Paulines Passion and Punishment

Pauline's Passion and
Punishment

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Alcott #16 in our series by Louisa May Alcott
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Title: Pauline's Passion and Punishment
Author: Louisa May Alcott
Release Date: June, 2005 [EBook #8384] [Yes, we are more than one
year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on July 5, 2003]

Edition: 10
Language: English
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PASSION AND PUNISHMENT ***

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PAULINE'S PASSION
and
PUNISHMENT

Chapter I
To and fro, like a wild creature in its cage, paced that handsome woman,
with bent head, locked hands, and restless steps. Some mental storm,
swift and sudden as a tempest of the tropics, had swept over her and left
its marks behind. As if in anger at the beauty now proved powerless, all
ornaments had been flung away, yet still it shone undimmed, and filled
her with a passionate regret. A jewel glittered at her feet, leaving the
lace rent to shreds on the indignant bosom that had worn it; the wreaths
of hair that had crowned her with a woman's most womanly adornment
fell disordered upon shoulders that gleamed the fairer for the scarlet of
the pomegranate flowers clinging to the bright meshes that had
imprisoned them an hour ago; and over the face, once so affluent in
youthful bloom, a stern pallor had fallen like a blight, for pride was
slowly conquering passion, and despair had murdered hope.
Pausing in her troubled march, she swept away the curtain swaying in
the wind and looked out, as if imploring help from Nature, the great
mother of us all. A summer moon rode high in a cloudless heaven, and
far as eye could reach stretched the green wilderness of a Cuban cafetal.

No forest, but a tropical orchard, rich in lime, banana, plantain, palm,
and orange trees, under whose protective shade grew the evergreen
coffee plant, whose dark-red berries are the fortune of their possessor,
and the luxury of one-half the world. Wide avenues diverging from the
mansion, with its belt of brilliant shrubs and flowers, formed shadowy
vistas, along which, on the wings of the wind, came a breath of far-off
music, like a wooing voice; for the magic of night and distance lulled
the cadence of a Spanish contradanza to a trance of sound, soft,
subdued, and infinitely sweet. It was a southern scene, but not a
southern face that looked out upon it with such unerring glance; there
was no southern languor in the figure, stately and erect; no southern
swarthiness on fairest cheek and arm; no southern darkness in the
shadowy gold of the neglected hair; the light frost of northern snows
lurked in the features, delicately cut, yet vividly alive, betraying a
temperament ardent, dominant, and subtle. For passion burned in the
deep eyes, changing their violet to black. Pride sat on the forehead,
with its dark brows; all a woman's sweetest spells touched the lips,
whose shape was a smile; and in the spirited carriage of the head
appeared the freedom of an intellect ripened under colder skies, the
energy of a nature that could wring strength from suffering, and dare to
act where feebler souls would only dare desire.
Standing thus, conscious only of the wound that bled in that high heart
of hers, and the longing that gradually took shape and deepened to a
purpose, an alien presence changed the tragic atmosphere of that still
room and woke her from her dangerous mood. A wonderfully winning
guise this apparition wore, for youth, hope, and love endowed it with
the charm that gives beauty to the plainest, while their reign endures. A
boy in any other climate, in this his nineteen years had given him the
stature of a man; and Spain, the land of romance, seemed embodied in
this figure, full of