Marianela E-Book

Benito Pérez Galdòs

• Herausgeber: CLXBX
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 258

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

Marianela is one of Benito Pérez Galdós's most tender and emotionally resonant novels—a poignant story of love, innocence, and the fragile boundaries between beauty and illusion. First published in 1878, this deeply moving work blends realism with lyrical sensitivity, offering a heartfelt meditation on compassion, self-worth, and the human longing to be seen and valued. Set in a rural mining village in northern Spain, the novel centers on Marianela, a poor and orphaned young woman who survives on the margins of society. Frail in appearance yet rich in imagination and devotion, she forms a profound bond with Pablo, a blind young man from a wealthy family. Serving as his guide through the rugged countryside, Marianela becomes not only his companion but also the lens through which he experiences the world. Through her descriptions, Pablo constructs a vision of beauty shaped by her voice, kindness, and presence. As their relationship deepens, Marianela nurtures a quiet hope that love might transcend social barriers and physical limitations. However, when medical science offers Pablo the possibility of regaining his sight, the fragile world Marianela has built begins to tremble. Galdós masterfully explores the emotional consequences of this transformation, revealing the tension between inner beauty and outward appearance, illusion and reality, faith and disillusionment. In Marianela, Galdós examines the rigid class distinctions and material values of nineteenth-century society. Marianela's poverty and perceived unattractiveness place her at a disadvantage in a world that prizes wealth and conventional beauty. Yet through her purity of heart and unwavering loyalty, Galdós challenges readers to reconsider what truly defines worth. The novel raises timeless questions: Is love rooted in the soul or the senses? Can perception alter truth? What happens when dreams confront reality? Galdós's prose is both vivid and compassionate, capturing the stark contrasts of the mining landscape while illuminating the delicate emotional landscape of his characters. His psychological insight brings depth to Marianela's vulnerability and Pablo's awakening, creating a narrative that is as introspective as it is dramatic. More than a romantic tale, Marianela is a profound exploration of identity, sacrifice, and the pain of unfulfilled longing. It reflects Galdós's deep empathy for society's marginalized and his commitment to portraying human complexity with honesty and tenderness. A classic of Spanish realist literature, Marianela continues to touch readers with its blend of emotional intensity and philosophical reflection. Through its unforgettable heroine, the novel reminds us that true beauty lies not in appearances but in the depth of the human heart.

Leseprobe

Marianela

Benito Pérez Galdós

Copyright © 2026 by Benito Pérez Galdós

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter1

The sun set. After the brief twilight came a calm and dark night, in whose black bosom the last murmurs of the slumbering earth gradually died away, and the traveler continued on his way, quickening his pace as the night advanced. He walked along a narrow path, one of those worn across the grass by the constant tread of men and beasts, and climbed tirelessly up a hill on whose slopes stood picturesque groves of cherry trees, beeches, and oaks. (It's clear we're in Northern Spain.)

He was a middle-aged man, of sturdy build, good height, broad-shouldered, decisive in his gestures, with a firm gait, coarse features, a bold and lively gaze, agile despite his considerable weight, and (let it be said at once, even if premature) an excellent person in every respect. He wore the typical attire of well-to-do gentlemen who travel in the summer, with the round hat, which owes its name to its ugliness, a mushroom-shaped cap, gaiters hanging from a strap, and a thick walking stick which, between steps, he used to beat the brambles when they extended their branches full of sharp thorns to snag his clothing.

He stopped, and looking around the entire horizon, he seemed impatient and restless. He certainly lacked confidence in the accuracy of his route and was waiting for a villager to pass by who could give him good topographical information so he could reach his destination quickly and directly.

"I can't be wrong," he murmured. "I was told to cross the river by the footbridge... so I did. Then to march onward, always onward. Indeed, there, behind me, lies that fine village, which I would call Muddy Village because of the abundance of mud in its streets and paths... So from here, onward, always onward... (I like this phrase, and if I had a coat of arms I wouldn't put any other motto on it) I must reach the famous mines of Socartes."

After walking a long way, he added:

"I'm lost, there's no doubt I'm lost... Here you have it, Teodoro Golfín, the result of your 'onward, always onward.' These bumpkins don't know the value of words. Either they wanted to make fun of you, or they themselves don't know where the Socartes mines are. A large mining establishment must announce itself with buildings, chimneys, the noise of haulage, the puffing of furnaces, the neighing of horses, the clatter of machinery, and I see, smell, and hear nothing... It seems I'm in a desert... what loneliness! If I believed in witches, I'd think that my fate was granting me the honor tonight of being presented to them... Damn it! Aren't there any people around here?... There's still half an hour until moonrise. Ah, you rascal, you're to blame for my getting lost... If only I could know where I am... But what does it matter?" (As he said this, he made a gesture typical of a valiant man who scorns danger.) Golfín, you who have traveled around the world, will you back down now?... Ah! The villagers were right: onward, always onward. The universal law of locomotion cannot fail at this moment.

And having resolutely put that daring law into action, he traveled a kilometer, following at will the paths that appeared before him, crossing and twisting at a thousand angles, as if they wished to deceive and confuse him further. However great his resolve and intrepidity, at last he had to stop. The paths, which at first climbed, then began to descend, intertwining; and finally they descended so low that our traveler found himself on a slope, down which he could only have descended by rolling.

"What a fine situation!" he exclaimed, smiling and seeking solace in his good humor to ease the vexing predicament. "Where are you, dear Golfín? This seems like an abyss. Do you see anything down there? Nothing, absolutely nothing... but the grass has vanished, the ground is churned up. It's all boulders and barren earth here, stained with iron oxide... I must be in the mines... but not a soul in sight, no smoking chimneys, no noise, not a train murmuring in the distance, not even a barking dog... What shall I do? There's a path here that leads back up. Should I follow it? Should I retrace my steps?... Go back! How absurd! Either I cease to be who I am, or I'll reach the famous Socartes mines tonight and embrace my dear brother. Onward, always onward."

He took a step and sank into the fragile shifting earth.

"Is that how it is, Mr. Planet?... So you want to swallow me up?... If that lazy satellite would do a little light, we'd have a good laugh... And I swear we're not going to any paradise down here. This looks like the crater of an extinct volcano... We have to tread carefully along this delightful precipice. What's this? Ah! A rock; a magnificent seat for a cigarette, waiting for the moon to rise."

The discreet Golfín sat down calmly as he might have done on a park bench; and he was about to smoke when he heard a voice... yes, undoubtedly it was a human voice that sounded far away, a pathetic moan, or rather, a melancholy song, made up of a single phrase, whose last cadence was prolonged by fading away in the way that musicians called morendo, and which finally died away in the placid silence of the night, without the ear being able to appreciate its last vibration.

"Come on," said the traveler, full of joy, "we have humanity. That's a girl's song; yes, it's a woman's voice, and a most beautiful one. I like the folk music of this country... Now be quiet... Let's listen, for it will soon begin again... There, there it is again. What a beautiful voice, what a moving melody! You'd think it came from the depths of the earth and that Señor de Golfín, the most serious and least superstitious man in the world, was now in league with sylphs, undines, gnomes, fairies, and all the riffraff related to the madwoman of the house... But, if my ear doesn't deceive me, the voice fades away... The charming singer is leaving... Hey! Girl, wait, stop."

The voice, which for a brief moment had graced the lost man's ear with enchanting music, faded into the vast darkness; Golfín's cries had already ceased, and the song had completely died away. Undoubtedly, the mysterious gnome-like entity, which whiled away its subterranean solitude singing of sorrowful love, had been startled by the man's abrupt interruption and fled to the deepest recesses of the earth, where precious stones dwell, stingy with their own brilliance.

"This is a divine situation," murmured Golfín, figuring he could do nothing better than light his cigar. "No evil lasts forever. Let's wait while we smoke. I've made a real show of wanting to come alone on foot to the Socartes mines. My luggage will have arrived first, which irrefutably proves the advantages of always moving forward."

A light breeze stirred, and Theodore thought he heard distant footsteps at the bottom of that unknown or imagined abyss before him. He listened intently and soon became certain that someone was there. Standing up, he shouted:

-Girl, man, or whoever you are, is it possible to go this way to the Socartes mines?

He had not finished when the violent barking of a dog was heard, and then a man's voice, which said:

-Choto, Choto, come here.

"Hey!" shouted the traveler. "Good friend, you devilish boy, or whatever you are, quickly restrain that dog, for I am a man of peace!"

- Choto, Choto!

Golfín saw a large black dog approaching him; but the animal, after growling beside him, retreated at its master's call. At that moment, the traveler could make out a figure, a man, who, motionless and expressionless, like a stone figure, stood about ten yards below him on a path that ran irregularly along the entire length of the slope. This path and the human figure standing on it keenly caught Golfín's attention, and, raising a joyful gaze to the sky, he exclaimed:

"Thank God! That crazy woman finally came out. Now we can figure out where we are. I never suspected this path existed so close to me... But it is a road... Hello, friend! Can you tell me if I'm in the Socartes mines?"

-Yes, sir, these are the Socartes mines, although we are a bit far from the establishment.

The voice that spoke was youthful and pleasant, and resonated with the charming inflections that indicate a willingness to serve with goodwill and courtesy. The doctor was delighted to hear it, and even more so to observe the gentle clarity that, spreading through the formerly dark spaces, brought heaven and earth to life, as if they were being conjured from nothingness.

"Let there be light," he said, getting out of the car. "I think I've just emerged from the primordial chaos. We're back in reality now... Well, my friend, I thank you for the news you've given me and the news you're yet to give me... I left Villamojada at sunset. They told me to keep going, always going..."

"Are you going to the establishment?" asked the mysterious young man, remaining motionless and rigid, without looking at the doctor, who was already nearby.

-Yes, sir; but I certainly took the wrong path.

"This isn't the mine entrance. The entrance is through the Rabagones footbridge, where the road and the railway under construction are located. You could have reached the establishment in ten minutes that way. It will take longer this way because it's quite a distance and the road is in very bad condition. We're in the last working area, and we have to go through several galleries and tunnels, down stairs, across trenches, up slopes, down the inclined plane; in short, we have to traverse all the Socartes mines from one end, which is this one, to the other end, where the workshops, furnaces, machinery, laboratory, and offices are located."

"Well, I swear my mistake was a nasty one," said Golfín, laughing.

-I will gladly guide you, because I know these places perfectly.

Golfín, sinking his feet into the ground, slipping here and dancing there, finally touched the welcoming soil of the sidewalk, and his first action was to examine the kind young man. For a brief moment the doctor was overcome with surprise.

"You..." he murmured.

"I am blind, yes, sir," added the young man; "but without sight I know how to traverse the Socartes mines from one end to the other. The stick I use prevents me from stumbling, and Choto accompanies me, when Nela, my guide, isn't. So follow me and let yourself be led."

Chapter2

"Blind from birth?" said Golfín with a keen interest that was not only inspired by compassion

"Yes, sir, from birth," the blind man replied matter-of-factly. "I know the world only through thought, touch, and hearing. I have come to understand that the most wonderful part of the universe is that which is forbidden to me. I know that other people's eyes are not like mine, but rather that they know things on their own; but this gift seems so extraordinary to me that I cannot even comprehend the possibility of possessing it."

"Who knows..." said Theodore, "but what is this I see, my friend, what a surprising spectacle this is?"

The traveler, who had walked a few steps beside his guide, stopped, astonished by the fantastic vista before him. He found himself in a deep place, like a volcanic crater, with an uneven floor and even more uneven walls. On the edges and in the center of the enormous caldera, whose magnitude was magnified by the deceptive chiaroscuro of the night, rose colossal figures: deformed men, monsters upside down and on their backs, immense arms stretching, truncated feet, scattered figures like those formed by the capricious movement of clouds in the sky; but still, immobile, hardened. Their color was that of mummies, an earthy color tending toward red; their posture that of feverish movement surprised and stopped by death. It seemed like the petrification of an orgy of gigantic demons; And their flailing hands, the mocking movements of their disproportionate heads, had become fixed like the unchanging poses of the sculpture. The silence that filled the area of ​​the supposed crater was a frightening silence. One would have thought that a thousand voices and howls had also been turned to stone, and stone they had been for centuries.

"Where are we, my good friend?" said Golfín. "This is a nightmare."

“This area of ​​the mine is called La Terrible,” the blind man replied, indifferent to his traveling companion’s astonishment. “It was in operation until the calamine ore ran out two years ago. Now they work in other areas higher up. What amazes you are the blocks of stone they call Cretaceous and the hardened ferruginous clay that remain after the ore was extracted. They say it’s a sublime sight, especially by moonlight. I know nothing about any of that.”

“An astonishing sight, indeed,” said the stranger, pausing to contemplate it, “but one that fills me with dread rather than pleasure, because I associate it with the memory of my neuralgias. Do you know what it seems to me? It seems to me that I am traveling through the interior of a brain afflicted by a violent migraine. These figures are like the perceptible shapes affected by the headache, mingling with the terrifying lumps and shadows that fever produces.”

