Yes, she was happy.
when she saw and loved the painter of her portrait.
They were married. But,
sadly, he already had
a wife: his work. His painting was more important to him than
anything in the world.
Before, she was all light and smiles. She loved everything in the
world. Now she loved all things but one: her husband's work. His
painting was her only enemy; and she began
to hate the paintings
kept her husband away from her. And so it was a terrible
thing when he told her that he wanted to paint his young wife's
For weeks, she sat in the tall, dark room while he worked. He was
silent man, always working, always lost in his
dreams. She sat still always smiling, never moving while he
painted her hour after hour, day after day. He did not see that
growing weaker with every day. He never noticed that she
was not healthy any more, and not happy any more. The change was
happening in front of his eyes, but he did not see it.
went on smiling. She never stopped smiling because she saw
that her husband, who was now very famous, enjoyed his work so
much. He worked day and night, painting the portrait of the woman
he loved. And as he painted, the woman who loved him grew slowly
Several people saw the half-finished picture. They told the
painter how wonderful it was, speaking softly as he worked. They
said the portrait showed how much he loved his beautiful wife.
Silently, she sat in front of her husband and his visitors,
hearing and seeing nothing now.
The work was
coming near an end.
He did not welcome visitors in
the room any more. A terrible fire was burning inside him now. He
was wild, almost
mad with his work. His eyes almost never left the
painting now, even to look at his wife’s face. Her face was as
white as snow. The painter did not see that the colours he was
were no longer there in her real face.
Many more weeks passed until, one day, in the middle of winter, he
finished the portrait. He touched the last paint on to her lips;
he put the last, thin line of colour on an eye; then he stood back
and looked at the finished work.
As he looked, he began
to shake. All colour left his face. With
his eyes on the portrait, he cried out to the world: ‘This woman
is not made of paint! She is alive!’ Then he turned
look at the woman he loved so much.
She was dead.
wrong or damned day (maldito
to detest (odiar,
kept her husband away:
coming closer (imantenían
distanciado a su esposo)
to speak or communicate (callado,
wild, secret dreams:
without any control (delirantes
becoming weaker (debilitándose)
showing more and more
coming near an end:
near to be over (acercándose
a su final)
he did not welcome visitors:
he received no guests (no
were no longer there:
there were not any (ya
no se encontraban allí)
to tremble, to
all of a sudden (de