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Updated: May 17, 2025
Josephina was different from other women who hardly aroused his desire. His chastity, which had been like that of a rough laborer, developed into a feverish desire to make that charming doll his own as soon as possible. Besides, his pride was flattered by this union.
The Josephina whom he saw, the Josephina within him, was the other, of the first days of their love, and not as she had been in reality but as he had seen her, as he had painted her. His memory passed over a great stretch of time, dark and stormy; it leaped from the regret of the present to the happy days of youth.
"What's the matter with the blue north room?" "There is nothing the matter with it oh, nothing at all! We could put Aunt Josephina there, but where will she sleep? Where will she wash her face? Will it not seem slightly inhospitable to invite her to sit on a bare floor?
"Good-by, ma chère. Good-by, mignonne. Do you remember our school days? How happy we were there! Good-by, maître." She stopped at the door to kiss Josephina once more. And finally, before she disappeared, she exclaimed in the querulous tone of a victim who wants sympathy: "I envy you, chèrie. You, at least, are happy. You have found a husband who worships you. Master, take lots of care of her.
Hardly a score of her countless relatives were present. Poor old lady, if she had known how her hopes were destined to be disappointed! Renovales was almost glad of the event. With it, the only tie that bound them to society was broken. He and Josephina lived in a fifth story flat on the Calle de Alcalá, near the Plaza de Toros, with a large terrace that the artist converted into a studio.
His fiancée was poor; her only dowry was a few ragged clothes, but she belonged to a noble family, ministers, generals all of noble descent. They could weigh by the ton the coronets and coats-of-arms of those countless relatives who did not pay much attention to Josephina and her mother, but who would soon be his family. What would Señor Antón think, hammering iron in the suburbs of his town?
"Josephina, I swear by all that I love most in the world that your suspicions are not true. I have had nothing to do with Concha. I swear it by our daughter!" The little woman became more irritated. "Don't swear, don't lie, don't name my daughter. You deceiver! You hypocrite! You are all alike!" Did he think she was a fool? She knew everything that was going on around her.
And it was thus that the idea of leaving Rome first came to the painter. Josephina did not object. That daily round of receptions in the countless embassies and legations was beginning to bore her.
For a long time he remained motionless, absorbed in the contemplation of that marble case obliquely cut by a ray of sunlight, one part golden, the other blue in the shadow. Suddenly he shivered, as if he had awakened at the sound of a voice, his own. He was talking, aloud, driven to cry out his thoughts, to stir this deathly silence with something that meant life. "Josephina.
Yes, it was Josephina, but there was something unusual, idealized about her. Her features looked the same, but they had an inner light that made them more beautiful. It was a defect he had always found in these pictures, but he said nothing. "And she," insisted the master, "was she really beautiful? What did you think of her as a woman? Tell me, Pepe, without hesitating.
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