"Choto, Choto, here!" said the blind man. "Sir, be very careful now, we are going to enter a gallery."

Indeed, Golfín saw that the blind man, touching the ground with his stick, was heading towards a narrow little door, whose frame was three thick beams.

The dog went in first, sniffing the dark cavity. The blind man followed with the fearlessness of one who lives in perpetual darkness. Theodore went behind, not without experiencing a certain instinctive repugnance toward the unwelcome excursion underground.

"It's astonishing," he said, "that you can come and go here without stumbling."

"I grew up around here and I know it like the back of my hand. It's cold in here; put on a coat if you have one. We won't be long leaving."

He was feeling his way along the wall, made of perpendicular beams, with his right hand. Then he said:

-Be careful not to trip on the tracks on the floor. They haul ore from the holdings upstairs along these tracks. Are you cold?

"Tell me, my good friend," the doctor inquired playfully. "Are you sure the earth hasn't swallowed us up? This passageway is an esophagus. We're poor creatures who've fallen into the stomach of a great insectivore. And you, young man, do you spend much time in these pleasant places?"

"I walk around here a lot at all hours, and I enjoy it immensely. We've already entered the driest part. This is pure sand... Now the stone returns... Here there are seeps of sulphurous water; over here a layer of earth, where you find little stone shells... There are also layers of slate: these are called schists... Do you hear how the toad sings? We're close to the mouth now. That lazy fellow goes there every night. I know him; he has a hoarse, slow voice."

-Who, the toad?

-Yes, sir. We're nearing the end.

-Indeed; over there I see something like an eye watching us. It's the clarity of the mouth

When they left, the first thing that struck the doctor's senses was the melancholy singing he had heard earlier. The blind man heard it too; he turned abruptly and said, smiling with pleasure and pride:

-Do you hear it?

-I heard that voice before and I liked it very much. Who is singing?...

Instead of answering, the blind man stopped, and giving voice to the wind with all the strength of his lungs, shouted:

-Nela!... Nela!

Sonorous echoes, some close, others far away, repeated that name

The blind man, putting his hands over his mouth like a horn, shouted:

Don't come, I'm going there. Wait for me at the blacksmith's... at the blacksmith's!

Then, turning to the doctor, he said:

Nela is a girl who accompanies me; she's my guide. At dusk, we were returning together from the large meadow... it was a bit chilly. Since my father has forbidden me to go out at night without a coat, I went into the cabin at Romolinos, and Nela ran to my house to get me my overcoat. A short while after arriving at the cabin, I remembered that a friend was supposed to meet me at home; I didn't have the patience to wait for Nela, and I left with Choto. I was passing by La Terrible when I ran into you... We'll soon reach the blacksmith's shop. We'll part ways there, because my father gets angry when I come home late, and she'll accompany you to the offices.

-Thank you very much, my friend.

The tunnel had led them to a second, even more peculiar space. It was a deep fissure opened in the ground, like those resulting from a cataclysm; but it had not been opened by the fiery palpitations of the planet, but by the miner's laborious hoe. It resembled the interior of a great shipwrecked vessel, lying on the beach, already broken in two by the waves, bent at an obtuse angle. One could even see its bare ribs, their tips crowning one of the heights in an uneven row. In the bulging concavity, large stones could be distinguished, like cargo remnants battered by the waves; And such was the pictorial force of the moon's chiaroscuro that Golfín thought he saw, among a thousand remnants of nautical things, corpses half-devoured by fish, mummies, skeletons, all dead, asleep, semi-decomposed and profoundly tranquil, as if for a long time dwelling in the immense sepulcher of the sea.

The illusion was complete when he heard the sound of water, a crackling sound similar to that of gentle waves playing in the hollows of a rock or lashing against the skeleton of a shipwrecked vessel.

"There's water this way," he said to his companion.

"That noise you hear," the blind man replied, stopping, "and which sounds... how shall I put it? Isn't it true that it sounds like gargling, like the sound we make when we soothe our throats?"

-Exactly. And where is that pool of water? Is it a stream that passes by?

