s Adventure

For a fault less grave than Lucifer’s, which did not attain the proportions of a fall, an angel was condemned to exile in the world. He was to undergo it for the space of a year, which implies an immense loss of happiness: a year of beatitude is an infinity of joys such as our gross senses and petty fancy cannot even remotely glimpse. Yet the angel, submissive and sorrowful for his error, uttered no word: he cast down his eyes, unfolded his wings, and with steady flight descended to our planet.

The first thing he felt on setting foot upon earth was a painful sense of loneliness. He knew no one, and no one knew him beneath the human form he had been obliged to assume. And it was heavy and intolerable to him, for angels are not sullen, but sociable in the highest degree, rarely going alone, but uniting to sing hymns of glory to God and throng about His throne; moreover, they are organized in hosts and united by the close solidarity of brothers-in-arms.

Weary of seeing strange faces and indifferent folk pass by, the angel, on the evening of the first day of his punishment, walked out of a great city, sat down by the roadside upon a milestone, and raised his eyes towards the firmament that concealed his homeland, which was then dyed a luminous green, lightly fringed with orange in the west. The exile groaned, wondering how he might return to the delightful abode of his brethren; but he knew that a divine command is not easily revoked, and amid the twilight melancholy he supported his head upon his hands and wept beautiful tears of contrition, for besides the pain of punishment, it grieved him to have offended God because of who He is and how much he loved Him. For despite his slip, this angel was a very good angel.

No sooner had his grief subsided than he chanced to look towards the earth, and saw that where the drops of his weeping had fallen, there sprang up and unfolded their cups with incredible swiftness many white flowers such as are called daisies, but with petals of fine pearls and hearts of gold. The angel bent down, gathered the wondrous flowers one by one, and stored them in a fold of his mantle. As he stooped, he discerned upon the ground a white object—a scrap of newspaper. He took it up also and began to read, for the angel was no ignoramus; and with deep joy he saw occupying a column certain irregular lines under this heading: