B0040702LQ EBOK (7 page)

Using their saddles as pillows, the soldiers followed his
example and gradually the murmur of voices died away.

Half an hour later, all that could be heard were the stifled
moans of the wind whistling through the broken glass of the arched windows, the confused fluttering of the night birds
who had made their nests in the stone canopies over the
statues lining the walls and the steady pacing of the sentry,
wrapped in the ample folds of his cloak, and marching up and
down in the portico of the church.

II

At the time of these events, which are as true as they are
extraordinary, and still indeed today, for those with no
appreciation of the artistic treasures contained within its walls,
Toledo was no more than an ancient, tumbledown, dilapidated town, devoid of interest.

Needless to say, the officers of the French army, who were
by no means men of an artistic or archaeological disposition,
to judge from the acts of vandalism for which, sadly, the occupation is eternally remembered, were monumentally bored in
that ancient seat of kings.

In that state of mind, the idlers eagerly welcomed even
the most insignificant event which might break the quiet
monotony of those everlasting and indistinguishable days.
Thus, a promotion to the next grade for one of their companions, the news of some strategic move by one of the special
squadrons, the departure of a courier or the arrival of any new
troops in the city became a rich source of gossip and the
object of much comment, till some other incident came
along to take its place, giving rise, in turn, to new complaints,
criticisms and suppositions.

The officers, as was their custom, gathered next day to take
the air and chat in the Plaza de Zocodover, and, inevitably,
there was but one topic of conversation: the arrival of the
dragoons whose commander we left in the previous chapter
sound asleep, resting from his tiring journey.

The conversation had been circling around this point for an
hour or so, and already different explanations were being
offered for the non-appearance of the new arrival, who was
known to one of the company from their time together at the military academy, and who had been invited to come to the
gathering, when, finally, our gallant captain was seen at the
end of one of the streets leading into the square. He had cast
aside his cloak and was resplendent in a metal helmet with
white plume, indigo jacket with red facings and a magnificent broadsword in a sheath of steel, which clanged in time
to his martial stride and the clean, sharp ring of his golden
spurs.

As soon as his comrade spotted the captain, he ran forward
to meet him, as did nearly all those present at the gathering,
whose curiosity and interest had been aroused by tales of his
strange and unusual character.

After the usual greetings, exclamations, handshakes and
questions which characterise these meetings, after long and
detailed discussion of the news that was doing the rounds in
Madrid, the varying fortunes of war, and dead or absent
friends, after touching on this and that, the conversation came
round eventually to the unavoidable topics, namely, the tribulations of army life, the lack of amusements in the city and the
discomfort of their lodgings.

At this point, one of those present, who seemingly had
news of the young officer's reluctance to lodge his men in the
abandoned church, asked him in a bantering tone:

`Speaking of lodgings, what sort of night did you have in
the place they gave you?T

`Not too good, yet not too bad', replied the officer. `For
though I did not get much sleep, the reason for my insomnia
made it all worth while. To lie awake beside a beautiful
woman is not the worst of fates.'

'A woman!' responded his questioner, expressing his surprise at the new arrival's good fortune. `You certainly wasted
no time!'

`Perhaps it's some long-standing mistress from Madrid who
has followed him to Toledo to comfort him in his exile,'
someone suggested.

`Not at all,' the Captain replied. `Nothing could be further
from the truth. I give you my word that she was not known to
me, and that I never thought to find such a beautiful landlady in such uncomfortable lodgings. This was what one might call
a real adventure.'

`Tell us about it! Tell us about it,' chorused the officers
surrounding the Captain.

And, since he seemed prepared to do so, they all listened
attentively while he began the story as follows:

`I was sleeping last night as a man sleeps who has ridden
thirteen leagues, when I suddenly sat up, resting on one elbow,
roused from this profound slumber by a horrible din, a noise
so great that it left my ears ringing for about a minute, as
though a hornet were buzzing round my head. As you will
have guessed, the cause of my alarm was the first stroke of that
infernal great bell, a sort of bronze choirmaster, which the
canons of Toledo have hung in their cathedral with the laudable aim of harassing to death anyone in need of repose. As the
last of the strange and horrible sounds died away, I was about
to lie down and try to get back to sleep, cursing under my
breath both bell and bell-ringer, when a most extraordinary
sight caught my eye and captured my imagination. In the pale
moonlight filtering into the church through the narrow mullioned windows of the main chapel, I saw a woman kneeling
by the altar.'

The officers exchanged glances in which surprise mingled
with incredulity. The captain, paying no heed to the effect his
story was having, continued in this vein:

`You cannot imagine anything to rival that fantastical nocturnal vision, whose blurred outline could be discerned in the
darkness of the chapel, like those pale, luminous Virgins
depicted in stained glass windows that you will have glimpsed
in the depths of cathedrals. Her oval face bearing faint traces
of spiritual suffering, her harmonious features filled with a
sweet, melancholy tenderness, her intense pallor, the pure
lines of her slender figure, her serene and noble air, her floating white gown, all these reminded me of the women I had
dreamed of as an adolescent. Chaste, celestial images, illusory
objects of some vague, adolescent love! I believed myself prey
to an hallucination, and though I did not take my eyes off her
for a moment, I hardly dared to breathe, fearing that the slightest disturbance might break the spell. She was completely still. Seeing her so transparent and luminous, the
thought occurred to me that she was no earthly creature, but a
spirit who, momentarily taking on human shape, had come
down on a moonbeam, leaving in the air behind her a bluish
trail that fell from the mullioned windows onto the opposite
wall, piercing the darkness of that mysterious, gloomy place.'

`But,' cried his former fellow-cadet, interrupting him,
`how did that woman come to be there? Did you not speak to
her? Did she not explain her presence in that place?'

`I could not bring myself to speak to her, for I was sure she
would not answer me, nor see me, nor hear me.'

`Was she deaf?'

`Was she blind?'

`Was she dumb?' cried two or three of his listeners at the
same time.

`She was all of those things at once,' the captain finally
explained, after a moment's pause, `because she was ... made
of marble.'

On hearing this amazing end to such a strange adventure,
the whole company roared with laughter, while one them said
to the storyteller, who alone remained silent and serious:

`So that's it! I have more than a thousand women of that
kind, a veritable harem, in San Juan de los Reyes. A harem
which, from now on, I place at your disposal, since it seems
you are as happy with a woman of stone as with one of flesh
and blood.'

`No, thank you,' said the captain, paying no heed to the
laughter of his companions. `I am sure they are not like mine.
Mine is a true Castilian lady, who by a miracle of sculpture
seems not to be buried in her grave, but to be still alive, kneeling motionless on the stone that covers her, hands joined in a
supplicant gesture, deep in an ecstasy of mystical love.'

`From the way you speak, you will soon have us convinced
that the myth of Pygmalion was true.'

`For my part, I confess I always thought it nonsense; but
since last night I have begun to understand that Greek
sculptor's passion.'

`In view of the very particular nature of your new mistress,
I imagine you will have no objection to introducing us to her.
I for one cannot wait to see this wonder. But ... what the
devil is wrong with you? You seem almost reluctant to perform these introductions. Aha, don't tell me we're making
you jealous already?'

`Jealous', the captain hastened to reply, jealous ... No, not
of men ... Yet judge, nevertheless, the extent of my madness.
Near the statue of this woman is a warrior, also made of
marble, solemn and seemingly alive, like her ... Her husband,
no doubt ... Well, now, I shall confess all, though you may
laugh at my foolishness ... Had I not feared to be taken for a
madman, I believe I should by now have smashed him into a
thousand pieces.'

An even louder burst of laughter from his fellow officers
greeted this droll revelation by the eccentric lover of the stone
statue.

`That's it,' said some, `we must see her.'