"No, sir. Here, to the left, there's a hill. Behind it opens a great mouth, a chasm, an abyss whose end is unknown. It's called La Trascava. Some believe it flows into the sea near Ficóbriga. Others say that at its bottom runs a river that keeps turning and turning, like a wheel, never surfacing. I imagine it's more like a mill. Some say that down there's a whirl of air that comes from the bowels of the earth, like when we whistle, and that this whirl of air collides with a jet of water, they start to argue, they get angry, they rage, and they produce that din we hear from outside."

-And no one has gone down into that chasm?

-There's only one way to go down.

-How?

-By throwing themselves into it. Those who have gone in have never come out again, and it's a pity, because they would have told us what was happening in there. The mouth of that cavern is quite a distance from us; but two years ago, miners, digging in this place, discovered a fissure in the rock, through which the same bubbling water can be heard as through the main mouth. This fissure must connect with the galleries inside, where the hissing sound rises and the jet falls. During the day, you can see it perfectly, as you only need to climb a little over the rocks on the left side to reach it. There is a comfortable seat. Some people are afraid to approach; but Nela and I sit there very often to listen to the voice from the abyss. And indeed, sir, it seems as if they are speaking in our ears. Nela says and swears that she hears words, that she distinguishes them clearly. I, in truth, have never heard words; but rather a murmur like a soliloquy or meditation, which sometimes seems sad, sometimes joyful, sometimes angry, sometimes mocking.

"Well, all I hear is gargling," said the doctor, laughing.

-It looks that way from here... But let's not delay, it's getting late. Get ready to go through another gallery.

-Another one?

-Yes, sir. And this one, when it gets halfway through, splits in two. After that, there's a maze of twists and turns, because galleries were built that were later abandoned, and it's just as it is. Go on, Choto

Choto darted through a hole, like a ferret chasing a rabbit, followed by the doctor and his guide, who probed the winding, narrow, and gloomy path with his stick. Never had the sense of touch been so delicate and refined, extending from human skin to an unfeeling piece of wood. They advanced, tracing first a curve, then angles and more angles, always between the two walls of damp, half-rotten planks.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" said the doctor, knowing that his guide liked similes. "Well, it reminds me of the thoughts of a wicked man. It seems we are the intuition of the evil one, when he penetrates his conscience to see himself in all his ugliness."

Golfín believed that he had expressed himself in language that was difficult for the blind man to understand; but the latter proved him wrong, saying:

"For one who possesses that unknown realm of light, these galleries must be dreary; but I, who live in darkness, find here a certain harmony between the earth and my own being. I walk here as you walk along the widest street. If it weren't for the fact that sometimes the air is thin and other times the humidity excessive, I would prefer these subterranean places to all other places I know."

-This is the idea of ​​meditation.

-I feel in my brain a passage, a hole just like this one I'm going through, and through it my ideas run, developing magnificently.

"Oh! How lamentable it is never to have seen the blue vault of the sky in broad daylight!" exclaimed the doctor with utter spontaneity. "Tell me, does this conduit through which your ideas develop so magnificently never end?"

-Yes, we'll be out soon... You say the vault of heaven...? Ah! I imagine it will be a harmonious concavity, which it seems we can reach with our hands, without actually being able to do so.

Having said this, they left; Golfín, breathing with pleasure and strength, like one who has just released a great weight, exclaimed, looking up at the sky:

-Thank God I see you again, little stars of the sky. You have never seemed more beautiful to me than at this moment.

"As I was passing by," said the blind man, holding out his hand which showed a stone, "I picked up this piece of crystallized limestone; would you agree that these little crystals, which my touch finds so well cut, so fine, and so well glued to one another, are not a very beautiful thing? At least they seem so to me."

As he said it, he crumbled the crystals.

"My dear friend," Golfín said with emotion and pity, "it is truly sad that you cannot understand that this pebble does not deserve man's attention, while the infinite flock of marvelous lights that fill the vault of the sky are suspended above our heads."

The blind man turned his face upwards and said with deep sadness:

-Is it true that you exist, stars?

"God is immensely great and merciful," remarked Golfín, placing his hand on his companion's shoulder. "Who knows, who knows, my friend... Very strange cases have been seen, are seen every day."

As he said this, he looked at him closely, trying to examine the young man's pupils in the dim light of the night. Fixed and without a gaze, the blind man turned his face, smiling, toward the source of the doctor's voice.

"I have no hope," he murmured.

They had gone out to an open area. The moon, growing brighter with each passing moment, illuminated rolling meadows and long slopes that resembled the escarpments of immense fortifications. To the left, at a considerable height, the doctor saw a group of white houses on the very edge of the hillside.

"Here to the left," said the blind man, "is my house. Up there... do you know? Those three houses are all that's left of the village of Aldeacorba de Suso: the rest has been expropriated over the years to improve the land; everything down here is corrugated iron. Our parents lived on billions of pounds without even knowing it."

This he was saying, when a girl, a child, a little girl, with very light feet and a small stature, came running towards them.

"Nela, Nela," said the blind man. "Will you bring me my coat?"

"Here it is," replied the girl, placing a cloak over his shoulders.

-Is this the one who was singing?... Do you know you have a beautiful voice?

"Oh!" exclaimed the blind man with a candid, complimentary tone, "she sings admirably. Now, Mariquilla, you're going to accompany this gentleman to the offices. I'm staying home. I can already hear my father's voice coming down to get me. He'll surely scold me... Here I come, here I come!"

"Please leave soon, my friend," said Golfín, shaking his hand. "The air is fresh and might harm you. Thank you very much for your company. I hope we can be friends, because I'll be here for some time... I am the brother of Carlos Golfín, the engineer of these mines."

-Ah!... I see... Mr. Carlos is a very good friend of my father and mine: he has been waiting for you since yesterday.

I arrived this afternoon at Villamojada station... they told me Socartes was nearby and that I could walk. Since I enjoy the scenery and exercise, and since they told me to keep going, always going, I set off, sending my luggage in a cart. You see how I got lost... but every cloud has a silver lining... I've met you and we'll be friends, perhaps very good friends... Well, goodbye; get home soon, the September chill isn't good. This Mrs. Nela will be kind enough to accompany me.

"It's only a fifteen-minute walk from here to the offices... nothing much... Be careful not to trip on the rails; be careful going down the incline. They often leave the wagons on the track... and with the damp, the ground is like soap... Goodbye, sir and my friend. Good night."

He climbed a steep staircase cut into the earth, its steps reinforced with beams. Golfín continued on, guided by Nela. Will their conversation deserve a separate chapter? Just in case, we'll give it one.

Chapter3

"Wait, daughter, don't go in such a hurry," said Golfín, stopping, "let me light a cigarette."

The night was so calm that he didn't need to take the precautions smokers usually take against the wind. Having lit his cigar, he brought the match close to Nela's face, saying kindly:

-Okay, show me your face.

The girl gazed at him in astonishment, and her small black eyes flashed with a reddish gleam, like a spark, in the brief instant the match's light lasted. She was like a child, for her stature must have been among the smallest, her waist slender and her bust meagerly formed. She was like a young woman, for her eyes lacked the gaze of childhood, and her face revealed the maturity of a being in which judgment had entered, or should have entered. Despite this disparity, she was admirably proportioned, and her small head crowned her wretched little body with a certain grace. Some said she was a woman seen through a magnifying glass; others that she was a child with the eyes and expression of an adolescent. Not knowing her, one doubted whether she represented astonishing progress or a deplorable setback.

"How old are you?" Golfín asked, shaking his fingers to throw away the match, which was starting to burn him.

"They say I'm sixteen years old," replied Nela, examining the doctor in turn.

"Sixteen years old! You're way behind, girl. Your body is that of a twelve-year-old, at most."

"Good heavens! They say I'm like a freak," she said, sounding sorry for herself.

"A phenomenon!" Golfín repeated, placing his hand on the girl's hair. "Perhaps. Come on, lead the way."

Nela began walking resolutely, not getting far ahead, but rather taking care to stay close to the traveler, as if she fully appreciated the honor of such noble company. She was barefoot: her agile, small feet showed a habitual familiarity with the ground, with the stones, the puddles, the thorns. She wore a simple, not very long skirt, and her rudimentary attire, as well as the freedom of her short, loose hair, curled with a native elegance, suggested a certain independence more characteristic of a savage than a beggar. Her words, on the other hand, surprised Golfín with their modesty and humility, hinting at a formal and thoughtful character. Her voice resonated with a pleasant, courteous tone that could not have been the product of education, and her glances were fleeting and momentary, unless directed toward the ground or the sky.

"Tell me," Golfín asked her, "do you live in the mines? Are you the daughter of an employee of this estate?"

-They say I have no mother or father.

-Poor thing! You'll be working in the mines...

"No, sir. I'm good for nothing," he replied without lifting his eyes from the ground.

-Well, you certainly have modesty.