`Absolutely!' said others. `We must find out if your beloved
merits such intense passion,' exclaimed others.

`When can we meet up to have a drink in the church
where you're lodging?' demanded the rest.

`Whenever you like. This very night, if you wish,' the
young captain responded, recovering his usual good humour,
which had vanished for a moment with that flash of jealousy.
`By the way, in my baggage I have brought no fewer than a
dozen bottles of champagne, real champagne, the remains of a
gift to our general, to whom, as you know, I am distantly
related.'

`Bravo, bravo!' chorused the officers, adding various joyful
comments.

`Here's to good French wine!'

`We'll sing a song by Ronsard!'

`And talk about women, especially our host's mistress!'

`Till tonight, then!'

`Till tonight!'

III

The tranquil inhabitants of Toledo had long since locked and
barred the heavy doors of their ancient houses, the great bell
of the cathedral was announcing the curfew hour, and, from
the heights of the Alcazar, now a barracks, the bugles were
sounding lights out as ten or twelve officers, who had been
slowly gathering in the Plaza de Zocodover, set off along the
road leading from that square to the monastery in which the
captain was lodged, inspired more by the hope of draining
a few bottles of champagne than by any desire to see the
marvellous statue.

Night had closed in, dark and menacing. The sky was
covered with leaden clouds. The wind hummed, imprisoned
in the narrow, winding streets, making the dying light from
the torches flicker in their niches, and the weather vanes on
the towers creak as they spun round.

No sooner had the officers caught sight of the square
where their new friend's lodgings were to be found, than the
man himself, who had been waiting impatiently, stepped forward to greet them and, after exchanging a few words in low
tones, they all went together into the church, where a feeble
light struggled fitfully against the deep, dark shadows.

`Upon my word,' said one of the guests, gazing around him,
the place could hardly be less suited to a party.'

`Quite true,' said another. `You brought us here to show us
your mistress, but we can hardly see our own hand in front of
our faces.'

`And it's so cold you would think we were in Siberia,'
remarked a third, wrapping his cloak tightly around him.

`Patience, gentlemen, please,' their host said. `Everything
will be taken care of. You, boy,' he called to one of his attendants, `fetch us some wood and light a nice fire in the main
chapel.'

The boy, in obedience to this order, took an axe to the
choirstalls and once he had obtained a large pile of firewood, which he gradually piled up by the presbytery steps, he seized
the torch and set to work making a bonfire of those richlycarved fragments; amongst the scattered debris could be seen,
here, part of a twisted column, there, the portrait of a holy
abbot, the trunk of a woman or the monstrous head of a
griffin.

A few minutes later, the whole church was filled with
sudden light, signalling to the officers that the festivities were
about to begin.

The captain, who was doing the honours with quite as
much ceremony as he would have in his own home, addressed
his guests:

`Whenever you wish, the buffet is served.'

His companions, affecting the utmost gravity, replied to his
invitation with a comical bow and made their way to the
main chapel, preceded by the hero of the feast, who, on reaching the stairs, paused for an instant and, gesturing towards
the place where the tomb stood, said with the most refined
elegance:

`I have the pleasure of introducing the lady who occupies
all my thoughts. I think you will agree that I have not
exaggerated her beauty.'

The officers turned their gaze towards the spot their friend
was indicating, and an involuntary gasp of amazement arose
from every man.

In the depths of a burial arch faced with black marble,
kneeling at a prie-dieu, with her hands joined and her face
turned towards the altar, they saw indeed the image of a
woman so beautiful that no sculptor could ever produce her
rival, nor could desire itself have painted a fantasy of greater
loveliness.

`It's true, she's an angel,' murmured one.

`What a pity she's made of marble,' added another.

`Truly, though it is only an illusion, to be close to such a
woman is reason enough not to close your eyes all night.'

`And you don't know who she is?' some of those contemplating the statue asked the captain, who was smiling in
pleasure at his triumph.